Horton felt stifling hot. His hands were sweating. His heart was beating rapidly. 'I recognised her immediately from the photo in the paper that Barney gave me. So I got talking to her. It's easy when you're pouring someone a drink, or wiping down their table. She was with another girl, dark-haired, surly looking.' 'That's the one she was with at Oyster Quays,' Horton interjected, his voice strained with tension.
'I know where she lives. Well, I know the road and I know what the house looks like, so the rest is up to you, detective. It's a three-storey house in St Ronald's Road. There aren't that many because the road was bombed in the war and rebuilt afterwards. We had an aunty who lived there.' She flashed a look at Cantelli. 'Lucy's got a flat or bed-sit there.'
Horton said. 'I need to follow this up.'
'For God's sake be careful, Andy.'
With a promise that he would, he went in search of St Ronald's Road. It was a long road, with a big church on the corner. It curved in the middle and came out by a small park at the opposite end. It had taken him five minutes to walk there. This was, as Isabella had said, bed sit land. The houses were shabby, smelly and occupied by students, DSS claimants and asylum seekers.
It didn't take Horton long to find Lucy's flat. There were only five three-storey houses in the road. He came across Lucy's name on a piece of paper roughly jammed into a pigeonhole used for post in the grimy hall. Climbing the stairs in the dilapidated and dirty Edwardian house, with his heart pounding and his mouth dry, he found flat three and knocked on the door. There was no sound from inside. He knocked again. Still nothing. After a while he crossed to the flat opposite where he could hear music playing and knocked. A girl with greasy black hair and a nose stud eventually answered and eyed him with hostility.
'No need to break the bloody door down. What do you want?'
'Do you know where Lucy is?'
'Who wants her?'
'I do.'
'And who the fuck are you?'
'Do you know where she is?' he asked tersely
'No. But I'm free if you're not doing anything.' She leered at him and stood provocatively with her hands on her hips.
'No, thanks.'
'Please yourself.' She slammed the door on him.
Slowly he made his way down the stairs. He felt deflated but told himself that at least now he knew where to find her. It was only a matter of waiting until she showed up. He took up position on the corner of a small cul de sac almost opposite. Slowly the mist began to roll in. People returned to their homes, lights came on and the air became clammy and chilly. Various people went in and out of number fourteen but Lucy wasn't one of them.
He pulled up the collar of his jacket and dashed a glance at his watch. He hesitated wondering whether to break into her flat and wait for her there, but that would only give her cause to complain, and perhaps worse, make up some other cock and bull story about him molesting her. No, better to wait outside and catch her before she went in. He was hungry and thirsty but his throat was so tight and his stomach was tense that he doubted he would be able to get anything down. Still no sign of Lucy. Where the hell was she? Just his bloody luck that she'd choose to spend this night out on the town or with that friend of hers.
He waited until midnight feeling damp, cold, disappointed and irritated and then headed back to the yacht. Was nothing ever going to be easy for him? All he wanted was one tiny little break but it seemed he was going to be denied even that.
He lay on his berth, the hatch slightly open, listening to the foghorns determined that he wouldn't sleep but eventually fatigue overcame frustration and he drifted off.
He awoke suddenly. He lay perfectly still. Something had jolted him out of a dream filled sleep — a sudden movement or noise? He was wide-awake now filled with a sense of danger that was so strong it chilled the blood in his veins. Yes, he could hear footsteps.
He swung his legs over the bunk and strained his ears. The footsteps were directly outside his boat. Horton sensed rather than saw someone crouching. Then the sound of something being unscrewed. He felt the boat move, but not as though someone was climbing on board; someone was loosening his stern line. The footsteps came again, padding softly on the wooden pontoon. Now he was aft. Yes, the line was definitely being loosened. He had one line left now holding amidships.
With his chest heaving with adrenalin he slid off his bunk, crouching low. He could hear the sound of liquid being poured and then that smell. He couldn't mistake it. The bastard. He had but a second to get out before the match was struck and his boat would go up like a firework. There was only one way to do this and that was to startle the man before he could strike that match.
Mustering all his power and his voice he roared, ' Go!' leapt over the washboard and was on the black hooded figure, knocking the can from his hand on to the pontoon and the unstruck matches with it. The intruder recovered with surprising agility. He had swung round and was running up the pontoon. Horton set off after him, his bare feet striking against the wood. The figure picked up a set of wooden steps that led up to a large motorboat and threw them at him. Horton dodged, but lost his foothold and stumbled. It gave the intruder just enough time to punch the security release on the gate and leap up the jetty, where a car was revved up and waiting. Before Horton could reach it the car was squealing and screeching out of the marina. Eddie came charging out. 'What's happened?'
'Someone tried to break into my boat,' he panted.
'You all right?'
'Yes.' His heart was racing fast. God, it had been a close call. The bastard had nearly succeeded.
'Do you want me to call the police?'
'I am the police.'
'Yeah, sorry, I forgot.'
They would be back, of that he was sure.
'Someone after you?'
'You could say that.' Horton replied with feeling. Then seeing Eddie's worried expression added, 'It's OK. I'll move her for a while.'
'Whatever you say, Andy.'
Horton couldn't mistake his relief. He returned to his boat and sniffed the air. There was the distinct smell of petrol. But thankfully he had stopped the intruder before he could splash it around too much. But with the wood on the boat, not to mention the petrol already in the outboard engine, it would have gone sky high if a sixth sense, a premonition, call it what you will hadn't alerted him.
It was foggy and close on three o'clock but that couldn't be helped. Slowly and thoroughly he began to wash down the boat, as his mind turned over the possible identity of his attacker. Try as he might he couldn't recognise him. He hadn't had a chance to see his face in the dark, and cloaked as it was. Why try to fry him alive? But he knew the answer to that question. The intention had clearly been to kill him. He needed to be silenced. And silenced before he could speak to Lucy. Someone had seen him outside Lucy's flat.
CHAPTER 14
Thursday morning
'W here's Cantelli?' Horton asked, trying to hide his annoyance that it was Walters who was collecting him from the Hayling Ferry, Portsmouth side.
'Problems at home,' Walters said, almost with relish.
Damn, he had been planning on Cantelli dropping him off outside Lucy's flat, but now he'd have to postpone his visit. He couldn't ask Walters to take him there, because he'd go running back to Uckfield.
Walters sneezed out of the car window and Horton was glad he'd remembered to let it down. He would collect his Harley from the station and bike back to Southsea as soon as Walters dropped him off. He dashed a glance at his watch. It was early yet just after nine. Lucy was probably still in bed, but whose? Had she eventually returned home?
For the first time in a week there was no sign of fog. The day had dawned sticky hot and humid. There seemed to be no air and the heavy blue grey sky was pressing down on them 'Culven's Mercedes has been found.'
'Where?' Horton was torn between excitement at the news and annoyance that it would delay him seeing Lucy.
'Stansted Woods.'
Not far from Briarly House. B
last, just one more factor that helped to point towards Melissa. 'There's not much of it left; it's been flashed up.'
'Not much point in going out there then. Leave it to the forensic team and head for the station. Anything more on Randall Simpson's past?'
'Not a dickie bird and there's no sign of this biography either. I reckon it was just a con.'
Horton thought so too. He opened his window to try and catch some breeze and dispel the body odour that was emanating from Walters. He also hoped it would help keep him awake. He hadn't slept apart from that first hour or so before his intruder had tried to roast him. He rested his arm on the windowsill wondering about Cantelli and his problems — must be Ellen. He hoped it wasn't too serious.
His mind turned, as it had most of the night, to his attacker. He had been too tall for Jarrett. The only conclusion he could draw was it must be one of Jarrett's employees.
The radio crackled into life. It was Trueman.
'I don't think you're going to like this much, sir,' he began warily, 'We've had a report of a woman found dead in suspicious circumstances.'
Horton's blood ran cold. His hand gripped the radio so hard that his knuckles went white. 'Where?' he asked, his throat tight. He already knew the answer. He just hoped he was wrong.
'Fourteen St Ronald's Road.'
Christ they'd killed her! When? After they had tried to kill him or before?
Trueman was saying something about the DCI, but Horton rang off.
'Turn her round, Walters. St Ronald's Road.' Walters gave him a look that said, on your head be it, and dodged into a side street of terraced houses that would take them back to Southsea. Uniform had the area cordoned off and a small crowd had already gathered. Walters parked in the middle of the road and a constable lifted the tape, which they ducked under and headed up the steps through the open door and into number fourteen.
Horton climbed the stairs with Walters trailing behind him. He steeled himself for what he was going to see, trying to repress his anger and frustration. Now he might never get to the truth.
'Who found her?' he asked, pausing in the doorway. Her naked body was sprawled on the bed. Her eyes were open. Her long blonde hair was spread out on the bed behind her; he could see its dark roots. Her throat was livid with the marks of strangulation.
Marsden was watching him carefully from the far side of Lucy's bed. His back was to the window, which led out on to a fire escape; his fair, angular face was pale. He looked a little shaken and also a little afraid of him, Horton thought.
'Jane Staveley; she's waiting in the flat next door,' Marsden replied. 'She ran there as soon as she discovered the body. The flat belongs to a man called Simon Howgate. I think he's Jane's boyfriend but she says she doesn't live there with him. He left before we showed up. Do you think I ought to put a call out for him, sir?'
'Let's get some facts first.' Behind him he could hear Walters' laboured breathing. 'Who's with Jane Staveley now?' He wondered if his voice sounded as tense as he felt.
'Somerfield.'
He should have prevented this. Had Lucy already been dead last night when he had knocked on her door? If so, then the girl opposite could give a description of him. Had the attempt on his life been designed to stop him getting to Lucy before she could be silenced forever?
Now his first sense of shock and outrage was beginning to ease, he felt pity for her. She looked so young, so innocent, even though he knew she wasn't the latter. For the first time he wondered who her parents were. Where had she come from? What was her background?
He peeled his eyes away from the bed and gazed around the pathetic little room: the dirty curtains hanging limp in the sun; the smell of months — no years — of dust and fluff accumulating in corners and under the sagging, stained mattress; the threadbare square of a once red carpet that didn't reach the walls with dirty linoleum protruding from it, and the shabby, second-hand furniture probably picked up in cheap fly-by-night shops in the seedier parts of town; it still smelt of the old dead people whose houses it had come from.
He said, 'I'll talk to Jane Staveley. Let me know when the doctor arrives.'
Jane Staveley was the girl he'd seen with Lucy at Oyster Quays. Her very short skirt showed off well-shaped calves and over-large thighs. A skimpy top had slipped off her narrow hunched shoulders displaying a large tattoo in the shape of a flower on her right shoulder. She didn't look any more than twenty. Her mascara had run where she had been crying and she sniffed into a sodden tissue. He saw hostility in her muddy brown eyes as he entered.
He began gently. 'Jane, I know this must be very upsetting for you, but do you think you could tell me what happened?'
He perched down on the unmade bed beside her. The duvet cover had been thrown back, revealing a dark blue polyester sheet that didn't look too clean. This room was a replica of Lucy's with its cheap furniture and soiled curtains. In the left hand corner was a small sink, cooker and fridge whilst opposite in the far right hand corner was a large and very expensive hi fi system. Clothes were scattered all over the floor along with unwashed plates and mugs, and take-away foil containers, some of which still had the remains of curry and Chinese food in them. The window was shut and the smell of the shabby bed sitting room clawed at Horton's throat making him want to retch. He didn't blame Kate Somerfield for hovering in the open doorway.
Jane took a deep breath. 'We were going to the beach. When she didn't show by the pier like we'd arranged I came to see why. I thought she might have changed her mind and gone out with her flash boyfriend.'
'Who's that?'
Jane brushed her limp hair off her face. Her gold bangles jangled noisily. 'I don't know; I never saw him and she wouldn't say. She just told me he had loads of money and was dead posh.'
'Did she describe him at all?' It couldn't be Jarrett, could it? He had money but Horton wouldn't describe him as posh.
Jane shook her head. 'No. She had a date with him last night.'
'When did she first meet him?'
'About a week ago, I think, soon after…'
'After what?'
But Jane had clammed up. She pressed her lips together, put the tissue to her mouth and glared at him defiantly.
'When did Lucy come back to Portsmouth?' has asked casually, though he felt far from casual.
'Two weeks ago. Why?'
'How did you get into Lucy's flat?'
'I've got a key.'
'And when you went in you found her exactly as she is? You didn't touch anything?'
'No. I called you lot straightaway,' she gulped. He was glad she had. Girls like Lucy and Jane usually didn't. Tears looked set to spill again only she sought refuge in her anger. 'I hope you get the bastard who did this to Lucy and lock him up for good.'
Some hope, Horton thought cynically. Oh, they might get him but he doubted if he'd be locked up for good. Someone knocked lightly on the door, and he saw Kate dealing with it. 'Have you any idea who might have done this to her, Jane?'
'Some weirdo.'
'Inspector Horton, the doctor's just arrived and the DCI's on his way,' Kate Somerfield said.
'Horton! You're Horton?' Jane asked sharply, widening her eyes.
'Yes, why?'
He tried to sound calm but his insides were churning. Clearly Lucy had told Jane about him. He sensed Kate's quickening interest and looked up to see her face impassive but her eyes full of curiosity. With a pointed glance at Kate, Jane pressed her lips together. Horton got the message.
'Leave us for a moment, Somerfield,' he commanded. She went, but he could see it was reluctantly.
The room was stifling hot and the smell was making him feel nauseous. He wanted to throw open the windows but he forced himself to sit beside Jane and look at her with as neutral an expression as possible.
Slowly and evenly he said, 'Jane, this is important. Did Lucy tell you about me?'
She nodded. 'Yes. She said you were nice and very dishy and she was right.'
'What did she say?' Hor
ton ignored the compliment and the leer that went with it. 'That this bloke approached her and asked her if she'd like to earn a few extra bob. All she had to do was get you into a hotel bedroom and say you raped her, or slept with her or something, anything to get you away from there.'
'There?' he asked evenly, though his heart was racing. He wanted to hear her say it. He could hardly breathe. His body was tense in anticipation of her answer. He'd waited eight months for this. Christ! If only Catherine were here now?
'That posh gym. Alpha One.'
And there it was; said so simply that he was almost afraid he hadn't heard correctly. 'When was she told to do this?' Had it been before he'd accidentally met her or whilst he was wining and dining her?
'How should I know?' Jane said surprised.
'Who paid her?'
Jane shrugged her tattooed shoulder. 'Don't know. Honest I don't. She wouldn't tell me; afraid that I might muscle in on her little game.'
Horton looked quizzically at her understanding her meaning but wanting her to say it.
'That's why she came back to Portsmouth,' Jane continued. 'She wanted more money and said she could get it easily.'
'She was blackmailing someone?'
Jane sniffed. 'I don't know as I'd call it that.'
'Then what would you call it?' Horton said scathingly, but it was wasted on her.
'Just a way of earning money.'
'Who was she blackmailing, Jane?' he asked, his heart pumping fast.
'I don't know. She just said he would pay quite a lot for his little secret not to come out.'
'What secret?' He was getting there. At last!
'If I knew that, I might have a chance of earning a bit of extra money on the side,' Jane said tartly.
'I thought you didn't know who her victim was.'
'I don't but I could put two and two together and- '
'End up like Lucy,' snapped Horton.
Jane writhed. 'Yeah, well, I don't know. All I know is he's someone quite high up.'
Horton quickly picked up on this. It was as he had suspected. He hadn't been imagining it. 'In the police force, you mean?'
Tide of Death dah-1 Page 14