Leaping down on to the shingle, Horton turned eastwards towards the entrance to Langstone Harbour and a row of upended tenders and rotting houseboats. With his heart pumping fast he steeled himself for an attack, his senses heightened. With bated breath he advanced gingerly until he reached the first overturned tender. Stretching out he upended it, springing back, prepared to be met with his knife-yielding graffiti artist. But there was nothing and no one. He repeated the act with the next tender and the following one, his senses so strained that he felt like a rod of steel.
The man had moved very swiftly and silently, as though he’d had practice at being unobtrusive. He couldn’t simply vanish. Horton stood stock still and listened again, but there was no sound save the gentle wash of the sea on the shore and the hammering of his heart. He walked on towards the semi-derelict hulk of an old houseboat, losing what little light he’d had from the street lights as the shore curved further away from the road. He cursed himself for not having a torch and prayed for the moon to make even the most fleeting of appearances, but the cloud had thickened and the air suddenly felt heavy with the promise of rain. He told himself it would be far more sensible to return tomorrow in daylight, but he knew the man would be gone by then.
This was foolish. But still he pressed on until he was standing beside the blackened hulk of the houseboat and could push open what was left of the rotting door. Steeling himself for a possible attack, and holding his breath, he crashed the door open with his foot and waited. Nothing. Or at least no one rushed out with a knife to kill him. But that didn’t mean no one was waiting inside.
The door fell off its tentative hinges and crashed to the floor. The silence after it was deafening. Still no movement from inside. Knowing he was a fool to continue, Horton stepped over it and into a small black interior that smelt of mud, seaweed, rotting wood and decaying filth. The houseboat was empty. Or was it? As his eyes adjusted to the dark interior he caught sight of something in the far right-hand corner. Two steps, avoiding the gaping holes in the rotting wood, took him towards it. The moon made an appearance, sending slivers of light through the gaps in the rotted wood. Horton took a tissue from his pocket and turned over food packets and tins. How long had they been here? They looked recent. Is this where the figure he’d seen was living? Was it a tramp he’d frightened off?
Horton bent to look closer and stiffened as he noted paper and something else – a black felt pen. The sound of a motorbike pulling away caught his attention; he knew this wasn’t the shelter of any tramp. It was, or rather had been, the temporary home of his graffiti artist.
NINETEEN
Tuesday, 17 March
Horton eased a hand around the back of his neck, trying to rid himself of a headache caused by lack of sleep, and attempted not to look as tired as he felt.
‘Rough night?’ Cantelli asked, concerned.
They were on their way to Ashley Felton’s apartment.
‘You could say that.’ Horton told him about the symbol pinned to his yacht, the hooded figure and the fact that earlier that morning he had returned to the rotting houseboat and collected up the debris, which he’d taken to the forensic lab along with the felt pen. In daylight it was clear to Horton the man had been living rough, which made him wonder how he could afford a motorbike. He’d asked Sergeant Stride to check the reports for any stolen bikes.
Cantelli listened in silence with a frown, and with repeated glances in his rear view mirror. ‘I can’t see anyone following us on a motorbike,’ he said, worried. ‘Maybe you should stay with us for a few days until we can find out who this stalker is.’
‘Thanks, but I’ll be all right.’
‘I seem to remember you saying something like that before, and you were almost fried alive.’
‘I’ll move the yacht later. It’s high tide this afternoon.’
‘Well, see that you do. Anyway, I’m glad Dr Clayton’s friend is investigating that symbol. And perhaps Joliffe and the lab will come up with a match on fingerprints.’
Horton sincerely hoped so. He changed the subject. ‘I called DCI Stuart Pritchard this morning. He was a DS on the drug squad in 1997. I did my training with him at police college. I wondered if he might remember the major players on the drug scene at the time of Natalie’s death.’
‘Does he?’
‘He was in a meeting so I left a message for him to call me. I don’t hold out much hope of it leading to anything though, because if Natalie was killed by a supplier, then it’s probably one still unknown to us. Someone clever enough to use Luke Felton and frame him for her murder and get away with it.’ He wondered if it might be the same person that Superintendent Oliver had been after. If so, then Horton wasn’t hopeful of catching him.
‘I asked Charlotte about the Feltons last night,’ Cantelli said, negotiating the heavy traffic through the city. ‘She didn’t know the Felton children, but Sonia Felton was very proud of her eldest son, Ashley, who was then something grand in management in London. And Olivia was the apple of her father’s eye.’
Which was what Lena Lockhart had told him.
Cantelli was saying, ‘She told Charlotte that Luke was difficult to reach. A quiet boy, a bit of a loner. He’d dropped out of university and didn’t seem to want to do anything. Charlotte says that Sonia and Neville Felton rowed over the best way to deal with Luke. Neville wanted to throw him out, but Sonia wouldn’t hear of it. When Luke was charged with attacking that pensioner and stealing her money while high on drugs, Sonia was mortified. She was off sick for a long time. Charlotte says Sonia blamed herself for not getting close to him, for not loving him enough. The Feltons helped him through the drug rehabilitation programme and Luke promised he’d never go back to drugs. His father got him a job somewhere, Charlotte doesn’t know where. It was after his community service anyway. I expect it was with one of his clients. When Luke was charged with killing Natalie Raymonds, they were devastated. It killed Sonia. It wasn’t her fault but Charlotte says she thought it was.’
Horton considered what Cantelli had said. It pretty much married up with what Lena Lockhart had told him about Luke, but it wasn’t the picture Ashley Felton had painted of his brother. What was it he had said? He asked Cantelli.
‘I wondered about that. Ashley Felton said that Luke had a terrible temper, that he used to fly off the handle at the smallest thing, especially if he didn’t get his own way.’
‘So who do we believe?’
‘No contest,’ Cantelli declared. ‘Charlotte wouldn’t say that if she hadn’t heard it.’
‘No, but perhaps Sonia Felton saw her middle son in a different light.’
‘That doesn’t account for what Lena Lockhart told you. Though I guess she might have seen a different Luke Felton because of prison, and Ashley Felton could have said that about Luke because he feels guilty over not helping his brother.’
And he looked more than guilt-ridden when he opened the door to them a few minutes later. Dressed in casual clothes, Ashley Felton once again led them through the small lobby into the open-plan room. The table was littered with crockery and cutlery from several meals, and among the debris were strewn papers and a laptop computer. The room stank of stale cigarette smoke and whisky, and a fug hung over it. Horton wished they could throw open a window, but Ashley Felton seemed to be allergic to fresh air – and suffering from a cold, judging by his constant sniffing.
‘I didn’t feel I could go into work not knowing where Luke was. Besides, I can work from home,’ he explained, reaching for his cigarettes. ‘Have you got some news about Luke?’ He sat down and lit up. He seemed a far cry from the confident, charming man Lena Lockhart had described.
Horton asked if Luke had talked about his drug treatment programme in prison.
Ashley Felton looked surprised. ‘We only talked briefly after Luke was released, as I told you, and he didn’t mention it then. He just asked for money to help him move out of Crown House.’
‘Did he ever confide in you that he didn’
t kill Natalie Raymonds?’
Ashley Felton’s hand froze. Horton noted it was shaking slightly. ‘I don’t understand,’ he stammered. ‘What are you saying?’
‘There’s a possibility that Luke wasn’t alone that day and that the person with him could have been Natalie’s killer.’
‘But Luke confessed.’
‘We have evidence that throws new light on the case,’ Horton said, eyeing him carefully.
‘Jesus!’ Ashley Felton leapt up and stalked across the room. Horton said nothing and neither did Cantelli. After a moment he turned back to face them. He looked tortured and his voice shook as he said, ‘What evidence?’ The ash from his cigarette fell on to the wooden floor.
Horton answered. ‘Luke underwent hypnotherapy treatment while in prison and he recalled certain things about the murder. His sessions were recorded.’
‘You’ve got tapes?’
Horton thought Ashley Felton looked on the verge of collapse.
‘Where were you between Saturday midday and Monday midday, Mr Felton?’
‘Here. Why?’
Truth or a lie? Horton wasn’t sure but Ashley Felton didn’t want to look at him. Could Luke have confided in him? Could Ashley have sailed across to the Isle of Wight and stolen Lena’s tapes? Could he have killed Natalie Raymonds and framed his own brother for her death?
‘Alone?’ asked Horton.
‘Yes.’
Looking worried, Felton leaned over and stubbed his half-smoked cigarette out in the ashtray. Reaching into his pocket Horton unfurled the computer photograph and laid it in front of him. Evenly he said, ‘Why did you go to Crown House on Thursday evening at eight thirty-three p.m.?’
Felton slowly straightened up and fixed his bloodshot eyes on Horton. ‘I went to see Luke, but he wasn’t there. I felt bad about refusing to help him with the money. After he’d gone I couldn’t stop thinking about it.’ He sniffed and ran a hand through his fair hair. ‘You see, I said some dreadful things about how he’d killed Mum and Dad. I really tore into him. He didn’t retaliate. He said he would never trouble me or ask me for anything ever again. I thought . . . well, I grew worried that I might have driven him to do something drastic. We were told that he had tried to kill himself in prison and I’d said something like “good riddance”. It was tormenting me. I had to see him. When I got there I felt even worse because I could understand why Luke wanted to get out of the place. But he wasn’t there. I thought that he must have managed to get a sub from Kempton’s and had found himself somewhere else to live. I wasn’t happy about not being able to see him to make it up to him but I thought that I’d get the chance at some stage. Then you showed up to tell me he was missing, and as time’s gone on and he’s not been found I thought . . . No, I know,’ he corrected, ‘that Luke must be dead. He’s killed himself.’
Horton studied him closely. Felton looked haunted by what he’d done, but was that refusing to help his brother? It was possible, but Horton could see there was more to Felton’s agitated manner than guilt. And he knew the cause of it, he’d recognized the signs: the shaking hands, bloodshot eyes, dilated pupils, agitation, talkativeness, constant sniffing. Evenly he said, ‘How long have you been addicted to cocaine?’
‘I’m not!’ Ashley Felton started. His eyes fell and he turned away.
‘Is that why you went to Crown House? Did you think Luke would know someone who could help you?’
He spun round. ‘No. I went there to apologize.’
‘Did Luke say he could get you some coke?’ Horton held Ashley’s tormented eyes.
After a moment his body slumped. He sat down heavily and reached for another cigarette. ‘No. I went to ask him if he could get me some. My supply in London’s dried up.’
And Horton knew that could only be because Ashley could no longer afford it. When they looked into his financial affairs, his guess was that Ashley Felton would be up to his eyes in debt.
Coolly, Horton said, ‘Luke didn’t come here asking you for a sub, did he? In fact, he didn’t come here at all because he didn’t know where you were living. This address isn’t held on any directory of company directors. We’ve checked.’ Cantelli had done so before they’d left and he’d discovered that Ashley Felton had only bought this apartment in November.
Felton fidgeted nervously but said nothing.
Horton continued. ‘You contacted Luke and asked him to meet you at Portchester Castle on Tuesday evening.’
That got a reaction. Ashley’s head came up. ‘No!’
‘What did you do, Ashley, when he refused to help you? Did he threaten to tell your sister and brother-in-law about your drug addiction? Or perhaps he remembered that you were that other person with him on the coastal path when Natalie was murdered. And that you killed Natalie.’
‘No!’ Ashley sprang up. ‘I didn’t even know Natalie and I was in London when she was killed.’
At a sign from Horton, Cantelli put the photograph of Ronnie Rookley in front of Ashley. ‘Did you see or talk to this man?’ he asked.
Ashley rubbed a shaking hand across his eyes. He was perspiring heavily. It seemed to take him a while to focus on the picture in front of him but when he did he shook his head. ‘No. I went inside and asked someone where Luke’s room was. I knocked and hung about but there was no answer.’
Horton eyed him closely. Was he lying? Perhaps Rookley said he’d get Ashley drugs. Stabbing at the picture of Rookley, Horton said, ‘Did you arrange to meet this man in the cemetery on Friday morning where he said he’d give you something?’
‘No. I tell you I’ve never seen him.’ Horton studied him, forcing Ashley to add, ‘If I’d got something do you think I’d be in this bloody state?’
He had a point. ‘When did you start taking drugs?’ asked Horton.
Grudgingly Ashley replied, ‘About eighteen months ago at a party in London. Business was tough. It seemed to help me through, but now . . .’ He shrugged.
‘Did you take drugs in 1997?’
‘No.’
‘Did you know Natalie Raymonds?’ Horton asked again.
‘I told you. No. I wasn’t even in the country then. I was working on a project in Germany. You can check with my former employers.’
Horton wasn’t going to take it at face value. Ashley Felton clearly wasn’t a supplier, but maybe Natalie had been and had refused him more drugs. Would that have been enough for him to kill her and frame his brother? It was possible.
He said, ‘Who’s your London supplier?’ He didn’t expect an answer so he wasn’t disappointed when he didn’t get one. ‘We’ll need you to make a statement. And we’ll need to check your movements.’ Not only over the last week but also in 1997, Horton added to himself. They’d also get a warrant to search this flat and Felton’s boat. Ashley Felton could have taken his brother out on his yacht on Tuesday night, killed him and dumped his body in the sea. And he could be lying about not knowing or meeting Ronnie Rookley.
Cantelli slipped out to call a patrol car.
Horton said, ‘How did you know Luke was living at Crown House if you didn’t see or contact him?’
‘Matt Boynton told me.’
Of course. Horton recalled the first meeting with Boynton and Ms Attworth; she’d said that they’d contacted Luke’s brother and sister.
‘I didn’t kill Luke, Inspector,’ Ashley said wearily. ‘But I think he must be dead.’
‘Do your sister and brother-in-law think that?’
‘Olivia does, and I don’t think she much cares either. And Neil believes that Luke’s back to taking drugs and is on the streets somewhere, probably London.’
They watched him climb into the police car before returning to their own vehicle parked on the quay. Horton scanned the area but there was no sign of anyone on a motorbike. He didn’t dare to hope that he might have frightened his stalker away.
He said, ‘Ashley might not have been involved in Natalie’s murder, but he could have met Luke at Portchester Castle and asked
him if he knew where he could get some drugs. And when Luke refused and threatened to tell his sister or the authorities about his brother’s addiction, Ashley gave him a lift back to his yacht in the Town Camber where he killed him and then disposed of the body. He then went to Crown House on Thursday, to meet Rookley, who told him to be in the cemetery on Friday morning where he’d sell him some drugs. Only Rookley thought he’d earn some extra money and said he’d inform on Ashley if he didn’t cough up. So Ashley killed him too.’
‘You think Ashley Felton could have attacked you at the locks?’
‘He’s about the correct build. You’d better contact the London drug squad when we get back, Barney. We’ll see if his DNA matches anything Taylor found at Lena Lockhart’s office. We’ll let him stew in a cell while we talk to Matt Boynton and Kelly Masters. He might feel more like talking after a couple of hours.’
‘If he’s not crawling up the wall by then. Good job Sonia Felton isn’t alive to see what’s become of her golden boy,’ Cantelli said sadly.
Horton agreed.
TWENTY
They drew a blank with Boynton, who said he and Luke didn’t talk about the past but were more concerned with focusing on the present and the future. He claimed to know nothing about the tapes, though he did know that Luke had undergone hypnotherapy sessions as part of his drug treatment programme. ‘It’s on his prison file,’ Boynton had explained when asked how he knew. Of course, thought Horton, as they headed for Kempton’s and Kelly Masters. He wondered if Shawford would be there.
On his way he called the lab to see if they had anything from the search of Shawford’s boat and got a lecture on how they too needed sleep, were desperately short of manpower, were grossly overworked, and weren’t superhuman beings. Pity. A few of those would come in handy.
As they turned into Kempton’s, Horton noted that neither Shawford’s nor Catherine’s cars were in the car park. He wondered if Catherine had spoken to Shawford about the pornography. He couldn’t see her not doing so. Would she dump Shawford? He’d thought it highly likely after their encounter on Sunday. But would he get to keep his job? Horton didn’t know. He was relieved to see that his father-in-law’s car was also absent.
Footsteps on the Shore Page 19
