'Did she scream?' asked Horton.
'She says she was too scared to cry out. The man shook her and let her go.'
'Did she give a description?'
'Sorry, no. I don't even know if it is true. She seemed so certain this morning, but now it's like it never happened and Mrs Northwood explained how she can get dates and times muddled up. I'm sorry for putting you and your officers to so much trouble,' he said sheepishly, rising.
'It's no trouble, sir.' And it wasn't. Horton was glad the son had called them, because he might never have bothered to find Irene Ebury, or if he had done then he might never have known about her missing belongings. He had a feeling that Mrs Northwood wouldn't have reported it. He asked Mr Kingsway if he'd known Irene.
'I'd met her a couple of times, but I didn't really know her. Thanks for taking me seriously anyway.' He stretched out a hand. Horton took it, noting its firmness.
Horton watched him head down the corridor, where he entered the lounge, presumably to say goodbye to his mother.
'Must be tough,' Cantelli said, shaking his head.
Horton knew he was thinking of his own mother, who had been widowed just before Christmas. Fortunately, from what Horton had seen of Mrs Cantelli senior, her mind was still firing on all cylinders.
'Make sure Seaton and Somerfield know what questions to ask.'
Cantelli went off to brief them, while Horton stepped into the damp, windy morning and called the mortuary.
'Have you performed an autopsy on Irene Ebury?' he asked when Dr Clayton came on the line. 'She died on New Year's Eve.'
'You must be kidding – we've got them piled up. What with the holiday and this vomiting bug, I don't expect we'll get around to her until next Christmas. Is it urgent?'
Horton didn't much relish the vision of corpses piled sky-high. 'Possible suspicious death...'
'Hold on, did you say Ebury?'
'Yes, why?'
'I've just had another Ebury brought in for an urgent PM. Any relation?'
'Don't know yet. You haven't told me who it is.' Horton suddenly felt very cold. There had to be several Eburys in Portsmouth, but he'd wager a million pounds on who this dead one was. 'Is it Peter Ebury?'
'Yes! How did you know?'
He pulled up the collar of his sailing jacket as an icy blast of fear wrapped itself round his heart.
'How did he die?' He hoped his voice sounded normal.
'That's what the post-mortem will tell me,' she said pointedly.
'What did the doctor say?' he rephrased.
'Respiratory failure.'
Brought on how? Mother and son dead within five days of each other – wasn't that strange? OK, so it might not be unique and perhaps Peter Ebury, wracked with guilt, had given up and died. Or perhaps he'd suffered from asthma and had had an attack. It was pointless for him to read too much into this. But he did.
'When will you have the results?'
'The autopsy's scheduled for tomorrow morning. It's the earliest I can do it.'
Damn. He noted her unusually defensive and slightly aggressive tone and thought that someone must have been getting at her. The prison authorities probably. They'd want this sorted out, and a verdict of death by natural causes, as quickly as possible.
'Was there any mention of suicide?'
'You mean he killed himself because he couldn't face the guilt of being in prison when his mother died? No, and he wasn't on suicide watch. I suppose you want me to do Irene Ebury's autopsy tomorrow too?'
'Please. Call me as soon as you've got the results on them both.'
Cantelli joined him in the car. 'Walters is on his way over.'
'Good. How's your claustrophobia?'
Cantelli raised an enquiring eyebrow. 'Mine's fine, how's yours?'
'You know me and closed-in spaces. But when duty calls...'
'We're going to prison.'
'Got it in one.'
THREE
G
eoff Welton was ill, Horton could see that instantly. The prison governor was a balding man in his mid-fifties with a gaunt face and an excess of ear and nostril hair. His suit hung off his scrawny body. And whilst he might have developed the sallow hue from having spent a lifetime working in prisons, the bags under his sunken eyes and the strain around his wide mouth told Horton a different story.
'What was Ebury like?' Horton asked. He'd told Welton that they were investigating some irregularities concerning Irene Ebury's death and had been surprised to learn that her son had now also died. He'd said nothing about Irene's missing belongings, and Cantelli had been dispatched to talk to Ken Staunton, Ebury's personal case officer.
On the way to the prison Cantelli had remembered the case and a quick phone call to the station had confirmed it by checking the computer. Peter Ebury had been convicted of an armed robbery carried out in 2001, when he'd been twenty-seven. That had been the year of Horton's promotion to inspector and a spell on secondment to Basingstoke, which was why he hadn't recalled the name.
Ebury had shot and killed a security guard called Arthur Buckland in a hold-up on an armoured van, which had just collected the weekend's takings from a superstore in Havant. Ebury and his accomplice Derrick Mayfield had been caught with the money on the A3 to London. Cantelli didn't remember Ebury's mother and Horton again said nothing about her connection with his own mother.
Welton said, 'Ebury was surly, arrogant, crude, bullying and manipulative. He never earned any privileges and was often in trouble.'
Clearly not a model prisoner then or one of Welton's favourites.
'Who was the last person to see Peter Ebury alive?' Horton asked.
'Ken Staunton. He was on duty on Ebury's wing. He unlocked the cell this morning and Ebury went about his usual routine before going to work in the kitchen. He was a cleaner. He returned to his cell at nine thirty a.m. when Staunton locked him in.
'When Colin Anston, my deputy, went to the cell half an hour later, he found Ebury dead. He never said he felt unwell.'
'Why was he locked in?'
Welton frowned and shifted a little uncomfortably. 'He attacked one of the men in the kitchen this morning; nothing came of it. He wasn't injured.'
'You had him medically examined?'
'Of course not,' Welton bristled. 'There was no physical sign of the attack on Ebury, or Ludlow, the other man. And the prison officers separated the two men before the fight even got started.'
'Do you know what it was about?'
'No. Neither man would say.'
Horton wondered if Ludlow would tell him. He doubted whether Welton would allow him to speak to the prisoner. Horton wasn't here in an official capacity to investigate Ebury's death. Ebury might not have been ill, but Welton was looking sicklier by the minute.
'Did Ebury have any visitors?'
'No.'
Peter Ebury had been too young to have known Jennifer Horton; he would only have been four when she disappeared. Yet his death and Irene's bugged Horton.
'Peter was very young to die of respiratory failure. Did he suffer from asthma?'
Horton could see the strain on Welton's face, but the man called up his reserves. 'A death in prison is always awkward, as you are no doubt aware, Inspector. Questions get asked. I shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but Ebury was an evil man and a troublemaker. I'm not that sorry to see the back of him.'
And, Horton thought, Welton looked ever keener to see the back of him. But Welton hadn't answered his question, which made Horton even more suspicious. 'Could I talk to Mr Anston?'
Welton hesitated. He seemed about to deny the request, then thought better of it. Or perhaps, Horton thought, he simply didn't have the energy to protest.
'I don't see how that will help you with your inquiries into Mrs Ebury's death, but, if you must, ask Richard to take you to Mr Anston's office.'
Dismissed, Horton found Richard, Welton's administration officer, in the outer office. As Richard led him down the corridor, Horton commented on Welton's health.
'I've told him to see the doctor,' Richard replied, with a worried look on his lean face, 'but he won't.'
'What's wrong with him?'
'Stress, I expect.'
It looked more than stress to Horton. He guessed a liver problem, judging by the man's colour. And would a sick governor have enough of a hold on a prison like this? Maybe, but Horton wondered nevertheless. He halted just outside Anston's office. 'Take a look at him when you return. Make sure he's all right.'
Richard nodded, knocked on the door and pushed it open after a loud and brisk, 'Come in.'
Horton found himself facing a broad, muscular man in his forties with bright, slightly protruding eyes, and a round cheerful face that Horton instinctively judged to be honest.
'Ebury was a nasty piece of work. He was cocky and clever too.' Colin Anston confirmed his governor's opinion after Horton explained why he was there. He waved Horton into a seat across his desk, which, despite its size, in the small grey office still didn't seem large enough to cope with all the paperwork piled on it. The amount matched that on Horton's desk this morning, which was probably now even deeper. Cantelli would have to write a report on their interview with the TV divers, unless Bliss expected him to waste time on it, given their status. He didn't know what he was going to write up about this investigation, but then maybe there wasn't one here, and Dr Clayton would find both mother and son had died from natural causes.
'What do you mean by clever?' Horton asked, trying not to hear the slamming doors and rattling keys. He couldn't prevent the tightening in his chest and the slightly nauseous feeling rising in his throat, which hinted at the beginnings of an attack of claustrophobia. He'd been fine in Welton's office, because it was situated far enough away from the everyday sounds of the prison, though the journey there had been rough. Not without difficulty he curbed his desire to spring up and walk about. Instead, he crossed his legs and for a moment let his mind dwell on the boat and the big wide open spaces of the Solent. He couldn't wait until Saturday and his holiday. He wrenched his mind back to what
Anston was saying.
'Ebury had a knack of getting straight to a person's weakness. I've seen him wheedle, cajole and manipulate his way into someone's confidence, only for him to turn it against that person and exploit it.'
'That include prison officers?'
''Fraid so, especially the rookies. I've had many a talk with prison officers who have rued the day they thought they were converting Ebury to the good and righteous path only to find they'd been tricked and he'd exploited their trust or betrayed a confidence. Ebury had a nasty streak right down his middle. You had to be firm with him. He'd test you to the limit.'
Interesting. So had Ebury recently got his claws into someone who had finally turned the table on him and killed him? But that wasn't possible with a locked cell door and a diagnosis of natural death, although Dr Clayton hadn't confirmed the latter yet. And it certainly didn't fit with Irene Ebury's death.
Nevertheless, Horton said, 'Was there anyone in particular?'
Anston eyed him suspiciously. 'Why do you ask?'
'Just curious,' Horton rejoined evenly.
Anston looked sceptical. 'Ebury just stopped breathing and died,' he said, correctly interpreting the reason behind Horton's question.
Horton nodded slowly. 'Mr Welton told me about the fight. Do you know what it was about?'
'No.'
'And you unlocked the cell when?' Horton already knew the time but it didn't do any harm to see if Welton and Anston were singing from the same hymn sheet.
'At ten a.m. Ebury was dead. I looked in on him at nine forty-five. He was lying on the bed. I thought he was asleep.'
'Why didn't Mr Staunton look in on Ebury? I understand he locked him in and he was on duty in that wing.'
'He had other duties to attend to. Like the police, Inspector, we are always short staffed and prisons are overcrowded. I was helping out.'
Horton could see that was the truth, but he thought he'd push it a bit further. 'Is there anyone else who might have had a key to that cell?'
Anston glared at him. Pulling himself up, he said sternly, 'Ebury died of natural causes. The post-mortem will confirm that.'
'I'm sure it will.' Horton smiled. 'Could I see his cell?'
'There's nothing in it. His belongings are here.' Anston pointed to a cardboard box. 'We're trying to trace his other relatives.'
Horton wasn't sure he had any. According to Mrs Northwood there were none. 'I'd still like to see his cell,' he insisted, holding Anston's stare, though not really relishing the task. Finally the prison officer capitulated. Clearly not pleased with the request, he showed Horton out, locking his office door behind him as he went.
As they made their way through several locked gates and along echoing corridors, Horton fought off the sickening and dizzying wave of claustrophobia by thinking through what he had learnt about Ebury. Clever, cocky and manipulative. He tried to equate this description with what he had been told about the Ebury who had shot and killed the security officer. Admittedly Ebury had been younger then and maybe more headstrong, but if he had been so clever and manipulative then why hadn't he committed a more sophisticated crime, rather than chasing the security van in a stolen car, holding it up and shooting the officer?
He said, 'Did Ebury ever talk about his crime?'
'We don't encourage that sort of thing in here. Besides sixty per cent of them will tell you they're innocent.'
Horton tried a smile despite his rapidly beating heart and sweating palms. He hoped he didn't look like Boris Karloff on a good day. 'No doubt fitted up by the police.'