to the contrary.'
'Of course. I'll do it now,' she said crisply.
'Give him my mobile number and ask him to call me as soon as he's spoken to her and to DCI Birch.'
She rang off. Horton knew that she would have liked their relationship to be more than a professional one, but he didn't want to get involved with his solicitor, no matter how attractive she was. He had half an idea that it would backfire on him and that somehow Catherine would use the information to be even more difficult and obstructive than she was already being.
He picked up the book beside Thea's bed. The Lost Ghosts of the Isle of Wight. Poor buggers, he thought, opening it and reading the handwritten dedication: 'To darling Thea who has the gift, Helen.' What gift? Being physic? Who was Helen?
His phone rang, making him jump. He wasn't usually so edgy. The cat started too, shifted a paw and cast him an angry glance before deciding that he and his phone were no threat.
It was Cantelli again. 'Know much about ghosts?' Horton asked, putting the book back where he had found it.
'Why? You seen one?'
'Not yet. But give it time. Thea Carlsson claims to be psychic,' he found himself confiding.
'Well she's not employed as a medium. In fact she's not employed anywhere in the UK according to Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs. Or if she is then she's not paying tax and never has.'
Maybe she relied on Owen for money, thought Horton, and lived here as his dependant. But if so, why so few clothes and limited personal possessions? Unless Owen had kept her short. Was he some kind of control freak and she'd finally flipped?
'What about Owen Carlsson?' Horton stared down at the sloping roof of the conservatory and beyond that into a good-sized garden, which backed on to the gardens of another street. At the bottom of Owen's garden was a group of bare-branched trees and shrubs, and a small summerhouse.
Cantelli said, 'He's a self-employed environmental consultant, and, according to the Internet, has written tons of articles on the environment. He's had some pretty impressive national media coverage on global warming. And there's no record of either of them owning a gun. Want me to carry on digging?'
'With a spade.' Horton ignored the small voice inside him that told him to leave well alone and get on with his holiday. He could be wasting precious police time by getting Cantelli to do work that DCI Birch must surely be doing. But then perhaps Birch thought he was staring at Owen Carlsson's killer sitting opposite him in the interview room. And maybe he was.
'What do your psychic powers tell you about Owen Carlsson's death, Barney?'
'They say get the hell out of there and finish your holiday.'
Horton thought it good advice.
'But knowing you, you won't,' Cantelli continued, with a smile in his voice. 'You might like to know that Taylor and his scene of crime team are on their way over and Dr Clayton's doing the autopsy later today. She can't get over to the island until six.'
So Birch was treating it as suspicious and not suicide. Horton didn't see that he had any choice. 'What about Uckfield and the major crime team? Are they coming?'
'Not as far as I know,' Cantelli answered.
Which meant Birch was pretty confident he had the killer. Horton didn't much like the sound of that. He'd found nothing in this house to show why a sister had killed her brother, but then maybe Thea had motives that weren't on display. Who knew what past secrets lay between brother and sister, he thought, seeing again that maggot-infested body in the dunes.
He said, 'Tell Taylor I'll see him when he's finished at the scene.' Sergeant Elkins of the marine unit would bring the police launch bearing the SOCO into Bembridge. Horton knew it was nothing to do with him, but he felt he couldn't simply walk away.
He locked up and knocked next door. Introducing himself as a friend of Owen Carlsson he broke the sad news of Owen's death to the neighbour he'd seen earlier climb from her car, but he made no mention of how Owen had been killed or where.
She showed him into a small over-furnished room and waved him into a seat before perching her slender backside on the chair opposite.
'How awful for Owen's sister,' she said, after the usual expressions of horror and shock and introducing herself as Evelyn Mackie. 'Not that I really know her. She only arrived a week ago, Monday before last. Owen introduced Thea when they were in the garden that Friday. I was hanging out the washing when I saw them talking in what Owen called his natural garden. It's right at the bottom, bordering on to the houses over the back of us in William Street. My husband calls it a wilderness, but Owen said it was full of wild flowers and grasses and helped to encourage bees and insects. Since then I've not spoken to her. Shy, I suppose.'
Horton got the impression that Evelyn Mackie either didn't like Thea or disapproved of her. She'd given him some new information though, and putting that with what Cantelli had said about no record of Thea paying taxes in the UK, Horton guessed that Thea must normally be resident abroad, or perhaps travelling. Certainly not living under her brother's tyrannical rule as he had hypothesized.
Evelyn Mackie continued. 'Owen said his sister would be staying with him for a while. I've only heard her calling the cat since then. He arrived about the same time.'
Clearly she didn't approve of the cat either.
As if to confirm this she said rather disparagingly, 'He's a stray. Thea must have encouraged him, because Owen wasn't a great cat lover. Oh, not that he hated them or would harm them, but he told me once he didn't much care for the way they tormented their prey.'
Bengal had found a comfortable billet then. 'Didn't Thea ask you about Owen's disappearance?' Horton asked, curious.
'Had he disappeared? I didn't know.' She scowled, as though annoyed at missing out on a piece of gossip. But why hadn't Thea checked with Owen's neighbours for sightings of her brother? Perhaps Owen had told Thea that he didn't like his neighbour. Or perhaps, as Evelyn Mackie had said, Thea was shy. Did that also explain why she hadn't answered her brother's telephone calls and taken messages? Or maybe Owen didn't like her meddling. Perhaps then he was a bully and Thea had been terrified of him. He'd ordered her to come home and she didn't have the courage to refuse. Then once here, she'd cracked up and killed him. Or, maybe, she'd come home with a lover specifically to kill her brother. He didn't want to believe that either, but he knew that if these thoughts were running through his mind then they would be galloping through Birch's.
Evelyn Mackie's cultured tone broke through his thoughts. 'Owen was a lovely man, so polite and friendly.'
That didn't mean he was kind to his sister and animals though. Bullies often put on a false facade to the outer world whilst tormenting their victims. But the man on that answer machine message hadn't sounded like a bully.
Heaving a sad sigh Evelyn Mackie added, 'I can't believe he's dead. I only saw him on Saturday on the chain ferry crossing to East Cowes. He seemed fine then.'
Horton's ears pricked up at that. Thea claimed to have last seen her brother leaving the house on Saturday morning. 'What time was this?'
'It must have been just after ten. I was in my car heading for Fishbourne to collect a friend from the ten twenty-five car ferry from Portsmouth.'
'Was Owen in his car?'
'No, on foot. He was dressed for walking; boots, stick and a rucksack. I asked if he wanted a lift anywhere, but he said no. He didn't say where he was going.'
Pity. Horton recalled that Owen had been wearing boots when he'd seen the body, but where were the rucksack and the walking stick?
'Can you remember what he was wearing?'
She thought for a moment. 'Dark-green corduroy trousers and a navy-blue waterproof jacket. Why?'
'Just curious,' he said dismissively, but seeing that his comment didn't convince her, he expanded, 'Thea told me Owen had disappeared on Saturday so I was just checking if it had been when he went for that walk. It sounds like it to me.' Horton rose. 'Maybe I should tell Owen's neighbours on the other side.'
