Deadly Waters dah-2

by Pauline Rowson

  She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the house. 'Mummy! Mummy! Daddy's come home.'

  Oh, what sweet, agonizing words. If only they were true. If only he could turn back the clock and forget the last year of his life.

  Catherine stepped out of the kitchen with a face like thunder. Emma turned to look at her mother and then back at Horton, her small face contorted with confusion. Horton would like to have balled Catherine out for being so insensitive. Instead he said, deliberately keeping his voice light, 'It's all right, darling. I surprised Mummy, that's all.'

  Emma still looked uncertain but at a forced smile from Catherine she brightened up.

  Horton stooped down on his haunches so that he was the same level as Emma. 'Did you miss me?'

  'Lots and lots. When are you coming home, Daddy?'

  He dashed a glance up at Catherine. He'd like to have said soon, or now, but the look on his wife's face told him a very different story. Nothing could ever be the same again. He felt a dull ache inside him, a hollowness as though someone had scooped out his heart and left a gaping hole in his chest.

  Forcing himself to sound bright for his daughter's sake, he said, 'I don't know, darling. But that doesn't mean I won't see you.'

  Her slate-grey eyes, so like his, were gazing up at him, shrewd and intelligent.

  Catherine grabbed Emma's hand, 'Go and clean your teeth, Emma. You'll be late for ballet classes.'

  'I don't want to go.' Emma snatched her hand away and turned to her father. 'Daddy, I want you to come home.' She looked as though she was about to cry. Horton thought he might join her, if she did.

  Catherine gave him a look that said: Now see what you've done. Didn't I tell you that you'd upset her? Instead she said, 'Daddy's been very busy lately.'

  'I want to stay with Daddy.' Emma began to cry.

  It tore at Horton's heart. He steeled himself and took hold of his daughter's hands. 'Go and get ready for ballet, there's a good girl and then I can come and see you again.'

  She looked dubious. He heard Catherine suck in her breath. He went on. 'We'll go out together soon, just the two of us for a special treat. Would you like that?'

  'Andy-'

  'Would you?' Horton said more firmly, looking at his daughter. Her eyes shone this time with pleasure, not tears.

  'Can we go to the fair?'

  The fair was one of the places that Catherine banned her daughter from being taken, along with all fast food outlets. He said, 'Of course, sweetheart, anywhere you like. Now do as your mother says.'

  Reluctantly she turned and began to climb the stairs, looking back at him. With every step she took, Horton felt as if a part of him was being wrenched away. When she disappeared from sight Catherine rounded on him.

  'What the hell do you think you're doing? You have absolutely no business coming here like this,' she hissed, keeping her voice low.

  Horton forced himself to reply evenly. 'I have every business. I am her father and I am not giving her up. I've been very patient, Catherine. Six months away from my daughter is six months too long. I'm going to see a solicitor, and I'm going to ask for regular access to Emma.'

  'You can't-'

  'Why are you so determined to prevent me from seeing her?' It was all he could do to keep control of his temper. 'I've done nothing to hurt her or you. I haven't been unfaithful — you have. She is my daughter and I will see her.'

  He turned and marched swiftly back to the Harley, afraid that if he stayed a moment longer he might do or say something to jeopardize his chances. He climbed on but before donning his helmet he glanced up at his daughter's bedroom. With a jolt, he saw her sad little face staring at him. It ripped his heart apart. For a moment he thought Catherine was right. He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't see his daughter; her sorrow was too much to bear. Perhaps it would be better if he stayed away. But the thought lasted just a second. He forced a smile from his lips, blew her a kiss, and got a beaming smile back. He swivelled his eyes to Catherine still at the door. She turned on her heel and slammed the door. He started the bike. Emma was still waving at him. Then Catherine appeared and persuaded her daughter to leave the window. Horton let out a breath, swung the bike round and headed back to Portsmouth.

  Ten

  Saturday: 9 A.M.

  Showered, shaved and changed, Horton tried to concentrate on Uckfield's briefing but his mind kept returning to the picture of Emma waving to him from her bedroom window, and with it came the raw emotions the reunion with his daughter had conjured up. With an effort he pushed them aside. His eyes fell on Cantelli. He'd spoken to him briefly this morning, but hadn't told him about his nocturnal trip to Petersfield. But then Cantelli looked as if he had problems of his own, his face was pale and his eyes were red. He was almost constantly sniffing, or blowing his nose. The cold he had mentioned earlier now seemed to be in full flow.

  As Uckfield summarized the case, Horton surveyed the rest of the group. How many of them now knew that Dennings would be taking over from him on Friday? He guessed the majority. The station rumour grapevine was remarkably swift, and he had heard mutterings on his arrival this morning. That, and the sidelong glances and sudden silence as he had entered the CID office, told him the news had spread. Horton never for a moment doubted Cantelli's loyalty. Rather he guessed that Dennings himself had been heavy-handed with innuendo, and soon the announcement would be displayed on the station notice board.

  'Inspector Horton.'

  Uckfield's sharp command jolted Horton back to the case. He stepped to the front of the room and said crisply, 'I want the house-to-house around Langley's flat stepped up. Did anyone see Langley's car parked outside her apartment block that evening? The forensic team have said that her flat is clean, so did anyone see her or anyone else drive a red TVR away? Did they see her arrive home from school and if so what time?'

  'She might never have reached home?' PC Seaton ventured.

  'I agree, which is why I want the occupants of the houses and maisonettes immediately surrounding the Sir Wilberforce Cutler questioned as well.' Horton addressed Sergeant Trueman. 'We might be able to pinpoint the time she left school and the direction in which she was heading.'

  Horton could see Trueman looking at him rather sceptically. He agreed it was a long shot. Knowing the area as well as he did, Horton knew that most of the inhabitants would rather have their teeth pulled that talk to the cops. 'You might also want to ask them if they heard or saw anything suspicious that night at the school. The break-in on the building site could still be linked with Langley's murder.'

  Trueman made a note.

  Horton continued. 'I want to know if Langley had any regular visitors, or visitors on the night she was killed. I also want a team into the Town Camber to talk to the boatmen, fishermen and those working in the fish market. Find out if anyone saw Langley on the day or night she was killed. Sergeant Trueman will circulate her photograph to those he allocates to that team. We now know that no boat moored in the Town Camber was in Langley's name. Sergeant Cantelli checked and DC Walters hasn't found anything in Langley's correspondence so far to indicate she owned a boat. We also know that she didn't bring a boat into the Town Camber on Thursday or Friday. So, Seaton, I want you checking out boat owners from all the other marinas in the area. Liaise with DI Bliss's team to get the names of boat owners from the marinas on Hayling Island. I want to know every one of them, including those kept on swinging moorings from Lee-on-the-Solent to Chichester, and then I want them cross checked with the school list of both teachers and visitors and the building contractors. If anyone one of them owns a boat I want to know about it, right?'

  'Yes, sir.' Seaton, a uniformed officer, nodded eagerly. Like Somerfield, Horton knew he was keen to get into CID, and thought it would be a good opportunity to see what he was made of.

  Uckfield drew Horton aside as a rash of activity erupted. 'I'm giving a statement to the media at half ten. Apart from telling them we've found Langley's car, is there anything else to add?'
<
br />   'We're continuing with our inquiries?' Horton posed.

  A flash of irritation crossed Uckfield's face. 'Shall we see if we can do a little better than that, Inspector? And don't bleat about not having enough manpower, because I've pulled out all the stops on this one. You won't have this strength for long so you'd better see that you make the most of it. And no cock-ups,' he shouted over his shoulder as a parting shot.

  And bollocks to you too, thought Horton, indicating for Somerfield to follow him outside. In the relative quiet of the corridor, he said, 'Did you check out that car registration I gave you?'

  'It belongs to an Edward Shawford. He's the Sales Director at Kempton Marine.'

  How bloody convenient. That was where Catherine worked! Had Catherine's affair with her colleague begun when he and Catherine had still been together? Had Horton's suspension given Catherine the perfect excuse to throw him out and assuage her own guilt over her adulterous behaviour? He had a feeling it did. That didn't make things better, only worse.

  'Where does he live?'

  'Wickham.'

  It was growing village just north of Fareham and about ten miles from Portsmouth.

  Somerfield continued. 'He's divorced, no children. Aged forty-four. He has two convictions for speeding, apart from that he's clean.'

  Shame.

  Somerfield added, 'Did you know that Mickey Johnson's been bailed?'

  'Who paid it?' Horton asked sharply, wondering if that might give him a lead.

  'His live-in partner, Janey Piper. '

  It didn't. He wondered though where Janey, who had borne two of Mickey's four children and was on benefit, had got the money. 'OK, leave him for now. I want you to talk to Elaine Tolley at the betting shop in Commercial Road. See what you can get out of her about that note we found on Langley's body.' He hadn't forgotten that.

  Uckfield seemed keen to dismiss the note as just one of those things, but Horton knew that in a murder investigation nothing was insignificant. Uckfield ought to know it too but his was always a bull-in-a-china-shop approach. Horton had a feeling that this information was somehow important. Uckfield would have scoffed at that. Only fictional detectives could afford feelings, Horton could hear the big man carping. Well, sod it! No one else was following up the note.

  'Find out if she had an affair with Morville,' he continued. 'And keep looking for connections between our robbery victims.'

  Horton returned to his office where he stared down at Edward Shawford's details. He couldn't bear to think of Emma being cuddled by that man. He tortured himself with visions of Edward Shawford tickling Emma and making her giggle. If a solicitor's office had been open he would have called that instant. Instead he had to wait until Monday.

  He pulled back the blinds and opened the window, letting in an angry wet wind. He took a couple of deep breaths then spun round and played his voicemail. It was the lab, promising to get him the results of the test on the betting slip by midday. The report on Langley's car would also be in later.

  He sat down, feeling edgy and pent up. Pictures of Emma's excited and delighted face as she'd greeted him kept flashing before his eyes. He could feel her arms around his neck. Concentrate on the case, damn you, he silently urged himself, picking up a file and flinging it open. But the words merged in a blur of black print as he thought of Emma at ballet classes; was she upset or had she already dismissed him from her child's mind? His door swung open and he was glad to see Cantelli, cold and all, ambling in, clutching a plastic cup of coffee.

  'Bloody hell, it's like the North Pole in here. You'll catch your death sitting there in a howling gale. And judging by the state of you I'd say you've been up all night.'

  'You don't look so hot yourself.'

  'I'll survive.'

  Horton sat back as Cantelli plonked himself into the seat opposite. Suddenly Horton was filled with the urge to confide.

  'I saw Emma this morning,' he announced abruptly.

  Cantelli sat up with a concerned frown on his lean, dark face. 'And?'

  'And what?' Horton ran a hand over his head and stood up. 'I had to leave her. Barney, why is Catherine doing this to me?'

  'Jealousy.' Cantelli answered so promptly that Horton started.

  'Why?'

  'Maybe Emma is fonder of her daddy than her mummy, and, well, let's face it, Catherine always did like to be the centre of attention. You should only have had eyes for her. Perhaps your daughter stole your heart from Catherine and she didn't like it.'

  Horton considered his words. 'You think I neglected Catherine?'

  'I didn't say that. A woman like Catherine needs to be worshipped. Maybe you didn't worship her enough, or stopped doing so when you started paying homage to your daughter.'

  'I didn't know you were a psychiatrist,' Horton said sarcastically.

  'There's a lot of things people don't know about me. I haven't had five kids without learning a thing or two.' Cantelli winked grotesquely.

  Horton smiled despite his heavy heart. Did Emma love him more than her mother? He doubted it but Cantelli's words gave him some comfort.

  'Maybe I should have come to you for marriage guidance,' Horton said.

  'If I ever get kicked out of the force perhaps I'll give it a whirl. What you need is something to take your mind off it. How about us trying to solve this case?'

  Somerfield was following up Elaine Tolley, and although Horton thought it unlikely that Eric Morville was their killer, they hadn't yet checked out his alibi. And no one had investigated the break-in at the ex-forces club. Time to kill two birds with one stone.

  Grabbing his jacket, he said, 'Let's go see a man about a break-in.'

  Cantelli took a drag at his coffee, pulled a face and said, 'Suits me.'

  'About time. I thought you lot had forgotten me,' Barry Dunsley complained after Cantelli had flashed his warrant card. Dunsley lifted a hand to the sticking plaster on the right side of his forehead just above his eye as if to remind them he had been wounded in the course of battle.

  Horton took Dunsley's injury seriously but somehow couldn't take the man in the same vein. There was a comic element to the steward's performance, as though he was a good actor hamming it up. There was dandruff on Dunsley's shoulders and his round nondescript flabby face blended into a double chin. He was also clearly a man who liked sampling his wares as much as he liked pulling them, judging by the size of his beer gut. How old was he? Late thirties or early forties? Horton couldn't quite tell.

  Before Horton or Cantelli could reply to Dunsley's rather peeved accusation, a clatter of buckets announced the cleaning lady. Horton saw the steward's pale blue eyes flicker with irritation.

  'Clean the toilets first, please, Mrs Watrow,' he commanded.

  'Suit yourself,' she muttered, collecting her bucket and mop and leaving with the maximum amount of noise possible. No love lost there, Horton guessed. Dunsley wasn't the likeable type.

  'Tell us what happened, sir,' Cantelli said.

  'After working in the bar all evening, I cleared away and went to bed just on midnight. I'm staying in the flat on the top floor while I'm looking after the club-'

  'You're not the usual steward then?' asked Cantelli.

  'No. He had to go into hospital for open-heart surgery. He won't be back for about three months. Anyway, I was just falling asleep when I heard this noise. I came down to investigate and found the little bleeders in the storeroom behind the bar here. I said something like, "What are you doing?" and they ran out. The next thing I know one of them is taking a swing at me. I pulled at his head, tugged off his balaclava, and then he struck me with something. I can't say what it was, and then they were running away.'

  'How many were there?' Horton knew already from the statement, but it was always best to ask again.

  'Two.'

  'And you think you can identify one of them.'

  'You just catch him.'

  Cantelli said, 'Perhaps we could arrange for you to come down to the station and look at some p
hotographs.'

  'My pleasure.'

  Horton said, 'Can you show us where they broke in?'

  Dunsley lifted the flap of the bar and they followed him into a small room that led off from it. There was a door leading to the yard where Cantelli had parked the car and where the intruders had entered the premises. The room was stacked with crates of beer, a few barrels, some bottles and boxes of crisps and other savouries. It smelt of damp and stale alcohol. Even Cantelli's potent cough and cold lozenge seemed better than this to Horton.

  'Where's the blood?'

  'What? Oh, they hit me outside; the rain will have washed it away by now.'

  Horton left a second or two's pause as Cantelli crossed to examine the rear door. Then he said: 'Did you see in which direction they ran?'

  'No. I was a bit dizzy by then.'

  'You say this attack took place at one a.m., so why did you wait until four a.m. to report it?'

  'I wasn't thinking straight; well, you don't when you've been knocked on the head,' Dunsley said belligerently. 'I called a taxi to take me to the hospital and it was only when I got back that I realized I hadn't reported it.'

  There was a ring of truth to the statement, yet Horton didn't believe it. It was too slick and Dunsley was too defensive. 'Have you any idea who might have done this?'

  'Kids from the Wilberforce Cutler, I expect. I heard on the radio that their head teacher has been murdered. Is it true she was found in Langstone Harbour?'

  'Did you know her?'

  'I knew of her.'

  Horton picked up an undertone of disapproval. 'What did you know?'

  'Only what I read in the newspapers.'

  He was lying. Horton pushed. 'And the gossip that you've heard the other side of the bar.'

  Dunsley smiled. 'That they'd given the job to the wrong person. It should have been Tom Edney's, the deputy head. He'd been acting head for nearly a year before Ms Langley arrived. The existing head had been on long-term sick leave with stress.'