Footsteps on the Shore

by Pauline Rowson

  Cantelli nodded. ‘I’ll also get someone to ask in the pub near the locks for any sightings of him or your assailant.’

  Now was the time to tell Cantelli about that note left on his yacht, but Horton didn’t. Instead, recalling that Barney’s wife had worked with Luke Felton’s mother, Sonia, he said, ‘Does Charlotte remember anything about Luke Felton?’

  ‘I haven’t asked her. Do you want me to?’

  ‘Might be helpful. I’d like to know more about him and his background, other than what’s on his file.’

  ‘It might not be necessary if Dr Clayton confirms it’s Luke’s body she has in the mortuary. Maybe Rookley sold Luke drugs. Luke took them, staggered into the sea and drowned, and that’s why Rookley’s scarpered. He’s scared of being accused of manslaughter.’

  It was possible. Hopefully later this morning they’d have more information on their body, though Horton wondered if the autopsy would be delayed because the one on Venetia Trotman would take priority.

  He rubbed at a cut on the side of his face and squinted with tired eyes through the windscreen at a bright blue sky that at last had a hint of spring about it. If he discounted the graffiti artist as his assailant, along with Rookley and Luke Felton, then who else knew about his rendezvous with Rookley at the locks? There was the café proprietor, Jack Belton; he could easily have overheard their conversation. Or perhaps someone had been hiding at the back of the café. Then again Rookley could have confided in someone when he’d returned briefly to Crown House after their meeting in the café. Or perhaps Rookley had met and told this person in the cemetery. And that meant the gravediggers might have seen him. Horton reached for his mobile phone, quickly explaining his thoughts to Cantelli while punching in Walters’ number and waiting for him to answer.

  ‘What kept you?’

  ‘I was on the phone to the council parks department to find out if Rookley had any relatives buried in the cemetery like you asked, only there’s no one there until Monday.’

  Which meant the gravediggers wouldn’t be working until then. Horton cursed. Then he recalled the funeral procession. Perhaps one of the mourners had seen Rookley with someone. But if the parks department was closed until Monday they wouldn’t be able to discover who was being buried without asking all the undertakers in the area, and Horton simply didn’t have the resources for that. He told Walters to get hold of any CCTV tapes in the area of the cemetery; they might get the chance to view them later to see which direction Rookley had gone after leaving the graveyard, and if he had left with anyone.

  As he rang off Cantelli pulled up outside Ashley Felton’s waterfront apartment and a few minutes later a man in his early forties, wearing striped pyjama bottoms and a navy sweatshirt, and looking as though he was suffering from the mother of all hangovers, showed them into an apartment with wide windows overlooking the harbour. He punched the remote control and silenced the huge plasma television that took up the opposite wall. Horton thought, with such a spectacular view across the busy harbour who’d want to watch TV?

  ‘Neil told me Luke’s missing,’ Ashley Felton said with a worried frown. ‘It said on the news a body was found yesterday in the harbour.’ He gestured at the television, which was showing a local news programme. ‘Is it . . .? Are you here to tell me it’s Luke?’

  Horton could see that he was genuinely concerned, which was more than his sister and brother-in-law had been.

  ‘We don’t have an ID yet, sir,’ he said gently.

  ‘Then you want me to identify him.’ Ashley Felton’s pallid face bleached. He ran a trembling hand over his unshaven chin.

  ‘No. It’s been in the water too long for that.’

  ‘God!’ He let out a breath and sank on to the sofa, reaching for a packet of cigarettes from the glass-topped table. Horton wished he wouldn’t light up; the room already stank of cigarettes and the remains of a cooked breakfast, which littered the dining table in front of the window.

  Felton offered the packet across. They both refused. He’d given no indication he’d noticed Horton’s battered face, but then the man had a great deal on his mind. Horton quickly studied him. He had the same square-jawed features as his brother, only Ashley’s face was more heavily lined, and his blue eyes bloodshot.

  Unzipping his sailing jacket, Horton signalled to Cantelli to start the questioning. With his pencil poised over his notebook, Cantelli said, ‘When did you last see Luke, sir?’

  Felton lit up with shaking hands and inhaled deeply. Letting the smoke trickle from his nose he said, ‘Luke’s a bloody fool. You know he had a good job and the chance to make something of himself at last. But then that’s Luke for you, determined to screw up his life and anyone else’s. I tried to help him, but once he was convicted of that girl’s murder I knew that I couldn’t do anything more for him. His conviction killed my parents. They blamed themselves though they shouldn’t have done, but then you do when you have kids, don’t you? Even though you know that sometimes there’s nothing on earth you can do to prevent them making terrible mistakes. Have you got children?’

  ‘Four girls and one boy,’ answered Cantelli.

  Ashley Felton looked shocked before he said with feeling, ‘Then you’ll know exactly what I mean. I’ve only got one. She’s twelve going on eighteen. I see her once a month. I’m divorced.’ His eyes swivelled to Horton, who was fully aware that Felton hadn’t answered Cantelli’s question. So too was Felton.

  He drew heavily on his cigarette and said, ‘Olivia’s furious and upset that Luke’s been let out, and I don’t expect Natalie Raymonds’ family are ecstatic about it.’

  Horton said, ‘Your brother-in-law didn’t seem too pleased either, Mr Felton.’

  ‘Neil is very protective of Olivia. He saw how much Luke’s crime affected her. Did you know Luke was arrested for the murder the week before Olivia’s wedding? No, well you can imagine what that did to her and my parents.’

  Horton thought it certainly explained Olivia’s attitude and Danbury’s hostility.

  Sniffing noisily, Ashley Felton added, ‘We’re all worried about the media picking up on it. None of us want it raked up again.’

  Horton said, ‘We’re not about to broadcast it, Mr Felton, but we can’t stop other people talking to the press.’

  ‘No.’ Ashley shifted restlessly in his seat. ‘I’m not so worried for myself, I work in London. But Olivia and Neil are well known and respected in the local community, and you know how some people like to stir it up and revel in others’ misfortune.’

  Horton did. When mud was thrown, it stuck no matter how hard you tried to clean it off with denials and even proof; sometimes it simply wasn’t enough. It certainly hadn’t been for Catherine. His eyes flicked up to the television screen where he saw the stout figure of Uckfield talking solemnly to several reporters outside the police station, obviously briefing them about the murder. Horton wondered if he had fresh evidence.

  Cantelli said, ‘What do you do for a living, sir?’

  ‘I run a recruitment company in London.’

  And clearly one that hadn’t found Luke a job. Out of curiosity Horton asked, ‘What does Mr Danbury do?’

  ‘He’s an accountant. He took over my father’s practice when he died in 2001.’ Felton stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Sorry, you wanted to know when I last saw Luke. It was the Friday before last, March the sixth. I’d only just arrived home from London when Luke showed up here.’

  ‘What time was this?’ asked Cantelli.

  ‘About eight thirty. I was later than usual because there’d been an accident on the A3.’

  ‘How did Luke know where to find you?’ asked Horton, recalling what Walters had said about Luke Felton not having any prison visitors. He didn’t know how long Ashley Felton had lived here but knew that in 1997 this building had belonged to the ferry company. It had only recently been converted into private flats. Perhaps Ashley Felton had written to his brother.

  Ashley looked surprised and a little uncomfort
able at the question. Sniffing and reaching again for his cigarettes, he said, ‘My ex-wife could have told him, I suppose. She lives not far from here. I bought this apartment so that I could be close to my daughter.’

  Lucky you, thought Horton.

  ‘Or I guess Luke could have found my details through the directory of company directors. I know Olivia didn’t tell him. Luke told me about his job, but said he wasn’t getting paid until the end of the month and he needed some money until then. He wanted to move out of the place he was living and get a room for himself nearer to work.’

  ‘Did you believe him?’ asked Horton.

  Felton studied the writing on the packet of cigarettes for a moment. When his eyes came up Horton could see the guilt. ‘No. Luke had lied too many times in the past for me to trust him. I told him to ask Kempton’s to sub him some money until the end of the month. He said they wouldn’t give him enough.’

  For what? wondered Horton. Not just a room, he was betting.

  ‘How did he react when you refused him?’

  ‘He went very quiet and left.’

  ‘Was that normal behaviour?’

  ‘No.’ Ashley Felton looked uneasy. ‘Luke used to fly off the handle at the slightest thing, especially if he didn’t get his own way. I was surprised when he didn’t scream and shout at me. After he left I began to wonder if he really had changed in prison and if he was telling the truth about needing the money for a room. Now he’s missing I don’t know what to think. I feel guilty and responsible, especially if it turns out he’s that body in the harbour.’ He shook another cigarette from the packet his trembling hands had been fidgeting with. ‘And what’s worse, a part of me hopes it isn’t Luke while there’s another part that hopes it is. My God, isn’t that awful?’ He ran a hand over his face and jumped up. ‘To think he might have gone away depressed because I didn’t trust him. He told me he had reformed and I just scoffed at him. I thought he wanted money for drugs.’

  Horton needed to check if Kelly Masters had arranged an advance on Luke’s wages. He said, ‘His probation officer says Luke was clean.’

  Ashley looked distraught. ‘That makes me feel worse.’ He lit his cigarette and crossed to the window. Cantelli raised his eyebrows at Horton, who after a moment said, ‘Where did Luke go to school?’

  Ashley spun round, clearly baffled by the question. ‘St Martin’s in Southsea. Why?’

  ‘Did he have any special friends, someone he might have gone to for help or money?’

  ‘I see. I don’t know. Not that I remember. Luke was very clever. Or I should say is. I shouldn’t talk of him in the past but to me that Luke doesn’t exist. He was accepted for Oxford, you know, reading History. He did a year before he dropped out. By then he was taking drugs. My parents were devastated. Luke didn’t seem to care. It was downhill after that.’

  Cantelli said nothing about Charlotte having worked with Ashley’s mother.

  Horton thought he’d sneak in a question or two about Natalie Raymonds. ‘Did Luke ever mention Natalie Raymonds to you?’

  He sensed Cantelli’s surprise.

  Ashley said, ‘No. I’m sure he didn’t know her.’

  ‘Did you or your sister know Natalie, or her husband, Julian Raymonds?’

  But Ashley was shaking his head.

  That seemed to be that. Horton rose and Cantelli followed suit. Putting his notebook away, Cantelli said, ‘If you hear from Luke again, please let us know. Perhaps we could have your telephone number, so we can contact you the moment we have any news.’

  Ashley reached for his suit jacket, which was draped over the back of one of the dining chairs, and fishing out a business card he handed it to Cantelli. Eyeing Horton nervously he said, ‘This woman who’s been found dead at Portchester . . .’ His eyes flicked to the television screen but Uckfield was no longer on it. ‘Could it . . . no, forget it.’

  Horton knew exactly what he was thinking: the same as he and Neil Danbury had thought. He asked, ‘Did Luke ever mention a Venetia Trotman?’

  ‘Is that her name? No.’ He showed them to the door. ‘You’ll let me know the moment you identify the body found in the harbour.’

  Horton promised they would. Outside Cantelli said, ‘Why the question about Natalie Raymonds?’

  ‘Just curious.’

  Cantelli rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘I hate it when you say that.’

  ‘I just want to know what Luke Felton was doing on that coastal path in 1997.’

  ‘If and when we find him we’ll ask him.’

  ‘And I guess he still won’t remember.’

  ‘Then you’ll probably have to learn to live with this huge gap in your knowledge.’ Cantelli unlocked the car.

  Horton smiled. ‘It won’t be the only one.’

  ‘Ashley Felton seems to be in a bit of a state. If you ask me I’d say he’s on the verge of a mental breakdown.’

  Yes, and caused by what? Guilt over his rejection of his brother? Business worries? Or perhaps he had health or marital problems? Horton knew all about the latter. With a glance at his watch he thought it was time enough for Dr Clayton to have something on their body from the harbour. He told Cantelli to head for the mortuary.

  NINE

  ‘What happened to you?’ Dr Clayton asked, echoing Walters’ words earlier that morning.

  ‘I fell in a lock.’

  ‘Fell?’ she cried incredulously, ‘From your boat! I don’t believe it.’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘And one I haven’t got time to hear at the moment because you, or rather I should say the criminal classes, seem to be keeping me rather busy – that is, if your body in the harbour was killed, and I don’t know that yet. But this poor lady certainly was. You can tell me about your adventure over a drink one day.’

  Horton thought that was something worth looking forward to; not so the body on the mortuary slab in front of him. As his eyes fell on Venetia Trotman he tried not to think of her alive on Thursday evening, but he didn’t succeed. His anger was just as raw as on first seeing her lying battered on the grass. Brian, the mortuary attendant, hadn’t undressed her and neither had she been cleaned. ‘Do you have an estimated time of the death?’ he asked.

  ‘For her or your unknown man?’ asked Gaye.

  ‘Both, but start with Venetia Trotman.’

  ‘I didn’t think you were on her case. You weren’t at the scene last night.’

  ‘I’m not, but go on.’

  Shrugging, she said, ‘Last night I put her death some time between one and four on Friday morning.’

  Cantelli said, ‘A strange time to be in her garden, and fully clothed.’

  ‘Agreed, unless she was suffering from some kind of mental illness. She could have been confused and wandered out there.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Horton said firmly, causing Gaye to raise her eyebrows.

  ‘Why so sure?’

  ‘I met her.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Obviously Uckfield hadn’t told Dr Clayton that, but then there was no need for him to have done so. Dr Clayton’s estimated time of death coincided with the high tide. Given that, and the fact that the victim’s sailing jacket was missing, along with the yacht, it seemed highly probable that she had been on board. Had she been intending to sail it? Had she stowed some of her clothes on the boat ready for travelling – the clothes that were missing from the house?

  He said, ‘What about cause of death?’

  ‘I’ll reserve judgement on that until I’ve conducted the autopsy. Now, your unknown man,’ Gaye said briskly, moving off.

  Horton gave Venetia Trotman’s corpse a final glance before following Gaye’s petite green-gowned figure across the mortuary to a room just beyond it where she slid open the drawer. He stared down at the blackened, sea-life chewed corpse, trying not to breathe for fear of what the smell would do to the breakfast he’d eaten earlier. It hadn’t been a pretty sight first time around and it certainly hadn’t improved with age. Ev
en Cantelli stopped chewing his gum.

  Gaye said, ‘The questions are, was the victim alive or dead when he entered the water, and is the cause of death drowning? Well, I found no evidence of water and sea debris in the stomach and only a small amount of the microscopic algae called diatoms in his throat, which indicates he was already dead when he entered the water. As we don’t yet know who the victim is we have no evidence of the circumstances arising before his death, therefore no idea what he was doing in, on or near the water. However, because he was wearing clothes and he was dead when entering the water, you can rule out homicide by drowning, and suicide.’

  Horton knew that suicides usually piled their clothes up and left them on the shore. He’d already mentally discounted that anyway. And Cantelli’s theory that a drugged Luke Felton could have walked into the sea and drowned was now also out.

  Gaye Clayton was saying, ‘There are no bullets embedded in what is left of the body or any bullet entry or exit wounds, but there are signs of a considerable trauma to his skull.’

  Cantelli said, ‘He was bludgeoned to death.’

  ‘Not necessarily. The trauma could have come from his body being dashed against an object under or on the water.’

  ‘But something must have killed him if he was dead when he hit the water.’

  ‘Quite. There are a wide range of injuries on his body, consistent with floating in the water, but one more prominent than the others – where, as I thought earlier, he could have become lodged up against something, hence the rapid putrefaction. Have you seen enough?’

  ‘Plenty.’

  She slid the drawer shut. Cantelli let out a slow breath and resumed chewing.

  Gaye said, ‘There was also severe coronary artery atherosclerosis, so it’s possible he could have suffered a fatal cardiac arrest with a collapse dead into the water.’