Pauline Rowson - Footsteps on the Shore

Horton gazed around the kitchen but there wasn’t anything much to see, so he crossed to the glazed doors which gave on to a patio and immaculately tidy, almost regimentally landscaped gardens, which seemed to stretch on for ever. The daffodils were tossing about in the light March wind and slowly setting sun. He’d go for a run tonight; a blast of sea air would help to banish those visions of Shawford and Catherine.

Craning his neck to his right he saw the children’s swings and climbing frame and thought he’d give anything to push Emma on a swing. He heard the children’s voices, then the front door closing. A door led off the kitchen to his right. He made towards it when Gavin Chawley returned.

‘My father said he’d be pleased to talk to you, Inspector, but he tires very quickly, so please don’t be too long.’

Horton assured him he wouldn’t. Gavin Chawley led him through a utility room to a door, which he knocked on before opening, and Horton stepped into a sweltering hot but comfortably furnished lounge with wide patio doors overlooking the expansive grounds. The room had the smell of sickness and death about it and the thin, bald man sitting in the reclining chair did too. He bore no resemblance to the healthy, vibrant man Horton remembered, or to the slick, clever copper with superb eloquence. Horton couldn’t help thinking, what a sad end for the detective with a reputation like a razor.

As Gavin Chawley announced him, Horton could see what was ailing ex-Superintendent Chawley; no one was that yellow. It had to be a liver disease.

‘Will you be all right, Dad?’ Gavin said anxiously.

‘Of course. For heaven’s sake stop fussing,’ his father sniped.

Horton watched Gavin silently slip out of the room. He couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for him. OK, so it wasn’t nice being an invalid and dependent on others, but it was also a thankless task being the carer of an embittered and ungrateful one.

Duncan waved him into a seat.

‘Luke Felton’s gone AWOL,’ Horton said without preamble. ‘He’s been let out on licence.’

‘Bloody typical. I take it you’re here in the hope I can tell you where to find him?’

‘Something like that.’ Horton tried hard not to mop his perspiring brow or be shocked at such a change in the former police officer. He had no idea how old Chawley was but he guessed about mid to late sixties, only he looked more like mid eighties.

‘Sorry to disappoint. I’ve no idea.’

‘You remember the case, sir?’

‘Can hardly forget what he did to that young woman.’

Horton could hear the anger in his voice. The case had obviously touched a nerve, as was still apparent after all these years. But then he knew some cases affected you like that more than others. He tugged at his shirt, which was already sticking to his back. ‘Did Luke Felton know Natalie Raymonds?’

‘No. We checked right back to kindergarten. No connection whatsoever between them. The poor girl just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

Horton nodded. ‘And Luke Felton happened to be on that coastal path on that day. Why?’

‘No idea. He never said because his brains were scrambled by the drugs. Does it matter?’ Chawley asked, eyeing Horton keenly.

‘I guess not. It’s just one of those points that bug me. I expect you know what that’s like, sir.’

He saw Chawley digest this. After a moment he said with a frown, ‘It bugged me too, and Felton couldn’t tell us. We could only assume he’d arranged to meet a dealer, who either didn’t show, or legged it after handing Felton his stuff. There were no signs of anyone else having been at the scene around Natalie’s body, except for the dog walker who found her. And we didn’t trace anyone on that path at the time of her death, although there was one witness who saw Felton.’

‘Peter Bailey.’

Chawley looked surprised, then nodded knowingly. ‘You’ve been reading the file.’

‘Was he reliable?’

‘One hundred per cent.’ Chawley eyed him with suspicion. ‘This sounds more than trying to find a killer who’s gone AWOL. Are you reinvestigating the case?’

‘No,’ Horton said hastily. ‘I thought Luke Felton might have known someone on Hayling Island from that time and that’s where we’d find him.’ He didn’t see any need to tell Chawley about a possible connection with Venetia Trotman’s murder.

He could see that Chawley didn’t believe him. But it was partly the truth. Horton wasn’t reopening the case; he had no authority or need to do so. And Felton could have nothing to do with Venetia Trotman. He might still have been headhunted for a job or left the area for one, as Cantelli had posed. Or he could be hanging out with some old junkie mates. Or lying dead somewhere having been killed by a dealer.

He said, ‘How did Felton get to Hayling?’

Chawley took a few breaths before answering. ‘No one on the buses recognized him and we checked the trains to the nearest station, the same. There were no sightings of him walking from the railway station to the coastal path. All we can assume is that someone gave him a lift, either this dealer who handed over the drugs just across the bridge on to the island and then kicked him out of the car, or someone he knew. Otherwise he must have hitched a lift, just as he must have done leaving the scene of the crime, and the driver went on somewhere not knowing what Felton had done. I put out an appeal but no one came forward, except Peter Bailey.’

‘Could Bailey have been mistaken and Felton caught the ferry from Portsmouth to Hayling?’

But Chawley was shaking his head. ‘Checked. The ferry master didn’t take Felton across. Felton’s DNA was on Natalie’s body, and her blood was on his clothes. He couldn’t remember killing her but he listened to his lawyer, thank God, pleaded guilty while under the influence of drugs and saved us all a lot of time, not to mention the taxpayer a great deal of money. Pity they didn’t lock him up and throw away the key. Scum like that are a waste of breath,’ he added with bitterness.

His words reminded Horton of Neil and Olivia Danbury, who clearly shared the same opinion. Horton didn’t see there was much more to be gained here. ‘Did Julian Raymonds’ alibi check out?’

Chawley eyed Horton suspiciously. ‘Yes. Witnesses knee deep came forward to say he was selling boats at the boat show all day and propping up the bar in a nearby hotel until the small hours of the morning. There was no hint of any marital problems between him and Natalie and nothing to suggest he hired someone to kill his wife. And before you ask, we found no evidence that Natalie Raymonds was playing the field either.’

And that seemed to be that. Horton thanked him for his time and stretched out a hand. Chawley’s grip was still firm. Releasing his hand, Chawley said, ‘Let me know when you find Felton.’

Horton promised he would and, feeling sad that Chawley had come to this, found his son Gavin waiting a little anxiously in the kitchen with a mug in his hand.

‘Was my father able to help you?’ he asked, putting the mug down carefully on the sink drainer and escorting Horton back to the hall.

‘He cleared up a couple of questions. Does he ever talk about his cases?’

‘No. When he retired he said that’s it. He wasn’t one of those policemen who have an urge to write their memoirs, or dwell on the past. Will you need to come back?’ Chawley asked anxiously.

‘Only when we find Luke Felton. Your father asked to be kept informed,’ he added quickly as Gavin Chawley looked concerned.

‘I remember him, or rather the case. Dad was very obsessed by it, but then he was like that with every major investigation. He loved the job. Lived, ate and breathed it.’