Deadly Waters (14 page)

The front door opened and Catherine was kissing good-bye to lover-boy. Horton stepped back behind the cover of the bushes on the opposite side of the road. The man climbed into his car and drove off. Horton hesitated: should he follow him and then beat him to a pulp? But what would that achieve?

It would only alienate Catherine further, and get him on a charge of aggravated assault. Besides he’d know soon enough where lover-boy lived when Somerfield had checked him out.

The light in Catherine’s bedroom went off. There was nothing more to see. It was one forty-five a.m. It would be best to go home and get some sleep. Yet he stayed. He was cold and wet. But his physical discomfort was nothing to the pain he felt inside as he gazed at what had once been his home. He felt like the child once again being left out in the cold, looking in on other people’s happiness, never to be a part of it. It was then that he decided what to do. No matter what Catherine said, he had to see Emma. He’d been patient long enough.

He turned away and found an all-night café where he drank several cups of coffee and ate another plate of egg, chips and bacon, not tasting it. He splashed his face in the Gents and returned to Catherine’s house. It was now half five in the morning, and it was Saturday. In two hours’ time he would be able to knock on the door and demand to see his daughter. He felt a flutter of excitement inside him, then panic. What if Emma rejected him?

He steeled himself. Catherine’s light came on, then Emma’s.

It was time. He’d almost called it off several times as he had waited through the long, cold hours of the early morning, but the thought of holding his little girl in his arms had kept him there. He walked steadily forward. These were some of the most frightening steps he’d ever taken.

He pressed a finger on the bell and drew himself up. The door opened and there, staring up at him in her pink pyjamas, was his beautiful bright-eyed little girl with her shining dark hair and laughing face; she was clutching a doll under her right arm. God, he thought he was going to die. His whole body was swamped with a love so strong that it made him ill. He couldn’t breathe. His world spun. He felt dizzy. He thought his heart had stopped beating. Then recognition dawned in her face and a great beam of a smile filled her tiny being. She shot into his arms, shouting, ‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.’

He lifted her up and swung her round. Holding her tightly, he buried his face in her hair as he fought back the tears. He smelt her shampoo, felt the smoothness of her cheek against his own rough skin. Jesus! How could he have left her for so long? How could he go through the rest of his life not being a part of hers?

After a while he became aware that she was struggling a little. Smiling he put her down and crouched down besides her, ruffling her hair. ‘I hope I haven’t made you all wet, pumpkin.’

She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the house.

‘Mummy! Mummy! Daddy’s come home.’

Oh, what sweet, agonizing words. If only they were true.

If only he could turn back the clock and forget the last year of his life.

Catherine stepped out of the kitchen with a face like thunder.

Emma turned to look at her mother and then back at Horton, her small face contorted with confusion. Horton would like to have balled Catherine out for being so insensitive. Instead he said, deliberately keeping his voice light, ‘It’s all right, darling. I surprised Mummy, that’s all.’

Emma still looked uncertain but at a forced smile from Catherine she brightened up.

Horton stooped down on his haunches so that he was the same level as Emma. ‘Did you miss me?’

‘Lots and lots. When are you coming home, Daddy?’

He dashed a glance up at Catherine. He’d like to have said soon, or now, but the look on his wife’s face told him a very different story. Nothing could ever be the same again. He felt a dull ache inside him, a hollowness as though someone had scooped out his heart and left a gaping hole in his chest.

Forcing himself to sound bright for his daughter’s sake, he said, ‘I don’t know, darling. But that doesn’t mean I won’t see you.’

Her slate-grey eyes, so like his, were gazing up at him, shrewd and intelligent.

Catherine grabbed Emma’s hand, ‘Go and clean your teeth, Emma. You’ll be late for ballet classes.’

‘I don’t want to go.’ Emma snatched her hand away and turned to her father. ‘Daddy, I want you to come home.’ She looked as though she was about to cry. Horton thought he might join her, if she did.

Catherine gave him a look that said:
Now see what you’ve
done. Didn’t I tell you that you’d upset her?
Instead she said,

‘Daddy’s been very busy lately.’

‘I want to stay with Daddy.’ Emma began to cry.

It tore at Horton’s heart. He steeled himself and took hold of his daughter’s hands. ‘Go and get ready for ballet, there’s a good girl and then I can come and see you again.’

She looked dubious. He heard Catherine suck in her breath.

He went on. ‘We’ll go out together soon, just the two of us for a special treat. Would you like that?’

‘Andy—’

‘Would you?’ Horton said more firmly, looking at his daughter. Her eyes shone this time with pleasure, not tears.

‘Can we go to the fair?’

The fair was one of the places that Catherine banned her daughter from being taken, along with all fast food outlets.

He said, ‘Of course, sweetheart, anywhere you like. Now do as your mother says.’

Reluctantly she turned and began to climb the stairs, looking back at him. With every step she took, Horton felt as if a part of him was being wrenched away. When she disappeared from sight Catherine rounded on him.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? You have absolutely no business coming here like this,’ she hissed, keeping her voice low.

Horton forced himself to reply evenly. ‘I have every business. I am her father and I am not giving her up. I’ve been very patient, Catherine. Six months away from my daughter is six months too long. I’m going to see a solicitor, and I’m going to ask for regular access to Emma.’

‘You can’t—’

‘Why are you so determined to prevent me from seeing her?’ It was all he could do to keep control of his temper.

‘I’ve done nothing to hurt her or you. I haven’t been unfaithful

– you have. She is
my
daughter and I
will
see her.’

He turned and marched swiftly back to the Harley, afraid that if he stayed a moment longer he might do or say something to jeopardize his chances. He climbed on but before donning his helmet he glanced up at his daughter’s bedroom.

With a jolt, he saw her sad little face staring at him. It ripped his heart apart. For a moment he thought Catherine was right.

He shouldn’t have come. He shouldn’t see his daughter; her sorrow was too much to bear. Perhaps it would be better if he stayed away. But the thought lasted just a second. He forced a smile from his lips, blew her a kiss, and got a beaming smile back. He swivelled his eyes to Catherine still at the door. She turned on her heel and slammed the door. He started the bike.

Emma was still waving at him. Then Catherine appeared and persuaded her daughter to leave the window. Horton let out a breath, swung the bike round and headed back to Portsmouth.

Saturday: 9 a.m.

Showered, shaved and changed, Horton tried to concentrate on Uckfield’s briefing but his mind kept returning to the picture of Emma waving to him from her bedroom window, and with it came the raw emotions the reunion with his daughter had conjured up. With an effort he pushed them aside. His eyes fell on Cantelli. He’d spoken to him briefly this morning, but hadn’t told him about his nocturnal trip to Petersfield. But then Cantelli looked as if he had problems of his own, his face was pale and his eyes were red. He was almost constantly sniffing, or blowing his nose. The cold he had mentioned earlier now seemed to be in full flow.

As Uckfield summarized the case, Horton surveyed the rest of the group. How many of them now knew that Dennings would be taking over from him on Friday? He guessed the majority. The station rumour grapevine was remarkably swift, and he had heard mutterings on his arrival this morning. That, and the sidelong glances and sudden silence as he had entered the CID office, told him the news had spread. Horton never for a moment doubted Cantelli’s loyalty. Rather he guessed that Dennings himself had been heavy-handed with innuendo, and soon the announcement would be displayed on the station notice board.

‘Inspector Horton.’

Uckfield’s sharp command jolted Horton back to the case.

He stepped to the front of the room and said crisply, ‘I want the house-to-house around Langley’s flat stepped up. Did anyone see Langley’s car parked outside her apartment block that evening? The forensic team have said that her flat is clean, so did anyone see her or anyone else drive a red TVR away?

Did they see her arrive home from school and if so what time?’

‘She might never have reached home?’ PC Seaton ventured.

‘I agree, which is why I want the occupants of the houses and maisonettes immediately surrounding the Sir Wilberforce Cutler questioned as well.’ Horton addressed Sergeant Trueman. ‘We might be able to pinpoint the time she left school and the direction in which she was heading.’

Horton could see Trueman looking at him rather sceptically. He agreed it was a long shot. Knowing the area as well as he did, Horton knew that most of the inhabitants would rather have their teeth pulled that talk to the cops. ‘You might also want to ask them if they heard or saw anything suspicious that night at the school. The break-in on the building site could still be linked with Langley’s murder.’

Trueman made a note.

Horton continued. ‘I want to know if Langley had any regular visitors, or visitors on the night she was killed. I also want a team into the Town Camber to talk to the boatmen, fishermen and those working in the fish market. Find out if anyone saw Langley on the day or night she was killed. Sergeant Trueman will circulate her photograph to those he allocates to that team.

We now know that no boat moored in the Town Camber was in Langley’s name. Sergeant Cantelli checked and DC Walters hasn’t found anything in Langley’s correspondence so far to indicate she owned a boat. We also know that she didn’t bring a boat into the Town Camber on Thursday or Friday. So, Seaton, I want you checking out boat owners from all the other marinas in the area. Liaise with DI Bliss’s team to get the names of boat owners from the marinas on Hayling Island. I want to know every one of them, including those kept on swinging moorings from Lee-on-the-Solent to Chichester, and then I want them cross-checked with the school list of both teachers and visitors and the building contractors. If anyone one of them owns a boat I want to know about it, right?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Seaton, a uniformed officer, nodded eagerly. Like Somerfield, Horton knew he was keen to get into CID, and thought it would be a good opportunity to see what he was made of.

Uckfield drew Horton aside as a rash of activity erupted.

‘I’m giving a statement to the media at half ten. Apart from telling them we’ve found Langley’s car, is there anything else to add?’

‘We’re continuing with our inquiries?’ Horton posed.

A flash of irritation crossed Uckfield’s face. ‘Shall we see if we can do a
little
better than that, Inspector? And don’t bleat about not having enough manpower, because I’ve pulled out all the stops on this one. You won’t have this strength for long so you’d better see that you make the most of it. And no cock-ups,’ he shouted over his shoulder as a parting shot.

And bollocks to you too, thought Horton, indicating for Somerfield to follow him outside. In the relative quiet of the corridor, he said, ‘Did you check out that car registration I gave you?’

‘It belongs to an Edward Shawford. He’s the Sales Director at Kempton Marine.’

How bloody convenient. That was where Catherine worked!

Had Catherine’s affair with her colleague begun when he and Catherine had still been together? Had Horton’s suspension given Catherine the perfect excuse to throw him out and assuage her own guilt over her adulterous behaviour? He had a feeling it did. That didn’t make things better, only worse.

‘Where does he live?’

‘Wickham.’

It was growing village just north of Fareham and about ten miles from Portsmouth.

Somerfield continued. ‘He’s divorced, no children. Aged forty-four. He has two convictions for speeding, apart from that he’s clean.’

Shame.

Somerfield added, ‘Did you know that Mickey Johnson’s been bailed?’

‘Who paid it?’ Horton asked sharply, wondering if that might give him a lead.

‘His live-in partner, Janey Piper. ’

It didn’t. He wondered though where Janey, who had borne two of Mickey’s four children and was on benefit, had got the money. ‘OK, leave him for now. I want you to talk to Elaine Tolley at the betting shop in Commercial Road. See what you can get out of her about that note we found on Langley’s body.’ He hadn’t forgotten that.

Uckfield seemed keen to dismiss the note as just one of those things, but Horton knew that in a murder investigation nothing was insignificant. Uckfield ought to know it too but his was always a bull-in-a-china-shop approach. Horton had a feeling that this information was somehow important.

Uckfield would have scoffed at that. Only fictional detectives could afford feelings, Horton could hear the big man carping.

Well, sod it! No one else was following up the note.

‘Find out if she had an affair with Morville,’ he continued.

‘And keep looking for connections between our robbery victims.’

Horton returned to his office where he stared down at Edward Shawford’s details. He couldn’t bear to think of Emma being cuddled by that man. He tortured himself with visions of Edward Shawford tickling Emma and making her giggle.

If a solicitor’s office had been open he would have called that instant. Instead he had to wait until Monday.

He pulled back the blinds and opened the window, letting in an angry wet wind. He took a couple of deep breaths then spun round and played his voicemail. It was the lab, promising to get him the results of the test on the betting slip by midday. The report on Langley’s car would also be in later.