Horton could hear Elms moving about. 'Hope he's not hiding anything in there.' Like something of Thea's. But why would Elms want to kidnap and kill Thea? No, he was miles off beam with that one.
He said, 'Did you get a search warrant for Scanaford House?' He'd forgotten to ask earlier. 'Yes. It should be through this afternoon along with the warrants for Danesbrook's house and Bella Westbury's cottage.'
Horton doubted they'd find anything though. Bella was too wily for that. This case was really getting to him now. He was sick of it and he was desperate to find Thea Carlsson.
Elms entered with a frown and a diary. 'I went to Scanaford House on the sixth of December.'
'You had an appointment there with Ms Sutton?' Cantelli asked.
'Yes. I'm researching for a new book––'
'Lost Ghosts of the Isle of Wight Part Two,' posed Cantelli.
Elms smiled. 'Something like that.'
Horton scoffed, 'The father who murdered his daughter and threw her body in the lake.'
'You know about it?' Elms said, surprised.
'I thought everyone did. Why the interest now?' Horton saw Elms start slightly at the sharpness of his tone.
'I don't know what you mean by now,' he said haughtily.
Horton laughed derisively. 'Oh, I think you do.' He held Elms' stare, saw him flush and look away.
Picking at a corner of the diary and avoiding eye contact, Elms said, 'Sir Christopher Sutton would never let me in or near the house.'
And I don't blame him, thought Horton. He wouldn't have let the likes of Elms within spitting distance of his boat.
Wriggling up his nose, Elms added, 'He said he didn't want it becoming a spectacle for all the . . . ghost hunters in the UK.'
And I bet he expressed his opinions more vehemently than that, thought Horton, seeing Elms' discomfort. 'So, why the change of heart?'
'His daughter must have persuaded him, and besides Sir Christopher was dying of cancer.'
Cantelli said, 'You knew that?'
'Not until I arrived.'
'But what sparked you to telephone Miss Sutton after having been refused a visit for so long?' asked Cantelli, bewildered.
'I read an article in the local newspaper about the public meeting on the wind farms. There was a photograph of Sir Christopher Sutton with a group of people and one of them was his daughter, Arina. I didn't even know he had a daughter until then, so I thought I'd try her. She might be more sympathetic to my needs. I telephoned the house. She answered. I explained that all I wanted to do was to see the lake and the house and, if permitted, take some photographs for my new book. She agreed and we made arrangements for me to call round on the sixth of December. She told me her father was termin ally ill and wasn't to be disturbed, but he must have got wind of me being there because he came on to the terrace; or rather I should say staggered. Miss Sutton was pointing out the lake to me.'
Elms fell silent. Horton could see by Elms' expression that something had happened there and it had been rather unpleasant. He hoped it didn't have anything to do with ghosts. He prompted, 'And?'
Elms shifted. 'He went white, and I mean white. He couldn't speak. He just stared at me as if he'd––'
'Seen a ghost, sir?' suggested Cantelli.
'Well, yes, since you put it like that. He looked as though he was about to collapse when Miss Sutton rushed to his side and so did I. We got him into the house and on to the sofa. I left immediately. I could see that Miss Sutton was extremely worried and upset. And now the poor woman herself is dead.' He sighed, a little theatrically Horton thought.
He left a short pause before asking, 'Did Sir Christopher say anything?'
'No.'
'And Miss Sutton?'
'Just that she would call me. She didn't, of course, and then I read about her father's death.'
'You didn't attend their funerals.'
'I didn't want to intrude on the family's grief. And I didn't really know them.'
It was said genuinely enough but Horton wondered why he hadn't. It would have afforded him the perfect opportunity to nose around the gardens and the house, something he, by his own admission, had yearned to do.
'Did Miss Sutton call the housekeeper, Miss Bella Westbury, to help with Sir Christopher?'
'No.'
'Did you see her there?'
'Can't say I did. I didn't know he had a housekeeper, though I'm not surprised considering the size of the place. Do you know what will happen to it now? I wonder if the new owners would let me have a look around the place. Or perhaps I could call there before it's sold. That way I won't inconvenience anyone.'
Cantelli said, 'You'll have to talk to the solicitor, or perhaps Mr Danesbrook will tell you.'
'Who's he?'
Horton studied Elms' expression. He didn't appear to be bluffing.
'A friend of Sir Christopher's,' Cantelli added, as Horton rose.
'Thank you, Sergeant, I will.'
On the threshold Horton said, 'Do you know Jonathan Anmore?'
'No. Should I?'
'Did Thea Carlsson say anything to you, or ask you about a girl.'
'What girl?'
Horton thanked him.
'Was he telling the truth?' Cantelli asked as they pulled away.
'About his visit to Scanaford House or not knowing anyone connected with this case except for the Suttons and Thea?' Horton sighed. 'Probably. But I want a copy of that newspaper article he mentioned, just to make sure he really did see it.'
TWENTY
While Cantelli stopped off at the newspaper office, Horton rang directory enquiries and asked to be connected to Northover School. A woman answered. He had wanted her to sound unfriendly so he could have good cause to dislike the school from the start, but she wasn't.
After he'd introduced himself as a prospective parent he was whizzed through to the head teacher faster than a Japanese bullet train. He made an appointment to view the school in a week's time. That would give him a chance to conduct some research when he returned to his office. He learnt that the earliest his daughter could start there would be at the beginning of the new term, after Easter.
Cantelli climbed in and handed Horton a photocopy of the press cutting. 'Elms' story checks out with this at least,' he said.
Horton saw the group just as Elms had described it. It was the first time he'd seen Sir Christopher Sutton, who was hollow-cheeked with illness but still a commanding presence with his piercing eyes and slightly superior smile. Beside him was an attractive woman with mid-length dark hair and a shy smile: Arina Sutton, and next to her Horton couldn't mistake Owen Carlsson and Bella Westbury.
Cantelli added, 'Trueman phoned while I was waiting for the photocopy. He's got the crime report on the Carlssons' break-in. It confirms that Helen Carlsson reported her smashed camera.'
'Was that all that was wrecked?'
'It's all that's mentioned in the report.'
Cantelli swung the car around and headed back to the station. Horton said, 'Why didn't they steal her camera and sell it? And why did Helen leave the camera in the house? Surely a professional photographer always takes her camera with her.'
'Perhaps she was going somewhere she couldn't take it, or didn't want to,' Cantelli replied.
'Even if she was going out to eat why not lock it in the boot of the car?'
'She could have had more than one camera.'
Horton threw Cantelli a glance. He'd hit on something there. 'You could be right. If she and Lars Carlsson were killed then it could be because the killer discovered that Helen Carlsson had another camera in her car, and there was something on that film that he didn't want developed, which means we're looking for someone who Helen unknowingly photographed here on the island in 1990.'
'Bella Westbury?'
Horton considered it. 'Possible. I don't for a moment believe all that stuff about nursing a sick husband.' Then he frowned, puzzled. 'But why didn't she take or destroy that photograph of herself in Northern Ireland
?'
'Because she didn't break into Thea's apartment but got lover-boy to do it for her and he cocked up.'
Horton cheered up at that. 'Danesbrook probably wouldn't have recognized her in that photograph. Though Trueman can't find any record of either of them travelling to Luxembourg.'
'Danesbrook probably used a false ID. Fixing something like that would have been child's play to Bella Westbury.'
Cantelli was right and that posed a problem. Gloomily, Horton said, 'If it is Bella Westbury then I doubt we'll ever be able to confirm what she was doing here in 1990; it'll be hushed up.'
He fell silent, seeing the case slip through their fingers. Europol would be called in, which would make Uckfield livid. Horton would be too. And he doubted Europol would get any further forward than them. Slowly and quietly the case would be sidelined and Thea Carlsson would remain 'missing', just like his mother, until her body turned up somewhere – if it ever did.
Cantelli said, 'Maybe Owen discovered who his mother photographed. It would explain why he was killed. But not Jonathan Anmore.'
'Anmore's death could still be unconnected with the others. If only we could find out where Helen Carlsson went and what she did while on holiday here, unless . . .' Horton swivelled his gaze to Cantelli. He wondered. 'Barney, what do you do when you're on holiday?'
Cantelli flashed him a glance before putting his eyes back on the road. 'Eat too much, drink too much and––'
'Apart from that,' Horton said impatiently. 'You're away in sunny Italy, or in Blackpool, and you want to tell your sister you're having a great time––'
'I'd text her,' Cantelli said with a grin. Horton knew he was being deliberately obtuse. He'd got the point all right.
'In 1990?'
'Yeah, I know. How on earth did we manage? I'd send a postcard,' Cantelli grinned.
'Precisely. And Helen could have sent a postcard to her son and daughter; here we are having a great time at The Needles type of thing.'
'So what if she did? That doesn't tell us anything. And Owen was at Southampton University so she'd hardly send a postcard to him when he was just across the Solent.'
Cantelli was right. The postcard idea was crap. But Cantelli had sparked another idea. He said, 'Owen could have travelled here to see his parents, or even to stay with them.'
'And? I don't get what you're driving at, Andy.'
'Nether do I,' Horton said, deflated, but for a moment he felt there was something there. Something his subconscious had caught but which had slipped away. He tried again. 'Let's say Owen was told about the break-in by one of his parents. He comes rushing over here after it had happened to console them.'
'I doubt a twenty-year-old student would have given it a second thought.'
'OK,' Horton grudgingly admitted. 'But his parents didn't live in England and they were practically on his doorstep. Even if he didn't come because of the break-in he wouldn't have missed the opportunity of seeing them.'
'Maybe not. But the Carlssons could have visited their son on their way here, in Southampton. You're not thinking he could have something to do with their death?' Cantelli said, clearly bothered by the thought.
Horton hadn't but now that Cantelli had mentioned it he said, 'Children have killed their parents.' The thoughts tumbled their way through his mind like leaves in a hurricane and he didn't much like where they were taking him.
Cantelli said, 'Why would Owen do that?'
After a moment Horton answered. 'Money. Perhaps Owen was in debt and saw an easy way out. Or perhaps he's mentally disturbed.' The picture of Owen's house flashed before Horton's eyes, the neatness of the place except for that chaotic study. Did that portray a personality in conflict? He said, 'We don't know enough about Owen Carlsson. In fact we know nothing.' But that wasn't true. He recalled what Peter Bohman had said about Owen. Owen had never asked Bohman about his parents' death or had seemed worried or curious about it. He said it was the past, best to forget it. He was like his father, focussed on the present. Maybe he'd never asked because he already knew what had happened.
He said as much to Cantelli.
'If Owen did have a hand in his parents' death and Thea found out then she––'
'Could have killed him, or arranged to have him killed, yes.' Horton's heart sank. He knew it was highly probable given Bohman's information about Thea's disturbed background. And that was one more feather of doubt fluttering down on the scales against her. He much preferred Bella Westbury and Danesbrook as their killers.
Quietly Cantelli said, 'So we could be back to thinking Thea got Anmore to kill Owen and then she killed Anmore.'
Horton gazed up at the black-clouded sky through the windscreen, not wishing to examine his feelings. This was looking bad. If Thea had sought revenge on her brother, then where was she now? How had she known about Owen's part in his parents' deaths, if he had killed them? Had he finally told her? Horton recalled what Strasser of the Luxembourg police had said about Thea being distracted on her return to work in the New Year. And who had ransacked her apartment? Had she done that herself to make it look as though an outside force was at work? Did it mean Arina Sutton's death was an accident? Why had Owen visited Dr Nelson?
There was an answer to that last question at least. Nelson could have been Owen's GP in Southampton, and all that stuff he'd spun Horton was a lie. They needed more information on Nelson's background, and they needed to dig deeper into Owen's past employment record, university career and medical background.
Depression settled on Horton and stayed there while he briefed Uckfield. He could tell instantly that Uckfield warmed to the idea of Owen being involved in his parents' death and Thea's subsequent quest for revenge.
Uckfield sat forward but a cry of pain stalled his further comments.
'Back still giving you jip?' asked Horton.
'Yes, and so are you,' Uckfield gasped. 'I've already asked to see Thea Carlsson's medical records, which after what you've just told me sounds like a smart move. I'll request her brother's. Even if Owen Carlsson didn't kill his parents then Thea could still blame him for neglecting her after their parents' death. That architect man in Sweden, Bohman, said as much.'
'She's had a long time to think about getting even,' Horton growled.
'Yeah, and maybe hearing her brother singing Arina Sutton's praises over Christmas and New Year really got up her nose. Then, seeing how upset he was following her death, Thea feels rejected once again when he won't let her comfort him. Especially when she's come home to take care of him.'
Despite not wanting to believe it, Horton knew that it sounded plausible.
Uckfield said, 'DCI Birch is looking for a past connection between Anmore and Thea Carlsson.' Uckfield held up his hand to staunch Horton's reply and winced as he did so. 'It's possible that Owen told Thea at Christmas that he was planning to marry or live with Arina Sutton, which was why he went to Luxembourg on his own leaving his newly bereaved girlfriend in that big house. When Thea Carlsson came here to stay with her brother over New Year she could have met up with Jonathan Anmore while visiting Scanaford House with Owen. If we can establish a link between Thea Carlsson and Anmore then it's possible that she could have arranged for Anmore to kill Arina in the place her parents died––'
'Why would she do that?'
'Because she's sick. She's got a warped mind. Then she rushes home to comfort her brother.'
'That's a bloody big if.' But even as he said it, Horton knew he had been thinking the same and had said as much to Cantelli earlier.
Uckfield continued, 'Anmore kills Owen after Owen rejects Thea. Then Anmore and Thea Carlsson arrange that neat little performance at the Duver that you happened to stumble upon.'
Horton didn't like this one little bit. In fact he hated it and judging by Uckfield's expression he had been considering this for some time.
Eagerly Uckfield went on. 'Anmore tries to kill Thea Carlsson by setting fire to the house because he's scared she'd confess. Then Thea gets out of
the hospital, finds Anmore and plunges a pitchfork in his back.'
'So where the hell is she?'
'That's what I want you to bloody well find out.'
Dismissed, Horton headed for the canteen tormented by the knowledge that the woman he had thrown from that burning house could have killed her own brother and Jonathan Anmore.
'Any news on Anmore's boat?' he asked grumpily, sitting between Cantelli and Trueman.
'It hasn't been in the sea for some months,' replied Trueman, shovelling fish and chips into his
mouth as though he'd not eaten for days. 'So he couldn't have been meeting gun runners or drug dealers.'
Blood on the Sand Page 20
