A Line to Kill

She had no sooner gone than the lift doors opened and Kathryn Harris came out, struggling under the weight of two bags, her glasses slipping off her face. There was a third case behind her in the lift. I went over to her. ‘Can I give you a hand?’

‘Thank you.’ She let me take them. They were just as heavy as they had been when they came off the plane. ‘They’re both Marc’s,’ she explained. ‘I’m afraid we didn’t sell as many books as we’d hoped.’

‘Where are you heading to?’ I asked.

‘Back to London. Marc’s filming a guest spot on the Christmas edition of Celebrity Storage Hunters.’ She pulled a face. ‘Don’t tell him I told you! It’s meant to be a secret.’

I left Kathryn’s cases by the front door, then went to the reception desk to pay my bill (the last two nights had not been included). The same young receptionist who had checked us in was behind the desk and she looked at me sadly. ‘We’re going to miss you,’ she said. ‘We’re not used to this sort of excitement in Alderney. We’ve never had a murder here before.’

‘You’re not the first person to tell me that,’ I said.

Finally, Hawthorne came down, carrying his suitcase, his coat neatly folded over his arm. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked.

He looked surprised. ‘I’m fine.’

‘I couldn’t sleep at all,’ I said. ‘After what happened, I had to go out and get some air.’

I wanted him to tell me where he had gone after our session with the Lovells, but he wasn’t playing. ‘I slept fine,’ he said. He looked past me at Kathryn, who was waiting to take the lift back up. ‘Have you seen Marc Bellamy?’

The receptionist overheard him. ‘Mr Bellamy is having breakfast on the terrace,’ she said.

We went out and found him.

He was sitting on his own at the far end, tucking into the sort of breakfast that he would have promoted on his television programme: eggs, bacon, sausage, beans, fried bread, mushrooms. He was wearing a tweed jacket and a cravat. It was as if he had already dressed up for his appearance on Celebrity Storage Hunters.

‘How do!’ he exclaimed. ‘Are you on your way out of here?’

‘The same flight as you,’ Hawthorne said. Without asking, he sat down at Marc’s table. ‘You enjoying that?’

‘There’s nothing to beat the full English,’ Marc exclaimed. ‘And don’t you give me any of that continental rubbish. Yoghurt and croissant and that horrible concoction they call muesli. If you ask me, that’s the best thing about getting out of the EU, and there’s a long list where that’s concerned. Bring back the great British breakfast!’ He poked his sausage with his fork. ‘Mind you, this is a poor excuse for a decent banger. The skin’s synthetic and it’s got way too much rusk and water. You can tell from the way it’s shrunk.’ He was enjoying himself, playing to invisible cameras.

‘There was something I wanted to ask you,’ Hawthorne said.

‘Ask away. But you don’t mind if I eat while we talk, do you? I’ve got a car coming at ten and I don’t want this to get cold.’

‘I was wondering if you’d let me have the pen back.’

‘What pen is that?’

‘The pen that was taken from Anne Cleary’s room. She said it was a Sakura, made in Japan.’

Marc had just pronged a piece of bacon, but he didn’t lift it off the plate. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said, without looking up.

‘I’m talking about the pen that you stole.’

‘I didn’t steal anything. And I think you should watch what you say to me, Mr Hawthorne. I’ve been threatened by experts.’

‘I’m not threatening you,’ Hawthorne said, reasonably. ‘And we can do this two ways. You can give me what I want or I can call Deputy Chief Torode and he’ll arrest you and take a look in your luggage. What else will we find in there, I wonder? My guess is that there’ll be a gold Rolex watch and also a fifty-euro note.’

‘Did he also take my £5?’ I asked.

Hawthorne nodded. ‘Probably.’

‘I didn’t take anything!’ Marc exploded, his face darkening. ‘And I’m warning you—’

‘Charles le Mesurier didn’t call you Tea Leaf because you drank lots of tea,’ Hawthorne interrupted. ‘Do you think I’m an idiot? It’s cockney rhyming slang. Tea leaf … thief. And every time he spoke to you, he was rubbing it in. He had a way of doing that, sneering at people. That first night at The Divers Inn: You always did like to get your hands on a steak pie. And a minute later: I always remember you being the quiet type, stealing up into the dorm and knocking off the snacks. Then, at the party: I’m going to lift one of those, if you don’t mind. Every time he spoke to you, he was hinting at what he knew about you and my guess is, when he said, You left so suddenly! he was reminding you that you didn’t leave Westland College, you were kicked out.’

‘I was unhappy there.’

‘You were expelled.’