Pauline Rowson - Blood on the Sand

Anxiously he watched as she was wheeled into a curtained cubicle in A amp; E at St Mary's Hospital in Newport, and then, far from reassured she'd be all right, he walked to another cubicle where, with remarkable speed, a doctor, who looked as tired as Horton felt, checked him over, told him he was suffering from mild smoke inhalation and a blow to the head, which Horton already knew, and that if he experienced any effects of delayed concussion he was to return immediately. Discharged, and in the privacy of the relatives' room, just off the private room where Thea had been taken for the night on Horton's insistence, he called Uckfield.

'What is it with you and fires?' Uckfield demanded with exasperation, after Horton had quickly explained what had happened.

Horton winced as Uckfield's remark hit home — his ability to attract danger wasn't necessarily going to commend him to Catherine, or her lawyers, in respect of his demands for regular contact with his daughter.

'They're keeping Thea Carlsson in for the night,' Horton said. 'Someone's tried to kill her once. They'll try again when they learn they've been unsuccessful.' He went cold at the thought of how close she and he had come to death. 'She needs a safe house until we find this bloody lunatic.'

'We?' Uckfield said pointedly.

Horton tensed. He had to be on this case, even if it meant Uckfield would go running back to Catherine to confirm that it was as she thought — he was incapable of keeping his promises to Emma because of his job.

'I can postpone my holiday,' he said anxiously.

'No. You're still on holiday,' Uckfield insisted, then before Horton could protest, added, 'That is as far as DCI Birch and his team are concerned. You're undercover.' Horton heaved a silent sigh of relief as Uckfield continued. 'Start asking questions, sniffing around, stirring things up. Whoever is doing this will think you're either a nosy bloody parker or a friend of Thea Carlsson, which means they might try and get at you.'

Uckfield was right. It could be dangerous, but it could also be a short cut to finding their killer.

Uckfield went on. 'Anyone know you're a copper?'

'No. There was nothing on my boat to say I was.' Too late Horton realized what he had said. It had slipped out before he could stop himself. He ran a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline rush of facing danger had subsided, leaving him feeling that every bone in his body was about to crumble into osteoarthritis, and every muscle was aching beyond even the most arduous of workouts he could possibly imagine. Besides that his head was thumping and his throat was sore.

'Your boat?' Uckfield picked up sharply.

'It was broken into.'

'Thanks for telling me. When?'

It didn't matter now; all that did was he was on the case. He quickly told Uckfield about the break-in and his theory that the killer must have seen him with Thea Carlsson and wondered who he was.

'Is there anything else you've forgotten to tell me?' Uckfield asked scathingly.

Only the bit about Thea being psychic, but Horton wasn't about to divulge that to the biggest sceptic this side of the equator.

'So who knows you're a cop?' Uckfield repeated.

Horton pulled himself up even though he felt like collapsing in a heap and sleeping for a few months. But Uckfield's words made him recall the feeling he'd experienced earlier when he had decided not to reveal to Mrs Mackie that he was a police officer. Maybe there was something in this psychic stuff, after all. His mind raced to recall who knew he was a policeman and came up with the doctor attending Thea. He told Uckfield and added, 'I'll tell him to keep it quiet.'

'Good. We're on the ferry. Cantelli's looking green and keeps running to the bog, so he'll be about as much use as a rubber spanner when we arrive. Maitland, the fire investigation officer, will be over first thing tomorrow to examine the house.'

It was arson, that much was obvious, but Horton hoped that Maitland might be able to tell them exactly how the fire had started, which could give some clue as to the background of the offender, though he doubted this one would have been stupid or careless enough to leave any traces behind.

'What about Taylor and SOCO?'

'Elkins will ferry them into Cowes in the morning. Any more bloody incidents like this and it'll be easier and cheaper to put the buggers up in a hotel. I've scheduled a full briefing at Newport station for eight a.m. Either I or Cantelli will liaise with you after that, if he's stopped throwing up by then. And I'll get Birch to set up a twenty-four-hour watch on Thea Carlsson until we can get her moved. Then she'll be under continuous protection in the safe house.'

Horton felt relieved. Glancing through the window of the relatives' room, he said, 'DCI Birch's just arrived with Sergeant Norris.' They were talking to a nurse. He was surprised they hadn't shown up sooner.

'I'll call him. Now make like you're a distressed friend, which doesn't sound like a problem, and get the hell out of there.'

The line went dead. A few seconds later Horton saw Birch reach for his phone. It had to be Uckfield calling him because Birch looked as though he'd swallowed a lemon with the pips still in it. He gestured at Norris to stop him heading for Thea's room. There was obviously some kind of disagreement between Uckfield and Birch judging by Birch's pinched expression before he rang off and consulted with Norris. As Horton stepped out of the relatives' room, Norris reached for his mobile with a glare at Horton that could have frozen the Solent.

'Just what were you doing at that house, Inspector?' Birch demanded icily.

'Visiting someone I was concerned about.'

Birch narrowed his eyes, clearly not believing him, and stepped so close that they were almost touching noses. With an expression of such loathing that it made Horton shiver inside, though he took pains not to show it, Birch hissed, 'If you so much as put a toe out of line on my patch, I'll make you wish you'd never joined the police force.' Then swiftly turning, he marched towards Norris.

'Nice to feel appreciated,' muttered Horton, heading back to A amp; E reception unperturbed by Birch's threats. The man was vindictive and spiteful but Horton could handle that. He'd met his type several times both in the criminal world and as colleagues, and had decided long ago that retaliation might be sweet but it wasn't worth the effort. It was better to bang the bastards up if they were criminals, or avoid them as much as possible if they were colleagues. That way you saved wasting a lot of energy. Avoiding Birch would be one of life's pleasures.

Finding the doctor he'd spoken to earlier, Horton quickly explained the situation and asked him to say nothing to anyone about him being a policeman. The doctor nodded wearily. Horton guessed he might just as well have saved his breath. He appeared to have forgotten anyway.

He stepped into a cold night with rain like stair-rods and climbed into a taxi that had just dropped off a fare outside the hospital. Giving the driver instructions to return to his boat he once again wished he had the Harley. He toyed with the idea of sailing back to Southsea Marina tomorrow to collect it and then return to the Isle of Wight by car ferry, but that would lose him a day's investigation and he couldn't afford that. Besides, he had to stick around to see if Owen Carlsson's killer got curious about him again. Glancing at his watch he was surprised to see it was only eight o'clock. It felt a hell of a lot later. Suddenly he knew what he had to do.

'Take me to Ryde Pier and the FastCat to Portsmouth.'

'But you said-'

'The FastCat, and as quick as you can.' With luck and a following wind he'd make the twenty fifteen crossing. From Portsmouth he could get a taxi to Southsea Marina, collect the Harley and return on the car ferry to the Isle of Wight. He could have hired a car on the island, but he much preferred the Harley. On that he could think.