'Well, this one does and she's just had it. I haven't met Thea Carlsson, only her dead brother, but this is a clever killing by a clever killer. And, despite Cantelli's theories, it is not yobbos. Your killer never for a moment thought it would be construed as suicide, but he's done his best to make it difficult for us to ascertain time and place of death. Anyway, I've said my piece. I just don't want you ending up on my dissecting table — no matter how much I'd like to see you without your clothes.' She smiled to lessen the impact of her words but Horton shuddered at the thought of being laid out on the mortuary slab.
'That was Somerfield,' Cantelli said, hurrying towards them. Horton saw instantly that something was wrong. 'Thea's gone.'
'How? When?' Horton rapped.
'About half an hour ago. She said she wanted a shower before she left the hospital for the safe house. The WVRS volunteer had brought her some clothes. Well, she could hardly walk out in a hospital gown and Somerfield couldn't go in the shower with her,' Cantelli said defensively.
'Why not? She's a bloody woman too,' Horton snapped. Shit! This was the last thing he'd expected.
'She's not gone back to the burnt-out house,' Cantelli said, the rain pouring off his face, his dark eyes anxious. 'I suppose she could have returned to where she found her brother's body.'
Horton cursed. 'Check the hospital staff for any sightings of her,
Barney. I'll head for the Duver.' 'Andy,' Gaye called out after him. 'Remember what I said.' He would, but it wouldn't make any difference.
SIX
He reached the car park at the Duver in record time, and miraculously without getting a speeding ticket, or killing himself. There wasn't a car in sight. The rain was sheeting down. The biting wind cut into his flesh and shook the gorse with the fury of an outraged god. From beyond the beach huts came the thunderous pounding of waves crashing on to the shore. Not a day to be at sea, he thought, hurrying to the place where he'd discovered Thea leaning over her brother's body, without any real hope of finding her there. She wasn't. Only the flapping blue and white police tape greeted him.
So where was she? Had she voluntarily left the hospital or had she been abducted? Christ, he didn't even want to consider the latter, but he had to. Her abductor could be the arsonist and his intruder and the person who had been watching him and Thea here yesterday.
His eyes searched through the slicing rain for a hideout where this person could have watched the sorrowful scene being played out. There were plenty of places to hide: the numerous bushes, the caravan park to the north on the hill and the large houses on the gentle hill slopes to the west, which rose to the village of St Helens. Anyone with a pair of binoculars could have seen them.
Frustrated and concerned, he returned to the boat and punched in Cantelli's number.
'There's no sign of her,' Cantelli greeted him mournfully. 'We've put out an all-ports alert but we're keeping it from the media in case it puts her life in danger.'
'I'll skin Somerfield alive,' snarled Horton.
'It's not her fault, Andy,' Cantelli said gently, then added, 'But if it makes you feel any better Uckfield's already done that.'
Horton took a breath and mentally got a grip on his emotions. For someone whose personal motto was 'control at all times and never show what you're feeling', he was failing miserably.
Cantelli continued, 'There is one bit of news though; a nurse on A amp; E says she saw Thea climb into a car. She's definite about that because she was on duty when Thea Carlsson was brought in so she recognized her.'
'What car? Description of the driver?' asked Horton eagerly.
'She didn't get the registration or make, she was in a hurry and she didn't think much of it, but it was a dark-coloured saloon, a newish model. No description of the driver. Doesn't help us much, but the nurse says that Thea went willingly. No one was forcing her inside.'
Horton wasn't sure he liked the sound of that, especially the bit about a dark-coloured saloon. But if it wasn't Arina Sutton's killer, was it a friend? Had she lied about not knowing anyone? Had she telephoned this person from the hospital and asked him to collect her? Did that mean she could be involved in the murder of her brother after all? No. He didn't want to believe it.
Cantelli said, 'Uckfield's on his way to see you, Andy. Says he'll meet you at the nature reserve opposite Port St Helens. Do you know where he means?'
Horton did. Uckfield could have picked a drier location, but there was logic in his choice. No one would be on the footpath that skirted Brading Marshes in this weather. And it was screened from the road by trees, shrubs and the lagoons.
Locking the boat, Horton hurried across the harbour causeway to find Uckfield's silver BMW already parked in the small yard opposite the entrance to the reserve. He hadn't gone far into it before he spotted a short, square-set man wearing a long green waxed coat with a cap pushed low over his head peering through binoculars across the salt marshes. Horton smiled to himself. Despite the clothes and binoculars, this was not Uckfield's natural habitat. The big man stood out like a hooker at a high-class wedding. Uckfield had never been any good at covert operations.
'Seen anything interesting?' Horton asked as he drew level.
'Not a fucking dickie bird. Anyone follow you?' Uckfield lowered the binoculars.
'No.'
'Can't say I blame them in this shit-awful weather.'
Uckfield was right. There was no hiding place from the relentless rain, which had already seeped through Horton's trousers to his skin. He refrained from sounding off about Somerfield's incompetence — it would achieve nothing — and instead asked what Trueman had dug up on Thea Carlsson. He was curious to know more about the girl who had got under his skin so much.
Uckfield said, 'She's twenty-eight, has dual nationality, British and Swedish, like her brother, and works as a translator for the European Union. Or rather she did until eleven days ago when she sent an email to her boss saying she was going on unscheduled leave and wasn't sure when she'd be back.'
Horton rapidly calculated that had been Sunday, which tied in with what Evelyn Mackie had told him — Thea had arrived at her brother's house on the following Monday.
Uckfield said, 'She gave no reason and no one's heard from her since.'
What had prompted her to take such drastic action? Horton wondered. Had Owen told her he was in danger?
Uckfield continued. 'She lives in Luxembourg and speaks Danish, German and Swedish.'
A clever girl. But there was more, Horton could see it in Uckfield's scowling expression. 'And?'
Uckfield sniffed noisily. 'Owen Carlsson was working on a high-profile European environmental project. It's believed his death and his sister's sudden departure could have something to do with it.'
Ah, so that was it. He thought of those files in Owen's study. Could that be why the house had been set alight, to destroy one of them in particular? Perhaps the intruder couldn't find the file he wanted, or maybe Horton had disturbed him before he'd had a chance to properly search. Setting fire to the house with Thea in it would wipe out two problems with one match: the file and the chance that Owen might have confided in his sister. Or had Thea been involved in translating something Owen had been working on?
He said as much to Uckfield, adding, 'That could be why Thea looked so terrified when I found her. She could have known this person intended to kill her too, and now she's been abducted. The driver of the car she was seen getting into could have had a gun pointing at her.'
'In that case she's already dead.'
With a sinking feeling Horton knew it could be true, but he said, 'Who called you in?' It couldn't have been DCI Birch.
'Reg.'
The Chief Constable and Uckfield's father-in-law. Given what Uckfield had just said about Owen's European environmental project Horton had wondered if it might have been Europol.