Footsteps on the Shore

by Pauline Rowson

  Outside Cantelli said, ‘Could he have killed Natalie Raymonds?’

  It was a question that Horton had been asking himself during the interview. Was Bailey capable of such a crime, and one that had required careful planning? The answer was yes. Bailey had been a design draughtsman, which meant he had an eye for detail, and he had a powerful motive.

  ‘If he did, then unless he admits it we’ll not be able to prove it. We might get lucky with the search, though, and find evidence to connect him with Felton’s disappearance. And we might even find Felton’s body. I’d like you on the search, Barney.’

  Their conversation had taken them back to the CID office where Walters had returned footsore, wet and in bad humour. ‘The old lady they were burying on Friday was a Margery Blanchester, she was ninety-one,’ he said, throwing himself down in his chair with a heavy sigh. ‘None of the funeral directors match the description the gravedigger gave me, and I can rule out five of the eight mourners because three are women and the other two are men in their seventies. I’ll do the rest tomorrow.’

  Horton consulted his watch and was surprised to see it was just after six, but there was someone he wanted to see before calling it a day and he wanted Cantelli with him.

  ‘Why do you want to interview Julian Raymonds?’ Cantelli asked, as they headed out of the city towards Hayling Island.

  ‘If Chawley didn’t check that Bailey was related to the pensioner Felton attacked, then what else didn’t he check?’

  ‘Raymonds’ alibi?’

  ‘Possibly, and even if Chawley knew Bailey was lying and kept silent to get a conviction it’s shoddy work, and it means we can’t trust a single thing in that case file, except the pathologist’s report. Chawley told me he’d checked Natalie’s background and looked for links between her and Luke, but how can we be sure? There’s nothing in the file I’ve read to indicate any of Natalie’s friends were interviewed, and there’s no record of where she went to school, where she worked, nothing. And if we put that with Lena Lockhart’s testimony and the missing tapes then we’ve got a very different case on our hands. One that needs reopening.’

  ‘I don’t think Olivia Danbury will be too pleased about that.’

  Or her arrogant and overprotective husband, thought Horton, and neither, he suspected, would Julian Raymonds be.

  The door of Raymonds’ house was opened by a well-groomed blonde woman in her early forties. Cantelli swiftly made the introductions in the pouring rain.

  ‘This is about letting that killer out of gaol, isn’t it?’ Mrs Raymonds snapped. ‘I don’t want Julian upset. He’s been under a lot of pressure and his health’s not good.’

  Horton tried a sympathetic look. He said nothing and neither did Cantelli. With an irritable sigh she was forced to admit them and they followed her neat little figure down the hall into a gleaming white living and dining room that made Horton wish he’d brought sunglasses. It reminded him of what Catherine had done to what had once been his home.

  Sitting hunched over a laptop computer was a thin, balding man in his fifties with several papers spread out around him. Beyond him, Horton could see the lights of Portsmouth across the dark expanse of Langstone Harbour.

  ‘It’s the police,’ Mrs Raymonds announced briskly.

  Raymonds looked up, more alarmed than upset. Mrs Raymonds had been right though; her husband didn’t seem in the best of health. Horton wondered what was wrong with him. His troubled eyes flitted warily to Horton and quickly away again. For a moment there was a brief flash of colour on his hollow cheeks before it faded once more into greyness.

  Politely, Horton said, ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr Raymonds, but I need to ask you a few questions about Natalie.’

  Raymonds lowered the lid of his laptop. ‘It’s all in your files. I’ve nothing to add.’

  ‘We have new evidence showing that Luke Felton might not have been alone when your wife was killed.’ And the person with him, thought Horton, could still have been Peter Bailey.

  Raymonds’ eyes flicked up to his wife, who was standing ramrod straight, arms folded, lips pursed, glaring at Horton. She caught her husband’s glance and gave a slight shake of her head.

  Catching it too, Cantelli said, ‘Any chance of a cup of tea, Mrs Raymonds?’

  She looked as though she was about to tell Cantelli what he could do with his tea, but whether Cantelli’s charming smile or the slight nod from her husband changed her mind, Horton didn’t know. She huffed out of the room with Cantelli following. If anyone could charm her then Cantelli could. And at the same time pump her for information.

  Horton took the seat opposite Raymonds. ‘Did you ever hear Natalie talk about a man on the coastal path? A birdwatcher, about late forties, looked older, medium height, slender build, wearing spectacles?’

  Raymonds shook his head but Horton saw anxiety in his tired eyes. Horton prompted, ‘She might have made fun of him, joked about him trying to chat her up.’

  ‘She never said.’

  Horton hadn’t really expected any other answer, but he sensed a hint of unease – and something more – underlying Julian Raymonds’ manner. What was it: concern, anger, resentment, fear? He said, ‘How often did she run along the path?’

  ‘When she felt like it.’

  ‘There wasn’t a regular time then?’

  ‘Not really. It depended on the weather and what she was doing that day.’

  That didn’t necessarily mean Bailey hadn’t selected her as his victim. He could have seen her on several occasions on the path. But if he hadn’t, as he claimed, then who else had wanted Natalie dead, and why? And who wanted Luke Felton to pay for it? Julian Raymonds?

  Eyeing Raymonds closely, Horton said, ‘Is there anyone who would have wanted Natalie dead?’

  Raymonds bristled. ‘I know what you’re driving at but I can tell you I didn’t kill her. I had only just married her, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Maybe you made a mistake. It was a whirlwind romance.’

  ‘I loved Natalie,’ Raymonds insisted, but his statement rang false. Horton kept his gaze on the thin, stooping man, not allowing his excitement to show. He knew he was on the edge of learning some new and vital piece of information that could turn this case around. After a moment Raymonds sighed. Horton wondered if he was about to hear a confession.

  ‘Oh, what does it matter now? You might as well know the truth. I thought Natalie loved me, but she only loved my money, which will soon be gone along with this house. I’m bankrupt, cleaned out. Not that that’s Natalie’s fault. The recession finished me off. I didn’t realize until I married her what really turned her on: money and power. I had both then, and connections with some influential people. Natalie loved that.’ He ran a hand over his face. Horton could hear the soft rumble of voices coming from the kitchen.

  After a moment Raymonds continued in a flat weary tone, ‘Natalie had affairs. She was having one when she was killed, but I’ve no idea who with.’

  Horton’s pulse quickened. At last the truth. So much for Chawley’s investigation. ‘How do you know that?’ he asked keenly.

  ‘Because she was different. She always was when it was going on. Brighter, happier and more passionate. I thought like the other affairs it would pass. I turned a blind eye because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. When she was killed I was devastated. I thought that maybe a jealous wife or partner had killed her, but when Luke Felton was arrested, I was surprised. He wasn’t her type. For a start he didn’t have money or power. And Natalie would never have had an affair with someone so scruffy, or a drug addict.’

  And that ruled Bailey out too, certainly of being Natalie’s lover. But he did have that motive for wanting to destroy Luke Felton, and Raymonds had one too. As though reading Horton’s mind, Raymonds added, ‘And if you think that gives me a reason for killing Natalie, then I can tell you there were several witnesses who can swear I was at the boat show when Natalie was murdered.’

  Mrs Raymonds burst into
the room, with Cantelli, sipping at a mug, in tow.

  ‘If you’re going to accuse my husband of such a vile act then you can charge him, and we want a solicitor present,’ she cried.

  ‘Leave it, Sharon,’ Raymonds said, waving away his wife’s protests. To Horton he said, ‘I’ve kept silent about Natalie’s affairs because no one asked me about them. Superintendent Chawley had Luke Felton for her murder, the evidence seemed overwhelming and he confessed to it.’

  ‘Can you tell me anything about her lover, anything at all?’ Horton hoped he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.

  But Raymonds shook his head.

  ‘What about previous lovers?’ asked Cantelli, quickly picking up on Horton’s conversation with Raymonds.

  ‘I’ve no idea who they were. I didn’t want to know.’

  Angrily, Sharon Raymonds interjected. ‘It all happened a long time ago. My husband is ill, we don’t want it raked up for the newspapers to splash all over their front pages again. Natalie is dead and good riddance, I say. Whoever killed her did us all a favour.’

  ‘Sharon!’

  ‘It’s true,’ she declared. ‘All right, so I shouldn’t have said that about wishing her dead, but she used you, Julian, and made your life hell.’

  Horton said, ‘Did Natalie take drugs?’

  ‘No,’ Raymonds answered without hesitation. ‘She valued control too much, which was why she enjoyed using men, she had emotional and sexual control over them. And she wouldn’t do anything to destroy her body or looks.’

  ‘Did she ever deal in drugs?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’ He looked genuinely shocked.

  There didn’t seem anything more Raymonds could tell them, and he was, Horton had to admit, looking very ill. He told Raymonds they’d need a statement at some stage and that there was a strong possibility the case would be reopened in light of new evidence. That made Raymonds look even worse. In the car he asked Cantelli what he’d got from Sharon Raymonds.

  ‘Julian Raymonds has cancer, is broke and she loves him.’

  ‘If this lover story is true, Barney, then Bailey certainly doesn’t fit the bill, and it’s as he claims, he saw an opportunity to put Luke in the frame for her murder after Superintendent Chawley had given his press conference asking for any sightings of a man in his twenties on the coastal path that day. He only half expected to be believed, not knowing that Chawley already had DNA and fingerprints. Luke was there, and with Natalie’s killer. Whoever killed her hadn’t counted on a false witness coming forward but wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth when it did. It wasn’t a spur of the moment murder, it was meticulously planned and premeditated, it had to be to implicate Luke. So Natalie must already have told this lover the affair was over but agreed to see him one last time. He brought a drugged Luke Felton with him in his car or on his boat on the high tide, which is why Luke kept mentioning water and bailing. It must have been a small boat to get up on to the shore and perhaps the water got in. Bailey said the tide was up when he was bird watching, and he’s correct, high water was at two twenty-nine p.m. on the nineteenth of September 1997. Which means the killer could have access to the shore between twelve thirty and four thirty. Let’s say he came in the boat at three thirty or even four o’clock, killed Natalie and left a drugged Luke there to take the blame.’

  Cantelli took it up. ‘He becomes aware of his surroundings after it grows dark, stumbles over the body and gets his DNA all over Natalie and blood on his clothes, and staggers on to the coastal path—’

  ‘Sees the gate, which is directly opposite—’

  ‘And then somehow makes his way back to Portsmouth.’

  ‘He wasn’t picked up until the Monday in Southsea and it was clear he’d been sleeping rough. He didn’t catch the ferry so perhaps he hitched a lift. Or . . .’ Horton paused before voicing the thought that had occurred to him earlier. ‘Perhaps Natalie’s killer took Felton back to the Portsmouth shore in his boat and dumped him there. But who was her lover, Barney? It has to be someone with money or power, or both according to Raymonds, and someone who knew Luke Felton.’

  ‘Ashley Felton had money and power.’

  ‘But he was working in Germany.’

  ‘I haven’t had time to check that yet. He could be lying. Though I can’t see him wanting to frame his brother and destroy his parents. What about Neil Danbury? I haven’t met him, but I’ve seen his house and there’s a lot of money there.’

  ‘Not in 1997 there wouldn’t have been.’

  ‘But he inherited Neville Felton’s practice. He could have had a fling with Natalie, who threatened to tell all before the big day. Perhaps she was going to waltz into the church at that moment when the priest says “Does any man know any just cause or impediment why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony?” That would have put the kibosh on his future career. He kills Natalie, frames Luke because he’s already got a criminal sentence, and then inherits the business from his father-in-law.’

  ‘I’d warm to that version,’ Horton said, recalling his interview with Danbury at the police station. ‘And I haven’t forgotten Edward Shawford. He could have been Natalie’s lover, though I don’t see him having the brains to plan her death and frame Luke Felton for it, or having money and power.’

  ‘That’s because you’re prejudiced.’

  Horton grunted acquiescence. He wondered though how Shawford would have known Luke in 1997. But then what the devil did he know about Shawford’s past anyway? He only knew of his present sexual tastes: sadomasochism.

  Horton sighed. ‘It’s late, Barney. Let’s sleep on it.’ Tomorrow they might get some fresh evidence from the search of Bailey’s premises and car. And tomorrow he’d re-interview Edward Shawford.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Wednesday, 18 March

  Cantelli left to oversee the search of Peter Bailey’s premises after making sure that Horton hadn’t received a nocturnal visit from his stalker.

  ‘All quiet on the marina front,’ Horton reported, trying not to show any traces of fatigue. He doubted he was fooling Cantelli. The sergeant looked as though he’d been awake half the night worrying about it, which made Horton feel guilty. Perhaps he was being selfish. Strangely enough, though, he’d managed a few hours of untroubled sleep without any dreams or sounds of motorbikes disturbing him.

  Walters went off to track down the remaining mourners at the funeral, which left Horton free to interview Edward Shawford. He promised Cantelli he’d take someone with him and was just wondering if PC Seaton was on duty when his phone rang. It was Dr Clayton.

  ‘John Lauder’s come through with some information on your mystery lady,’ she announced excitedly.

  ‘That was quick,’ Horton said, surprised.

  ‘Being a forensic anthropologist he’s usually only got a few old bones or a skull to work on, or if he’s really lucky a complete skeleton. So when I sent him photographic images, measurements and the full autopsy report it was a doddle, or so he claims. Plus I said it was urgent. I’ll tell you what he’s discovered when you get here. And before you ask, yes, I have told Superintendent Uckfield, or rather DI Dennings. But the reason I want you here isn’t for the pleasure of seeing you again, nice as that usually is, but Perdita’s also got some rather interesting information on your symbol, which I haven’t told Dennings.’

  That changed everything. Shawford could wait.

  On his way to the mortuary Horton speculated as to what both Lauder and Perdita had discovered. Would the former help Uckfield find his killer? Horton sincerely hoped so. Perhaps he already had a lead on it. And what about the symbol? Was its interpretation going to point him in the direction of Zeus and his mother? Horton felt a quickening pulse as he pulled up in the hospital grounds.

  He found Dr Clayton in her office staring at a laptop computer screen. She looked up with a smile.

  ‘I was right,’ she cried triumphantly. ‘According to John Lauder, your mystery lady is not of British or American o
rigin, she’s from Eastern Europe. Lauder thought Russian at first, but when he investigated further, taking skull and facial measurements into consideration, and based on the information I gave him, he says she is Georgian.’

  Horton’s mind quickly tried to grapple with this new information and what he knew about Georgia, which was about as much as he knew about astrophysics. He recalled the anonymous caller and his foreign accent. There had to be a link there surely? And no doubt Trueman had already made it, along with contacting the Georgian authorities to see if he could get a match on Venetia Trotman’s fingerprints and DNA. He’d probably also sent her photograph and description over to Georgia and Europol, asking them to circulate her details.

  He said, ‘She might originate from Georgia but we don’t know when she lived there, if she ever did. She could have been born in the UK to Georgian parents.’

  ‘You want sugar on it?’ Gaye rolled her eyes. Then she smiled. ‘If you recall, I noted that she had very little dental work—’

  ‘I haven’t seen the report.’

  ‘Of course, it’s Superintendent Uckfield’s case. Well, Lauder has confirmed my opinion that the dental work was not carried out in the UK.’

  And Horton wondered what Uckfield would make of that. He was keen to find out, but not keen enough to forget the other pressing matter that had brought him here.

  Not bothering to disguise his excitement he asked, ‘And the symbol?’

  Gaye beckoned him around to her side of the desk. ‘Extremely interesting and highly significant, given what I’ve just told you.’ She pointed to the screen and he swivelled his puzzled gaze to it. She continued. ‘On the face of it, it looks like the pagan “deadly” symbol: a cross and a circle above it. But the cross intersects at the bottom not in the middle.’

  Horton found himself staring at an enlarged picture of the symbol which had been left on the hatch of his yacht.

  ‘Perhaps whoever did it can’t draw,’ he said, recalling Cantelli’s hasty and perfunctory research.