His mind raced and his heart quickened as he recalled Morville's statement. He said he'd seen Langley coming out of the consulting room. Morville had been to see Dr Stainton, and Horton knew that Dr Stainton practised at the Canal Walk surgery, which was where Dr Woodford was a GP. Yet Dr Woodford had made no mention she'd seen Langley when he'd met her in Dr Clayton's office at the mortuary. Why?
Desperately he dived into his memory trying to recall exactly what she had said: 'She registered with my practice in May. It's the closest to her school in Canal Walk. I gave her a medical, as we do all new patients, she was very fit. I saw her a couple of times after that, nothing serious, just the usual women's things.'
He climbed on his Harley. He'd been thinking like everyone else in the investigation that Langley's lover must be male. But Morville had given them some new information. OK, it was a long time ago that Langley had had a teenage lesbian affair but maybe those feelings had been rekindled. Why hadn't he worked this out before now? he thought, annoyed with himself. But he'd only just extracted Morville's evidence. And, of course, he hadn't seen Langley's medical notes. Uckfield had given him a brief outline of them, confirming what Woodford had said. If Horton had seen them then he would have spotted an appointment recorded on the day of her death and known that Dr Woodford had lied to him. But surely so would Uckfield, which meant there had been no appointment. But, according to Morville, Langley had been there.
Did Dr Woodford own a boat? He racked his brains trying to recall if he'd seen her name on the list, but he couldn't remember. There were two ways to find out: ask Sergeant Trueman, or ask Dr Woodford herself. He plumped for the latter.
At the surgery he showed his warrant card only to be told that Dr Woodford wasn't holding a clinic that evening. When he asked where he could find her he was told he'd need to speak to the practice manager, Janice Barton. Three agonizingly slow minutes later he was escorted into her office.
'Dr Woodford's taking a few days' holiday,' Barton, a large woman in her late forties with short dark hair and a crisp manner, told him. She waved him into the seat opposite.
'When was this decided?' he asked sharply, trying desperately to curb his impatience.
She gave him a curious stare. 'This morning after surgery. It left me in a rather difficult position, having to find a locum at short notice, but I could see that Dr Woodford needed a break. She looked exhausted. She said she might go sailing. I don't call that a break, I call it mad in this weather, but each to their own, and if it does her good-'
So, she did have a boat. His heart hammered against his chest. Was he already too late? 'Where does she keep it? The boat.'
'Gosport Marina.' Now the practice manager was beginning to look worried. 'I hope nothing has happened to her.'
'Can you tell me the name of the boat?'
She raised her eyebrows in surprise before her brow knitted. 'Swansong. I really don't see-'
'Did Ms Jessica Langley have an appointment to see Dr Woodford last Thursday morning?' he asked, his heart pumping fast.
'That's the murdered head teacher. Why do you want to know?'
'Did she?' insisted Horton. When he could see the woman pursing her lips in anticipation of refusing him, he forced himself to speak calmly, though he wanted to push her away from the computer and check himself. 'I don't want to know any confidential medical information, Mrs Barton, just whether or not Ms Langley had an appointment.'
She looked about to protest then changed her mind and tapped into the computer in front of her. As she did so Horton glanced impatiently around the office. It was bulging with paperwork, files and books. On the far left hand wall was a large roster and beside it some notes about the doctors under their individual names. Dr Teresa Woodford MD, BSc (Hons) MBBS, MRCGP, was one of six GPs, all of whom also had a wealth of initials after their names. He waited anxiously for the information. The clock was ticking away. He wondered whether he was he already too late. Would Woodford be making her escape across the Solent to France or Spain? The only saving factor was the weather, which was growing wilder by the minute. Maybe that would make her postpone her trip. After all she couldn't know that he was on to her.
At last Mrs Barton looked up from her computer screen. 'Not that I can see.'
'But she did come here,' Horton insisted. Had Morville lied? This time Horton didn't think so.
'I'll ask Reception.' She picked up her phone.
'Can you also ask if Eric Morville had an appointment, what time and did he keep it?'
Whilst she spoke to her receptionists, Horton chewed over what he had learnt. One thought kept returning to him: was Langley still involved with women? Had Dr Woodford been Langley's second caller and Langley's lover?
Mrs Barton replaced the receiver. 'Jessica Langley arrived just before surgery on Thursday morning at nine a.m. Dr Woodford had left instructions that she was to be shown through to her consulting rooms. Eric Morville is Dr Stainton's patient; he had an appointment Thursday morning, at half nine, which he kept.'
Horton rose. He had the information he needed. Then he paused. 'Just one thing more, can you tell me if Tom Edney was a patient?'
With a pointed sigh she fiddled about with her computer and after a moment she looked up and said, 'No.'
Horton thanked her and left. He had two more calls to make, which he did in the shelter of the surgery lobby. It wasn't very private with a stream of people coming in and out, but no one seemed interested in him; he guessed they were too preoccupied with their medical needs and the nerve-racking experience of visiting a doctor. Or was that just him who suffered from this phobia?
The first call was to the Queen's harbour master. No one in the office could remember if Swansong, Woodford's yacht, had radioed up to cross the small boat channel last Thursday, during the day. They didn't keep a record, there would be too many. And Cantelli had already discovered earlier that only a handful of fishing boats and the Isle of Wight ferry had used it at night.
Then he called Gaye Clayton.
'How well do you know Dr Woodford?'
'I've met her a few times at the sailing club.'
'Can you tell me what the initials MRCGP stand for?'
'Member of the Royal College of General Practitioners.'
'And MBBS?'
There was a moment's silence then, 'It stands for Bachelor of Medicine and Bachelor of Surgery, awarded after a five year course of study involving two years' pure science and three years' clinical experience.'
'So whoever has this degree can carry out surgery?' He thought of the expert way Tom Edney's throat had been cut.
'It shows a satisfactory understanding of anatomy, biochemistry, physiology, pharmacology, sociology, psychology, medical statistics, pathology, medicine, and yes, surgery, also obstetrics and gynaecology and psychiatry. A further year of supervised work must be undertaken before a doctor can be fully registered with the General Medical Council. What is it, Inspector? Why do you want to know?'
'I'll tell you later. Thanks.'
It was raining hard now. The wind beat against him as he weaved his way in and out of the heavy home time traffic on the M27 to the west of Portsmouth on his way to Gosport Marina. Had she already gone out sailing? He hoped not. He would call on Sergeant Elkins when he reached the marina. But the police launch wasn't in its usual place. Blast! He had been counting on Elkins' help. Horton phoned Cantelli. He wasn't in the station and his mobile was switched off. Had he already left for home? Horton left a message on Cantelli's mobile saying where he was, then switched off his own mobile. After showing his warrant card to the man behind the reception counter in the marina office, Horton got the location of Woodford's boat.