Close to Death

‘He’s already made up his mind. You and me are off the case. He’s not going to want to lose face.’ Hawthorne smoked. ‘But that’s not the worst of it.’

‘Go on.’

‘There are killers and there are killers. This one is different. Maybe you should back out now and leave this to me.’

‘I’d prefer to see it to the end.’

‘That’s your choice, John. Just don’t say you weren’t warned.’

Hawthorne glanced up. He had spotted movements in Gardener’s Cottage. The nanny was still at the window, watching them. Even at this distance, they could tell she was uneasy. Two strange men on a roof, one of them smoking. Hang around much longer and she might report them to the police.

Hawthorne flicked his cigarette into the gutter. ‘All right. Kylie. Let’s see what she’s got to say.’

6

‘I’m sorry. This isn’t a very good time.’

Tom Beresford looked surprised to find Hawthorne and Dudley standing outside his door so soon after the meeting in Andrew Pennington’s garden. He was reluctant to let them in.

‘Not a good time for who, exactly?’ Hawthorne asked. ‘Not for Lynda Kenworthy or Felicity Browne, obviously. Not for that woman in Hampton Wick. Is she out of hospital yet? Not for Raymond Shaw, who dropped dead in your clinic while you were having a row about parking, and not for his wife and son. Not really a good time for anyone in Riverview Close when you think about it, what with blackmail, theft, racism and all the other activities that have been going on around here.’

‘Nice neighbourhood,’ Dudley agreed.

‘I don’t understand,’ Beresford said. ‘I thought you’d have gone by now. We’ve already told you everything we know. What are you doing here?’

‘You’re still telling me that Roderick Browne murdered his neighbour and killed himself?’

‘Have you got another explanation?’

‘If you let us in, you might find out. But meanwhile, let’s start with a little anomaly that I’ve noticed, Dr Beresford. Roderick took an overdose of sleeping pills. You had given his wife a prescription for temazepam.’

‘That’s right. But if you’re suggesting—’

‘I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just telling you that according to the police report, Roderick Browne swallowed thirty milligrams of zolpidem – which is the medication you prescribed to yourself. Doesn’t that strike you as a bit odd?’

Standing there, filling the doorway, Tom Beresford was suddenly looking less sure of himself. ‘I didn’t give Roderick my sleeping pills, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘Then how did he get them?’

‘He came to my house now and then. He could have taken them.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘Who told you what pills I was taking? That’s confidential information.’

‘Nothing is confidential in a murder investigation,’ Hawthorne replied with a smile of innocence. ‘By the way, when did you start smoking again?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘You ever sneak round and have a puff in your garage?’

‘Occasionally.’

‘Andrew Pennington saw you on the night of Roderick’s death. I just thought you might like to know.’

Hawthorne wasn’t moving. Tom Beresford realised he had no choice. ‘You’d better come in,’ he said.

He led them towards the kitchen. The sound of children shouting came from somewhere upstairs and then the voice of a young woman with an Australian accent.

‘Lucy! Claire! Will you both pipe down?’

‘Through here . . .’ Tom said.

Gemma Beresford was sitting at the table. She was not alone. She was deep in conversation with a young man who turned round as Hawthorne and Dudley came in. Neither of them looked surprised to see Felicity’s carer, Damien Shaw. For his part, he sat there squirming, obviously unhappy to see them.

‘I couldn’t stop them coming in.’ Tom’s words fell heavily. ‘They’re still investigating the two deaths. They think the police have got it wrong.’

‘Any reason you wouldn’t want us to find the three of you together?’ Hawthorne asked.

‘None at all!’ Gemma glared at him. ‘We’ve been seeing a lot of Damien since—’

‘Since the death of his father . . . Raymond Shaw.’

‘Yes, Mr Hawthorne. We feel we owe him a duty of care.’

Damien had already told Hawthorne that he’d recently been forced to take a week off and that he was living with his mother, who was on her own. Given his surname, it hadn’t taken a great leap of imagination to put things together.

‘I don’t blame Tom for what happened,’ Damien said, leaping to the defence.

‘Dr Beresford couldn’t get to your dad in time because he was held up by his neighbour.’ Hawthorne seemed to consider the matter for the first time. ‘Did you blame Giles Kenworthy?’

Damien blushed an angry red. ‘What if I did?’

‘Well, you might have been tempted to put a crossbow bolt through his neck.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘It doesn’t seem ridiculous to me,’ Dudley said. ‘You knew about the crossbow. You were home alone with Felicity. You had access to the garage.’

‘Leave him alone!’ Gemma reached out and took hold of Damien’s arm. ‘Damien wouldn’t hurt anyone. And anyway, we know who killed Giles Kenworthy.’

‘He says it wasn’t Roderick,’ Tom muttered.