Pauline Rowson - Blood on the Sand

Horton was looking at a callous woman. Uckfield had been playing with fire, and might still be when all this came out, if he lived to tell the tale. And he had to for Thea's sake, even though he knew Laura had killed her. But the gun was steady, and she showed no signs of weakening.

'After Arina's death I arranged to meet Owen in the summer house that Saturday, hinting that I might have some information about Whitefields but that we had to keep our meeting a secret. He agreed eagerly. I knew he'd come by the coastal path and then climb up on to the decking because I'd told him it would be better that way. I waited until he was almost in front of the window; he turned to look along the shore and I shot him through the glass in the left temple. I'm an expert shot. My father was in the services and we used to belong to a gun club when we lived in Europe. I've always had guns and they're so easy to pick up on the continent. This was Jonathan's. I took it from the barn. I guess he picked it up on one of his sailing trips to France. I dragged Owen inside the summer house and left him there, covered with a blanket, of course.'

As if that made any difference, thought Horton with disgust and anger.

She said, 'I thought I'd be able to take him out to sea and dump his body overboard. My RIB was on the pontoon. But the weather was atrocious and I had an early-morning meeting to attend in London on Monday, which meant travelling on Sunday evening, and then a two-day conference, so I wouldn't be back until late Thursday evening. But when I heard that the weather forecast for early Wednesday morning was calm I came back late Tuesday evening by train and ferry using cash to buy my ticket. Jonathan picked me up.'

Leaving no trace of her movements.

'I knew Jonathan fancied me. I told him here was his chance to do me a favour, and in return I'd do him one.'

'Like shoving a pitchfork in his back.'

She ignored the remark. 'Jonathan and I came here very early Wednesday morning. The stink was appalling and the body disgusting.' She wrinkled her nose as she recalled it but Horton noticed her hand was still steady. 'I told Jonathan that I had tried to comfort Owen over Arina's death only he mistook my intentions and tried to rape me. I said I'd shot him in self-defence, but this could never come out. I'm a public figure and the media would destroy my reputation and career. Jonathan didn't believe me, because he'd overheard Arina talking to Owen in the garden. So I promised to pay off all his debts and give him more money if he helped me. He jumped at the chance. I must say it took some stomach to haul Owen into the boat.'

And if she could do that then Horton didn't think she'd have any compunction about killing him.

'We put one of Jonathan's collapsible wheelbarrows in the boat and early Wednesday morning, when it was still dark, we went into Bembridge on the high tide. At this time of year, as you know, there isn't a soul about. Both Jonathan and I know the harbour like the back of our hands. We put Owen in the wheelbarrow and placed him in the bunker on the Duver.'

'Why?' Horton asked, baffled. 'Surely it would have been easier to have thrown his body over the side of the boat and leave him to be washed up later, if at all.' Like she was planning for him.

She scowled as if annoyed at the memory. 'It would but there was Thea. Owen might have confided in her. She might make a nuisance of herself and besides I had to have someone to take the blame for Jonathan's death.'

Horton stiffened. Dr Clayton's words flashed through his mind. A clever killing by a clever killer. Also a ruthless one by an evil woman.

Laura was saying, 'Jonathan telephoned Thea and left an anonymous message telling her where to look for her brother's body.'

So Thea wasn't psychic. Why had she lied? If only she'd told him about the call at the beginning he might have saved her life, and caught Owen's killer sooner.

He said, 'Then Anmore kept watch from a safe distance, saw me arrive and wondered who the devil I was when I seemed so friendly with the police.'

'Yes.'

She shifted slightly as though her arm was beginning to ache. The tide was going out. And he'd be going with it if he didn't do something — and soon. Quickly he scanned the horizon for any sign of a human being or a weapon but no sane person was out in this weather, and it was an isolated spot. There was only the abbey to his left and he didn't think the monks would be walking along the shore in the wind, rain and dark.

She said, 'Jonathan watched you go to your boat, and then searched it after you left. He didn't discover you were a policeman though, and I didn't know that either until you showed up with Steve.'

'Which of you knocked Thea out and then tried to set light to us?'

'Jonathan, of course. I had to make sure that Owen hadn't left anything incriminating behind, which could point to me.'

He tensed with fury. 'And you thought he'd kill Thea too.' The time was almost here. Soon he would have to make his move or it would be too late.

She frowned, annoyed. 'I didn't know Thea had been released. Jonathan let himself in with Owen's key, and knocked Thea out before she had a chance to see him. Then you showed up so he decided to destroy any evidence and hope it would look as though Thea, unbalanced, had attacked you and then set light to the house. 'It's time to go, Andy.'

The gun came up. The sea was crashing on to the shore beneath him. There was no way out. He held his breath. He wouldn't hear the trigger being pulled above the sound of the wind and waves. It would be quick and relatively painless. He steeled himself. His heightened senses screamed at him. He had microseconds of life left. There was only one thing he could do. And he did it.

A sharp hot pain smashed into his arm before the freezing cold water sucked the breath from his body. It wasn't deep, but there was enough water to pull him under. He was still alive. For how much longer though was another matter. When he resurfaced, as he must, she would be there, standing on the jetty waiting for him. Suddenly the water close by hissed and spat. She was firing at him.

He half swam and half waded in his sodden heavy clothes until he was under the jetty, grabbing at one of the wooden posts, his clothes weighing him down, the freezing water numbing his body, the heavy waves threatening to drag him back. He tried to calculate how many rounds she had fired, and how many she had left. Had she exhausted her supply? He bloody well hoped so because he couldn't stay here for much longer.

Using the jetty stilts to guide him, he slowly hauled himself up the shore until there was soft shingle and sand beneath his feet. He felt as though he'd been in the water a lifetime, though he knew it was only a few minutes, if that. Then he was free of it, but there was a sharp climb up the beach to the summer house and Laura would surely see him in the electric light that still blazed from the cabin.

Crouching low he looked down the jetty towards the sea. Yes, there she was, leaning over and peering into the dark water. Then he blinked, hardly able to believe his eyes as incredibly another figure came up behind her. Who the hell was it? He couldn't see. By its stature it looked like a woman. Bella Westbury? No, it was far too slender for her. Who then? Julie, the hired help? His heart sank. His escape would be more difficult now. How did he know she too didn't have a gun or had fetched more ammunition for Laura? There might even be bullets left in Laura's gun. He had to get to a phone.

Laura turned and froze. Then suddenly the two figures were wrestling, and looked in danger of falling into the water. His heart somersaulted. Jesus! It wasn't Julie but Thea. She was alive. But not for much longer if Laura had her way.