Free Death Lies Beneath by Pauline Rowson Page B

about his associates?’
    ‘There’s no record or mention of boats, but it’s possible one or more of them could have one.’ She studied the area. ‘It must have been very dark waiting here. There are no street lights or security lights. I suppose she could have left her car lights on, which could have guided the boat in.’
    It was a good point. And there was no one in this isolated position to have seen that, therefore making it an ideal location for a rendezvous. ‘She could have had a powerful torch, which she kept in her car, and that’s in the sea along with her handbag.’ If it was he hoped the divers would find it. After a moment he added, ‘I wish we had a name for her.’
    ‘I’ve been thinking about that. Salacia.’
    ‘What?’ He threw her a glance.
    ‘It’s the Roman name for the goddess of salt water.’
    ‘Seems very apt.’
    ‘Salacia was the wife and queen of Neptune, god of the sea. She was beautiful and crowned with seaweed.’
    ‘Spot on,’ Horton said, recalling the victim when alive and when her body had been lifted from the sea, covered with seaweed, dirt and sea creatures.
    ‘She bore Neptune three children.’
    Horton recalled what Dr Clayton had said, that Salacia had certainly borne one child, so where was that son or daughter? Why hadn’t he or she reported their mother missing? Why hadn’t anyone? He said as much as Eames started the car and headed towards the outer cordon.
    ‘Perhaps the child has died, or she gave it up for adoption,’ she answered. ‘Or perhaps it’s living abroad and not in regular contact with its mother. There’s no record of Marty Stapleton having a child, legitimate or otherwise.’
    ‘Doesn’t mean to say he hasn’t any, though. Have you traced all his girlfriends?’
    ‘I doubt it. He was married once. She died in a car accident in 1996.’
    ‘Convenient.’
    ‘Yes.’
    A car passed them heading for the boatyard. Horton recognized it instantly. ‘Quick, turn round. That’s Cliff Wesley.’
    Eames expertly swung the vehicle around and they drew up alongside Wesley at the outer cordon where PC Allen had stopped him. Through the open passenger window Horton addressed the dishevelled dark-haired man.
    ‘We’ve been trying to get hold of you all day, Mr Wesley; is there something wrong with your phone?’
    ‘Not my phone, my editor.’ He looked hot and harassed. ‘He’s had me dashing about from job to job like a blue-arsed fly. If the newspaper put its hands deeper in its pockets and employed a couple more press photographers I might not have to re-do jobs that the so-called professional freelancers they engage cock up, which is why I’ve had to return here after all the fun is over,’ he grumbled.
    ‘I’d hardly call it that,’ Horton said acerbically.
    ‘Perhaps I could get a shot of the police divers.’ Wesley jerked his head in the direction of the quay.
    ‘Unlikely. A moment of your time, sir.’ It wasn’t a question. Horton climbed out and indicated he expected Wesley to do the same.
    With a weary sigh he obliged. Eames followed suit.
    ‘What do you know about this woman?’ Horton nodded at Eames, who showed Wesley the photograph of Salacia.
    ‘Leanne told me about her. She was at Woodley’s funeral.’
    ‘Did you see her talk to any of Woodley’s mourners?’
    ‘Not while I was photographing them. And I didn’t take any pictures of her either. My life might be a lot easier if I had done,’ he complained, taking a packet of cigarettes from the top pocket of his short-sleeved white shirt. ‘If I’d have known she was going to get herself killed I’d have ignored Woodley’s sycophantic lot and concentrated on the poor cow.’ He removed a cigarette and offered the packet to Horton, who shook his head. Eames did likewise.
    ‘Did you see her arrive?’
    ‘Not exactly.’ He lit up and exhaled.
    Horton wondered what the hell that meant. Before he could ask, Wesley continued. ‘Superintendent Uckfield and his