Pretty conclusive then, thought Horton, digging out the photographs of Natalie Raymonds’ body and spreading them out on his desk; she was lying on her back, fully clothed. There was some deterioration in the body due to the weather, the length of time it had been exposed and the action of animal and bird life, but he could still see where her face had been bludgeoned. Horton again consulted the pathologist’s report; according to the pathologist, Natalie had been strangled with something soft and made of silk — a tie was the most likely option — before being struck three times with a rock.
Horton sat back, tapping his pen thoughtfully against his chin. Several aspects of the case bothered him. For a start, Natalie Raymonds had been a fit young woman, so why didn’t she run away from drug-crazed Felton? Maybe he had surprised her as she ran past him; he’d grabbed her, quickly lassoed the tie around her neck and pulled it tight until she died. But still Horton wondered if she might have been able to defend herself against Felton, at least enough to get away.
Secondly, what had Luke Felton been doing on the coastal path? It was hardly the usual haunt of drug addicts. He had been living with his parents in Portsmouth, so how had he got to Hayling Island, twelve miles away by road? There was no mention of him owning a car. And he couldn’t have travelled by the small passenger ferry to the south of the island because the witness had seen him at the northern end. Horton considered this with a frown. Walking two miles to where Natalie’s body was found was hardly the act of a drug-crazed addict, unless he went to meet a drug dealer. Still, it was an odd place for a rendezvous. Horton didn’t remember anything about Natalie Raymonds being on drugs or dealing in them and the pathologist would have picked it up if she’d been an addict.
And thirdly, why did Luke Felton strangle Natalie with a tie and not his bare hands? No tie had been found on Felton, and he’d been wearing a T-shirt when he was picked up.
Natalie’s mobile phone hadn’t been found either, but then Horton knew Luke Felton could have sold that to buy more drugs. In 1997 mobile phones weren’t as commonplace as now and most mobile phone users were on a contract.
Horton looked for the record of Natalie’s calls, but couldn’t find them in the file. So he began to search for Luke Felton’s statement. He hadn’t got far when his door swung open and Bliss stormed in with a face like a cat’s behind. Now what! he thought with exasperation. Friday the thirteenth was certainly living up to its reputation.
‘Mr Kempton has made an official complaint against your offensive and bullying behaviour,’ Bliss launched angrily.
Horton might have known. ‘Now hold on-’
‘No, you hold on, Inspector. I will not tolerate inappropriate behaviour in my CID team. You have allowed your personal affairs to interfere with your job and that is completely unacceptable, not to mention wholly unprofessional.’
Ah, so Kempton was playing dirty, and so was Bliss by the sounds of it. Well, two could play at that game, but in order to succeed, Horton knew he had to be smarter than he’d been this morning.
‘Well, Inspector? I’m waiting for an answer.’
Crisply, Horton said, ‘Luke Felton had access to the Internet and email. We need to check his computer to see if he made contact-’
‘That is not what I meant,’ she raged, flinging her hands on his desk and leaning across it to stare at him. Horton didn’t budge an inch or bat an eyelid. ‘What are you going to do about Mr Kempton?’
‘Get a warrant as he insists.’ Horton contrived to look bewildered, which seemed to really get up her nose.
Straightening up she said tautly, ‘Are you being deliberately obtuse and insubordinate? You owe him an apology for barging in and interviewing his staff without his permission.’
Technically she was correct, but he wasn’t going to let a small matter like that get in his way. And he had a feeling that Kempton would have stalled him.
Bliss was clearly waiting for a response. Eyeing her steadily he said, ‘Luke Felton is missing. His sister claims she hasn’t seen or heard from him and his last known movements are leaving Kempton’s at just after six o’clock on Tuesday night. He might even be dead, though we have no positive ID on the body found in the harbour yet.’
‘Body? What body?’ she screeched.
Horton gave a silent groan. He might have known he’d pay the price for not calling her. Swiftly he gave her the facts, watching her grim expression.
‘Good of you to tell me,’ she sneered, eyeing him contemptuously. ‘From now on, Inspector Horton, you will inform me the moment you have any news of Felton and the body in the harbour. And you will also apologize to Mr Kempton. Is that clear?’
He nodded curtly. She turned and marched out. A few seconds later a tap came at his door and Horton beckoned Cantelli in.
‘I gather DCI Bliss is not best pleased with our efforts today,’ he said, sitting opposite Horton.
‘Mine, not yours. I can handle it.’
‘Not sure I caught the bit where you told her about Rookley?’
Horton shrugged a response. He knew if he had done so, Bliss would have insisted that uniform accompany him and that he bring Rookley in.
Cantelli continued. ‘The warrant for Felton’s computer should be with us first thing tomorrow. Matt Boynton says Luke didn’t have a mobile phone and I’ve checked with the phone company, who confirm that the payphone at Crown House has been out of order for three weeks and they’ve had no request to repair it. I’ve also done a quick search on the Internet for that symbol.’
‘And?’ For a moment Horton had forgotten all about that.
‘It doesn’t look good, Andy. The nearest resemblance I could find is the pagan symbol of death.’
Horton glanced at the sergeant in surprise.
Hastily Cantelli added, ‘I’ve only checked it on a couple of web sites. I could be wrong.’
Horton sincerely hoped so.
‘You should ask someone in the Scientific Services Department to look into it for you,’ Cantelli pressed.
‘I will,’ Horton replied, drawing a sceptical look from Cantelli before he left.
If the symbol was a death threat, then why not kill him last night when the perpetrator had the chance? A lighted match would have done it, and almost had not very long ago. He’d just managed to leap off his beloved boat Nutmeg before it had gone up in flames. He shuddered at the memory. Since then he’d been living on a yacht belonging to a friend of Sergeant Elkins of the Marine Unit. But the friend was returning from abroad at the end of April, which reminded Horton about the yacht he was hoping to buy and had viewed yesterday. The owner might be at home now. He made to call her when another thought occurred to him, one that sent cold shivers up and down his spine; obviously his graffiti artist didn’t want him dead — not yet anyway. He wanted first to torment him, like a cat playing with a mouse. Perhaps whoever was responsible was saying, ‘See what I can do to something you cherish. Next time I’ll hurt something you really love.’ Horton’s heart leapt into his throat. Emma. If that was so then he had to find this maniac urgently. But how?