Horton cursed silently. He had to speak to the nurse. 'What's the nurse's name?'
'Vanessa Tupper, but she's on holiday. Tenerife. She told me she was flying out late that night, Thursday.'
He cursed silently. But it explained why Somerfield hadn't discovered this. Just their luck. They'd have to try and reach her in Tenerife. He wondered if Thea had left the hospital in response to that call. It seemed likely. Perhaps it was to meet someone who told her they had information about her brother's death. But if that were so then why the hell hadn't she called him? Surely she would have known that she might be in danger after being knocked out and nearly fried alive. And that left him with three possibilities: she trusted the caller implicitly, which meant that it couldn't be the same person she'd admitted to her house; the caller was Thea's accomplice in murder, the person who had nearly killed her, who said they would try again, so she had gone on the run to escape him; or she'd agreed to meet him and then killed him. If the latter, then the caller could have been Jonathan Anmore and Thea had cadged a lift from Gordon Elms to meet him in Yarmouth, returning in Anmore's van to the barn where she'd killed him.
Then another thought struck Horton. There was a possibility she might not have known who the arsonist was because he'd let himself in using Owen's key. No key had been found on his body. And had that person been Bella Westbury or Jonathan Anmore? Horton felt sure it couldn't have been Danesbrook; he'd have smelt him.
Horton asked Mrs Mackie if she'd known that Gordon Elms had given Thea a lift from the hospital that morning. Clearly she hadn't, but she confirmed that Elms had been working that morning, and that he'd told her he was going to pick up Mr Westleigh and bring him to the hospital.
He had one question left to ask. 'Why didn't you tell me Thea stayed with her brother over the New Year?'
'Did she? He never said. My husband and I were in Scotland, visiting his family. We always see the New Year in with them.'
There didn't seem much more he could gain here. Outside, he stared at the boarded-up, blackened remains of Owen Carlsson's house, hoping that it might stimulate his thoughts, but nothing new occurred to him.
At the station, Marsden confirmed what Horton already knew – that there was nothing in Scanaford House to tell them what Sir Christopher Sutton had done during that missing year, or anything to reveal he had been in contact with Elizabeth Elms or her son. In fact, Marsden claimed there was remarkably little correspondence for either Sutton senior or his daughter and, Horton
thought, they all knew who had taken and probably destroyed what there had been.
Horton found Uckfield in his temporary office in a foul temper, his frowning face grey with pain.
'Couldn't the chiropractor fix it?' Horton asked.
'Bloody man's made it worse. Quacks, the lot of them. I'll sue him if he's injured me for life.'
'What does he say it is?'
'A severely pulled back muscle. All I did was bend down to tie my bloody shoes.'
A likely story
, thought Horton. Uckfield's sexual exploits with Laura Rosewood were more likely the cause. He said, 'Shouldn't you be lying down?'
'And shouldn't you be catching a killer?'
Uckfield's phone rang and he reached for it with a grimace of pain.
Horton joined Trueman and Cantelli in the incident room, dashing a glance at his watch. It was almost ten o'clock. It had been a long day and he felt exhausted. Tomorrow, Trueman would talk to Vanessa Tupper. Fortunately he'd managed to get her mobile telephone number from a colleague, but it was too late to call her now, though she could still be awake and partying in Tenerife.
Trueman said, 'The forensic team have found gun oil on some rags in Anmore's barn.'
'But no guns?'
'No.'
Which meant Anmore's gun could be the one that had killed Owen.
'Any evidence of Thea Carlsson having travelled in the van?'
'There are some hairs. The lab is matching them with the DNA swab taken from Thea Carlsson when she was first brought in.'
And that would take time. If they matched it wouldn't prove she had killed him but it would be one more factor to weigh against her.
The door of the incident room burst open and Horton looked up to see DCI Birch eyeing them with a cold gleam of victory in his granite eyes.
'The Chief Constable has just sanctioned me to take over this investigation from Superintendent Uckfield,' Birch said crisply, striding in. 'He can't run this case incapacitated.'
Horton's heart sank. He should have known that Birch would find a way to get even. His eyes flicked to Uckfield. He was still on the phone and Horton didn't need second sight to know who he was talking to or what about. Judging by Uckfield's expression his protest was falling on deaf ears.
Addressing Horton, Birch said, 'If I recall correctly, Inspector, you are officially on holiday. So you can get back to your boat and your holiday. I'll handle this now.'
The door crashed open and Uckfield stood, or rather crouched, on the threshold. He made to straighten up when a roar escaped his lips and his hand grasped his back.
'I'll call an ambulance,' Horton said, reaching for the phone.
'No,' Uckfield whispered urgently, trying to glower at Birch at the same time, but it only made him look like he was severely constipated. 'Cantelli can take me back to the hotel.'
'You need some pain killers and anti-inflammatory drugs.'
'I'll take you to A & E,' Cantelli said.
Clearly, Uckfield didn't have the strength to protest. Eyeing Horton as he passed him he only managed to growl, 'Keep me informed.'
But Birch clearly had no intention of letting him do that. 'Still here, Inspector?' And turning his back, he said to Trueman, 'Sergeant, put out an all-ports alert for Thea Carlsson wanted in connection for the murders of Owen Carlsson and Jonathan Anmore.'
'You've got no evidence,' Horton declared.
Birch spun round. His eyes narrowed with spite. 'This is evidence,' he declared triumphantly, waving a manila folder at Horton like Neville Chamberlain declaring 'Peace for our time' in 1938. 'It's Thea Carlsson's medical history and it makes very interesting reading. She was committed to a mental hospital three times between 1994 and 1995 for anorexia, psychological problems, hallucinations, and depression. And she attempted suicide in 2002. Clearly the woman is unbalanced.'
Horton's jaw tightened. 'Her parents were killed, how do you expect her to react?'
'She's unstable. She faked the break-in at her flat before walking out on her job. She killed her brother, most probably with the help of Jonathan Anmore, who she then stabbed with a pitchfork before making off. She was jealous of Owen Carlsson falling in love with Arina Sutton; her notes tell of an unhealthy relationship with her brother––'
'Unhealthy? What do you mean?' snapped Horton, going rigid with fury.
'It's not your case, Inspector.'
Horton stared at Birch's hard, malicious eyes and felt afraid for Thea. Birch would show no mercy with her, if he found her. He would smirk, sneer, ridicule and belittle her. And for someone whose confidence and self-esteem were already at rock bottom it would be the end for Thea.
Horton left the station, boiling with fury. Birch's anger and jealousy must have been bubbling underneath the surface ever since he had found him at the scene of the crime. It had been exacerbated when Uckfield had left Birch at the scene of Anmore's death, and when Uckfield had taunted the DCI with the fact he'd been negligent over the Carlssons' car accident. But Uckfield had played right into Birch's hands by having an affair with Laura Rosewood and getting a pulled back muscle as a result. He was a fool. Horton cursed them both as he rode his Harley back to the boat.
He wondered if Birch had told the Chief Constable about the affair. If so then Steve Uckfield was really in trouble. But no, Horton guessed that Birch had simply put his evidence to the chief about Thea Carlsson and shown that he'd got further with the investigation than Uckfield. Birch must also have told the chief that Horton was officially on holiday. That, coupled with the fact that he'd found Thea leaning over the body of her dead brother, and had been at her house when the fire had started, had probably been enough to make the chief think he was involved with Thea and could therefore compromise the investigation – at least that was probably what Birch had told him.
There seemed little more he could do for Thea. But there had to be. Even if she had killed her brother and Anmore he still felt he should do something to help her.
It was late. He was tired. He took a shower and lay down on his bunk. Tomorrow he'd have to return to Portsmouth. Best to put the case and Thea Carlsson out of his mind. He had a divorce to get through and a daughter to save from a boarding school, which only made him think of Thea again.
He went over the facts of the case. Owen had last been seen by Evelyn Mackie crossing the chain ferry on the Saturday before his disappearance. But no one else had seen him either then or since that time. Was Mrs Mackie telling the truth, or had she said that to throw them off the scent? Perhaps Owen had been nowhere near the ferry. Perhaps he'd gone somewhere else that morning. But why would Evelyn Mackie want to lie?
Then she'd been in the hospital the morning Thea had disappeared. Evelyn Mackie knew that Gordon Elms was collecting Mr Westleigh to visit his sick wife, and she also knew about the telephone call. But why would she want Thea out of the way and Owen and Jonathan Anmore dead? No, he was running up a blind alley with that one. The nurse, when Trueman spoke to her, could confirm the telephone call. Horton knew it hadn't been Peter Bohman because he'd called him earlier, despite the late hour.
Then there was Bella Westbury. They knew what she had been doing on the island and why, although they didn't know all the facts of the case. Owen could have discovered this and been killed to silence him, ditto Jonathan Anmore. Bella had disappeared. She certainly wasn't crossed off Horton's list yet.
And Danesbrook? They knew he had been out to get money from Sir Christopher Sutton while he was alive, and that he could have killed Arina Sutton so that he could inherit through his charity. His only alibi for when Arina was killed was Bella Westbury. Yes, Danesbrook was definitely still in the frame.
Thea had visited the library to check the press cuttings of her parents' accident and to get Gordon Elms' address, which led Horton to thoughts of ghosts and Scanaford House. Gordon Elms was Sir Christopher's illegitimate son, but not his sister's killer. And neither was he Owen and Jonathan's murderer. Sir Christopher's affair didn't explain what he was doing during that missing year, only why he'd been sent away. Horton doubted if they'd ever discover where. Was that the key to all these deaths? Then there was the 'girl' Thea had mentioned . . .
However much he considered matters he wasn't going to get the answers. Not now. Not ever. On or around the high tide tomorrow, at one o'clock, he would sail out of the harbour and head for home, returning later to the island to collect the Harley, and be at his desk bright and early Wednesday morning.
Was Birch right? Was Thea their killer? Perhaps she hadn't planned to kill her brother. Maybe she'd just lost control. But the gun made that impossible. That stuff about being told by some psychic power where she would find her brother was rubbish. For a moment he wanted to believe that she might have killed Owen in a trance or some kind of blackout, except that Owen Carlsson had been dead for some days. How long, Dr Clayton had said was difficult to diagnose because of the weather conditions and where the body might have been kept, but there was no disputing that Carlsson had been killed some days earlier and his body taken to the Duver and deposited in the sand. And Anmore had to be her accomplice. Anmore was the person who had searched his boat, and Anmore had tried to kill Thea because Thea said she was going to tell the police what she'd done.
So it was over, he thought wearily. Birch was right. He wished he'd never come here. He told himself that his memory of her would fade over time. But he would never forget her expression as she'd spun round to face him, nor the look she'd given him before she went to the police station. Neither would he forget her stricken expression during the fire and the feel of her slender body in his arms as he'd thrown her from the window.
He closed his eyes, hoping to sleep. Eventually, when it came, he dreamt of her.
TWENTY-FOUR
Tuesday
C
harlie Anmore looked tired and very old. He hadn't shaved and he was wearing a red and cream striped pyjama top under a frayed and grubby rust-brown cardigan. Horton felt sorry for troubling him but one thing had surfaced in his mind after a restless and lustful sleep and that was the fact that Bella Westbury had called on Charlie Anmore. Why? Was it just to offer her condolences as she'd claimed? He doubted it. Not with her history. And once the question had formed, Horton knew he couldn't ignore it. It nagged and gnawed at him as he went for a run early that morning. It niggled at him as he ate his breakfast, and it burrowed and chewed at him as he made his boat ready for sailing. Had Charlie been gardener to Sir Christopher Sutton at Scanaford House in 1990 when Helen might have taken a photograph there? Was that what Bella Westbury had wanted to find out? Had she been trying to establish if Charlie Anmore had made the connection between Helen Carlsson and the secret that Sir Christopher Sutton harboured? Horton had to know before heading for home.
Charlie Anmore's eyes lit up for a moment when Horton introduced himself; obviously he'd been hoping he had brought him news about his son's killer. Horton shook his head and said gently, 'I'm sorry, Mr Anmore.'