everything he could on his past. There was a small paragraph that said he was unavailable for comment, which made it look as though he had something to hide. Of course he was unavailable, he was bloody working! He closed the newspaper. How could he fight this? Is this what lay ahead of him every time he handled a prominent case? What chance did he have of any judge giving him access to his daughter?
'They'll get tired of it, eventually,' Cantelli said, but Horton knew what the media were like: once they got hold of a good story they wouldn't let it go easily.
'I don't have eventually. I might as well be dead if I can't see Emma again. You of all people should know what my daughter means to me.'
Cantelli smiled sadly. 'Yeah, I do know.'
Horton could see that Cantelli was thinking about his own problems with Ellen. Activity is what they needed. This case needed solving and he had a point to make not only to Uckfield and Superintendent Reine, but now to the newspaper. And that point was that he was a good detective.
'Come on, we've got work to do. Uckfield's applied for a warrant to search Briarly House but Melissa Thurlow's given her permission.' Then seeing Cantelli's wary look added, 'It's OK, Barney, we'll collect a dog handler on our way out.'
There was an accident in Redvins village square and Cantelli was diverted around the back of it past the church. Just coming through the lychgate were three women carrying floral arrangements. One of them was the oh-so perfect Alison Uckfield. She looked poised, cool and elegant, a definite asset for a detective superintendent, or a chief constable, Horton thought, with some bitterness. He watched her unlock her car and place the floral arrangement on the back seat before Cantelli turned the corner and she disappeared from sight.
As Horton opened the front door of Briarly House he called to Bellman. The dog gave a soft growl and a bark and then recognising Horton's scent came trotting good-naturedly towards him.
'Your mistress has been delayed and you've got to go on a little holiday.' Horton ruffled the dog's head. Bellman thumped his tail. Horton stepped aside and let Dave the Dog, as he was known around the station, take over.
'See what you can find upstairs, Barney. I'll take downstairs.'
Stepping into the lounge he saw, through the window, Bellman jump into the back of the dog handler's van. His mind wandered back to Alison Uckfield. How much had Catherine confided in her? Should he have a word with Alison to see what he could find out about this Ed? Concentrate damn you, concentrate on the case.
He snatched up a photograph on top of an ancient oak bureau and stared at a portly man in his sixties with silver hair and a wide smile. It must be Melissa Thurlow's father, Randall Simpson. On the top of the bureau there were pictures of a younger Melissa with him. He hardly recognised her. As well as being rich she had also been a beauty, quite a catch for Roger Thurlow, as she had said.
He began a search of the bureau, finding the usual household bills and receipts. There was correspondence between Melissa Thurlow and the local fuchsia society. He flicked open her diary. She had put a line through the Friday her husband was killed and written, South West Fuchsia Show, Swindon. That would be easy enough to check out.
He finished his search finding nothing of interest and crossed the room to scan the books in the bookcase beside the fireplace. He could hear Cantelli moving about upstairs. They were mainly gardening books with one or two biographies and some romantic fiction-Melissa Thurlow's escape? The poor woman hadn't had a great deal of love and romance it seemed with Roger.
His eyes alighted on the painting over the fireplace. It was a fairly competent watercolour of Briarly House. The name in the bottom right hand corner gave him the artist, Melissa's father: Randall Simpson.
Some instinct made him reach out and take it down disturbing the fine cobwebs around it and leaving a faded patch of wallpaper behind it. He turned the painting over to see what, if anything, was written on the back. It wasn't very professionally framed, as around each edge was brown sticky tape that was beginning to come away. Stretching across the back was a piece of string knotted at each end in the eyelets and in the middle a square piece of cream card handwritten with 'Briarly House 1956.' He made to return the picture then changed his mind. His fingers picked at the sticky tape, which came away very easily and slowly he peeled it back. It was all that was holding the backing cardboard in place and as it worked loose he could see something sandwiched between it and the painting itself. With a quickening heartbeat he gently prised the paper out. It was cream and quite delicate.
Putting the picture down, he crossed to the bureau where he slowly unfurled the rectangular piece of paper.
'You found something?' Cantelli asked, crossing the room.
'It's a birth certificate. I found it behind that painting.'
'Strange place to keep it.'
'Not so strange when you take a closer look at it. See the column that gives the name of Melissa's father?
'Unknown,' Cantelli read surprised. 'She was adopted?'
'Yes. By Randall Simpson.'
'So?'
'She didn't want her husband to know.'
'But how could that make a difference?'
Horton's mind replayed that last interview with her. From what she had said and left unsaid he could imagine what her life with Roger Thurlow must have been like.
'Roger Thurlow would have used this information to humiliate her,' he said. He couldn't help recalling the taunts of the other children at school: your mum doesn't love you; she gave you away. It wasn't strictly true; his mother had deserted him, though it amounted to the same thing. And some of his foster parents had been just as cruel always telling him he should be 'grateful' for being taken in. In this day and age being adopted wasn't anything to be ashamed of, but he knew that you couldn't help how you felt inside.
He said, 'Thurlow had been gradually chipping away at Melissa's self confidence, making her feel worthless. If he had discovered this little secret he would have taunted her with it. Melissa has admitted drugging her husband by giving him an overdose but she doesn't strike me as a hardened killer. She'd had enough. She just wanted him out of her life.'
'So Uckfield is right? And she also killed Culven?'
'Why aren't her fingerprints and DNA in Culven's house? Why aren't they on those letters? Get a team in here, Barney. See if we can find any evidence that Culven came here, though I think it unlikely.' Horton slipped the birth certificate into an evidence bag. It might have no bearing on the case but it was one of those oddities. He was interested to see what she would have to say about it.
'They had separate bedrooms,' Cantelli said. 'But his room is like a hotel bedroom. There's nothing personal in it. No papers.'
'And there are no papers here belonging to Thurlow either. There might be a safe. I'll get Marsden to ask her.' Horton pulled out his mobile and rang the station.
They continued their search and had almost finished it when Marsden rang back.
'There's no safe,' Horton told Cantelli.
'So where did he keep his cheque book, bank statements, passport?'
'Where indeed? Let's ask her.'
She said she didn't know. 'Or won't say,' Cantelli ventured, later.
'We need to cherchez la femme.'
'Or l'uomo!'
'Judging by the clothes Thurlow was found dressed in, you could be right.'
CHAPTER 12
Tuesday
'Mr Calthorpe's at a client meeting,' Mrs Stephens managed to blurt out in between sobs. Clearly she had
