Pauline Rowson - Tide of Death

He cursed and stepped aside with a sinking heart. Jarrett was lying on his back. His eyes were staring up into nothing. There was blood around his mouth and a livid mark around his neck. Horton felt for the pulse in Jarrett's neck even though he knew there was no point. The body was still warm. He straightened up shaking his head at Cantelli who looked shocked and worried. Horton knew where this would leave him. They would try and pin Jarrett's murder on him along with Lucy's.

Cantelli said, 'Is it the same killer?'

'Looks like it.' Horton was unable to disguise the disappointment he felt. 'Chummy seems to go in for strangulation.'

'This doesn't make sense. Why kill Jarrett? What has he got to do with Melissa Thurlow?'

'Nothing. The murders have no connection with Melissa Thurlow. I was wrong.' Horton stepped back on deck under the protective cover of the spray hood. He could hear the rain beating against it and splattering onto the pristine deck. 'I didn't expect this. I should have done.' He tried to clear his brain. Think damn you, think. 'You'd better phone through and get the circus in.' He couldn't stick around here and wait for Uckfield. 'Can I borrow your car, Barney?'

Cantelli looked surprised. 'Where are you going?'

'Away from here, that's for sure.'

'I discovered the body with you,' Cantelli protested.

'By the time Uckfield and Reine are convinced of that it will be too late.' He wasn't prepared to tell Barney his suspicions about Reine being the someone 'high up' that Jane had mentioned. He didn't want Cantelli compromised, or at risk, any more than he already was. 'Tell them you were acting on a hunch coming out here. Don't mention me.'

'And if they ask me where my car is?'

'I'm sure you'll think of something. And try and trace that man we saw slipping off the pontoon as we came in. Did you get a look at him?'

Cantelli frowned. 'Not a proper one, sorry.' Neither did Horton, though he felt there was something familiar about him. 'I'll call you.'

Horton climbed into Cantelli's car with a sinking heart. Four people dead and no nearer to finding the killer. There had to be something he'd overlooked. Could the lockmaster give a better description? Had anyone else seen and recognised this man on Thurlow's boat? Oh they'd find out, once they'd questioned the marina staff and berth holders. But how long would that take and where would he be then? Still suspended — again.

He slid the driver's seat back to accommodate his longer legs but it got stuck. He reached underneath to find a child's drawing book stuffed in the space. He grabbed it and made to throw it on the back seat when his hand froze. He glanced down at the drawings he'd already thrown there. Rapidly he examined them and then the drawings in the book, his heart going like the clappers. He sat back and thought. Cantelli's drawings on his notice board, the twins writing underneath them and on these drawings, Melissa's belief that she had an illegitimate brother or sister. Could it be a twin brother or sister? There were the love letters to Culven that Melissa had denied writing and yet were in an identical hand. He stared at the drawings illuminated in a flash of lightning, you couldn't tell the difference between the Cantelli twins writing. He recalled the lockmaster's description: a lean fit man — an athlete, a runner.

He swung the car out of Horsea Marina. His heart was still racing. The photographs on the wall of Thurlow's boardroom had shown a man with a marathon medal and a group of disabled children. The business was losing money but Calthorpe had seemed unaware of it. Culven's files had mentioned redundancies. Why hadn't he seen the likeness before? Oh yes, Melissa did have a twin and that twin was Graham Parnham. But how could it be? His alibi confirmed he'd been in France.

Parnham's house was in darkness and despite ringing the bell and knocking several times Horton knew he wasn't there. Where could he have gone? If he was right — though as yet there was no evidence to say he was — this was a man who had killed three people, four if he was responsible for Jarrett's death, but Horton wasn't sure about that. This was a man who would kill again to achieve his goal, which was… There was only one place.

The lightning was flashing across the sky like an erratic searchlight and the thunder booming like a hundred canons by the time he reached Briarly House. The house was in darkness. Perhaps Melissa had gone to stay with friends? He stepped back and looked up at the window. Then he walked around to the back of the house looking for the best way to enter. He pushed against the conservatory door. It opened. Gingerly he crept through the kitchen, his ears straining for the slightest of sounds but all he could hear was the thunder. From his previous visits he knew the house wasn't alarmed.

He negotiated the hall, knocking his shin on the corner of a table and cursing softly under his breath. Swiftly, but stealthily, he searched the rooms on the ground floor but found nothing and no one. Upstairs he stood in the pitch black and strained his ears but heard only the wind and rain. A growing sense of anxiety was beginning to creep up his spine. Something wasn't quite right. He felt uneasy. This house wasn't empty. He'd known from the moment he had stepped over the threshold, only he'd chosen to ignore his instinct. Now his pulse quickened and he tried to still his pounding heart as he eased his way along the landing. Carefully and slowly he pushed back a door to a bedroom, nothing, then another and the bathroom. Deserted.

He made his way down the passageway to the room at the end. Gingerly, with his fingertips, he pushed open the door. Slowly it swung wide.

She was lying on the bed, much as Lucy Richardson had been, but Melissa Thurlow was face down and wearing a green dressing gown. An empty bottle of pills and an empty whisky bottle lay by her side on the floor. Her arm was hanging over the edge of the bed where she had let it fall.

Swiftly he crossed to the bed believing her to be dead but when he pressed his fingers against her neck he felt a pulse. Thank God. He lifted the telephone, but something struck him violently on the side of the head, and he fell to the floor. Before he even had a chance to recover a gun was thrust at his temple. 'Over.' He rolled over. His head was muggy from the blow. He felt his arms being wrenched behind him whilst his brain said, resist, fight back, but that gun was at his head. Whatever bound him was made of material. The bonds were tightened.

'Up.'

He struggled up.

'You can turn around.'

He turned.

Parnham said, 'I don't mind shooting you here if I have to, so don't try anything, inspector.'

Slowly Horton's mind began to clear.

'Let me call an ambulance. She's still alive.'

'All the more reason not to call one.'

Was he going to have to stand here and watch Melissa slowly die whilst this man gloated?

Parnham's eyes flickered to Melissa for a moment but almost instantly came back up again and focused on Horton before he had a chance to take advantage of it. He must think of a way to overpower Parnham and get help for Melissa before it was too late. But he was staring at a ruthless, unbalanced and complex personality. If Melissa died, that would make four deaths. Not Jarrett's though, because now Horton knew who the man slipping off the pontoon had been. But what good was that if he didn't get out of here? Parnham wouldn't hesitate to kill him, but to do so here would be a mistake. He would need to get him away from Briarly House and then Horton would have to take his chance. But it might be too late for Melissa.

'You're going to stand there and let your twin sister die?'

'You know.' Parnham looked disappointed. A flicker of annoyance showed behind the eyes, this time without their spectacles. Now Horton could see the likeness more strongly. He cursed himself for not spotting it sooner, but Parnham's spectacles, and the light shining off them from Thurlow's office window, had deceived him. He remembered how Parnham had removed his spectacles and polished them, a gesture, Horton now guessed, designed to taunt him.