The young man shrugged. 'I know the course to everywhere on the south coast, so I don't need to keep reminding myself, and wind speed is wind speed. That's part of the beauty of it. Any journey takes as long as it takes. If you're the sort of impatient type who's only interested in arrivals, then sailing will drive you nuts. On a bad day it can take hours to go a few miles.'
'It says here you tied up in Salterns Marina at two seventeen on Sunday morning,' said Carpenter.
'Then I did.'
'It also says you left Lymington at ten oh-nine on Saturday morning.' He did a quick calculation. 'Which means it took you fourteen hours to sail approximately thirty miles. That's got to be a record, hasn't it? It works out at about two knots an hour. Is that as fast as this thing can go?'
'It depends on the wind and the tide. On a good day I can do six knots, but the average is probably four. In fact I probably sailed sixty miles on Saturday because I was tacking most of the way.' He yawned. 'Like I said, it can take hours on a bad day, and Saturday was a bad day.'
'Why didn't you use your motor?'
'I didn't want to. I wasn't in a hurry.' His expression grew wary with suspicion. 'What's this got to do with the woman on the beach?'
'Probably nothing,' said Carpenter easily. 'We're just tying up some loose ends for the report.' He paused, assessing the young man thoughtfully. 'I've done a little sailing myself in the past,' he said then, 'and I'll be honest with you, I don't believe it took you fourteen hours to sail to Poole. If nothing else, the offshore winds as the land cooled in the late afternoon would have boosted your speed well over two knots. I think you sailed on past the Isle of Purbeck, perhaps with the intention of going to Weymouth, and only turned back to Poole when you realized how late it was getting. Am I right?'
'No. I hove to off Christchurch for a few hours to do some fishing and have a nap. That's why it took so long.'
Carpenter didn't believe him. 'Two minutes ago you gave tacking as the explanation. Now you're claiming a fishing break. Which was it?'
'Both. Tacking and fishing.'
'Why isn't it in your log?'
'It wasn't important.'
Carpenter nodded. 'Your approach to time seems a little'-he sought a suitable word-'individualistic, Mr. Harding. For example, you told the police officer yesterday that you were planning to walk to Lulworth Cove, but Lulworth's a good twenty-five miles from Salterns Marina, fifty in total if you intended to walk back again. That's an ambitious distance for a twelve-hour hike, isn't it, bearing in mind you told the harbormaster at Salterns Marina you'd be back by late afternoon?'
Harding's eyes gleamed with sudden amusement. 'It doesn't look nearly as far by sea,' he said.
'Did you make it to Lulworth?'
'Like hell I did!' he said with a laugh. 'I was completely whacked by the time I reached Chapman's Pool.'
'Could that be because you travel light?'
'I don't understand.'
'You were carrying a mobile telephone, Mr. Harding, but nothing else. In other words you set out on a fifty-mile hike on one of the hottest days of the year with no fluids, no money, no sunscreen protection, no additional clothes if you started to burn, no hat. Are you usually so careless about your health?'
He pulled a wry face. 'Look, all right it was stupid. I admit it. That's the reason I turned back after your bloke drove the kids away. If you're interested, the return journey took twice as long as the journey out because I was so damn knackered.'
'About four hours then,' suggested DI Galbraith.
'More like six. I started after they left, which was twelve thirty near enough, and got to the marina around six fifteen. I drank about a gallon of water, had something to eat, then set off for Lymington maybe half an hour later.'
'So the hike out to Chapman's Pool took three hours?' said Galbraith.
'Something like that.'
'Which means you must have left the marina shortly after seven thirty to be able to make the emergency call at ten forty-three.'
'If you say so.'
'I don't say so at all, Steve. Our information is that you were paying for your berth at eight o'clock, which means you couldn't have left the marina until several minutes later.'
Harding linked his hands behind his head and stared across the table at the inspector. 'Okay, I left at eight,' he said. 'What's the big deal?'
'The big deal is there's no way you could have hiked sixteen miles along a rough coastal path in two and a half hours'-he paused, holding Harding's gaze-'and that includes the time you must have lost waiting for the ferry.'
There was no hesitation in his reply. 'I didn't go along the coastal path, or not to start off with anyway,' he said. 'I hitched a lift with a couple on the ferry who were heading for the country park near Durlston Head. They dropped me off by the gates leading up to the lighthouse, and I got onto the path there.'
'What time was that?'
He shifted his gaze to the ceiling. 'Ten forty-three minus however long it takes to jog from Durlston Head to Chapman's Pool, I suppose. Look, the first time I remember checking my watch yesterday was just before I made
