‘But guv-’
‘You can grab some lunch as you go.’
Restlessly, Horton applied himself to his paperwork while his mind busied itself elsewhere. He thought about Venetia Trotman and the man with the foreign accent who had reported her death. Trueman hadn’t said they’d got anything from analysing his voice pattern, so they must still be waiting on the report. Then there was Jay Turner washed up in the harbour. Where had he come from? Why had he ended up on their shores? Had he been killed? And where was Rookley? He’d vanished completely, like Luke Felton. Could both be connected to drugs? Did Ashley Felton know more than he’d told them?
Horton fetched a coffee, hoping the caffeine would clear his mind, and took it back to his office. Drinking it, he stared across the car park, deep in thought. If Luke had been trying to remember who had been with him on that fateful day, why hadn’t he called Lena Lockhart and asked to listen to the tapes in the hope that it might stimulate greater recall? Perhaps he didn’t want to remember but wanted to put the past behind him and move on, just as Boynton had told them. Horton knew that was easier said than done. Kelly had told them that Luke remembered bailing, which meant he’d either been on a boat at some stage or, as Cantelli had suggested, was getting the word confused with Peter Bailey who gave evidence at his trial.
He turned back to his desk. The fact that the tapes had been stolen proved that someone had been with Luke when Natalie was killed. So why hadn’t Bailey seen this man? He sipped his coffee as he assembled his thoughts. One reason could be because Luke had agreed to meet the man and Natalie in the copse. The accomplice could have driven there and parked up nearby, or he could have come by boat from Portsmouth, and taken Luke Felton back to the Portsmouth shore by boat in the dark, hence bailing. Yes, he liked that idea. Another option was that Bailey was lying about seeing Luke Felton. And why would he do that? Because Bailey was the accomplice and Natalie’s killer. Mentally, Horton ran through their previous interview in that depressing house. Bailey had seemed agitated and had looked decidedly uncomfortable when Horton had mentioned Portchester Castle. Why? Could Bailey have met Luke Felton there on Tuesday, afraid that Luke had started to remember certain things about that day?
Horton sat up. With a frisson of excitement he quickly grasped the theory and began to push it further. Why would Bailey want Natalie Raymonds dead? And why should he wish to frame Luke Felton? Bailey was hardly their drugs supplier. And how would he have known either of them? Horton guessed he could have seen Natalie Raymonds when she’d been running along the coastal path. But how would Bailey have known Luke Felton, and more importantly his background, well enough to get him to agree to a meeting in that copse? There were two possibilities. Bailey had either worked or socialized with Luke Felton, which seemed doubtful unless the job his father had got Luke had been at Hester’s Shipbuilding, or Bailey already knew him. Peter Bailey didn’t have a criminal record, so he couldn’t have been involved with Luke during his community service for the attack on the pensioner in 1995, unless. .
With his heart racing, Horton quickly turned to his computer and called up the case files for 1995. When he found the one he wanted his eyes devoured the text on the screen. Several minutes later he sat back, with a grim smile of satisfaction. There was a great deal more to Peter Bailey than met the eye and considerably more than he had told them. Bailey also had a very strong motive for wanting Luke Felton convicted and put away for a very long time.
TWENTY-ONE
Peter Bailey sat hunched over a cold cup of tea with a slimy skin on it in the interview room, looking forlorn and pathetic. Horton eyed him closely. His grey monk’s hair was damp with sweat and unkempt, his trousers were smeared with earth, and the fingers, which fiddled with his spectacles, showed traces of dirt under the nails.
Horton had discovered that Bailey’s mother was the pensioner Luke Felton had assaulted and robbed in 1995. Ethel Elmore had remarried after her first husband had died in 1963, when Bailey was twelve. He’d kept his father’s name. And if it was that simple, thought Horton, watching Bailey’s grubby fingers, then why hadn’t Superintendent Duncan Chawley made the connection in 1997?
‘Maybe he did,’ Cantelli had said, ‘but because Chawley had Luke Felton in custody and he’d already confessed he kept quiet about it. It was one case swiftly cleared up and a brownie point to him.’
Horton didn’t like it. It was sloppy work and threw into question Felton’s guilt.
Cantelli began the interview in a casual, friendly manner, almost as though he wasn’t particularly interested. ‘How did you lure Luke Felton into meeting you on the coastal path in 1997?’
Bailey eyed them both guardedly ‘I didn’t.’
‘No? Perhaps you took him there in your car then.’
Bailey shifted nervously but said nothing.
Cantelli smiled. ‘It’s OK, Peter, we understand. If he had done that to my mother I’d have wanted to get my own back and finger him for Natalie’s murder.’
Bailey’s head came up. ‘I didn’t. I saw him slouching along that path.’
‘And you did what?’ Horton interjected sharply, making Bailey start.
‘Nothing.’
Horton laughed derisively. ‘You expect us to believe that, the man who had attacked your mother?’
Bailey’s grey skin flushed. He replaced his glasses and studiously avoided eye contact.
Horton sat back and in a lighter tone said, ‘How often did you see Natalie Raymonds running along the coastal path?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Never? On all the occasions you went there to spy on the little terns?’ Horton said, feigning surprise.
‘No.’ Bailey fidgeted.
‘I think you did, Peter, and maybe that’s when the idea first struck you. You thought her a perfect victim, a good-looking girl, alone, regular in her running habits.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Bailey stared at each of them in turn with a bewildered air.
Relentlessly Horton continued, ‘Perhaps you even spoke to Natalie. Maybe you fancied her and she laughed at you or told you to push off. Hurt and humiliated, an idea began to form in your mind on how to get back at her and at the same time get revenge on the man who had hurt your mother.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Bailey said sullenly. ‘I saw Luke Felton the day that girl was killed. I’d never met her before.’
‘Maybe you didn’t mean to kill Natalie. You just meant to put that tie around her throat, squeeze it a little to make her unconscious and then leave Felton to take the blame for assaulting her, but when you felt the power you had over her a better idea sprang to mind. She wouldn’t be able to laugh at you again if she was dead and Felton would be convicted for her murder. And just to make sure, you came forward to say you’d seen him on the path. It was justice for what he did to your mother. But then Luke was released on licence and started remembering. He called on you and begged you to tell the truth. But you couldn’t have that, so you killed him. What have you done with his body, Peter? Buried him in the garden?’
Bailey’s eyes widened with horror. ‘I don’t know where he is. I swear it. I thought that. .’
‘Yes?’
Bailey’s body slumped. He stared down at his trembling hands and muttered, ‘He ruined our lives, Mother’s and mine. I couldn’t leave her after that.’
‘You wanted to?’ Cantelli asked gently.
Bailey’s tormented eyes swung up to Cantelli. ‘I’d been offered a job abroad but after the attack she became an agoraphobic. She never stepped outside the front door from that day until they carried her out in her coffin ten years later. That’s what Luke Felton did to us, and what did he get for his crime, for wrecking our lives? Community service.’ There were tears in his eyes now as he added, ‘It was pitiful. A disgrace. He was made to clear up litter along the shore at Portchester Castle. I saw him there one lunchtime when I was working at Hester’s. I wanted to confront him but I couldn’t. It’s just not in my nature.’ Bailey dashed a hand across his eyes.
‘So you arranged to meet him at Portchester Castle last Tuesday night with a view to killing him. Where did you take him, Peter?’
