‘Where did you take Luke?’
Horton could have slapped the PC. He hadn’t yet learnt that silence was a powerful weapon. But he would. Horton flashed him an angry glance. Seaton flinched. Shawford visibly relaxed.
‘Portchester Castle.’
It wasn’t the answer Horton had been expecting, or was it? If it was the truth, then it strengthened the theory that Felton knew about the Trotmans and had gone there to get money. It could also mean Felton had returned there on Thursday night or Friday morning and killed Venetia Trotman.
‘Why there?’ Horton asked sharply.
‘He said it was where he wanted to go. He didn’t give a reason and I didn’t ask him.’
‘And you just happened to be going that way,’ taunted Horton.
Shawford’s eyes narrowed, clearly with hatred. ‘It’s the route I take home from the factory,’ he said through clenched teeth.
‘Diverting down to the castle off the main road isn’t on your route.’
‘It’s a few minutes diversion, no more.’
Clearly Shawford wasn’t going to budge on that. There had to be a reason why he’d offered Felton a lift, and gone out of his way to drop him off at Portchester Castle. The Shawfords of this world didn’t do anything unless there was something in it for them.
Seaton said, ‘What did you talk about, sir?’
‘Can’t remember. This and that. How he was settling in, that kind of thing.’
Horton felt like saying ‘bollocks’. Shawford was lying, but he was also growing more confident and Horton wondered why.
‘Did Luke speak about Natalie Raymonds?’ he asked.
‘Who?’
That was so obviously a lie that even Shawford realized they’d know it and shifted uneasily, but he didn’t make the mistake of elaborating on it, or trying to back-pedal. This time Seaton didn’t break the silence. He’d learnt his lesson. And Shawford kept his nerve, finally forcing Horton to say, ‘She’s the woman Luke Felton murdered.’
Shawford fiddled with his keys. ‘He didn’t mention her.’
Horton wondered at Shawford’s evasiveness. He said, ‘How did you feel about the company employing a killer?’
‘It’s nothing to do with me. I’m sales not personnel. Now if there’s—’
‘Where exactly did you drop Felton?’
‘In the car park opposite the castle.’
‘Were there any other cars there?’
‘I didn’t really notice.’
Horton thought that at least was the truth. ‘Anybody hanging around or walking past the castle?’
‘I wasn’t paying attention.’
And if Luke was meeting someone there, then he must have arrived early, because he could have had no way of knowing that he was going to be offered a lift.
‘What did Luke do next?’
Shawford eyed him, puzzled. ‘He got out. I turned the car round and left.’
Horton eyed him steadily, searching for the lie. It sounded and looked like the truth, but an experienced salesman like Shawford was practised in the art of lying. And Horton didn’t trust or believe him one iota. He also wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily.
‘Been out on your new boat?’
The question took Shawford by surprise. The fear was back in his eyes. He eyed Horton warily before snapping, ‘Yes.’
‘Where have you been?’
‘That’s none of your business.’ He made to climb into the car, but Horton stalled him.
‘Everything’s my business when I’m looking for a missing prisoner.’
‘Well, you won’t find him on my boat.’
Horton raised his eyebrows and glanced at Seaton. ‘Now that’s an idea. We hadn’t thought of that. Maybe you didn’t drop him off at Portchester Castle but drove him here. You invited him on board, then killed him and pushed him overboard in the Solent.’
‘You’re mad!’ Shawford paled.
‘Am I?’ Horton began to wonder whether a theory he’d posed in order to frighten Shawford might actually hold water. What motive Shawford could have for killing Felton, Horton had no idea; Seaton though was eyeing him admiringly, as though he’d solved the crime of the decade in a flash of inspiration. But Shawford was an experienced sailor and could have used his boat to get from Horsea Marina to Willow Bank quite easily, Horton thought. But why would Shawford hitch up with Felton, and why kill Venetia Trotman? However much he hated him, Horton couldn’t see Shawford as a killer.
Alarmed, Shawford said, ‘I dropped Luke off at Portchester Castle and went home. I got in at just after seven. You can ask my neighbour. I saw her in the lobby.’
‘You might have left Felton, dead, on your boat and returned later to get rid of the body.’
‘Christ! You’re insane. You’re trying to fit me up, just because I’m in a relationship with Catherine. I want a lawyer.’
‘Why? You’ve not been charged,’ Horton replied, feigning bewilderment. OK, so he was rather enjoying this.
‘I know you bastards. You’ll twist everything I say.’
‘Had much dealing with the law then?’
‘Sod off, Horton.’
Horton smiled, which seemed to send Shawford into a purple fit. His fists clenched, but with supreme effort he managed to control himself. Pity. Horton would have relished being thumped and then charging the man.
‘We’ll need to search your boat.’
‘Then you’ll need a warrant.’
‘So you have got something to hide,’ Horton taunted, ignoring the pleading look Seaton was throwing him. Good job Cantelli wasn’t here, Horton thought. He’d be having kittens.
‘You could plant something.’
‘Tch, tch, you obviously don’t hold the police in very high regard.’ Horton leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘But then I think you’re a useless piece of shit.’
Shawford flushed. ‘How dare you . . . Did you hear that?’
Seaton looked confused. ‘Sorry, sir, must be the noise of that helicopter going over.’
‘What bloody . . . Oh, I see, sticking together. Well, I don’t have to put up with your crap any longer.’ He climbed in the car and this time Horton didn’t prevent him, but he leaned down and tapped on the window. Shawford looked in two minds whether to lower it, but finally did so with ill grace.
Pleasantly Horton said, ‘We’ll need you to come to the station and make a statement about giving Luke Felton a lift.’
‘What, now?’ Shawford snatched a glance at his watch.
Why, you got a date with Catherine? ‘Yes, now. We’ll follow you.’
‘You can try,’ said Shawford, gunning the engine.
Watching the car speed away Seaton said, ‘Do you really think he killed Felton?’
Horton considered it for a moment. ‘No, but I want a warrant to search his boat, and we’ll take forensic samples from it.’ If only to annoy Shawford, thought Horton. Aloud he said, ‘You can check his story tomorrow with his neighbour, and see if anyone around Portchester Castle remembers seeing Felton there on Tuesday evening. Meanwhile, if you can give up more of your Sunday, you can take Shawford’s statement.’
TWELVE
Shawford stuck to his story but Horton was convinced there was something he wasn’t telling them. He had again denied them access to his boat and insisted on them getting a warrant, so Horton would, if only to spite the man – because he couldn’t really see him kidnapping and killing Luke Felton, or being in league with him to rob and kill Venetia Trotman. But Horton had an edgy feeling about Shawford. OK, so his intense dislike of the slob was probably clouding his judgement, but his copper’s instinct told him there was something not right.
From his office window he watched Shawford cross the car park to his vehicle while mentally running over their encounter at Horsea Marina. Shawford had looked shocked at seeing them but there had also been that nervous glance back at the boat, the insistence that they get a warrant before going on board, and the defe
nsive response when Horton had asked him where he’d been. Of course there might be nothing more in Shawford’s reaction than hatred for him, but as Shawford pulled out of the car park, Horton found himself reaching for his helmet and jacket.
On the Harley he would soon catch up with Shawford, but even if he didn’t he had an inkling where he would find him, and that wouldn’t be with Catherine. Horton veered off the motorway and made towards Horsea Marina. He’d been correct. Ahead was Shawford’s BMW. He kept well back, even though he doubted Shawford would recognize him or his Harley. Shawford pulled into the marina and drew up close to the spot where earlier Horton and Seaton had interviewed him. As Horton watched him hurry from his car to the pontoon he reconsidered his theory about Felton having been on Shawford’s boat; was Shawford trying to hide the evidence? But Horton just couldn’t see it. No, he had other ideas about what Shawford might be trying to hide.
A few minutes elapsed before Shawford emerged, looking furtive, and carrying a plastic carrier bag. Horton smiled grimly to himself. Climbing off the Harley he crossed to Shawford’s car. Shawford saw him, froze, flushed and tried to look untroubled, but Horton could see he was shitting himself.
‘What’s in the bag?’ Horton demanded.
‘None of your business,’ Shawford bluffed, but Horton remained resolutely in front of the driver’s door, blocking him.
‘This is harassment,’ Shawford raged. ‘I shall report you to your superiors.’
‘Report all you like. Edward Shawford, I am arresting you on suspicion of the kidnapping of Luke Felton and of being in possession of items belonging to him—’
‘You bastard!’
‘Hand it over, Shawford.’ Horton stretched out his hand and angrily Shawford pushed the bag into it.
Peering inside Horton found himself staring at what he had expected, not Luke Felton’s personal effects, but a stash of DVDs and magazines. He dipped inside and withdrew a magazine. He didn’t need to flick through it, or the others, to know what they contained; the woman on the front of the one he was holding gave him enough of a clue. She was dressed in a black leather tunic, thigh-high boots, a spiked leather collar, and she was wielding a whip. With his knowledge of Shawford’s relationship with Catherine – which had once included bruises that Catherine had tried to blame on him – Horton could see that Shawford liked it rough.
‘It’s not what you think,’ Shawford blabbed. ‘It’s just a fantasy, that’s all, a bit of fun. I like to look at it. I don’t actually do it.’
Horton eyed him with disgust. His stomach churned at the thought of this man and Catherine indulging in sadomasochism. Which of them had the power? Surely not Catherine, but then he couldn’t see Shawford as the dominant partner in the relationship, the one wanting to inflict pain while Catherine took pleasure in it. No, it had to be the other way around, but that made him feel angry, disappointed and sick. It threw into question everything his relationship with Catherine had been. He hoped that Shawford was telling the truth about only wanting to look at it, before another mind-numbing and paralysing thought struck him. Emma!
His body stiffened with fear and fury. He had no reason to believe that Emma had witnessed this kind of sexual behaviour between Shawford and her mother, or that Shawford’s tastes ran even stronger than sadomasochism, but he didn’t want him anywhere near his daughter. And certainly not in the same house while her mother indulged in whatever sick fancy turned Shawford on. He reached for his mobile.
‘What are you doing?’ Shawford cried.
Horton eyed him coldly. ‘Getting the vice squad into your apartment, who will take it apart.’ He had no intention of doing so; vice might find images of Shawford with Catherine. And he couldn’t stand that. It would be all over the station. He made to punch in a number, praying that Shawford would lose his nerve. He did.
Shawford blanched. ‘No, please. Not that.’
Horton made a pretence of hesitating while breathing a silent sigh of relief. He eyed Shawford steadily and with hatred. Shawford flinched. Then, thrusting his face so close to Shawford’s that he could see the veins in his eyes, Horton hissed, ‘If I find you within a mile of my daughter I’ll wipe your fat face in the dirt and smear your perversions all over the press. Is that clear?’
Shawford opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it and nodded curtly. After a moment Horton stepped back, but not far enough for Shawford to escape brushing against him. Shawford’s nervous eyes flicked down to the bag in Horton’s hand.
‘I’ll hang on to these,’ Horton said brusquely.
He watched as the BMW sped out of the car park, then stashed the bag in the locker on the Harley and headed up the hill bordering the city. Here he drew into one of the viewpoint lay-bys and stared without seeing it at the land and seascape spread out beneath him under a low cloud. He tried not to think of Catherine and Edward Shawford together. He realized his fists were clenching as disturbing images flitted through his brain. He had to force himself to relax, to take a slow, deep breath. Distantly he could hear the throb of the traffic. After a while his heart rate settled down, though not back to normal because he knew there was something he had to do to guarantee that Shawford never saw Emma again.
Half an hour later he was pulling up outside his former home. Catherine’s car was on the driveway. Good. Stiff with tension, he pushed his finger on the bell and waited impatiently for her to come to the door. It seemed like ages, but in reality it must only have been a minute, maybe less. Her expression changed swiftly from polite curiosity to anger before she half closed the door on him as though afraid he’d storm in. He desperately wanted to, but curbed his agitation.
‘What do you want, Andy?’
‘Where’s Emma?’ Horton strained his ears for his daughter’s pleasant laughter or chatter but all was silent. This was one time in his life when he prayed she wouldn’t be there.
‘She’s on a sleepover with a school friend.’
Horton glanced at his watch to disguise his relief. He was surprised to find it was nearly four o’clock. ‘Shouldn’t she be back soon for school in the morning?’
‘What do you want?’ Catherine repeated firmly.
‘To come in.’
‘You can’t.’ She made to close the door further.
Exasperated, Horton said, ‘Catherine, what are you afraid of? That I’m going to ransack the place or contaminate it in some way, or perhaps physically attack you?’
‘No, but—’
‘Or that once inside I’ll refuse to leave until I see Emma, or refuse to go for good?’ He saw that something like that had crossed her mind. Wearily, he said, ‘I won’t. We need to talk.’
‘We finished talking a long time ago when you—’
‘Oh, change the record, Catherine,’ Horton cried, exasperated. ‘You know I didn’t sleep with Lucy Richardson, never mind rape her, so stop dragging that up as an excuse for why you ended our marriage. If you want to blame me and the job, then fine. It’s better for Emma’s sake than me citing your adultery. And don’t deny it,’ he added hastily at her black look, ‘because I don’t believe it and what’s more I don’t care any more. I need to talk to you about Edward Shawford.’
‘So we’re back to him,’ Catherine hissed. ‘You’re jealous.’
Horton’s expression hardened. Brusquely he said, ‘There’s something you should see. I’ve just taken these off Shawford.’ He pulled out one of the magazines. ‘But if you’d like to discuss it here on the doorstep for the neighbours to hear . . .’
He saw her startled expression before, tight-lipped, she stepped back, and for the first time since September Horton walked through the hall and into the lounge on the left. She’d completely changed it; clearly it had been a case of sweeping him out of her life.
‘Looks nice,’ he said, though he didn’t mean it. Everything was white except the floor, which was wood. There were white walls, white chairs, white curtains, the only splash of colour being the red cushions. She’d dit
ched the books, ornaments, pictures and photographs, except for one large one of her and Emma above where the fireplace had once been, but was now a plain wall. The room reminded Horton of a prison cell with splashes of blood.
She stood with her arms folded and glared at him, but behind her blue eyes he could see she was worried. ‘What’s this all about?’ she demanded with hostility.
Clearly he wasn’t going to be offered a coffee, not even a glass of water. Even if he were he didn’t know whether he’d be able to swallow it, his body felt so taut.
He tipped open the plastic bag, scattering the contents on the floor. Her eyes flicked to them and then up to him.
‘Shawford had those on his boat.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘I don’t want to know what you do with Shawford, but I am concerned about my daughter being in the same house when you do it.’
‘How dare you!’ she raged. ‘You think—’
‘I dare, Catherine, because I know that you and Shawford have indulged in some extreme physical sex in the past.’
She flushed. Her mouth opened then closed tightly.
Horton continued. ‘Is there anything I need to know about?’
She didn’t answer.
‘Is there?’ he pressed.
‘No,’ she spat. ‘I’ve never been into bondage and all that stuff.’ She jabbed a finger at the magazines. But her eyes fell and she turned away from him.
‘Ah, but he wanted to.’
She swung back, her eyes flashing with fury. ‘Of course not,’ she declared hotly.
It was a lie. Horton knew he was right. ‘I’ve applied for a warrant to search Shawford’s boat. Not because of that,’ he added hastily, gesturing at the pornography, ‘but because Shawford, so far, is the last person to have seen Luke Felton. He gave him a lift on Tuesday night. We might also need to apply to search his apartment. I’m telling you this, Catherine, because I don’t want to be the source of gossip and sniggers all over the station, and I don’t want Emma exposed to it. Is there anything I need to know about?’
Footsteps on the Shore Page 13
