Close to Death

I’ve often mentioned Derek Abbott, the suspect manhandled and badly injured by Hawthorne. I’m not sure if it was a criminal offence, but there could be no doubt that he had eventually talked Abbott into killing himself. Could he have gone one step further with Adam Strauss? I remembered something that Morton had said to me and searched through my own manuscript to find it. Yes. There it was: ‘You may discover things about Hawthorne that you wish you hadn’t known and once you uncover them, there’ll be no going back. It may end your friendship with him.’

No. Hawthorne was many things. He could be cruel. Many of his attitudes were seriously questionable. He was damaged. But he was basically decent.

He was not a killer. I refused to believe it.

And then my telephone rang.

I snatched it up without even looking at the caller ID. I was certain it would be Hawthorne. But when I put the phone to my ear, there was a voice I didn’t recognise.

‘Is that Anthony?’

‘Yes.’

‘This is Detective Superintendent Khan.’ He was the last person I had expected to call. ‘I’m in London . . . at New Scotland Yard. I can give you ten minutes if you come over now.’

‘I’m on my way.’

‘There’s a pub round the corner. The Red Lion in Parliament Street. I’ll be there at twelve.’

I looked at my watch. That gave me half an hour to get across town.

‘I’ll see you there,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

But he had cut me off before I’d reached those last two words.

2

The Red Lion was about as traditional as a pub can be: brass lamps and window boxes on the outside, polished wood and mirrored shelves within. It stood on a corner, a few minutes’ walk from New Scotland Yard, with Downing Street just across the road. I arrived there exactly on time and found the detective sitting at a table with a glass of Coke.

I recognised him at once, although he was older than I’d imagined and a little less of the film star. Once again, I had to remind myself that quite a few years had passed since the murders at Riverview Close. He was wearing a nondescript suit with his tie pulled down and his collar open. I had rather hoped that Ruth Goodwin would be with him – the more characters I met, the better – but he was alone. He looked tired and not particularly pleased to see me, even though he was the one who had rung.

I introduced myself and sat down. It was only now that I realised I had absolutely no idea why he had invited me here.

‘So, how’s the book going?’ he began.

‘It’s finished,’ I said and I didn’t mean I’d finished writing it.

‘Am I in it?’

‘Of course.’

‘My son seems to think that’s pretty cool. His words, not mine.’ He had an eleven-year-old son, who’d been mentioned in one of his many newspaper profiles. ‘You should be careful,’ he went on. ‘You write crap about me, you won’t hear the end of it.’

His language surprised me. He’d sounded more polite on the tapes I’d listened to, but then, I suppose, he’d been presenting himself in a more official capacity. A couple of phrases I’d used to describe him flashed through my mind. Slow and unimaginative. Too pleased with himself. I made a mental note to take them out.

I was carrying a backpack and I opened it and took out a book . . . the latest Alex Rider. ‘I brought this for your son,’ I said. ‘I thought he might enjoy it.’

Khan glanced at it. ‘He’s already got that one.’ He took it anyway. ‘But thanks. You can sign it for him.’

‘So why did you call me?’ I asked.

‘I thought you might like to know that I’ve just been interviewed. I’m up for chief superintendent.’

‘Congratulations.’

‘I don’t need your support, thanks all the same. I’m only telling you that because it would be very unhelpful to have you writing about me at the moment, particularly if Hawthorne is your first source of information. I want you to understand that my lawyers will be looking very closely at anything you publish, particularly with respect to how it ends.’

‘I’m not sure about that part myself,’ I admitted. ‘What happened at The Stables, what Hawthorne said – it all seemed so sensible.’ Khan said nothing, so I added: ‘Did you ever dig up the garden?’

‘Of course I didn’t dig up the bloody garden. It all checked out. There is a Wendy Yeung working at the Maritime Museum in Hong Kong. She did leave Heathrow on the date Strauss said. I spoke to her! You think I was going to get the bulldozers in after that?’

‘It’s unusual for Hawthorne to get things wrong.’

‘We all make mistakes.’

‘Including you?’

He shook his head. ‘Not this time – and it would be a mistake to suggest otherwise. The case is closed. It’s been closed a long time. You start raking up the past, you’re going to cause a lot of grief, and I should warn you that wasting police time is an offence that can land you in jail.’

This wasn’t the first time I’d been threatened by a detective.