A Line to Kill

He was asking her if she intended to talk with the dead and he was being careful to use her own way of expressing it. I was shocked. It was obvious to me that Elizabeth Lovell was a fraud and that if she did manage to involve herself in the investigation it would only be for the publicity she would gain. Surely he wouldn’t accommodate her? But Hawthorne hadn’t dismissed her out of hand. On the contrary, he seemed intrigued. I tried to remember what he had said when we came out of the cinema, moments after we had both seen Anne Cleary leave in tears. He had agreed with me. I was sure of it.

But he had thought that the ghosts were real.

‘I don’t like the word séance,’ Elizabeth said. ‘It’s been used too much in popular culture and it reeks of Harry Houdini and Noel Coward. I don’t do table-rapping and I don’t turn out the lights and hold hands or anything like that. But if after dinner you would like to meet with me – just the four of us – then it’s possible that I’ll be able to find a contact, a friend on the other side of the mirror who may agree to help us.’

Get rid of her! I was silently pleading with Hawthorne. I refused to believe that he would take her at her word. He was cleverer than that. He was one of the most cynical people I’d ever met.

‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said. ‘Would ten o’clock be too late?’

‘Not at all.’ She made a gesture and Sid helped her get to her feet. ‘They have a private screening room in the hotel. I can ask the reception to reserve it for us.’

‘Ten o’clock, then.’

I watched them leave. They were barely out of the room before I turned on Hawthorne. ‘Are you serious?’ I exclaimed. I wasn’t just thinking how stupid the idea was. If he actually went through with it, I’d have to describe it and I wasn’t sure how I’d find the words. ‘This is all just part of her act! She doesn’t call them ghosts or spirits. She calls them reflections. And she doesn’t say they’re séances – that’s too Noel Coward – so she invites us to go to the other side of the mirror, like Alice in Wonderland.’

‘Actually, that’s not Alice in Wonderland. That’s Alice Through the Looking-Glass.’

‘Hawthorne …!’

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘Let’s talk about it at dinner, mate. It’s a tricky case. You said it yourself. A dozen people wanted to kill Charles le Mesurier, so maybe we should use any help we can get. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. But if you do decide to show up …’

‘Yes?’

Hawthorne beamed at me. ‘I wonder if you’d pop into the kitchen and get me a box of cling film?’

14 Some Thoughts

As I reached the door of my hotel room, I heard my telephone ringing. I quickly went in and snatched up the receiver. ‘Yes?’

‘This is reception.’ I had walked past only moments ago. ‘We have a call for you. A Mr McKinley.’

The name meant nothing to me. ‘Do you know what he wants?’

‘He asked to speak to Mr Hawthorne, but he’s not in his room so he asked to speak to you.’

Hawthorne must have gone outside for a cigarette. McKinley? Suddenly, it came to me. He was the driver of the minibus that had taken guests from the hotel to the party and back again. ‘Put him through,’ I said.

There was a click and a moment later a man came onto the line. He had a soft, hesitant voice. ‘Hello? Is that Anthony?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Tom McKinley. I’m sorry I can’t come round right now, but Terry said you wanted to ask me something so I thought I’d give you a call.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Tom.’ I had already opened a notepad, knowing that Hawthorne would want an accurate account of whatever was said. ‘We were wondering if you remembered seeing a particular guest last night.’

‘Mrs Cleary? Yes, I did.’

How did he know this was the information we needed? And how had he been able to recognise her?

He explained: ‘Terry heard you talking in the back of his cab and he told me you wanted to know about someone called Anne Cleary so I googled her. Dark-haired lady. Late forties. Writes children’s books?’

‘Yes. That’s her. She said she spoke to you.’

‘That’s right. She was coming out of the house and she asked me when we were leaving. She was nervous about getting back to her room. She said she had something important.’

‘Did she say what it was?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘And the bus wasn’t full.’

‘It was busy, but not full. I can’t tell you how many passengers there were, to be honest with you, because I didn’t look and anyway, it was too dark. We can seat eleven. Maybe eight or nine?’

‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’

‘Not really. I was going back and forth all night, so I was carrying a lot of people. I wouldn’t have remembered Mrs Cleary if she hadn’t talked to me.’

‘Thanks, Tom. You’ve been very helpful.’

I hung up.