Pauline Rowson - Footsteps on the Shore

He turned his attention to the Natalie Raymonds file. He doubted it would throw any light on where Felton might be but he didn’t like working in the dark. He read that Detective Superintendent Duncan Chawley had been in charge of the investigation. Horton hadn’t really known him because Chawley had been stationed at Havant CID for most of his career. On the occasions Horton had met him he recalled a clever, confident man with a dry wit and a reputation for getting results. Bliss would have liked him. Maybe she’d even worked with him at Havant before transferring to Portsmouth on her promotion to DCI, although calculating Chawley’s age Horton doubted it. Chawley had been in his mid-fifties at the time of the Luke Felton case.

Horton read that Natalie Raymonds had been born Natalie Mather in 1970. She had been twenty-seven when she was killed on Friday 19 September 1997 and from her photograph she’d been a stunner: a brown-eyed brunette with shoulder-length hair and a wide smile that looked as though she had loved life. She had married Julian Raymonds in October 1996.

He dug deeper into the file until he located Julian Raymonds’ statement. Raymonds had met Natalie when she had been working for a corporate hospitality company during Cowes Week in August 1996. It had been a whirlwind romance as well as a short marriage. Raymonds, a yacht broker, had been selling expensive yachts and had taken a group of customers and prospective customers to Cowes. At the time of his wife’s murder, he had been at the Southampton Boat Show.

During the night of Friday 19 September, and throughout the 20th, Raymonds had tried several times to contact his wife at home and on her mobile phone and had grown increasingly worried when he got no answer. At 7.30 p.m. on the twentieth he had returned home to find no sign of his wife and had officially reported her missing. It was dark by then and too early in the investigation to conduct a search, but there had been no need to mount one because the following day her body had been found by a man walking his two Golden Retrievers in the undergrowth of a small copse close to the shore of Langstone Harbour and just off the Hayling Coastal Path.

The pathologist’s report stated that Natalie had been killed sometime between 3 p.m. and 10 p.m. on 19 September. Quickly checking Raymonds’ statement, Horton saw he had been staying at a small hotel near the docks in Southampton, even though he could easily have travelled to Southampton, some thirty miles away, each day. But Raymonds said the evenings were spent entertaining customers and prospective customers, or more likely boozing, thought Horton. And possibly playing the field, though he had no reason to believe that, just his suspicious mind.

Raymonds had been on the stand all day, every day, and there must have been several witnesses to that, namely clients and other boat show exhibitors. Horton wondered if that had been checked, before pulling himself up; he wasn’t reinvestigating the Natalie Raymonds murder, only trying to find her killer: Luke Felton. Raymonds said that Natalie regularly ran along the coastal path, which wasn’t far from where they lived.

Horton read that Natalie had been wearing white running shoes, black track suit bottoms, with a short tight V-neck white T-shirt. A black bum bag — empty — was found beside her body, along with a small bottle of water. Her husband later confirmed the bag usually contained Natalie’s mobile telephone and occasionally money. Felton’s prints had been found on the bottle, and his DNA from his hairs on her body. He was already on record for drug offences, theft and an assault on a pensioner in 1995. The matching of his prints instigated a search for him. His parents claimed not to have seen him since Wednesday night, and Felton was picked up in Southsea on Monday 22 September at 11.15 p.m. suffering withdrawal symptoms from heroin and with blood on his clothes. Natalie’s as it turned out. The testimony of a witness, a Peter Bailey, who came forward to say that he’d seen Luke Felton at the northern end of the coastal path at about 4 p.m. on 19 September heading south, clinched it.

Pretty conclusive then, thought Horton, digging out the photographs of Natalie Raymonds’ body and spreading them out on his desk; she was lying on her back, fully clothed. There was some deterioration in the body due to the weather, the length of time it had been exposed and the action of animal and bird life, but he could still see where her face had been bludgeoned. Horton again consulted the pathologist’s report; according to the pathologist, Natalie had been strangled with something soft and made of silk — a tie was the most likely option — before being struck three times with a rock.

Horton sat back, tapping his pen thoughtfully against his chin. Several aspects of the case bothered him. For a start, Natalie Raymonds had been a fit young woman, so why didn’t she run away from drug-crazed Felton? Maybe he had surprised her as she ran past him; he’d grabbed her, quickly lassoed the tie around her neck and pulled it tight until she died. But still Horton wondered if she might have been able to defend herself against Felton, at least enough to get away.

Secondly, what had Luke Felton been doing on the coastal path? It was hardly the usual haunt of drug addicts. He had been living with his parents in Portsmouth, so how had he got to Hayling Island, twelve miles away by road? There was no mention of him owning a car. And he couldn’t have travelled by the small passenger ferry to the south of the island because the witness had seen him at the northern end. Horton considered this with a frown. Walking two miles to where Natalie’s body was found was hardly the act of a drug-crazed addict, unless he went to meet a drug dealer. Still, it was an odd place for a rendezvous. Horton didn’t remember anything about Natalie Raymonds being on drugs or dealing in them and the pathologist would have picked it up if she’d been an addict.

And thirdly, why did Luke Felton strangle Natalie with a tie and not his bare hands? No tie had been found on Felton, and he’d been wearing a T-shirt when he was picked up.

Natalie’s mobile phone hadn’t been found either, but then Horton knew Luke Felton could have sold that to buy more drugs. In 1997 mobile phones weren’t as commonplace as now and most mobile phone users were on a contract.

Horton looked for the record of Natalie’s calls, but couldn’t find them in the file. So he began to search for Luke Felton’s statement. He hadn’t got far when his door swung open and Bliss stormed in with a face like a cat’s behind. Now what! he thought with exasperation. Friday the thirteenth was certainly living up to its reputation.

‘Mr Kempton has made an official complaint against your offensive and bullying behaviour,’ Bliss launched angrily.

Horton might have known. ‘Now hold on-’

‘No, you hold on, Inspector. I will not tolerate inappropriate behaviour in my CID team. You have allowed your personal affairs to interfere with your job and that is completely unacceptable, not to mention wholly unprofessional.’

Ah, so Kempton was playing dirty, and so was Bliss by the sounds of it. Well, two could play at that game, but in order to succeed, Horton knew he had to be smarter than he’d been this morning.

‘Well, Inspector? I’m waiting for an answer.’

Crisply, Horton said, ‘Luke Felton had access to the Internet and email. We need to check his computer to see if he made contact-’

‘That is not what I meant,’ she raged, flinging her hands on his desk and leaning across it to stare at him. Horton didn’t budge an inch or bat an eyelid. ‘What are you going to do about Mr Kempton?’

‘Get a warrant as he insists.’ Horton contrived to look bewildered, which seemed to really get up her nose.