‘Is his van here?’ bellowed Horton.
‘No, and he’s not answering his phone either,’ roared Skelton.
‘When did you last see him?’
‘When he was talking to you and that good-looking copper. But my staff say he was here last night until about ten thirty and then he disappeared just when it started getting busy. No one’s seen him since, including my staff at my three coffee stalls here.’
Did Patricia Harlow know that her husband wasn’t where he was supposed to be?
Skelton continued, ‘I’ve been to Harlow’s caravan, he sleeps, eats and shits on site at a big gig like this, but the bastard isn’t there and he doesn’t look as though he slept there last night either, which Haseen confirms.’
‘Haseen?’
‘His caravan-mate, assistant event-catering manager.’
Several thoughts were running through Horton’s mind. Had Harlow killed Salacia? Had he taken fright after their questioning and gone on the run? Did he know that Ellie Loman’s remains were at the boatyard and think it only a matter of time before they discovered them? But how did that fit with Woodley having a photograph of Salacia in his cell? Then an idea occurred to him. There was a way.
He shouted, ‘Does your company have any dealings with the prison here?’
‘What’s that got to do with Greg?’ Skelton yelled back, surprised. Horton said nothing, forcing Skelton to add, ‘Yeah, we deal with the prison. We deliver catering supplies to them. I’ve got three divisions: Coastline Coffee Stalls, Coastline Outside Catering and Coastline Catering Supplies.’
‘And has Gregory Harlow delivered to the prison?’
‘He was working on the supplies side of the business until I promoted him to event-catering manager nine months ago, wish I bloody hadn’t now.’
This was sounding more promising by the minute. ‘How long has he worked for you?’
‘Ten years. And he’s been a damn good employee, until now.’
Until they were getting close to the truth about what happened on the first of July 2001. ‘I’d like to talk to Haseen.’
‘He’s working.’
‘It’s important.’
Skelton rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. ‘Might as well lose more money. I’ll fetch him.’
Horton followed Skelton into the crowded, overheated and noisy main tent and surveyed the scantily clad women in flimsy summer dresses or shorts that barely covered their arses and tops that certainly didn’t cover all of their tits. The men of all ages were just as meagrely clothed, most wearing shorts and without shirts. The tent was dimly lit and stank of sweat, perfume and beer. Skelton’s staff were behind a long counter serving drinks, mainly alcoholic judging by the mood in the tent, although Horton did see some of the occupants, squatting on the floor, which had been covered with imported sand, with soft drinks. He saw Skelton shouting something in the ear of a dusky-skinned good-looking man in his mid-twenties before his eyes fell on a muscular bulky man on the far side; DI Dennings, looking every inch the cop rather than a security officer, he thought. He didn’t acknowledge Dennings and vice versa, but Dennings had seen him all right.
His phone rang. Seeing it was Trueman, Horton stepped back into the small tent and through it to the outside but it made little difference to the noise level. Answering it he put a finger in his other ear. ‘You’ll have to speak up,’ he bawled above the music.
‘Ellie Loman’s medical file has been archived but we should have access to it tomorrow. Her GP can’t remember if Ellie was on the Pill and I can’t find the question having been asked during the original investigation or the fact noted that she didn’t take a towel with her. We should also have access to Rawly Willard’s health records tomorrow and Loman sold his business a year after his daughter disappeared.’
Horton quickly told Trueman that Harlow was missing and that he was following it up along with a possible connection with the prison. Seeing Haseen approaching, Horton hollered down his phone, ‘I’ll call you back.’
‘You wanted to see me?’ Haseen shouted. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked as though he hadn’t slept for a couple of days but there was nothing fatigued about his restless manner. Horton guessed that was caused by something entirely different to overwork.
Horton asked him when he last saw Gregory Harlow. Any more conversations at this level he’d end up losing his voice as well as his patience.
‘About ten o’clock last night. It was manic. I don’t remember the exact time. He didn’t sleep in the caravan.’
Something about the way Haseen said this alerted Horton. ‘Did you?’
Haseen smiled and then shrugged. ‘I thought Greg had probably got off with some tart, there’s plenty to choose from.’
And that was obviously what Haseen had done. ‘He was known to do that?’
‘Everyone does that here, even the hired help like me.’ He looked smug, and at the same time contemptuous. Horton didn’t care for his arrogance but there was no law against that.
‘What time did you get to the caravan last night or should I say this morning?’
Haseen grinned. Horton wanted to wipe it from his face.
‘About eight o’clock. Would have been sooner but I couldn’t get away from her. Nice little goer, off her head on something.’
And Horton wondered if it was ‘something’ that Haseen had given her.
‘Did any of your work colleagues see Gregory Harlow after ten thirty last night?’
‘You’ll have to ask them but none of us left the tent; except for a pee. We were rushed off our feet.’
Horton told him he could go, located Ross Skelton and got the registration number of the van Harlow was driving. He said he’d notify Skelton when they found Harlow and took his mobile number.
Weaving his way through the crowds he tried not to look like a cop but he felt conspicuous in his short-sleeved pale blue cotton shirt and chinos. He looked too neat, too clean and he felt too old even though there were many men older than him. He’d almost reached the backstage entrance when a black Range Rover pulled in. A voice hailed him with a hint of amusement. ‘Are you here for the festival or have you changed your mind about that job I offered you?’
Mike Danby. Horton might have known he’d be here, given his clientele. He crossed to the car and shouted, ‘If they chuck me out you’ll be the first person I’ll call.’
‘Why would they do that?’ Danby said surprised.
‘I’ve got a DCI who thinks I’m the lousiest copper on the planet and she’s itching to get shot of me.’
‘I’m sure you can handle her.’
Horton sometimes wondered, especially if her new-found friend was ACC Dean as he was rumoured to be, although Horton wouldn’t go so far as Uckfield’s claim that they were having an affair. ‘Are you handling the festival security?’ Horton shouted.
‘Only for the acts. I’m on my way to pick up Tammy Freiding. She’s singing now,’ he added to Horton’s baffled look.
‘Have you got a minute to talk?’ asked Horton, though ‘talk’ was hardly the right word for a conversation conducted at this level. ‘It won’t take long.’
‘Hop in, it’s quieter and cooler.’
Gratefully, Horton climbed into the car. The air was decidedly chillier but the noise followed him.
Danby said, ‘I’ll drop you back to the entrance. It’ll be a bit quieter there.’
Horton thought he’d have to take him midway to the Solent to escape this din, but the row lessened as one of the acts finished, and Horton swiftly told him they’d found human remains at the old Tipner boatyard which they believed were Ellie Loman’s. Danby looked surprised and then sorrowful.
‘After all this time, when was it? Hold on, July 2001. It was bloody hot like this. She went missing. Are her parents still alive?’
‘Yes.’ Horton didn’t explain about Marie Loman, it would take too long and wasn’t necessary. ‘What do you remember about the case?’
‘We initially believed that she’d run off with a man but her father insisted she hadn’t. He called in the big guns and when we started asking questions we discovered that she had arranged to meet this guy.’