Horton then called Sergeant Warren. The one unit he had been able to spare to search the cemetery reported no sign of Rookley. ‘It’s a big place, Inspector. How long do you expect me to keep them there?’ Horton could hear the complaint in Warren’s dour Scottish tones.
‘You can call it off,’ Horton said briefly and rang off before having to suffer Warren’s phoney gratitude. Seeing that Cantelli was still deep in conversation with Mr Hackett, huddled under the protection of the hut doorway, Horton punched in a number on his mobile phone and a few minutes later had arranged for a survey on the boat he had viewed late yesterday afternoon and was hoping to buy. He then called the owner, Mrs Trotman, to tell her, but there was no reply and no answer machine. He’d try later.
Reaching into his pocket, he unfurled the paper containing the symbol scratched on his Harley and studied it closely, but it still looked like a series of random squiggles. It had been carved almost certainly by a penknife, which would have taken some time to execute. Was it the act of a mindless moron who got his kicks from vandalizing other people’s property – a drunken yob, maybe, staggering home? But there were no pubs or clubs en route to or from the marina, except the restaurant at the marina itself, and Horton could hardly see its upmarket clientele doing something so destructive and malicious. Still, it might be worth asking the owner about his customers last night. Though when he’d be able to do so was another matter entirely. And the marina CCTV hadn’t picked up anything. He doubted the CCTV cameras on the seafront would either, even if he did have the time to view them, which seemed increasingly unlikely as the day was unfolding. And that brought him back to the body.
If it wasn’t Luke Felton, then who was it and how had he died? Were they looking at a suspicious death, suicide or an accident? Was there a family somewhere who would need to be given the bad news?
Cantelli climbed in the car. ‘Hackett didn’t have anything to add to what we already know from Seaton, and Walters says no one’s reported a missing person in the last seventy-five hours, or in fact over the last four days. He also says that neither Luke Felton nor anyone fitting his description has been taken to the local hospitals. I’ve got the addresses of Luke’s brother, Ashley Felton, and his sister, Olivia Danbury. Do you want to call on them now? Ashley Felton lives not far away in Old Portsmouth, the sister on the slopes of Portsdown Hill.’
That was to the north of the city, where Kempton Marine was based: Luke Felton’s employer, and Catherine’s. Would she be there now, Horton wondered with a quickening heartbeat? Would he get the chance to talk to her? Perhaps even persuade her to let him see Emma, this weekend or next?
‘Let’s check what time Luke Felton left work first,’ he said, stretching the seatbelt across him. ‘Someone at Kempton’s might be able to tell us more about Felton’s movements.’ He caught Cantelli’s wary glance. ‘It’s OK,’ he added. ‘I promise to be on my best behaviour.’
Clearly Cantelli didn’t believe that, and as they headed out of the city towards Kempton Marine, Horton wondered if it was a promise he’d be able to keep himself.
FOUR
Neither Catherine’s car nor that of her fat lover, Edward Shawford, were in the car park. Horton wasn’t sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved. His father-in-law’s Mercedes was in its customary managing director’s space, but Horton decided not to announce himself to Toby Kempton; he didn’t think he’d be greeted as the all-conquering hero, more like someone who had escaped from a leper colony.
It had been a year since he’d been inside the building and then it had been under very different circumstances. He’d stormed in here angry and hurt that Catherine had thrown him out after she’d chosen to believe an accusation of rape by a girl he’d been detailed to get close to while working undercover on a special investigation. He’d started drinking heavily and in April, Catherine had refused to let him see his daughter. In July the case against him had been dropped, and slowly, with Cantelli’s help, he’d started to put his life back together again. In August, when he’d returned to work after his suspension, he’d cleared his name, but by then the damage had been done both to his promotion chances and his marriage. His life, and Catherine’s, had been changed, but here nothing had, except the receptionist – Cantelli threw him a concerned glance, sensing his tension, as he asked for the personnel officer, Kelly Masters.
Four minutes later they stepped into her small, modern office and Horton was once again facing the large dark-haired woman in her late twenties who he’d tried many times to avoid kissing at the office Christmas parties.
‘Andy, how lovely to see you,’ she said with a smile, leaning forward to embrace him.
‘We’re here about Luke Felton,’ he said abruptly, stalling her. He didn’t want her false sympathy, which he knew of old would be tinged with a kind of malicious glee at another person’s misfortune. And neither did he wish to encourage her sexual advances. On the way here he’d warned Cantelli about Kelly Masters’ reputation as a man-eater. Not that he had any concerns about Cantelli falling into her clutches. He was strictly a one-woman man, and who wouldn’t be, thought Horton, considering Charlotte Cantelli.
Kelly’s dark brown eyes flickered with anger at the rebuff and her mouth tightened, but she forced a smile from her lips and managed a concerned frown before switching her charms on Cantelli, who gave her his bewildered idiot look.
Getting the message, with an irritable scowl she waved them into seats across a low table, letting her short skirt ride up her pale tree-trunk legs. Horton wondered what Luke Felton had made of her, or rather what Kelly had made of him. Luke wouldn’t have been much of a challenge though. Deprived of sex for ten years, he would have shagged any female in sight, though Horton didn’t know the latter was Felton’s sexual preference. But he did know Kelly Masters, and as long as it was male and breathing it could have been any colour of the rainbow, size, shape or age, married or not. She didn’t discriminate.
Curtly, he said, ‘What kind of work did Luke Felton do here?’
‘Why do you want to know that?’ she snapped, abandoning the charm offensive. ‘It’s got nothing to do with him disappearing.’
Horton eyed her steadily and said nothing.
She flushed under the harshness of his gaze and said tautly, ‘He just came to work and then went home.’
‘Doing what?’ asked Cantelli in a friendlier tone.
She switched her gaze to the sergeant, and relaxed slightly. ‘Designing our new web site and providing computer support for the factory. We should have had someone years ago, but you know how it is with budgets and getting the right person.’
‘So Luke Felton came cheap,’ Horton taunted, knowing he should ease off but not seeming able to, or caring. Being so close to Catherine and the fact that he might see her was making him edgy. That, and thoughts of what Kelly and others here must know about his marital break-up, and what Catherine might have said about him, were eating away at him like rats at rotting flesh.
Her dark eyes flashed daggers at him. ‘Luke is engaged on a project basis. I offered him a fee for three months’ work, payable at the end of each month, and with an option to renew, or the offer of a permanent job, depending how he got on.’
‘And how did he get on?’ asked Cantelli lightly, yet Horton could hear his colleague silently urging him to back down.
‘Very well. I can’t understand why he hasn’t shown up for work.’
‘I can. Drugs.’
She switched her hostile gaze to Horton. ‘I don’t believe that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because he said he was clean. Oh, you can scoff, but I believe him. He works hard and keeps himself to himself, which is more than I can say for some of the staff, including the sales and marketing team.’
That was nasty, but then he had provoked it.
Hastily, Cantelli jumped in. ‘How do the staff feel about him working here?’
‘They don’t know his background. He isn’t going to broadcas
t it and neither am I.’
Horton reckoned she underestimated the jungle grapevine. Everybody probably knew.
Cantelli continued. ‘How did he get the job? Did you advertise it?’
Horton thought she looked uneasy as she answered. ‘Yes, but the applicants weren’t suitable. They were either too highly qualified or not qualified enough. Then I happened to mention it to Matt and he said—’
‘Matt Boynton? You know him?’ Horton sharply interrupted.
‘Is that any of your business?’ she said coolly.
‘It is when a man convicted for murder is missing.’
She eyed him malevolently. ‘If you really must know, Matt and I were at university together.’ Then, directing her remarks to Cantelli, she continued. ‘I saw Matt when I was out one night and we happened to get talking about work. Matt said he knew someone who would be ideal for the project. I was interviewing at the time and I said send him along, not really thinking he’d be any good. But he was perfect.’
‘Weren’t you worried about employing someone with a violent record?’
‘Matt assured me that Luke was reformed and Luke didn’t seem capable of violence, let alone committing murder.’
‘But he did, and he went to prison for it,’ Cantelli said.
‘But he’s served his time and learnt his lesson.’
Horton wasn’t convinced of the latter and Felton certainly hadn’t served his full term. He wondered if Catherine’s father was aware of Felton’s record. He asked her.
‘Toby leaves me to engage the right people. It’s my job,’ she replied haughtily.
Which meant no. Horton said, ‘You’d better tell him before someone else does.’
She opened her mouth to reply but Cantelli got there first. ‘When was the last time you saw him, Miss Masters?’
‘Tuesday evening. He left here just after six.’
Horton studied her carefully. She could be lying. Perhaps Luke Felton had spent the evening with her, or the night, and now she was too concerned to admit it.
Cantelli again. ‘Did he contact you after that, to tell you he wasn’t coming into work perhaps?’
‘I didn’t even know he hadn’t been in until this morning. I was at a conference in London on Wednesday and Thursday. When I discovered this morning that he hadn’t been into work and hadn’t reported sick I called the number he gave me. The man I spoke to, a Mr Harmsworth, said he didn’t know where Luke was, so I called Matt. Perhaps he’s had an accident.’
Walters had already ruled that out, locally at least. Horton said, ‘Did Luke talk to you about his time in prison?’
‘No.’
That was clearly a lie. Her eyes darted away from him. Horton reckoned she’d had a nice little post-coital chat with Luke about that, and probably a lot more.
Cantelli said, ‘Did he speak of his friends or family?’
‘No,’ she answered with a note of exasperation. ‘He worked.’ She was beginning to look frazzled.
‘Was there any member of staff he talked to or seemed close to?’
‘I’ve already said. He worked alone.’
That didn’t stop him communicating with someone, thought Horton. With a glance at Cantelli, he said, ‘We need to talk to the staff.’ Cantelli put away his notebook.
‘Is that really necessary?’ she said in alarm. ‘They won’t be able to help you.’
Horton knew the reason for her trepidation. She’d come in for some criticism over her decision to engage an ex-convict. Well, that was her lookout.
Cantelli slipped out of the office, aiming a silent plea at Horton, urging him to go easy. Kelly Masters watched him go with fear and a fidget.
‘Did Luke speak to any customers on the telephone?’ Horton asked.
‘He had no need to.’
‘But you weren’t with him in his office. So you don’t know that for sure.’
‘I do because there’s no telephone at his work station,’ she cried triumphantly.
‘What about email? I take it he would have had access to that and the Internet.’
She squirmed. ‘Well, yes.’
Horton rose. ‘Show me where Luke worked.’
With ill grace she hauled herself up and led him through the corridor to a small office on the right. There was no one in it, but beyond the glass partitioning Horton could see Cantelli talking to a group of people in a large open-plan office. Catherine wasn’t among them, but then she had her own office on the other side of the reception area. And was she in there now? he wondered. Had she returned?
With a churning gut, he pushed thoughts of her away and turned his attention to the desk in front of him. On it was a computer monitor and little else. He opened the desk drawers – only some paper and pens.
‘Did Luke have a laptop or mobile phone?’
‘Not that I know of,’ she said sulkily.
‘No one is to touch this computer. I’ll send someone to collect it. I’ll also need access to any passwords.’ They needed to check which sites Felton had visited and who he’d communicated with. He didn’t think that was Ronnie Rookley. He doubted Rookley even knew how to switch on a computer. But Felton could have been involved in something that had led to his body being washed up in the harbour – if it was him.
She was looking worried, as well she might. Toby Kempton wasn’t going to be very pleased if his company name appeared in the press along with that of a convicted criminal. Catherine, as marketing manager, would have the media on her back, and bloody good luck to her, he thought, not without a touch of malicious satisfaction. He knew that Bliss’s instructions to contain this story were about as likely to be fulfilled as a politician hiding an affair, because although Kelly Masters, Toby Kempton and Catherine wouldn’t blab, he wouldn’t put it past one of the employees Cantelli was talking to wanting to get his or her name in the newspapers.
By the time Horton returned to reception Cantelli was talking to the receptionist, a woman in her forties with straight dark hair in a short bob and a worried frown on her studious face. Cantelli broke off his conversation and headed towards Horton.
‘Andrea confirms that Luke Felton left here just after six o’clock on Tuesday night. She was just leaving herself and seems to have been the last person to have seen him.’
And that put it within the scope of Dr Price’s most recent estimate of the time of death for the body in the harbour, though Horton would wait for Gaye Clayton’s more precise prognosis before jumping to any conclusions. And before saying anything to Kelly Masters about it.
‘Luke was on foot,’ Cantelli was saying. ‘Andrea assumed he caught the bus. No one admits to knowing anything about Felton. They say they hardly spoke to him, he stayed in his room, eyes glued to his computer, fingers fixed on the keyboard. A typical geek who was a bit stuck up, talked posh and looked down his nose at everyone is the general view. No one mentioned him being released from prison, or the murder, so I said nothing about it, but I don’t think it’ll be long before word gets around.’
‘We’ll need to—’ but Horton didn’t get any further as the door to the right of reception burst open and a tall, silver-haired man in his late fifties charged out with an expression like a constipated bulldog.
‘What the devil is going on, Horton? What right do you have barging in here questioning my staff without my permission?’
Horton held the hot angry glare of Toby Kempton, noting that he was no longer good old Andy. An employee had obviously already run hot-foot to the boss.
‘I have every right, Toby,’ Horton stressed, feeling a small stab of victory as his father-in-law’s complexion darkened. ‘A potentially dangerous man, convicted of a brutal murder while under the influence of heroin, and out on conditional licence, has gone missing. And not only did you employ him but this was also the last place he was seen.’
‘Rubbish. This has nothing to do with me or my business.’
‘He worked here, Toby. He had access to the Internet where he could have
made contact with someone who could have supplied him with drugs. He could have assaulted or killed someone—’
‘Could have is not good enough. I could have won the bloody lottery. I will not have you storming in here accusing my staff of harbouring a criminal, upsetting and unsettling them. When you have evidence then you can return. And only if I give my permission.’
Horton stepped forward. He could feel his temper rising; with an effort he tried to draw on the years of control he’d learnt in the children’s homes to contain it. Briskly he said, ‘No one has accused your staff of anything. Luke Felton worked here. Luke Felton is missing. We need to find him, and if you, or anyone else, prevents us from doing our job then you will be charged with hindering us in our enquiries.’ Kempton looked as though he was about to burst a blood vessel but Horton didn’t give a toss about that. ‘Someone will collect the computer Luke was working on and I suggest you cooperate.’
‘You can suggest all you damn well like, but unless you have a warrant you are not taking a thing out of this factory.’
‘Then we’ll get a warrant. But if you believe you can switch computers and give us one that Felton wasn’t working on, I have a note of the serial number. And if you think you can wipe it clean then let me tell you, our computer unit can trace everything Felton has looked at and everyone he has communicated with since he started here.’
‘Get out.’ Kempton stormed to the entrance and wrenched open the door, just as Catherine was walking towards it. Horton noted her surprise while quickly taking in her smart trousers and jacket. Her blonde hair was longer than when he’d last seen her just after Christmas, and she was looking good – slim and younger than her thirty-five years. He rapidly examined his feelings and found only bitterness.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked, hurrying towards them looking worried. ‘Is Emma all right?’
‘You should know,’ Horton couldn’t help quipping, ‘she’s in your charge.’
Footsteps on the Shore Page 4