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solicitor to have recognized him. But he was getting ahead of himself.
    ‘Perhaps he’s broken down somewhere and can’t get a reception on his mobile phone,’ he suggested. Or perhaps he had a lover and had switched off his mobile.
    Guilbert wasn’t convinced.
    Horton said, ‘Did Brundall have a mobile phone?’
    ‘We can’t find any record of one or any bills so I guess not.’
    Which meant Brundall must have used a call box in the marina.
    They spent a couple more minutes exchanging news about the family. Guilbert was sorry to hear about Horton’s impending divorce and glad that the ridiculous rape charges against him had been cleared up. Then Guilbert was called away and promised to ring Horton if any fresh evidence came to light or when they found Sherbourne.
    Horton sat back deep in thought. Something in their conversation had sparked an idea. Guilbert had said there had been no computer in Brundall’s house, so how had he kept track of his investments, and how had he moved his money around?
    Horton supposed he could have done it through his bank.
    Was that Russell Newton’s bank? That wouldn’t surprise Horton. Or maybe he had used a broker. And if so then Horton was sure that Guilbert would find out, but like he said it took time. However, Horton had another idea. He rang Joliffe in the forensic department and a few minutes later had the answer to his question.
    There had been the burnt-out remains of a laptop computer on Brundall’s boat, but any data from it was irretrievable, Joliffe said. He also confirmed there had been no sign of a mobile phone.
    Horton relayed by phone a digest of the conversation he’d just had with Guilbert to Sergeant Trueman, asking him to pass it on to Uckfield. He felt anxious and impatient for answers, but it couldn’t be hurried. Instead he delegated as many CID tasks as he could to uniformed officers and then made a Herculean effort to concentrate on DCI Bliss’s new reporting method which seemed to be more akin to writing a revised edition of War and Peace only longer. He sincerely hoped that Walters would be back tomorrow. If not then he needed Bliss to give him some manpower, as this was getting beyond a joke. Not that it was ever funny in the first place.
    How the hell was he supposed to deal with a serious incident if one occurred with a non-existent team? This was modern policing. Invisible.
    His phone rang. He expected it to be Bliss. It was the front desk.
    ‘There’s a Reverend Anne Schofield asking for you, Inspector.’
    ‘In reception?’ he answered tetchily.
    ‘No, on the line, sir.’
    Not another attack of vandalism or theft in the church! The name wasn’t familiar. He didn’t have time for this but there didn’t seem to be anyone left to delegate to.
    ‘Can’t you put her through to Inspector Warren?’ He was head of Territorial Operations and although Horton had already pinched some of his officers, he felt sure Warren would have a few more to spare somewhere.
    ‘She insisted on speaking to you personally.’
    ‘OK,’ Horton said grudgingly.
    ‘Inspector, forgive me troubling you,’ came a clear voice with a Welsh accent, as soon as he announced himself, ‘but are you Jennifer Horton’s boy?’
    Horton froze. It was the first time in years he had heard anyone speak his mother’s name. The breath caught in his throat. His heart skipped a beat. Maybe he hadn’t heard correctly.
    ‘Hello,’ the woman’s voice came down the line to him. ‘Are you there?’
    ‘Why do you want to know?’ he asked rather harshly.
    ‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ she said nervously, catching his tone. ‘But there is a reference to a Jennifer Horton in the late Reverend’s Gilmore’s papers.’
    Who on earth was the Reverend Gilmore? What was she talking about?
    ‘I guess I’m not making much sense,’ she continued, interpreting his silence. ‘I’m Reverend Gilmore’s temporary replacement at St Agnes’s in Portsea. He sadly passed away