the boarding school sprang to Horton’s mind. It might save Emma from being exposed to her mother’s boyfriends.
Crisply he said, ‘There’s a prospective parents’ evening at Northover School next Saturday.’ He recalled what the headmistress had told him: tea, a tour of the school, a chance to meet the teachers and the pupils, and the opportunity to ask questions. ‘I suggest we both be there with Emma.’
‘I. .’ She made to protest then gave a curt nod.
‘And it’s Emma’s decision whether she goes or not. Isn’t it?’ he insisted, when she glared, tight-lipped, at him. ‘And
Again she nodded.
He turned and walked swiftly to the door. He could hear her following. At the door he turned to face her. ‘Just be careful who you sleep with next time.’
The door slammed on him. He was surprised to find he was shaking slightly. He rode into Petersfield and bought a coffee, hoping it would calm his jangling nerves and soothe his inner turmoil. Three cups later he found he was ready to return to work, and that meant talking to ex-Superintendent Duncan Chawley about Natalie Raymonds.
THIRTEEN
Removing his helmet, Horton stared up at the address Trueman had given him, thinking the former superintendent had done well for himself. The modern, two-storey brick-built house, with neat blinds at the windows and a sturdy enclosed porch tacked on to the front, was set in landscaped grounds of about two acres amid rolling fields on the borders of West Sussex and Hampshire. To the left, and attached to the property, was a single-storey brick-built extension with a large double-glazed bay window, and to Horton’s right was a detached double garage block.
His observations were curtailed by the sound of a car pulling up behind him and he turned to see a silver Saab convertible draw to a halt. A man in his late thirties with cropped black hair and a sun-weathered complexion climbed out. He studied Horton with a wary frown. Horton noted the chinos, deck shoes and red sailing jacket. This was so obviously not Duncan Chawley that either Trueman had given him an old address, which was highly unlikely, or this man was related to Duncan Chawley.
‘Can I help?’ the man asked in a well-modulated voice, but with a hint of suspicion.
‘Are you the occupant?’
‘Yes, and you are?’
Horton introduced himself with a show of his warrant card. ‘I’m looking for Mr Duncan Chawley.’
‘He’s my father. I’m Gavin Chawley.’
Horton took the outstretched hand, returning the firm grip. ‘Why do you want him? Only my father’s not well,’ Chawley said with concern.
‘I need to talk to him about one of his old cases. It is important,’ Horton pressed, wondering what was wrong with Duncan Chawley.
‘Then you’d better come in.’
Horton stepped into a porch, where Chawley hung his jacket before entering a large hall. He offered to take Horton’s leather jacket and was hanging it up when a blonde woman hurried towards them with an anxious look on what must once have been a pretty face, thought Horton, but now looked jaded. She froze, somewhat startled at Horton’s appearance.
‘He’s a policeman,’ Chawley explained. ‘He’s come to talk to Dad. This is my wife, Julia.’
The woman tossed Horton a shy smile before addressing her husband. ‘Is it OK if I take the children out now, Gavin? Only we’re late. They’re going to a friend’s birthday party,’ she explained to Horton, again with that hesitant smile. From the lines around her eyes and mouth, Horton thought she looked too tired for birthday parties. He wondered how many children the Chawleys had, maybe several, though he couldn’t hear any.
Gavin Chawley gave his wife a smile and a nod and she slid past them and up the stairs.
‘My wife and I take it in turns to go out at the weekends, because of Dad’s illness,’ Chawley explained, leading Horton through the tiled hall into a sunny and expansive modern kitchen and breakfast room at the back of the house. ‘It puts rather a strain on things.’
And just as he’d seen the strain on Julia Chawley’s faded features, Horton now noticed them on Gavin Chawley’s more rugged ones.
‘It’s particularly hard on Julia,’ Chawley continued, ‘because she’s at home with Dad and the children all week. I try to relieve her at weekends but it’s not always possible. It’s not that we resent it,’ he added hastily. ‘It’s just difficult sometimes, particularly with the children at that age when they need to go to classes and friends’ parties. My mother died some years ago and when Dad got ill we had an extension built so that he could live with us. He hates being dependent and I can’t say I blame him; I’d hate it too, especially when he’s always been such a fit and independent man. Did you know him before he retired in 2001?’
‘I’d met him but I didn’t work with him.’
Gavin smiled. ‘He had quite a reputation. If you wait here a moment I’ll see if he’s up to speaking to you.’
Horton gazed around the kitchen but there wasn’t anything much to see, so he crossed to the glazed doors which gave on to a patio and immaculately tidy, almost regimentally landscaped gardens, which seemed to stretch on for ever. The daffodils were tossing about in the light March wind and slowly setting sun. He’d go for a run tonight; a blast of sea air would help to banish those visions of Shawford and Catherine.
Craning his neck to his right he saw the children’s swings and climbing frame and thought he’d give anything to push Emma on a swing. He heard the children’s voices, then the front door closing. A door led off the kitchen to his right. He made towards it when Gavin Chawley returned.
‘My father said he’d be pleased to talk to you, Inspector, but he tires very quickly, so please don’t be too long.’
Horton assured him he wouldn’t. Gavin Chawley led him through a utility room to a door, which he knocked on before opening, and Horton stepped into a sweltering hot but comfortably furnished lounge with wide patio doors overlooking the expansive grounds. The room had the smell of sickness and death about it and the thin, bald man sitting in the reclining chair did too. He bore no resemblance to the healthy, vibrant man Horton remembered, or to the slick, clever copper with superb eloquence. Horton couldn’t help thinking, what a sad end for the detective with a reputation like a razor.
As Gavin Chawley announced him, Horton could see what was ailing ex-Superintendent Chawley; no one was that yellow. It had to be a liver disease.
‘Will you be all right, Dad?’ Gavin said anxiously.
‘Of course. For heaven’s sake stop fussing,’ his father sniped.
Horton watched Gavin silently slip out of the room. He couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for him. OK, so it wasn’t nice being an invalid and dependent on others, but it was also a thankless task being the carer of an embittered and ungrateful one.
Duncan waved him into a seat.
‘Luke Felton’s gone AWOL,’ Horton said without preamble. ‘He’s been let out on licence.’
‘Bloody typical. I take it you’re here in the hope I can tell you where to find him?’
‘Something like that.’ Horton tried hard not to mop his perspiring brow or be shocked at such a change in the former police officer. He had no idea how old Chawley was but he guessed about mid to late sixties, only he looked more like mid eighties.
‘Sorry to disappoint. I’ve no idea.’
‘You remember the case, sir?’
‘Can hardly forget what he did to that young woman.’
Horton could hear the anger in his voice. The case had obviously touched a nerve, as was still apparent after all these years. But then he knew some cases affected you like that more than others. He tugged at his shirt, which was already sticking to his back. ‘Did Luke Felton know Natalie Raymonds?’
