else had arrived. So who the devil was Horton dealing with? The invisible bloody man? It seemed so. But one thing was clear; he needed to discover what the symbol meant, as Cantelli had urged.
He bought breakfast for them all, earning himself a brownie point with Walters, and grabbed a table at the window overlooking the station car park. From here he could watch for Bliss’s arrival in case she decided to stick her beaky nose in.
Cantelli said, ‘So what happened? You look as though you’ve done two rounds with Joe Calzaghe.’
Horton felt as if he had, though the pain in his neck and head was getting better the more he moved it; either that or the strong painkillers he’d swallowed earlier had kicked in. He gave a succinct account of the previous night, leaving out the bit about the note pinned to his yacht and his growing suspicion that his assailant was out for some kind of twisted revenge. He might confess that to Cantelli later, out of Walters’ earshot.
Cantelli asked, ‘Do you think Rookley assaulted you?’
‘No.’ Horton hadn’t seen his assailant but he’d got the sense of a bulkier man. Plus he couldn’t see a squirt like Rookley having the strength, or the height, to strike him across the shoulders. He added, ‘But Rookley might have seen who did.’ And that could give him a lead on his persecutor.
‘Could it have been Luke Felton?’ posed Walters with his mouth full of bacon.
‘Why should he want to push me in the lock?’
‘Maybe he went there to meet Rookley for drugs and thought you were there to arrest him.’
Horton considered Walters’ suggestion. Rookley might have told Luke about their rendezvous in order to get Luke off his back and get into Horton’s good books, but Rookley would then have risked being done for dealing. On the other hand Rookley might have known that was where Luke would be and set him up, only Luke realized it, hence the attack. That didn’t explain the note, but it made him feel better about the attack; perhaps that wasn’t his stalker after all.
Horton pushed his empty plate away and scraped back his chair. ‘We’ll ask him. Let’s disturb his beauty sleep.’ And after that they’d see if Ashley Felton was at home.
As Cantelli drove through the city streets, Horton checked the wing mirror to his left to see if anyone was following him. He couldn’t see anything suspicious and he could swear no one had followed him to the station that morning.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Cantelli said. ‘Why would Luke risk losing that job, which by all accounts was the best thing since electricity was invented? Was it invented or discovered? I was never any good at science at school.’
‘Because he couldn’t stay off the drugs.’
Cantelli eyed him. Horton knew that look. ‘Go on, cough it up.’
‘Well, perhaps the job wasn’t that great. We’ve only got the word of the bearded wonder and that nymphomaniac personnel officer that it was. What if after Luke arrived at Kempton’s he was disappointed to find the job wasn’t all it had been cracked up to be? He begins to think I’m being paid peanuts, I’m stuck in a room with no telephone, no contact with any of the staff, chained to a keyboard, this is worse than prison, so sod this.’ Horton made to speak but Cantelli forestalled him, ‘I haven’t finished yet.’
‘Remind me to buy you breakfast more often, it seems to have done your grey cells a power of good.’
‘It’s the bacon sandwich.’ Cantelli smiled. ‘Always does the trick. Felton expected more. He was better than the job demanded and maybe someone recognized this: a supplier of Kempton Marine, or a visiting rep. Or perhaps Felton talked to someone about the job over a pint after work and this someone offered him a better deal, more money, higher status.’
‘Crooked?’
‘Not necessarily. Felton could have been headhunted for a legitimate position.’
‘Then why not tell his probation officer? Why just walk out and risk returning to prison?’
‘Because he hadn’t told this person he’d been to prison or that he was out on licence.’
Horton thought about it for a moment. ‘Bit stupid that.’
‘True. But perhaps Luke saw it as a fresh start in London or Newcastle, say, or some other large city where he could disappear, and thought, yeah, why not, a chance to make real money and begin again, assuming a new name and identity. No questions, no stigma, no probation officers, just a whizz-kid on a computer.’
Horton considered this as Cantelli eased the car through the back streets towards Crown House. After a moment he said, ‘It’s possible. In fact it’s a good idea. I want a list of every visitor to Kempton Marine for the last two weeks. They’ve got a visitors’ book in reception. We had to sign in, so see who else has. Make sure you get a copy of the entries when we go for Felton’s computer. We need to check if any of them have spoken to Felton.’
‘Just one further thought,’ Cantelli added, as he swung into the car park at the rear of Crown House. ‘Felton could have seen a position advertised on the Internet. He contacted the organization by email, they asked him to call them and when they heard what he had to say they interviewed him and snapped him up.’
‘The computer unit will tell us which sites he visited and who he emailed.’ Horton paused as he climbed out of the car and quickly scanned the area. Only two cars passed them; one with an elderly man driving and the other a woman in her twenties, neither likely to be his stalker. ‘You might have been rubbish at science but you’re a damn good sergeant.’
‘And I hope to stay that,’ Cantelli answered, as they made their way to the front entrance.
They found Harmsworth in his office. He showed no reaction to Horton’s cut and bruised face, but then that was hardly surprising given his clientele at Crown House.
‘Have you found Luke Felton?’ he said, looking up from his shabby and shambolic desk.
‘We want a word with Ronnie Rookley.’
‘You’ll be lucky. He’s not been back since after your visit yesterday.’
Horton considered this, first puzzled, then annoyed. Clearly, Rookley had done a runner. And he’d probably warned the rest of the dealers that the police were sniffing around. Horton didn’t think he was going to be flavour of the month with the drug squad.
‘We’d like a look at his room.’
‘Be my guest.’ Harmsworth reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. ‘First door on your left at the top of the second floor.’
Cantelli didn’t bother to knock. There was no need if Rookley wasn’t there, and he’d probably not have bothered even if he had been. He tried the door first before inserting the key and crashing in, shouting, ‘Wakey, wakey, rise and shine.’ Then he stepped back, almost colliding with Horton. ‘My God, this place stinks! Has something died in here and crawled under the bed?’
‘Well, it’s not Rookley,’ Horton answered, swiftly crossing to the empty unmade bed and peering under it. He wished he hadn’t. The smell was vile. Rookley must have forgotten where the toilet was. The room was littered with beer cans, foil containers of leftover curry and fast food which appeared to have things crawling in it. ‘He could be hiding in the wardrobe,’ Horton added, straightening up.
‘Nope,’ Cantelli replied, holding his nose between the thumb and forefinger of one hand while opening the creaking door with the other. ‘Though something unidentifiable might be.’ He took a chance and peered inside again. ‘Just filthy clothes.’
Horton gazed around at the discarded newspapers, fag packets, beer cans and whisky bottles among the soiled underpants, socks and clothes. What a contrast to Luke Felton’s pristine room and Venetia Trotman’s immaculate period house, which reminded him that he still needed to give his mobile phone to Trueman so that he could take from it a recording of the anonymous call. He couldn’t see any needles or drugs but he wanted this room searched. And he pitied the poor plods who’d have to do it.
‘Lock it up, Barney, before we throw up.’
Horton knew they could ask the occupants of Crown House if they’d seen Rookley or knew where he was, ditto Luke Felton, but they’d probably get better results talking to a brick wall.
They left Harmsworth with instructions that he call them the moment Rookley showed up. Outside Horton looked for Hans Olewbo, but there was no sign of his car or the black man, and neither could he see signs of anyone else from the drug squad. That didn’t mean they weren’t there though.
In the car, he said, ‘When you get the chance, check out Rookley’s background and see if he could have gone to ground anywhere.’
‘He might have gone to his sister’s, although, if my memory is correct, she can’t stand the sight of him.’
‘Not many can. Circulate a picture of his ugly mug to all units and get a unit to check with the bus drivers for
