Footsteps on the Shore

By the time Horton returned to reception Cantelli was talking to the receptionist, a woman in her forties with straight dark hair in a short bob and a worried frown on her studious face. Cantelli broke off his conversation and headed towards Horton.

‘Andrea confirms that Luke Felton left here just after six o’clock on Tuesday night. She was just leaving herself and seems to have been the last person to have seen him.’

And that put it within the scope of Dr Price’s most recent estimate of the time of death for the body in the harbour, though Horton would wait for Gaye Clayton’s more precise prognosis before jumping to any conclusions. And before saying anything to Kelly Masters about it.

‘Luke was on foot,’ Cantelli was saying. ‘Andrea assumed he caught the bus. No one admits to knowing anything about Felton. They say they hardly spoke to him, he stayed in his room, eyes glued to his computer, fingers fixed on the keyboard. A typical geek who was a bit stuck up, talked posh and looked down his nose at everyone is the general view. No one mentioned him being released from prison, or the murder, so I said nothing about it, but I don’t think it’ll be long before word gets around.’

‘We’ll need to-’ but Horton didn’t get any further as the door to the right of reception burst open and a tall, silver-haired man in his late fifties charged out with an expression like a constipated bulldog.

‘What the devil is going on, Horton? What right do you have barging in here questioning my staff without my permission?’

Horton held the hot angry glare of Toby Kempton, noting that he was no longer good old Andy. An employee had obviously already run hot-foot to the boss.

‘I have every right, Toby,’ Horton stressed, feeling a small stab of victory as his father-in-law’s complexion darkened. ‘A potentially dangerous man, convicted of a brutal murder while under the influence of heroin, and out on conditional licence, has gone missing. And not only did you employ him but this was also the last place he was seen.’

‘Rubbish. This has nothing to do with me or my business.’

‘He worked here, Toby. He had access to the Internet where he could have made contact with someone who could have supplied him with drugs. He could have assaulted or killed someone-’

‘Could have is not good enough. I could have won the bloody lottery. I will not have you storming in here accusing my staff of harbouring a criminal, upsetting and unsettling them. When you have evidence then you can return. And only if I give my permission.’

Horton stepped forward. He could feel his temper rising; with an effort he tried to draw on the years of control he’d learnt in the children’s homes to contain it. Briskly he said, ‘No one has accused your staff of anything. Luke Felton worked here. Luke Felton is missing. We need to find him, and if you, or anyone else, prevents us from doing our job then you will be charged with hindering us in our enquiries.’ Kempton looked as though he was about to burst a blood vessel but Horton didn’t give a toss about that. ‘Someone will collect the computer Luke was working on and I suggest you cooperate.’

‘You can suggest all you damn well like, but unless you have a warrant you are not taking a thing out of this factory.’

‘Then we’ll get a warrant. But if you believe you can switch computers and give us one that Felton wasn’t working on, I have a note of the serial number. And if you think you can wipe it clean then let me tell you, our computer unit can trace everything Felton has looked at and everyone he has communicated with since he started here.’

‘Get out.’ Kempton stormed to the entrance and wrenched open the door, just as Catherine was walking towards it. Horton noted her surprise while quickly taking in her smart trousers and jacket. Her blonde hair was longer than when he’d last seen her just after Christmas, and she was looking good — slim and younger than her thirty-five years. He rapidly examined his feelings and found only bitterness.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked, hurrying towards them looking worried. ‘Is Emma all right?’

‘You should know,’ Horton couldn’t help quipping, ‘she’s in your charge.’

‘Dad?’

‘Inspector Horton is leaving.’

Horton turned to Toby Kempton and said evenly, ‘I suggest you talk to Kelly Masters. I’m sure she’s discreet, but you never can tell what she might let slip when pressed.’ He knew that was below the belt and he had no evidence to suggest Toby Kempton had slept with Kelly Masters, but sod it, it was worth a try. He held Kempton’s fuming eyes long enough to see a flicker of unease in them, which sent a warm glow to his cold heart, before he swept through the door. He felt Catherine staring after him. He wanted to say something to her but he was too tense and besides, there wasn’t any point. He didn’t know what to say that hadn’t already been shouted, snarled or hurled. And this wasn’t the time or place to discuss the only thing they now had in common: Emma. By the time Cantelli had zapped open the car door, both Toby Kempton and Catherine had disappeared from view.

‘That went well,’ Cantelli said with heavy irony as he started the car.

Horton didn’t reply. His gut was still churning. Kempton had always been an egocentric, pompous prick at the best of times and had obviously taken his daughter’s side in the break-up of their marriage, which Horton had to grudgingly admit was only natural. He couldn’t help wondering, though, exactly what Catherine had told her father about him; he’d probably been made out to be Saddam Hussein, Stalin, Mussolini and Hitler all rolled into one.

But there was one thing for sure. Whatever Kempton said, did or felt about him there was no way on this earth his father-in-law was going to pay Emma’s school fees and take the place that was rightfully his. And if he had to blackmail, bully and threaten him to prevent it then he would. And he needed to act soon, because he had a terrible feeling that between them Catherine and Toby were going to poison Emma against him so much that he would never get to see his lovely daughter again. That thought chilled him to the bone and beyond. It simply wasn’t an option.

‘Lunch?’ Cantelli said hopefully.

Not without effort Horton pulled himself together. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard; it was almost two thirty and an age since breakfast, which he hadn’t eaten because of that damn etching on his Harley and DCI Bliss’s sudden return to duty. He still didn’t know why she had returned from her secondment earlier than planned, and it didn’t matter now, because she was back and there was nothing he could do about it. He found he had no appetite though, the bloated body in the harbour and Toby Kempton had put paid to that.

‘Turn right,’ he instructed Cantelli. ‘We’ll see if Olivia Danbury’s in.’

Cantelli threw him a pleading look.

‘Perhaps she’ll give us a cup of tea,’ Horton added, punching in Mrs Trotman’s telephone number with a feeling of desperation that he had to get the yacht he’d viewed yesterday as quickly as possible so that he had somewhere for Emma to stay. And yet even then he could almost hear the family court judge crying incredulously, ‘A yacht! You intend letting a child sleep on board a yacht!’

‘It’s solids I need, not liquid,’ Cantelli grumbled, as Horton listened to the phone ringing.

Getting no answer he hung up, saying, ‘Then let’s hope Mrs Danbury gives you a biscuit.’

FIVE

Olivia Danbury didn’t even offer them a smile, let alone any refreshments. Horton reckoned the skinny blonde woman in her mid-thirties didn’t have much to smile about, unless you counted the large detached modern house set behind electronic gates in landscaped gardens, the sweeping driveway, tennis courts and panoramic views over the harbour across to the Isle of Wight. A deep frown crossed her suntanned face as Cantelli made the introductions. Horton mentally compared her to the picture Harmsworth had given them of Luke Felton and thought she was younger than her brother, but apart from the colour of the hostile blue eyes, there was no similarity between them.

‘How many times do I have to say it?’ she declared angrily. ‘I have not seen Luke and I don’t want to see him, ever.’

Reluctantly, she had let them in but kept them standing in a black-and-white tiled hall with an elaborate marble staircase and wrought-iron balustrade that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Hollywood movie. Horton