Blood on the Sand

by Pauline Rowson

  Cantelli asked the question that was on Horton's lips.

  'But you must have heard the appeal on the radio and television.'

  'I don't have a television or a radio. The news depresses me, so I decided a long time ago to stop listening to it. Please, you must believe me, I had no idea she was missing. I simply dropped her off– –'

  'Where?' rapped Horton, making Elms jump.

  'Yarmouth.'

  Horton opened his mouth to call him a lying little shit when he saw it could be true. Apart from the fact that Thea could have been visiting the place her parents had stayed she could have been intending to leave the island from there. Did she have a boat? Or perhaps someone had collected her by boat. Maybe she'd bought a ferry ticket by cash as a foot passenger, though the ticket office staff hadn't recognized her when one of Birch's offices had visited them to ask. But perhaps she'd managed to disguise herself, or the staff simply weren't observant. Horton wondered where she had got her money from with no credit or debit card and everything in the house destroyed. He also wondered if she could have been planning her escape while in the hospital. If that was so then there was only one reason why she should: Thea Carlsson must have killed her brother. But why go to Yarmouth when Jonathan Anmore's barn was in the opposite direction and several miles away? Then he recalled what Trueman had said – Anmore's last call on the Thursday of his death had been to a Mrs Best in Yarmouth. His shoulders sagged with the realization of what that meant. But still he clung on to the hope that Elms might be their killer.

  He said, 'We'll need you to come with us to make a statement.'

  'I will, but please tell me why you could even think I could have killed these people.'

  'Revenge,' answered Cantelli.

  'For what?' His eyes widened, his brow puckered.

  Horton answered, 'For not being acknowledged by your father and sister. For being ignored for years. For what your father did to your mother. You discovered who your father was, but he rejected you again at Scanaford House that day you visited there and so too did your sister. So you decided to get even. You deliberately ran over Arina Sutton. But Owen Carlsson saw you so he also had to die. You enlisted the help of Jonathan Anmore, who could have witnessed your little scene at Scanaford House while he was there as gardener, and you got him to dispose of the body and to frame his sister, Thea Carlsson. Offering him money. Then you killed Anmore and abducted and killed Thea Carlsson.'

  Elms looked deeply confused. 'I've no idea what you're talking about.' He appealed to Cantelli, whose gaze remained impassive. Elms' protruding eyes swivelled to Horton. 'You're saying that Miss Sutton was my sister and that Sir Christopher was my . . .' His voice faltered. He staggered back, pale and shaking, and sat down heavily.

  Horton could see that Elms genuinely hadn't known. And although Elms could be the best actor since James Stewart, in his heart Horton knew that he was no killer, just a man who had finally discovered his past. The lucky bugger.

  Elms' breathing became laboured and he raised a hand to his chest. Cantelli threw Horton a worried glance.

  'Are you all right, Mr Elms? Do you need a doctor?' Cantelli asked, concerned.

  Elms managed to shake his head.

  'I'll get some water.'

  Horton studied Elms with a feeling of envy. Over the years he'd told himself that he didn't care who his father was, probably much as Elms had done. But Horton knew he did, and a hell of a lot.

  Cantelli quickly returned. Elms took the glass and drank from it as though he'd been living in a desert for a week. The colour slowly returned to his face and his breathing eased. The first shock was beginning to wear off. Looking up, he said with a tremor in his voice, 'How do you know this? Is it really true?' All thoughts of attending his paranormal meeting seemed to have vanished.

  'It's true,' Horton replied firmly.

  'That explains why he looked so shocked when he saw me.' Elms' eyes flicked to the photograph of his mother. 'My mother and I were very much alike; Sir Christopher . . . my father . . . must have seen the resemblance immediately. My God, if only I'd known.' The tears began to run down his face. 'I'm sorry,' he blabbed, trying to dash them away. 'After all these years . . . You must excuse me.'

  He staggered up and stumbled from the room. Horton jerked his head at Cantelli to follow him and pulled his mobile from his pocket. He quickly briefed Trueman. Uckfield hadn't returned to the station. Horton asked Trueman to get a list of the boat owners for Yarmouth Marina and get someone to check with them and the harbourmaster for any sightings of Thea. Then he rang off and stared out of the window seeing nothing but the years of his lonely childhood and wondering if there would ever come a day when he'd experience what had just happened to Gordon Elms.

  He was glad when a few moments later Elms returned with his composure recovered. Horton handed across the photograph that Dr Nelson had given him. Elms took it with a trembling hand.

  'I've never seen her like this. She's so young and beautiful.' He looked up. 'She was a very bitter woman. I know she tried to do her best by me, but she would never speak of my father or her past.'

  Horton was tempted to ask if she hadn't communicated with him after passing over or under or on, or whatever these people said. Elms read his mind.

  'I didn't attempt to get in touch with her on the other side because she was very sceptical. We didn't really get on very well. The regrets I have . . . But you don't want to listen to that. She told me my father was in the army and had died on National Service. As I got older I knew that wasn't the truth, but she would get so angry when I asked her questions so I finally stopped asking. We came here on holiday in 1981. It was her suggestion. I didn't want to come, I was young – twenty two – I thought the Isle of Wight was the back of beyond, full of retired people waiting to die, but when I arrived it instantly felt like home.'

  'Did you go to Scanaford House?' asked Cantelli.

  'No. But we went there.' He jerked his head at the painting on the wall that had reminded Horton of Manderley. 'They had a summer fête in the grounds. Whitefields, it was called. They pulled it down in 1986 and built new houses on it. Mum was happy then. The happiest I'd seen her in years. I bought it to remind me of my mother, laughing.'

  Horton thought the painting didn't exactly inspire jollity, but there was no accounting for taste.

  Elms sat forward and eyed Horton steadily. 'I don't know whether my mother was a saint or sinned against, and I doubt Sir Christopher would have told me the truth anyway, even if I had managed to speak to him. But I'm sorry I didn't make my peace with either of them before they went.'

  'Maybe you'll be able to in the next world,' Horton said with an element of cynicism. Elms took it as genuine.

  'I hope so.' After a moment he added, 'Does this mean . . .? No, I can't say it.'

  'That you inherit,' Horton helped him out, noting that basic human nature had quickly reasserted itself. 'You'll need to talk to the Suttons' solicitor.' Horton wasn't going to give him that information. Let him discover it for himself. Though he knew that Elms was not their killer he still said, 'We need you to make a statement, and confirm where you were at the time of Arina Sutton's death and for the deaths of Owen Carlsson and Jonathan Anmore.'

  Elms nodded and rose. In the hall as Elms reached for his coat from a peg, Horton said, 'We'll also need to take your car in for forensic examination and talk to the League of Friends. Who's in charge?'

  'Mrs Mackie.'

  Horton halted. 'Evelyn Mackie?'

  'Yes. We're not always on the same rota but she organizes them.'

  And that meant she could also have seen Thea in hospital on the day Gordon Elms gave her a lift. Then why the blazes hadn't she mentioned it?

  TWENTY-THREE

  'I thought you knew I worked there as a volunteer,' Evelyn Mackie said brightly, as soon as Horton was seated in the stuffy, over-furnished front room. Cantelli had taken Elms to the station.

  Horton felt like asking, how? He wasn't psychic. 'Did
you see or speak to Thea in the hospital?' he asked, curbing his irritation and impatience.

  'Oh, yes. I wasn't working on her ward but I made a point to see how she was. I told her Bengal was fine and that he could stay with me as long as she liked. I even offered her my spare bedroom but she refused. Then the nurse came over to tell her about the phone call.'

  Suddenly every nerve in Horton's body tingled. This was news to him. Why hadn't Somerfield discovered this when she questioned the staff after Thea's disappearance, he thought with a flash of anger? He'd bawl her out for this. It had cost them four days of delay, which they could ill afford.

  'Do you know who was calling Thea?' Horton prayed she did, but she shook her head.

  'No. The nurse asked Thea if she was up to speaking on the telephone. Thea nodded and the nurse wheeled the phone over. I left then.'

  Horton cursed silently. He had to speak to the nurse. 'What's the nurse's name?'

  'Vanessa Tupper, but she's on holiday. Tenerife. She told me she was flying out late that night, Thursday.'

  He cursed silently. But it explained why Somerfield hadn't discovered this. Just their luck. They'd have to try and reach her in Tenerife. He wondered if Thea had left the hospital in response to that call. It seemed likely. Perhaps it was to meet someone who told her they had information about her brother's death. But if that were so then why the hell hadn't she called him? Surely she would have known that she might be in danger after being knocked out and nearly fried alive. And that left him with three possibilities: she trusted the caller implicitly, which meant that it couldn't be the same person she'd admitted to her house; the caller was Thea's accomplice in murder, the person who had nearly killed her, who said they would try again, so she had gone on the run to escape him; or she'd agreed to meet him and then killed him. If the latter, then the caller could have been Jonathan Anmore and Thea had cadged a lift from Gordon Elms to meet him in Yarmouth, returning in Anmore's van to the barn where she'd killed him.

  Then another thought struck Horton. There was a possibility she might not have known who the arsonist was because he'd let himself in using Owen's key. No key had been found on his body. And had that person been Bella Westbury or Jonathan Anmore? Horton felt sure it couldn't have been Danesbrook; he'd have smelt him.

  Horton asked Mrs Mackie if she'd known that Gordon Elms had given Thea a lift from the hospital that morning. Clearly she hadn't, but she confirmed that Elms had been working that morning, and that he'd told her he was going to pick up Mr Westleigh and bring him to the hospital.

  He had one question left to ask. 'Why didn't you tell me Thea stayed with her brother over the New Year?'

  'Did she? He never said. My husband and I were in Scotland, visiting his family. We always see the New Year in with them.'

  There didn't seem much more he could gain here. Outside, he stared at the boarded-up, blackened remains of Owen Carlsson's house, hoping that it might stimulate his thoughts, but nothing new occurred to him.

  At the station, Marsden confirmed what Horton already knew – that there was nothing in Scanaford House to tell them what Sir Christopher Sutton had done during that missing year, or anything to reveal he had been in contact with Elizabeth Elms or her son. In fact, Marsden claimed there was remarkably little correspondence for either Sutton senior or his daughter and, Horton

  thought, they all knew who had taken and probably destroyed what there had been.

  Horton found Uckfield in his temporary office in a foul temper, his frowning face grey with pain.

  'Couldn't the chiropractor fix it?' Horton asked.

  'Bloody man's made it worse. Quacks, the lot of them. I'll sue him if he's injured me for life.'

  'What does he say it is?'

  'A severely pulled back muscle. All I did was bend down to tie my bloody shoes.'

  A likely story, thought Horton. Uckfield's sexual exploits with Laura Rosewood were more likely the cause. He said, 'Shouldn't you be lying down?'

  'And shouldn't you be catching a killer?'

  Uckfield's phone rang and he reached for it with a grimace of pain.

  Horton joined Trueman and Cantelli in the incident room, dashing a glance at his watch. It was almost ten o'clock. It had been a long day and he felt exhausted. Tomorrow, Trueman would talk to Vanessa Tupper. Fortunately he'd managed to get her mobile telephone number from a colleague, but it was too late to call her now, though she could still be awake and partying in Tenerife.

  Trueman said, 'The forensic team have found gun oil on some rags in Anmore's barn.'

  'But no guns?'

  'No.'

  Which meant Anmore's gun could be the one that had killed Owen.

  'Any evidence of Thea Carlsson having travelled in the van?'

  'There are some hairs. The lab is matching them with the DNA swab taken from Thea Carlsson when she was first brought in.'

  And that would take time. If they matched it wouldn't prove she had killed him but it would be one more factor to weigh against her.

  The door of the incident room burst open and Horton looked up to see DCI Birch eyeing them with a cold gleam of victory in his granite eyes.

  'The Chief Constable has just sanctioned me to take over this investigation from Superintendent Uckfield,' Birch said crisply, striding in. 'He can't run this case incapacitated.'

  Horton's heart sank. He should have known that Birch would find a way to get even. His eyes flicked to Uckfield. He was still on the phone and Horton didn't need second sight to know who he was talking to or what about. Judging by Uckfield's expression his protest was falling on deaf ears.

  Addressing Horton, Birch said, 'If I recall correctly, Inspector, you are officially on holiday. So you can get back to your boat and your holiday. I'll handle this now.'

  The door crashed open and Uckfield stood, or rather crouched, on the threshold. He made to straighten up when a roar escaped his lips and his hand grasped his back.

  'I'll call an ambulance,' Horton said, reaching for the phone.

  'No,' Uckfield whispered urgently, trying to glower at Birch at the same time, but it only made him look like he was severely constipated. 'Cantelli can take me back to the hotel.'

  'You need some pain killers and anti-inflammatory drugs.'

  'I'll take you to A & E,' Cantelli said.

  Clearly, Uckfield didn't have the strength to protest. Eyeing Horton as he passed him he only managed to growl, 'Keep me informed.'

  But Birch clearly had no intention of letting him do that. 'Still here, Inspector?' And turning his back, he said to Trueman, 'Sergeant, put out an all-ports alert for Thea Carlsson wanted in connection for the murders of Owen Carlsson and Jonathan Anmore.'

  'You've got no evidence,' Horton declared.

  Birch spun round. His eyes narrowed with spite. 'This is evidence,' he declared triumphantly, waving a manila folder at Horton like Neville Chamberlain declaring 'Peace for our time' in 1938. 'It's Thea Carlsson's medical history and it makes very interesting reading. She was committed to a mental hospital three times between 1994 and 1995 for anorexia, psychological problems, hallucinations, and depression. And she attempted suicide in 2002. Clearly the woman is unbalanced.'

  Horton's jaw tightened. 'Her parents were killed, how do you expect her to react?'

  'She's unstable. She faked the break-in at her flat before walking out on her job. She killed her brother, most probably with the help of Jonathan Anmore, who she then stabbed with a pitchfork before making off. She was jealous of Owen Carlsson falling in love with Arina Sutton; her notes tell of an unhealthy relationship with her brother––'

  'Unhealthy? What do you mean?' snapped Horton, going rigid with fury.

  'It's not your case, Inspector.'

  Horton stared at Birch's hard, malicious eyes and felt afraid for Thea. Birch would show no mercy with her, if he found her. He would smirk, sneer, ridicule and belittle her. And for someone whose confidence and self-esteem were already at rock bottom it would be the end for T
hea.

  Horton left the station, boiling with fury. Birch's anger and jealousy must have been bubbling underneath the surface ever since he had found him at the scene of the crime. It had been exacerbated when Uckfield had left Birch at the scene of Anmore's death, and when Uckfield had taunted the DCI with the fact he'd been negligent over the Carlssons' car accident. But Uckfield had played right into Birch's hands by having an affair with Laura Rosewood and getting a pulled back muscle as a result. He was a fool. Horton cursed them both as he rode his Harley back to the boat.

  He wondered if Birch had told the Chief Constable about the affair. If so then Steve Uckfield was really in trouble. But no, Horton guessed that Birch had simply put his evidence to the chief about Thea Carlsson and shown that he'd got further with the investigation than Uckfield. Birch must also have told the chief that Horton was officially on holiday. That, coupled with the fact that he'd found Thea leaning over the body of her dead brother, and had been at her house when the fire had started, had probably been enough to make the chief think he was involved with Thea and could therefore compromise the investigation – at least that was probably what Birch had told him.