Horton told her a police officer would be with her soon and that he would prefer it if she didn’t call her husband. He couldn’t stop Duncan Chawley calling him though. Julia Chawley looked frightened but agreed to do as he asked.
Outside he called Walters. ‘Margery Blanchester,’ he said, before Walters could moan about something. ‘Find out who the beneficiary of her will is.’ Horton remembered what the volunteer on the paddle steamer had said: Thanks to a recent legacy from an old lady, we hope to get this young lady finished a lot sooner than expected.
Then he rang Cantelli. ‘You were right. Bailey didn’t kill Natalie Raymonds, and neither did Ashley Felton or Neil Danbury. Duncan Chawley did. He tried to make me believe it was Sean Lovell.’
‘Then he must be sick in the head. Sean would be totally incapable of that,’ Cantelli cried vehemently.
‘That’s more or less what I said. Get over here, Barney. Charge Duncan Chawley with the murder of Natalie Raymonds and arrange for him to be taken into hospital. Make sure someone stays with him at all times and a woman police officer stays with his daughter-in-law, Julia. As soon as you’ve done that, meet me at the Youth Enterprise Sailing Trust.’
‘Why there?’
‘It’s where I’ll find Gavin Chawley.’
‘I don’t envy you telling him what his father did.’
‘He already knows.’
‘Ah.’
Horton headed for Portchester, checking his mirrors for any signs of the Georgian following him. He’d seen none on his way to the Chawleys’. There were a couple of motorbikes, but both overtook him on the small stretch of dual carriageway. He turned off at the industrial estate and headed down the road towards the shore until he was outside the Youth Enterprise Sailing Trust. No lights showed from the building but Gavin Chawley’s car was parked in the yard and there was a light shining from the cabin of the paddle steamer. He made his way quietly and carefully up the gangplank, and stepped on board. The cold wind was raging up the harbour, howling around the boat and squeezing itself through all the rotten wood and broken, rusted pipes. Horton was surprised Gavin hadn’t bolted; Duncan must by now have spoken to his son to tell him Horton was on his way. But then where would he go? Perhaps he thought he could bluff it out. And perhaps Horton should wait for back-up. But it was too late now, and besides, Cantelli would be here soon.
Gavin Chawley, wearing a white overall over a light grey suit, was carefully planing a piece of wood in the middle of the unfinished main cabin. ‘Dad said you’d be coming,’ he said briefly, glancing up before turning his eyes back to his task.
‘Then you know why I’m here,’ Horton answered in the same easy manner, taking a step further inside the cabin.
Gavin continued shaving the wood, his strong hands pushing the plane away from him, methodically, slowly and easily. His weather-worn face screwed up with concentration. ‘He said it was something to do with Luke Felton’s disappearance.’
But Horton could see that Gavin knew more than that. ‘Did your father tell you that he killed Natalie Raymonds?’
There was a perceptible tightening of the hands on the plane but Gavin Chawley’s rhythmic movement never faltered. ‘Sean Lovell killed Natalie. Dad was only trying to protect him.’
Something about Gavin’s remark nudged at Horton. He rapidly replayed the conversation he’d just had with Duncan Chawley. ‘How do you know Sean Lovell killed her?’ he asked, making sure to maintain the same even tone set by Gavin.
‘Dad told me.’
‘Why?’
A flicker of annoyance crossed Gavin Chawley’s face. ‘Because of Luke Felton’s visit.’
Eyeing Gavin closely, Horton said, ‘How did you know it was Luke Felton visiting your father?’
With a glance of exasperation Gavin said again, ‘Dad told me.’
‘I see,’ Horton said slowly. ‘So after Luke’s visit you went in to your father and said who’s that and what did he want, and he told you that Sean had killed Natalie?’
‘Yes.’
Wrong, but Horton contrived to look baffled. ‘But how could you have had time, when your wife told me that you raced after Luke Felton and didn’t return for hours?’
A flash of irritation crossed Gavin’s broad features. After a moment he said, ‘I opened the door to Luke. He told me his name and I asked my father if he wanted to see him. I remembered the name from Dad’s cases. He said to let Luke Felton in and that he’d come to see him about Natalie Raymonds’ murder, and that’s when he told me about Sean Lovell killing her and how he had to protect a fellow police officer.’
Horton gave an exaggerated frown, deciding to play dumb. ‘But if Sean Lovell killed Natalie, why did you go after Luke?’
‘To protect my father,’ snapped Chawley, pausing from planing the wood, and glaring at Horton as though he was an idiot. ‘He had covered up the fact that Sean killed her and I didn’t want it coming out and destroying his reputation. I wanted to find out what Luke remembered.’
‘And that’s why you killed him,’ Horton said sympathetically. He saw Gavin start but he quickly recovered himself.
‘No. Of course not.’
Horton threw him a pitying look. ‘We both know that’s not true, Gavin. Did you overhear Luke telling your father on that Saturday afternoon that he’d begun to remember certain things about Natalie’s murder and that he believed he was innocent?’
Chawley said nothing.
Horton continued. ‘Luke had been having hypnotherapy sessions while in prison, which were recorded. Is that why you broke into the hypnotherapist’s office on the Isle of Wight last Sunday? You stole the tapes to wipe out all traces of what Luke had remembered, just as you’ve wiped out all trace of Luke?’
Chawley returned to shaving the wood, frowning a little as he did so.
Horton went on. ‘The DNA on some of the hairs taken from the therapist’s office will match yours.’ The eyes that flicked up to Horton’s were more wary now.
‘You gave Luke a lift back to Portsmouth on that Saturday and told him you’d help him get to the truth. Did Rookley see you pull up outside Crown House and overhear Luke saying goodbye to you?’
Still Chawley said nothing.
‘Did you tell Luke to meet you on Tuesday at Portchester Castle where it all began in 1997?’
The hands hesitated for a moment before resuming their careful motion on the wood.
‘How did you kill Luke, Gavin? The same way you killed Ronnie Rookley?’ Horton kept his gaze steadily on Chawley. Would he continue to say nothing? Would he deny it? Or would a desperate desire for approval or his ego make him confess?
Chawley stopped planing and ran a critical eye over the wood while he said casually, ‘Rookley thought he could blackmail me.’
Horton’s heart jumped a beat. ‘And that’s why you met him in the cemetery at the committal of a lady called Margery Blanchester, who has left this organization a generous legacy. How did Rookley know how to get in contact with you?’
Chawley scowled. ‘I gave Luke my mobile number. He didn’t have a mobile phone but he scribbled the number down on a piece of paper. Rookley must have got it off him, or found the paper. And I told Luke that I could use someone like him at the sailing trust.’
And, Horton thought, when he and Cantelli had questioned Rookley in the cafe over Luke’s disappearance, the little crook had seen his chance to make some money.
Picking up the piece of wood, Chawley turned to face Horton. ‘Rookley telephoned me Friday morning. I was on my way to the funeral. I said I’d meet him in the cemetery. He said that unless I gave him money he’d tell you about my meeting with Luke. I told him to meet me at the lock but half an hour before you were due to see him, only he wasn’t getting any money. I knocked him out while he was leaning into the boot of my car to count it, or so he thought. I pushed him inside and slammed it shut.’
‘And then you hit me.’
Chawley nodded. ‘You’d think it was Rookley or one of his accomplices. And it would stop you following me if you were sharp enough to see me drive off.’
So the sound of the motorbike pulling away had nothing to do with Rookley or Luke’s death. But Horton already knew who that was: their Georgian. And where was he now, Horton fleetingly wondered. But then he reasoned, even if the Georgian had managed to follow him here and was listening, he’d hear this had nothing to do with Venetia’s death, so there was no reason for him to intervene.
‘What did you do with Luke’s body, Gavin?’
‘It’s in the Solent, along with Rookley’s,’ Chawley said matter-of-factly.
‘You took both of them out on a boat on separate occasions?’
‘Yes. No one will miss them. One was a useless junkie, the other a violent thief. I couldn’t allow them to ruin my father’s reputation, and mine. My work is important here. Lots of people depend on me.’
And they’re going to have to manage without you soon, thought Horton, and for a very long time. Angrily, he thought of Luke and his parents, destroyed by the Chawleys. He wanted one of them in court and convicted for it at least. He guessed that Gavin Chawley would deny what he’d said later when Horton got him to the station, and he hadn’t charged and cautioned him, but Horton was confident they’d be able to assemble enough evidence to make him think again. The gravedigger might even be able to identify Chawley talking to Rookley. There would be DNA in Lena Lockhart’s office and they might be able to prove Gavin had travelled across to the island by one of the ferries — unless he’d travelled by boat, but he didn’t own a boat, according to his wife. Was that a lie?
Horton rapidly considered this, recalling that she said he’d been sailing with friends. Had he taken time away from them to slip up to Lena’s office and steal the tapes? They would check. But if he didn’t own a boat then how could he have disposed of Luke’s body, and Rookley’s, in the Solent, at night? The dinghies and the small safety rib kept here weren’t up to such a task, but one boat was, and it certainly wasn’t this wreck of an old paddle steamer.
Gavin’s fingers caressed the wood. ‘Luke would have been no use to society, and Rookley certainly wasn’t. I couldn’t allow a man like that to blackmail me or my father. He served the community all his life. He made one small mistake.’
‘I don’t call what your father did small, and I don’t mean covering up for Sean Lovell.’
Gavin Chawley’s eyes narrowed.
Steadily, Horton continued. ‘Sean Lovell didn’t have an affair with Natalie and neither did your father. It was you, Gavin. You killed Natalie. Your father knew it. He covered up for you then and he’s kept silent about it ever since. What did Natalie do to make you kill her, Gavin? Did she reject you? Laugh at you? Belittle you?’
Chawley’s fingers tightened on the wood. Horton waited with bated breath, listening to the creaking and groaning of the old paddle steamer and praying Cantelli wouldn’t burst in on him now and spoil this confession.
After a moment Chawley said, ‘She told me the affair was over. She said she was bored, that I wasn’t important enough. I was only a sales clerk then, working for Julia’s father. He had a boat building company here. Well, I showed her. I knew Luke from the Castle Sailing Club. He should have been thrown out after that attack on a pensioner but the club secretary was too weak to do it.’
‘So you tricked Luke on to your father’s boat in 1997, where you drugged him. How did you get the heroin?’
Chawley smiled reminiscently. ‘I’ve always done charity work. I think it’s important to give something back.’
No, Horton thought, you need it to feed your overinflated ego and satisfy your craving for attention. Did Duncan Chawley know that his son had a serious personality disorder? He guessed so.
‘I worked for a time helping drug addicts,’ Gavin said. ‘It was easy to get the stuff and know how much to use. Once I had Luke on my father’s boat, I stripped him and put on his clothes and shoes. I was the same build then, and while I wasn’t exactly the same shoe size I could manage wearing his trainers for a while. It was perfect. I pressed his fingers on a water bottle, carefully preserving his prints, cut some of his hair and then drove to Hayling where I’d already arranged to meet Natalie. I strangled her and then hit her to make sure I got her blood on Luke’s clothes, and I planted the evidence. Then I drove back to the boat. It was dark then. No one saw me.’ He spoke as though it was a routine affair, something anyone might have done.
Horton said, ‘When did your father know it was you?’ He watched Chawley play with the wood in his hands, and tensed in preparation for an attack that he knew must come. Chawley wouldn’t let him live to tell this tale. He’d killed three times; another death wouldn’t matter to him. Now, Horton thought, would be a good time for Cantelli to arrive.
‘Dad found Luke on the boat just as I returned from Hayling. I had to tell him. He said he’d take care of things on condition that I marry Julia, though I didn’t want to. He said she’d be a steadying influence on me. She was in love with me of course but, well, she’s not exactly my equal. You’ve seen her, she’s a timid little thing and dull as ditchwater. But it turned out OK in the end because her father died soon afterwards and left her the house and the boat building business, which I sold to start this charity. So you see, some good came of it.’
As if that justified killing someone, Horton thought with anger. And not just three people, five if he counted Sonia and Neville Felton. Horton imagined what kind of life poor Julia had suffered, and those very quiet children. He recognized a bully when he saw one, the kind that gradually and relentlessly chips away at a person’s self-esteem and confidence. He’d also like to know exactly how Julia’s father had died. But that was for another time.
‘Dad was pleased I’d made something of my life. He could see it would have been a waste to sacrifice that for the sake of Natalie Raymonds.’
Barely containing his contempt for the man in front of him, Horton said, ‘Venetia Trotman wasn’t a tart. How do you justify killing her?’
Chawley started with surprise. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said briskly.
‘Oh, I think you do, Gavin. You needed her yacht to dispose of the bodies.’
Chawley’s lips tightened but he made no comment.
Relentlessly, Horton continued. ‘I suppose you must have seen it on her slipway when you were walking along the shore, or perhaps when you were out sailing with friends. When did you decide it would be useful for getting rid of Luke Felton and Ronnie Rookley?’
Still Chawley remained silent.
‘Why didn’t you just steal it in the early hours of Friday morning like you did on Tuesday night, when you took it out with Luke’s body on board? Or did Venetia Trotman see you with Rookley’s body on Friday night? Is that why you had to kill her?’ Horton could see by Chawley’s annoyed expression it was.
Chawley’s hands gripped the wood and his face screwed up with anger. ‘If she had been in bed like she had been on Tuesday night she would still be alive, but she was in the garden. She must have heard the engine of the safety rib where I’d put Rookley because she called out. Then she saw me and ran away. I had to kill her.’
And Horton’s mind was now doing cartwheels putting together what he knew about Venetia, the Georgian and Jay Turner.
He said, ‘Then you tied the safety rib to the yacht and took it out into the Solent, where you scuttled the yacht.’
But Chawley was shaking his head and looking shocked. ‘No. I couldn’t do that to such a lovely boat. It’s a classic, made of wood, like this.’ He indicated the wood his fingers were caressing. ‘I dropped anchor in Southsea Bay, climbed into the rib and threw Rookley overboard. Then I took the yacht round to Chichester Harbour and picked up a buoy.’
But they hadn’t found it. ‘You changed the yacht’s name,’ Horton said.
‘Yes, just as I did the first time, when I took Luke Felton’s body out on it. Then I returned the yacht and removed the sticker.’
Horton had been right about that.
‘With Rookley though I couldn’t return the yacht, because the woman was dead,’ Chawley was saying. ‘I thought the police would assume boat thieves had killed her. So after ditching Rookley I motored to the Hayling shore in the safety rib, and walked home from there. It was a long walk but I didn’t mind. I returned to the boatyard by car the next morning, Saturday, just before high tide and moved the yacht into the Hayling boatyard. It’s there now.’
Horton should have known; in among other classic boats in various states of renovation.
‘I hitched the safety rib on to a trailer on my car and brought it back here.’
Horton said, ‘How did you know the yacht wouldn’t be used on Tuesday night when you lured Luke Felton to it?’
‘I’d seen the woman return on it, alone, some weeks ago, at the end of February. It was a couple of hours before the high tide. It was dark and windy and she was struggling to moor it up, so I gave her a hand. She didn’t say much but I thought it strange for her to be sailing on her own. She looked frightened. She told me she had been out sailing alone and had got caught out by the bad weather. Then I saw the boat advertised for sale in the newsagent’s window in Portchester a week ago last Monday.’
That would have been on 9 March, thought Horton. ‘After Luke had visited your father.’
‘Yes. I arranged to view it that day and she told me her husband had died. She wanted to sell it. I said I would think about it and let her know by the end of the week. It was perfect for dealing with Luke.’
And if Venetia had told Horton this, would he have been able to save her? He doubted it. He certainly wouldn’t have been able to save Luke Felton.
‘So you arranged to meet Luke at Portchester Castle on Tuesday evening and walked with him around the shore towards the yacht. It was dark so no one would see you. You invited him on board, pretending it was your yacht and Willow Bank was your house. I suppose you told Luke you had only been visiting your father. You killed Luke, but not with a knife.’
Horton had been over that yacht viewing it on Thursday and he would swear there wasn’t any evidence, and certainly no blood.
‘I strangled him. Took the yacht out, dumped his body and brought the boat back again. It was so simple. I’d been prepared to take an impression of the boat keys to get another set cut but I didn’t need to. When I returned to the house, after viewing the boat, there was a set hanging on a nail just inside the door to the utility room. I took them and placed the keys she’d given me there while pointing to something in the garden. She seemed rather distracted and nervous and didn’t notice.’
And she’d said nothing to Horton about missing a set of keys. Even if she had, he and Uckfield would have assumed her killer had taken them along with the yacht.
The sound of a movement outside caught Horton’s attention, but he didn’t turn to investigate. He was more concerned about what Chawley might do with the piece of wood he was holding, and ducking out of its reach. But Cantelli had arrived. Good. Horton witnessed a flicker of surprise in Chawley’s eyes and braced himself for Chawley to make a swing at him with the wood. Then suddenly a blow from behind struck Horton on the side of his head. For a split second he wondered why Cantelli had hit him, before the deck of the steamer rushed up to meet him and his world went dark.