to safety.
'There's no one in there,' Horton managed to cough and splutter. The firefighter nodded his grateful thanks, and rushed away to give instructions to his colleagues. Horton gazed wildly round for Thea. Then, with overwhelming relief, he found her squatting on the grass, staring blankly at the blazing spectacle of her brother's home.
'Are you all right?' he asked. It was a stupid question — how could she be? But she was alive and so was he, which, looking at the blaze and feeling the intense heat of the fire, was a miracle.
She nodded, dazed. No bones broken either. She'd had a lucky escape and so too had he. He wasn't sure about Bengal. Unwrapping the towel he stared down at the comatose tabby cat.
'Bengal!' she croaked, her voice turning to a sob. 'Now I've got nothing.' Her words, and the anguish in them, wrenched at Horton's heart. Swiftly he crossed to one of the firefighters.
'Have you got any compressed air to give the cat? He might still be alive. She's lost everything else. Her brother died this morning.'
The firefighter hurried back to Thea with Horton. He put a mask over the cat's face and shot the compressed air into its nose and mouth. They waited. Was it too late? It seemed as if it had been an age since Bengal had lost consciousness and they'd climbed out of the window but in reality Horton guessed it was only a couple of minutes at the most. Then Bengal stirred.
'Thank you. Oh, thank you!' Thea whispered, stroking the cat, her tearful eyes radiating out of her smoke- blackened face.
Horton's heart skipped several beats. He had to fight off the urge to take her in his arms and hold her, to soothe away her pain.
'That's one of his nine lives used up,' he said, nodding his thanks to the firefighter, thinking he was using up his own at a fast rate of knots. His throat and chest hurt from smoke inhalation but not as badly as he'd once suffered. And this time, unlike his past brushes with fire, it hadn't been primarily aimed at him, but at Thea. Thank God he had responded to that sense of urgency, that gut feeling that something was wrong. He shuddered to think of the outcome if he hadn't. Anger surged through him. Holiday or not, he had to catch the bastard who had done this to her.
Forcing himself to speak gently, despite the searing rage inside him, he said, 'Who attacked you, Thea?'
'I don't know,' she answered after a moment's hesitation.
She was lying. He could see it in her eyes, and the way she hastily glanced away. He decided not to press her, there would be time enough later. Bengal struggled free from her grasp and skittered down the garden path. An ambulance man appeared with a thermal blanket.
'Bengal!' she cried, twisting round to watch the cat's vanishing tail.
'He'll be OK,' Horton quickly reassured her. Tom cats could look after themselves, and, according to Mrs Mackie next door, Bengal had been doing just that for some time. Seeing Thea's obvious distress though, he added, 'I'll ask Mrs Mackie to feed him.' She wasn't a cat lover, but surely she couldn't refuse putting out a bowl of food in the circumstances?
Thea's grateful smile turned into a cough as the ambulance man escorted her through the narrow side entrance into the street. Following them, Horton crossed to Evelyn Mackie who was hovering nearby, along with most of the neighbours, huddled under umbrellas. He managed to divert her from her verbal sympathetic onslaught on Thea and persuaded her to take pity on Bengal. To her credit Mrs Mackie agreed quickly. She also offered Thea a bed but Horton declined. If the killer was still watching Thea then it would put Mrs Mackie in danger. Not that he told her that. If his boat hadn't been broken into then he might have suggested Thea stay with him. At least he could have protected her then. But this killer had already seen he was close to Thea, and Horton couldn't take that chance.
Anxiously he watched as she was wheeled into a curtained cubicle in A amp; E at St Mary's Hospital in Newport, and then, far from reassured she'd be all right, he walked to another cubicle where, with remarkable speed, a doctor, who looked as tired as Horton felt, checked him over, told him he was suffering from mild smoke inhalation and a blow to the head, which Horton already knew, and that if he experienced any effects of delayed concussion he was to return immediately. Discharged, and in the privacy of the relatives' room, just off the private room where Thea had been taken for the night on Horton's insistence, he called Uckfield.
'What is it with you and fires?' Uckfield demanded with exasperation, after Horton had quickly explained what had happened.
Horton winced as Uckfield's remark hit home — his ability to attract danger wasn't necessarily going to commend him to Catherine, or her lawyers, in respect of his demands for regular contact with his daughter.
'They're keeping Thea Carlsson in for the night,' Horton said. 'Someone's tried to kill her once. They'll try again when they learn they've been unsuccessful.' He went cold at the thought of how close she and he had come to death. 'She needs a safe house until we find this bloody lunatic.'
'We?' Uckfield said pointedly.
Horton tensed. He had to be on this case, even if it meant Uckfield would go running back to Catherine to confirm that it was as she thought — he was incapable of keeping his promises to Emma because of his job.
'I can postpone my holiday,' he said anxiously.
'No. You're still on holiday,' Uckfield insisted, then before Horton could protest, added, 'That is as far as DCI Birch and his team are concerned. You're undercover.' Horton heaved a silent sigh of relief as Uckfield continued. 'Start asking questions, sniffing around, stirring things up. Whoever is doing this will think you're either a nosy bloody parker or a friend of Thea Carlsson, which means they might try and get at you.'
Uckfield was right. It could be dangerous, but it could also be a short cut to finding their killer.
Uckfield went on. 'Anyone know you're a copper?'
'No. There was nothing on my boat to say I was.' Too late Horton realized what he had said. It had slipped out before he could stop himself. He ran a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline rush of facing danger had subsided, leaving him feeling that every bone in his body was about to crumble into osteoarthritis, and every muscle was aching beyond even the most arduous of workouts he could possibly imagine. Besides that his head was thumping and his throat was sore.
'Your boat?' Uckfield picked up sharply.
'It was broken into.'
'Thanks for telling me. When?'
It didn't matter now; all that did was he was on the case. He quickly told Uckfield about the break-in and his theory that the killer must have seen him with Thea Carlsson and wondered who he was.
'Is there anything else you've forgotten to tell me?' Uckfield asked scathingly.
Only the bit about Thea being psychic, but Horton wasn't about to divulge that to the biggest sceptic this side of the equator.
'So who knows you're a cop?' Uckfield repeated.
Horton pulled himself up even though he felt like collapsing in a heap and sleeping for a few months. But Uckfield's words made him recall the feeling he'd experienced earlier when he had decided not to reveal to Mrs Mackie that he was a police officer. Maybe there was something in this psychic stuff, after all. His mind raced to recall who knew he was a policeman and came up with the doctor attending Thea. He told Uckfield and added, 'I'll tell him to keep it quiet.'
'Good. We're on the ferry. Cantelli's looking green and keeps running to the bog, so he'll be about as much use as a rubber spanner when we arrive. Maitland, the fire investigation officer, will be over first thing tomorrow to examine the house.'
It was arson, that much was obvious, but Horton hoped that Maitland might be able to tell them exactly how the fire had started, which could give some clue as to the background of the offender, though he doubted this one would have been stupid or careless enough to leave any traces behind.
'What about Taylor and SOCO?'
'Elkins will ferry them into Cowes in the morning. Any more bloody incidents like this and it'll be easier and cheaper to put the buggers up in a hotel. I've scheduled a full briefing at Newport station for eight a.m. Either I or Cantelli will liaise with you after that, if he's stopped throwing up by then. And I'll get Birch to set up a twenty- four-hour watch on Thea Carlsson until we can get her moved. Then she'll be under continuous protection in the safe house.'
