The Sentence Is Death

‘Lying to a police officer is an offence.’

‘As I understand it, you’re not a police officer.’

I had to hand it to Dawn Adams. She certainly wasn’t afraid of Hawthorne. But if she’d known him better, she might have been a little less curt with him. I saw the anger stirring in his eyes and it made me think of a crocodile rising from the mud.

‘You say that Ms Anno advises you on literary manuscripts,’ he said. ‘How many literary writers do you actually publish?’

It was a good point. In the window downstairs I had seen one or two well-respected authors, but the books on the shelves in Dawn’s office were less highbrow. I ran my eyes over a children’s picture book, a couple of airport thrillers, the Doomworld trilogy and a book of Greek recipes by Victoria Hislop.

Again, there was just a hint of uncertainty before she recovered. ‘We don’t have any. But it’s an area I very much want to move into. We receive a great many submissions and Akira reads them for me.’

‘Then why not publish her? Since the two of you are such good mates . . .’

‘I’ve suggested it. But Akira has a contract with Virago. I think we’re done here, aren’t we?’ There was a telephone on the coffee table. Dawn picked it up and dialled a single number. ‘Tom,’ she said. ‘My guests are just leaving. Could you come up to the office . . . ?’

‘Actually, I haven’t finished.’ Hawthorne’s voice was cold.

She hesitated, the phone still in her hand. ‘Actually, it’s all right, Tom. I’ll call you in a minute.’ She put the phone down.

Hawthorne paused and I knew from experience that he was about to come out with something extraordinary. Even so, his next statement took me completely by surprise. ‘I’d like to speak to one of your other writers,’ he said.

‘Which one is that?’

‘Mark Belladonna.’

She stared at him. ‘I’m afraid there’s absolutely no way Mark will speak to you.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Well, first of all, he’s got absolutely nothing to do with this. And secondly, he’s very reclusive. He lives in Northumberland and he has acute agoraphobia. He never goes out.’

‘But he was in The Delaunay the night when you had that dinner.’

‘That’s impossible.’

‘It’s not impossible, Ms Adams. It’s true. And as it happens he was also involved in the death of a second man . . . Gregory Taylor. Taylor visited Richard Pryce on the day Taylor died. The two of them had known each other for years. And just a short while later Taylor was killed, pushed under a train. But before he died, he bought a copy of a book, the latest Mark Belladonna. He didn’t buy it because he wanted to read it. He bought it to send us the message . . . which is the reason I’m here.’

All of this was news to me. If Hawthorne had checked out who was eating at The Delaunay, he had certainly never mentioned it. But it was true that he had drawn my attention to Prisoners of Blood, which Gregory Taylor had picked up in W. H. Smith at King’s Cross. Why did he buy that book? That was what he had asked.

Dawn Adams had lost control of the situation. Suddenly it was as if the sofa was swallowing her whole. She was almost squirming. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

And then, without warning, the door opened and, of all people, Akira Anno came hurrying into the room. Dawn Adams was as surprised to see her as I was. ‘Akira . . . ?’

‘I came straight over when I got your call.’ Akira looked at us malignantly. ‘I know these two men. I’ve already had confrontations with them. I know their methods and how they will use them to threaten and intimidate you. I didn’t want you to have to see them on your own.’

So Dawn had rung her to say we were coming. It made me think that the two of them must have been colluding . . . but in what?

‘We were just talking about Mark Belladonna,’ Hawthorne went on. He was utterly unfazed by the interruption. It was as if he had expected it, even welcomed it.

Akira went over to a third chair and sat down. She was as immaculate as ever but suddenly she seemed unsure of herself, perhaps even afraid.

‘I want his address and his phone number,’ Hawthorne said.

‘I won’t give them to you.’

‘You can take that stand if you want to, Ms Adams. Then I’ll call Detective Inspector Grunshaw and Detective Constable Mills and we’ll see how you get on when you refuse to co-operate with them.’

‘I can’t . . .’

‘Why not?’

‘You don’t understand. Mark never—’

And then, from the other side of the room came the two quiet words: ‘He knows.’ It was Akira. Her face was ghastly. She was looking down at the floor.

What did he know? And why didn’t I know it too?

‘Why don’t you just come straight out with it?’ Hawthorne exclaimed. ‘Do you think I’m a complete idiot? Did you really think I wouldn’t work it out?’

He paused, waiting for either of the two women to speak, and when neither of them did, he provided the answer for them. ‘Akira Anno is Mark Belladonna, isn’t she! Mark doesn’t exist.’ He rounded on Akira. ‘You wrote those stupid books.’