The Sentence Is Death

‘I can tell you, they’ve recently tried that in America. They dissolve the ash with a mixture of nitric and hydrochloric acids and then they analyse the results using plasma mass spectrometry.’ He shook his head. ‘Even then they only get about sixty per cent accuracy so I don’t know what Holmes is going on about.’

Hawthorne paused for a moment, then began to talk about the correlation between a suspect’s height and the length of his stride – dismissing another of the fictitious detective’s theories. But I didn’t listen to him. His words simply floated somewhere in the air. I was thinking about Kevin, who had somehow hacked into my phone without even touching it, and I was wondering how Hawthorne could operate as a private detective working for Scotland Yard when he was actually using methods that were quite probably criminal. Certainly, it put him in a very different light.

The rest of the evening went by in a sort of daze. Someone brought up The House of Silk and although it turned out that only a couple of people – the identical twins – had actually read it, I was asked to talk about writing in the style of Conan Doyle. I managed to ramble on for a few minutes before Lisa Chakraborty cut me short.

‘Well, thank you so much for that, Anthony,’ she said. ‘That was a very interesting contribution and a lovely way to round off this evening’s discussion. And now all that’s left for me to do is to hand over to Christine, who has chosen our next book for the New Year. I’ll let her introduce it.’

Christine – spectacles, grey hair, loose-fitting cardigan – got to her feet. ‘I’ve chosen a modern work,’ she said. ‘And I believe something of a masterpiece. It’s A Multitude of Gods, the first published novel by Akira Anno.’

Well, it would be, wouldn’t it! I could actually feel the warmth and enthusiasm in the room.

‘Wonderful!’

‘She’s such a tremendously powerful writer.’

‘I read The Temizu Basin three times. It made me cry.’

‘What a lovely choice, Christine!’

There was a patter of applause.

I couldn’t wait to get out. Hawthorne came with me but I was just as keen to get away from him. We barely spoke as we walked back down the corridor and as I watched him disappear into the lift, I wondered if I should admire or despise him for using a seriously handicapped young man to help him break the law.

One thing was becoming clear. The more I learned about him, the less I actually knew.

17 The Chase

I slept badly that night. I had a bad dream that turned the book group into something out of Rosemary’s Baby – which actually wasn’t too much of a transformation. Hawthorne and Kevin were at the centre of it, crouched over a computer screen that was running a compilation of all the worst moments of my life. Even while I was asleep, I was surprised how many of them there were.

I was woken by the sound of my mobile phone ringing and was grateful to find myself in bed, in my own room. Jill had already gone. I reached out and answered it, thinking it would be Hawthorne, and I half groaned when I heard Cara Grunshaw’s voice at the other end.

‘Did I wake you up?’ she asked, with mock concern. It was a little after seven o’clock, the sun struggling to make itself known.

‘No,’ I said.

‘I thought you’d like to know. I’ve spoken to Daunt’s. They don’t want to press charges.’

‘That’s good news.’

‘I’m trying to persuade them otherwise.’ She paused. ‘Nothing personal. I just don’t think we should be encouraging petty crime.’

I closed my eyes, my head sinking back into the pillows. ‘What do you want?’ I asked.

‘You know what I want.’

I took a breath. ‘Hawthorne is going back to see Adrian Lockwood today,’ I said. I knew that because he’d texted me before I got home. There had been a name, an address in Curzon Street and a time. Nothing more. No question that I wouldn’t be there. As much as I disliked sharing the information with Grunshaw, I couldn’t see any harm in it. After all, Hawthorne had given me permission.

‘We’ve already spoken to him twice,’ Grunshaw said. ‘He didn’t have any reason to kill his lawyer.’

‘Yes, he did, as a matter of fact.’

‘What?’

Maybe it was because I had just woken up or maybe it was just my deep fear of annoying Grunshaw, but suddenly the answer came to me. Was this the ‘shape’ that Hawthorne had been talking about? Even as I blurted out the words, I knew they made sense.

‘Richard Pryce was known as the Blunt Razor because he was completely honest,’ I began. ‘He was worried about Akira Anno because he thought she was concealing part of her income.’

‘I know that.’ Grunshaw sounded bored again.

‘Wait a minute. It’s possible that Pryce had got fresh information about Akira. He was going to ring the Law Society. According to Stephen Spencer, she might even have been involved in something illegal.’

‘So what?’