It was a gentle reminder to Horton that he wasn't in charge of this investigation. Feeling irritable and restless, he watched Taylor go, knowing he was right; this case had nothing to do with him. Tomorrow he'd make his statement at Newport police station, and return home to Southsea Marina on the next high tide. He'd forget all about Thea Carlsson and her dead brother.
The trilling of his mobile sliced through his thoughts.
'For Christ's sake, Andy, can't you go anywhere without causing trouble?' Superintendent Uckfield bellowed.
'I didn't shoot him.'
'Just don't ask me to go on holiday with you!'
Perish the thought.
'Well?' commanded Uckfield.
'Well what?' How come Uckfield was suddenly interested? 'You'll have to talk to Detective Chief Inspector Birch.'
'He reckons he's got the tart who did it.'
'She's not a tart,' Horton said stiffly, and too quickly. He took a breath, not wanting Uckfield to read too much into his reaction, but it was too late.
'Oh, like that, is it?'
Hearing the sneer in Uckfield's voice, Horton cursed himself for over-reacting. But his response to Uckfield had told him he could no more walk away from this than streak naked through Portsmouth's busiest thoroughfare in the middle of market day. Forcing his voice to sound more casual, he said, 'Has Birch charged her?' He heard the deep throb of the police launch as it headed out of the marina.
'Says it's only a matter of time.'
'Motive?'
'Claims brother and sister could have fallen out.'
'Over what?'
'He'll find out.'
Or fabricate it, thought Horton uneasily. He didn't trust the emaciated Birch one inch. 'She was very distressed to find her brother's body.'
'Could be guilt.'
Horton gave him that, but he still wasn't convinced, despite his earlier thoughts. She hadn't looked guilt- ridden. But there was more to it than that. He told himself he wasn't attracted to her, and yet there was something that he couldn't explain, even to himself — a feeling, a bond? He didn't know exactly and was irritated at not being able to pinpoint it.
Uckfield said, 'How come she found him?'
Horton hesitated; he certainly wasn't going to tell Uckfield the psychic bit. The big man would laugh from here to John O'Groats and back again and then think the same as everyone else: that Thea was off her trolley or guilty as hell. So Birch hadn't told Uckfield about that. He wondered why. He must know by now; the woman police officer would have relayed that nugget of information even if Thea hadn't repeated her claim in the interview room. To distract Uckfield, Horton said, 'Owen Carlsson was seen on Saturday on the Cowes chain ferry.'
'How the bloody hell do you know that?'
'I've talked to his neighbour.'
'Thought you were on holiday. Does Birch know?'
'No idea.' Horton waited for the reprimand and was surprised when it didn't come. Instead Uckfield almost chuckled.
'Tell me what you've got.'
So Uckfield was another one who wasn't a member of Birch's fan club. Horton wondered who was; Sergeant Norris probably. He quickly briefed Uckfield about his visit to Owen Carlsson's house, but still said nothing about Thea and her psychic warning, or about the break-in on his yacht.
'We're coming over,' Uckfield abruptly announced when Horton had finished.
'The major crime team's been called in?' asked Horton with a mixture of surprise and relief. It meant that Birch must have doubts about Thea being the killer. Or more likely he couldn't prove it. That solicitor, Michael Braxton, must be doing a good job.
Uckfield said, 'Strange as it might seem, murder, or suspected murder, counts as a major crime.'
But Horton knew that wasn't the real reason. He could hear it in Uckfield's voice. And if Birch hadn't asked for assistance, who had?
Uckfield said, 'We'll be there just before eight.'
'Who's we?'
'Marsden and Somerfield-'
'DI Dennings?' Horton asked sharply. He didn't want the man who had taken his job in the major crime team plodding all over the place. Since appointing Dennings, Uckfield had realized his mistake and had been trying to ease him out, but unfortunately Dennings was sticking to Uckfield like treacle to a spoon, much to Uckfield's chagrin.
Uckfield said, 'He's sick.'
'Can't be with stress,' Horton quipped. 'He'd need to be overworked for that.'
'Flu,' Uckfield replied curtly.
'And the Port Special Branch post you're trying to persuade him to take?'
'Still trying. There's that vacancy on my team, remember?'
Not yet there isn't, thought Horton, if Dennings refuses to go. 'I'm on holiday,' he said, hoping Uckfield would ignore that. But he didn't.
'Cantelli's coming with me.'
Poor Cantelli. He got seasick just looking at water. And he didn't think Charlotte would be very pleased at having her husband dragged away from the bosom of his large family. He said, 'Then you'd better ask him what he's already got on Owen Carlsson.'
'Jesus! Has everyone been investigating this case except me, who should be?'
Horton said nothing, forcing Uckfield to continue. 'Trueman will co-ordinate the incident room at Newport station. Can't trust these islanders to do that properly.'
Birch and Norris were going to love this, Horton thought gleefully.
'And Somerfield might be able to get close to Thea Carlsson. You know, woman to woman kind of thing. Birch has had to release her. Seems she's got a pretty good lawyer and Birch had no real evidence to hold her, though he could have applied to do so, if he'd thought about it a bit longer. But thinking is not Birch's strong point.'
Why the hell hadn't Uckfield told him this immediately? And why hadn't that damn solicitor told him when Horton had left clear instructions that he should do so? Had Thea told him not to? Maybe Frances Greywell hadn't relayed the message.
Uckfield rang off. Horton thought about calling Cantelli then changed his mind. The sergeant was probably packing his bag and taking his sea sickness pills. Instead Horton called Braxton, after getting his number from Frances Greywell's office, only to be told that Mr Braxton was unavailable.
'I bet he is,' Horton murmured, throwing his mobile phone down in disgust. He paced the cabin feeling uneasy. He flicked on the light hoping it would dispel his concerns about Thea, but it didn't. The image of her terrified expression haunted him. She simply couldn't be guilty. A chilling suspicion began to form in his mind. Was she being threatened? Had her brother been killed as a warning and she'd been told where to find his body? Was she in that house alone? She had to be unless Evelyn Mackie had seen her return and had called on her. Would Thea have let her in though? Given Thea's past record of keeping to herself he didn't think so.
God, he wished he'd taken down Owen Carlsson's home telephone number; he could have called her. But again, he doubted if she would have answered it. Why would she have told the solicitor not to notify him that she'd been released? There was only one answer he could think of: because she didn't trust the solicitor. Correction, she didn't trust anybody. But she'd asked him to feed her cat! She'd given him a key. Why? He didn't know, only that he was certain that her life was in danger. He could feel it — and bollocks to Uckfield or anyone else who would laugh at him because of it.
Before he knew it he was locking the boat and hurrying towards the marina shop in the rain soaked night,
