Paul looked blank, while his wife answered, ‘I’ve rung round all our relatives, not that we have many, only a couple of aunts on the Island, and none on the mainland, and they’ve not seen Dad since mum’s funeral, and he certainly hasn’t gone to Singapore.’
‘A friend’s house, then?’ Horton asked again, feeling Uckfield’s impatience and wishing he’d leave and let him pursue his questioning in peace.
‘Dad’s a solitary man. Well, he hardly had time for friends with mum being so ill for years,’ she added defensively.
‘That must have been very difficult for him, and for you,’ Horton empathized.
She eyed him warily, looking for signs of insincerity. Horton got the impression of an embittered and maybe frustrated woman, as well as a rather self-centred one.
‘It was,’ she replied, tight-lipped.
‘How long was your mother ill for?’
‘Eleven years.’
Horton was surprised and showed it, prompting Rachel to add rather defensively, ‘She wasn’t too bad at first but it progressively got worse until Dad had to give up work and care for her. But I’ve already told you this.’
Horton thought that Rachel Salter had resented her mother’s illness. Perhaps because her father had showered more devotion on his wife than he had on his daughter, and that reminded him of something Cantelli had once said about why Catherine was so hostile towards him and his demands for access to Emma: because she was jealous that he had loved his daughter more than his wife. He saw that it could be true of both his own circumstances and Rachel Salter’s. He was no psychologist, just a policeman who had seen a great deal of human nature in all its guises, for better and worse.
He said, ‘Your mother was an attractive woman from the photographs we’ve seen in the albums. You look as though you were a very happy family.’ He wondered what Rachel’s response to his probing was going to be. He heard Uckfield sniff.
‘We were.’ Her reply was crisp and hostile.
‘But every marriage has its problems; were your parents happily married?’
‘Of course they were. What are you saying?’ She glared at him.
Uckfield made to speak but Horton broke in, ‘Was there anywhere special for your parents?’ Horton again asked, ‘Somewhere they liked to go together?’
‘No. And I know why you’re asking. You think Dad might have gone there to. . to kill himself. Well you’re wrong. Yes, he was upset when Mum died but not enough to do that. I can’t think what’s happened to him. And I have no idea what that man was doing in the boot of Dad’s car. Have you considered that my father’s life could be in danger?’ she demanded.
Horton ignored the question and her hostility. ‘Did your father speak about his work or the people he used to work with?’
It took her a moment to answer and when she did she spoke grudgingly. ‘Sometimes.’
‘Who did he speak of?’
‘For God’s sake, I can’t remember. You should be out there looking for him, not badgering me with all these questions and tearing the house apart.’
‘Rachel, they’re only doing their job,’ her husband interjected.
‘And not very well,’ she snapped, glaring at him.
Horton saw Paul Salter flinch. ‘And you’re sure your father never mentioned Victor Hazleton.’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she almost shouted. Then her expression darkened. Horton could see her mind racing as she followed the conversation. ‘My God, you actually think my father could have killed this man!’ She ran a hand through her long hair. ‘This can’t be happening. It’s ludicrous. Look, I’m telling you, Dad’s had an accident, he staggered out of his car and someone stole it and put this. . this other man inside. He could have been attacked.’ Her faced paled as she realized that her father could also be dead.
While both scenarios were possible, Horton thought it unlikely. ‘We’ve checked the hospital and your father hasn’t been admitted.’
‘Of course he hasn’t,’ she snapped, ‘because he’s lying in a ditch or he’s fallen over a cliff. I want the search and rescue services out looking for him.’
Uckfield said, ‘We’re doing all we can to locate your father, Mrs Salter.’
She snorted her disbelief.
Uckfield’s phone rang as Horton stretched into his pocket for a photograph of the dress that Yately had been wearing.
‘Has either of you seen this dress before?’ he asked, while Uckfield slipped out of the room.
Rachel glared at it then back at Horton. ‘What has this to do with my father?’
‘Do you recognize it?’ pressed Horton gently.
‘No.’
Paul shook his head. ‘Me neither.’
‘Do you know where your father was over the weekend?’
‘Here,’ Rachel said sharply.
‘You saw him or spoke to him?’
‘No. But he’s always here.’
Just because she thought so didn’t mean he was. There seemed nothing more they could get from the Salters. Horton tried to reassure them that they were doing everything they could to locate Arthur Lisle, but he wasn’t convincing Rachel Salter.
He entered the dining room that Lisle had used as a study and gazed around it again, as though it might reveal something he’d overlooked the first time. Officers had been through the books and found nothing, and idly Horton opened one on the table that was about the history of British passenger ships. He turned to another about the history of the Isle of Wight coast. The last time he’d been in this room he had noted that Lisle and Yately had the same interests, which was in maritime matters and local history, the latter of which tied in with Yately’s notes, but he still couldn’t see where that got them.
He stepped outside, noting that Uckfield was in the living room in conversation with Dennings. It was a clear evening. Soon it would be dark. The streets were deserted, though there was movement behind the curtains and blinds in the neighbouring houses and those opposite. Horton stood and took in the air. He could taste the silence and smell the sea. He wasn’t surprised the Victorians had celebrated the place as a health resort and a cure for tuberculosis with the air so clear, and with that came the memory of the notes on Yately’s desk. Lisle had taken them and hadn’t been afraid to be seen by a neighbour, so unless he was a callous murderer with nerves of steel, it had been an innocent gesture and one which indicated to Horton, along with the similarity in their reading matter, that the two men were working together on some kind of historical project, possibly to do with the sea and possibly, he thought, on something connected with the coast.
Then there was the connection between Hazleton and Lisle; they’d both worked for the same firm of solicitors and had done so at the same time. If Hazleton had met Abigail Lisle then and had an affair with her it was doubtful her daughter would have known about it. Maybe someone from Uckfield’s team would find out more tomorrow when they visited Wallingford and Chandler. His phone rang. He thought it must be Cantelli, but he didn’t recognize the number so answered it somewhat cautiously.
‘Is that Inspector Horton?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, not recognizing the man’s voice.
‘I’m so glad I’ve got hold of you. I hope I’m not disturbing you. I’m Robin Stanley.’
Horton started at hearing the name. There was only one Stanley he knew.
‘I think you know my father, Adrian.’
‘I do.’ Horton’s mind raced. Why was the son calling him?
‘I found your card in dad’s trouser pocket. He’s had a stroke. He’s in Queen Alexandra hospital. He’s been trying to talk and he’s very agitated because he can’t express himself clearly, but the nurse and I finally worked out what he was trying to say. We believe it’s your name. I think he wants to see you.’
Horton’s heart seemed to skip several beats.
‘I might be completely wrong, Inspector, and I’d hate to waste your time,’ Robin Stanley added hastily, ‘but I wondered if you’d mind calling in to the hospital when you have a moment. I would really appreciate it. It might
