A Line to Kill

Colin Matheson began. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my pleasure to introduce ex-Detective Inspector Daniel Hawthorne, who was for many years a highly respected investigating officer based at Scotland Yard in London. When his career with them ended, he became a consultant –’ he allowed himself a smile ‘– helping the police, as it were, with their enquiries. He is now what you would call a private detective. Of course, we’ve all heard that expression bandied about in books and on TV, but I can assure you that what we have here today is neither a Poirot nor a Midsomer Murders but the real thing, and – this is a special treat for Alderney – today will be the first time that he has spoken publicly about his work. I had the opportunity to chat with Mr Hawthorne for a short while before we came in and I can safely say that the next hour is going to be a treat. He is called in to solve only the most difficult cases and, from what I understand, he succeeds every time. He has made many notable arrests, including the killings in Riverside Close that took place in Richmond a few years ago and which you may have read about in the newspapers.’

The killings in Riverside Close. That struck me as a rather good title for a book. I made a mental note to ask Hawthorne what had happened.

Hawthorne, in his suit and tie, had sat perfectly still through all this. He showed almost no emotion apart from a hint of embarrassment, a sense that he was surprised that anyone could be saying such nice things about him.

Then Matheson turned to me. ‘Anthony has written a great many scripts for television, including the two shows I just mentioned. He was personally chosen by Mr Hawthorne to be his biographer, although the first book, Hawthorne Investigates, has yet to appear in print. I’m sure he’ll have lots to tell us about the challenge of moving from fiction to true crime, and hopefully I’ll be able to persuade him to read an extract from the new book.’

There was polite applause.

Colin Matheson turned to Hawthorne. ‘I’d like to begin, if I may, Mr Hawthorne, with some facts about you. How long were you a detective?’

I was expecting Hawthorne to be monosyllabic at best but to my surprise he sounded completely relaxed. Perhaps he had rehearsed this with Matheson before I’d met them at lunch. ‘I started off in uniform,’ he began. ‘These days, you can become a trainee DC with two years’ work experience and a decent university degree but it wasn’t the same back then. So I had to climb the ladder: trainee DC, then a full detective constable and after a while I got accelerated promotion to DI. In total I was with the Met for eleven years.’

‘How old are you now, if you don’t mind my asking?’

‘I’m thirty-nine.’

‘Have you always investigated crime?’

‘I spent a couple of years in child protection but I felt more comfortable with the CID.’

‘Why did you want to go into policing in the first place?’

Hawthorne sat perfectly still. ‘I read books when I was a kid. Maigret and Father Brown. It interested me.’

‘Did you have any brothers or sisters?’

‘No. I was the only one.’

I was beginning to feel a sense of dismay as I listened to all this. I had known Hawthorne for months. I had worked with him on two murder investigations and I was in the middle of my second book about him. But in the space of one minute he had told Colin Matheson more than he had ever told me. I had never known his age, for example. And I had written that he had spent ten years as a detective, not eleven. Why was Hawthorne answering these questions so readily in front of an audience in an Alderney cinema when with me he’d always been so guarded about his private life? Was he being deliberately provocative or could it be that he had some perverse sense of duty, that having accepted the invitation to come here this was the price he had to pay? As always, his face gave nothing away.

I expected Matheson to turn to me but he still hadn’t finished with Hawthorne.

‘What, for you, is the best thing about being a detective?’

It took Hawthorne a few moments to process that one. ‘That’s a good question, Colin,’ he said, eventually. ‘I suppose the answer’s got to be making the arrest. That’s the bit I always enjoy the most. The thing about murderers is that most of them are as thick as shit, if you’ll excuse my language. Even the clever ones are never quite as clever as they think they are. I’ve met so many of them who think they can get one over on me, but they still make mistakes, and if you ask me what the best thing about being a detective is, it’s that moment when I know that I’ve got them, when the mask comes off, when the whole thing is solved.’

‘So it’s not a question of protecting people, upholding the law?’