A Line to Kill

She shook her head. ‘I wanted to help people. Community policing – old people and children. This isn’t what I volunteered for … people putting knives in each other and behaving like animals. It’s disgusting.’

‘So why did you come to Alderney?’

‘Because the DC asked me. If I’d known it was going to be like this I’d have said no.’

‘Would you like a drink?’ I asked.

‘No. I’m on duty.’ She stood up and put on her hat as if to prove what she had just said. ‘If there’s anything more, I’ll leave it at the desk.’

She walked out of the room.

Hawthorne went back to the report. ‘Cranial blunt force trauma also noted at the back of the head … no weapon found.’ He flicked a page. ‘Well, well, well. That’s interesting. Cocaine!’

‘Charles le Mesurier?’

‘Who else? There were traces of it in his blood and on the inside of his nose, and look at this.’ He gave me one of the photographs: a view of the drinks cabinet with the door fully open. There was a plastic packet inside – white powder, tightly wrapped – and next to it a chequebook with part of the cover ripped off. A second photograph focused on the surface of the cabinet. It had been taken with a high-resolution camera and revealed an irregular stain. A ruler had been laid beside it to show that it covered an area four centimetres long. ‘They found further traces on the surface of the drinks cabinet and on the edge of le Mesurier’s American Express credit card. So now we know at least one reason why he went to the Snuggery!’

‘Did you notice the chequebook?’ I asked.

‘I did.’

‘He’d torn the cover off to make a tube … to snort the cocaine.’

‘You’re right.’ Hawthorne handed me a page from the police report. ‘They found two rolled-up tubes in his trouser pocket.’ He frowned. ‘How did you know that?’ he asked.

‘What?’

‘About using a chequebook cover to snort cocaine.’

‘I’m a crime writer. I have to know about these things.’ I stared at him. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting …’

‘All right! All right! I was only asking.’

I’d already been arrested once in Hawthorne’s company: a shoplifting charge, which, fortunately, had been dropped. It would be nice to think that I could get to the end of a third outing with some of my reputation still intact.

Hawthorne took out the next document, two pages clipped together, and read it quickly. ‘Background info on le Mesurier,’ he told me. ‘No criminal record. Made his fortune in internet gambling and moved into computer games, software development and TV production. Parents retired in the Isle of Wight. He’s got a brother who lives there too. No children … we already knew that. He was a nasty bastard, but it all seems fairly straightforward.’

‘What about the coin?’ I asked. I’d noticed an image of the two-euro coin that Hawthorne had found and left behind.

Hawthorne searched out the relevant information. ‘No fingerprints, which is interesting.’

‘Why?’

‘Because how do you carry a coin, take it out of your pocket and drop it on the floor without leaving a fingerprint?’

‘Someone must have wiped it clean.’

‘Then why leave it behind? And here’s something else to think about. Le Mesurier didn’t have any other coins on him and it looks as if he hadn’t been in France for months.’

‘Maybe the two-euro piece belonged to whoever killed him.’

Hawthorne moved on to another page and read it out word for word: ‘According to initial analysis, the tape used to secure the victim’s feet and one of his hands was Duck Brand HP260 high-performance packaging tape. It’s a fairly common brand, but one not available on the island of Alderney …’

‘Suggesting that the killer brought it with him.’

‘Or bought it on Amazon. But, yes. I’d say there’s a good chance that he – or she – brought it across.’

‘So this was planned,’ I said.

Either Hawthorne wasn’t listening to me or he’d already worked that out for himself. ‘They found the will!’ he said, and showed me a photocopy that Torode had included with the other documents. At least he was living up to his promise. He was sharing everything he had. Again, Hawthorne scanned the contents. He gave a low whistle. ‘He’s left a bit to his mum and dad and big brother, but it looks as if Helen le Mesurier gets the lot: the houses, the businesses, the private jet, all of it!’

I was quite surprised. Helen le Mesurier had said that she loved Charles, but from the sound of it he hadn’t been all that close to her, gallivanting around the world and keeping her out of the limelight while she stayed at home. And now she was a multimillionaire! Perhaps it was simply that he didn’t have anyone else to leave his wealth to. After all, they had no children. Also, of course, he hadn’t been expecting to die.