A Killing Coast

but he didn’t show up, and he didn’t call me either. I telephoned him but didn’t get an answer. I thought he must have changed his mind. Dad doesn’t have an answer machine and he refuses to have a mobile phone or a computer. So I couldn’t contact him, and Damien and I were in London from Friday morning and all weekend. We stayed at one of the hotels in the chain we work for, just for a break.’ Her face flushed deep red and Damien looked down at his hands. Horton guessed she felt guilty at having put her poor old dad completely out of her mind until this morning. ‘I rang Dad this morning but there wasn’t an answer. I thought he must have gone out. I tried him again at lunchtime, nothing, and then just after two o’clock when Damien heard on the local news that a body had been found in the Solent, I, well, we. .’ She fought to hold back the tears.

Horton wondered why she hadn’t visited her father, but he’d save that question for later. He recalled Dr Clayton’s estimate of time of death. Had Colin Yately set out to meet his daughter last Thursday and had an accident? But no; not in that dress. It didn’t sound as though he’d killed himself, not if he’d spoken to his daughter on Wednesday and arranged to meet her, but they only had Hannah Yately’s word on that. How could they be sure the conversation had gone as she said? Maybe they rowed and Yately, distraught, had decided to end his life. Horton wasn’t sure where the dress came into it because he didn’t think it was Hannah’s, but who could tell? Time for speculation later. Facts first.

‘What time did he call you on Wednesday?’ he asked.

‘Six o’clock.’

‘On your mobile?’

‘Yes.’

They might at least be able to check that if they needed to.

‘How did he sound?’

‘Happy,’ she answered miserably.

‘And you were looking forward to seeing him?’

‘Of course,’ she frowned, clearly bewildered by his questions. If they had rowed she wasn’t going to mention it and there were no telltale flushes of guilt.

‘Did he know you were going away together for the weekend?’ Horton’s eyes swivelled to Damien’s and back to Hannah’s.

‘Yes.’

Horton noted that Damien hadn’t been invited to the Thursday evening meal. He could have been working, Horton supposed. Or perhaps it was a father and daughter bonding thing. Yately might not approve of Damien. Or he might have held the opinion that no man would be good enough for his daughter.

Cantelli said, ‘Did your father say what he was going to do on Thursday before meeting you? Was he working?’

‘No. Dad’s retired,’ she replied. ‘We were meeting in the pizza restaurant as usual at about seven thirty. He was coming over on the Fastcat from the Isle of Wight. He lives in a flat at Ventnor.’

That explained why Hannah hadn’t visited her father to check if he was all right. But Colin Yately’s address, Horton noted, was not far from where Victor Hazleton lived. Could there be a connection between Yately’s death and Hazleton’s light at sea? Surely not. For a start he didn’t believe Hazleton and, secondly, they had no reason to believe Yately’s death was suspicious. And they could certainly check whether Colin Yately had ever caught the Fastcat or any ferry on Thursday.

Cantelli again. ‘Could you describe your father to us, Miss Yately.’

‘I have a photograph.’ She reached down into a handbag at her feet. Horton didn’t like to tell her it probably wouldn’t be much use in helping to identify their body.

Cantelli passed the photograph across to him. Standing beside Hannah Yately was an ordinary-looking sort of man in his mid fifties, slim-faced, with thinning brown hair, dressed in casual trousers and an open-necked checked shirt. The photograph had been taken in summer on the waterfront at Oyster Quays, with the Spinnaker Tower in the background.

Handing it back to Cantelli, Horton said, ‘How tall is your father?’

‘Five foot ten.’

About the height of their body.

‘Inspector, is it Dad?’ she asked, anxiously scrutinizing him.

Cantelli shifted beside him, sensing what he was about to say. There was no easy way to do this.

Gently he said, ‘The description fits your father, and we found this.’

At a nod from Horton, Cantelli reached under the folder on the desk and pushed across the photograph of the key fob. Hannah Yately let out a cry and then gulped noisily before beginning to sob. Cantelli slipped out and moments later returned with a plastic cup of water which he handed to Damien.

‘Drink this, Hannah,’ her boyfriend urged quietly, ashen-faced.

Horton said nothing until she had drunk and composed herself. ‘I understand this must be very upsetting for you, Miss Yately, and although that was found on the body it doesn’t necessarily mean it is your father. But I’m not going to get your hopes up because it seems probable that it is him. If so, we need to find out what happened after you spoke to him on Wednesday. Do you think you could answer a few more questions for us?’

After a moment she nodded.

‘Could you confirm that belongs to your father?’

‘Yes. I bought it for Dad for Christmas about six years ago. He always carries it with him.’

‘Does he keep his keys on it?’

‘Yes. Weren’t they with it?’ she said, surprised.

They weren’t but Horton wasn’t going to mention that yet. ‘Does your father have any distinguishing marks, tattoos, scars?’

She shook her head.

Cantelli said, ‘Has he had any surgery?’

She swallowed hard and tried to pull herself together. Horton admired her for that. ‘He broke his leg five years ago. He was knocked off his bike when working. He was a postman; he took early retirement three years ago. And he had surgery on his knee, cartilage problems, about ten years ago.’

‘So your father doesn’t work at all?’ enquired Cantelli.

‘No. He says he doesn’t need much to live on especially since him and Mum got divorced.’

So that ruled out him wearing his wife’s clothes, thought Horton, unless he secretly had a hankering for her and had taken some with him when they broke up, which was a bit weird but then he’d met some pretty weird people in this job.

Horton said, ‘When did they get divorced?’

‘They spilt up when Dad took retirement. The divorce came through about eighteen months after.’

‘How did he take it?’

‘He was relieved. My mum’s not the easiest person in the world to live with,’ she answered with an edge of defiance.

‘And where is that?’

‘Newport, on the Isle of Wight. My parents were married for twenty-three years, but when Dad retired from the post office Mum said it was bad enough suffering him at weekends and in the evenings, she couldn’t stand being cooped up with him every day and night. I’d already left home and moved here to live with my boyfriend.’ She looked as though she was going to cry again but Damien squeezed her shoulder and that seemed to give her the strength to continue. ‘I work as a receptionist at the Ferry Port Hotel and Damien’s assistant manager. Mum said she’d supported me through college and now she wanted a chance of real life, as she called it, and a bit of fun before she was too old. She seems to be having it too.’

Horton noted the bitterness in Hannah Yately’s tone.

‘I don’t have much contact with my mother. Dad got over Mum throwing him out long ago. In fact, I think it was a relief. They hadn’t much in common and Dad would never have left her, he’s the faithful type. Till death do us part and all that. .’ She stalled, as she realized what she’d said, but instead of the tears came anger. ‘If it is him then he must have had an accident. Why else would he have been in the sea? Does my mother know?’

‘We haven’t spoken to her.’ Horton added, ‘Did your father own a boat, Miss Yately?’

Her surprised expression gave him the answer before she confirmed this with a shake of her dark curls.