Footsteps on the Shore dah-6

by Pauline Rowson

  Horton listened without showing a reaction, while his mind assimilated what Chawley was telling him.

  Chawley roused himself and with a new urgency said, ‘If this comes out, it will all have been for nothing and the memory of a good cop will be tarnished. Not mine but Sean’s. It can hardly matter to me when I’ve not got long to live. But think of what it will do to Tina and the force,’ he said, echoing Horton’s earlier thoughts. ‘And for what? Luke Felton was a drug addict and would probably have killed or assaulted some other poor pensioner or innocent person. Locking him up meant keeping him off the streets for fourteen years.’

  ‘But that’s not how it happened, is it?’ Horton now said sharply, despising Chawley and not caring if he showed it. ‘You couldn’t simply plant the DNA on Natalie’s body and the bottle with Luke’s fingerprints on it immediately after Sean called you because you wouldn’t have known where Luke was. You needed him not to be able to remember where he was on the nineteenth of September for him to become your scapegoat, and that meant Natalie’s murder was planned and no impulse killing.’

  Chawley eyed him steadily. After a moment he nodded slowly and with a weary sigh said, ‘You’re right, of course. I thought it would look better for Sean if I told you it was a spur-of-the-moment killing, done in anger, unpremeditated, but it wasn’t. After being rejected, Sean planned how he would kill Natalie and how he would frame Luke for it. Heroin had been seized in a raid in Havant and put in the drug safe, but it hadn’t been entered in the log. Sean simply falsified the entry and took enough to lay Luke out. He arranged to meet Luke, drugged him and then drove to Hayling, parked his car in a side street near the southern access to the coastal path and met and killed Natalie and planted the evidence.’

  Horton didn’t care for what he was hearing. His body was tense, his mind a jumble of thoughts, as Chawley continued.

  ‘I didn’t know what Sean had done until just before Bailey called to say he saw Felton on that path. Sean was breaking under the strain. He told me.’

  ‘And instead of doing what you should have done, you covered it up.’

  Chawley nodded. He leaned back in his chair. His face was even more drawn than when Horton had entered and the flesh seemed to have fallen from his frail body. Horton didn’t feel pity, only fury.

  ‘It’s a convincing story,’ he said, with an edge of steel to his voice that made Chawley look up. ‘And it’s almost true, except for one fact. Sean Lovell didn’t have an affair with Natalie Raymonds. You did. You killed her and you framed Luke Felton for her murder.’

  Chawley eyed him with an expression devoid of emotion. There were no denials, no outraged protestations. Just silence.

  Harshly, not bothering to disguise his disgust, Horton said, ‘You arranged to meet Luke at Portchester Castle, where you kept a boat. You lured him there, plied him with drink and drugs that you stole from the drugs safe or more likely took off some addict without declaring it or charging him. Then, taking hairs from Luke’s body and his clothes, you pressed his fingerprints on a bottle of water and you drove to meet Natalie Raymonds in that copse as arranged, parking your car some distance away in a side street. Then you strangled her using your tie, and planted the evidence and Natalie’s fingerprints on the bottle of water to make it look as though it was hers. You were quickly on the scene, heading the investigation. When Luke was found and the evidence matched, it was a result. Bailey’s false testimony clinched it and Luke’s memory was a blank. And I’ll tell you why I know it was you,’ Horton continued ruthlessly. ‘Apart from the fact that I would never believe Sean to be capable of an affair, let alone a murder, there’s the matter of the mobile phone records. Natalie’s mobile calls were never checked, because if they had been your telephone number would have been listed. But there’s something even more convincing to show that you killed Natalie Raymonds. There’s Luke Felton’s disappearance.’

  A frown puckered Chawley’s lined brow. ‘I can’t see how-’

  ‘He’s dead.’

  Chawley’s face paled. ‘Then why-?’

  Horton shook his head in wonderment. ‘You know why,’ he said scathingly. ‘Because Luke started to remember things about Natalie’s murder and that meant it was too dangerous for him to live. He had to die.’

  Scornfully Chawley said, ‘You can’t think I killed him! I haven’t even got the strength to move from this chair.’

  ‘No, not you,’ Horton said, rising. ‘Which means someone else has gone to great lengths to protect Natalie’s killer, and Sean Lovell’s wife couldn’t have done that.’

  ‘Who then?’ Chawley demanded angrily, but it was bluff. Horton saw the fear in his yellow eyes.

  At the door he paused. Bitingly he said, ‘You’re a copper, work it out.’

  He found Chawley’s daughter-in-law hovering anxiously in the kitchen.

  ‘Is he all right? Should I go in?’

  Horton removed the picture of Luke Felton from his jacket pocket. ‘Have you seen this man?’ She started nervously and eyed him apprehensively. ‘It’s OK,’ he added quickly. ‘You won’t get into trouble for telling me.’

  ‘He came here a week ago last Saturday.’

  It was as he’d thought. That would have been 7 March, and Luke had disappeared on Tuesday the tenth. It was also before the covert drug operation had started on Crown House.

  She added, ‘I was just coming back from shopping and almost ran him over as he was walking down the driveway away from the house. Gavin said he was just someone selling door to door, but he didn’t have a bag with him. And Gavin rushed out after him. I saw him stop in the street from the landing window. That man got in the car. I don’t know where they went. Is it important?’

  It was, but Horton wasn’t going to tell her that. He said, ‘Do you own a boat?’

  Her genuine surprise gave him the answer before she said, ‘No.’

  ‘I thought you must, given all the pictures your children paint of boats.’

  ‘Duncan used to have a motorboat, but he sold it when he got ill. We often take the children to the harbour. They like to paint while Gavin is working.’

  ‘But your husband does sail?’ Horton recalled that Gavin had been wearing chinos, deck shoes and a red sailing jacket on the Sunday he had first called here.

  ‘Oh yes, often with friends-’

  ‘Like last Sunday?’

  ‘Yes. And he teaches dinghy sailing during the season. Unfortunately I don’t like the sea. It terrifies me and makes me sick.’

  ‘Where’s your husband now, Mrs Chawley?’

  She glanced at the clock. It was five thirty-five. ‘At work. Why?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘And that’s where?’ Horton asked, although he already knew the answer.

  ‘The Youth Enterprise Sailing Trust. He’s chief executive.’

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Horton told her a police officer would be with her soon and that he would prefer it if she didn’t call her husband. He couldn’t stop Duncan Chawley calling him though. Julia Chawley looked frightened but agreed to do as he asked.

  Outside he called Walters. ‘Margery Blanchester,’ he said, before Walters could moan about something. ‘Find out who the beneficiary of her will is.’ Horton remembered what the volunteer on the paddle steamer had said: Thanks to a recent legacy from an old lady, we hope to get this young lady finished a lot sooner than expected.

  Then he rang Cantelli. ‘You were right. Bailey didn’t kill Natalie Raymonds, and neither did Ashley Felton or Neil Danbury. Duncan Chawley did. He tried to make me believe it was Sean Lovell.’

  ‘Then he must be sick in the head. Sean would be totally incapable of that,’ Cantelli cried vehemently.

  ‘That’s more or less what I said. Get over here, Barney. Charge Duncan Chawley with the murder of Natalie Raymonds and arrange for him to be taken into hospital. Make sure someone stays with him at all times and a woman police officer stays with his daughter-in-law, Julia. As soon as you’ve done that, meet me at
the Youth Enterprise Sailing Trust.’

  ‘Why there?’

  ‘It’s where I’ll find Gavin Chawley.’

  ‘I don’t envy you telling him what his father did.’

  ‘He already knows.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Horton headed for Portchester, checking his mirrors for any signs of the Georgian following him. He’d seen none on his way to the Chawleys’. There were a couple of motorbikes, but both overtook him on the small stretch of dual carriageway. He turned off at the industrial estate and headed down the road towards the shore until he was outside the Youth Enterprise Sailing Trust. No lights showed from the building but Gavin Chawley’s car was parked in the yard and there was a light shining from the cabin of the paddle steamer. He made his way quietly and carefully up the gangplank, and stepped on board. The cold wind was raging up the harbour, howling around the boat and squeezing itself through all the rotten wood and broken, rusted pipes. Horton was surprised Gavin hadn’t bolted; Duncan must by now have spoken to his son to tell him Horton was on his way. But then where would he go? Perhaps he thought he could bluff it out. And perhaps Horton should wait for back-up. But it was too late now, and besides, Cantelli would be here soon.

  Gavin Chawley, wearing a white overall over a light grey suit, was carefully planing a piece of wood in the middle of the unfinished main cabin. ‘Dad said you’d be coming,’ he said briefly, glancing up before turning his eyes back to his task.

  ‘Then you know why I’m here,’ Horton answered in the same easy manner, taking a step further inside the cabin.

  Gavin continued shaving the wood, his strong hands pushing the plane away from him, methodically, slowly and easily. His weather-worn face screwed up with concentration. ‘He said it was something to do with Luke Felton’s disappearance.’

  But Horton could see that Gavin knew more than that. ‘Did your father tell you that he killed Natalie Raymonds?’

  There was a perceptible tightening of the hands on the plane but Gavin Chawley’s rhythmic movement never faltered. ‘Sean Lovell killed Natalie. Dad was only trying to protect him.’

  Something about Gavin’s remark nudged at Horton. He rapidly replayed the conversation he’d just had with Duncan Chawley. ‘How do you know Sean Lovell killed her?’ he asked, making sure to maintain the same even tone set by Gavin.

  ‘Dad told me.’

  ‘Why?’

  A flicker of annoyance crossed Gavin Chawley’s face. ‘Because of Luke Felton’s visit.’

  Eyeing Gavin closely, Horton said, ‘How did you know it was Luke Felton visiting your father?’

  With a glance of exasperation Gavin said again, ‘Dad told me.’

  ‘I see,’ Horton said slowly. ‘So after Luke’s visit you went in to your father and said who’s that and what did he want, and he told you that Sean had killed Natalie?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Wrong, but Horton contrived to look baffled. ‘But how could you have had time, when your wife told me that you raced after Luke Felton and didn’t return for hours?’

  A flash of irritation crossed Gavin’s broad features. After a moment he said, ‘I opened the door to Luke. He told me his name and I asked my father if he wanted to see him. I remembered the name from Dad’s cases. He said to let Luke Felton in and that he’d come to see him about Natalie Raymonds’ murder, and that’s when he told me about Sean Lovell killing her and how he had to protect a fellow police officer.’

  Horton gave an exaggerated frown, deciding to play dumb. ‘But if Sean Lovell killed Natalie, why did you go after Luke?’

  ‘To protect my father,’ snapped Chawley, pausing from planing the wood, and glaring at Horton as though he was an idiot. ‘He had covered up the fact that Sean killed her and I didn’t want it coming out and destroying his reputation. I wanted to find out what Luke remembered.’

  ‘And that’s why you killed him,’ Horton said sympathetically. He saw Gavin start but he quickly recovered himself.

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  Horton threw him a pitying look. ‘We both know that’s not true, Gavin. Did you overhear Luke telling your father on that Saturday afternoon that he’d begun to remember certain things about Natalie’s murder and that he believed he was innocent?’

  Chawley said nothing.

  Horton continued. ‘Luke had been having hypnotherapy sessions while in prison, which were recorded. Is that why you broke into the hypnotherapist’s office on the Isle of Wight last Sunday? You stole the tapes to wipe out all traces of what Luke had remembered, just as you’ve wiped out all trace of Luke?’

  Chawley returned to shaving the wood, frowning a little as he did so.

  Horton went on. ‘The DNA on some of the hairs taken from the therapist’s office will match yours.’ The eyes that flicked up to Horton’s were more wary now.

  ‘You gave Luke a lift back to Portsmouth on that Saturday and told him you’d help him get to the truth. Did Rookley see you pull up outside Crown House and overhear Luke saying goodbye to you?’

  Still Chawley said nothing.

  ‘Did you tell Luke to meet you on Tuesday at Portchester Castle where it all began in 1997?’

  The hands hesitated for a moment before resuming their careful motion on the wood.

  ‘How did you kill Luke, Gavin? The same way you killed Ronnie Rookley?’ Horton kept his gaze steadily on Chawley. Would he continue to say nothing? Would he deny it? Or would a desperate desire for approval or his ego make him confess?

  Chawley stopped planing and ran a critical eye over the wood while he said casually, ‘Rookley thought he could blackmail me.’

  Horton’s heart jumped a beat. ‘And that’s why you met him in the cemetery at the committal of a lady called Margery Blanchester, who has left this organization a generous legacy. How did Rookley know how to get in contact with you?’

  Chawley scowled. ‘I gave Luke my mobile number. He didn’t have a mobile phone but he scribbled the number down on a piece of paper. Rookley must have got it off him, or found the paper. And I told Luke that I could use someone like him at the sailing trust.’

  And, Horton thought, when he and Cantelli had questioned Rookley in the cafe over Luke’s disappearance, the little crook had seen his chance to make some money.

  Picking up the piece of wood, Chawley turned to face Horton. ‘Rookley telephoned me Friday morning. I was on my way to the funeral. I said I’d meet him in the cemetery. He said that unless I gave him money he’d tell you about my meeting with Luke. I told him to meet me at the lock but half an hour before you were due to see him, only he wasn’t getting any money. I knocked him out while he was leaning into the boot of my car to count it, or so he thought. I pushed him inside and slammed it shut.’

  ‘And then you hit me.’

  Chawley nodded. ‘You’d think it was Rookley or one of his accomplices. And it would stop you following me if you were sharp enough to see me drive off.’

  So the sound of the motorbike pulling away had nothing to do with Rookley or Luke’s death. But Horton already knew who that was: their Georgian. And where was he now, Horton fleetingly wondered. But then he reasoned, even if the Georgian had managed to follow him here and was listening, he’d hear this had nothing to do with Venetia’s death, so there was no reason for him to intervene.

  ‘What did you do with Luke’s body, Gavin?’

  ‘It’s in the Solent, along with Rookley’s,’ Chawley said matter-of-factly.

  ‘You took both of them out on a boat on separate occasions?’

  ‘Yes. No one will miss them. One was a useless junkie, the other a violent thief. I couldn’t allow them to ruin my father’s reputation, and mine. My work is important here. Lots of people depend on me.’

  And they’re going to have to manage without you soon, thought Horton, and for a very long time. Angrily, he thought of Luke and his parents, destroyed by the Chawleys. He wanted one of them in court and convicted for it at least. He guessed that Gavin Chawley would deny wha
t he’d said later when Horton got him to the station, and he hadn’t charged and cautioned him, but Horton was confident they’d be able to assemble enough evidence to make him think again. The gravedigger might even be able to identify Chawley talking to Rookley. There would be DNA in Lena Lockhart’s office and they might be able to prove Gavin had travelled across to the island by one of the ferries — unless he’d travelled by boat, but he didn’t own a boat, according to his wife. Was that a lie?

  Horton rapidly considered this, recalling that she said he’d been sailing with friends. Had he taken time away from them to slip up to Lena’s office and steal the tapes? They would check. But if he didn’t own a boat then how could he have disposed of Luke’s body, and Rookley’s, in the Solent, at night? The dinghies and the small safety rib kept here weren’t up to such a task, but one boat was, and it certainly wasn’t this wreck of an old paddle steamer.

  Gavin’s fingers caressed the wood. ‘Luke would have been no use to society, and Rookley certainly wasn’t. I couldn’t allow a man like that to blackmail me or my father. He served the community all his life. He made one small mistake.’

  ‘I don’t call what your father did small, and I don’t mean covering up for Sean Lovell.’

  Gavin Chawley’s eyes narrowed.

  Steadily, Horton continued. ‘Sean Lovell didn’t have an affair with Natalie and neither did your father. It was you, Gavin. You killed Natalie. Your father knew it. He covered up for you then and he’s kept silent about it ever since. What did Natalie do to make you kill her, Gavin? Did she reject you? Laugh at you? Belittle you?’

  Chawley’s fingers tightened on the wood. Horton waited with bated breath, listening to the creaking and groaning of the old paddle steamer and praying Cantelli wouldn’t burst in on him now and spoil this confession.

  After a moment Chawley said, ‘She told me the affair was over. She said she was bored, that I wasn’t important enough. I was only a sales clerk then, working for Julia’s father. He had a boat building company here. Well, I showed her. I knew Luke from the Castle Sailing Club. He should have been thrown out after that attack on a pensioner but the club secretary was too weak to do it.’