A Line to Kill

‘I didn’t think it was any of your business, mate.’ Hawthorne was unruffled, which only made me angrier.

‘Of course it’s my business. I’m writing about you.’

‘You don’t have to write about him, though.’

‘What? You think I can lie? Or just pretend it never happened?’ I tried to collect my thoughts. ‘Why did you even want to see him again?’

‘I was interested to find out what had happened to him.’

‘You know perfectly well what happened to him. You turned him into a cripple!’

‘He tripped. He fell. I did nothing.’

‘So why are you here, then? What are you going to do to him this time? Push him off a cliff?’

Hawthorne had had enough. He was already walking away.

‘I just can’t believe you’ve done this!’ I shouted.

‘I’ll see you at the party,’ he called back.

He turned a corner and he was gone.

7 The Lookout

I spent about an hour in my room before I came down to the reception area that evening. I tried to read a book I’d been given, a history of modern Greece, but I was too out of sorts to focus on the words and I couldn’t make sense of Venizelos and the so-called National Schism. The party was supposed to begin at seven o’clock, but I didn’t want to be there until half past. In fact, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be there at all. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Finally, I got up, showered, changed and took the lift downstairs.

My information pack had told me that The Lookout, Charles le Mesurier’s house, was a ten-minute drive away, but I intended to walk – with or without Hawthorne. I really didn’t care. I’d be following the coast the whole way and I liked the idea of watching the evening light glisten on the surface of the water and listening to the rhythm of the waves.

I left my room and went downstairs. As I came out of the lift I heard Anne Cleary’s voice. She sounded upset. ‘Are you sure nobody’s handed it in?’ She was standing at the reception desk with her back to me. ‘It’s not that it’s particularly valuable. But it does mean a lot to me.’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Cleary. I’ve looked in the lost-property drawer but it’s not there. I can ask the cleaners for you tomorrow.’

‘It was in my room, by my bed.’

‘I’m sure they wouldn’t have taken it, but I’ll ask them.’

I took a few steps forward and she turned and saw me. ‘What’s happened?’ I asked.

‘Oh – it’s nothing. It’s just that I’ve lost my fountain pen. It’s a particularly nice one, a Sakura, made in Japan. It was given to me by my agent.’

‘When did you last see it?’ I asked.

‘I was just saying. I thought it was in my room.’

‘Did you lock the door?’

‘It locks itself.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Maybe I left it at the school. I signed a whole lot of books, although I’m sure I put it in my handbag.’

I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her, particularly after what had happened that afternoon. I’d been meaning to ask her what she thought about her encounter with Elizabeth Lovell. Surely she was far too sensible to believe that her dead son, William, had somehow communicated with a so-called psychic. She must have known that she had been the victim of a cruel confidence trick. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know her well enough and I didn’t want to intrude. ‘Are you coming to the party?’ I asked.

She had dressed for it in a black jersey with silver sequins and a long skirt, and sure enough she nodded. ‘To be honest with you, I don’t really feel like going to any party tonight, but I suppose it would be rude not to and there’s no real point sitting on my own in my hotel room. So, yes, I’ll look in for a short while.’

‘I was going to walk round if you’d like to join me.’

‘No, thank you. I’m waiting for George Elkin. He’s offered me a lift.’

That was when Hawthorne arrived. He’d taken the stairs, not the lift, and came straight over to us. From the look on his face, you’d have thought the argument between us had never happened. ‘You all right, Tony?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m about to walk to the party.’

‘I’ll join you.’

‘I was just talking to Anne,’ I said. ‘She’s lost her pen. She thinks someone may have taken it.’

‘A black Sakura with a silver nib?’

‘You’ve seen it?’ Anne’s face lit up.

‘No. I noticed you using it yesterday when you signed into reception.’

He wasn’t showing off, but that was absolutely typical of Hawthorne. I had no idea how he did it but there wasn’t a single detail that he ever missed and somehow he filed it all away in that remarkable mind of his, to be dredged up whenever it was needed. That was why I would never solve a case before him. I couldn’t even remember what I’d had for lunch.

The two of us set off together.

I had already decided not to say anything more about Derek Abbott and his presence on the island. I didn’t want to spoil the evening. Instead, I walked in silence until we had reached the edge of Braye Beach and then I asked: ‘How do you think she knew?’

‘What?’

‘Elizabeth Lovell knew that William Cleary was a drug addict and that he killed himself with an overdose.’

‘Are you sure that’s what she said?’