A Line to Kill

Torode shrugged. ‘I doubt it. Most of the people on the island knew who he was and didn’t want anything to do with him. I’d guess that Charles le Mesurier was probably the only person who let him come anywhere near – and we all know how that ended.’

‘Have you examined his phone records?’

‘Do me a favour, Hawthorne. We only found out he was missing half an hour ago.’

I looked around, working out the sequence of events that had led to Abbott’s disappearance and wondering where he might have gone. Hawthorne had fired a warning shot with his first visit, but Abbott hadn’t been afraid. When are you going to stop making up lies about me? He had denied everything, past and present, and then there had been that strange moment of recognition between them – if that’s what it was. After that, Abbott had been confident enough to throw him out.

Since then, Hawthorne had discovered one more vital piece of information. Contrary to what he had said, Abbott had been seen accompanying le Mesurier to the Snuggery on the night of the murder. This added opportunity to motive … Abbott must have been the last person to see him alive. Hawthorne had told Torode, and Torode had moved in to make the arrest.

Could Abbott have known he was coming? Had he seen uniformed policemen approach and made a fast exit out of a back door? Nothing about the room suggested that. There were no half-open drawers or incriminating documents burned in the fireplace. Was it even possible that he had disappeared in the same way as Helen le Mesurier? He had claimed to be a victim when Hawthorne was interrogating him. Could it be that a third murder had taken place on the island of Alderney in almost as many days?

Hawthorne had started with the desk, rifling through various documents and files. I wandered over to the side of the room and cast my eye over the long lines of books arranged on sagging wooden shelves that covered an entire wall. I’m afraid to say that old habits die hard and I was half looking for any sign of my own books. Worse still, I was quite gratified to find a hardback edition of Moriarty next to a complete collection of Sherlock Holmes. I didn’t allow it to change my opinion of Derek Abbott in any way, of course.

Meanwhile, Torode was examining the different malt whiskies displayed on a trolley. I wouldn’t have put it past him to help himself to one. I had seen very little of him during the investigation, but he had come across as venal and self-interested. Even now, after dismissing him only the night before, he had effectively brought Hawthorne here to do his work for him. But then as far as he was concerned, the case was over. He just wanted to find Abbott so that he could go home.

‘Take a look at this …’

Hawthorne had found something in one of the drawers. He was holding a camera, the sort used by sports enthusiasts, a GoPro Hero. It was remarkably small, no more than a couple of inches in height and depth. He was turning it over in his hands, working out how to activate it, and at that moment I realised its significance. Abbott had been blackmailing Colin Matheson about his affair with Helen le Mesurier. Colin had thought that there was a security camera recording what had taken place in the Snuggery, but Hawthorne and I both knew that wasn’t true. Was it possible that the footage had been recorded with this tiny device?

Hawthorne found the On button and pressed it. The answer to my question was apparent straight away. The little screen on the back flickered into life and there was the inside of the Snuggery in full colour, empty to begin with but almost at once Colin Matheson appeared. The camera had been concealed above the door. I saw his head and the back of his shoulders as he moved into the room and briefly disappeared out of shot. Helen le Mesurier, wearing a bright red dress that showed more flesh than it concealed, followed, carrying a bottle of champagne. She went the other way and sat down on one of the leather banquettes I had noticed when I had first gone in there. She placed the champagne on the table in front of her. Colin Matheson came back into view as he crossed over and sat next to her.

The bottle was already open. Helen filled two glasses that had been standing on the table. They talked, but there was no sound and because of the high angle it wasn’t even possible to read their lips. They kissed. The image was so small and the camera so far away that I couldn’t see the expression on Colin’s face, whether he was reluctant, embarrassed or passionate, unable to control himself. Paradoxically, the GoPro only gave me the bigger picture. The kiss became more intense. His hands slid under her dress, pulling it off her shoulder. She reached for his belt.

Hawthorne froze the image. He had seen enough.

‘So you were right,’ Torode said. ‘Derek Abbott was blackmailing them.’

‘No,’ Hawthorne said. ‘I was wrong.’