Blood on the Sand

by Pauline Rowson

  Horton thought the summer house felt a few degrees colder. The wind howled around them, searching for gaps to squeeze through and chill them further. He recalled that cheerful voice he'd heard on the answer machine message, and found it hard to believe Owen Carlsson had ruthlessly killed a girl and his parents, though sadly as a police officer he knew those things happened.

  Laura continued. 'Owen then had the girl off his back and his parents' money to help him through university. But poor little Thea was scarred for life by her parents' tragic death. After Jonathan had told Thea that Owen had paid him to kill Arina, Thea confronted her brother who, distraught over Arina's death even though he'd caused it, and guilt-ridden, told Thea everything, including how he'd killed their parents. Thea flipped, understandably so after the traumatic child hood she'd had. Filled with anger and hatred, she arranged for Jonathan to kill her brother, promising him half her inheritance. She said that Jonathan jumped at the chance.'

  Horton knew the gardener had had financial difficulties.

  'Then she killed Jonathan.' Laura shook her head sadly. 'Poor Thea is as mixed up as her brother clearly was. It's a mess and a tragedy.'

  'What about her apartment? It was ransacked.'

  'She did that to throw the scent off her.'

  Horton rose and crossed to the window. Where was Thea now? Where had she been these last six days before showing up here? Had she returned there? Did Laura Rosewood know?

  He turned back, his foot crunching on something as he did. Flicking his eyes down to see what it was, he heard Laura say, 'I thought I heard a noise outside. Thea must be trying to get away on the RIB. She's mad. She'll drown.'

  She pushed past him, wrenching open the door, but Horton didn't follow.

  'Why did Owen visit Dr Nelson?' he asked.

  'Who? I don't know. Did he? I'm sure Thea is there.' And before Horton could stop her she was hurrying down the jetty.

  Horton quickly moved after her. The sea was crashing on to the shore, spraying them both as it splashed over the jetty. He could hear it sucking up the stones underneath them as it retreated. The light from the summer house showed the waves breaking over the RIB. He could see no sign of Thea.

  'Thea's not here,' he shouted above the roar of the sea and wind. 'She's never been here. Everything you said was a lie. It was convincing, Laura, I'll give you that. And I nearly fell for it. It will probably be enough to convince DCI Birch and maybe others, but not me.'

  She halted and turned. He could see her wary expression.

  'You killed Owen Carlsson,' he said. 'You shot him through the summer house window. There's glass on the floor, probably left from when you or Jonathan Anmore mended it. I take it Anmore helped you move the body. I can't see you managing that yourself. How did you get Owen to the Duver, Laura? Was it in Anmore's van or did you use your RIB?'

  She stared at him amazed and bewildered but he knew it was an act. With the rain and sea lashing at them he held her gaze. Then her expression cleared. A cold gleam came into her eyes as her mouth tightened and her body stiffened. Evenly she said, 'You're right, of course, which means I'll have to kill you.' And before he could blink he found himself staring at a revolver aimed steadily and directly at his chest.

  TWENTY-SIX

  It was a different make to the one which had killed Owen Carlsson, but it was no less deadly, and Laura Rosewood knew how to handle it. He considered rushing her before discarding the idea; he'd only end up with a bullet in his chest. She had killed three people; she wouldn't hesitate to kill him. She had tried to throw him off the scent with her lies about Owen Carlsson. For a while he had believed her, but even before he'd seen the fragment of glass certain things had troubled him. One of them was his refusal to believe Thea had killed her brother.

  Horton stared at Laura Rosewood's cool and determined expression and said, 'Helen Carlsson took photographs of you, Cawley and Noel Halliwell at Whitefields, didn't she?'

  Laura said nothing. It didn't matter. He knew most of it anyway.

  'The land wasn't contaminated,' he shouted above the crashing waves. 'You, Cawley, and Noel Halliwell concocted that tale between you in order to profit by the sale. What was it you told me and Steve at our first meeting? That you'd been a surveyor. You surveyed Whitefields and said it was contaminated. Did Noel Halliwell, the planning director of the NHS, kill himself because he couldn't live with the guilt of what he'd done?'

  'I never promised him undying love.'

  Horton saw at once how she must have seduced and sexually blackmailed Halliwell into defrauding the NHS. He wouldn't mind betting the whole scheme had been Laura's idea.

  Tautly he said, 'Which of you killed Helen and Lars Carlsson?'

  'Jack,' she replied coolly.

  His jaw tightened in anger. 'And was that because you asked him to?'

  'No. I had no idea what he'd done.'

  Horton didn't believe her. She was a heartless, scheming bitch.

  She said, 'Jack said he'd get the film and scare her into keeping her mouth shut. Then I heard they were dead.'

  'Oh, yeah,' Horton said sarcastically. Laura Rosewood was poisonous.

  She said, 'Whitefields was a prime site. There was a lot of money at stake. Noel Halliwell steered other potential buyers away from purchasing it by telling them it was contaminated and showed them my report. Phoney, of course. They thought it would cost thousands of pounds to clean up before any kind of building work could commence and no one wanted to take that on. Jack bought the land for a song and Halliwell and I got a generous pay off. I eventually married Jack, and inherited his estate when he died of a heart attack two years later.'

  Horton wondered if Jack Cawley's death had been down to natural causes after all. This explained a great deal, but there were still elements that were puzzling him.

  'Owen found out, so you killed him?'

  'Yes.'

  And there it was: a confession, and one she thought no one would ever hear. Perhaps they wouldn't. Not if she killed him, and she had every intention of doing so. He didn't doubt that.

  'How are you going to explain my death?' He kept his gaze on her but at the same time his mind was working overtime to find a way out.

  'I won't have to. The tide is on the turn; it will take your body miles away from here. There will be nothing to connect your death with me.'

  Clever. Which was why she had wanted him out here on the jetty. And what about Julie, the hired help, was she in on this too? Was that why she had called Laura and told her he was on his way and that he'd been asking questions about Cawley and Whitefields, to give Laura time to concoct or put the finishing touches to a story she'd already worked out?

  He said, 'Steve Uckfield will never believe that.'

  'Why not? He doesn't know you're here. You could have slipped and fallen anywhere along a coastal path, or even killed yourself, depressed over your divorce and not being allowed access to your daughter.'

  Horton stiffened. What the hell gave Uckfield the right to talk about his private life? He imagined them in bed and Laura teasing out all kind of personal information from Uckfield. God, the man had been an idiot.

  With barely concealed anger, he snarled, 'What about the bullet in me?'

  She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. 'The sea life will have seen to that. If, of course, your body is ever found.'

  She was ruthless as well as clever. Cantelli knew where he was. But wait – no, he didn't. Horton, as usual, had dashed off without saying where he was going. The gun came up. He had to think of a way to stall her. Not without desperation he said, 'How did Owen find out about Whitefields?'

  'Arina told him. I don't know how she knew but I overhead her talking to Owen at her father's funeral. She said she'd discovered something awful that had happened at Whitefields and that if it ever came out, there would be major political repercussions.'

  Thoughts and ideas flashed through Horton's mind. Amongst them was Bella Westbury. But he had no time to consider that now. Survival wa
s his priority.

  Laura Rosewood was saying, 'I tried to get more from Arina, but she was very distant with me. She knew. She told me that she and Owen were dining at the Seaview Hotel on Saturday night so I went there and waited. I parked the car not far from the hotel. I saw Arina leave. I drove into her.'

  'Whose car did you use, Laura? It wasn't yours.'

  'I borrowed Julie's. I told her mine wouldn't start and that I had a dinner engagement the other side of the island, which I did have only I left there early on account of a headache. Julie offered me her car for the evening, as I guessed she would. Julie worships me. She's very loyal.'

  Yes, thought Horton, loyal enough to lie for her employer about the times she was actually in London.

  'Now, I hate to do this, Andy, because I quite fancy you, but—'

  'Before you shoot me,' he said quickly, 'at least tell me how you killed Owen.'

  She seemed to consider this for a moment. Horton held his breath, while uttering a silent prayer for a giant wave to swamp the jetty and sweep her over the side. The swell was growing, along with the wind, but was it enough? He doubted it, though the thought had given him an idea. Maybe there was a way out of this.

  She shrugged as if to say a few more minutes wouldn't make much difference. 'When Terry Knowles put Owen forward for the project I agreed. Carlsson's not a common name. I wondered if he was a relation of Helen and Lars Carlsson. When he mentioned that his parents had once holidayed on the Isle of Wight and had died here, I knew he was Helen's son. I needed to find out if he, or his sister, had ever suspected that his parents' death had been anything other than a tragic accident, hence the affair, and to ensure that he hadn't come here to investigate it. He hadn't.'

  Horton was looking at a callous woman. Uckfield had been playing with fire, and might still be when all this came out, if he lived to tell the tale. And he had to for Thea's sake, even though he knew Laura had killed her. But the gun was steady, and she showed no signs of weakening.

  'After Arina's death I arranged to meet Owen in the summer house that Saturday, hinting that I might have some information about Whitefields but that we had to keep our meeting a secret. He agreed eagerly. I knew he'd come by the coastal path and then climb up on to the decking because I'd told him it would be better that way. I waited until he was almost in front of the window; he turned to look along the shore and I shot him through the glass in the left temple. I'm an expert shot. My father was in the services and we used to belong to a gun club when we lived in Europe. I've always had guns and they're so easy to pick up on the continent. This was Jonathan's. I took it from the barn. I guess he picked it up on one of his sailing trips to France. I dragged Owen inside the summer house and left him there, covered with a blanket, of course.'

  As if that made any difference, thought Horton with disgust and anger.

  She said, 'I thought I'd be able to take him out to sea and dump his body overboard. My RIB was on the pontoon. But the weather was atrocious and I had an early-morning meeting to attend in London on Monday, which meant travelling on Sunday evening, and then a two-day conference, so I wouldn't be back until late Thursday evening. But when I heard that the weather forecast for early Wednesday morning was calm I came back late Tuesday evening by train and ferry using cash to buy my ticket. Jonathan picked me up.'

  Leaving no trace of her movements.

  'I knew Jonathan fancied me. I told him here was his chance to do me a favour, and in return I'd do him one.'

  'Like shoving a pitchfork in his back.'

  She ignored the remark. 'Jonathan and I came here very early Wednesday morning. The stink was appalling and the body disgusting.' She wrinkled her nose as she recalled it but Horton noticed her hand was still steady. 'I told Jonathan that I had tried to comfort Owen over Arina's death only he mistook my intentions and tried to rape me. I said I'd shot him in self-defence, but this could never come out. I'm a public figure and the media would destroy my reputation and career. Jonathan didn't believe me, because he'd overheard Arina talking to Owen in the garden. So I promised to pay off all his debts and give him more money if he helped me. He jumped at the chance. I must say it took some stomach to haul Owen into the boat.'

  And if she could do that then Horton didn't think she'd have any compunction about killing him.

  'We put one of Jonathan's collapsible wheelbarrows in the boat and early Wednesday morning, when it was still dark, we went into Bembridge on the high tide. At this time of year, as you know, there isn't a soul about. Both Jonathan and I know the harbour like the back of our hands. We put Owen in the wheelbarrow and placed him in the bunker on the Duver.'

  'Why?' Horton asked, baffled. 'Surely it would have been easier to have thrown his body over the side of the boat and leave him to be washed up later, if at all.' Like she was planning for him.

  She scowled as if annoyed at the memory. 'It would but there was Thea. Owen might have confided in her. She might make a nuisance of herself and besides I had to have someone to take the blame for Jonathan's death.'

  Horton stiffened. Dr Clayton's words flashed through his mind. A clever killing by a clever killer. Also a ruthless one by an evil woman.

  Laura was saying, 'Jonathan telephoned Thea and left an anonymous message telling her where to look for her brother's body.'

  So Thea wasn't psychic. Why had she lied? If only she'd told him about the call at the beginning he might have saved her life, and caught Owen's killer sooner.

  He said, 'Then Anmore kept watch from a safe distance, saw me arrive and wondered who the devil I was when I seemed so friendly with the police.'

  'Yes.'

  She shifted slightly as though her arm was beginning to ache. The tide was going out. And he'd be going with it if he didn't do something – and soon. Quickly he scanned the horizon for any sign of a human being or a weapon but no sane person was out in this weather, and it was an isolated spot. There was only the abbey to his left and he didn't think the monks would be walking along the shore in the wind, rain and dark.

  She said, 'Jonathan watched you go to your boat, and then searched it after you left. He didn't discover you were a policeman though, and I didn't know that either until you showed up with Steve.'

  'Which of you knocked Thea out and then tried to set light to us?'

  'Jonathan, of course. I had to make sure that Owen hadn't left anything incriminating behind, which could point to me.'

  He tensed with fury. 'And you thought he'd kill Thea too.' The time was almost here. Soon he would have to make his move or it would be too late.

  She frowned, annoyed. 'I didn't know Thea had been released. Jonathan let himself in with Owen's key, and knocked Thea out before she had a chance to see him. Then you showed up so he decided to destroy any evidence and hope it would look as though Thea, unbalanced, had attacked you and then set light to the house. 'It's time to go, Andy.'

  The gun came up. The sea was crashing on to the shore beneath him. There was no way out. He held his breath. He wouldn't hear the trigger being pulled above the sound of the wind and waves. It would be quick and relatively painless. He steeled himself. His heightened senses screamed at him. He had microseconds of life left. There was only one thing he could do. And he did it.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  A sharp hot pain smashed into his arm before the freezing cold water sucked the breath from his body. It wasn't deep, but there was enough water to pull him under. He was still alive. For how much longer though was another matter. When he resurfaced, as he must, she would be there, standing on the jetty waiting for him. Suddenly the water close by hissed and spat. She was firing at him.

  He half swam and half waded in his sodden heavy clothes until he was under the jetty, grabbing at one of the wooden posts, his clothes weighing him down, the freezing water numbing his body, the heavy waves threatening to drag him back. He tried to calculate how many rounds she had fired, and how many she had left. Had she exhausted her supply? He bloody well hoped so because he couldn
't stay here for much longer.

  Using the jetty stilts to guide him, he slowly hauled himself up the shore until there was soft shingle and sand beneath his feet. He felt as though he'd been in the water a lifetime, though he knew it was only a few minutes, if that. Then he was free of it, but there was a sharp climb up the beach to the summer house and Laura would surely see him in the electric light that still blazed from the cabin.