Footsteps on the Shore

by Pauline Rowson

  All this was useful background, but it didn’t help him find Luke Felton. ‘So Luke cracked up.’

  ‘Yes. Once at Oxford the pressure really hit him. He never saw himself as clever and he found it difficult to fit in and to have relationships. He was the lump, the odd one out, the awkward one. And the more he was told that the more he became it, withdrawn, quiet, introverted.’

  Her words stabbed a painful memory in Horton of a particularly nasty piece of work he’d met when he’d been in the children’s home. A thin crow of a woman had delighted in telling him that his mother had walked out on him because he was useless, rebellious, no good, and a lot worse. It had taken months of patient confidence-building by his last foster parents to help him deal with the mental cruelty, but nothing could ever erase it. He gladly brought his mind back to Lena Lockhart as she continued.

  ‘Luke felt that nothing he did could ever please his parents, and with his inability to stay focused he drifted from one thing to another until he started taking drugs. I believe it was to get attention. Drugs were a cry for help. But it didn’t get him the help, or the understanding and sympathy he craved. Instead he got told how much more worthless he was than his brother and sister, so he slipped into deeper addiction and got into more trouble until the attack on that pensioner.’

  She leant forward, her expression keen. Horton could see her enthusiasm for what she did shining through. Or was that enthusiasm for one particular client, he wondered cynically.

  She said, ‘Luke was truly horrified at what he’d done and had a genuine desire to kick the habit and start afresh. And that’s why I knew hypnosis would work. A hypnotist can help the client to get a control over his life in many ways.’

  ‘But it didn’t work,’ said Horton bluntly. ‘Luke reoffended two years later, only this time a young woman lost her life at his hand.’

  She sat back with a sigh and pushed a hand through her long hair. ‘I know, but I’m convinced Luke didn’t kill her. And now he’s . . .’ She rose and crossed to the window.

  He should tell her. But how did he know that Luke Felton wasn’t dead?

  After a moment she turned back. Horton could see the sorrow etched on her face. He felt a bit of a heel, but if it helped him get closer to finding Luke then he’d cope with it.

  She continued. ‘When I met Luke for the second time here on the Isle of Wight he was distraught at what he’d done, even though he couldn’t remember a single thing about it. So we started again.’

  Horton heard the train clattering past. He studied her, wondering how close she had got to Luke Felton emotionally and physically since he’d been released from prison. As he witnessed the sadness in her eyes he thought it was time to tell her. But first one more question.

  ‘What was Luke’s temperament like? When he didn’t get his way, did he sulk or fly off the handle? Was he moody?’

  ‘He was moody but not violent. His moods were caused by his remorse and his hatred and dread of being locked up. He wasn’t aggressive but he was angry with himself. I feel so bad about failing him.’

  ‘I’m not sure that Luke is dead.’

  Her head came up. ‘But you said—’

  ‘He’s missing and could possibly be dead. I’m trying to find him.’

  ‘So that you can put him back in prison,’ she flashed.

  ‘He’s breached the terms of his licence.’

  ‘Yes, for a crime he didn’t commit.’

  But Horton needed convincing of that.

  ‘Tell me why you believe he’s innocent.’

  She looked as though she was about to clam up before she registered the manner and tone of his question. Taking a breath, and getting a grasp on her emotions, she said, ‘After a traumatic incident a subject under hypnosis may be able to recall with complete accuracy details that their subconscious mind has remembered but their conscious mind has overlooked or blotted out. I hoped that when fully aware again, Luke might be able to recall everything that he said while he was in the trance. But Luke’s trances were so deep that he had difficulty remembering what he’d said during them. So I recorded them—’

  ‘Have you still got the recordings?’ Horton interrupted eagerly.

  ‘Yes, but they’re confidential.’

  ‘Not if it will help me to understand him.’

  She eyed him sceptically. ‘But why do you need to understand him? Especially now he’s broken the terms of his licence.’

  She was testing him. Horton understood that. He said, ‘Because I’d like to know if he really did kill Natalie Raymonds.’

  ‘You’re doubtful. You think he might have been innocent,’ she cried, almost jubilant.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  She sprang up and began to pace the small lounge. ‘If I could prove that Luke didn’t kill Natalie . . .’

  ‘Why should you want to?’ Horton asked quietly.

  Her eyes flashed at him, then she sighed and added in a more subdued manner, ‘Because he deserves it. He was tormented by the fact that he had killed her. I don’t believe he did. And I’ll tell you why, Inspector Horton, because when Luke was under a trance he never once mentioned seeing her, being with her, her name, where her body was found, nothing. He talked about darkness and water.’

  Horton eyed her sceptically. ‘Maybe because he killed her in the dark. And he was certainly by the water.’ But sunset wasn’t until 7 p.m. in September and Luke had been seen by Bailey at 4 p.m. Could he have killed Natalie in daylight and then sat there drugged until dark? Possibly.

  Lena said, ‘He also talked about a gate.’

  ‘There are plenty of gates in the countryside.’ And one Horton had seen near that copse where Natalie’s body had been found. It meant nothing. He needed more convincing than this.

  She drew herself up and said, ‘Luke wasn’t alone. When he came out of the trance he couldn’t recall anyone, but under hypnosis he kept saying, he, water, gate, dark. I can see that you don’t believe me but you will. The tapes are in my office in Ryde,’ she declared belligerently.

  ‘OK. Let’s get them.’ He rose.

  Eyeing his motorbike clothes, she added, ‘I’ll meet you there.’ She gave him the address.

  He reached her office before she did. It was a room over a luggage shop with a doorway to the right and situated halfway up the steep incline of Union Street. Standing outside he gazed at the view northwards. The Solent was a dark grey-green, flecked with white where the waves were being whipped up by the strong winds. Across the water he could see the tower blocks and high-rise office buildings of Portsmouth. The hovercraft was speeding towards Ryde, leaving a trail of foaming white in its backwash, and a car ferry was ploughing the waters heading for Portsmouth. A large container ship was following a continental ferry out of the harbour. While waiting for her to arrive, Horton pondered what Lena Lockhart had told him. Had there been someone with Luke Felton? Bailey hadn’t mentioned anyone but it could explain how Luke had got on to Hayling Island and off again, though not why Bailey hadn’t seen this other person. It could also explain the tie that Natalie had been strangled with. But if there had been another person at the scene why hadn’t SOCO found evidence of it? He supposed the delay in discovering Natalie’s body had hindered that, but it hadn’t stopped Felton’s DNA and fingerprints from being found. And even if someone had been with Felton that didn’t mean he hadn’t killed Natalie; this other person could have given him the tie. Even if he hadn’t killed Natalie himself, Luke was still an accessory to the murder.

  A car pulled in to the side of the road and Lena climbed out. The door to the street was open. ‘I take Sundays and Mondays off,’ she explained, leading him through a narrow hall and up the staircase where he saw three closed doors before they climbed a second flight of dusty stairs. ‘I share this building but there’s hardly anyone around. I think most of the rooms are vacant.’ Reaching the last door off a corridor, she made to insert her key then stepped back, puzzled. ‘That’s strange, it’s open.’
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  Horton stiffened. ‘Don’t touch anything,’ he cautioned quickly, stepping in front of her. He saw immediately that the door had been forced open. His heart skipped a beat.

  ‘Who—’

  ‘Quiet,’ he hissed.

  She snapped her mouth shut, looking alarmed. His heart was racing along with his mind as he considered the implications of this discovery, but there would be time to dwell on that later. There was no sound from within. Taking a breath he pushed towards the door, glimpsing Lena’s look of concern. Then, raising his foot, he violently kicked it open and charged in. Once inside he froze. His eyes quickly took in the devastation around him and the fact there was no one here.

  Turning, he called out, ‘It’s OK.’

  Lena came up behind him. Her eyes widened as she surveyed the scene.

  ‘Where do you keep the tapes?’ Horton asked. He watched her gaze travel the room before alighting on a cabinet to her right. It was open, its contents scattered around the floor.

  She said, ‘They’re in that box file.’ As she made towards it Horton stalled her.

  ‘Stay where you are. Don’t touch anything.’ Gingerly he stepped forward, stretching his fingers into latex gloves. Bending down he picked up the bright blue file, knowing full well what he would find. And he did. Absolutely nothing.

  SEVENTEEN

  He sent Lena across the road to a café, saying that he would join her as soon as he could. She made no protest, still shaken by the incident. Then he called the local police, hoping that his old adversary DCI Birch was on a day off and wouldn’t get to hear of the break-in. He reported it as such, with no mention of it being linked to a missing offender. He didn’t see any need to involve the island’s detectives, and the Isle of Wight relied on Hampshire’s SOCO team so Phil Taylor would be here soon. While Horton waited for the patrol unit to arrive he called Taylor.

  ‘I’m on a boat in Horsea Marina.’

  Of course, Shawford’s. Horton cursed. ‘How long will you be?’

  ‘Just finishing.’

  ‘Good. I want you over on the Isle of Wight.’ Horton quickly relayed what had happened. He arranged for Sergeant Elkins to bring Taylor and his team to the island on the police launch. He wasn’t sure what Bliss was going to say about the additional expenditure, but he’d be off the team soon, so what did he care?

  He surveyed the devastation before him. Lena had informed him before leaving for the café that it didn’t look as though anything but the tapes had been stolen, and she told him that the last time she’d been in her office was Saturday, leaving it at 2 p.m. It transpired that only a couple of other rooms in the building were let, and in addition to the luggage shop on the right of the entrance there was a clothes shop on the left. Someone might have seen the intruder, thought Horton. He’d get the local police to ask.

  Lena had confirmed that the reports she’d written about Luke Felton and his treatment would be on Luke’s prison medical file. Walters hadn’t mentioned it, but then Horton hadn’t given him much chance to elaborate before dashing off to catch the ferry. If he hadn’t seen the break-in he might have said Lena was lying about the tapes to try and vindicate Luke Felton. But the break-in was no phoney and from his experience he thought her story had a ring of truth about it. He was heartily glad that he had come.

  He instructed an officer to remain outside the office and to call him on his mobile the moment Taylor and his SOCO team arrived. On no account were they to admit anyone else without calling him first. Then Horton nipped across the road and found Lena looking forlorn and puzzled in a dark corner of the café, which also doubled as a pub, and which was getting increasingly busy as the evening drew closer.

  Fetching them both a coffee, he placed the cup in front of her and sat down.

  ‘Why would someone steal those tapes?’ she asked.

  ‘Why do you think?’ He knew she must already have worked it out. She wasn’t stupid, just shocked.

  After a minute her face lit up and she said excitedly, ‘Luke was telling the truth. He didn’t kill Natalie Raymonds.’

  ‘He still might have done,’ Horton said, not wanting to be drawn and recollecting Bailey’s testimony and the evidence. ‘But it seems you may be right. Luke might not have been alone.’ And he wondered what Duncan Chawley would make of that.

  ‘And you think this other person has stolen the tapes. But why wait until now? I’ve had them for five years.’

  That was a question Horton had been mulling over, along with several others. He said, ‘Have you seen or heard from Luke since he was released? It’s important you tell me the truth, Lena.’

  ‘I swear to you I haven’t. I knew Luke was applying for parole, but that’s the last time I heard from him. I haven’t been working at the prison for a year.’

  Her flushed face hinted to Horton that maybe she had become too involved with her clients, or rather one in particular. Perhaps someone had found them doing something that wasn’t professional or acceptable behind prison walls.

  He let it go – that was not his concern – and said, ‘I think the person who was with Luke Felton when Natalie was killed has only just learned about the tapes.’ Which meant that Luke must have told him. So who could Luke have trusted and confided in? His mind ran through the list of possibles. His brother, Ashley? Or his little sister, Olivia Danbury? But why would either of them have been involved in the murder of Natalie Raymonds? Could Luke have told Neil Danbury? Horton thought it unlikely judging by Danbury’s previous remarks.

  Then there was Kelly Masters, but Horton couldn’t see why the personnel officer at Kempton’s would want to steal the tapes, and she could hardly have been involved in Natalie’s murder. But she could have told someone about them, if Luke had confided in her after a session of mad passionate love, or rather frenzied sexual intercourse. Who though? One name sprang to mind. Edward Shawford. Hence his Good Samaritan act of giving Luke a lift. Taylor’s search of Shawford’s boat now seemed to have been a very good idea.

  What about Matt Boynton, Luke’s probation officer? Again, Horton couldn’t see any link between him and Natalie Raymonds. And even if Luke had told Boynton about the tapes, how would Boynton have known who to pass the information on to? The same went for Ronnie Rookley.

  And clearly if there had been someone with Luke that day, as was now highly probable, why had he set Luke up to take the blame for Natalie’s death? It had to be drug related, surely.

  Horton considered the options. What if Natalie had been a dealer, and had been about to cause trouble for her supplier? The supplier, whoever he was, had used Luke as a scapegoat for Natalie’s murder, luring him to the coastal path with the promise of drugs. Maybe Rookley knew this supplier. He’d gone to meet him in the cemetery after they’d questioned him about Luke’s disappearance in the greasy café. And Rookley had either been told to clear out, or the supplier – Natalie’s killer – had silenced him, as he might already have silenced Luke.

  Suddenly Horton felt afraid for Lena Lockhart. ‘Is there anyone you can stay with for a while?’ he asked.

  She looked up, bewildered. ‘Why should I?’ Then, catching his drift, her eyes widened. ‘You think I’m in danger?’

  ‘No. It’s just a precaution,’ he tried to reassure her, but she eyed him cynically.

  ‘You think that whoever stole the tapes is Natalie’s killer and that he might come after me because I can testify what Luke told me.’

  Something like that, thought Horton, but he didn’t say so. ‘It’s best to be on the safe side.’

  She frowned, considering this. After a moment she said, ‘I’ve got an aunt in Brighton. I could go there for a few days, but I’d have to cancel my appointments.’

  ‘I think it might be best. And you should leave right away. I can get someone to accompany you home and we’ll get you on the ferry.’

  ‘You’ll let me know what happens, though, and when it’s safe to come back.’

  ‘Of course.’ He felt relieved. He’d
be a lot happier with her out of the way. ‘I don’t want to know the address,’ he said, reaching for his mobile phone. ‘Just give me your mobile number.’

  She did. His phone rang as he finished entering it in his address book. Taylor had arrived a lot quicker than he had expected, but he wasn’t complaining.

  ‘I’ve not had a chance to get anything over to the lab yet from Shawford’s boat,’ Taylor said. ‘But everything’s clearly labelled so there’s no risk of cross-contamination or getting things mixed up.’

  Horton believed him. Taylor was efficiency itself.

  At the entrance to Lena’s office building Horton asked her to wait just inside the door and if she’d mind having her fingerprints taken, along with a swab for DNA purposes. ‘Just to eliminate you,’ he explained. She agreed. When the process was complete he gave instructions for one of the PCs to follow Lena home and to go inside with her while she packed. ‘Follow her to the ferry and see her safely on board. Make sure no one follows you and get a list of all the passengers, both car and foot.’ Just as a precaution, he thought. He couldn’t see anyone watching them as they drove away.

  He asked the other PC to check with the occupants of the building, and the adjoining retail units, to see if anyone had seen or heard anything between Saturday afternoon and that morning. Then he joined Taylor in Lena’s office. Holding up the empty box file, now encased in an evidence bag, Taylor said, ‘There aren’t any prints.’

  Horton had guessed as much, but there might be something: a hair, a drop of spittle, anything. And Taylor would find it if it was there. Horton waited until the officer returned with the news that no one had seen or heard anything. Disappointed, he left instructions for the PC to remain until Taylor had completely finished and then to call a locksmith and make sure that Lena’s office was fitted with new locks and firmly sealed.