Pauline Rowson - Footsteps on the Shore

On the Harley he would soon catch up with Shawford, but even if he didn’t he had an inkling where he would find him, and that wouldn’t be with Catherine. Horton veered off the motorway and made towards Horsea Marina. He’d been correct. Ahead was Shawford’s BMW. He kept well back, even though he doubted Shawford would recognize him or his Harley. Shawford pulled into the marina and drew up close to the spot where earlier Horton and Seaton had interviewed him. As Horton watched him hurry from his car to the pontoon he reconsidered his theory about Felton having been on Shawford’s boat; was Shawford trying to hide the evidence? But Horton just couldn’t see it. No, he had other ideas about what Shawford might be trying to hide.

A few minutes elapsed before Shawford emerged, looking furtive, and carrying a plastic carrier bag. Horton smiled grimly to himself. Climbing off the Harley he crossed to Shawford’s car. Shawford saw him, froze, flushed and tried to look untroubled, but Horton could see he was shitting himself.

‘What’s in the bag?’ Horton demanded.

‘None of your business,’ Shawford bluffed, but Horton remained resolutely in front of the driver’s door, blocking him.

‘This is harassment,’ Shawford raged. ‘I shall report you to your superiors.’

‘Report all you like. Edward Shawford, I am arresting you on suspicion of the kidnapping of Luke Felton and of being in possession of items belonging to him-’

‘You bastard!’

‘Hand it over, Shawford.’ Horton stretched out his hand and angrily Shawford pushed the bag into it.

Peering inside Horton found himself staring at what he had expected, not Luke Felton’s personal effects, but a stash of DVDs and magazines. He dipped inside and withdrew a magazine. He didn’t need to flick through it, or the others, to know what they contained; the woman on the front of the one he was holding gave him enough of a clue. She was dressed in a black leather tunic, thigh-high boots, a spiked leather collar, and she was wielding a whip. With his knowledge of Shawford’s relationship with Catherine — which had once included bruises that Catherine had tried to blame on him — Horton could see that Shawford liked it rough.

‘It’s not what you think,’ Shawford blabbed. ‘It’s just a fantasy, that’s all, a bit of fun. I like to look at it. I don’t actually do it.’

Horton eyed him with disgust. His stomach churned at the thought of this man and Catherine indulging in sadomasochism. Which of them had the power? Surely not Catherine, but then he couldn’t see Shawford as the dominant partner in the relationship, the one wanting to inflict pain while Catherine took pleasure in it. No, it had to be the other way around, but that made him feel angry, disappointed and sick. It threw into question everything his relationship with Catherine had been. He hoped that Shawford was telling the truth about only wanting to look at it, before another mind-numbing and paralysing thought struck him. Emma!

His body stiffened with fear and fury. He had no reason to believe that Emma had witnessed this kind of sexual behaviour between Shawford and her mother, or that Shawford’s tastes ran even stronger than sadomasochism, but he didn’t want him anywhere near his daughter. And certainly not in the same house while her mother indulged in whatever sick fancy turned Shawford on. He reached for his mobile.

‘What are you doing?’ Shawford cried.

Horton eyed him coldly. ‘Getting the vice squad into your apartment, who will take it apart.’ He had no intention of doing so; vice might find images of Shawford with Catherine. And he couldn’t stand that. It would be all over the station. He made to punch in a number, praying that Shawford would lose his nerve. He did.

Shawford blanched. ‘No, please. Not that.’

Horton made a pretence of hesitating while breathing a silent sigh of relief. He eyed Shawford steadily and with hatred. Shawford flinched. Then, thrusting his face so close to Shawford’s that he could see the veins in his eyes, Horton hissed, ‘If I find you within a mile of my daughter I’ll wipe your fat face in the dirt and smear your perversions all over the press. Is that clear?’

Shawford opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it and nodded curtly. After a moment Horton stepped back, but not far enough for Shawford to escape brushing against him. Shawford’s nervous eyes flicked down to the bag in Horton’s hand.

‘I’ll hang on to these,’ Horton said brusquely.

He watched as the BMW sped out of the car park, then stashed the bag in the locker on the Harley and headed up the hill bordering the city. Here he drew into one of the viewpoint lay-bys and stared without seeing it at the land and seascape spread out beneath him under a low cloud. He tried not to think of Catherine and Edward Shawford together. He realized his fists were clenching as disturbing images flitted through his brain. He had to force himself to relax, to take a slow, deep breath. Distantly he could hear the throb of the traffic. After a while his heart rate settled down, though not back to normal because he knew there was something he had to do to guarantee that Shawford never saw Emma again.

Half an hour later he was pulling up outside his former home. Catherine’s car was on the driveway. Good. Stiff with tension, he pushed his finger on the bell and waited impatiently for her to come to the door. It seemed like ages, but in reality it must only have been a minute, maybe less. Her expression changed swiftly from polite curiosity to anger before she half closed the door on him as though afraid he’d storm in. He desperately wanted to, but curbed his agitation.

‘What do you want, Andy?’

‘Where’s Emma?’ Horton strained his ears for his daughter’s pleasant laughter or chatter but all was silent. This was one time in his life when he prayed she wouldn’t be there.

‘She’s on a sleepover with a school friend.’

Horton glanced at his watch to disguise his relief. He was surprised to find it was nearly four o’clock. ‘Shouldn’t she be back soon for school in the morning?’

‘What do you want?’ Catherine repeated firmly.

‘To come in.’

‘You can’t.’ She made to close the door further.

Exasperated, Horton said, ‘Catherine, what are you afraid of? That I’m going to ransack the place or contaminate it in some way, or perhaps physically attack you?’

‘No, but-’

‘Or that once inside I’ll refuse to leave until I see Emma, or refuse to go for good?’ He saw that something like that had crossed her mind. Wearily, he said, ‘I won’t. We need to talk.’

‘We finished talking a long time ago when you-’

‘Oh, change the record, Catherine,’ Horton cried, exasperated. ‘You know I didn’t sleep with Lucy Richardson, never mind rape her, so stop dragging that up as an excuse for why you ended our marriage. If you want to blame me and the job, then fine. It’s better for Emma’s sake than me citing your adultery. And don’t deny it,’ he added hastily at her black look, ‘because I don’t believe it and what’s more I don’t care any more. I need to talk to you about Edward Shawford.’

‘So we’re back to him,’ Catherine hissed. ‘You’re jealous.’

Horton’s expression hardened. Brusquely he said, ‘There’s something you should see. I’ve just taken these off Shawford.’ He pulled out one of the magazines. ‘But if you’d like to discuss it here on the doorstep for the neighbours to hear. .’

He saw her startled expression before, tight-lipped, she stepped back, and for the first time since September Horton walked through the hall and into the lounge on the left. She’d completely changed it; clearly it had been a case of sweeping him out of her life.