The Sentence Is Death

I said that. And I was beginning to think I meant it.

Sure enough, I was discharged from the hospital after breakfast and the first thing I did when I got home was to ring Hawthorne. He didn’t ask me how I was but I got the impression he had made enquiries at the hospital and already knew. We arranged to meet at a coffee shop midway between our two flats just this side of Blackfriars Bridge.

‘You’re sure you’re up to it?’ he asked.

‘I need to know what happened after I left in the ambulance.’

‘Bring an umbrella. It looks like rain.’

He was right. It was pouring down by the time I set out and the weight of the umbrella pulled at my chest, making the wound throb. Farringdon Road, never handsome at the best of times, was an oily black streak with the traffic sitting, ill-tempered, at the lights and cyclists wrapped in bright plastic weaving their way through. We arrived at the same time. Hawthorne picked out a table in the window and as I took my place the rain was hammering against the glass, then sliding down in a series of oscillations like the screen of an old black-and-white TV. It wasn’t winter yet. It had been warm outside and the coffee shop had a muggy feel, although we were almost alone.

Water dripped off Hawthorne’s raincoat as he hung it on a hook behind his chair. Underneath, his suit was dry. The journey had worn me out and for once he bought the drinks: a double espresso for him, hot chocolate for me. I needed the comfort. He brought them over to the table and sat down.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, at last.

‘Not great,’ I said. The stitches were hurting more than the original knife wound. I hadn’t slept well. ‘Have they found him yet?’ I asked.

‘Colin? Yes. He went round to a friend’s house and the police picked him up this morning.’

‘What will happen to him?’

‘He’ll be charged with murder.’ Hawthorne shrugged. ‘But he’s under sixteen so they’ll probably go easy on him.’

I waited for him to go on. ‘Are you going to tell me the rest of it?’ I said. ‘It’s the only reason I’ve come here. I’d have much rather stayed in bed.’

‘What’s the matter with you, Tony, mate? You don’t need to sound so bloody miserable. We solved it!’

‘You solved the crime,’ I said. ‘I didn’t do anything. I just made a complete fool of myself.’

‘I wouldn’t say that.’

‘Well what would you say?’

He considered. ‘You put Grunshaw in her place.’

It wasn’t enough. ‘Just tell me,’ I said. ‘Colin killed Richard Pryce. How did you work it out?’

He looked at me quizzically, as if he didn’t quite understand me. Then he told me what I wanted to hear.

‘I said to you that I’d narrowed it down to one of two people,’ he began. ‘I always had a feeling that it had to be Davina Richardson or her son – but at the end of the day, the murder of Richard Pryce had the kid’s fingerprints all over it. What I told Davina yesterday – the death of Charles Richardson, Gregory Taylor coming round to the house – that was all true. But she never went round to Heron’s Wake with a knife. She was only saying that to protect Colin. She’s a good mum. I’ll say that for her. She’s been protecting him all along.

‘You see, what happened was that Colin must have eavesdropped on the conversation between Gregory Taylor and his mother. Don’t you remember the first time we went round? She told him off for listening at the door. He did it again last night. I knew he was outside. It was a habit of his. Well, it was bad enough for Davina listening to what Gregory had to tell her about Long Way Hole. All those lies. The cowardice. But think of it from a fifteen-year-old’s point of view. Richard had become a second dad to him. Of course, he didn’t have any kids of his own. He put Colin through school. He bought him expensive presents – that telescope, for example. He was always there for him and when Colin finally heard the truth, what do you think he felt? It must have driven him mad.

‘And the next night, he did something about it. We know Colin wasn’t in the house—’

‘How do we know that?’ I interrupted.

‘Because Davina was in bed with Adrian Lockwood. She told us they could never get up to that sort of thing when Colin was around, so he must have said he was staying with a friend or something. In fact, he cycled over to Fitzroy Park, taking a short cut across the Heath.’

I had seen the bicycle in Davina’s hallway. I had walked straight past it three or four times.

‘The light that Henry Fairchild saw wasn’t a torch. There was no need for it with a full moon.’

‘It was a bicycle light.’

‘That’s right. There was a big puddle by the gate so Colin had to dismount and he was pushing the bike through. He continued down to Heron’s Wake and dumped the bike by the front door. My kid does that with his bike all the time. He’s too lazy to prop it up against the wall, especially when he’s in a hurry. He just lets it fall.’

‘The bike fell onto the bulrushes.’