A Line to Kill

‘What money? Oh – you mean the will. That’s a good question, considering that Mrs le Mesurier just became a wealthy woman … not that she had any time to enjoy it. I’ve spoken to her solicitor. No children of her own, of course, but she has a brother and a sister and it’s their lucky day. They get everything. But there’s no chance that either of them had anything to do with it, if that’s what you’re thinking. One works for Goldman Sachs in London and the other’s a teacher in Wales. There was one little thing that surprised me. She left a hundred thousand to the school here in St Anne. Wouldn’t have thought she’d have cared.’

I knew better. Colin Matheson had told us that he had first got close to Helen when he was on an education committee. She invited me to The Lookout to talk about a possible bequest. I’d never heard of anyone being murdered to benefit a school library, but it still made me wonder who on the island might have known about the money.

‘What else?’ Hawthorne asked.

‘Derek Abbott,’ Torode replied. He knew the effect the words would have. He let them hang in the air. ‘You went to see him,’ he added.

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

‘He didn’t fall down any stairs if that’s what you’re asking.’

Torode wasn’t amused by that. ‘Come off it, Hawthorne. You know what I mean.’ He waited. ‘Did he kill her? Did he kill both of them?’

Hawthorne blinked. ‘What makes you think that, Deputy Chief?’

‘I think you’re forgetting something.’ Everything about Torode was lazy: his smile, his dress sense, his work ethic. It was also true of the menace that he was now directing at Hawthorne. ‘The only reason you have any authority on this island is because of me. And I thought we had an agreement. I help you; you help me. What do you know?’

‘I know it’s a mistake letting everyone leave the island.’

‘About Derek Abbott!’ Hawthorne said nothing, so Torode went on, keeping his voice low. ‘All right. Let me tell you where I am with this, just so you don’t think I’ve been sitting on my arse all day while you’ve been gallivanting around. First of all, I know that Abbott was working for le Mesurier as some sort of business adviser, but the two of them had fallen out. Anne Cleary told me that, just like she told you. She also said that there was money involved, and maybe I can tell you something you don’t know.’

‘There’s a first time for everything,’ Hawthorne said.

‘Take a look at this.’ Torode reached into the envelope and took out a sheet of paper. He slid it across the table. It was a photocopy of a cheque for £20,000, made out to Derek Abbott and signed by Charles le Mesurier.

‘Abbott personally presented this to the cash desk in Lloyds Bank in Victoria Street this morning. The date is the Saturday of the murder and the number of the cheque accords with the last one torn out of the chequebook we found in the Snuggery. I didn’t know people were still making payments this way – not that it made any difference. The bank can’t honour it, pending probate, but they were smart enough to take a copy, which they passed to me. Makes you think, doesn’t it.’

‘He told me that he was owed money,’ Hawthorne said.

‘I bet he didn’t mention he’d been paid – and I’ll tell you why not. It’s very simple, really. Sometime on the night of the party, the two of them have a falling-out over money that results in Abbott getting the chop. He’s not happy about it, so he follows le Mesurier into the Snuggery—’

‘Nobody saw them go in together.’

‘We’ll come to that. You know the weird thing about this whole business? It’s Charles le Mesurier tied to that chair but one hand left free.’ Torode pointed at the photocopy. ‘That’s the simple answer. At first, it was all friendly. Maybe they took a few lines of cocaine together. But then Abbott got the better of him. He could have used that walking stick of his to hit le Mesurier on the head. He tied him to the chair, but he left one hand free – his right hand – because he needed him to sign something. A cheque! He must have threatened him with something nasty to get him to cooperate, but when le Mesurier signed this piece of paper he wasn’t thinking straight. It was his death warrant. Of course Abbott couldn’t keep him alive, because if he did, the next day le Mesurier would simply ring the bank and cancel the cheque. So he killed him.’

‘For twenty thousand quid?’

‘And the Rolex watch. That doubles it.’

‘Have you spoken to Abbott yet?’

‘I’m speaking to you first.’ Torode was enjoying himself, knowing that he had Hawthorne at a disadvantage. ‘Now, let’s go back to what you said about nobody seeing the two of them go in together. That’s not true, of course.’

‘Helen le Mesurier …’