A Line to Kill

‘I saw his name as the sponsor in the festival programme,’ Marc growled.

That had been on the Friday evening. I remembered Marc shouting at Kathryn in the room next to mine.

‘Did you talk to him last night?’ Hawthorne asked.

‘I could hardly avoid him, could I?’ Marc replied. ‘I was in his bloody house. But I wasn’t going to be intimidated by him. I did my job and I left. Sold quite a few books too, for what it’s worth, so the whole thing wasn’t a complete waste of time.’

‘Did you notice him go into the garden?’

‘No. I can’t say I did. I noticed he wasn’t there at ten o’clock, which was when we stopped serving food. I looked round for him to say goodbye and sod off, but there was no sign of him.’

‘Did you see any of the guests go outside?’

Marc thought back. ‘Only the blind woman. She went out onto the patio quite a few times. Puffing away on a pack of fags. Her husband took her out the first time – that was quite early on – but after that I suppose she was able to find her way on her own.’

‘What about Maïssa?’ Kathryn said.

‘Who? Oh, you mean the black lady.’ Marc made a little face, as if correcting himself for his casual racism. He pointed towards the corner of the kitchen where another door that I hadn’t noticed before led outside. ‘Yes. She went out that way. But that was much earlier … about half past seven.’

‘Did she go down to the Snuggery?’

‘I’ve no idea. Kathryn and I were just taking out the s and k’s.’

‘Steak and kidney puddings,’ Kathryn said.

‘The secret is to catch the little bastards at exactly the right moment. If you leave them in too long the suet goes soggy.’

Hawthorne got up and went over to the door. He looked out into the garden, judging the different angles. It was just possible to see the Snuggery from here, but I imagined that Elizabeth Lovell, sitting on the other side of the house, would have been invisible. He tried the handle and was surprised when the door opened.

‘You didn’t lock this when you left?’ he asked.

Marc Bellamy shook his head. ‘I’d told Kathryn to mind the fort from ten o’clock, when we stopped serving. It was her job to clean up and check that the place was secure.’

Kathryn scowled, but she didn’t argue with her employer. ‘I assumed Mr le Mesurier would lock up before he went to bed,’ she explained.

Hawthorne closed the door, then opened it again. There was something wrong. He took out a pen and inserted it into the strike plate, the rectangular opening into which the latch bolt should have slid. There was something blocking it – a little ball of newspaper. He let it fall into his hand, examined it, then showed it to me. The writing was in French. He folded it carefully and slipped it into his pocket.

He sat back at the table. ‘How did you get home?’ he asked.

‘The history bloke gave me a lift in his VW. I left Kathryn with the washing-up, sorry to say. But that’s the job.’

‘Can you remember seeing any of the other guests on their way out?’

‘Not really. No.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t really help you either,’ Kathryn said. ‘I was in the kitchen until a quarter to eleven, give or take. I heard the band packing up their things and I cadged a lift with them back to the hotel. They had a van.’ She suddenly remembered. ‘I did see the children’s writer leave, if that’s any use. Mrs Cleary. That was a few minutes before half past nine.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘I met her as she was going out of the front door. She was in a bit of a hurry and she asked me the time. She said she had to get back to the hotel for a call.’

There was a pause while Hawthorne took all of this in. ‘I wonder if I could have a word with you on your own, Ms Harris?’ he asked.

‘Of course. But please call me Kathryn.’

‘Don’t you want me any more?’ Marc Bellamy was offended. He was too used to being the star of the show.

‘Not for the moment, thanks, Mr Bellamy.’

‘All right. But you be careful. Anything that girl says about me is not true, unless she’s being nice about me, in which case it’s an understatement!’

It was his last hurrah. He got up and left.

As soon as he was gone, Hawthorne began again. ‘Do you understand why I want to have this conversation with you in private, Kathryn?’

She looked him straight in the eye. ‘Not really.’

‘Well, it’s fairly clear that Charles le Mesurier was taking an interest in you.’

She blushed. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘What I mean is that he fancied you. I saw it for myself when we were at the opening-night drinks. It didn’t take him long to start pawing at you. And according to my mate Tony here, the same thing happened again last night – the two of you in the kitchen with his tongue halfway down your ear.’

‘That’s not quite how I described it,’ I muttered.

‘What exactly did he say to you?’ Hawthorne demanded.

He was being deliberately hard on her. I had seen him do it before when he was interrogating someone. If Hawthorne thought you were standing in his way, he would knock your feet from under you. That was his technique.