called her to tell her they were on their way, and had expressed his dissatisfaction that the marina hadn't been checked earlier.
'Did any boat leave the marina last night between nine p.m. and four a. m?'
'We're still checking,' she snapped. 'Now if you've seen all you need to, I'll get this towed away for examination. I'll keep Detective Superintendent Uckfield informed.'
She turned her back on him and headed across to the breakdown truck.
Cantelli yawned. 'Let's go home, Andy. I'm knackered. I can't think straight.'
There was nothing they could do here. DI Bliss was a competent officer. He was treading on her patch. He didn't blame her for being hostile. He'd be seething if someone did the same to him. Cantelli was right.
'I wasn't able to check out the boats moored in Town Camber,' Cantelli said, starting up the car and swinging out of the marina. 'By the time I called them, they'd closed for the day. I'll do it first thing tomorrow. How did it go with Catherine?'
There had been two people Horton could talk to about Catherine: Steve Uckfield and Barney Cantelli. Now there was only one.
'She brought the boyfriend along.'
Cantelli's mouth fell open. He threw a glance at Horton. 'She didn't!'
'Well, he was in the car outside, waiting for her, and she ran straight into his arms.'
'Bit insensitive that.'
'You know Catherine.'
'So it's over between you?'
'Looks like it.' The memory of that kiss now made him feel sad rather than angry. 'But she's not going to stop me from seeing Emma. I'll have to go to a solicitor.'
'About time,' Cantelli muttered. 'You got anyone in mind?'
'I'll find someone. Did you question Neil Cyrus?'
'He claims that no one saw him on the school premises after Langley left and at ten p.m. he went straight home to his bedsit in Southsea. He lives alone and he didn't speak to anyone. He doesn't own a boat, can't stand being on the water and hardly ever spoke to Langley so doesn't have any feelings about her one way or the other.'
'You believe him?'
'Yes.'
'Anything from Janet Downton?'
'The only people she saw going into Langley's office yesterday were Tom Edney, Susan Pentlow and that architect fellow, Leo Ranson. But as Downton says,' Cantelli mimicked her, 'I am not chained to my desk, Sergeant. Someone could easily have gone in when I was out of my office.'
'Times?'
'Edney went in just on the morning break at eleven twenty a.m., Pentlow at about three p.m. and Ranson shortly after at three thirty p.m. But I did discover that Langley left her office at twelve thirty p.m. and didn't return until just after two p.m. A couple of teachers saw her drive off in her car, and Neil Cyrus saw her return. No one seems to know where she went though.'
Horton doubted it had anything to do with her death. But the information that Edney had gone to see her was interesting. She could have disciplined him, hence the dark suit, and if she had done so formally then it would be on the deputy head teacher's file. Horton made a mental note to check. But perhaps Langley had torn him off a strip unofficially, or warned him about conducting his affair with Janet Downton. That could have been the proverbial straw that had broken the camel's back and made Edney flip. He'd deal with that tomorrow.
Cantelli dropped him at the station, where he collected his Harley and managed to resist the temptation to check into the incident room. At his marina, Horton stopped by the office to ask if Eddie had seen any boats leave last night. He hadn't and no one had logged out. Neither was there any record of Jessica Langley keeping a boat there.
Horton climbed on board Nutmeg, unlocked and slid back the hatch and dropped down into the single cabin. Switching on the light he surveyed the dim and cramped interior with its tiny stove and thought of his large, warm, comfortable house near Petersfield. It filled him with anger and sorrow and hastily he tried not to think of it.
He stretched out on his bunk listening to the water slapping against the hull and the rain drumming on the decks. He didn't intend sleeping, but fatigue overcame him. When he awoke it was still dark and he was very cold. He removed his shoes, threw on another sweater and climbed into his sleeping bag. The boat was too small and too cold to live on for the winter. He would have to find a bedsit or a flat. He didn't want to. It reminded him too much of being trailed around with his mother before the council tower block had become their home.
He closed his eyes and despite trying not to he once again saw his lovely detached house just outside Petersfield where he should have been now with his wife and daughter. Was that bastard in bed with Catherine? In his bed!
He leapt up, and flicked on the light. It was twelve thirty a.m. He knew then he wouldn't be able to return to sleep. He pulled on his leathers and set out for Petersfield, wondering what the devil he was going to do when he got there.
A light was on in the front bedroom: his and Catherine's. His stomach knotted at the sight of the red BMW on the driveway. He tried not to let his mind conjure up the vision of their naked bodies intertwined. He didn't succeed. Why was he tormenting himself like this? He was mad. Yet he couldn't stop.
The front door opened and Catherine was kissing good-bye to lover-boy. Horton stepped back behind the cover of the bushes on the opposite side of the road. The man climbed into his car and drove off. Horton hesitated: should he follow him and then beat him to a pulp? But what would that achieve? It would only alienate Catherine further, and get him on a charge of aggravated assault. Besides he'd know soon enough where lover-boy lived when Somerfield had checked him out.
The light in Catherine's bedroom went off. There was nothing more to see. It was one forty-five a.m. It would be best to go home and get some sleep. Yet he stayed. He was cold and wet. But his physical discomfort was nothing to the pain he felt inside as he gazed at what had once been his home. He felt like the child once again being left out in the cold, looking in on other people's happiness, never to be a part of it. It was then that he decided what to do. No matter what Catherine said, he had to see Emma. He'd been patient long enough.
He turned away and found an all-night cafe where he drank several cups of coffee and ate another plate of egg, chips and bacon, not tasting it. He splashed his face in the Gents and returned to Catherine's house. It was now half five in the morning, and it was Saturday. In two hours' time he would be able to knock on the door and demand to see his daughter. He felt a flutter of excitement inside him, then panic. What if Emma rejected him?
He steeled himself. Catherine's light came on, then Emma's.
It was time. He'd almost called it off several times as he had waited through the long, cold hours of the early morning, but the thought of holding his little girl in his arms had kept him there. He walked steadily forward. These were some of the most frightening steps he'd ever taken.
He pressed a finger on the bell and drew himself up. The door opened and there, staring up at him in her pink pyjamas, was his beautiful bright-eyed little girl with her shining dark hair and laughing face; she was clutching a doll under her right arm. God, he thought he was going to die. His whole body was swamped with a love so strong that it made him ill. He couldn't breathe. His world spun. He felt dizzy. He thought his heart had stopped beating. Then recognition dawned in her face and a great beam of a smile filled her tiny being. She shot into his arms, shouting, 'Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.'
He lifted her up and swung her round. Holding her tightly, he buried his face in her hair as he fought back the tears. He smelt her shampoo, felt the smoothness of her cheek against his own rough skin. Jesus! How could he have left her for so long? How could he go through the rest of his life not being a part of hers?
After a while he became aware that she was struggling a little. Smiling he put her down and crouched down besides her, ruffling her hair. 'I hope I haven't made you all wet, pumpkin.'
She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the house. 'Mummy! Mummy! Daddy's come home.'
Oh, what sweet, agonizing words. If only they were true. If only he could turn back the clock and forget the last year of his life.
Catherine stepped out of the kitchen with a face like thunder. Emma turned to look at her mother and then
