Blood on the Sand

Elms nodded and rose. In the hall as Elms reached for his coat from a peg, Horton said, 'We'll also need to take your car in for forensic examination and talk to the League of Friends. Who's in charge?'

'Mrs Mackie.'

Horton halted. 'Evelyn Mackie?'

'Yes. We're not always on the same rota but she organizes them.'

And that meant she could also have seen Thea in hospital on the day Gordon Elms gave her a lift. Then why the blazes hadn't she mentioned it?

TWENTY-THREE

'I thought you knew I worked there as a volunteer,' Evelyn Mackie said brightly, as soon as Horton was seated in the stuffy, over-furnished front room. Cantelli had taken Elms to the station.

Horton felt like asking, how? He wasn't psychic. 'Did you see or speak to Thea in the hospital?' he asked, curbing his irritation and impatience.

'Oh, yes. I wasn't working on her ward but I made a point to see how she was. I told her Bengal was fine and that he could stay with me as long as she liked. I even offered her my spare bedroom but she refused. Then the nurse came over to tell her about the phone call.'

Suddenly every nerve in Horton's body tingled. This was news to him. Why hadn't Somerfield discovered this when she questioned the staff after Thea's disappearance, he thought with a flash of anger? He'd bawl her out for this. It had cost them four days of delay, which they could ill afford.

'Do you know who was calling Thea?' Horton prayed she did, but she shook her head.

'No. The nurse asked Thea if she was up to speaking on the telephone. Thea nodded and the nurse wheeled the phone over. I left then.'

Horton cursed silently. He had to speak to the nurse. 'What's the nurse's name?'

'Vanessa Tupper, but she's on holiday. Tenerife. She told me she was flying out late that night, Thursday.'

He cursed silently. But it explained why Somerfield hadn't discovered this. Just their luck. They'd have to try and reach her in Tenerife. He wondered if Thea had left the hospital in response to that call. It seemed likely. Perhaps it was to meet someone who told her they had information about her brother's death. But if that were so then why the hell hadn't she called him? Surely she would have known that she might be in danger after being knocked out and nearly fried alive. And that left him with three possibilities: she trusted the caller implicitly, which meant that it couldn't be the same person she'd admitted to her house; the caller was Thea's accomplice in murder, the person who had nearly killed her, who said they would try again, so she had gone on the run to escape him; or she'd agreed to meet him and then killed him. If the latter, then the caller could have been Jonathan Anmore and Thea had cadged a lift from Gordon Elms to meet him in Yarmouth, returning in Anmore's van to the barn where she'd killed him.

Then another thought struck Horton. There was a possibility she might not have known who the arsonist was because he'd let himself in using Owen's key. No key had been found on his body. And had that person been Bella Westbury or Jonathan Anmore? Horton felt sure it couldn't have been Danesbrook; he'd have smelt him.

Horton asked Mrs Mackie if she'd known that Gordon Elms had given Thea a lift from the hospital that morning. Clearly she hadn't, but she confirmed that Elms had been working that morning, and that he'd told her he was going to pick up Mr Westleigh and bring him to the hospital.

He had one question left to ask. 'Why didn't you tell me Thea stayed with her brother over the New Year?'

'Did she? He never said. My husband and I were in Scotland, visiting his family. We always see the New Year in with them.'

There didn't seem much more he could gain here. Outside, he stared at the boarded-up, blackened remains of Owen Carlsson's house, hoping that it might stimulate his thoughts, but nothing new occurred to him.

At the station, Marsden confirmed what Horton already knew — that there was nothing in Scanaford House to tell them what Sir Christopher Sutton had done during that missing year, or anything to reveal he had been in contact with Elizabeth Elms or her son. In fact, Marsden claimed there was remarkably little correspondence for either Sutton senior or his daughter and, Horton thought, they all knew who had taken and probably destroyed what there had been.

Horton found Uckfield in his temporary office in a foul temper, his frowning face grey with pain.

'Couldn't the chiropractor fix it?' Horton asked.

'Bloody man's made it worse. Quacks, the lot of them. I'll sue him if he's injured me for life.'

'What does he say it is?'

'A severely pulled back muscle. All I did was bend down to tie my bloody shoes.'

A likely story, thought Horton. Uckfield's sexual exploits with Laura Rosewood were more likely the cause. He said, 'Shouldn't you be lying down?'

'And shouldn't you be catching a killer?'

Uckfield's phone rang and he reached for it with a grimace of pain.

Horton joined Trueman and Cantelli in the incident room, dashing a glance at his watch. It was almost ten o'clock. It had been a long day and he felt exhausted. Tomorrow, Trueman would talk to Vanessa Tupper. Fortunately he'd managed to get her mobile telephone number from a colleague, but it was too late to call her now, though she could still be awake and partying in Tenerife.

Trueman said, 'The forensic team have found gun oil on some rags in Anmore's barn.'

'But no guns?'

'No.'

Which meant Anmore's gun could be the one that had killed Owen.

'Any evidence of Thea Carlsson having travelled in the van?'

'There are some hairs. The lab is matching them with the DNA swab taken from Thea Carlsson when she was first brought in.'

And that would take time. If they matched it wouldn't prove she had killed him but it would be one more factor to weigh against her.

The door of the incident room burst open and Horton looked up to see DCI Birch eyeing them with a cold gleam of victory in his granite eyes.

'The Chief Constable has just sanctioned me to take over this investigation from Superintendent Uckfield,' Birch said crisply, striding in. 'He can't run this case incapacitated.'

Horton's heart sank. He should have known that Birch would find a way to get even. His eyes flicked to Uckfield. He was still on the phone and Horton didn't need second sight to know who he was talking to or what about. Judging by Uckfield's expression his protest was falling on deaf ears.

Addressing Horton, Birch said, 'If I recall correctly, Inspector, you are officially on holiday. So you can get back to your boat and your holiday. I'll handle this now.'

The door crashed open and Uckfield stood, or rather crouched, on the threshold. He made to straighten up when a roar escaped his lips and his hand grasped his back.

'I'll call an ambulance,' Horton said, reaching for the phone.

'No,' Uckfield whispered urgently, trying to glower at Birch at the same time, but it only made him look like he was severely constipated. 'Cantelli can take me back to the hotel.'

'You need some pain killers and anti-inflammatory drugs.'

'I'll take you to A amp; E,' Cantelli said.

Clearly, Uckfield didn't have the strength to protest. Eyeing Horton as he passed him he only managed to growl, 'Keep me informed.'

But Birch clearly had no intention of letting him do that. 'Still here, Inspector?' And turning his back, he said to Trueman, 'Sergeant, put out an all-ports alert for Thea Carlsson wanted in connection for the murders of Owen Carlsson and Jonathan Anmore.'

'You've got no evidence,' Horton declared.

Birch spun round. His eyes narrowed with spite. 'This is evidence,' he declared triumphantly, waving a manila folder at Horton like Neville Chamberlain declaring 'Peace for our time' in 1938. 'It's Thea Carlsson's medical history and it makes very interesting reading. She was committed to a mental hospital three times between 1994 and 1995 for anorexia, psychological problems, hallucinations, and depression. And she attempted suicide in 2002. Clearly the woman is unbalanced.'