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indeed the man in the mortuary was this girl’s father; just because her picture had been found on the dead man it didn’t mean to say it was him. That could have been planted. But somehow he didn’t think so. And how did you tell a daughter that her father had been found dead wearing a woman’s dress? Simple answer: you didn’t, not until you were sure it was him.
    Horton began gently. ‘Why do you think your father is missing, Miss Yately?’
    Her troubled eyes flitted to Damien King. Horton guessed he was also her boyfriend as well as a work colleague. King gave an encouraging nod.
    ‘Dad and I see one another once a fortnight, on a Thursday,’ Hannah began. ‘We go for a meal at Oyster Quays. Dad calls me the Wednesday before just to make sure it’s OK and I haven’t got to work. I said it was fine but he didn’t show up, and he didn’t call me either. I telephoned him but didn’t get an answer. I thought he must have changed his mind. Dad doesn’t have an answer machine and he refuses to have a mobile phone or a computer. So I couldn’t contact him, and Damien and I were in London from Friday morning and all weekend. We stayed at one of the hotels in the chain we work for, just for a break.’ Her face flushed deep red and Damien looked down at his hands. Horton guessed she felt guilty at having put her poor old dad completely out of her mind until this morning. ‘I rang Dad this morning but there wasn’t an answer. I thought he must have gone out. I tried him again at lunchtime, nothing, and then just after two o’clock when Damien heard on the local news that a body had been found in the Solent, I, well, we . . .’ She fought to hold back the tears.
    Horton wondered why she hadn’t visited her father, but he’d save that question for later. He recalled Dr Clayton’s estimate of time of death. Had Colin Yately set out to meet his daughter last Thursday and had an accident? But no; not in that dress. It didn’t sound as though he’d killed himself, not if he’d spoken to his daughter on Wednesday and arranged to meet her, but they only had Hannah Yately’s word on that. How could they be sure the conversation had gone as she said? Maybe they rowed and Yately, distraught, had decided to end his life. Horton wasn’t sure where the dress came into it because he didn’t think it was Hannah’s, but who could tell? Time for speculation later. Facts first.
    ‘What time did he call you on Wednesday?’ he asked.
    ‘Six o’clock.’
    ‘On your mobile?’
    ‘Yes.’
    They might at least be able to check that if they needed to.
    ‘How did he sound?’
    ‘Happy,’ she answered miserably.
    ‘And you were looking forward to seeing him?’
    ‘Of course,’ she frowned, clearly bewildered by his questions. If they had rowed she wasn’t going to mention it and there were no telltale flushes of guilt.
    ‘Did he know you were going away together for the weekend?’ Horton’s eyes swivelled to Damien’s and back to Hannah’s.
    ‘Yes.’
    Horton noted that Damien hadn’t been invited to the Thursday evening meal. He could have been working, Horton supposed. Or perhaps it was a father and daughter bonding thing. Yately might not approve of Damien. Or he might have held the opinion that no man would be good enough for his daughter.
    Cantelli said, ‘Did your father say what he was going to do on Thursday before meeting you? Was he working?’
    ‘No. Dad’s retired,’ she replied. ‘We were meeting in the pizza restaurant as usual at about seven thirty. He was coming over on the Fastcat from the Isle of Wight. He lives in a flat at Ventnor.’
    That explained why Hannah hadn’t visited her father to check if he was all right. But Colin Yately’s address, Horton noted, was not far from where Victor Hazleton lived. Could there be a connection between Yately’s death and Hazleton’s light at sea? Surely not. For a start he didn’t believe Hazleton and, secondly, they had no reason to