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his seat. 'I'll get everything examined and relay our findings to DCI Birch.'
       It was a gentle reminder to Horton that he wasn't in charge of this investigation. Feeling irritable and restless, he watched Taylor go, knowing he was right; this case had nothing to do with him. Tomorrow he'd make his statement at Newport police station, and return home to Southsea Marina on the next high tide. He'd forget all about Thea Carlsson and her dead brother.
       The trilling of his mobile sliced through his thoughts.
       'For Christ's sake, Andy, can't you go anywhere without causing trouble?' Superintendent Uckfield bellowed.
       ' I didn't shoot him.'
       'Just don't ask me to go on holiday with you!'
       Perish the thought.
       'Well?' commanded Uckfield.
       'Well what?' How come Uckfield was suddenly interested? 'You'll have to talk to Detective Chief Inspector Birch.'
       'He reckons he's got the tart who did it.'
       'She's not a tart,' Horton said stiffly, and too quickly. He took a breath, not wanting Uckfield to read too much into his reaction, but it was too late.
       'Oh, like that, is it?'
       Hearing the sneer in Uckfield's voice, Horton cursed himself for over-reacting. But his response to Uckfield had told him he could no more walk away from this than streak naked through Portsmouth's busiest thoroughfare in the middle of market day. Forcing his voice to sound more casual, he said, 'Has Birch charged her?' He heard the deep throb of the police launch as it headed out of the marina.
       'Says it's only a matter of time.'
       'Motive?'
       'Claims brother and sister could have fallen out.'
       'Over what?'
       'He'll find out.'
       Or fabricate it, thought Horton uneasily. He didn't trust the emaciated Birch one inch. 'She was very distressed to find her brother's body.'
       'Could be guilt.'
       Horton gave him that, but he still wasn't convinced, despite his earlier thoughts. She hadn't looked guilt-ridden. But there was more to it than that. He told himself he wasn't attracted to her, and yet there was something that he couldn't explain, even to himself – a feeling, a bond? He didn't know exactly and was irritated at not being able to pinpoint it.
       Uckfield said, 'How come she found him?'
       Horton hesitated; he certainly wasn't going to tell Uckfield the psychic bit. The big man would laugh from here to John O'Groats and back again and then think the same as everyone else: that Thea was off her trolley or guilty as hell. So Birch hadn't told Uckfield about that. He wondered why. He must know by now; the woman police officer would have relayed that nugget of information even if Thea hadn't repeated her claim in the interview room. To distract Uckfield, Horton said, 'Owen Carlsson was seen on Saturday on the Cowes chain ferry.'
       'How the bloody hell do you know that?'
       'I've talked to his neighbour.'
       'Thought you were on holiday. Does Birch know?'
       'No idea.' Horton waited for the reprimand and was surprised when it didn't come. Instead Uckfield almost chuckled.
       'Tell me what you've got.'
       So Uckfield was another one who wasn't a member of Birch's fan club. Horton wondered who was; Sergeant Norris probably. He quickly briefed Uckfield about his visit to Owen Carlsson's house, but still said nothing about Thea and her psychic warning, or about the break-in on his yacht.
       'We're coming over,' Uckfield abruptly announced when Horton had finished.
       'The major crime team's been called in?' asked Horton with a mixture of surprise and relief. It meant that Birch must have doubts about Thea being the killer. Or more likely he couldn't prove it. That solicitor, Michael Braxton, must be doing a good job.
       Uckfield said, 'Strange as it might seem, murder, or suspected murder, counts as a major crime.'
       But Horton knew that wasn't the real reason. He could hear it in Uckfield's voice. And if Birch