'Any idea of his age?'
'From the pattern of the fusion of bone ends I would say he was about mid to late thirties when he died.'
Horton was disappointed. If he'd been killed in 1995, after Gutner had looked in the air-raid shelter, and if it were Peter Croxton, then that would make him about seventeen or eighteen at the time of the tragedy at sea. It was a bit on the young side to be involved in a complex drug smuggling operation as he had theorized, and who would have hired a motorboat to such a young man in 1977? It was still possible but it was looking more doubtful. There had been no age mentioned on the incident report. Sebastian might be able to give him some idea of the age of the rescued man, but would he tell the truth?
Gaye continued, 'I've taken pictures of the jaw and teeth and DNA survives in the bones for many years so we'll be able to compare this with family members for closer identification.'
'If we can find any relatives. Do you know how he died?'
'Now that's where we are lucky.' Gaye turned over the skull. 'See here.' She pointed to a large indentation and handed Horton a magnifier. 'Tell me what you see.'
Horton peered closely at the cranium. 'There's a long thin crack running from the dent.' He looked up. 'Someone hit him?'
'I would say so.'
'I suppose it's impossible for you to say if he was killed then moved.'
'Sorry.'
'So we're looking for a missing person, male, mid to late thirties, five feet eleven inches tall, Caucasian, who was reported missing any time from 1998 to about 2003.'
'That's about it. If he was reported missing. Perhaps nobody noticed.'
Her words made him think of his mother. Someone had noticed but how hard had anyone tried to find her?
Gaye said, 'The skull can be scanned into computer and "fleshed" out to give you likely facial appearance. I'm getting on to that now, but we have no indication of his eye or hair colour. And the lip shape and size are also independent of the bony structure. It's a start, though. I'll let you have the lab results as soon as possible.'
Horton didn't like to think how many men in their mid thirties were listed as missing between 1998 and 2003 but they'd check anyway. He told her about Cantelli's father. She shook her head sadly.
'Would you let me know when the funeral is?' she said.
'Of course.' He was surprised that she thought about going but also pleased that he would see her there.
On arriving at the station he made straight for the incident room where DC Marsden announced that Sebastian Gilmore's alibi for the night Rowland Gilmore and Tom Brundall had died had been confirmed. He had been at Tri Fare. Horton cursed. But he didn't give up all hope of pinning the murders on him. Like he had said to Uckfield, Gilmore could have hired someone to do his killing.
Horton could see Dennings in his office next to Uckfield's with his phone clamped to his ear. Uckfield wasn't around.
Horton pulled up a chair and spent some time scrutinizing the coroner's report on Teresa Gilmore's death. It confirmed what they already knew. Her clothes were found at the foot of the cliffs on the beach at Rhossili Bay on the Gower Peninsula in Wales, along with a note addressed to her husband. A walker on Rhossili Down had spotted the clothes and seen a woman in the sea. He had immediately alerted the rescue services, but by the time they reached her she was gone. What remained of her body was washed up two weeks later. The verdict was that she took her own life whilst the balance of her mind was disturbed.
He asked Marsden to take over Cantelli's task of looking into any possible connection between Rowland Gilmore and Anne Schofield, pleased to see that the files from the Dean's office had finally arrived, and was about to leave for his office when Trueman called him back.
'Andy, I might have something for you. Peters rang the coroner to ask for the report on Hassingham's death and managed to get some information over the telephone. There's a sister.'
Now, why hadn't Sebastian mentioned her? Maybe she was dead? But Trueman had said is. So perhaps she had emigrated, or was living in Scotland, and Sebastian hadn't thought it worthwhile bringing her up. Horton swiftly recalled the interview with Gilmore. Gilmore had interrupted him when he had expressed his surprise at Hassingham being buried at sea. 'His mother's wishes,' Gilmore had said, not his family's. And Mrs Hassingham had died eight months after the tragedy. Because of that Horton hadn't probed to find out if there was anyone else. He should have asked, though he didn't think she would be able to add anything to the case.
'Do you have an address?' he asked, not very hopeful.
'Not yet, but I know where you can find her.'
Something in Trueman's tone alerted Horton. Narrowing his eyes he peered at the sergeant. 'Where?'
'You asked me to do a company search on Gilmore before the economic crime unit took it over. A copy of his latest accounts are on their way to us, but I got a summary of them online. They all look perfectly above aboard…'
'And?' Horton asked impatiently, waiting for the punch line and thinking this had better be good.
'Janice Hassingham works for Sebastian Gilmore. She's his financial director.'
Was she indeed! That was twice Sebastian Gilmore had kept silent about the Hassingham connection: why? Horton was deeply interested, very curious and highly suspicious. And he guessed it was time to find out why Sebastian hadn't thought to mention her in their earlier interview.
Nineteen
Monday: 4.45 P.M.
'Why this interest in Warwick, Inspector?' Janice Hassingham eyed him warily, as she nodded him into the seat opposite her untidy desk piled high with files and paper. 'My brother's been dead for thirty years.'
She wasn't what Horton had expected. Instead of being slim, smart and businesslike she was a short, shapeless, middle-aged woman in dull unfashionable clothes. Her straight, cropped grey hair accentuated the determined cast of her coarse-featured face and was marked with the scars of teenage acne and the lines of late middle age.
Her rather small office was crammed with box files and grey, dented filing cabinets — the kind that could be bought cheap from any ex-government surplus auction — and it overlooked the harbour. Beyond her he could see the cranes reaching over the quayside, and from the open window came the bleeping of a forklift truck below.
Sebastian Gilmore wasn't there and Horton was rather glad about that. He didn't want to explain why he had come to see Janice Hassingham, not until he had some more information. And he wanted to delay the moment when Sebastian realized he'd not been roasted alive. The security man at the reception desk had told Horton that Sebastian was at a conference in London with the Department of the Environment, Fishery and Rural Affairs. Horton had great difficulty envisaging Sebastian Gilmore stuck in an air conditioned hotel conference room sipping mineral water and listening to officials waffle on about quotas.
Selina's Mercedes wasn't in the car park either; the security man said she was at a meeting and wasn't expected back until the afternoon. So that left him with a clear field.
Watching Janice Hassingham closely, he said, 'You may have heard about the death of a man at Horsea Marina, Tom Brundall.' He noticed a slight reaction, which she covered by shifting some papers on her desk. Was it nerves or did that gesture hide some deeper emotion, he wondered. 'And, of course, the Reverend Rowland Gilmore's death, Sebastian's brother…'
Her eyes flashed up at him and quickly away again. 'You're interested because at one time they all worked together.'
'Yes.' For a moment he thought there was something vaguely familiar about her. He couldn't say what it was or why but he had the impression that he knew her from somewhere. 'I've read the report on your brother's accident. He was a brave man.'