Free Blood on the Sand by Pauline Rowson

long as seven days.'
       Cantelli swallowed hard.
       Horton said, 'Which fits with his sister seeing him on Saturday morning and Mrs Mackie seeing him on the chain ferry later the same morning.'
       'He was probably killed either late Saturday or some time during Sunday. Early Monday morning, at the latest, and that's the best I can do,' said Dr Clayton, almost apologetically.
       Thea had said that she'd got no answer from her brother's mobile phone on Saturday evening, which suggested that Owen Carlsson was already dead. So where had he gone when he'd left the chain ferry in Cowes?
       'Did you find anything in Owen's pockets?'
       Gaye shook her head. 'Not even a handkerchief.'
       Cantelli said, 'His wallet must have been in the rucksack. Could robbery have been the motive?'
       'Has anyone used his debit or credit cards?'
       'Not yet. But he could have had cash on him.'
       'Villains don't usually go round shooting people on the Isle of Wight for cash,' Horton ventured. 'This is hardly an inner city.'
       'No, but it is possible,' Cantelli insisted. 'They could have been high on drugs, or drunk, saw Owen out walking, alone, and thought him an easy target.'
       Horton thought it unlikely. He reckoned this killer had known exactly where Owen Carlsson was every minute, probably every second of the day. And again he thought of Thea. What did she know that she wasn't saying?
       Cantelli continued. 'Let's say they shot him through a car window, saw him fall, screeched to a halt, jumped out and stole his money. Then they tossed his rucksack in a ditch or hedge and bundled the body into the boot of the car.'
       'I can tell you're feeling better; your creative juices are working well.'
       'Must be this coffee.'
       'Any views on that, Dr Clayton?' asked Horton.
       'If he was kept in a car, he wasn't there for long. I didn't find any traces of oil on his clothes or skin, but there were fibres that looked as though he'd been covered with something: a rug, blanket, or similar. His clothes were wet, and there are salt residues, but given that he was found so close to the sea that's hardly surprising. The lab will give you a more accurate analysis.'
       Cantelli resumed. 'The villains could have driven to the car park at the Duver, bundled Owen Carlsson out of the car late Tuesday night, carried him to the sand dune and then left him with the gun, which they wiped free of their prints, before pressing it into Carlsson's hand to make it look as though he'd shot himself.'
    Gaye interjected. 'His prints were on the gun, but there was no gun residue on his hands.'
       Horton looked thoughtful. 'I just can't see your average yobbo going to so much trouble. They'd have left the body where they shot him. And they certainly wouldn't have left their gun behind.'
       'OK, not yobbos and not drunks,' Cantelli conceded, evidently reluctant to give up on his theory. 'But someone who set out to kill Owen Carlsson and make it look like suicide.'
       But Dr Clayton was shaking her head. 'They failed.'
       'Perhaps they're not very bright.' Cantelli added. 'After all, they got the wrong person first time round when they ran into Arina Sutton.'
       'Ah, but that would mean Owen's death was planned and not a random attack. And was Arina the wrong person?' posed Horton.
       Gaye looked up, more alert than previously. 'Sutton?'
       'You know her?' Horton asked, curious, hearing a note of recognition in her voice.
       'I know a Professor Sir Christopher Sutton.' She gave a tired smile and half a shrug. 'But it's a common enough surname.'
       'Who is he?'
       'A neuropsychiatric consultant.'
       'A what?' asked Cantelli.
       Gaye smiled wearily. 'Neuropsychiatry is the study of mental disorders attributable to the nervous system. Sutton is a clever man and a very entertaining speaker, egocentric like a lot of consultants, but brilliant. He must be retired by now.