Pauline Rowson - Footsteps on the Shore

‘Someone could have given him a lift.’

That was possible, although judging by Olivia Danbury’s reaction, Horton guessed that visiting his sister was the last thing Luke Felton would have wanted to do. And if Olivia Danbury was lying then he thought her a damn good actress. Besides, why should she lie? Unless Luke had committed a crime and she was shielding him. But that looked about as likely as the Queen harbouring a known villain.

As Cantelli pulled into the car park and dashed across to the burger stand, Horton wondered what Olivia Danbury’s husband did for a living. Whatever it was, it was clearly very lucrative. He also wondered if they had children. There had been no signs of any. And, he thought, there would be no sleeping aboard yachts for the likes of them, not unless it was the floating gin palace kind of boat; the type that resembled a small ferry. He wasn’t envious; not of that. Just of anyone who could be with their child.

He watched the rain sweep in from the sea across the city and called Dr Clayton. Expecting her voice mail, he was surprised when she answered. He asked if she’d got anything from the body to help identify it.

‘Not a thing,’ she answered in an annoyingly bright tone. ‘Brian’s removed what was left of the clothing and sent it off to the lab. It appears to be some kind of T-shirt, original colour beige, or white; a light colour certainly.’

‘Grey?’ asked Horton, thinking about Harmsworth’s description of Luke’s clothing, which Cantelli had confirmed with the receptionist and other staff.

‘Could be. There was no manufacturer’s label. The small amount of trouser material we managed to salvage is cotton, possibly dark grey or green — again no label.’

This was sounding more like Luke Felton every minute.

‘There was no jewellery on the corpse,’ Dr Clayton added. ‘I’ll check for tattoos, scarring and birth marks when I conduct the autopsy but the condition of the body might make that difficult.’

And that reminded Horton they needed Luke Felton’s medical records urgently. Cantelli slipped back into the car, bringing with him a blast of damp chill wind and the smell of fried onions. Horton took his burger.

He said, ‘Dr Price said the corpse had probably been dead between sixty and seventy-five hours. Is his assumption anywhere near correct?’ He took a bite of his burger.

‘Putrefaction is usually slower in water than in air and even slower in cold water, which is what the sea is this time of year: very cold,’ she said. ‘If he fell in, or was pushed, he wouldn’t have lasted longer than ten minutes. His body would have sunk until the putrefactive gases pushed it to the surface and allowed it to float. Generally, at this time of year, in the sea, that could take anywhere between three to five days, and putrefaction is, as you saw, well advanced.’

Horton stared at his hamburger with a distinct lack of appetite. He wished he hadn’t asked. It couldn’t be Luke Felton then.

‘But it’s possible,’ Gaye Clayton continued, making him wonder if he’d have to reconsider, ‘that instead of sinking, his body got wedged under water where it was attacked by fish, sea lice and other fauna. And in that case the time of death could certainly be considerably more recent. Once removed from the water putrefactive changes advance considerably, which could be what has happened here. The body could have become dislodged and then been washed up.’

Horton pushed his half-eaten burger back in the bag. He had no idea how long the body had been in the harbour, but surely not that long, because someone would have discovered it before Mr Hackett. He guessed they had no option but to question all the boat owners in the harbour to establish who had last been on that part of the causeway before Mr Hackett.

‘Any idea how he died?’ Horton asked hopefully.

‘Not yet. I’ve scheduled a full autopsy first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘Can’t you do it sooner?’

‘No, busy afternoon.’

Horton would have to be content with that. ‘It is a man then?’

‘Yes. Though there’s not much left of his external organs.’

Horton suppressed a shudder. ‘Can you give me any indication of his age?’

‘Not yet I can’t.’

Frustrated at the delay and lack of information, Horton rang off and relayed to Cantelli what Dr Clayton had said as they headed down into Portsmouth. By the time they drew up outside Ashley Felton’s apartment the rain had stopped and a watery sun was breaking through.

There was no answer to Cantelli’s persistent finger on the bell. Horton gazed up at the art deco building on the Old Portsmouth waterfront and envied Ashley Felton his spectacular views over the busy entrance to the harbour. Of course Luke Felton could be hiding inside, but somehow Horton doubted it, although it didn’t escape his attention that this wasn’t far from where their body had washed up this morning. He said as much to Cantelli, adding, ‘Ashley Felton could have pushed his brother over the edge of the quay on an incoming tide. The currents are very strong here.’ He stared across the narrow harbour towards the shores of the town of Gosport opposite.

‘Wouldn’t someone have seen that?’

‘Not in the dark. Or perhaps they did but they don’t want to get involved.’

‘But why would Ashley Felton want to do that?’ Cantelli eyed him incredulously.

‘To preserve the family name or out of anger, shame. .’

‘Are you serious?’

‘No.’ Horton gave a brief smile as the Wightlink ferry glided slowly out of the harbour. He turned back to the car.

‘Do you want me at your meeting with Rookley tonight?’ asked Cantelli, swinging the car round and heading back to the station.

‘Thanks, but no. I can handle him, if he turns up, and I’m not banking on it.’ But what he did hope was that Walters would have unearthed some information on Luke Felton that could help them find him, and quickly, or identify him as the body in the harbour.

Walters greeted them in CID with the news that the prison had emailed a list of Felton’s prison listeners, volunteers who were there to help Luke and other inmates through their sentence.

‘There were three,’ Walters said,‘and I’ve spoken to each of them on the phone. They claim they haven’t seen or spoken to Luke. They all live on the Isle of Wight where Felton served his sentence.’

Horton thought they could be lying, and Luke could be hitched up with one of them. He’d ask the local police to call on them to make sure. He said, ‘What did they tell you about Luke?’

‘Said he was reserved and not that interested in seeing them. The last one visited him over a year ago. I’m still waiting for his medical notes to come through.’

‘Chase them up. And find out who else was released from prison around the same time as Felton and if he formed special relationships with any inmates. He might be hiding out with an ex-con.’

Horton turned but Walters hailed him. ‘The case notes on the Natalie Raymonds murder have been sent over.’ He tapped the top of a box file on his desk with a podgy finger.

‘Is that it?’

‘It’s all they’ve sent.’

Horton picked up the box and headed for his office, where he cleared a space among the paper on his desk. He checked his voice mail. Phil Taylor had left a message to say he was emailing over the photographs of the body in the harbour and would follow it up with hard copies and the video shortly. Horton quickly ran through his emails, most of which seemed to be from Bliss asking him to file some inconsequential report or other. Ignoring these he found the photographs Taylor had mentioned. The sight of the body almost made the couple of mouthfuls of his burger come back up, but there was nothing more they could tell him that he didn’t already know. Which was precious little.