quietly spoken and clever, artistic too. She worked as an interior designer. I'm not sure how any of this helps you find the killer, Inspector, but it's what I told Owen.'
'Why didn't you go to Arina's funeral?'
'I'd like to have done, but I had a hospital appointment and you know how long it takes to get one of those.' He smiled, but Horton couldn't help thinking that a doctor, who clearly had money, could surely have paid to go private and by-pass the National Health Service.
'Nothing serious,' Nelson said, and then as though once again reading Horton's mind added, 'I did think of cancelling it but… well, quite honestly I didn't feel like facing another funeral or seeing Scanaford House again, after being inside it so recently with Christopher's funeral. I feel badly about not going, especially now you've told me her death might have been deliberate, but… well I can't undo what I've done.'
Horton left a short pause. 'Did Owen mention his sister, Thea?'
'No. I'm sorry I can't be more helpful. It sounds as if you've got your work cut out, Inspector.'
Horton scraped back his chair and pulled a card from his trouser pocket. 'If anything else springs to mind, sir, no matter how trivial it might seem, would you give me a call?'
'Of course.' Nelson took the card, whilst Horton pulled on his leather jacket. At the door Nelson said, 'Good luck.'
Horton thought he'd need more than luck to find out what the devil was going on with this case; he'd need divine inspiration. And clearly he wasn't going to get it or a confession from Roy Danesbrook, whom he saw leaving the station as he pulled in to the car park just over an hour later.
Horton found a dejected team in the incident room.
'I see Danesbrook's been released,' he said, throwing his jacket and helmet on the desk in front of Cantelli.
'All we can charge him with is benefit fraud,' said Cantelli, looking as though he could do with a month's sleep.
'He's lying and a complete arsehole,' Uckfield said. Horton was inclined to agree.
'Doesn't make him a killer though,' replied Cantelli wearily.
Uckfield snorted. 'I don't believe all that crap about chance meetings and changing tyres. He staked out Sir Christopher and then used him to wheedle his way into inheriting a ruddy great fortune. He has a perfect motive for killing Arina, and no alibi. And no alibi for Owen Carlsson or Anmore's deaths. But we can't prove he was involved in any of them.'
Horton fetched a plastic beaker of water from the cooler. His throat was still sore from the fire and the buckets of coffee he'd drunk hadn't really helped to ease it.
Uckfield glanced at his watch. 'I wanted to hold him but his smarmy solicitor objected.'
Horton drained the beaker and said, 'Danesbrook's the best suspect we have-'
'Unless we count the vanishing sister,' Uckfield said. 'I'll have to make her disappearance public. I'll put out a press statement tonight.' He scraped back his chair. 'I need a drink, and I don't mean water.'
Horton crushed the white plastic cup and tossed it in the bin. Nodding at Cantelli and Trueman to follow him, Horton headed out of the station after Uckfield, along the road to a nearby pub, leaving Somerfield and Marsden to hold the fort. He didn't know if Birch or Norris saw them. Uckfield didn't seem bothered if they did, so Horton too shrugged it off.
Once they were settled with their drinks, Trueman said, 'We've found the last customer to see Anmore Thursday afternoon. It was a Mrs Best who lives just outside Yarmouth. She says that Anmore was with her from just after two fifteen until three thirty. He seemed fine. She was very upset over his death.'
'And the call he took when I was with him?' asked Horton.
'Number withheld.'
'Just our bloody luck.' Uckfield swallowed a mouthful of beer.
Horton agreed.
Trueman continued. 'Anmore is in debt to the tune of ten thousand pounds. He's run up a lot of expenses on his credit cards and owes child maintenance for a year, but there's no recent payments going into his account to suggest he was blackmailing anyone. I've got officers trawling through his customer records, and a list of his contacts and friends, but so far no one seems to have a grudge against him. On the contrary he was very popular, especially with the ladies, though no one is admitting to having an affair with him-'
'Yet,' added Uckfield.
Trueman continued. 'Marsden also says there's no record of Anmore, Carlsson or Danesbrook belonging to a gun club on the island.'
Horton said, 'What about any known contacts of Owen Carlsson?'
'None have come forward on the island to say they were bosom pals. Seems he was a bit of a loner, though he had only been living here a year. And no sightings of him on the island from the Guv's press conference, though plenty in London, Liverpool and the Outer Hebrides.'
Horton gave a weary smile. 'Any sign of the rucksack or walking stick?'
'They weren't in the barn or anywhere near it.'
Horton told them about his interview with Dr Nelson. 'There must be a reason why Owen visited Nelson but I'm damned if I can find it. I don't believe he went there solely to seek comfort.' Three deaths: Arina Sutton, Owen Carlsson and Jonathan Anmore. What on earth was the common factor if it wasn't Danesbrook? Maybe there wasn't one and each death had nothing to do with the other.
Uckfield consulted his watch for about the fifth time in as many minutes. Perhaps he was expecting a call from his wife or the chief.
Abruptly Horton said, 'When are the police searching Thea's Luxembourg apartment?'
Trueman answered. 'Tomorrow morning. Inspector Strasser says the search warrant has come through. They've spoken to her employers and colleagues at the European Translation Centre where she's worked since October; no one knows why she left in a hurry, but the general view is that she seemed rather distracted on her return to work after the New Year.'
Was that hindsight talking, wondered Horton, as Trueman continued.
'She doesn't have any close friends that they can find who she might have confided in.'
Horton felt a stab of anguish for her as he was haunted by a vision of the thin, frightened woman he'd pushed out of the window of that burning house.
Trueman added, 'She spent Christmas with her brother in Luxembourg, as Ms Rosewood told us, but was here New Year with her brother, returning the day before Arina Sutton was killed.'
Horton was surprised. Mrs Mackie hadn't mentioned that. He asked, 'Did they say what translations Thea Carlsson was working on?'
'Strasser says he'll e-mail us a list as soon as it's ready, which should be Monday, but they were told that she had documents to translate from the European Medicine Agency, the European Centre for Disease Prevention and Control, and the European Environment Agency.'
'But not Owen's findings,' Uckfield added pointedly.
Horton knew that Laura Rosewood had already confirmed that but he wondered if Thea could still have translated something that had made her rush home to her brother. Though what it could have been, and how it could have led to his death and Jonathan Anmore's, he didn't know. He guessed he was on the wrong track with that one. But there was still the person who had broken into his boat, who they hadn't yet found, and he said as much.
'It's possible it could have been either Anmore or Danesbrook and if we can find a witness it might be enough to put a squeeze on the ponytailed little runt.'
Uckfield grinned. 'That would make me a happy man. I'll get Marsden on to it — and talk of the devil, look what the wind's blown in.' Horton looked up as the pub door crashed open. He saw DC Marsden's flushed face and his heart skipped a beat.
'You've found Thea Carlsson?' he asked, hardly daring to hope as Marsden joined them.
'No sir. I've just taken a call from Sweden.'
Horton felt torn between disappointment and relief. He gestured Marsden into a seat when Uckfield clearly wasn't going to.
'It was from a Peter Bohman,' Marsden continued, breathlessly. 'He was Lars Carlsson's business partner in
