Pauline Rowson - Footsteps on the Shore

Cantelli lifted the small pencil from behind his ear and opened his notebook. ‘You saw Luke Felton on the coastal path on Hayling Island on the nineteenth of September 1997.’

‘On the afternoon that girl was killed, yes.’

‘Can you remember the time?’

Bailey removed his spectacles. ‘It’s in my statement.’

‘Of course.’ Cantelli smiled, as though he was dim for forgetting that. ‘But if you would confirm. .’

‘It was just after four o’clock or thereabouts.’

‘What were you doing on the path, sir?’

Bailey looked puzzled. ‘Why all the questions, Sergeant? Luke Felton was convicted and sentenced. I thought this was finished with a long time ago.’

‘Luke Felton’s been released on licence.’

Bailey’s skin blanched and he stared wide-eyed at each of them in turn. ‘I don’t understand,’ he stuttered.

Cantelli quickly explained, finishing with the news that Felton was missing. ‘We’re looking for anything that might help us find him.’

‘You can’t think he’s coming after me?’ Bailey uttered, clearly horrified. Horton noticed that his left leg had started to jigger and the hands holding his spectacles were shaking.

‘I doubt he’d even remember you, sir, he was so spaced out on drugs,’ Cantelli said reassuringly. ‘Perhaps you could just tell us what you can remember of that day.’

Bailey looked far from pacified. In fact his face looked like a chewed-up sock.

Horton added, ‘It might help us to find him and send him back to prison for breaching the terms of his licence.’

Bailey turned his anxious gaze on Horton. ‘I can’t see how what I have to say can possibly help you do that.’

‘If you wouldn’t mind, sir,’ Cantelli firmly insisted.

Bailey rose and crossed to the large bay window. Horton caught Cantelli’s eye and urged silence. Not that he really needed to. Cantelli knew the score.

Clearly Bailey was gathering his thoughts. In the silence, Horton listened for sounds of a Mrs Bailey, or anyone else living in the house, but there was only the whirring of what must be a refrigerator. It certainly wasn’t the central heating. Was he a bachelor, or perhaps a widower? Or had Mrs Bailey grown tired of being cold and walked out on him? Horton wouldn’t blame her if she had.

Bailey took a deep breath and turned back to face them. With his nerves under better control he began.

‘I’m a twitcher, bird watching’s my hobby. I was on the Hayling Coastal Path that day because the contractors had been working on restoring the old Langstone Oyster Beds and after completing the project in May it was discovered that little terns had started nesting there.’ He swivelled his eyes between them, adding, ‘The oyster beds were restored not for fishing but for nature conservation. It’s a Site of Special Scientific Interest and home for tens of thousands of seabirds.’

Horton already knew this, and so too did Cantelli, but they said nothing, letting Bailey talk on.

‘As a result of the work an island had been formed in one of the lagoons and had become home to little terns. Did you know they’re an internationally rare seabird and subject to the European Union’s Birds Directive?’ Bailey had regained his colour and was looking animated.

Cantelli contrived to look amazed while Horton nodded encouragement, thinking that perhaps Mrs Bailey had grown tired of playing second fiddle to the little terns.

Bailey resumed his seat. Sitting forward he continued eagerly. ‘One pair of little terns had settled on the small island and had raised two young. It was amazing. I watched them for ages. It was a remarkable day for me, which was why I remembered seeing that man, Felton.’ His face clouded over.

‘I was returning to my car, which I’d parked where the old railway halt used to be, when Luke Felton passed me. He was walking down the path towards the seafront, or rather I should say slouching. His head was down. He had his hands in his pockets and a woolly hat rammed on his head.’

‘How did you know it was Luke?’ asked Horton sharply. ‘You couldn’t have seen his face if his head was down and almost covered by a hat.’

Bailey flushed, this time with agitation rather than enthusiasm, and his leg started to jigger again. ‘I described the clothes to the police officer who interviewed me, and they fitted the description of those Luke Felton had been wearing: scruffy jeans, muddy trainers, a navy jacket and navy woollen hat. He was about five feet ten, and thin. You see, when I heard the appeal on the local news by that police superintendent for anyone seen on the coastal path that day I came forward and gave my statement.’

So that explained that, but Horton felt uneasy. ‘Did you see a woman? Five feet four, long brown hair, slim, wearing running clothes.’

Clearly by Bailey’s troubled expression he knew exactly who Horton meant. ‘Natalie Raymonds. No. I know where her body was found though, but I didn’t walk that far. I’ve often wondered if I had done whether I might have been able to prevent her death.’

Looking at Bailey, Horton doubted it, though he supposed his sudden appearance might have frightened Luke Felton off. There was a short pause before Horton dropped in casually, ‘Had you ever seen Luke Felton or Natalie Raymonds before?’

Bailey looked surprised. ‘No. I usually stayed at the northern end of the coastal path and around the marshes. In those days I was still working and my mother was alive, so I couldn’t always get away. She was an invalid for many years. She died four years ago.’

And that, thought Horton, explained the neglected, unloved air about the house.

‘Where did you work?’ asked Cantelli with polite interest, though both he and Horton already knew.

There was a moment’s hesitation before he answered uncertainly. ‘Hester’s Shipbuilding. I was a design draughtsman, but I was made redundant in 2001 when it closed down. After that I took whatever I could, mainly contract work. I still do a bit from time to time, although I don’t really need to work now Mother’s dead, but it gets me out of the house.’

And Horton would like to get out of this miserable house too, but there were more questions to ask. ‘Can you describe exactly what you did and what you saw while you were bird watching the day you saw Luke Felton?’ Seeing that Bailey was puzzled, he added, ‘I take it you had binoculars.’

‘Oh, yes, I see.’ Bailey relaxed a little and considered the question. Horton wasn’t sure how it would help but there had to be more. Or rather he just hoped there was. ‘I took some time watching Binness Island in Langstone Harbour-’

‘Was the tide up or out?’ Horton interrupted.

‘Up. I remember because the dredger was going out of Oldham’s Wharf and I was concerned it would frighten the birds away.’ He frowned in thought. ‘There were three fishing boats trawling the channel and a couple of sailing dinghies from the club by Oldham’s. That’s all I can remember.’ The leg jigger was back.

Horton said, ‘Did you see anyone else on the path?’

‘No. I was surprised because it was a nice day, warm and sunny.’

‘You’d have thought more people like you, keen bird watchers, would have been looking at the little terns.’

There was the hesitation again, and another frown. ‘Yes, you would,’ Bailey answered, eyeing Horton anxiously.

Cantelli said, ‘Were there any other vehicles in the car park when you returned to your car?’

Bailey put a hand on his knee as though trying to stop it jigging. ‘I don’t see how this will help you find Felton.’

Cantelli simply looked at Bailey enquiringly while Horton remained silent.

‘There weren’t any cars,’ Bailey said moodily.