‘Lunch?’ Cantelli said hopefully.
Not without effort Horton pulled himself together. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard; it was almost two thirty and an age since breakfast, which he hadn’t eaten because of that damn etching on his Harley and DCI Bliss’s sudden return to duty. He still didn’t know why she had returned from her secondment earlier than planned, and it didn’t matter now, because she was back and there was nothing he could do about it. He found he had no appetite though, the bloated body in the harbour and Toby Kempton had put paid to that.
‘Turn right,’ he instructed Cantelli. ‘We’ll see if Olivia Danbury’s in.’
Cantelli threw him a pleading look.
‘Perhaps she’ll give us a cup of tea,’ Horton added, punching in Mrs Trotman’s telephone number with a feeling of desperation that he had to get the yacht he’d viewed yesterday as quickly as possible so that he had somewhere for Emma to stay. And yet even then he could almost hear the family court judge crying incredulously, ‘A yacht! You intend letting a child sleep on board a yacht!’
‘It’s solids I need, not liquid,’ Cantelli grumbled, as Horton listened to the phone ringing.
Getting no answer he hung up, saying, ‘Then let’s hope Mrs Danbury gives you a biscuit.’
FIVE
Olivia Danbury didn’t even offer them a smile, let alone any refreshments. Horton reckoned the skinny blonde woman in her mid-thirties didn’t have much to smile about, unless you counted the large detached modern house set behind electronic gates in landscaped gardens, the sweeping driveway, tennis courts and panoramic views over the harbour across to the Isle of Wight. A deep frown crossed her suntanned face as Cantelli made the introductions. Horton mentally compared her to the picture Harmsworth had given them of Luke Felton and thought she was younger than her brother, but apart from the colour of the hostile blue eyes, there was no similarity between them.
‘How many times do I have to say it?’ she declared angrily. ‘I have not seen Luke and I don’t want to see him, ever.’
Reluctantly, she had let them in but kept them standing in a black-and-white tiled hall with an elaborate marble staircase and wrought-iron balustrade that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Hollywood movie. Horton wondered who Cantelli was imagining gliding down the staircase given his love of old movies.
He said, ‘Has Luke been in touch since he was released on licence?’
‘No.’
‘What about while he was in prison?’ The gaze she bestowed on Horton was about as friendly as the one Rookley’s mate in the cafe had given him.
‘No. Now is that it? Because I’ve got to go out.’
Horton doubted that. She just wanted shot of them. He said, ‘Has your brother, Ashley, been in contact with Luke since his release?’
‘No.’
He didn’t know if that was the truth. They’d speak to Ashley Felton anyway.
Cantelli held out his business card. ‘Will you contact us if Luke attempts to get in touch?’
Horton thought she couldn’t have shown her disgust more if Cantelli had been holding a pile of dog shit. The sergeant’s hand remained resolutely outstretched until, with an explosive sigh, strong enough to turn a windmill, she snatched the card from him. Horton reckoned she’d tear it into tiny shreds and drop it into a bin with her nicely manicured fingers as soon as their back was turned. Still, he could understand her anger, which perhaps disguised her shame and emotional turmoil. It wasn’t very nice having a convicted killer in the family. He saw no need to tell her about the body in the harbour, not when they didn’t know if it was Luke Felton.
Gently he said, ‘We understand your distress and anger, Mrs Danbury. We’ll do our best to find Luke and, because he’s broken the conditions of his licence, he’ll be sent back to prison.’
‘And long may he rot there.’
Horton studied her for a moment longer than necessary, but the lady was not for breaking her eye contact, and neither did he see in her eyes any hint of compassion. If Luke was dead then he didn’t think Olivia Danbury would shed any tears for him.
There didn’t seem much point in hanging around. Horton thanked her and in the car, Cantelli said, ‘Seeing as we didn’t get a biscuit, can we grab a burger? My stomach’s rattling like a snake in a cage. There’s a mobile cafe along the top of the hill.’
Horton nodded.
‘Could she be hiding her brother in that mansion?’ Cantelli said, indicating right on to the hill road.
‘I don’t see why she should,’ Horton replied, thinking the house was big enough to hide a whole regiment. ‘If Luke Felton did visit her then how did he get there? He doesn’t have a car and her house is hardly on a bus route.’ People who lived in places like the Danburys didn’t need buses.
‘Someone could have given him a lift.’
That was possible, although judging by Olivia Danbury’s reaction, Horton guessed that visiting his sister was the last thing Luke Felton would have wanted to do. And if Olivia Danbury was lying then he thought her a damn good actress. Besides, why should she lie? Unless Luke had committed a crime and she was shielding him. But that looked about as likely as the Queen harbouring a known villain.
As Cantelli pulled into the car park and dashed across to the burger stand, Horton wondered what Olivia Danbury’s husband did for a living. Whatever it was, it was clearly very lucrative. He also wondered if they had children. There had been no signs of any. And, he thought, there would be no sleeping aboard yachts for the likes of them, not unless it was the floating gin palace kind of boat; the type that resembled a small ferry. He wasn’t envious; not of that. Just of anyone who could be with their child.
He watched the rain sweep in from the sea across the city and called Dr Clayton. Expecting her voice mail, he was surprised when she answered. He asked if she’d got anything from the body to help identify it.
‘Not a thing,’ she answered in an annoyingly bright tone. ‘Brian’s removed what was left of the clothing and sent it off to the lab. It appears to be some kind of T-shirt, original colour beige, or white; a light colour certainly.’
‘Grey?’ asked Horton, thinking about Harmsworth’s description of Luke’s clothing, which Cantelli had confirmed with the receptionist and other staff.
‘Could be. There was no manufacturer’s label. The small amount of trouser material we managed to salvage is cotton, possibly dark grey or green — again no label.’
This was sounding more like Luke Felton every minute.
‘There was no jewellery on the corpse,’ Dr Clayton added. ‘I’ll check for tattoos, scarring and birth marks when I conduct the autopsy but the condition of the body might make that difficult.’
And that reminded Horton they needed Luke Felton’s medical records urgently. Cantelli slipped back into the car, bringing with him a blast of damp chill wind and the smell of fried onions. Horton took his burger.
He said, ‘Dr Price said the corpse had probably been dead between sixty and seventy-five hours. Is his assumption anywhere near correct?’ He took a bite of his burger.
‘Putrefaction is usually slower in water than in air and even slower in cold water, which is what the sea is this time of year: very cold,’ she said. ‘If he fell in, or was pushed, he wouldn’t have lasted longer than ten minutes. His body would have sunk until the putrefactive gases pushed it to the surface and allowed it to float. Generally, at this time of year, in the sea, that could take anywhere between three to five days, and putrefaction is, as you saw, well advanced.’
Horton stared at his hamburger with a distinct lack of appetite. He wished he hadn’t asked. It couldn’t be Luke Felton then.