Pauline Rowson - Footsteps on the Shore

‘How do you know that?’ asked Horton sharply.

‘Because she was stabbed in the neck.’

Horton looked up in surprise. ‘Isn’t that unusual?’ He’d only come across a neck stabbing once in his career and that was when he’d been a constable in uniform on patrol on a hot summer night in the city centre, when soaring temperatures and alcohol had led to searing passions, jealousy and death.

‘It is.’ Gaye closed the drawer. ‘As you well know, stab wounds to the chest and back are far more common than those to the neck. But stab wounds to the neck can cause rapid death, as in this case, which could be why it was the method used. The weapon severed the vagus nerve and caused severe internal haemorrhage, hence no bleeding externally, except from the other lacerations inflicted with the yet unidentified blunt instrument after death, and they were minimal.’

‘Would the killer have blood on him as a result of bludgeoning her?’

‘Only splashes, because she was already dead. The stabbing was inflicted by a very sharp serrated knife about four inches long and two inches wide. And your killer also seems to have known exactly where to strike and how far to penetrate to kill almost instantly.’

Horton glanced at Uckfield. Did this mean their killer had killed before, and in the same manner? But Luke Felton hadn’t used a knife; he’d strangled Natalie Raymonds and then bludgeoned her, which accounted for the blood on his clothes. ‘Any idea what kind of knife?’

Gaye thought for a moment. ‘It could be a small, sharp vegetable knife, but as the victim’s yacht is also missing then it’s just as likely it could be a sailing knife taken from the boat, the kind you use for slicing rope in an emergency.’

Uckfield rounded on Horton. ‘Did you see one on board?’

‘Not that I remember, but I was hardly taking an inventory.’

Uckfield scowled. Gloomily he said, ‘It’s probably at the bottom of the sea.’

‘You never know, Dennings might find it in the garden.’

Uckfield snorted. To Dr Clayton he said, ‘Any chance of getting a decent photograph of her?’

Gaye walked towards the benches on the far side of the room. ‘I’ll pull something together with the aid of the computer and Inspector Horton’s description and email it across to you. But I haven’t finished yet.’

Horton caught the edge of excitement in her voice and felt a tremor of anticipation. Uckfield halted.

Gaye continued. ‘The victim was discovered with her right hand tightly clenched, which was the result of a cadaveric spasm. It’s very unusual and confirms my findings that she died almost the moment the weapon was plunged into her neck. When we unlocked her hand it wasn’t empty.’

Horton felt his pulse quicken. Uckfield eyed her keenly.

She reached across the bench for a small plastic evidence bag. ‘This was in it.’

Uckfield took the bag and Horton found himself staring at a small flat key. It clearly wasn’t a house key: the wrong size, shape and style. So where did it belong? And why had it been in her hand when she was killed?

He said, ‘It looks very much like a locker key.’

‘Great!’ exploded Uckfield. ‘Now all we have to do is examine every ruddy locker in the country.’

Horton said, ‘It’s got a number on it. A locksmith could help us pinpoint what type it is and where it came from. That’ll be a start at least.’

Uckfield reached for his phone. He was already heading for the door. Over his shoulder he shouted, ‘Dr Clayton, I need that photograph. Now!’ The door slammed behind him.

Horton addressed Gaye. ‘Any other ideas?’

‘Not at the moment, but you’ll be the first to know if I get any.’

‘It’s not my case,’ he said.

She waggled a finger in her ear and frowned. ‘Sorry, didn’t hear that. Think I’ve gone deaf.’

He smiled at her. ‘I’d get a doctor to look at that if I was you.’

‘I would if I could find one I trust.’

You and me together, thought Horton, although Dr Clayton was an exception. Only problem was she dealt in dead bodies, not live ones. He gave her a detailed description of the victim before joining Uckfield in the car.

‘The key could be to a storage device where she kept her jewellery, which could have been on her boat,’ Horton said, as Uckfield swung the car in the direction of the station. ‘I didn’t see one when I was on board, and I looked in all the storage areas, but she could have taken it down there that night, which was why she was on the boat. She heard a noise, made to get away, didn’t bother with her coat but made sure to take the key, which means the locker contained something that was very valuable to her.’

‘And she put it on the boat because she was planning to escape whoever was after her, who could be Luke Felton,’ finished Uckfield. He swore at a motorbike, which overtook him with a roar and swerved in perilously close, causing him to brake.

It wasn’t a Harley but it was nevertheless a powerful machine. Instantly Horton recalled the one he’d heard speeding away after his incident in the lock, and with a jolt remembered the same thing happening to Cantelli when they’d been following Rookley to the cemetery. Quickly, Horton tried to read the licence plate before it sped off but it was smeared with mud and unreadable. Coincidence? Perhaps.

He said, ‘If Felton didn’t kill her it’s possible she was planning to start a new life with someone she thought was a friend, who in fact was her killer. He then steals the boat and makes off with whatever is in that locker. And without the key I guess he’d just break it open.’ Then he paused, adding after a moment, ‘Or perhaps her secret was on the verge of being exposed. She could already have been threatened by whoever might have been in the house when I was there. He leaves her for a while-’

‘Why?’

Horton didn’t answer but continued with his theory. ‘She seizes the opportunity to leave that night on the high tide, but her killer returns before she can do so.’ He warmed to his idea. ‘Perhaps he left her earlier knowing that she’d try to get away with whatever it is that’s valuable and in that locker. He waits, returns and then kills her, getting the loot and making his escape on the yacht.’

‘Why not simply check the locker was on board after he’d killed her, take the loot and scarper?’ demanded Uckfield, as he swung into the station car park.

‘Because he needed the yacht to get away. He arrived by boat so he had to leave by one. Luke Felton might have known from an inmate about this loot, whatever it is. He can handle a boat, so maybe he took a small motorboat to get to Willow Bank. His brother, Ashley, has a yacht, but I can’t see him aiding and abetting his brother in killing Venetia Trotman. But Felton could be in league with someone he met in prison, someone who knew the Trotmans.’

Uckfield silenced the car engine but neither man made any attempt to alight. Horton continued. ‘Let’s say Felton and his accomplice arrive by sea on the rising tide and in a tender with an outboard motor. The accomplice, who knows Venetia Trotman, claims to be helping her, but when she realizes his real intentions she runs away. He kills her while Felton stickers over the yacht’s existing name with another he’s brought with him. The accomplice jumps on board Shorena , knowing the locker of valuables is there. Towing the tender they set off for the Solent, going through the harbour under a different name in case they’re spotted. When they’re certain they’re safe they turn their attention to the locker only to find they don’t have the key. But that doesn’t matter. They smash it open, remove the contents and then abandon the yacht, or better still scuttle it obliterating any prints and evidence, getting away on the tender they’ve been towing. They return to the shore and into a waiting car.’ Then Horton had another thought. ‘They might not even have bothered to change the name, taking the risk they wouldn’t be seen, and even if they were it would be too late then because they’d already have cleared out the yacht and scuttled it. And if they did it in the Solent then we might never find it.’