Had Dennings caught Uckfield in a compromising position with a girl, on camera, and threatened to tell? Uckfield couldn't let it come out; due before the promotion board and in with a chance for the plum job as head of the newly formed Major Crime Team, he couldn't risk any scandal. Uckfield needed Dennings' silence in return for a favour.
Uckfield was more stupid than Horton thought, and he had compounded that stupidity by getting into debt with a man whose only quality as a police officer was his physical strength. Despite feeling bitter towards Uckfield for betraying him, Horton nevertheless found himself trying to find a way to get Dennings off Uckfield's back. Why? Because he hated corruption. But was that all? If he could remove Dennings from Uckfield's team without dropping the superintendent in it would Uckfield be grateful? Would that gratitude extend to rewarding him with the position as his DI? Wasn't that just the granting of another favour and corruption too?
'Sod it.'
He checked outside the boat. There was no sign of anyone watching him. He was tired and his conversation with Uckfield had left him feeling weary and depressed. The cold and damp did little to ease the soreness in his throat. He crashed out on his bunk hoping that the pyromaniac killer wouldn't strike that night, because if he did, Horton knew he might not have the energy to resist.
Fourteen
Horton woke late on Sunday after a heavy, dream-filled sleep, which had him running away from fire and villains brandishing axes whilst Catherine laughed at him. As a result his head felt muggy and he wasn't in the best of tempers. He cursed the gales that were still roaring through the halyards and causing the boat to rock even in the comparative calm of the marina, and when he ran down to the showers he found that the sleet had once again become driving slashing rain.
It was too dangerous to move Nutmeg on the morning's high tide in this weather and the next high tide would be ten p.m., which meant he would be able to get out of the marina from seven onwards, but by then it would be dark, and Nutmeg was too small a boat to risk moving in both the dark and the wind. He'd have to take his chances and stay put. He could, of course, always book into a hotel if he was that worried about this pyromaniac killer coming after him. It wasn't the expense that prevented him from doing so but the fact that it felt like running away. Nutmeg was his home and had been since April. Cold and cramped though she was, he nevertheless loved her.
Half an hour later he was weaving his way through the Sunday Christmas traffic cursing the shoppers snaking their way into the city centre. He'd be glad when it was all over and they could get back to some semblance of normality, though in his job there was no normal.
He thought about his forthcoming interview with Sebastian Gilmore. Had he known Jennifer Horton? Both Rowland Gilmore and Tom Brundall had known his mother, so he wouldn't mind betting that Sebastian had also. But he'd given no indication of recognizing him or his name.
Horton dropped into the incident suite on the way to his office.
'Don't you ever go home?' he asked, finding Trueman hard at work.
'Like you, Andy, I just can't keep away from the place. Anyway the missus is going Christmas shopping, and I guessed this was the lesser of two evils.'
'Where's Superintendent Uckfield?'
'Said he'd be in later. His daughter's singing in a carol service at church.'
And that was about the only time you'd get Uckfield inside a church unless a crime had been committed or the chief constable was there, which Horton guessed he would be on this occasion to listen to his granddaughter.
'Has the Dean sent over those files on Anne Schofield and Rowland Gilmore?'
Trueman shook his head. Horton was irritated. He'd had long enough. 'Chase them up, will you?'
'On a Sunday! Won't the staff be in church?'
'I don't care where they are. I want those files.'
Collecting a tired-looking Cantelli, Horton headed for Gilmore's mansion.
'Sorry to drag you out on a Sunday and your day off,' Horton said, his bad temper abating and feeling a little guilty.
'It's OK. Charlotte's taking the children to see Dad this afternoon. He was asking after them yesterday. Hospital's no place for kids but I guess he should see them just in case…'
Horton knew what he was thinking. 'Look, you shoot off after we've seen Sebastian
Gilmore. No, I insist. I just wanted you to be with me when I interviewed him, that's all.'
Poor Cantelli looked too relieved to pick up on Horton's intonation, which if he had done he would have asked why Horton needed him. Why not DC Marsden or Walters? It was a sign that told Horton, Cantelli was very worried about his father's health and it made him feel even guiltier. But if anything were to emerge about his mother then Horton only wanted Cantelli to hear it.
Horton hadn't expected Gilmore to be working on a Sunday and he was proved right. After being admitted to the grounds Cantelli squeezed his Ford between Sebastian Gilmore's black Porsche Cayenne and Selina's Mercedes.
'We're the poor relations,' Cantelli said, climbing out. 'Dad should have taken up fishing when he first came to England instead of selling ice cream.'
As Horton pushed open a door that led into a small vestibule of the Georgian mansion, Selina Gilmore threw open an inner door and greeted them with a frown of irritation. She was wearing a very short, tight skirt, knee-high boots, a tight T-shirt and a good deal of make-up.
'What do you want?' she demanded curtly.
Horton repeated what Cantelli had already explained into the intercom at the gates. 'A word with your father, please.'
'Can't this wait until tomorrow?'
Horton remained silent. With a huff she swung round and obviously expected them to follow, which they did as she led them through a hall the size of a football pitch.
'This is like something out of The Bishop's Wife,' Cantelli said under his breath, but she heard him.
'What?' She swung round.
'The sergeant likes old movies,' Horton explained.
She glared at Cantelli as if he had a screw loose. Cantelli smiled then raised his eyebrows at Horton as soon as her back was turned.
She led them through a second door and into another hall. Horton thought the house was going to go on for ever, then she threw open a door to their left and ushered them into a gymnasium.
Curtly she said, 'I'll let my father know you're here.'
'Perhaps she thinks we need the exercise,' Cantelli said, gazing around with distaste. 'Looks like a modern torture chamber to me.'
Horton wondered why she had brought them here. In a house this size there must be other more suitable rooms for them to have waited in. OK, so the kitchen might be out of bounds if Sunday lunch was being prepared, ditto the dining room, but what about a sitting room or a study? They could even have waited in one of the two reception halls. Perhaps he was just being suspicious but he got the impression that Selina Gilmore didn't want them nosing round the house.
Horton crossed to a rowing machine as Cantelli tried an interconnecting door on the far side of the room. It was locked.
'Where do you reckon that leads to?' 'The swimming pool.' Horton jerked his head in the direction of the window to the left of the door that gave on to the carbuncle he'd seen from the gates on their first visit here.
'Very nice,' Cantelli said, gazing through it. 'Olympic size too. There's a lot of money here, Andy.'
Was it too much for one man to have made from a successful fishing business? 'Remind me to get his accounts checked out.'
Horton climbed off the rowing machine after a few easy pulls. Cantelli mooched around the room, sitting on the exercise bicycle and then standing on the running machine. He ended up on one of the benches but made no attempt to lift the weights.