Horton dived into the corridor, wondering if Bliss’s colleagues at HQ had got as sick of her as he was. He’d only worked under her for a brief spell before she’d been spirited away but it had been long enough for them both to recognize that friendship, or even a civil working partnership, was about as likely as world peace. He considered her to be petty, vindictive, bureaucratic, and ambitious to the point that she didn’t care which of her subordinates or colleagues she dropped in the shit, while she clearly considered him embittered at being overlooked for promotion, insubordinate for daring to disagree with her, and a maverick for not always conforming to a rule book which was already a joke among most police officers, and fast becoming a rather sick and sad one with the majority of the public.
He pushed open her office door prepared for a bollocking and was surprised to find that Bliss wasn’t alone. Two pairs of eyes — other than Bliss’s critical green ones — swivelled to study him and neither pair was very friendly. He recognized the square-set woman in heavily rimmed glasses as Beverley Attworth, the head of the probation service. The man beside her he didn’t know. Dressed in faded, patched jeans and a shapeless brown jumper, he was in his late twenties with shoulder-length black hair framing a pinched unshaven face.
‘Sit,’ Bliss commanded.
Maybe he should bark, Horton thought, taking the vacant chair the other side of Bliss’s immaculately tidy desk beside Beverley Attworth. He gave her a brief smile but didn’t get one in return, which was hardly surprising because he didn’t think he’d ever seen her smile. Still, he didn’t have much to smile about at the moment either, he thought, recalling with suppressed fury that emblem on his Harley.
Bliss said, ‘You know Ms Attworth. This is her colleague, Matt Boynton.’
Boynton’s fleshy lips gave a nervous twitch which Horton interpreted as a smile, though it could have been wind. Judging by the tension in the room, Horton thought that whatever this was about, it wasn’t good.
Abruptly, Bliss announced, ‘Luke Felton is missing.’
Felton? Horton quickly searched his brain for some recollection of the name. Fortunately it came to him instantly. ‘The Natalie Raymonds murder in September 1997,’ he answered promptly, drawing a surprised look from Bliss. He’d been a sergeant seconded to the vice squad at the time, and Luke Felton had been found in the doorway of a house they’d gone to raid, which had been suspected of being a brothel. Luke had been suffering withdrawal symptoms from heroin and wanted in connection with the murder of Natalie Raymonds on the coastal path on Hayling Island. Felton had had nothing to do with the brothel, but because he’d been found at the house it had scuppered the raid. DCI Sean Lovell, had been on the Raymonds case, a man Horton had both worked with and respected, and who, he recalled, had died suddenly of a heart attack before Felton had been convicted and sentenced to prison. Horton couldn’t remember how many years Felton had got, but surely it was too soon for his release. But Bliss had said ‘missing’.
‘Don’t tell me he’s escaped,’ Horton groaned.
‘He was granted parole in January after serving ten years of his fourteen-year sentence. He was given an automatic conditional release licence on the second of February.’
Horton eyed Bliss incredulously before swinging his gaze to Beverley Attworth. She shifted her large backside and looked both hostile and defensive.
‘He’d been a model prisoner,’ she said defiantly. ‘All his reports were favourable. He was truly repentant for what he’d done and he’d served over two-thirds of his sentence.’
‘Oh, that’s all right then,’ Horton answered flippantly.
‘Inspector!’
Bliss could ‘Inspector’ him all she liked. ‘Why weren’t we told he was out?’
Attworth answered. ‘Luke was assessed as a level one category. He’s deemed a low risk to the community. There was no need to place him on the Dangerous Persons Database-’
‘Hang on,’ Horton protested, his hackles rising even further. ‘We are talking about a murderer. I would say he posed a very serious threat to the public.’
Matt Boynton sat forward and brushed his floppy hair off his forehead. ‘Luke Felton’s been clean since undergoing the prison drug treatment programme. He’s completely reformed.’
But Boynton was shaking his head vigorously. He opened his mouth to reply, only Attworth got there first. ‘Luke Felton was being closely monitored-’
‘By whom?’ Horton scoffed.
Attworth and Boynton exchanged glances. Yeah, by nobody. Tersely Horton said, ‘Where’s Felton living?’
Boynton answered. ‘Crown House. It’s a supervised hostel in the city.’
Horton knew it well. It was in an area that was renowned for druggies and dealers; not the best place to house a former drug addict. As if reading his mind, Boynton added, ‘I don’t for a minute believe Luke’s returned to drugs, for the simple reason that two weeks ago he managed to secure a very good job at Kempton Marine.’
Horton quickly covered his surprise. That was his father-in-law’s company, where his soon-to-be ex-wife, Catherine, worked as marketing manager and her fat lover, Edward Shawford, as sales manager. Would this investigation bring him into contact with her? He tensed at the thought. He hadn’t seen Catherine since January and that had hardly been a joyous occasion. On impulse, and fuelled by anger and disappointment at being denied access to his daughter on Christmas Eve, as Catherine had agreed, he’d gone haring up to Heathrow Airport to meet them on their return from spending Christmas and New Year at Catherine’s parents’ villa in Cyprus. The memory of how Emma had run into his arms caused a lump in Horton’s throat and a stab at his heart. Briskly he pulled himself up and, addressing Beverley Attworth, said, ‘When exactly did Felton go missing?’
‘He didn’t show up for work on Wednesday or Thursday. Kelly Masters, the personnel officer at Kempton’s, called Matt this morning, who called me after checking with the hostel that Luke wasn’t there. The hostel supervisor, Mr Harmsworth, says he hasn’t seen Luke since Tuesday morning when he left for work.’
Horton rapidly ran through the litany of crimes since Felton’s disappearance but there had been no incidents involving serious assault except for the usual pub punch-ups and domestics, unless something had happened on his patch last night. And he hadn’t had time to check that.
Boynton quickly added, ‘Luke was very excited about his job. He wouldn’t abscond or slide back into crime and miss such a chance.’
‘Maybe the temptation was too great,’ Horton said. ‘Perhaps he was offered drugs and couldn’t help himself.’
‘No.’
There was no shifting Boynton. Horton tried another idea. ‘Maybe he met up with a friend, or a girl, and is shacked up with one of them?’
Boynton shook his head. ‘He hasn’t any girlfriends or friends in the area.’
Horton eyed him sceptically; he didn’t believe that for a moment. He said, ‘Do Natalie Raymonds’ family know that Felton’s been released on licence?’
Boynton answered. ‘I spoke to Julian Raymonds, her husband. He’s remarried.’
No reason why he shouldn’t, thought Horton. Perhaps it had helped him to get over the trauma of his wife’s death.
Beverley Attworth added, ‘Natalie’s mother died three years after Natalie was killed. Her father went to live with his son in Australia. Luke’s sister, Olivia Danbury, and his brother Ashley Felton, were also contacted about Luke’s release — their parents are dead. They both live locally and said they wanted nothing to do with Luke, so I don’t think he could have gone there.’
‘But you haven’t physically checked?’
‘Of course not,’ she said huffily.
Which meant
And they would be if the press got hold of the story and blew it up in their usual scaremongering style. For once Horton wouldn’t really blame them if they did. Felton shouldn’t have been released in the first place, but now that he had been they’d better find him, and quickly, before he committed another crime. Or perhaps Felton had
