Footsteps on the Shore (7 page)

‘Thanks, but no. I can handle him,
if
he turns up, and I’m not banking on it.’ But what he did hope was that Walters would have unearthed some information on Luke Felton that could help them find him, and quickly, or identify him as the body in the harbour.

Walters greeted them in CID with the news that the prison had emailed a list of Felton’s prison listeners, volunteers who were there to help Luke and other inmates through their sentence.

‘There were three,’ Walters said,‘and I’ve spoken to each of them on the phone. They claim they haven’t seen or spoken to Luke. They all live on the Isle of Wight where Felton served his sentence.’

Horton thought they could be lying, and Luke could be hitched up with one of them. He’d ask the local police to call on them to make sure. He said, ‘What did they tell you about Luke?’

‘Said he was reserved and not that interested in seeing them. The last one visited him over a year ago. I’m still waiting for his medical notes to come through.’

‘Chase them up. And find out who else was released from prison around the same time as Felton and if he formed special relationships with any inmates. He might be hiding out with an ex-con.’

Horton turned but Walters hailed him. ‘The case notes on the Natalie Raymonds murder have been sent over.’ He tapped the top of a box file on his desk with a podgy finger.

‘Is that it?’

‘It’s all they’ve sent.’

Horton picked up the box and headed for his office, where he cleared a space among the paper on his desk. He checked his voice mail. Phil Taylor had left a message to say he was emailing over the photographs of the body in the harbour and would follow it up with hard copies and the video shortly. Horton quickly ran through his emails, most of which seemed to be from Bliss asking him to file some inconsequential report or other. Ignoring these he found the photographs Taylor had mentioned. The sight of the body almost made the couple of mouthfuls of his burger come back up, but there was nothing more they could tell him that he didn’t already know. Which was precious little.

He turned his attention to the Natalie Raymonds file. He doubted it would throw any light on where Felton might be but he didn’t like working in the dark. He read that Detective Superintendent Duncan Chawley had been in charge of the investigation. Horton hadn’t really known him because Chawley had been stationed at Havant CID for most of his career. On the occasions Horton had met him he recalled a clever, confident man with a dry wit and a reputation for getting results. Bliss would have liked him. Maybe she’d even worked with him at Havant before transferring to Portsmouth on her promotion to DCI, although calculating Chawley’s age Horton doubted it. Chawley had been in his mid-fifties at the time of the Luke Felton case.

Horton read that Natalie Raymonds had been born Natalie Mather in 1970. She had been twenty-seven when she was killed on Friday 19 September 1997 and from her photograph she’d been a stunner: a brown-eyed brunette with shoulder-length hair and a wide smile that looked as though she had loved life. She had married Julian Raymonds in October 1996.

He dug deeper into the file until he located Julian Raymonds’ statement. Raymonds had met Natalie when she had been working for a corporate hospitality company during Cowes Week in August 1996. It had been a whirlwind romance as well as a short marriage. Raymonds, a yacht broker, had been selling expensive yachts and had taken a group of customers and prospective customers to Cowes. At the time of his wife’s murder, he had been at the Southampton Boat Show.

During the night of Friday 19 September, and throughout the 20th, Raymonds had tried several times to contact his wife at home and on her mobile phone and had grown increasingly worried when he got no answer. At 7.30 p.m. on the twentieth he had returned home to find no sign of his wife and had officially reported her missing. It was dark by then and too early in the investigation to conduct a search, but there had been no need to mount one because the following day her body had been found by a man walking his two Golden Retrievers in the undergrowth of a small copse close to the shore of Langstone Harbour and just off the Hayling Coastal Path.

The pathologist’s report stated that Natalie had been killed sometime between 3 p.m. and 10 p.m. on 19 September. Quickly checking Raymonds’ statement, Horton saw he had been staying at a small hotel near the docks in Southampton, even though he could easily have travelled to Southampton, some thirty miles away, each day. But Raymonds said the evenings were spent entertaining customers and prospective customers, or more likely boozing, thought Horton. And possibly playing the field, though he had no reason to believe that, just his suspicious mind.

Raymonds had been on the stand all day, every day, and there must have been several witnesses to that, namely clients and other boat show exhibitors. Horton wondered if that had been checked, before pulling himself up; he wasn’t reinvestigating the Natalie Raymonds murder, only trying to find her killer: Luke Felton. Raymonds said that Natalie regularly ran along the coastal path, which wasn’t far from where they lived.

Horton read that Natalie had been wearing white running shoes, black track suit bottoms, with a short tight V-neck white T-shirt. A black bum bag – empty – was found beside her body, along with a small bottle of water. Her husband later confirmed the bag usually contained Natalie’s mobile telephone and occasionally money. Felton’s prints had been found on the bottle, and his DNA from his hairs on her body. He was already on record for drug offences, theft and an assault on a pensioner in 1995. The matching of his prints instigated a search for him. His parents claimed not to have seen him since Wednesday night, and Felton was picked up in Southsea on Monday 22 September at 11.15 p.m. suffering withdrawal symptoms from heroin and with blood on his clothes. Natalie’s as it turned out. The testimony of a witness, a Peter Bailey, who came forward to say that he’d seen Luke Felton at the northern end of the coastal path at about 4 p.m. on 19 September heading south, clinched it.

Pretty conclusive then, thought Horton, digging out the photographs of Natalie Raymonds’ body and spreading them out on his desk; she was lying on her back, fully clothed. There was some deterioration in the body due to the weather, the length of time it had been exposed and the action of animal and bird life, but he could still see where her face had been bludgeoned. Horton again consulted the pathologist’s report; according to the pathologist, Natalie had been strangled with something soft and made of silk – a tie was the most likely option – before being struck three times with a rock.

Horton sat back, tapping his pen thoughtfully against his chin. Several aspects of the case bothered him. For a start, Natalie Raymonds had been a fit young woman, so why didn’t she run away from drug-crazed Felton? Maybe he had surprised her as she ran past him; he’d grabbed her, quickly lassoed the tie around her neck and pulled it tight until she died. But still Horton wondered if she might have been able to defend herself against Felton, at least enough to get away.

Secondly, what had Luke Felton been doing on the coastal path? It was hardly the usual haunt of drug addicts. He had been living with his parents in Portsmouth, so how had he got to Hayling Island, twelve miles away by road? There was no mention of him owning a car. And he couldn’t have travelled by the small passenger ferry to the south of the island because the witness had seen him at the northern end. Horton considered this with a frown. Walking two miles to where Natalie’s body was found was hardly the act of a drug-crazed addict, unless he went to meet a drug dealer. Still, it was an odd place for a rendezvous. Horton didn’t remember anything about Natalie Raymonds being on drugs or dealing in them and the pathologist would have picked it up if she’d been an addict.

And thirdly, why did Luke Felton strangle Natalie with a tie and not his bare hands? No tie had been found on Felton, and he’d been wearing a T-shirt when he was picked up.

Natalie’s mobile phone hadn’t been found either, but then Horton knew Luke Felton could have sold that to buy more drugs. In 1997 mobile phones weren’t as commonplace as now and most mobile phone users were on a contract.

Horton looked for the record of Natalie’s calls, but couldn’t find them in the file. So he began to search for Luke Felton’s statement. He hadn’t got far when his door swung open and Bliss stormed in with a face like a cat’s behind. Now what! he thought with exasperation. Friday the thirteenth was certainly living up to its reputation.

‘Mr Kempton has made an official complaint against your offensive and bullying behaviour,’ Bliss launched angrily.

Horton might have known. ‘Now hold on—’

‘No, you hold on, Inspector. I will not tolerate inappropriate behaviour in
my
CID team. You have allowed your personal affairs to interfere with your job and that is completely unacceptable, not to mention wholly unprofessional.’

Ah, so Kempton was playing dirty, and so was Bliss by the sounds of it. Well, two could play at that game, but in order to succeed, Horton knew he had to be smarter than he’d been this morning.

‘Well, Inspector? I’m waiting for an answer.’

Crisply, Horton said, ‘Luke Felton had access to the Internet and email. We need to check his computer to see if he made contact—’

‘That is not what I meant,’ she raged, flinging her hands on his desk and leaning across it to stare at him. Horton didn’t budge an inch or bat an eyelid. ‘What are you going to do about Mr Kempton?’

‘Get a warrant as he insists.’ Horton contrived to look bewildered, which seemed to really get up her nose.

Straightening up she said tautly, ‘Are you being deliberately obtuse and insubordinate? You owe him an apology for barging in and interviewing his staff without his permission.’

Technically she was correct, but he wasn’t going to let a small matter like that get in his way. And he had a feeling that Kempton would have stalled him.

Bliss was clearly waiting for a response. Eyeing her steadily he said, ‘Luke Felton is missing. His sister claims she hasn’t seen or heard from him and his last known movements are leaving Kempton’s at just after six o’clock on Tuesday night. He might even be dead, though we have no positive ID on the body found in the harbour yet.’

‘Body? What body?’ she screeched.

Horton gave a silent groan. He might have known he’d pay the price for not calling her. Swiftly he gave her the facts, watching her grim expression.

‘Good of you to tell me,’ she sneered, eyeing him contemptuously. ‘From now on, Inspector Horton, you will inform me the moment you have any news of Felton and the body in the harbour. And you will also apologize to Mr Kempton. Is that clear?’

He nodded curtly. She turned and marched out. A few seconds later a tap came at his door and Horton beckoned Cantelli in.

‘I gather DCI Bliss is not best pleased with our efforts today,’ he said, sitting opposite Horton.

‘Mine, not yours. I can handle it.’

‘Not sure I caught the bit where you told her about Rookley?’

Horton shrugged a response. He knew if he had done so, Bliss would have insisted that uniform accompany him and that he bring Rookley in.

Cantelli continued. ‘The warrant for Felton’s computer should be with us first thing tomorrow. Matt Boynton says Luke didn’t have a mobile phone and I’ve checked with the phone company, who confirm that the payphone at Crown House has been out of order for three weeks and they’ve had no request to repair it. I’ve also done a quick search on the Internet for that symbol.’

‘And?’ For a moment Horton had forgotten all about that.

‘It doesn’t look good, Andy. The nearest resemblance I could find is the pagan symbol of death.’

Horton glanced at the sergeant in surprise.

Hastily Cantelli added, ‘I’ve only checked it on a couple of web sites. I could be wrong.’

Horton sincerely hoped so.

‘You should ask someone in the Scientific Services Department to look into it for you,’ Cantelli pressed.

‘I will,’ Horton replied, drawing a sceptical look from Cantelli before he left.

If the symbol was a death threat, then why not kill him last night when the perpetrator had the chance? A lighted match would have done it, and almost had not very long ago. He’d just managed to leap off his beloved boat
Nutmeg
before it had gone up in flames. He shuddered at the memory. Since then he’d been living on a yacht belonging to a friend of Sergeant Elkins of the Marine Unit. But the friend was returning from abroad at the end of April, which reminded Horton about the yacht he was hoping to buy and had viewed yesterday. The owner might be at home now. He made to call her when another thought occurred to him, one that sent cold shivers up and down his spine; obviously his graffiti artist didn’t want him dead – not yet anyway. He wanted first to torment him, like a cat playing with a mouse. Perhaps whoever was responsible was saying, ‘See what I can do to something you cherish. Next time I’ll hurt something you really love.’ Horton’s heart leapt into his throat. Emma. If that was so then he had to find this maniac urgently. But how?

The trilling of his mobile phone sliced through his thoughts. Horton saw it flash up as an anonymous caller. It might be Rookley, or someone else with information about Luke.

‘Yes?’ he answered it eagerly.

‘Willow Bank, Shore Road, Portchester,’ a foreign accent announced abruptly.

Horton started in surprise. He didn’t recognize the voice but he recognized the address. It was the home of Mrs Trotman, the woman he’d been trying to get hold of all day to tell her about the survey he’d arranged on her boat. ‘Is there a problem?’ he asked, puzzled, wondering if perhaps she’d changed her mind about selling it to him.

‘The lady who lives there is dead.’

Horton stared at his phone. This was a joke, it had to be, and a very sick one. Harshly, he said, ‘I don’t think this is—’