of knowing that he was going to be offered a lift.
‘What did Luke do next?’
Shawford eyed him, puzzled. ‘He got out. I turned the car round and left.’
Horton eyed him steadily, searching for the lie. It sounded and looked like the truth, but an experienced salesman like Shawford was practised in the art of lying. And Horton didn’t trust or believe him one iota. He also wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily.
‘Been out on your new boat?’
The question took Shawford by surprise. The fear was back in his eyes. He eyed Horton warily before snapping, ‘Yes.’
‘Where have you been?’
‘That’s none of your business.’ He made to climb into the car, but Horton stalled him.
‘Everything’s my business when I’m looking for a missing prisoner.’
‘Well, you won’t find him on my boat.’
Horton raised his eyebrows and glanced at Seaton. ‘Now that’s an idea. We hadn’t thought of that. Maybe you didn’t drop him off at Portchester Castle but drove him here. You invited him on board, then killed him and pushed him overboard in the Solent.’
‘You’re mad!’ Shawford paled.
‘Am I?’ Horton began to wonder whether a theory he’d posed in order to frighten Shawford might actually hold water. What motive Shawford could have for killing Felton, Horton had no idea; Seaton though was eyeing him admiringly, as though he’d solved the crime of the decade in a flash of inspiration. But Shawford was an experienced sailor and could have used his boat to get from Horsea Marina to Willow Bank quite easily, Horton thought. But why would Shawford hitch up with Felton, and why kill Venetia Trotman? However much he hated him, Horton couldn’t see Shawford as a killer.
Alarmed, Shawford said, ‘I dropped Luke off at Portchester Castle and went home. I got in at just after seven. You can ask my neighbour. I saw her in the lobby.’
‘You might have left Felton, dead, on your boat and returned later to get rid of the body.’
‘Christ! You’re insane. You’re trying to fit me up, just because I’m in a relationship with Catherine. I want a lawyer.’
‘Why? You’ve not been charged,’ Horton replied, feigning bewilderment. OK, so he was rather enjoying this.
‘I know you bastards. You’ll twist everything I say.’
‘Had much dealing with the law then?’
‘Sod off, Horton.’
Horton smiled, which seemed to send Shawford into a purple fit. His fists clenched, but with supreme effort he managed to control himself. Pity. Horton would have relished being thumped and then charging the man.
‘We’ll need to search your boat.’
‘Then you’ll need a warrant.’
‘So you have got something to hide,’ Horton taunted, ignoring the pleading look Seaton was throwing him. Good job Cantelli wasn’t here, Horton thought. He’d be having kittens.
‘You could plant something.’
‘Tch, tch, you obviously don’t hold the police in very high regard.’ Horton leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘But then I think you’re a useless piece of shit.’
Shawford flushed. ‘How dare you. . Did you hear that?’
Seaton looked confused. ‘Sorry, sir, must be the noise of that helicopter going over.’
‘What bloody. . Oh, I see, sticking together. Well, I don’t have to put up with your crap any longer.’ He climbed in the car and this time Horton didn’t prevent him, but he leaned down and tapped on the window. Shawford looked in two minds whether to lower it, but finally did so with ill grace.
Pleasantly Horton said, ‘We’ll need you to come to the station and make a statement about giving Luke Felton a lift.’
‘What, now?’ Shawford snatched a glance at his watch.
‘You can try,’ said Shawford, gunning the engine.
Watching the car speed away Seaton said, ‘Do you really think he killed Felton?’
Horton considered it for a moment. ‘No, but I want a warrant to search his boat, and we’ll take forensic samples from it.’ If only to annoy Shawford, thought Horton. Aloud he said, ‘You can check his story tomorrow with his neighbour, and see if anyone around Portchester Castle remembers seeing Felton there on Tuesday evening. Meanwhile, if you can give up more of your Sunday, you can take Shawford’s statement.’
TWELVE
Shawford stuck to his story but Horton was convinced there was something he wasn’t telling them. He had again denied them access to his boat and insisted on them getting a warrant, so Horton would, if only to spite the man — because he couldn’t really see him kidnapping and killing Luke Felton, or being in league with him to rob and kill Venetia Trotman. But Horton had an edgy feeling about Shawford. OK, so his intense dislike of the slob was probably clouding his judgement, but his copper’s instinct told him there was something not right.
From his office window he watched Shawford cross the car park to his vehicle while mentally running over their encounter at Horsea Marina. Shawford had looked shocked at seeing them but there had also been that nervous glance back at the boat, the insistence that they get a warrant before going on board, and the defensive response when Horton had asked him where he’d been. Of course there might be nothing more in Shawford’s reaction than hatred for him, but as Shawford pulled out of the car park, Horton found himself reaching for his helmet and jacket.
On the Harley he would soon catch up with Shawford, but even if he didn’t he had an inkling where he would find him, and that wouldn’t be with Catherine. Horton veered off the motorway and made towards Horsea Marina. He’d been correct. Ahead was Shawford’s BMW. He kept well back, even though he doubted Shawford would recognize him or his Harley. Shawford pulled into the marina and drew up close to the spot where earlier Horton and Seaton had interviewed him. As Horton watched him hurry from his car to the pontoon he reconsidered his theory about Felton having been on Shawford’s boat; was Shawford trying to hide the evidence? But Horton just couldn’t see it. No, he had other ideas about what Shawford might be trying to hide.
A few minutes elapsed before Shawford emerged, looking furtive, and carrying a plastic carrier bag. Horton smiled grimly to himself. Climbing off the Harley he crossed to Shawford’s car. Shawford saw him, froze, flushed and tried to look untroubled, but Horton could see he was shitting himself.
‘What’s in the bag?’ Horton demanded.
‘None of your business,’ Shawford bluffed, but Horton remained resolutely in front of the driver’s door, blocking him.
‘This is harassment,’ Shawford raged. ‘I shall report you to your superiors.’
‘Report all you like. Edward Shawford, I am arresting you on suspicion of the kidnapping of Luke Felton and of being in possession of items belonging to him-’
‘You bastard!’
‘Hand it over, Shawford.’ Horton stretched out his hand and angrily Shawford pushed the bag into it.
Peering inside Horton found himself staring at what he had expected, not Luke Felton’s personal effects, but a stash of DVDs and magazines. He dipped inside and withdrew a magazine. He didn’t need to flick through it, or the others, to know what they contained; the woman on the front of the one he was holding gave him enough of a clue. She was dressed in a black leather tunic, thigh-high boots, a spiked leather collar, and she was wielding a whip. With his knowledge of Shawford’s relationship with Catherine — which had once included bruises that Catherine had tried to blame on him — Horton could see that Shawford liked it rough.
‘It’s not what you think,’ Shawford blabbed. ‘It’s just a fantasy, that’s all, a bit of fun. I like to look at it. I don’t actually do it.’
