'But why kill Anne Schofield? She's a newcomer to the area.'
Horton didn't like deceiving Cantelli, but consoled himself with the fact that the sergeant had enough on his plate at the moment with his father's illness. Croakily, Horton expounded another theory that had come to him whilst he had waited for medical attention last night at the hospital.
'Perhaps Brundall left an incriminating letter or document in the vestry when he went to see Rowland Gilmore. Or perhaps Rowland had a pang of conscience and wrote a confession which Anne Schofield discovered.' Horton held his breath, willing Cantelli to believe that. He didn't think he was far wrong anyway, only that he guessed the incriminating letter or confession had also mentioned his mother, and Horton couldn't be allowed to discover it. But why make Anne Schofield call him? Was the killer afraid that he'd already discovered something about his mother's past life?
Cantelli looked thoughtful as Horton continued. 'I'm certain now that Gilmore's death and Brundall's are connected. Dr Clayton is doing both Gilmore's and Anne Schofield's postmortems today.'
He reached for the bottle of water on his desk and took a long draught from it. It didn't seem to help his throat very much. He could have gone sick he supposed, but how could he let an investigation that might involve his mother proceed without his involvement?
'So are we looking at the same killer for all three deaths?' Cantelli asked.
'Four if you count Rowland Gilmore.' Horton exhaled and felt the pain in his chest. 'If Gilmore was murdered then the MO is very different to Brundall's, Sherbourne's and Anne Schofield's deaths. I think it possible that Brundall killed Rowland Gilmore before returning to his boat. Brundall was then killed, and his killer followed Sherbourne to Guernsey, and then returned here to murder Anne Schofield. Which means our killer is no longer in Guernsey.'
Horton had expressed exactly that opinion to Uckfield earlier that morning and Uckfield had agreed. He'd called for the passenger lists of all the flights from Guernsey to England on Friday to be checked. But that wasn't the only way to travel between England and the Channel Islands, as Horton had pointed out and now explained to Cantelli.
'Our killer could be using a boat to travel back and forth.'
Horton could see Cantelli following his train of thought. 'You mean if he keeps it in Horsea Marina then he'd know the security code to the pontoon and could easily have slipped on to Brundall's pontoon and killed him.'
'Yes, which means we'll have to check all the boat owners for any connection with Brundall. But it's not that straightforward.'
'That doesn't sound very simple to me,' muttered Cantelli.
'Our killer could keep his boat in Guernsey.' Horton sat forward. 'Let's say our pyromaniac follows Brundall from Guernsey but didn't moor up in Horsea Marina; I called the marina and they say no other visitor came in after Brundall either on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday. So he must have moored nearby. He manages to get the security code for the pontoon, kills Brundall and then returns to Guernsey, by boat, but he arrives too late to stop Sherbourne from going into his office on Thursday morning. Our pyromaniac does, however, manage to catch up with Sherbourne as he leaves his office and follows him to his client's. He lies in wait for Sherbourne, abducts and kills him before dumping his body in his office and setting light to it before returning to Portsmouth by boat early Friday morning.' Horton took another swig at his water before continuing. 'Uckfield has asked Dennings to check if any boat owner left a marina in Guernsey at about the same time as Brundall and then returned late Wednesday night or early Thursday morning, plus if that same person then left Guernsey yesterday. There's only one snag though with my theory.'
'He'd have to have a pretty powerful boat.'
'That's not the problem. Anything over twenty-five feet and with a powerful engine could have done it. No, our problem is the killer might not keep his boat in a marina. He could have his own private mooring, and that will be more difficult to check. Still, Guernsey's a small place and you don't live and work on an island only thirty-one miles long and twenty-four miles square without understanding the sea and knowing who's out and about on it. Guilbert will find it, if it's there to be found, because Dennings won't have a clue where to start.'
'Does Catherine know about your dice with death?'
'No, and I made Uckfield swear not to tell her, or Alison. If Catherine finds out, she might think I'm in danger and stop me from seeing Emma on Christmas Eve.'
'We'll have the case sewn up by then.'
'That's what I like about you, Barney, your blind faith and sheer bloody optimism. Come on.' Horton rose. 'Let's go and talk to a man about his brother, after which you've got an appointment with the Dean.'
And whilst Cantelli was with the Dean, Horton was going to take a good look around the vicarage, which had been sealed off with an officer posted outside. He'd managed to forestall anyone entering the house. It hadn't been too difficult because Anne had been killed in the church. Horton wanted to be the first inside that vicarage to make sure the newspapers that mentioned him and his mother were destroyed.
Then there were the words 'Horsea Marina' on the blotting paper. Would that piece of blotting paper still be there, or had the killer taken it away after killing Anne Schofield and trying to kill him? If it had gone then Rowland Gilmore's killer couldn't have been Tom Brundall. And if it was still there…? That could either mean the killer missed it or thought it unimportant, in which case Rowland Gilmore's killer wasn't Tom Brundall. He felt he was going round in circles.
'Does the Dean know about Anne Schofield's death?' Cantelli asked, breaking through his thoughts as they headed out of Portsmouth towards Sebastian Gilmore's home. Trueman had obtained the address, but Horton hadn't rung to make an appointment. Quite honestly he'd forgotten after the excitement of last night and there was no point in bothering now.
'Yes, Uckfield broke it to him last night. The Dean said he'd have both Rowland Gilmore's and Anne Schofield's files available for you.'
'What about her family?'
'There's a sister who lives in Abertillery, South Wales. The Dean notified his equivalent there last night and he and the police informed her. She's an invalid and can't get down here. There's no point in her coming anyway. We said we'd send her sister's belongings back, but I think her vicar is coming down to collect them on Monday.'
'The poor woman.'
Horton wondered if Cantelli meant Anne Schofield or her sister.
As Cantelli drove to Gilmore's home in a small village on the border between Hampshire and West Sussex, Horton mulled over the events of the previous night. He experienced that same knot of anger he'd felt last night when he had stared down at her blackened corpse. The gentle, kind woman he'd only recently met hadn't deserved such a terrible fate. She'd been an innocent victim in whatever was going on and he had vowed then, and silently reaffirmed now, that he would find the bastard who'd killed her.
When the hospital had released him at close on midnight he'd ridden home, nervously checking for anyone on his tail. But whoever it was who had tried to kill him had thought they'd finished the job; all was quiet and there was no one suspicious lurking around the marina. He was safe for one night at least. Soon, though, he guessed the killer would realize that he was still alive and would make another attempt on his life and Horton didn't intend ending up like Brundall, Sherbourne or poor Anne Schofield.
He gazed out of the window as Cantelli drove carefully through the country lanes. The rain had finally stopped and the blustery wind was tearing holes in the cloud big enough to let a glimpse of blue through; he didn't think it would last though. He wondered if he should have moved the boat this morning on the high tide, but consoled himself with the fact that the killer probably didn't know where he lived and besides it had been too windy to risk it. By the next high tide this evening it would be dark and too late to move Nutmeg. Perhaps tomorrow morning he might motor along Hayling Bay and up the Emsworth Channel to Northney Marina at the top of Hayling Island, and stay there for a few days, and yet he felt that was like giving in, or running away. It reminded him of his mother: had he run away from the truth of her disappearance all these years? He guessed he knew the answer to that one.
A low whistle from Cantelli made Horton look up to find they had come to a halt in front of a pair of electronically controlled gates beyond which Horton could see an impressive pale-pink three-storey Georgian house with some kind of extension on its left that would have given Prince Charles a seizure. How the planners had allowed the glass square carbuncle to be attached to such a splendidly proportioned and listed house, Horton didn't
