had organized the bogus calls between them, perhaps they thought it sounded more dramatic that way.
'This time the caller said, "You'll pay for what you've done."'
'Have you any idea what he meant by that?' Horton didn't really expect a sensible or an honest answer, and he didn't get one.
'If I had, I would tell you,' Jackson snapped.
I bet you wouldn't, Horton decided, wondering what Jackson had done to upset someone if these calls were genuine. He still had his doubts about that.
'It's just some weirdo,' Jackson added, echoing Cantelli's words earlier.
'You get them, Inspector,' Farnsworth intervened. 'Especially when you're famous.'
Hardly that, thought Horton, looking at Farnsworth to check he wasn't kidding. No, the man was deadly earnest.
He swivelled his eyes back to the scowling Jackson. 'Can you describe the voice?'
'I've already told you. It was a man.'
'Was there any accent?' Cantelli interceded.
Jackson frowned. 'No.'
'Posh voice or common?' pressed Cantelli, his pencil poised over his notebook.
'For heaven's sake, I've no idea.'
'Young or old?'
'Voices can be deceptive when heard on the telephone, Sergeant,' Farnsworth said pleasantly.
Horton bristled at his tone, or rather at the patronizing smile that went with it, but Cantelli simply nodded as though he'd just learnt something. Horton knew he was playing dumb cop. Cantelli was looking thinner than before his Christmas leave, Horton thought, and his dark eyes were sunk just a little deeper in his gaunt face. A shadow seemed to have fallen on his usually cheerful countenance and Horton knew the reason for it. On Thursday his father's funeral was being held.
'Sometimes you can get an impression, sir,' Cantelli said.
'Young rather than old then,' Jackson capitulated with exasperation. 'I mean his voice didn't quaver like some old people's do.'
Cantelli seemed to take a long time writing this down in his notebook, which Horton knew was a deliberate ploy. He noted Jackson's impatience and Farnsworth's disdain.
Horton asked, 'Who knows you're staying in the hotel?'
It was Corinna who answered. 'No one except us. I made the reservations myself.'
'What about family, friends, business acquaintances?'
'Oh, yes, sorry. I didn't think you meant them. It can't be anyone we know.'
'Perhaps you could give Sergeant Cantelli a list of names.'
Jackson exhaled noisily. 'It's a waste of time.'
'If you wouldn't mind, sir,' Horton said firmly, eyeing Jackson coldly. The man flushed angrily, but he pressed his lips together tightly. To Horton he seemed a man with a short fuse. 'Has anyone threatened you in the past?'
'Look, I'm sure you've got far more important crimes to solve than bothering with this.' He scraped back his chair, preparatory to rising, but neither Horton nor Cantelli moved.
'The call was on the hotel phone not your mobile?' Horton enquired.
'Yes.'
'Then it must have come through the switchboard. We'll check it out and ask them to screen all further calls to your room.' Now, Horton rose and gathered up his jacket. 'How long will you be in Portsmouth, Ms Denton?'
'Until Saturday.'
'You'll let me know if there are any further calls, Mr Jackson?' Horton extracted a business card and handed it over. 'Or if anything unusual happens?'
'If I must.' Jackson looked pointedly at his watch. 'Now, I've got a meeting for which I'm already late. I'll see you later, Nick.'
Why did Horton get the feeling it sounded more like a threat than a friendly farewell?
Farnsworth addressed Horton. 'He's not usually that grumpy. These calls have unnerved him more than he wants to let on. You did the right thing by calling the police, Corinna, but as I said, Inspector, it's probably just some nutcase.'
Farnsworth now also glanced at his watch. Horton noted that it, like his clothes, came with a designer label and an expensive price tag, whereas Jackson's had been of the High Street chain-store variety.
'Time we were making a move, Corinna,' Farnsworth announced, pushing back his chair. 'Aren't we meeting the dive boat owner?'
She scrambled up, grappling for her phone in the depths of her capacious handbag. 'I'll call them to tell them we're on our way. Where the devil is Jason?' She was punching a number into her mobile as they left the restaurant.
Horton's gaze followed them. He was even more convinced it was a publicity stunt, but he said, 'I'll check with the hotel staff, just to show willing. Get a list of the people who know they're staying here, Barney.'
The duty manager confirmed that no calls had been put through to Mr Jackson's room at any of the times mentioned and there were no telephones available in the public areas that could connect directly to