of his breath Horton thought he had been nursing a bottle of whisky rather than a sick patient.
'Can't you get these bloody crabs off her?' Price growled.
Turning to Uckfield's launch, Horton reached for the boat hook and extended the pole so that he could reach the face without having to step any closer to the body and compromise the scene. He didn't need to do much to make the remaining crabs scuttle away, a gentle prod at a couple of them was enough. Horton handed back the boat hook and briefed Uckfield while Price carried out his examination of the body.
'How come you got called out to this?' Uckfield asked, rubbing his fleshy nose and frowning.
'I was just finishing off a surveillance operation,' Horton answered, not wanting to go into too much detail and admitting to Uckfield that he'd let one get away.
Uckfield grunted. Horton thought he detected resentment. He eyed the big man curiously. Uckfield seemed uneasy and wouldn't look directly at him. What was bothering him? Perhaps he had some trouble at home; if so Horton could sympathize with that, which made him recall he had a meeting with Catherine, his estranged wife, later. Their first meeting since she had thrown him out six months ago. He hoped they'd be able to come to some amicable agreement over Emma. It too had been six months since he'd seen his young daughter and that was far too long.
Dr Price was indicating that he wanted to return to the safety of the police launch. Horton helped him climb back on board and then joined him, nodding at Phil Taylor who instructed the videographer across to the mulberry.
'She was hit violently over the head. Of course that might not be what killed her,' Price said, divesting himself of his life jacket and scene suit. Horton noticed he was looking rather green around the gills and guessed it was being on water that fazed him rather than examining bodies, because he'd never seen Price turn a hair before at even the most grisly of deaths.
Price continued. 'Rigor mortis and lividity are well established so I would say she's been dead for about six to nine hours, though it's a bugger to tell in these conditions. You'll need to get her on the mortuary slab to check that.'
Horton said, 'That would make it between ten p.m. and one a.m. Was there anything on her to give us an ID?'
'Only this.' Uckfield took the scrap of paper that Price held out and dropped it into a plastic evidence bag. He scrutinized it, frowned and then handed it to Horton. It was a betting slip, and it was blank. Horton turned it over. On the back was written in a long thin scrawl. 'Have you forgotten ME?'
Had the victim written this note? Or had someone given it to her? Either way it didn't give him any clue as to the victim's identity. It did, however, give him a starting point. He said, 'The betting shop is Vinnakers in Commercial Road.'
'Then you'd better get down there and start asking some questions,' Uckfield said crisply.
'I'm on the team then?' Horton's heart lifted.
'For now,' Uckfield replied coldly and looked away.
Those words and the slight nuance in tone made Horton tense. 'But not for good, is that what you're trying to say?'
'We've got a job to do here, Inspector.'
Horton knew then why Uckfield wouldn't look him in the eye. And why his manner was so hostile. 'You're appointing someone else as your DI,' he said calmly, though his guts were churning and he felt the bitter and sickening blow of disappointment.
Uckfield didn't answer. 'I'll take a look at her,' he said.
Horton watched the bulky figure climb on to the mulberry. He saw Uckfield stiffen as he gazed down on the corpse. Why had he had such a change of heart in the last seven weeks? Uckfield had spent much of that time, since his promotion to superintendent, on courses and conferences. What had made him break his promise? Who had got at him? Horton was guessing that he had been overlooked because of his past. And, although he had been completely exonerated of charges of rape, when you trod in shit it took a long time to get the stench from your shoes, and that smell around him obviously didn't suit Uckfield's ambitions. Well, sod him!
Uckfield returned to the launch, Horton noted, not without some difficulty. Once Uckfield had been as fit as him. They had worked out together in the gym. Not so long ago Uckfield would have vaulted over the side of the boat without any trouble. Perhaps that was what promotion and responsibility did for you, that and make you shed your loyalties to your friends.
He watched as Uckfield punched a digit on his mobile phone. The colour on his fleshy face was high; his grey eyes keen. Horton could feel the tension and excitement radiating from Uckfield at the prospect of heading his first major investigation since his appointment and he felt angry and betrayed.
Crisply Uckfield commanded the mobilization of the major incident suite at the station and the mobile units to the Portsmouth side of the Hayling Ferry, with instructions to ask DI Lorraine Bliss to get hers down to the Hayling side.
Dr Price interjected, 'If you don't mind I'd like to get back on terra firma.'
'The inspector and I will come with you. A car will collect us from the Portsmouth pontoon.' Uckfield left a parting shot for Taylor. 'I want a report on this one quick, understand?'
Taylor nodded, but Horton knew that whatever was said the thin and thorough Taylor would work at his own pace, steadily and methodically.
They returned to the shore in silence. The doctor sat on one of the boulders in the car park, trying, Horton guessed, to settle his stomach, and wishing for a brandy. Calculating he was out of earshot, Horton took his chance.
'I think you owe me an explanation, Steve,' he said quietly and firmly.
Uckfield kept his eyes on the road, scanning it for his car. 'We've got a murdered woman and you have an investigation to undertake,' he snapped.
'Vinnakers isn't open yet. There's time. We've known one another long enough to be honest. If you don't think I'm suitable for your team then I'd like to know why.'
Uckfield spun round. He was a policeman; he had been schooled in the art of not showing his feelings. Horton saw nothing, not even a trace of their friendship. It was as if the past between them had been obliterated, which was what Horton guessed Uckfield had mentally done.
'The appointment will be announced-'
'Who's got the job, Steve?' insisted Horton, now with an edge of steel to his voice.
'Tony Dennings.'
It felt like a slap in the face. 'He's only just been promoted to inspector!' Horton was hardly able to believe he'd been overlooked in preference for the man he had worked with on the undercover operation that had landed him with that rape charge.
'He will join the major crime team a week today,' Uckfield said curtly. 'If this case is still running you will hand it over to him. Now go home and take a shower, you smell worse than Billingsgate Fish Market. Get Sergeant Cantelli out of bed and find me a killer.'
Horton badly wanted to ask, 'Why Dennings?' He didn't bother. He was hardly likely to get the truth anyway. Besides, Horton knew the answer. Dennings hadn't blotted his copybook.
Horton held Uckfield's eyes for a moment longer before climbing on to his Harley. So that was the way Steve wanted to play it. So be it. Horton was used to betrayal and disappointment in his life, but that didn't mean to say he was hardened to it. Once he would have said that he could rely on Uckfield, and yet in the last two months he'd been given cause to doubt his friendship, first on their last major case together when Uckfield had believed him capable of murder, and now at his lack of openness and honesty.
Horton called Cantelli.
'I've only just got my pyjamas on,' the sergeant protested.
'Good, I'd hate to think that I'd woken you.'
Sleep would have to wait for both of them, and so too would Mickey Johnson and the antiques thefts. He had a killer to find before Dennings could get so much as a toe inside the major incident room, and the trail started at Vinnakers Betting Shop in Commercial Road.
