A Line to Kill

‘Because if Derek Abbott turns out to be the killer, I’m not sure there’ll be a book in it.’ Quickly, I explained what I’d already been thinking when I was in my hotel room – my fear that if he turned out to be the killer, nobody would care. ‘Actually, it’s even worse than that,’ I concluded. ‘If I write about what’s happened here, I’m going to have to say that Torode solved it. He got there before you.’

‘Are you sure?’ Hawthorne looked genuinely puzzled. ‘You’re the author. You can say I worked it all out and he didn’t know anything. You don’t even have to mention he was here.’

‘I can’t do that!’ I exclaimed. ‘That’s a complete fiction.’

‘I thought that’s what you wrote.’

‘Even when I’m writing fiction I try to write the truth.’ Suddenly, I was depressed. ‘Tell me you’re keeping something to yourself. Tell me he didn’t do it.’

‘I’m sorry, mate. I can’t help you.’ Hawthorne shook his head sorrowfully. ‘If Abbott didn’t do it, I’ve got no idea who did.’

20 Is There Anybody There?

Hawthorne and I did have dinner together, but it wasn’t exactly a joyous affair. The cooking at the Braye Beach Hotel was fine but he was distracted and I wasn’t too happy myself. I was still thinking about our conversation in the bar and the distinct possibility that after everything that had happened on the island, I wouldn’t actually have a book that I could write.

In fact, Alderney had been a complete washout. I had been sidelined during our session, there had been no books to sell and there had been none of the camaraderie that usually made festivals such fun. How could there have been when every other writer I’d met had been a suspect in two violent murders? I felt particularly sorry for Judith Matheson. She’d put so much work into organising the weekend and what had she got out of it? A dead sponsor, a cut-up lawn and a divorce.

I was hoping that Anne Cleary or even Marc Bellamy might turn up and join us, but the room was almost empty. This was a Monday night and anyone who had come for the weekend had long since checked out. Maybe the other writers had found somewhere cheaper to eat in town now that the festival was no longer picking up the tab. But just as we were finishing the main course, Hawthorne looked up, and turning round, I saw two people I knew approaching the table. One of them was Elizabeth Lovell. The other, guiding her by the arm, was her husband, Sid.

‘They’re here,’ I heard him say. ‘Just finished eating. Fish, by the look of it. Mr Hawthorne facing us. His friend on the other side.’

They came over to our table and stopped, hovering over us a little awkwardly. I wondered if I should invite them to sit down, but the truth was, I didn’t want their company. ‘Are you going home tomorrow?’ Elizabeth asked.

‘That’s right,’ Hawthorne said. ‘And yourself?’

‘We have a flight to Southampton and then back to Jersey. We’re leaving very early.’ She stared over the table. ‘That only leaves tonight, if you still want to take me up on my offer.’

She was referring to the séance that she had suggested the night before and Hawthorne didn’t hesitate. ‘I’d like that very much,’ he said.

I was less keen. ‘Actually, I was just going to bed,’ I said.

‘No, Tony. I think you should join us. Four feels like a better number and Elizabeth here has got form. She helped the police in Jersey.’ Was he being sarcastic? He sounded completely straightforward.

‘Well, all right …’

‘I’m so glad.’ Elizabeth Lovell smiled, an action that stretched the tendons on either side of her neck. It was perhaps unfair to be judgemental, but with her hunched-up body and the dark glasses masking so much of her face, I found her rather alarming. ‘Shall we say the screening room at ten o’clock, then? Sid can ask at the reception desk, but the hotel seems to be half empty so I’m sure it will be free.’

The two of them walked away and as soon as they were out of the room, I turned to Hawthorne. ‘What are you playing at?’ I demanded. ‘You’ve already told me you don’t believe in this stuff!’

‘She may be able to help us,’ Hawthorne replied, simply.

‘What? By chatting to Charles le Mesurier? Maybe she can get Helen along too …’

‘What else have you got to do tonight, mate? Wash your hair? Watch TV?’ I had no answer to that, so he went on. ‘You said it yourself. We’re out of here tomorrow. So let’s use what time we’ve got.’ He took out a packet of cigarettes and stood up. ‘I’ll see you there.’

I knew he was heading outside. For my part, I went back to my room and actually I did watch TV for half an hour; anything to get my mind off the events of the day. I was half tempted to ignore Hawthorne and give the whole thing a miss. I was convinced it would be a waste of time. But if there was one thing I’d learned in our time together, it was never to second-guess Hawthorne. If he believed something was worth doing, he would probably be right, even if it wasn’t for the reason you thought.