‘No. We checked right back to kindergarten. No connection whatsoever between them. The poor girl just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
Horton nodded. ‘And Luke Felton happened to be on that coastal path on that day. Why?’
‘No idea. He never said because his brains were scrambled by the drugs. Does it matter?’ Chawley asked, eyeing Horton keenly.
‘I guess not. It’s just one of those points that bug me. I expect you know what that’s like, sir.’
He saw Chawley digest this. After a moment he said with a frown, ‘It bugged me too, and Felton couldn’t tell us. We could only assume he’d arranged to meet a dealer, who either didn’t show, or legged it after handing Felton his stuff. There were no signs of anyone else having been at the scene around Natalie’s body, except for the dog walker who found her. And we didn’t trace anyone on that path at the time of her death, although there was one witness who saw Felton.’
‘Peter Bailey.’
Chawley looked surprised, then nodded knowingly. ‘You’ve been reading the file.’
‘Was he reliable?’
‘One hundred per cent.’ Chawley eyed him with suspicion. ‘This sounds more than trying to find a killer who’s gone AWOL. Are you reinvestigating the case?’
‘No,’ Horton said hastily. ‘I thought Luke Felton might have known someone on Hayling Island from that time and that’s where we’d find him.’ He didn’t see any need to tell Chawley about a possible connection with Venetia Trotman’s murder.
He could see that Chawley didn’t believe him. But it was partly the truth. Horton wasn’t reopening the case; he had no authority or need to do so. And Felton could have nothing to do with Venetia Trotman. He might still have been headhunted for a job or left the area for one, as Cantelli had posed. Or he could be hanging out with some old junkie mates. Or lying dead somewhere having been killed by a dealer.
He said, ‘How did Felton get to Hayling?’
Chawley took a few breaths before answering. ‘No one on the buses recognized him and we checked the trains to the nearest station, the same. There were no sightings of him walking from the railway station to the coastal path. All we can assume is that someone gave him a lift, either this dealer who handed over the drugs just across the bridge on to the island and then kicked him out of the car, or someone he knew. Otherwise he must have hitched a lift, just as he must have done leaving the scene of the crime, and the driver went on somewhere not knowing what Felton had done. I put out an appeal but no one came forward, except Peter Bailey.’
‘Could Bailey have been mistaken and Felton caught the ferry from Portsmouth to Hayling?’
But Chawley was shaking his head. ‘Checked. The ferry master didn’t take Felton across. Felton’s DNA was on Natalie’s body, and her blood was on his clothes. He couldn’t remember killing her but he listened to his lawyer, thank God, pleaded guilty while under the influence of drugs and saved us all a lot of time, not to mention the taxpayer a great deal of money. Pity they didn’t lock him up and throw away the key. Scum like that are a waste of breath,’ he added with bitterness.
His words reminded Horton of Neil and Olivia Danbury, who clearly shared the same opinion. Horton didn’t see there was much more to be gained here. ‘Did Julian Raymonds’ alibi check out?’
Chawley eyed Horton suspiciously. ‘Yes. Witnesses knee deep came forward to say he was selling boats at the boat show all day and propping up the bar in a nearby hotel until the small hours of the morning. There was no hint of any marital problems between him and Natalie and nothing to suggest he hired someone to kill his wife. And before you ask, we found no evidence that Natalie Raymonds was playing the field either.’
And that seemed to be that. Horton thanked him for his time and stretched out a hand. Chawley’s grip was still firm. Releasing his hand, Chawley said, ‘Let me know when you find Felton.’
Horton promised he would and, feeling sad that Chawley had come to this, found his son Gavin waiting a little anxiously in the kitchen with a mug in his hand.
‘Was my father able to help you?’ he asked, putting the mug down carefully on the sink drainer and escorting Horton back to the hall.
‘He cleared up a couple of questions. Does he ever talk about his cases?’
‘No. When he retired he said that’s it. He wasn’t one of those policemen who have an urge to write their memoirs, or dwell on the past. Will you need to come back?’ Chawley asked anxiously.
‘Only when we find Luke Felton. Your father asked to be kept informed,’ he added quickly as Gavin Chawley looked concerned.
‘I remember him, or rather the case. Dad was very obsessed by it, but then he was like that with every major investigation. He loved the job. Lived, ate and breathed it.’
The comment caused Horton an uncomfortable jolt at the memory of Catherine’s angry words,
He returned to the station mulling over what Duncan Chawley had told him, seeing again in his mind the gaunt, yellowing figure of the former detective superintendent and finding it difficult to rid himself of the smell of sickness. He reckoned they would never know why Felton had been on the coastal path that day, because even when or if they found him he wouldn’t remember. And it didn’t really matter anyway. That case was closed. The Venetia Trotman one was wide open, unless there had been any new developments.
Uckfield said not. There was no sign of Dennings in the incident suite, so Horton assumed he must still be with the team digging up Venetia Trotman’s garden although it was now dark.
‘You got any more on this Luke Felton?’ Uckfield asked. ‘Because Trueman’s not getting very far with proving a connection between him and the victim, or Felton being pally with any inmates or ex cons.’
Swiftly Horton told Uckfield about Shawford giving Luke Felton a lift to the castle, but said nothing about his subsequent interview with the man and his trip to Petersfield. He finished by adding, ‘I’ve applied for a warrant to search Shawford’s boat, maybe he’s lying and took Felton there, but that might just be my suspicious mind working overtime.’
‘And the fact you hate his guts.’
‘The feeling’s mutual.’
‘Shawford giving Felton a lift doesn’t connect him with Venetia Trotman.’
‘I know, but it is the last sighting of Felton, and in the vicinity of the victim. I’ll take a look around there tomorrow with Cantelli. PC Seaton’s also going to ask around in the area.’
Uckfield sniffed. ‘I’ll wait to see if we get anything from the search of Shawford’s boat before questioning him.’
Horton addressed Trueman. ‘Any news on the key found in the victim’s hand?’
‘It opens a portable locker, the type that’s sold in any hardware store or on line. I’ll be able to check suppliers tomorrow. We might be able to find out where and when it was bought but that probably won’t get us much further.’
No wonder Uckfield looked so bad-tempered, thought Horton, returning to his office, and even Trueman looked glum. Clearly it was one of those frustrating cases that looked set to drag on. Horton hoped the disappearance of Luke Felton wasn’t going to be the same.
He glanced at the clock and saw it was too late to do more tonight. Heading for the boat there was no sign of anyone following him, but then why should his graffiti artist bother to do that when he knew where he lived? His mind returned to Shawford. He’d given them a lead and tomorrow they would see where it took them. And in a week’s time, he thought with a smile, he’d get to be with his daughter.
FOURTEEN
‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Cantelli said.
Horton stared across the moat at the flint walls of the Roman castle and agreed. It was.
‘We brought the kids here last summer,’ Cantelli added, falling into step beside Horton as they headed eastwards towards the shore, keeping the castle wall on their right. ‘Marie was doing the Romans at school. Did
