Footsteps on the Shore dah-6

by Pauline Rowson

  ‘Perdita says not. The one on the left, the extended “b”, she believes represents, in its simplistic term, the Georgian letter “L”.’

  Horton eyed her with surprise, his mind leaping with thoughts and ideas.

  ‘I thought that might get you excited. Now you know why I wanted you here. It ties in with what Lauder has told us about our mystery lady. And there’s more.’

  ‘Go on,’ he said.

  ‘The other symbol she thinks is the Georgian letter for “U”. Putting that together with the cross and the starlike circle at the top, Perdita believes the “L” symbolizes the word “Lion”, and the “U” stands for “Unicorn”. The Lion generally represents courage, strength and nobility and the Unicorn, purity and virtue. Perdita claims that we’re looking at a coat of arms of Kartli.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘That’s more or less what I said, but I looked it up on the Internet, and asked Perdita. Kartli is a historical region in central eastern Georgia better known to classicists as Iberia. It used to be a separate country with its capital at Tbilisi, which is Georgia’s capital, but it’s now divided up. The Georgians living in the historical lands of Kartli are known as Kartleli. Why should someone leave you this note?’

  ‘And etch it on my Harley.’

  ‘My God! I wouldn’t like to be the person responsible for that when you catch him.’

  Horton wondered if he ever would. But he also felt a great sense of relief that his stalker wasn’t connected with Zeus. Given that Lauder said Venetia Trotman was from Georgia, then if the author of this note was her killer why draw attention to himself? And why become his stalker? The answer came as quickly as he’d posed the question. His stalker and the anonymous caller were the same person. He hadn’t killed Venetia Trotman but wanted Horton to discover who had. And there was more. Horton’s mind was teeming with ideas. He needed to talk to Uckfield urgently, but first he asked Gaye to look up the word Shorena.

  Hastily thanking her, and asking her to pass on his gratitude to Lauder and Perdita, he hurried back to the station after promising her he’d tell her all later.

  ‘Over a drink,’ she called out after him.

  Horton found Uckfield in the incident room along with Trueman, Dennings and Marsden. He’d anticipated an atmosphere of excitement — the news that Venetia Trotman was Georgian was a breakthrough — but what he saw, much to his surprise, was dejection and in Uckfield’s case sullen anger.

  ‘Why so gloomy?’ he asked in puzzlement, removing his leather jacket.

  Uckfield answered him grumpily. ‘Why do you think? You’ve ruled Felton out of the investigation and we’ve got sod all else.’

  ‘But Lauder’s analysis of Venetia Trotman changes everything.’

  ‘What bloody analysis?’

  Horton focused his gaze on Dennings. The idiot hadn’t told Uckfield or Trueman.

  Flippantly, Dennings said, ‘Dr Clayton’s friend claims she’s from Georgia.’

  ‘John Lauder is a forensic anthropologist,’ Horton corrected, stiffly. Uckfield glowered at Dennings.

  ‘So, she’s a foreigner.’ Dennings shrugged but glared at Horton, clearly not pleased with him butting in and showing up his incompetence.

  Trueman caught on instantly. ‘Your anonymous tip-off could also be someone from Georgia.’

  ‘Yes. And there’s more.’ Horton’s thoughts were tumbling through his head like tickets in a tombola. Quickly he told them about the symbol etched on his Harley, which drew raised eyebrows from Trueman and a ‘bloody hell’ from Uckfield. Horton then said, ‘And there’s Jay Turner.’

  ‘Who?’ Uckfield asked.

  Excitedly, Horton said, ‘My body in the harbour turns out to be Jay Turner, who is of great interest to Commander Waverley and Superintendent Harlam of the Serious Organized Crime Agency. Turner was born in Portsmouth, and educated at the University of London where he got a degree in Modern Languages, specializing in Russian. He was last seen alive in London on the twentieth of February. He left on foot, didn’t own a car and wasn’t carrying any luggage. Cantelli discovered that Turner began working for the International Development Fund in 1996 and regularly spent three to six months working overseas, and the rest of the time he was hardly ever in London.’

  Uckfield opened his mouth to speak, but Horton quickly continued. ‘We learn that Venetia Trotman originates from Georgia, and judging from the lack of any ID I wouldn’t mind betting she’s here illegally. Her husband, Joseph Trotman, bought Willow Bank in 1997 and paid all his bills in cash. Venetia told me her husband had died three months ago, but how do we know that for certain? His death hasn’t been registered because his identity is false. I wouldn’t mind betting that Joseph Trotman equals Jay Turner and that he met Venetia when he was working in Georgia.’

  ‘You’ve got evidence?’ Uckfield interjected sharply.

  ‘No. I’m assuming it because Turner worked for the International Development Fund, and spoke Russian.’

  Uckfield addressed Marsden. ‘Get everything you can on this International Development Fund. Find out if they operate in Georgia and if so since when.’

  ‘There’s something else,’ Horton added. ‘The missing yacht is called Shorena. It’s a Georgian girl’s name meaning remote.’

  With renewed vigour, Uckfield turned to Trueman. ‘What do you know about Georgia? Recent events not ancient bloody history.’

  ‘It’s complex,’ Trueman said.

  Uckfield rolled his eyes. ‘Edited highlights please,’ he pleaded.

  As Trueman delved into his encyclopedic memory he also tapped into his computer. ‘Georgia is in south-western Asia, bordering the Black Sea, and sharing borders with Armenia, Azerbaijan, Russia and Turkey. It’s largely a mountainous country with the Great Caucasus Mountains in the north and the Lesser Caucasus Mountains in the south. Georgia is of great strategic interest to Russia and the West, because it sits in the path of potentially lucrative oil routes. But relations with Russia are very tense. Georgia’s also featured in the Greek legend of Jason and the Argonauts-’

  ‘As in he of the Golden Fleece,’ interrupted Uckfield.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I hope we don’t end up with skeletons dancing all over the bloody place.’

  ‘It’s also got Black Sea port facilities at Poti and Batumi,’ Trueman added, ‘which are becoming increasingly important as main cargo terminals for the Caucasus and Central Asia.’

  ‘And for smuggling people out of the country,’ added Horton meditatively, ‘which could be the reason for Waverley’s interest.’

  Uckfield said, ‘Could Jay Turner aka Joseph Trotman have been using his yacht and Willow Bank for that?’

  It was possible, but Horton said, ‘I’d have thought he’d have been picked up by now if he had.’ Immigration and customs regularly patrolled the Solent. ‘But he could have another route, or varied them. Or he might be involved in something else illegal, large-scale corruption for example. Hence the Serious Organized Crime Agency’s interest.’

  Uckfield sprang up and began to stalk the incident suite. Horton could see the way his mind was working; how he’d love to get one over on the men in suits from London. So would Horton, but the moment Commander Waverley got a sniff of this it would be out of even Uckfield’s hands. And Horton was rather keen to find out why the gentle, dark-haired Georgian woman had been killed, and by whom. He was also very eager to get his graffiti artist off his back.

  He said, ‘If Turner did work in Georgia, then he might have been involved in taking bribes from suppliers and siphoning off money for himself from government contracts. The money could have been converted into jewellery or gold, and some of that might be what’s stashed away in that locker. And why Venetia Trotman was so desperate to keep hold of the key.’

  ‘So who killed her?’ asked Dennings grumpily.

  ‘Not my anonymous caller,’ Horton replied. ‘But he could have been inside Venetia’s house when I was there. He saw me at the house
when I was there looking over the boat, and followed me to the marina where he etched that symbol on my Harley.’ And Horton knew he must be the man who had been hiding out in the derelict houseboat, and following him without being seen. A man highly experienced at covert work and survival tactics. ‘After keeping an eye on me, and seeing I wasn’t about to spirit Venetia away, he returns to Venetia to find her dead. He realizes I couldn’t have killed her, because he’d been watching me most of the night, so he calls me.’

  ‘How?’ asked Dennings.

  ‘I left a card with Venetia with my direct line number on it. It didn’t give my position or job, but he knew I was a police officer, and the only way he could have known that was because he’d followed me here. And he’s been tailing me to see who I’m going to lead him to.’

  ‘And how the blazes do we find him?’ exclaimed Uckfield, leaving unspoken the remainder of the sentence — without telling Waverley and his boy.

  Horton said, ‘He’s still in Portsmouth, and he’ll stay here until we find her killer — or he does.’

  Uckfield eyed him shrewdly.

  Horton added, ‘I’ve asked Joliffe to check the fingerprints on the debris I found in the derelict boathouse with the Georgian authorities.’ Horton had called him as soon as he’d left Dr Clayton. ‘They might be able to give us a name and a photograph. I think you should also check if any motorbikes have been stolen from sea ports around Britain, excluding here — I’ve already checked, there aren’t any. He probably came into the country via a port.’

  Uckfield said crisply, ‘Dennings, get on to it and chase Joliffe for those fingerprints. Go over every single bit of evidence looking for connections with Georgia and see if we can get anything from SOCO to match DNA to Jay Turner. Trueman, contact Europol and Interpol and the Georgian authorities. Marsden, when you’ve got all you can on this International Development Fund, see if you can find anyone who can confirm Jay Turner’s overseas postings without Waverley knowing. None of you are to say anything to Commander Waverley, Harlam or DCI Bliss. If we’re wrong I don’t want shit all over my face.’

  Horton watched Uckfield cross to his office before turning to leave. He didn’t expect thanks, but a grunt of gratitude might have been nice. His eyes swivelled to Dennings. All he was likely to get from him, judging by his expression, was boiling fury.

  Dennings followed Horton into the corridor. ‘If you think you can get me kicked off this team by showing me up then you can think again.’

  ‘Can I help it if you’re not up the job?’ Horton made to leave but Dennings grabbed his arm. Horton stiffened and felt his fists clench, but Dennings would love that. He held Dennings’ hot, angry eyes.

  ‘We’ll see who’s up to their job,’ he hissed.

  Horton stared at the hand on his arm and back into Dennings’ face. Evenly he said, ‘Then you’d better do it. If you can.’

  As Horton turned he could feel Dennings’ hate-filled eyes boring into his back. He headed for Kempton’s where he hoped he’d find Edward Shawford, otherwise he’d have to track him down at his boat or his apartment. And he still had Luke Felton to find.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Shawford’s red BMW was in Kempton’s car park. Good. And so were Catherine’s and her father’s cars. Not so good. Horton hoped he wasn’t going to have to interview Shawford in front of his father-in-law and estranged wife, but as he drew to a halt the stout figure he was seeking burst through the doors. There was a thunderous expression on his flabby face and a large briefcase and cardboard box in his hands. Horton climbed off the Harley and waited for Shawford by his car.

  ‘What do you want now?’ Shawford rounded on him. ‘Isn’t it enough you’ve got me fired and broken up my relationship with Catherine?’

  Horton could have crowed with delight. And he didn’t care if he showed it. Mission accomplished. He’d got this warped bastard out of Emma’s life. Clearly the cardboard box contained Shawford’s personal desk paraphernalia. He wondered how Catherine had managed to get rid of Shawford without revealing the reason why she wanted him out and risking an unfair dismissal claim. Perhaps Shawford had volunteered to go; he wouldn’t have wanted his sex life paraded in the newspapers.

  He said, ‘You got yourself sacked.’

  ‘I was made redundant because of the recession,’ Shawford sneered. ‘Catherine’s taking over my role but we both know that’s a load of bollocks. You told her about those magazines.’

  Horton stifled his concern at the thought of Catherine being away from Emma on business trips abroad. Who would look after his daughter? He wished it could have been him, but he knew how impractical that was, unless he gave up his job. But then she’d be at Northover boarding school. Catherine seemed to have it all worked out. Time to think of that on Saturday, when he’d be with Emma and Catherine at the school.

  He said, ‘And I’ll tell others, including the vice squad, if you don’t stop pissing me about and tell me the real reason why you gave Luke a lift to Portchester Castle.’

  Shawford could see that he wasn’t bluffing. Horton knew that Catherine wasn’t featured in any homemade porno videos, so the threat of the vice squad was real this time.

  Shawford shifted the box in his arms and ran his tongue over his lips. Nervously he said, ‘I gave Luke a lift because he started to remember things about the murder of Natalie Raymonds.’

  Horton swiftly hid his surprise. Although he had considered Shawford might be involved in Natalie’s murder he’d not really believed it. ‘You knew her?’ he asked, watching Shawford closely.

  ‘We had an affair.’

  God! Horton wished he’d cautioned him and had him in that interview room. Shawford could retract this, and probably would. He thought over what Julian Raymonds had said about his wife enjoying power and control. Maybe Natalie Raymonds was the dominant partner, indulging Shawford’s sadomasochistic perversions.

  ‘When?’ Horton asked sharply.

  Shawford shifted, and not because of the load he was carrying. His roving eyes avoided contact with Horton’s. ‘June 1997,’ he mumbled. Then his head came up and he added earnestly, ‘It only lasted a couple of weeks. It was over long before she was killed.’

  ‘Why didn’t you come forward with this information?’ demanded Horton angrily.

  ‘Why should I?’ Shawford answered in surprise, seeming to recover some of his composure. ‘It was just a fling, a bit of fun. We met on a corporate hospitality sailing event.’

  ‘And where was her husband while you were having this bit of fun?’ Horton snarled, pushing away with anger the thought that Shawford might also have been having ‘fun’ with Catherine behind his back before the Lucy Richardson debacle had caused their marital break-up.

  Shawford sniffed and studied the ground. Horton wondered if Shawford had been married in June 1997. He could ask and check records. Perhaps Natalie had threatened to tell Mrs Shawford about it, which would have given Edward Shawford a motive for killing Natalie. But that didn’t explain why he would want to frame Luke Felton.

  Harshly Horton said, ‘Why did Natalie chuck you over?’

  Shawford didn’t even bite at the assumption that it was she who had given the stud of century the push.

  ‘She found someone else. I don’t know who though,’ he added quickly.

  ‘Luke Felton?’ suggested Horton.

  Shawford eyed him incredulously. ‘Not Natalie’s type. Not enough money. She liked a good time. And she liked power. Some women do.’

  ‘Can’t see why she bothered with you then,’ quipped Horton, but again Shawford had corroborated what Raymonds had told him. If Natalie had blatantly thrown herself at other men in front of her husband then jealousy was a powerful motive for killing.

  Shawford bristled. ‘I don’t have to put up with-’

  A glare from Horton silenced him. ‘So you saw Luke waiting beside the road on Tuesday evening, and grabbed your chance to ask him what he remembered of the day Natalie was killed without anyone at work l
istening in.’

  Shawford nodded. ‘He told me he hadn’t killed her and said that it was only a matter of days before he cleared his name. I told him he’d never get the case reopened. I didn’t want him to, because I thought it might come out that I knew Natalie, but I didn’t kidnap or kill him to shut him up,’ he added hastily. ‘Luke said there was someone who believed him who was influential and was keen to help him see justice done.’

  That certainly wasn’t Peter Bailey, unless he had lied to Luke, which was possible. And if it had been Ashley Felton, then why hadn’t Luke said something like ‘my brother is determined to help me clear my name’? The same for Neil Danbury.

  ‘Who was he meeting at Portchester Castle?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s the truth,’ Shawford insisted quickly, as Horton looked doubtful. ‘That’s all he said, apart from the fact that it was where it all began, and he remembered water and the bailey.’

  Horton seized the last two words eagerly. ‘The bailey?’

  ‘I assumed he meant the moat and the outer bailey of Portchester Castle. Though what that has to do with Natalie’s death I’ve no idea, and he didn’t elaborate. He knew nothing about my affair with Natalie, or at least he didn’t mention it. He told me he didn’t even know her.’

  ‘Did he say how he ended up on the coastal path at Hayling?’

  Shawford shook his head. ‘We didn’t discuss it in detail, and I wasn’t interested. I’d got all I needed. I dropped him off in the car park and went home.’

  Horton eyed Shawford closely. It sounded like the truth. He turned on his heel and climbed on his Harley, not bothering to look back at Shawford. He hoped it was the last he’d see of him.

  He headed for Portchester Castle. Luke had told Shawford that was where it had all begun, and he had come here on Tuesday evening to meet the person he thought was going to help him clear his name, the one who had in fact killed Natalie Raymonds and framed him for her murder. By coincidence, it just happened to be near the site where a woman had been brutally murdered in her garden two days later. The castle, then, Horton thought, pulling into the car park, had to hold the key to Luke’s disappearance and to the murder of Natalie Raymonds. And if Shawford was telling the truth about Felton mentioning the bailey, and if Luke hadn’t met Peter Bailey here on 19 September 1997, then why come here, pondered Horton, entering the castle grounds through a large ancient stone archway. It was miles away both by road and sea from the coastal path where Natalie had been killed.