Pauline Rowson
The Suffocating Sea
One
Wednesday 17 December: 7.45 p.m.
The blue pulsating lights of the fire engines radiated out of the dense freezing fog like revolving spotlights on a stage as Sergeant Cantelli swung into the car park at Horsea Marina.
Inspector Andy Horton shivered. A cold, clammy feeling fingered its way up his spine. He'd been to hundreds of fires in his career, and had seen burnt and shrivelled corpses before. This was no different, he told himself, yet instinctively he knew it was.
The fog and smoke curled together like a snake and seemed to ooze their way inside the car, bringing with them the smell of danger and death. They clawed at his throat, making it hard for him to catch his breath. A premonition so strong that it was almost audible was urging him to turn back and leave this to others, but it was too late for that. Cantelli was already drawing to a halt in front of the police vehicle straddling the fire engines. Beyond, somewhere on the pontoon, thought Horton, was a burning boat and inside it a charred corpse.
He shuddered as Barney Cantelli said, 'Quite a crowd for a night cold enough to freeze the whatsits off a brass monkey.'
Horton surveyed the spectators' gawping features. There were about twenty of them, but thankfully no journalists that he could spot, though for a moment he thought he recognized a dark-haired woman in her mid- thirties dressed in a smart trouser suit and three-quarter-length raincoat.
As their eyes connected, she stepped away from the crowd and hurried towards a car. He couldn't see which one because a middle-aged woman, wearing a felt hat shaped like a flowerpot pushed low over her forehead, blocked his view.
Cantelli said, 'You'd think they'd have better things to do with Christmas looming.'
Christmas. Horton grasped at the thought like a drowning man clutching a lifebelt. Not because he liked the season, on the contrary he hated it, but there was one bright spot in the festive calendar: he was going to spend Christmas Eve with his daughter, Emma. A whole day, and the first since his marital split in April. He half expected and dreaded that Catherine would have second thoughts by next Wednesday and deny him access. But his solicitor, Frances Greywell, said that Catherine couldn't change her mind. You wanna bet, he thought, stepping out of the car as PC Seaton came hurrying towards him.
'The boat's called Enterprise, sir,' Seaton said excitedly. 'You know, like the star ship…'
'I am acquainted with Star Trek,' Horton replied, striding past the fire engines, noting that his curt tone didn't extinguish Seaton's grin. It seemed totally out of place in the circumstances, but Horton told himself that Seaton was young, keen and ambitious. And he probably didn't have any hang-ups over seeing shrivelled corpses. Of all the deaths Horton feared in his job, with the exception of children's, the one caused by fire was his worst. It was that rictus smile, so grotesque, inhuman and mocking, and the smell of roasted flesh which was exactly reminiscent of fried bacon or roast pork. He wouldn't be able to look at that kind of meat, or be within sniffing distance of it for days, weeks even, without recalling what he was about to see here.
'The boat went up like the clappers,' Seaton enthused. 'The fire investigation officer called us because he thinks it's a suspicious death.'
Horton drew up in front of the bridgehead. On the pontoon he could see the firefighters reeling in the hoses but the boat, or what was left of it, was hidden by the thick fog. He hesitated and silently cursed himself for his foolish fears and uncharacteristic indecisiveness. Hoping he wasn't betraying what he was feeling, Horton glanced at Cantelli who was chewing gum and frowning at the site of the fire. Perhaps he should confide his fears. Cantelli, with his more intuitive nature and half Italian blood, would understand about premonitions. But what the devil could he confide? A feeling? It sounded crazy and weak.
His new boss, DCI Lorraine Bliss, would put him on sick leave if she knew what he was thinking. Either that or have him sectioned. And maybe she would like that. She was taking some getting used to and they hadn't exactly started off on the right foot. Horton could still recall her reaction when he'd questioned her efficiency on the case where their paths had crossed before her promotion.
'Have you seen the victim?' he asked Seaton.
'The fire officer wouldn't let me on board. He said it wasn't safe.'
He looked so disappointed that Horton felt like admonishing him but he held his tongue. Instead he asked, 'What about an ID?'
Seaton began to look uncomfortable. 'I haven't had the chance to check it out at the marina office, and WPC Somerfield is asking around for anyone who witnessed the explosion.'
Something inside Horton snapped. Enthusiasm was all very well, but when it got in the way of procedure then it was sloppiness.
He heard himself say, 'Your first priority, Constable, is to control this crowd, secure the scene, and ascertain the identity of the victim, not jigger up and down as if you've wet your pants at finding some poor bastard burnt to a crisp.'
'Sir,' Seaton snapped to attention, staring straight ahead.
Horton could feel his disappointment and it irked him that he'd been so harsh because he recalled his own sense of excitement at a high-level incident when he was a young PC. He knew that Seaton's enthusiasm was only natural. He also knew that he was a fine one to talk; procedure could, and often did, go the way of the dodo if Horton thought he was on to something. Sod it!
'Secure the area, and get Somerfield cataloguing everyone who goes on to the bridgehead. See that no one gets within spitting distance of those fire appliances except those who are authorized to do so, and if you're not sure who that is then you'd better go back to basic training,' he said stiffly.
Seaton scurried off like a scalded cat and Horton caught Cantelli looking at him mildly surprised.
'Seaton won't be so bloody chipper after he's seen the body,' Horton grumbled, heading towards the security gate that led on to the pontoon.
Damn it. Why was he feeling and behaving like this? Perhaps he'd been working too hard. He'd had a traumatic year after being charged and subsequently cleared of rape. That, and fighting to gain access to his daughter against a wife who was clearly out to prevent him from doing so at every opportunity just to spite him, was enough to make any man break, he consoled himself. But even as he did so he despised the excuses. Concentrate on the facts. You're a policeman; bloody act like one.
He peered at the security gate that led from the bridgehead on to the pontoons. It was wedged open for the firefighters, but normally admittance would only be allowed after tapping a security code on to the digital keypad, and that code was regularly changed.
Horton examined the opening mechanism. 'There's no sign of a forced entry, which means that if it is a suspicious death, our killer must either have known the victim, be a boat owner or a member of the marina staff. Either that or he slipped in behind another boat owner.'
'Perhaps the fire investigation officer is wrong and this is an accident,' Cantelli said, unravelling another piece of gum and popping it in his mouth.
'Let's hope so, for all our sakes. We're enough officers down already with this bloody flu bug, and with only a week to Christmas managing a murder investigation will be a nightmare.'
'Yeah, but not yours, Andy,' Cantelli said quietly.
Horton glared at him. 'Thanks for reminding me that I failed to get into the major crime team, or get promoted. For a moment I'd almost forgotten.' But Horton couldn't take offence; he'd known Cantelli too long for that and respected and valued him as a friend. Besides, he knew what Barney was doing. He took a breath trying to release some of his tension. 'Let's get on with it.'
Mentally he began to prepare himself for what he was about to see, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that this was going to be no ordinary victim and no ordinary case. The fog didn't help to dispel his jitters either. Its
