and, hearing the news that his wife had died in 1980, had come here in 1981 hoping to rekindle some of the passion or love between her and Christopher Sutton but it had never materialized.
Horton couldn't help his thoughts flitting back to his own mother. Had she done the same on that fateful day in November when she'd left their council flat dressed up in her best clothes, according to the only witness he'd managed to find? Was his father someone like Christopher Sutton, an eminent man, who didn't want his affair acknowledged? Or was he the powerful underworld figure that only recently the Intelligence Directorate had claimed was possible? But perhaps her disappearance had nothing to do with either of these — quite the opposite in fact, and he felt a stirring of excitement that told him he could be right before a reality check said it was more likely he was the result of a one-night stand. He told himself he didn't really care or want to know, but as he heard footsteps in the hall he guessed Gordon Elms had said much the same over the years. And Horton knew it was a lie.
Brandishing the diary, Elms said, 'On the evening of the third of January I was at a private meeting with a client in Newport.'
'Doing what?'
'Helping her to communicate with a loved one.'
'A seance.'
'You can scoff all you like, Inspector, but there are powers out there you can't even begin to imagine.' And there are powers I've got that you don't need to imagine, he felt like saying, but didn't. 'What time did you leave your client?'
'It was late, about eleven thirty.'
After Arina had been killed. But Horton would check.
'I'll need the name of your client.'
Elms drew himself up. 'That information is confidential. And I don't see any reason to breach that confidentiality.'
'I'm going to have to insist.'
'You can insist until you're blue in the face; I am not giving it to you.'
'Then we'll just have to take you to the station.'
Elms looked alarmed. 'On what grounds?'
'Murder.'
Elms made to laugh, then seeing that Horton was serious, his face fell. His eyes flitted nervously between Horton and Cantelli. 'You can't mean it? Who am I supposed to have murdered?'
Cantelli answered, 'Arina Sutton, Owen Carlsson and Jonathan Anmore.'
Elms' protruding eyes widened so much that Horton thought they'd pop out of their sockets. 'This is ridiculous,' Elms declared.
Horton said smartly, 'Unless we can confirm with your client where you were on the third of January how do we know it's ridiculous?' Before Elms had a chance to reply, Horton swiftly continued. 'And what were your movements between Saturday the seventeenth of January and Monday the nineteenth of January?'
Elms shuffled. 'I was here.'
'Can anyone confirm that?'
'No.' He shifted nervously.
'And last Thursday between six twenty p.m. and ten twelve p.m.?'
Elms brightened at that. 'I was at the hospital all day Thursday until just after nine o'clock-'
'You're ill?' Horton asked so sharply that Elms jumped.
'No. I'm a volunteer with the League of Friends.'
Horton's mind whirred. St Mary's Hospital was almost the size of a small town. Elms could have been working anywhere within it but what if he'd seen Thea Carlsson there during that Thursday morning and, recognizing her as the woman who had come asking questions, and ones he didn't want to answer, he'd disposed of her? But why should he? the silent voice inside him nagged. It didn't stop him asking though, 'Where is she, Elms? What have you done with Thea Carlsson?' Horton stepped forward.
Alarmed, Elms took a step backwards towards the door. Cantelli quickly slid between Elms and the exit.
'I haven't done anything with her,' Elms cried, crashing into a small table and spilling its contents.
'You saw her in the hospital. She thought you were a friend. But you weren't, were you? Did you tell her you'd take her out of there? Or did you just lie in wait until she came out then offered her a lift?'
'I don't know what you're talking about.' Elms swivelled round, appealing to Cantelli.
But Horton knew there was something Elms was not telling him. Time to frighten him into revealing it. 'Gordon Elms, I'm arresting you on suspicion of the abduction of Thea Carlsson and the murders of-'
'I haven't killed anyone, I swear it.' He spun round to Cantelli and back to Horton. 'I didn't abduct her, she came willingly.'
Horton felt as if time had stopped. His fists clenched. If Elms had harmed her… He wanted to grab Elms and shake the hell out of him. He saw Cantelli's warning glance — go easy — but he was prepared to ignore it.
Elms couldn't get the words out quick enough. 'I was leaving the hospital Thursday morning. I'd promised Mrs Westleigh — she's elderly and very ill — that I'd fetch her husband — he's blind — and that I'd take him to the hospital to visit her. I saw Miss Carlsson walking across the car park. I was just climbing into the car and I asked how she was. She asked if I'd give her a lift.'
Horton stared at Elms. 'I don't believe you.'
'It's God's truth. I swear it.'
Cantelli quickly stepped round to the side of Elms. 'Why didn't you tell us this before? You know we've been looking for her.'
'Have you?'
'Don't give me crap,' blazed Horton. 'We came here asking about her.'
'Yes, but I didn't know you were looking for her.'
Horton did a rapid replay of his previous conversation with Elms, looking for a fault in the man's statement and sadly found none.
Cantelli asked the question that was on Horton's lips.
'But you must have heard the appeal on the radio and television.'
'I don't have a television or a radio. The news depresses me, so I decided a long time ago to stop listening to it. Please, you must believe me, I had no idea she was missing. I simply dropped her off-'
'Where?' rapped Horton, making Elms jump.
'Yarmouth.'
Horton opened his mouth to call him a lying little shit when he saw it could be true. Apart from the fact that Thea could have been visiting the place her parents had stayed she could have been intending to leave the island from there. Did she have a boat? Or perhaps someone had collected her by boat. Maybe she'd bought a ferry ticket by cash as a foot passenger, though the ticket office staff hadn't recognized her when one of Birch's offices had visited them to ask. But perhaps she'd managed to disguise herself, or the staff simply weren't observant. Horton wondered where she had got her money from with no credit or debit card and everything in the house destroyed. He also wondered if she could have been planning her escape while in the hospital. If that was so then there was only one reason why she should: Thea Carlsson must have killed her brother. But why go to Yarmouth when Jonathan Anmore's barn was in the opposite direction and several miles away? Then he recalled what Trueman had said — Anmore's last call on the Thursday of his death had been to a Mrs Best in Yarmouth. His shoulders sagged with the realization of what that meant. But still he clung on to the hope that Elms might be their killer.
He said, 'We'll need you to come with us to make a statement.'
'I will, but please tell me why you could even think I could have killed these people.'
'Revenge,' answered Cantelli.
'For what?' His eyes widened, his brow puckered.
Horton answered, 'For not being acknowledged by your father and sister. For being ignored for years. For what your father did to your mother. You discovered who your father was, but he rejected you again at Scanaford House that day you visited there and so too did your sister. So you decided to get even. You deliberately ran over Arina Sutton. But Owen Carlsson saw you so he also had to die. You enlisted the help of Jonathan Anmore, who could have witnessed your little scene at Scanaford House while he was there as gardener, and you got him to
