Pauline Rowson - Footsteps on the Shore

Friday, 13 March

Where is everyone? Inspector Andy Horton swept into the CID room at Portsmouth station and addressed the wiry, dark-haired figure leaning back in his chair, chewing gum and tapping a pencil thoughtfully on his chin.

Youre looking at him, Sergeant Cantelli answered, throwing the pencil down and sitting up.

Horton frowned. And DC Walters?

Probably in the canteen. Must be all of an hour since he last ate, and you know how faint he gets if he has to go too long without food. Cantelli smiled, obviously expecting one in return, but Horton wasnt in the mood. Cantellis expression darkened. Whats wrong, Andy? You look as though youd like to commit murder.

I would, and of the mindless moron who did this. He thrust a piece of paper into Cantellis hand. On it was a drawing of a diagonal cross with a broken circle etched above it.

Whats it mean? asked Cantelli, puzzled, turning it this way and that to study it.

No idea, but some idiot thought it a huge joke to scratch it on my Harley.

Cantellis head shot up and his dark eyes widened. Blimey, no wonder youre in a foul mood. Who would do that?

I intend to find out. Horton waltzed through to his office, wrenching off his leather bikers jacket and slinging it on the coat stand. And when I do Ill string him up by the balls.

Its not a Hells Angel emblem, is it? Harleys and all that, asked Cantelli, following him.

A Hells Angel wouldnt deface a Harley, not even if he hated my guts. Hed scratch that symbol on my face or tattoo it on my private parts.

Perhaps it doesnt mean anything and its just some sickos idea of fun.

Well, Im not laughing. Hortons fury was undiminished since first sight of the abomination this morning. On discovering it hed raced back to the marina office and demanded to view the security CCTV tapes of the car park above the pontoon where he lived on a borrowed yacht, but there were no sightings of the graffiti artist and no car unaccounted for by Eddie in the office. In fact there were only three cars in the car park after ten oclock last night, when Horton had returned to his boat following a long and tedious day dealing with pointless paperwork and Portsmouths criminal classes, whose sole pleasure in life was making other peoples lives as miserable as their own wretched existence. The only bright spot had been yesterday afternoon, when he had viewed a yacht he hoped would soon become his permanent home.

He simply couldnt believe a boat owner, either a visiting one or an existing berth holder, could have been responsible for the act of vandalism on his Harley, but he got a list of visitors to the marina from Eddie. There was only one, a Peter Medlow on Sunrise. Horton located the yacht, a classic 1950 Hillyard, which made him even more doubtful that its owner could have defaced a Harley Davidson. A man who chose to sail such a revered yacht couldnt spoil an iconic machine. But being a police officer he knew that no one was above suspicion, not even the Pope, though he doubted hed be visiting Southsea Marina by boat on a chilly, still March night. Medlow had turned out to be a friendly widower in his early sixties, a retired bank manager with a self-effacing manner. Hardly Hortons graffiti artist.

Cantelli said, Maybe someones jealous of you.

Horton sat at a desk so overflowing with paperwork that it looked in danger of collapse, and eyed Cantelli incredulously. Barney, I live on a borrowed boat, Im about to get divorced. My estranged wife wont let me see, let alone speak to my daughter, who shes intent on sending away to a boarding school against her wishes, and the only woman I thought I could get close to has put herself beyond my reach by returning to Sweden. How could anyone possibly be jealous of me?

Thea Carlssons still in touch with you though, isnt she? Cantelli asked, throwing himself into the seat opposite Horton.

Horton shook his head. No. He felt a mixture of sadness and anger that the slender, fair woman hed rescued from a burning building less than two months ago had turned her back on him. He had hoped something might come of their feelings for one another, but he should have known better. They both carried too much baggage. In a moment of bitter disappointment he had accused her of running away from her pain her brothers death but she had calmly replied, Isnt that what youve been doing for over thirty years? Shed been referring to his mothers disappearance when he was ten. She was right; and even though two recent cases had opened up the past for him and given him leads, hed not pursued them. He hadnt even looked at the missing persons file since returning to duty four weeks ago. He felt a stab of guilt, and then anger that he should be made to feel guilty when his mother had deserted him, not the other way around.

It could be a threat then, Cantelli posed, frowning with concern as he once again studied the symbol. Some kind of coded warning perhaps?

Horton had already considered this, along with who would threaten him and why. He had enemies who didnt in this job? and although he sincerely hoped that the more dangerous of them were banged up he wasnt going to bet on it, not with the way the justice system seemed to be operating. But one particular villain had sprung to mind, and one he had never seen. Neither did he know his real identity, only that the head of the Intelligence Directorate, Detective Chief Superintendent Sawyer, called him Zeus because he wielded his thunderbolts to control his family of crooks and kill anyone who stepped a millimetre out of line. And that brought Horton right back to thoughts of his mother, because Sawyer had told him she might once have been associated with Zeus. Sawyer had hoped to enlist Hortons help in running Zeus to ground but Horton had refused, not out of fear for himself but because he knew the Zeuses of this world wouldnt hesitate to get at him by hurting his daughter, and that was a no-brainer as far as he was concerned. But, he reasoned, an international villain like Zeus wouldnt be arsing around scratching symbols on his Harley; the threat would have been much more physical and painful.

Cantelli said, Someone at the university might know what that symbol means.

It means some brainless lowlife gets his kicks from vandalizing other peoples property. And Im going to find out who it is. Reaching for his phone, Horton added, I shall view every CCTV tape from all the cameras in the area, including those along the seafront and-

Inspector Horton!

Cantelli started and jumped up while Horton quickly stifled the groan that had automatically sprung to his lips as he stared at the taut, thin figure of the head of CID, Detective Chief Inspector Lorraine Bliss, standing in his doorway and looking about as friendly as the Grimpen Mire. She wasnt due back from her secondment at HQ for another fortnight, so what the devil was she doing here now?

He replaced the phone and flashed Cantelli a look. By the sergeants expression it was clear, though, he was equally surprised by Blisss sudden reappearance. Maybe this was a short visit, Horton thought hopefully, and shed quickly return to HQ where she had been examining pay and performance.

Pointedly consulting her watch, she said curtly, Youre late.

Horton stared at her hollowed face and sharp green eyes, resenting both her manner and her comment. With an effort he bit his tongue to stem the automatic retort, the desire to remind her of the countless times hed worked late, come in early or during his off-duty days.

My office. Now. She turned on her heel and marched away, leaving him to stare at the light brown ponytail, the narrow backside in the tight black skirt, and the head held so high that he wondered if there was something stuck on the ceiling of the CID operations room.