Friday: 8.15 P.M.
Horton could see DI Lorraine Bliss's lean figure on the far side of the marina car park as Cantelli swung into it from the residential street. She was scouring the ground with a deep frown as though she'd lost a diamond earring and her life depended on her finding it. Maybe she was just looking for clues though he doubted she'd find any after this time and the appalling weather. He could see the red TVR and beside it the police vehicle recovery truck.
Her head shot up as Cantelli drew the car to a halt. Horton had only met her once, at a conference before his suspension and then not to talk to. Nevertheless he recalled her sharp-featured face and intense expression. Most of all he remembered her as the woman who had asked intelligent and incisive questions of the speaker, a senior police office from the Met, which had him fumbling for the answers.
She hadn't mixed with the other delegates. He didn't know whether that was because she lacked the skill to make small talk, or if she just preferred it that way. Her reputation was certainly that she didn't suffer fools gladly (a considerable handicap as a police officer, he thought wryly) and that she was a woman of few words. He'd also heard that she was very ambitious.
He saw instantly that she wasn't pleased to see him. Was that because she considered his appearance interference or because she didn't like what she had recalled about him either at the conference or since? It made no difference to him, he thought, heading towards her.
'There's nothing to see,' she said pre-empting him, and brushing back a strand of hair with an impatient gesture, tucking it into her scraped-back ponytail.
Maybe not, but he still wanted to see it. It was raining heavily and her long raincoat was soaked like her hair. He hadn't asked her to stand about in the rain waiting for him. It irritated him as he strode towards the TVR. The car was facing on to the marina. Beyond it were rows of motorboats and yachts, and across the black expanse of water he could see the small pinpricks of lights at north Hayling and further away to the east, those of the waterside village of Emsworth. In less than two hours it would be low tide. To his right, just past the main harbour office, were the lights of Marina Jaks, the restaurant. The wind was whistling and roaring through the masts. Not a night to be out to sea, thought Horton, with some sympathy for the fishermen.
He peered inside. There was nothing on the back seat or on the passenger seat. 'Anything in the boot?' he asked.
'Spare tyre and tools.' DI Bliss replied shortly. He could feel the energy and anger radiating from her.
'No suit jacket, laptop or briefcase?'
'I would have said if there were.'
He locked eyes with her. There was a slight tilt of her chin and a determined set to her mouth that told him Lorraine Bliss was a fighter. She would get to the top no matter whom she had to walk over to reach it. Uckfield had better watch out and he smiled at this secret pleasure.
'It looks as though everything personal has been stripped from the car,' he said, straightening up from opening the glove compartment. 'Either that or she was very tidy.' And he knew she wasn't by the state of her office and her apartment.
Bliss said, 'Most of the boat owners seem to live in London, but there are some local ones; my officers are interviewing them, as well as residents and the holiday makers near Langstone Harbour, but it will take time. I haven't got the manpower.'
Horton detected a note of defensiveness and resentment in her crisp tone. He guessed that Uckfield had called her to tell her they were on their way, and had expressed his dissatisfaction that the marina hadn't been checked earlier.
'Did any boat leave the marina last night between nine p.m. and four a. m?'
'We're still checking,' she snapped. 'Now if you've seen all you need to, I'll get this towed away for examination. I'll keep Detective Superintendent Uckfield informed.'
She turned her back on him and headed across to the breakdown truck.
Cantelli yawned. 'Let's go home, Andy. I'm knackered. I can't think straight.'
There was nothing they could do here. DI Bliss was a competent officer. He was treading on her patch. He didn't blame her for being hostile. He'd be seething if someone did the same to him. Cantelli was right.
'I wasn't able to check out the boats moored in Town Camber,' Cantelli said, starting up the car and swinging out of the marina. 'By the time I called them, they'd closed for the day. I'll do it first thing tomorrow. How did it go with Catherine?'
There had been two people Horton could talk to about Catherine: Steve Uckfield and Barney Cantelli. Now there was only one.
'She brought the boyfriend along.'
Cantelli's mouth fell open. He threw a glance at Horton. 'She didn't!'
'Well, he was in the car outside, waiting for her, and she ran straight into his arms.'
'Bit insensitive that.'
'You know Catherine.'
'So it's over between you?'
'Looks like it.' The memory of that kiss now made him feel sad rather than angry. 'But she's not going to stop me from seeing Emma. I'll have to go to a solicitor.'
'About time,' Cantelli muttered. 'You got anyone in mind?'
'I'll find someone. Did you question Neil Cyrus?'
'He claims that no one saw him on the school premises after Langley left and at ten p.m. he went straight home to his bedsit in Southsea. He lives alone and he didn't speak to anyone. He doesn't own a boat, can't stand being on the water and hardly ever spoke to Langley so doesn't have any feelings about her one way or the other.'
'You believe him?'
'Yes.'
'Anything from Janet Downton?'
'The only people she saw going into Langley's office yesterday were Tom Edney, Susan Pentlow and that architect fellow, Leo Ranson. But as Downton says,' Cantelli mimicked her, 'I am not chained to my desk, Sergeant. Someone could easily have gone in when I was out of my office.'
'Times?'
'Edney went in just on the morning break at eleven twenty a.m., Pentlow at about three p.m. and Ranson shortly after at three thirty p.m. But I did discover that Langley left her office at twelve thirty p.m. and didn't return until just after two p.m. A couple of teachers saw her drive off in her car, and Neil Cyrus saw her return. No one seems to know where she went though.'
Horton doubted it had anything to do with her death. But the information that Edney had gone to see her was interesting. She could have disciplined him, hence the dark suit, and if she had done so formally then it would be on the deputy head teacher's file. Horton made a mental note to check. But perhaps Langley had torn him off a strip unofficially, or warned him about conducting his affair with Janet Downton. That could have been the proverbial straw that had broken the camel's back and made Edney flip. He'd deal with that tomorrow.
Cantelli dropped him at the station, where he collected his Harley and managed to resist the temptation to check into the incident room. At his marina, Horton stopped by the office to ask if Eddie had seen any boats leave last night. He hadn't and no one had logged out. Neither was there any record of Jessica Langley keeping a boat there.
Horton climbed on board Nutmeg, unlocked and slid back the hatch and dropped down into the single cabin. Switching on the light he surveyed the dim and cramped interior with its tiny stove and thought of his large, warm, comfortable house near Petersfield. It filled him with anger and sorrow and hastily he tried not to think of it.
He stretched out on his bunk listening to the water slapping against the hull and the rain drumming on the decks. He didn't intend sleeping, but fatigue overcame him. When he awoke it was still dark and he was very cold. He removed his shoes, threw on another sweater and climbed into his sleeping bag. The boat was too small and too cold to live on for the winter. He would have to find a bedsit or a flat. He didn't want to. It reminded him too much of being trailed around with his mother before the council tower block had become their home.
He closed his eyes and despite trying not to he once again saw his lovely detached house just outside Petersfield where he should have been now with his wife and daughter. Was that bastard in bed with Catherine? In his bed!
He leapt up, and flicked on the light. It was twelve thirty a.m. He knew then he wouldn't be able to return to sleep. He pulled on his leathers and set out for Petersfield, wondering what the devil he was going to do when he got there.
A light was on in the front bedroom: his and Catherine's. His stomach knotted at the sight of the red BMW on the driveway. He tried not to let his mind conjure up the vision of their naked bodies intertwined. He didn't succeed. Why was he tormenting himself like this? He was mad. Yet he couldn't stop.
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 cafe 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.