The Suffocating Sea

'No, Inspector, he was a foolish man.'

The bitterness of her reply took him back and at the same time intrigued him. He was confident though he betrayed nothing of his feelings and was assured of this when she continued in the same crisp tone.

'The rescue helicopter would have reached the other man. Warwick should have waited, but he always was impulsive.' She frowned and glanced at her computer screen as the telltale pinging of an e-mail message popped into her in-box. She quickly fiddled with her mouse. He got the impression that she was trying to convey he was interrupting her in something far more important than her brother's death, but he saw beyond the facade. In front of him was a sad, lonely woman whose only solace he suspected was her work.

'I won't keep you long,' he said. 'I just need some background. It helps in cases like this.' He smiled reassuringly, though he needn't have bothered; Janice Hassingham had become immune to charm and perhaps even to kindness. 'Do you recall Tom Brundall and Rowland Gilmore?'

'Of course I do.' She spoke curtly yet her eyes betrayed her. So that was it! Which of them had she been in love with, Horton wondered.

'Tell me about them.' He crossed his legs and settled back in his chair as if he had all day to chat. For a moment he glimpsed irritation before sadness touched her face and he could see that the opportunity to talk about a past love was too great to let pass.

'Tom was quite a bit older than me. I was twenty when Warwick died, Tom was thirty five. He was a quiet man and very clever.' So it was Brundall she had hankered after, but had her passion been reciprocated? Perhaps not. Or had they been lovers and Brundall had ditched her when he'd taken off? 'Rowley was the youngest of the four. He was three years younger than Sebastian and twenty-four when Warwick died.'

'You've got a good memory for figures.'

'I should have. I'm the company accountant.'

He smiled but she didn't return the gesture, not because she was hostile, he thought, but because she was cautious. It was as though she had to hold herself in for fear of saying something that might show her true feelings.

'Rowley was also quiet but in a reserved way, not like Tom, who was so knowledgeable, yet he never bragged about it. He had a great head for figures. I remember him once-' But she stopped as though she was about to confess something important.

'Yes?'

'He was very good at forecasting the stock market.'

That wasn't what she had been about to say, but he let it go.

She added, 'I understand he made a lot of money after leaving the fishing industry. I'm not surprised.'

And maybe she glimpsed a life that she had missed out on. Did she blame her brother for that? He guessed so.

'And Warwick, what was he like?' Horton prompted, watching her carefully. A shadow crossed her face.

'Mad, is how I think most people would describe him. But Warwick was never one for doing the safe thing. Even as a child he used to worry our poor mum half to death with his antics. He was always getting into scrapes. Oh, nothing against the law, he just liked adventure — jumping off the end of the pier and risking his life, that kind of thing. But Warwick always got away with it. It was quite in character for him to try and rescue that man in the middle of a storm. It would never have crossed his mind that he might be swept overboard and drowned.'

She spoke with bitterness and not sadness. Oh, yes, Warwick had cocked up her life, or at least that was how she saw it. And if he was that daring, then maybe he was into smuggling drugs, with the others. What had Janice said? 'He always got away with it.' On 15 August 1977 he hadn't. Horton left a moment's pause before asking, 'How did the others take his death?'

She scowled at her papers, glanced fleetingly at him and away again before saying, 'They were devastated, of course. It took Sebastian days to get Rowley back on the boat, and even Tom didn't seem to have the heart for fishing anymore. He became very withdrawn. I think that was when Rowley first got religious, though the deaths of his daughter and wife were the final blow.'

'How do you know about that?'

Her head came up and she looked directly at him. 'Sebastian told me. I suppose religion gave Rowley some kind of crutch. My mother turned to spiritualism, for all the good it did her. She died within a year of Warwick's death. Our father was already dead. It was just before my twenty-first birthday when Warwick died. Not much to celebrate, Inspector.'

He could see how much she resented her brother's death, and guessed that over the years she had come to blame it (and him) for all her misfortunes. That resentment had spawned bitterness, which had burrowed inside her and taken root so that it had become her crutch.

'How long have you worked for Sebastian Gilmore?'

'Twenty-seven years. He gave me a job as soon as I qualified as an accountant and I've been here ever since.'

'You like it?'

'Sebastian has been very good to me, and with the expansion of his business I've gained promotion. Yes, I like it.'

'Do you recall the man they rescued: Peter Croxton?'

'Not really. He didn't come to the funeral.'

That more or less confirmed what Sebastian had said. So why hadn't Croxton attended the funeral of the man who had risked his life for him, and been killed as a result? There seemed only one explanation to Horton and that was he couldn't afford to be seen in public and with that fishing crew.

There seemed little more Janice could tell him about Warwick's death but there was something else that he needed to explore.

'Did your brother have any girlfriends?'

'A stream of them. They were attracted to him like flies round a dung heap.'

Interesting analogy. People usually said bees round a honey pot. Was that how she saw her brother: he was nothing but a pile of shit and the women ugly flies? Jealousy, bitterness and hatred had eaten away at this woman and looked as if they were still gnawing at her.

'Was there any particular girlfriend at the time of the tragedy?' He could feel his heart racing as he asked the question, and waited for her answer.

'Why do you want to know?' she asked sharply.

'Just routine,' he replied blandly.

She peered at him for a moment longer then, shrugging her shoulders said, 'There was one, a blonde woman; she was just a bit older than me. I don't know what happened to her.'

He felt a quickening of his heartbeat as he asked, 'Can you remember her name?'

'No. There were so many of them.'

He tried to curb his disappointment. 'Have you got a photograph of your brother?'

'No. I destroyed them all after Mum died. His death killed her and I couldn't bear to look at them.'

Pity. There had to be a picture of Warwick Hassingham somewhere and Horton had an idea of where he might find one.

He left her to her e-mails and her files, and on his way out asked both the security man at reception and the one at the gate if they recalled seeing Sebastian Gilmore on Friday night. Both confirmed that Mr Gilmore had left the premises at eight thirty. So that put him in the clear for Anne Schofield's murder. When Horton suggested that seemed very late, both said it was nothing unusual for the boss to be there half the night, or all of it if he expected the fishing fleet. Interesting. Was he waiting for something special to be delivered over and above fish? Or was Horton just hoping?

He made for the library, where he asked to examine the microfiche records of the local newspaper. He felt certain they would have covered the tragedy at sea. He had just settled down to scroll through them when his mobile phone rang. He was tempted to ignore the call but recognized the number as that of his solicitor. His chest went tight as he answered it.