His phone rang. He was surprised to hear Sergeant Trueman's voice.
'Bloody hell, Dave, can't you sleep?'
'Not unless the boss tells me to. Actually I'm just on my way to our hotel. Hope I didn't wake you.'
'You didn't.'
'Thought not. Owen Carlsson-'
'Yes?' Horton sat up, all thoughts of sleep obliterated with those two words.
'He was involved in an incident nineteen days ago. A woman he was with was killed in a hit-and run at Seaview. Carlsson was paying the bill at the Seaview Hotel, where he'd been dining with Arina Sutton, his companion. She said she wanted a breath of fresh air. It was eleven fifteen. When Carlsson stepped out of the hotel he saw a car speeding towards her. He called out, but it was too late; she was knocked flying. Died instantly. No witnesses, apart from Carlsson.'
What a waste. Was this woman's death enough for Owen to have killed himself? But it hadn't been suicide. Tonight's events had proved that.
'Did we get the driver?'
'I'm not sure what the Isle of Wight police have done to trace him.'
Horton heard the underlying criticism in Trueman's voice. Why hadn't Birch or Norris mentioned this to him, Horton wondered? They should have recognized the victim's name when he'd given it to them at the scene of the crime, especially when putting it together with the fact that Thea had reported her brother missing. Was Birch holding out? That was highly probable given the man's dislike of him. But perhaps Birch considered the fact that the death of this woman and now her partner was pure coincidence. But Horton didn't trust coincidences one tiny little bit.
'Did Carlsson get a registration number?'
'According to the report he said it all happened too quickly and he was hardly thinking about that.'
No, only police officers were trained that way.
Trueman said, 'All Carlsson could say was that it was a dark-coloured saloon car.'
Which were two a penny. Then a thought struck Horton. Had Owen recognized the driver and been killed because of it? Or perhaps Owen was mixed up in something dangerous; he'd known the accid ent was intended for him — a warning for him to tow the line. Over what though? And how did that affect Thea? Were Thea and Owen both involved in something dangerous? Had Owen ignored this warning and so had to be eliminated? Perhaps the killer thought that Owen had confided in his sister, which was why she had to be killed. Or was he just reading too much into this? Probably.
Rubbing his eyes, Horton said, 'Where did Arina Sutton live?'
'Scanaford House, Arreton.'
Horton knew the village. It was strung out along a busy road between the island's capital at Newport and the coastal resorts of Sandown and Shanklin.
'There's something else,' Trueman added.
Horton could hear by Trueman's tone it was significant.
'Helen and Lars Carlsson, the parents of Owen and Thea, were killed in a road traffic incident in 1990.'
The couple in the photograph with the Triumph motorcycle. Thea had told him there was no one. She hadn't lied. 'So?'
'They died in almost exactly the same spot as Arina Sutton.'
Horton felt a prickling sensation crawl up his spine. 'What happened?' he asked quietly.
'Their car went out of control, careered over the sea wall on to the stones below and caught fire.'
And a child and teenager were orphaned. 'Who was driving?'
'Lars Carlsson. He hadn't been drinking.'
'Suspicious?'
'No.'
Or rather it hadn't been. Not until now.
FIVE
Thursday 8.35a.m.
The narrow street in Seaview which led down to the sea was deserted. That wasn't surprising, thought Horton, given the time of day, the season and the fact that most of the houses were second homes owned primarily by the London set and frequented only in August.
Horton drew the Harley to a halt by the low sea wall and gazed across a grey choppy Solent into a cloud-shrouded horizon. The shores of Portsmouth and Hayling Island were invisible. It was as though they were marooned here from the rest of the world. Throughout the night his thoughts had been haunted by Thea and the new mystery that Trueman had tossed into his lap — the deaths of Helen and Lars Carlsson in 1990. Did that have anything to do with the incident here nineteen days ago? Had the killer mistaken Arina Sutton for Thea Carlsson and been determined to murder the Carlsson children in exactly the same spot as where their parents had died, only it had gone wrong? But why the hell should he want to do that?
He swivelled round to peer up the road where Arina Sutton had been killed. The first thing that struck him was the driver would need to have been very skilful, or lucky, to have sped down the road and slammed into poor Arina Sutton before taking the sharp bend to the left, without careering over the low sea wall and crashing on to the stones and rocks below, as the Carlssons had done. And another thing: how could the driver have got up so much speed in such a short distance to create an impact powerful enough to kill? OK, so the road was on an incline and pedestrians did die even if hit at low speed, but it was less likely.
Leaving his Harley, Horton made his way up the centre of the quiet road until he was standing at the crossroads and staring back down it towards the sea. Then he turned and climbed the steep incline up the approaching road. It curved slightly to the right. Stopping after a few yards, he turned. Yes, he had a good view of anyone leaving the hotel, especially if Arina had stood in the middle of the road, perhaps taking the night air and waiting for Owen. With his engine already running, the killer had raced down the road, shot across the crossroads, taking a gamble that nothing would be coming — although Horton knew there wasn't much chance of that — and had slammed into her, maybe as she had turned on hearing the roar of the car. Perhaps she had tried to run, or dive, out of the way, but the driver had swerved into her. But if the engine had already been running to allow the driver to get up speed quickly, how had he known when to strike?
Horton's mind grappled with the possible answers to that question. It could mean there had been two of them: one driving the car, and the other watching the hotel — perhaps from the shadows of the narrow street almost opposite it, ready to relay to the driver when Arina Sutton stepped outside. Alternatively, the driver himself could have been inside the hotel watching Owen Carlsson and Arina Sutton. When he'd seen them finish their meal, he'd made his way to his car parked here, switched on the engine and waited until he saw her step outside. And if that was so then he wouldn't have confused Arina Sutton for Thea Carlsson.
Horton began walking back to the Harley, mulling this over. It meant that either Arina was the target, probably killed as a warning to Owen Carlsson, or the killer thought he'd get Owen Carlsson and didn't much care if Arina also got killed in the process. By some quirk of fate Owen had been late joining Arina but the driver — once embarked on his mission — couldn't, or didn't want to stop. Yes, that was possible, and it fitted. And the killer had missed Carlsson once, so he had tried again and this time he had succeeded.
Of course, that didn't account for how Thea had known where to find her brother's body, discounting the psychic bit. Horton reached for his mobile and called Cantelli. The briefing would be over by now and Horton was keen to get an update.
'How's the stomach?' he asked when Cantelli came on the line.
'Still in my throat. And I'm not sure it's going to stay there either.'
'I can't persuade you to join me for a bacon buttie then?'