Pauline Rowson - Footsteps on the Shore

‘I didn’t say that.’

She sprang up and began to pace the small lounge. ‘If I could prove that Luke didn’t kill Natalie. .’

‘Why should you want to?’ Horton asked quietly.

Her eyes flashed at him, then she sighed and added in a more subdued manner, ‘Because he deserves it. He was tormented by the fact that he had killed her. I don’t believe he did. And I’ll tell you why, Inspector Horton, because when Luke was under a trance he never once mentioned seeing her, being with her, her name, where her body was found, nothing. He talked about darkness and water.’

Horton eyed her sceptically. ‘Maybe because he killed her in the dark. And he was certainly by the water.’ But sunset wasn’t until 7 p.m. in September and Luke had been seen by Bailey at 4 p.m. Could he have killed Natalie in daylight and then sat there drugged until dark? Possibly.

Lena said, ‘He also talked about a gate.’

‘There are plenty of gates in the countryside.’ And one Horton had seen near that copse where Natalie’s body had been found. It meant nothing. He needed more convincing than this.

She drew herself up and said, ‘Luke wasn’t alone. When he came out of the trance he couldn’t recall anyone, but under hypnosis he kept saying, he, water, gate, dark. I can see that you don’t believe me but you will. The tapes are in my office in Ryde,’ she declared belligerently.

‘OK. Let’s get them.’ He rose.

Eyeing his motorbike clothes, she added, ‘I’ll meet you there.’ She gave him the address.

He reached her office before she did. It was a room over a luggage shop with a doorway to the right and situated halfway up the steep incline of Union Street. Standing outside he gazed at the view northwards. The Solent was a dark grey-green, flecked with white where the waves were being whipped up by the strong winds. Across the water he could see the tower blocks and high-rise office buildings of Portsmouth. The hovercraft was speeding towards Ryde, leaving a trail of foaming white in its backwash, and a car ferry was ploughing the waters heading for Portsmouth. A large container ship was following a continental ferry out of the harbour. While waiting for her to arrive, Horton pondered what Lena Lockhart had told him. Had there been someone with Luke Felton? Bailey hadn’t mentioned anyone but it could explain how Luke had got on to Hayling Island and off again, though not why Bailey hadn’t seen this other person. It could also explain the tie that Natalie had been strangled with. But if there had been another person at the scene why hadn’t SOCO found evidence of it? He supposed the delay in discovering Natalie’s body had hindered that, but it hadn’t stopped Felton’s DNA and fingerprints from being found. And even if someone had been with Felton that didn’t mean he hadn’t killed Natalie; this other person could have given him the tie. Even if he hadn’t killed Natalie himself, Luke was still an accessory to the murder.

A car pulled in to the side of the road and Lena climbed out. The door to the street was open. ‘I take Sundays and Mondays off,’ she explained, leading him through a narrow hall and up the staircase where he saw three closed doors before they climbed a second flight of dusty stairs. ‘I share this building but there’s hardly anyone around. I think most of the rooms are vacant.’ Reaching the last door off a corridor, she made to insert her key then stepped back, puzzled. ‘That’s strange, it’s open.’

Horton stiffened. ‘Don’t touch anything,’ he cautioned quickly, stepping in front of her. He saw immediately that the door had been forced open. His heart skipped a beat.

‘Who-’

‘Quiet,’ he hissed.

She snapped her mouth shut, looking alarmed. His heart was racing along with his mind as he considered the implications of this discovery, but there would be time to dwell on that later. There was no sound from within. Taking a breath he pushed towards the door, glimpsing Lena’s look of concern. Then, raising his foot, he violently kicked it open and charged in. Once inside he froze. His eyes quickly took in the devastation around him and the fact there was no one here.

Turning, he called out, ‘It’s OK.’

Lena came up behind him. Her eyes widened as she surveyed the scene.

‘Where do you keep the tapes?’ Horton asked. He watched her gaze travel the room before alighting on a cabinet to her right. It was open, its contents scattered around the floor.

She said, ‘They’re in that box file.’ As she made towards it Horton stalled her.

‘Stay where you are. Don’t touch anything.’ Gingerly he stepped forward, stretching his fingers into latex gloves. Bending down he picked up the bright blue file, knowing full well what he would find. And he did. Absolutely nothing.

He sent Lena across the road to a cafe, saying that he would join her as soon as he could. She made no protest, still shaken by the incident. Then he called the local police, hoping that his old adversary DCI Birch was on a day off and wouldn’t get to hear of the break-in. He reported it as such, with no mention of it being linked to a missing offender. He didn’t see any need to involve the island’s detectives, and the Isle of Wight relied on Hampshire’s SOCO team so Phil Taylor would be here soon. While Horton waited for the patrol unit to arrive he called Taylor.

‘I’m on a boat in Horsea Marina.’

Of course, Shawford’s. Horton cursed. ‘How long will you be?’

‘Just finishing.’

‘Good. I want you over on the Isle of Wight.’ Horton quickly relayed what had happened. He arranged for Sergeant Elkins to bring Taylor and his team to the island on the police launch. He wasn’t sure what Bliss was going to say about the additional expenditure, but he’d be off the team soon, so what did he care?

He surveyed the devastation before him. Lena had informed him before leaving for the cafe that it didn’t look as though anything but the tapes had been stolen, and she told him that the last time she’d been in her office was Saturday, leaving it at 2 p.m. It transpired that only a couple of other rooms in the building were let, and in addition to the luggage shop on the right of the entrance there was a clothes shop on the left. Someone might have seen the intruder, thought Horton. He’d get the local police to ask.

Lena had confirmed that the reports she’d written about Luke Felton and his treatment would be on Luke’s prison medical file. Walters hadn’t mentioned it, but then Horton hadn’t given him much chance to elaborate before dashing off to catch the ferry. If he hadn’t seen the break-in he might have said Lena was lying about the tapes to try and vindicate Luke Felton. But the break-in was no phoney and from his experience he thought her story had a ring of truth about it. He was heartily glad that he had come.

He instructed an officer to remain outside the office and to call him on his mobile the moment Taylor and his SOCO team arrived. On no account were they to admit anyone else without calling him first. Then Horton nipped across the road and found Lena looking forlorn and puzzled in a dark corner of the cafe, which also doubled as a pub, and which was getting increasingly busy as the evening drew closer.

Fetching them both a coffee, he placed the cup in front of her and sat down.

‘Why would someone steal those tapes?’ she asked.

‘Why do you think?’ He knew she must already have worked it out. She wasn’t stupid, just shocked.

After a minute her face lit up and she said excitedly, ‘Luke was telling the truth. He didn’t kill Natalie Raymonds.’

‘He still might have done,’ Horton said, not wanting to be drawn and recollecting Bailey’s testimony and the evidence. ‘But it seems you may be right. Luke might not have been alone.’ And he wondered what Duncan Chawley would make of that.