‘It was a long time ago,’ Peter Bailey said, reluctantly letting them in and leading them through a faded hall into an equally faded sitting room. It was icily cold, which reminded Horton of Venetia Trotman’s house, but there the resemblance ended. The acrid smell of male sweat mingled with that of fish, dust and decay and the room looked as though it had last been decorated sometime in the 1970s. Its orange walls, yellowing net curtains, threadbare maroon carpet, sparse and dated furniture and a television that could qualify as an antique, all confirmed to Horton that Peter Bailey was as oblivious of his surroundings as he was of his appearance. He peered nervously at them over the top of smeared gold-rimmed spectacles, with a chip in the right lens. His silver eyebrows knitted across a forehead in a thin face etched so deep with lines that the expression corrugated iron sprang to Horton’s mind. His white monk’s hair sprang up around a freckled pate, making it difficult to put an age on him. Late fifties or late sixties? It was hard to tell.
Cantelli lifted the small pencil from behind his ear and opened his notebook. ‘You saw Luke Felton on the coastal path on Hayling Island on the nineteenth of September 1997.’
‘On the afternoon that girl was killed, yes.’
‘Can you remember the time?’
Bailey removed his spectacles. ‘It’s in my statement.’
‘Of course.’ Cantelli smiled, as though he was dim for forgetting that. ‘But if you would confirm. .’
‘It was just after four o’clock or thereabouts.’
‘What were you doing on the path, sir?’
Bailey looked puzzled. ‘Why all the questions, Sergeant? Luke Felton was convicted and sentenced. I thought this was finished with a long time ago.’
‘Luke Felton’s been released on licence.’
Bailey’s skin blanched and he stared wide-eyed at each of them in turn. ‘I don’t understand,’ he stuttered.
Cantelli quickly explained, finishing with the news that Felton was missing. ‘We’re looking for anything that might help us find him.’
‘You can’t think he’s coming after me?’ Bailey uttered, clearly horrified. Horton noticed that his left leg had started to jigger and the hands holding his spectacles were shaking.
‘I doubt he’d even remember you, sir, he was so spaced out on drugs,’ Cantelli said reassuringly. ‘Perhaps you could just tell us what you can remember of that day.’
Bailey looked far from pacified. In fact his face looked like a chewed-up sock.
Horton added, ‘It might help us to find him and send him back to prison for breaching the terms of his licence.’
Bailey turned his anxious gaze on Horton. ‘I can’t see how what I have to say can possibly help you do that.’
‘If you wouldn’t mind, sir,’ Cantelli firmly insisted.
Bailey rose and crossed to the large bay window. Horton caught Cantelli’s eye and urged silence. Not that he really needed to. Cantelli knew the score.
Clearly Bailey was gathering his thoughts. In the silence, Horton listened for sounds of a Mrs Bailey, or anyone else living in the house, but there was only the whirring of what must be a refrigerator. It certainly wasn’t the central heating. Was he a bachelor, or perhaps a widower? Or had Mrs Bailey grown tired of being cold and walked out on him? Horton wouldn’t blame her if she had.
Bailey took a deep breath and turned back to face them. With his nerves under better control he began.
‘I’m a twitcher, bird watching’s my hobby. I was on the Hayling Coastal Path that day because the contractors had been working on restoring the old Langstone Oyster Beds and after completing the project in May it was discovered that little terns had started nesting there.’ He swivelled his eyes between them, adding, ‘The oyster beds were restored not for fishing but for nature conservation. It’s a Site of Special Scientific Interest and home for tens of thousands of seabirds.’
Horton already knew this, and so too did Cantelli, but they said nothing, letting Bailey talk on.
‘As a result of the work an island had been formed in one of the lagoons and had become home to little terns. Did you know they’re an internationally rare seabird and subject to the European Union’s Birds Directive?’ Bailey had regained his colour and was looking animated.
Cantelli contrived to look amazed while Horton nodded encouragement, thinking that perhaps Mrs Bailey had grown tired of playing second fiddle to the little terns.
Bailey resumed his seat. Sitting forward he continued eagerly. ‘One pair of little terns had settled on the small island and had raised two young. It was amazing. I watched them for ages. It was a remarkable day for me, which was why I remembered seeing that man, Felton.’ His face clouded over.
‘I was returning to my car, which I’d parked where the old railway halt used to be, when Luke Felton passed me. He was walking down the path towards the seafront, or rather I should say slouching. His head was down. He had his hands in his pockets and a woolly hat rammed on his head.’
‘How did you know it was Luke?’ asked Horton sharply. ‘You couldn’t have seen his face if his head was down and almost covered by a hat.’
Bailey flushed, this time with agitation rather than enthusiasm, and his leg started to jigger again. ‘I described the clothes to the police officer who interviewed me, and they fitted the description of those Luke Felton had been wearing: scruffy jeans, muddy trainers, a navy jacket and navy woollen hat. He was about five feet ten, and thin. You see, when I heard the appeal on the local news by that police superintendent for anyone seen on the coastal path that day I came forward and gave my statement.’
So that explained that, but Horton felt uneasy. ‘Did you see a woman? Five feet four, long brown hair, slim, wearing running clothes.’
Clearly by Bailey’s troubled expression he knew exactly who Horton meant. ‘Natalie Raymonds. No. I know where her body was found though, but I didn’t walk that far. I’ve often wondered if I had done whether I might have been able to prevent her death.’
Looking at Bailey, Horton doubted it, though he supposed his sudden appearance might have frightened Luke Felton off. There was a short pause before Horton dropped in casually, ‘Had you ever seen Luke Felton or Natalie Raymonds before?’
Bailey looked surprised. ‘No. I usually stayed at the northern end of the coastal path and around the marshes. In those days I was still working and my mother was alive, so I couldn’t always get away. She was an invalid for many years. She died four years ago.’
And that, thought Horton, explained the neglected, unloved air about the house.
‘Where did you work?’ asked Cantelli with polite interest, though both he and Horton already knew.
There was a moment’s hesitation before he answered uncertainly. ‘Hester’s Shipbuilding. I was a design draughtsman, but I was made redundant in 2001 when it closed down. After that I took whatever I could, mainly contract work. I still do a bit from time to time, although I don’t really need to work now Mother’s dead, but it gets me out of the house.’
And Horton would like to get out of this miserable house too, but there were more questions to ask. ‘Can you describe exactly what you did and what you saw while you were bird watching the day you saw Luke Felton?’ Seeing that Bailey was puzzled, he added, ‘I take it you had binoculars.’
‘Oh, yes, I see.’ Bailey relaxed a little and considered the question. Horton wasn’t sure how it would help but there had to be more. Or rather he just hoped there was. ‘I took some time watching Binness Island in Langstone Harbour-’
‘Was the tide up or out?’ Horton interrupted.
‘Up. I remember because the dredger was going out of Oldham’s Wharf and I was concerned it would frighten the birds away.’ He frowned in thought. ‘There were three fishing boats trawling the channel and a couple of sailing dinghies from the club by Oldham’s. That’s all I can remember.’ The leg jigger was back.
Horton said, ‘Did you see anyone else on the path?’
‘No. I was surprised because it was a nice day, warm and sunny.’
‘You’d have thought more people like you, keen bird watchers, would have been looking at the little terns.’
There was the hesitation again, and another frown. ‘Yes, you would,’ Bailey answered, eyeing Horton anxiously.
Cantelli said, ‘Were there any other vehicles in the car park when you returned to your car?’
Bailey put a hand on his knee as though trying to stop it jigging. ‘I don’t see how this will help you find Felton.’
Cantelli simply looked at Bailey enquiringly while Horton remained silent.
‘There weren’t any cars,’ Bailey said moodily.
‘What time would this have been, sir?’ Cantelli pursued.
‘I don’t know, about four thirty, I guess,’ replied Bailey tetchily.
Cantelli took his time jotting this down. ‘No dog walkers there then, sir? It’s a popular spot for that, especially on a nice day.’
‘Well, I didn’t see any,’ Bailey snapped, his voice rising in irritation. ‘I just saw Luke Felton.’
‘And the little terns.’ Cantelli smiled. He got no response from Bailey. At a sign from Horton that only Cantelli would have seen and interpreted he made a great show of closing his notebook and putting it in his jacket pocket while saying, ‘Thank you for your help, Mr Bailey.’ He rose, and added apologetically, ‘Would you mind if I use your toilet? Too much coffee before I came out.’
Somewhat reluctantly Bailey said, ‘Upstairs, first door on your right.’
Cantelli smiled his thanks and slipped out.
Chattily, Horton said, ‘Where’s the best place for bird watching around here then?’
Bailey look surprised at the question. ‘Are you a keen bird watcher?’
‘When I’m out sailing, yes. Otherwise I don’t have the time for it.’
‘Of course. . with your job. . There are lots of places around the coast and each season brings its visitors. There were Slovenian grebes off the oyster beds in February, and a-’
‘What about around Portchester Castle?’ Horton cut him short.
Bailey started and his face lost some of its colour. ‘Why there?’ he stuttered.
Horton shrugged. ‘You mentioning Hester’s Shipbuilding made me think of it. You must have walked along the shore there many times and seen rare birds.’ Horton heard the toilet flush. Cantelli would have a good nose around upstairs, and not just in the bathroom.
With something akin to relief, Bailey said, ‘Oh, yes, of course. I used to during my lunch hour but I haven’t been over that way for years.’
Truth? Bailey could have been there last Tuesday evening, but why would he want to meet Luke Felton when clearly he was terrified of him?
Horton heard Cantelli’s tread upon the stairs. He entered the room with a slight shake of his head and a smile at Bailey.
Horton rose. ‘If you recall anything more about the day you saw Luke Felton, please let us know.’
Bailey quickly promised he would, clearly eager to get rid of them. Outside Cantelli heaved a sigh of relief. ‘He depressed me.’
Horton was inclined to agree. ‘That description of Luke might have fitted hundreds of youths.’
‘The investigating team must have matched the clothes Bailey described with those belonging to Felton.’
Yes, and found Natalie’s blood on them. ‘Did they contact the fishing boat and dredger crews? They might have witnessed something.’
‘I think that’s probably stretching it,’ Cantelli said, as Horton jotted down the vehicle registration number of a twelve-year-old maroon Ford parked in the narrow driveway of the 1950s semi-detached house. Cantelli was doubtless right and Horton didn’t like to return to ask Duncan Chawley, though if he dug deeper in the case file he might find records of it.
Pointing the car in the direction of the station, Cantelli said, ‘It doesn’t help us find Felton, unless it was Bailey who Felton went to meet at Portchester Castle on Tuesday night.’
‘He looked very uncomfortable when I mentioned the castle, and I think he lied about not going there, but I can’t see why he should agree to meet Felton. He seemed rather terrified that Felton was out and might approach him. But run a check on his car, Barney, you never know, he might have been picked up for speeding in Castle Lane on Tuesday night.’
‘I doubt we’d be that lucky, but I’ll also check with the sailing club in case he owns a boat.’
‘I think the only boat he’d own would be the kind he’d put in his bath.’
‘You never can tell,’ said Cantelli optimistically.
Maybe, but Horton was sure Cantelli was wrong on that score. As the sergeant swung into the station car park Horton noted Bliss’s car in its allocated space. That meant he’d have to brief her, but he had no sooner stepped inside his office than Bliss hove on to his horizon looking like Captain Sharkey about to execute one of his crew, and Horton guessed that the intended victim was him.
‘Do you know where I’ve been for the last fifteen minutes, Inspector?’ she blazed, slamming his door behind her. ‘With Chief Superintendent Reine, listening to how incompetent my team is and how you’ve compromised a high-level drug operation.’
Horton had been expecting it. He remained silent as Bliss continued.
‘Your paperwork is shoddy and overdue, you do not adhere to proper procedure, you spend too much time interfering in other cases when you can’t solve the ones that you have, and clearly you have an issue with authority. I have therefore requested that you be removed from CID and posted to a more suitable position. Results are what we need in CID, not meddling and messing up critical operations.’
Again Horton said nothing. There seemed no point in defending himself because clearly she wasn’t going to listen.
Bliss continued. ‘DC Walters will also not be a member of my team. He’s too slow and idle. I was in two minds whether to keep Cantelli but I need some continuity, and Sergeant Cantelli will do as he’s told if he values his chances of promotion.’
Promotion! Cantelli! The sergeant wanted that about as much as a dose of swine flu.
‘I’m putting in a request for some new officers. You’ll hear about your transfer shortly and tell DC Walters to expect his. From the beginning of April this team will be a very different one. Meanwhile you will attend to your paperwork. You will not get involved with Superintendent Uckfield’s murder investigation, and you will not make any attempt to locate Ronnie Rookley. You will find Luke Felton. Is that clear?’
Horton nodded curtly and let out a long sigh as she swept from his office. If she had just calmed down she would have learnt of the possible connection between Venetia Trotman’s murder and Luke Felton. But she hadn’t even asked him to update her on any developments. Well, that was her lookout.
He rose and walked briskly into the CID office. Without preamble he announced, ‘DCI Bliss has requested that I be removed from CID, along with you, Walters. But Cantelli gets to stay under the ice maiden while a whole new bunch of razor-sharp detectives are brought in to solve every crime in Portsmouth within two minutes flat, without moving from their desk and with immaculate paperwork to show for it. So, as this is my last case in CID, I want Luke Felton found and I don’t much care who we upset locating him. Which means, Barney, you might risk all future chances of being promoted, and the joy of working for DCI Bliss.’
Cantelli shrugged. ‘Guess I could do with the exercise on patrol with you, Walters.’
Walters almost swallowed the ginger nut biscuit he was eating. With his mouth full he said, ‘I’ve got Luke Felton’s prison medical file, guv.’
‘And?’
‘Felton started his sentence at Winchester but he was transferred to the Isle of Wight after three weeks on medical advice, where he had hypnotherapy as part of his drug treatment. The woman who was treating him lived there and still does.’
This sounded promising. ‘Nice of the authorities to accommodate him,’ Horton muttered, wondering why Luke had got such special treatment to be granted alternative medicine and a transfer. Could he possibly be on the Isle of Wight with his hypnotherapist? The island wasn’t accessible from Portchester Castle; or rather it was by private boat, but if heading to the Island then surely Luke would have wanted a lift to Portsmouth Harbour or Southsea where he could have caught the ferry or hovercraft.
‘The hypnotherapist is called Lena Lockhart,’ Walters continued. ‘I’ve got her home and office address, but she’s not at her office. I haven’t tried her home yet.’
Horton knew he should ask the local police to interview her; that was what Bliss would say. But Bliss wouldn’t be his boss for much longer. And he might as well go out in style. He glanced at his watch.
‘I’ll pay her a visit,’ he said, knowing he was gambling on finding her in. She might be on holiday or with a client; she might know very little they didn’t already know about Luke Felton. But if Luke had contacted her then he didn’t want her prepared with some phoney story. And if Luke was there then he didn’t want him running off. Collecting his helmet and jacket he headed for the door, with Cantelli shaking his head after him.