A Killing Coast by Pauline Rowson Page A

away most of his dole money for most of his life and had lived off his wife’s earnings as a waitress. Avril had been left to her own devices as a child and hadn’t received much education, but she’d worked hard, been bright, and, he recalled, ambitious and anxious to escape Portsmouth. Well, she’d certainly achieved that and now she’d returned in style. And perhaps that was the real reason why she wanted to see him, to demonstrate to someone who remembered her how well she’d done for herself, and how far she’d travelled from the poor working-class girl she’d been. But perhaps more importantly to show herself how far she’d come.
    She eyed him steadily, twirling the glass in her slender hands. ‘I suppose you think I’m showing off,’ she said, reading his thoughts with uncanny accuracy that made him wonder if he was beginning to let his guard down too much. Adrian Stanley had seen through him this morning but then Stanley was ex-job, Horton reasoned. Maybe it applied to an ex-lover too.
    ‘I guess I am in a way, but only to myself.’ She gave a brief smile before the serious expression returned. ‘I’m not here to rub anyone’s noses in it because there’s no one’s nose left to rub. Dad died a year after I left to work abroad and Mum three years after that. There’s no one I care to remember in Portsmouth, except you, and I don’t need to show off to you. No, I’m here for several reasons and one is because the yacht was built in Southampton and launched from there last Friday, and we had to pick up three new crew members from the Superyacht Training Academy here in Portsmouth at the weekend.’
    Horton hoped they’d been thoroughly vetted, along with the rest of the crew. There was always a possibility of a job being organized or coordinated from the inside.
    ‘Do you know the academy?’ she asked.
    ‘Not much call for hiring superyacht crew on my little boat.’
    She laughed. ‘Pity you’re a copper. You’d make a great skipper.’
    ‘Wrong kind of boat, Avril. I like ones that have a bit of cloth on a pole.’
    ‘Oh, the complicated, energetic kind,’ she teased.
    He nodded. Even if Glenn’s boat was a sailing yacht, Horton knew that being so close to Avril and seeing her with Glenn would be enough to drive him nuts. He’d spoken the truth though when he’d said he didn’t know the Superyacht Training Academy. He made a mental note to find out more about them, not because there might be anything suspicious, but because they were on his patch.
    ‘And the other reason is this VIP charity reception,’ he prompted.
    ‘Yes. I can’t say Russell’s thrilled about it, he’s a very private man and hates these kinds of flashy functions but I wanted to host it because I feel guilty.’
    Horton raised his eyebrows. ‘Because you’re rich?’
    ‘No, because I let my mum down.’ Her expression clouded over and she sipped her vodka before continuing. ‘Mum died of pancreatic cancer and I wasn’t here to look after her or to say goodbye. She’d had a tough life with Dad being the shitbag he was. I didn’t always see eye to eye with her, we rowed frequently, as you might remember. I thought her weak and pathetic for putting up with a drunk who treated her like a punchbag when he felt like it, and I couldn’t get away from her, dad and Portsmouth quick enough. But that was fifteen years ago, and I’d like to think I’ve grown up a bit since then. I know that mum took the punches in order to protect me, and I left her to handle her cancer alone because I was shit-scared that I’d end up looking after her and become trapped. And I hate traps,’ she added with feeling. ‘Can you understand that?’
    Horton nodded. He could.
    ‘Mum never once asked me to come home, she never complained and I stayed away until it was too late. I returned for the funeral for one day and I was back on the plane as fast as my legs would carry me. The local hospice was marvellous to mum so this is my