Uckfield narrowed his eyes and sniffed noisily, as Horton crossed to the coffee machine.
'Or perhaps our killer was watching Brundall's boat and saw Sherbourne board it,' Horton continued, pressing the button for coffee, black, no sugar. 'He recognized Sherbourne and knew it could spell danger, which means the killer must be from Guernsey otherwise how else would he know Nigel Sherbourne?'
'So you think it's the same killer?'
'It seems likely.' Horton took his coffee, sipped it and pulled a face. It never seemed to get any better. 'The killer sees Sherbourne climb on board and gets worried about what Brundall's told him. He kills Brundall that night and then hotfoots it back to Guernsey to prevent Sherbourne blabbing. He knows where to locate Sherbourne, follows him, but can't get to him before he sees his client, so he waits until he comes out, abducts and kills him. He then sets fire to Sherbourne's offices to make doubly sure that whatever Brundall has told his solicitor remains a secret, which means we need to check the flights-'
'Sergeant,' Uckfield bellowed.
Trueman was less than a foot behind him.
'I want the passenger lists of all the flights from Southampton to Guernsey on Thursday morning. And you'd better check out flights from the other airports too, especially any flights that went late Wednesday evening.' The door opened. 'Inspector Dennings, what took you so bloody long?'
'I got-'
'Never mind. Trueman, as soon as you get that passenger list relay it to Inspector Dennings; he'll be in Guernsey by then. Then I want you, Dennings; with the help of the Guernsey police, to go through it like it's that racing paper you study so keenly. Check out all the runners. I want to know if there is anyone on that list who knows or knew Sherbourne or Brundall, and their exact movements from Sunday night until last night.'
Dennings looked puzzled and with an irritated frown Uckfield quickly relayed Horton's theory, after which Horton said, 'Of course it could be two killers and our pyromaniac here told his pyromaniac friend over there about Sherbourne's visit.'
Uckfield spun round to face Horton. 'In that case, you'd better start finding me some leads here.' To Dennings, he said, 'Get going if you're to catch the-'
'08:25 flight,' interjected Trueman, obviously keen to push Dennings on to the earliest possible flight and volunteer to carry his luggage for him. 'Otherwise you'll have to wait for the 11:10.'
'And that's too bloody late.' Uckfield snatched a glance at his watch. 'Get a car to take you there. Blue lights all the way if necessary.'
Horton was glad to get Neanderthal Man out of the way, and Trueman, breaking with his usual habit of remaining implacable in the face of panic, bollockings and briefings, looked as if he'd received an early Christmas present.
Horton was surprised to find both Walters and Cantelli in the CID office. He could tell by Cantelli's cheerful expression that it was good news and felt overwhelmingly relieved.
'Recovered from your flu?' Horton addressed Walters.
'It wasn't flu, just an iffy stomach. Couldn't get off the toilet.'
'It's all those curries you eat.'
'I don't like curry,' protested Walters.
'Well, now that you're back, pick up where you left off on the tourist mugging. Did you get copies of the CCTV tapes?'
'No.'
'Well get them, scrutinize them and ask around the local shopkeepers in Queen Street, see if you can pick up some clue as to where our muggers are before DCI Bliss has a coronary. Cantelli, you're coming with me. How's your dad?' Horton asked as they swept out of the station, thankfully making it before DCI Bliss could grab them.
'He's chatting up the nurses, so he must be feeling better,' Cantelli said brightly. 'They reckon he'll be home for Christmas.'
'I'm very glad to hear it.' 'Where are we going?'
'Horsea Marina. I'll fill you in on the way.'
By the time Cantelli pulled up in front of the pontoon where Brundall's boat had been moored Horton had brought him up to speed with the case, but not about his visit to the vicarage and the words on the Reverend Gilmore's blotter. In the chill grey morning, Horton stared across the calm surface of the marina. Opposite he could see the modern houses and apartments, to his right the boardwalk of shops, restaurants and pubs, and to his left rows of boats on blocks and the boat-moving crane. He had come here, as he had yesterday, hoping to find inspiration, but this time with those words on Gilmore's blotter imprinted on his brain. Though they couldn't have anything to do with the Brundall case, he felt that they had nudged something in his subconscious that was telling him there was something here they had all missed.
'OK,' he said, chaffing his hands in the cold morning air, 'let's go over the facts. Brundall arrives here on Monday. He takes a vacant berth. What was the weather like on Monday?'
'It started raining in the evening. I had to pick Sadie up from Guides.'
'Brundall is a sick man. He'd probably had a long day motoring across from Guernsey-'
'How long would it have taken him?' Cantelli unravelled a fresh piece of gum and offered the packet to Horton, who shook his head.
'In that boat, with its powerful engine, and the weather fair, I'd say between three to four hours.'
Cantelli looked surprised. 'That quick?'
In Nutmeg it would take me for ever, Horton thought, though he had done it several times with Catherine and Emma on his father-in-law's yacht.
He continued. 'Let's say Brundall came here with a purpose. He was a dying man yet he'd made a special effort. Why?'
'He wanted to see someone for the last time?'
'He's got no relatives that we can find.'
'He had unfinished business here?'
'Like what?'
Cantelli shrugged. 'Maybe he just wanted one last look at his hometown, or perhaps he came to visit his parents' grave.'
Horton spun round. That was it, of course! Why hadn't he made the connection when Marsden had mentioned the parents were dead? He said, 'If he did then how did he get around? He'd hardly have taken a bus, too awkward to get into the city from here, and he was ill and wealthy.'
'He called a taxi or maybe-'
'He hired a car,' Horton finished, excited. 'And he would have driven that car back here.' He scanned the car park. 'It will be parked near this pontoon, and it would have been here on Wednesday when we attended the fire, which leaves…' Horton's eyes fell on a dark blue Ford. 'That one.' He hurried across to it and peered in at the driver's window, but there was nothing to see.
Cantelli was already calling in the registration number. Horton was annoyed; he should have thought of this earlier. They had a team of officers out here and a mobile incident suite and yet nobody had picked up on this. He didn't think the vehicle itself would yield anything but they might get some sightings of it and Brundall, between Monday and Wednesday evening.
Cantelli rang off. 'It's registered in the name of Go Far Car Hire in Buckingham Street. It hasn't been picked up for any speeding offence.'
'Call them and ask if they hired the car to Brundall, and if so get Walters over there quickly. Tell him to bring someone from the company here right away with a set of keys. And phone Marsden and ask him to track down where Brundall's parents are buried.'
Horton walked down to the pontoon and gazed across the water to where Brundall's boat had been moored. He shuddered as the memory of that foggy night returned to haunt him. Once again he saw that charred body and felt a strong sense of foreboding. The wind stirred, rattling through the halyards for a moment, and then died down. If he had believed in ghosts he would have said that Brundall's was haunting him. But he didn't believe. And yet he felt something that he couldn't explain. A medium would call it a presence. But he wasn't any medium. He was a policeman. Facts were his stock in trade and yet…