Pauline Rowson - Footsteps on the Shore

‘You can suggest all you damn well like, but unless you have a warrant you are not taking a thing out of this factory.’

‘Then we’ll get a warrant. But if you believe you can switch computers and give us one that Felton wasn’t working on, I have a note of the serial number. And if you think you can wipe it clean then let me tell you, our computer unit can trace everything Felton has looked at and everyone he has communicated with since he started here.’

‘Get out.’ Kempton stormed to the entrance and wrenched open the door, just as Catherine was walking towards it. Horton noted her surprise while quickly taking in her smart trousers and jacket. Her blonde hair was longer than when he’d last seen her just after Christmas, and she was looking good — slim and younger than her thirty-five years. He rapidly examined his feelings and found only bitterness.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked, hurrying towards them looking worried. ‘Is Emma all right?’

‘You should know,’ Horton couldn’t help quipping, ‘she’s in your charge.’

‘Dad?’

‘Inspector Horton is leaving.’

Horton turned to Toby Kempton and said evenly, ‘I suggest you talk to Kelly Masters. I’m sure she’s discreet, but you never can tell what she might let slip when pressed.’ He knew that was below the belt and he had no evidence to suggest Toby Kempton had slept with Kelly Masters, but sod it, it was worth a try. He held Kempton’s fuming eyes long enough to see a flicker of unease in them, which sent a warm glow to his cold heart, before he swept through the door. He felt Catherine staring after him. He wanted to say something to her but he was too tense and besides, there wasn’t any point. He didn’t know what to say that hadn’t already been shouted, snarled or hurled. And this wasn’t the time or place to discuss the only thing they now had in common: Emma. By the time Cantelli had zapped open the car door, both Toby Kempton and Catherine had disappeared from view.

‘That went well,’ Cantelli said with heavy irony as he started the car.

Horton didn’t reply. His gut was still churning. Kempton had always been an egocentric, pompous prick at the best of times and had obviously taken his daughter’s side in the break-up of their marriage, which Horton had to grudgingly admit was only natural. He couldn’t help wondering, though, exactly what Catherine had told her father about him; he’d probably been made out to be Saddam Hussein, Stalin, Mussolini and Hitler all rolled into one.

But there was one thing for sure. Whatever Kempton said, did or felt about him there was no way on this earth his father-in-law was going to pay Emma’s school fees and take the place that was rightfully his. And if he had to blackmail, bully and threaten him to prevent it then he would. And he needed to act soon, because he had a terrible feeling that between them Catherine and Toby were going to poison Emma against him so much that he would never get to see his lovely daughter again. That thought chilled him to the bone and beyond. It simply wasn’t an option.

‘Lunch?’ Cantelli said hopefully.

Not without effort Horton pulled himself together. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard; it was almost two thirty and an age since breakfast, which he hadn’t eaten because of that damn etching on his Harley and DCI Bliss’s sudden return to duty. He still didn’t know why she had returned from her secondment earlier than planned, and it didn’t matter now, because she was back and there was nothing he could do about it. He found he had no appetite though, the bloated body in the harbour and Toby Kempton had put paid to that.

‘Turn right,’ he instructed Cantelli. ‘We’ll see if Olivia Danbury’s in.’

Cantelli threw him a pleading look.

‘Perhaps she’ll give us a cup of tea,’ Horton added, punching in Mrs Trotman’s telephone number with a feeling of desperation that he had to get the yacht he’d viewed yesterday as quickly as possible so that he had somewhere for Emma to stay. And yet even then he could almost hear the family court judge crying incredulously, ‘A yacht! You intend letting a child sleep on board a yacht!’

‘It’s solids I need, not liquid,’ Cantelli grumbled, as Horton listened to the phone ringing.

Getting no answer he hung up, saying, ‘Then let’s hope Mrs Danbury gives you a biscuit.’

Olivia Danbury didn’t even offer them a smile, let alone any refreshments. Horton reckoned the skinny blonde woman in her mid-thirties didn’t have much to smile about, unless you counted the large detached modern house set behind electronic gates in landscaped gardens, the sweeping driveway, tennis courts and panoramic views over the harbour across to the Isle of Wight. A deep frown crossed her suntanned face as Cantelli made the introductions. Horton mentally compared her to the picture Harmsworth had given them of Luke Felton and thought she was younger than her brother, but apart from the colour of the hostile blue eyes, there was no similarity between them.

‘How many times do I have to say it?’ she declared angrily. ‘I have not seen Luke and I don’t want to see him, ever.’

Reluctantly, she had let them in but kept them standing in a black-and-white tiled hall with an elaborate marble staircase and wrought-iron balustrade that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Hollywood movie. Horton wondered who Cantelli was imagining gliding down the staircase given his love of old movies.

He said, ‘Has Luke been in touch since he was released on licence?’

‘No.’

‘What about while he was in prison?’ The gaze she bestowed on Horton was about as friendly as the one Rookley’s mate in the cafe had given him.

‘No. Now is that it? Because I’ve got to go out.’

Horton doubted that. She just wanted shot of them. He said, ‘Has your brother, Ashley, been in contact with Luke since his release?’

‘No.’

He didn’t know if that was the truth. They’d speak to Ashley Felton anyway.

Cantelli held out his business card. ‘Will you contact us if Luke attempts to get in touch?’

Horton thought she couldn’t have shown her disgust more if Cantelli had been holding a pile of dog shit. The sergeant’s hand remained resolutely outstretched until, with an explosive sigh, strong enough to turn a windmill, she snatched the card from him. Horton reckoned she’d tear it into tiny shreds and drop it into a bin with her nicely manicured fingers as soon as their back was turned. Still, he could understand her anger, which perhaps disguised her shame and emotional turmoil. It wasn’t very nice having a convicted killer in the family. He saw no need to tell her about the body in the harbour, not when they didn’t know if it was Luke Felton.

Gently he said, ‘We understand your distress and anger, Mrs Danbury. We’ll do our best to find Luke and, because he’s broken the conditions of his licence, he’ll be sent back to prison.’

‘And long may he rot there.’

Horton studied her for a moment longer than necessary, but the lady was not for breaking her eye contact, and neither did he see in her eyes any hint of compassion. If Luke was dead then he didn’t think Olivia Danbury would shed any tears for him.

There didn’t seem much point in hanging around. Horton thanked her and in the car, Cantelli said, ‘Seeing as we didn’t get a biscuit, can we grab a burger? My stomach’s rattling like a snake in a cage. There’s a mobile cafe along the top of the hill.’

Horton nodded.

‘Could she be hiding her brother in that mansion?’ Cantelli said, indicating right on to the hill road.

‘I don’t see why she should,’ Horton replied, thinking the house was big enough to hide a whole regiment. ‘If Luke Felton did visit her then how did he get there? He doesn’t have a car and her house is hardly on a bus route.’ People who lived in places like the Danburys didn’t need buses.