drugs in his body. Your killer was unlucky.'
Wasn't he? Good. About time luck favoured the good guys. Horton thanked her and sat back thinking over what she had told him. Who had access to methadone? A chemist, nurse, doctor, patient, drug user, or perhaps a professional killer. Methadone could be easily obtained; it was sold on the streets. Mickey Johnson wasn't a drug addict and neither was Wayne Goodall — he'd seen the lad's chest and arms, and they were white as snow. But there was still something eluding him.
Horton rose and began to pace his office. Think, damn it, think, he urged himself. Langley had dropped Ranson and gone to meet someone, who could have been Boston, but with him now dead that suggested it could have been someone else; Boston's killer perhaps and Langley's lover. Both Boston and Edney had seen who that lover was and recognized him. Leaving the pub, Edney must have seen Langley's killer outside her apartment, not at Sparkes Yacht Harbour on Hayling Island where Langley's car had ended up. Langley had never gone to Hayling. Her killer had driven her car there, after Langley was dead. Which meant she had been killed in or near her apartment, and then transported by boat. But no forensic evidence had been found in her flat. So, perhaps she had been killed on her lover's boat, which had been moored in Town Camber.
Horton began to put his new theory together. After Ranson had left Langley at eight p.m., Langley had walked round to the quayside. Edney must have followed her. He'd seen her greet her lover as she climbed on board his boat. Unbeknown to Edney, Boston was also there, watching. Whoever had moored in Town Camber, and taken the boat out, had not radioed up to the Queen's harbour master. Why should he draw attention to himself?
The rain hurled itself against the windows as Horton's mind raced. Had they interviewed all the fishermen in Town Camber? Had anyone working in the fish market seen a boat that wasn't normally kept there? The manager said not, but perhaps one had slipped in without his knowing. Horton recalled reading through the statements taken by the team who had interviewed people in Town Camber and no one had mentioned seeing an unknown boat. So was he completely off beam?
Horton felt as though his head was going to explode with all the information swirling around in it. He couldn't see his way through it. Time to clear it and where better than the Town Camber? Maybe inspiration would come to him there.
The fish market was still open when he reached the quayside and there were people working on their boats. He walked slowly around the harbour. The seagulls were squawking noisily, dipping and dive-bombing, as the wind was rising. The sky was grey and turbulent. The throb of the Wightlink ferry across the Town Camber carried to him on a stiffening wind full of salt and the smell of seaweed and fish. The air was chill and damp. Yet the case still remained a muddle to him.
The cathedral clock chimed five. Horton knew that the only thing to do would be to re-interview everyone here and his heart sank at the thought. Tomorrow it would no longer be his investigation. He hated to leave it unsolved not just because he had wanted to prove to Uckfield he was a far better detective than Dennings, but because he had always disliked loose ends.
He began to walk back to his Harley, knowing that there would be no re interviewing because Uckfield would ignore the fact that methadone had been found in Boston's system. Or perhaps he'd claim that Boston must have bought it on the street for his own use. As far as Uckfield was concerned the case was closed. But Boston hadn't injected himself, his killer had done that and expertly…Horton stood stock-still. How could he not have seen it? Bloody hell! And he called himself a detective!
His mind raced and his heart quickened as he recalled Morville's statement. He said he'd seen Langley coming out of the consulting room. Morville had been to see Dr Stainton, and Horton knew that Dr Stainton practised at the Canal Walk surgery, which was where Dr Woodford was a GP. Yet Dr Woodford had made no mention she'd seen Langley when he'd met her in Dr Clayton's office at the mortuary. Why?
Desperately he dived into his memory trying to recall exactly what she had said: 'She registered with my practice in May. It's the closest to her school in Canal Walk. I gave her a medical, as we do all new patients, she was very fit. I saw her a couple of times after that, nothing serious, just the usual women's things.'
He climbed on his Harley. He'd been thinking like everyone else in the investigation that Langley's lover must be male. But Morville had given them some new information. OK, it was a long time ago that Langley had had a teenage lesbian affair but maybe those feelings had been rekindled. Why hadn't he worked this out before now? he thought, annoyed with himself. But he'd only just extracted Morville's evidence. And, of course, he hadn't seen Langley's medical notes. Uckfield had given him a brief outline of them, confirming what Woodford had said. If Horton had seen them then he would have spotted an appointment recorded on the day of her death and known that Dr Woodford had lied to him. But surely so would Uckfield, which meant there had been no appointment. But, according to Morville, Langley had been there.
Did Dr Woodford own a boat? He racked his brains trying to recall if he'd seen her name on the list, but he couldn't remember. There were two ways to find out: ask Sergeant Trueman, or ask Dr Woodford herself. He plumped for the latter.
At the surgery he showed his warrant card only to be told that Dr Woodford wasn't holding a clinic that evening. When he asked where he could find her he was told he'd need to speak to the practice manager, Janice Barton. Three agonizingly slow minutes later he was escorted into her office.
'Dr Woodford's taking a few days' holiday,' Barton, a large woman in her late forties with short dark hair and a crisp manner, told him. She waved him into the seat opposite.
'When was this decided?' he asked sharply, trying desperately to curb his impatience.
She gave him a curious stare. 'This morning after surgery. It left me in a rather difficult position, having to find a locum at short notice, but I could see that Dr Woodford needed a break. She looked exhausted. She said she might go sailing. I don't call that a break, I call it mad in this weather, but each to their own, and if it does her good-'
So, she did have a boat. His heart hammered against his chest. Was he already too late? 'Where does she keep it? The boat.'
'Gosport Marina.' Now the practice manager was beginning to look worried. 'I hope nothing has happened to her.'
'Can you tell me the name of the boat?'
She raised her eyebrows in surprise before her brow knitted. 'Swansong. I really don't see-'
'Did Ms Jessica Langley have an appointment to see Dr Woodford last Thursday morning?' he asked, his heart pumping fast.
'That's the murdered head teacher. Why do you want to know?'
'Did she?' insisted Horton. When he could see the woman pursing her lips in anticipation of refusing him, he forced himself to speak calmly, though he wanted to push her away from the computer and check himself. 'I don't want to know any confidential medical information, Mrs Barton, just whether or not Ms Langley had an appointment.'
She looked about to protest then changed her mind and tapped into the computer in front of her. As she did so Horton glanced impatiently around the office. It was bulging with paperwork, files and books. On the far left hand wall was a large roster and beside it some notes about the doctors under their individual names. Dr Teresa Woodford MD, BSc (Hons) MBBS, MRCGP, was one of six GPs, all of whom also had a wealth of initials after their names. He waited anxiously for the information. The clock was ticking away. He wondered whether he was he already too late. Would Woodford be making her escape across the Solent to France or Spain? The only saving factor was the weather, which was growing wilder by the minute. Maybe that would make her postpone her trip. After all she couldn't know that he was on to her.
At last Mrs Barton looked up from her computer screen. 'Not that I can see.'
'But she did come here,' Horton insisted. Had Morville lied? This time Horton didn't think so.
'I'll ask Reception.' She picked up her phone.
'Can you also ask if Eric Morville had an appointment, what time and did he keep it?'
Whilst she spoke to her receptionists, Horton chewed over what he had learnt. One thought kept returning to him: was Langley still involved with women? Had Dr Woodford been Langley's second caller and Langley's lover?
Mrs Barton replaced the receiver. 'Jessica Langley arrived just before surgery on Thursday morning at nine a.m. Dr Woodford had left instructions that she was to be shown through to her consulting rooms. Eric Morville is Dr Stainton's patient; he had an appointment Thursday morning, at half nine, which he kept.'
