The Sentence Is Death

He rose to greet us, a very imposing black man in a sleek, tailored suit, about fifty years old with a high, domed forehead and dark hair which was going grey around the temples in a way that entirely suited his profession and status. He had an extraordinarily cheerful disposition which he seemed unable to hide, even though we were here to make enquiries about the violent death of his partner. When I say there was a twinkle in his eye, I mean it quite literally. Perhaps it was the overhead lighting. Even when he arranged his features to show the expected empathy and remorse, he still gave the impression that he wanted to burst out laughing, to sweep us into his embrace and take us out for a drink.

‘Please! Please, come in,’ he began, although we already had. He had a loud, booming voice, on the edge of theatrical. ‘Take a seat. I spoke to the police yesterday evening . . . An absolutely terrible business. Poor Richard! We’d worked together for many years, you know, and I want to say straight away that anything I can do to help you, I will do! Will you have a coffee or tea? No? This weather is so very damp and unpleasant. Perhaps a glass of water?’

There was a bottle on a sideboard and he poured two glasses while we sat down. He handed them to us, then went back to his place on the other side of the desk. ‘Where do you want to start?’

‘When was the last time you spoke to Mr Pryce?’ Hawthorne asked.

‘That would have been on Sunday, the day that it happened. We spoke at about six o’clock in the evening.’

‘He rang you.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ Oliver Masefield sighed loudly. Everything he did was just a little bit larger than life. ‘I can’t tell you how bad I feel. He was worried about something. He phoned me for advice. But I wasn’t able to speak to him.’ He grimaced. ‘I was going out with my wife to a concert at the Albert Hall. Mozart’s Requiem. He couldn’t have chosen a worse time to ring me.’

‘So what did he say?’

‘Not very much. He had already mentioned to me on one or two occasions that he had concerns about a recent hearing.’ Before Hawthorne could interrupt, he continued. ‘The Lockwood divorce. You do understand, gentlemen, that I have a duty to protect client confidentiality, but many of the facts are on public record and anything I’m telling you now you can find out for yourselves.’

With this established, he began.

‘In this instance, our client was Adrian Lockwood, who was seeking a divorce from his wife, Akira Anno, on grounds of unreasonable behaviour. I don’t need to go into details, the more salient of which appeared in the newspapers. We came to an agreement at the Central Family Court and I have to say that it was very much in our client’s favour. This was on Wednesday the sixteenth. You’ll be aware that Ms Anno was put out – to say the least – by the way things had proceeded and happened to see Richard in a restaurant four or five days later. It was The Delaunay in the Aldwych. What followed was a common assault and could have landed her in serious trouble if Richard had chosen to pursue the matter further.’

‘She threw wine at him.’

‘That’s right.’

‘She also threatened him.’

‘She swore at him and said words to the effect that she would like to attack him with a bottle. It was a very foolish thing to do but I understand that she is a highly strung woman.’

‘You say he had concerns. What were they?’ Hawthorne asked.

‘I never found out exactly because I wasn’t directly involved. But I can tell you that Richard suspected there had been fraudulent disclosure and it concerned him to the extent that he was even prepared to consider a set-aside.’

‘It would help if you could speak in English, Mr Masefield.’

The lawyer’s eyes narrowed and some of his bonhomie departed the room. ‘I think I was doing precisely that, Mr Hawthorne. But I will try to explain it to you in language that a police officer, retired or otherwise, might understand.’

I smiled at that, then looked away so that Hawthorne wouldn’t see.

Masefield continued. ‘In the case of a high-income divorce, both sides have to make a full account of their income, their pensions, savings, property . . . their entire net value. This is all laid out in what we call a Form E. It does sometimes happen that one side may try to conceal some aspect of his or her wealth and were that to be discovered, the agreement – whether it was made inside or outside the court – might well be overturned and effectively both parties would have to begin again.’ He coughed. ‘We call that a set-aside. I know that Richard did have some concerns that Ms Anno might have an income stream which she had failed to declare and he had been in touch with Navigant—’

‘Navigant?’

‘They are a consultancy in London. They have a first-class team of forensic accountants and we use them quite frequently.’

‘And they were investigating Akira Anno?’