Pauline Rowson - Blood on the Sand

Horton quickly moved after her. The sea was crashing on to the shore, spraying them both as it splashed over the jetty. He could hear it sucking up the stones underneath them as it retreated. The light from the summer house showed the waves breaking over the RIB. He could see no sign of Thea.

'Thea's not here,' he shouted above the roar of the sea and wind. 'She's never been here. Everything you said was a lie. It was convincing, Laura, I'll give you that. And I nearly fell for it. It will probably be enough to convince DCI Birch and maybe others, but not me.'

She halted and turned. He could see her wary expression.

'You killed Owen Carlsson,' he said. 'You shot him through the summer house window. There's glass on the floor, probably left from when you or Jonathan Anmore mended it. I take it Anmore helped you move the body. I can't see you managing that yourself. How did you get Owen to the Duver, Laura? Was it in Anmore's van or

did you use your RIB?'

She stared at him amazed and bewildered but he knew it was an act. With the rain and sea lashing at them he held her gaze. Then her expression cleared. A cold gleam came into her eyes as her mouth tightened and her body stiffened. Evenly she said, 'You're right, of course, which means I'll have to kill you.' And before he could blink he found himself staring at a revolver aimed steadily and directly at his chest.

It was a different make to the one which had killed Owen Carlsson, but it was no less deadly, and Laura Rosewood knew how to handle it. He considered rushing her before discarding the idea; he'd only end up with a bullet in his chest. She had killed three people; she wouldn't hesitate to kill him. She had tried to throw him off the scent with her lies about Owen Carlsson. For a while he had believed her, but even before he'd seen the fragment of glass certain things had troubled him. One of them was his refusal to believe Thea had killed her brother.

Horton stared at Laura Rosewood's cool and determined expression and said, 'Helen Carlsson took photographs of you, Cawley and Noel Halliwell at Whitefields, didn't she?'

Laura said nothing. It didn't matter. He knew most of it anyway.

'The land wasn't contaminated,' he shouted above the crashing waves. 'You, Cawley, and Noel Halliwell concocted that tale between you in order to profit by the sale. What was it you told me and Steve at our first meeting? That you'd been a surveyor. You surveyed Whitefields and said it was contaminated. Did Noel Halliwell, the planning director of the NHS, kill himself because he couldn't live with the guilt of what he'd done?'

'I never promised him undying love.'

Horton saw at once how she must have seduced and sexually blackmailed Halliwell into defrauding the NHS. He wouldn't mind betting the whole scheme had been Laura's idea.

Tautly he said, 'Which of you killed Helen and Lars Carlsson?'

'Jack,' she replied coolly.

His jaw tightened in anger. 'And was that because you asked him to?'

'No. I had no idea what he'd done.'

Horton didn't believe her. She was a heartless, scheming bitch.

She said, 'Jack said he'd get the film and scare her into keeping her mouth shut. Then I heard they were dead.'

'Oh, yeah,' Horton said sarcastically. Laura Rosewood was poisonous.

She said, 'Whitefields was a prime site. There was a lot of money at stake. Noel Halliwell steered other potential buyers away from purchasing it by telling them it was contaminated and showed them my report. Phoney, of course. They thought it would cost thousands of pounds to clean up before any kind of building work could commence and no one wanted to take that on. Jack bought the land for a song and Halliwell and I got a generous pay off. I eventually married Jack, and inherited his estate when he died of a heart attack two years later.'

Horton wondered if Jack Cawley's death had been down to natural causes after all. This explained a great deal, but there were still elements that were puzzling him.

'Owen found out, so you killed him?'

'Yes.'

And there it was: a confession, and one she thought no one would ever hear. Perhaps they wouldn't. Not if she killed him, and she had every intention of doing so. He didn't doubt that.

'How are you going to explain my death?' He kept his gaze on her but at the same time his mind was working overtime to find a way out.

'I won't have to. The tide is on the turn; it will take your body miles away from here. There will be nothing to connect your death with me.'

Clever. Which was why she had wanted him out here on the jetty. And what about Julie, the hired help, was she in on this too? Was that why she had called Laura and told her he was on his way and that he'd been asking questions about Cawley and Whitefields, to give Laura time to concoct or put the finishing touches to a story she'd already worked out?

He said, 'Steve Uckfield will never believe that.'

'Why not? He doesn't know you're here. You could have slipped and fallen anywhere along a coastal path, or even killed yourself, depressed over your divorce and not being allowed access to your daughter.'

Horton stiffened. What the hell gave Uckfield the right to talk about his private life? He imagined them in bed and Laura teasing out all kind of personal information from Uckfield. God, the man had been an idiot.

With barely concealed anger, he snarled, 'What about the bullet in me?'

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. 'The sea life will have seen to that. If, of course, your body is ever found.'

She was ruthless as well as clever. Cantelli knew where he was. But wait — no, he didn't. Horton, as usual, had dashed off without saying where he was going. The gun came up. He had to think of a way to stall her. Not without desperation he said, 'How did Owen find out about Whitefields?'

'Arina told him. I don't know how she knew but I overhead her talking to Owen at her father's funeral. She said she'd discovered something awful that had happened at Whitefields and that if it ever came out, there would be major political repercussions.'

Thoughts and ideas flashed through Horton's mind. Amongst them was Bella Westbury. But he had no time to consider that now. Survival was his priority.

Laura Rosewood was saying, 'I tried to get more from Arina, but she was very distant with me. She knew. She told me that she and Owen were dining at the Seaview Hotel on Saturday night so I went there and waited. I parked the car not far from the hotel. I saw Arina leave. I drove into her.'

'Whose car did you use, Laura? It wasn't yours.'

'I borrowed Julie's. I told her mine wouldn't start and that I had a dinner engagement the other side of the island, which I did have only I left there early on account of a headache. Julie offered me her car for the evening, as I guessed she would. Julie worships me. She's very loyal.'

Yes, thought Horton, loyal enough to lie for her employer about the times she was actually in London.

'Now, I hate to do this, Andy, because I quite fancy you, but-'

'Before you shoot me,' he said quickly, 'at least tell me how you killed Owen.'

She seemed to consider this for a moment. Horton held his breath, while uttering a silent prayer for a giant wave to swamp the jetty and sweep her over the side. The swell was growing, along with the wind, but was it enough? He doubted it, though the thought had given him an idea. Maybe there was a way out of this.

She shrugged as if to say a few more minutes wouldn't make much difference. 'When Terry Knowles put Owen forward for the project I agreed. Carlsson's not a common name. I wondered if he was a relation of Helen and Lars Carlsson. When he mentioned that his parents had once holidayed on the Isle of Wight and had died here, I knew he was Helen's son. I needed to find out if he, or his sister, had ever suspected that his parents' death had been anything other than a tragic accident, hence the affair, and to ensure that he hadn't come here to investigate it. He hadn't.'