into the car park, had to hold the key to Luke’s disappearance and to the murder of Natalie Raymonds. And if Shawford was telling the truth about Felton mentioning the bailey, and if Luke hadn’t met Peter Bailey here on 19 September 1997, then why come here, pondered Horton, entering the castle grounds through a large ancient stone archway. It was miles away both by road and sea from the coastal path where Natalie had been killed.
Horton stood inside the fortifications and stared at the ruins. Nothing new sprang to mind, so he went in search of the castle souvenir shop and bought a guide book. Returning to the Green, he quickly skimmed through the book, learning that the gate he had entered by was called the Landgate. This made sense because it faced landwards, while the entrance on the other side of the Green, with its iron grille set in the stone archway, facing on to the sea, was called the Watergate. Rather obvious, he guessed. And that’s what Luke had recalled in his trance: water and gate, but not two separate words, one — Watergate. Horton also read that he was standing in the outer bailey. So could Luke have arranged to meet Natalie’s killer at the Watergate in the outer bailey in 1997? And had he repeated that arrangement last Tuesday? It seemed likely. Surely he’d have remembered if the person who had killed Natalie had been his brother or brother-in-law, but then he supposed the drugs had obliterated that memory.
Horton located the steep, twisting stone steps to the keep and ran up them, emerging at the top where a biting wind caught him full in the chest and stung his face with an icy chill that was more reminiscent of January than March. He didn’t mind. He found it refreshing after the stench of Shawford.
He was glad to see that he was alone, except for a single gull which was crying overhead as if it had witnessed something terrible. And maybe it had, he thought, as it dived to skim the surface of the water — Venetia Trotman’s murder, and the abduction and killing of Luke Felton, because Horton was even more convinced now, after Shawford’s story, he was dead. He watched the gull fly towards the entrance to Portsmouth Harbour, where Jay Turner’s body had washed up, and his mind once again returned to Venetia Trotman. He was equally convinced that Joseph Trotman was Jay Turner. Had he died accidentally? Perhaps he’d gone out on his yacht,
He cast his eyes over the scene spread before him hoping inspiration would come, just as it had when Dr Clayton had told him about Venetia Trotman being Georgian. Beyond the priory church, to his right, hidden by bushes and trees, was Venetia Trotman’s house. Again Horton considered the coincidence of her death, both in time and location, with Luke Felton’s disappearance. Was there a connection? But no, he had already discounted that.
Swinging his gaze in the opposite direction he saw the cranes and ships in the commercial ferry port. Was Luke’s body in the sea? Had the person he’d arranged to meet here enticed him on to his yacht, then killed him and thrown his body overboard, which hadn’t yet surfaced along the coast? Ashley Felton had a boat, so too did Shawford, but he discounted the latter. Was Neil Danbury a boat owner? Was Danbury too vehement in his hatred for Luke Felton? Was his protective stance towards his wife simply an act?
And where the devil was Ronnie Rookley? Had he scarpered because the drug squad were on to him, just as Jack Belton the cafe proprietor had done, or had Rookley known too much about Luke’s vanishing act?
Horton frowned as his mind ran through the facts and speculations. One thing struck him, the year: 1997. That was when Joseph Trotman had purchased Willow Bank and when Natalie had died. Did it mean anything or was he just making connections where none existed? Probably, he thought with a sigh, turning his gaze on the opposite stretch of water and the shores of Gosport. Had Venetia Trotman’s killer come from one of the marinas or moorings at Gosport? Or had Luke’s abductor, and probably his killer, come from there?
Or perhaps he’d come from the east, where Horton now turned his gaze. He could see the masts of the yachts in Horsea Marina. But if Venetia’s killer, or the person Luke was rendezvousing with, had come from that marina, that would have meant going through the lock and being seen. So better to launch a tender from the shore right here, perhaps from the back of a car in the castle car park. Or perhaps the killer kept a tender at the sailing club, which Horton could see to the north, and beyond it the old paddle steamer moored in the basin of the Youth Enterprise Sailing Trust.
He rubbed his temple; his head ached with all the thoughts running through it. The sky was darkening. This was geographically a long way from where Natalie had been killed on the Hayling Coastal Path. Why bother to transport Luke all the way to Hayling Island from here on 19 September 1997, either by car or by boat? And if Luke and the killer had travelled to the coastal path by boat, as he’d discussed with Cantelli, then that would have meant sailing through Portsmouth Harbour, along Southsea Bay, down into Langstone Harbour and across to that copse, a long and convoluted journey. One Horton now thought highly unlikely.
So if Luke hadn’t been taken to the coastal path by car or boat, then how had he got there? Simple, he thought, staring out at the sea, the dawn of realization sending a thrill through him. He had never been there. Natalie’s killer had met him here, lured him to a car or more likely a boat, drugged him and held him until after Natalie’s death. And that was why Luke had told Shawford that it was here it had all begun.
Oblivious to the rain that was now driving off the sea, Horton’s mind raced as he pulled together everything he’d learnt. Could it be Bailey? Was the lover theory a diversion? Had Bailey used Natalie Raymonds as a means to get even with Luke Felton for destroying his mother’s health? Had he singled her out and planned her death with the meticulous precision his job as a draughtsman demanded? He’d kept tracks on Luke Felton since his conviction for assaulting his mother, waiting for the right moment and opportunity to execute his plan. He had met Luke here, perhaps on the evening of 18 September after finishing work at Hester’s. He’d got Luke on board a boat, which he had kept here. Bailey could be lying about not owning a boat. He gave Luke drugs — though how Bailey would have got hold of them puzzled Horton, but he pushed that aside for now. Just as he did the fact that Luke had told Shawford he had the help of someone influential. Bailey could easily have lied about his status.
Making his way hurriedly down the steps, Horton called Cantelli. ‘Any joy at Bailey’s house?’
‘Nothing so far except dirt, dust and his mother’s clothes.’
‘He must have disposed of Luke’s body elsewhere.’ Horton quickly told Cantelli about his interview with Shawford and his thoughts about Bailey. ‘Re-interview Bailey. If he used a boat in 1997 then he could have repeated his actions, only this time he took Luke out into the Solent and dumped his body overboard. He could easily have trailed a boat because his car has a tow bar fitted.’
‘The tow bar hasn’t been used in years. I’ve checked. And there’s no record of him owning a boat. Plus I’ve been thinking. I don’t think he’s got the bottle for it.’
‘He has the motive.’
‘But how would he have got hold of heroin?’
That bugged Horton.
‘And there’s Ronnie Rookley,’ Cantelli added.
‘He could have nothing to do with Luke’s disappearance.’
‘Maybe not, but if he has would Bailey have disposed of him too? I think Bailey would run a mile if he came face-to-face with Rookley.’
Horton considered it. Cantelli was right. It didn’t add up. He couldn’t see Bailey dealing with and getting the better of Ronnie Rookley. So they were back to the lover theory. And that left Ashley Felton and Neil Danbury. ‘Return to the station, Barney, and see if you can confirm Ashley Felton’s German alibi for September 1997, and for Friday the thirteenth of March. He could have met Rookley in the cemetery. Also organize a team to go over his yacht. And check if Neil Danbury owns a boat, and his whereabouts on Friday the thirteenth.’
He called Walters. There was no answer, so Horton left a message for Walters to call back urgently, hoping he might have a lead on who Rookley had met in the cemetery.
Heading back to the Harley, Horton reconsidered the case. Who would Luke have willingly accompanied to a boat for a drink before being drugged, if not his brother-in-law, Neil Danbury, or his brother, Ashley? It had to be someone he knew well, who he was friendly with, even regularly drank with. . His eyes fell on the Castle Sailing Club. His mind was a chaos of thoughts. Snatches of a conversation grabbed at him. Ashley Felton had told them that Luke was a very good sailor. Cantelli had asked in the club if anyone had seen Luke there on the Tuesday evening he disappeared, and no one had. But they hadn’t asked if he had been a member of the club in 1997.
Horton drew up sharply as the realization smacked him in the face. They’d been asking the wrong questions. It wasn’t a case of
