Close to Death

‘Do you have any more questions, Mr Hawthorne?’ Gareth cut in. ‘I think Felicity should get back to bed. This has been a terrible time for her.’

‘Yes. I do.’ Hawthorne ignored the brother-in-law and turned back to Felicity. ‘Adam Strauss was the last person to see your husband.’

‘I know. The police told me.’

‘They were friends?’

‘Very much so. Adam was always helping us, finding ways to do small kindnesses. All our neighbours were lovely. May and Phyllis next door. Andrew Pennington, giving us advice about the planning permission. Tom Beresford prescribing temazepam for me . . .’

‘Roderick couldn’t do that?’

‘It’s against the guidelines set down by the General Dental Council.’ She struggled for breath. ‘How can I help you, Mr Hawthorne? I will do anything . . . anything to find out what really happened.’

‘I want to revisit the house,’ Hawthorne said. ‘Can I borrow your keys?’

‘Well, I don’t know—’ Alison began.

‘Let him have them,’ Felicity said. ‘The police have given up on us. They don’t care about Roderick.’ She pointed towards the floor. ‘They’re in my handbag.’

Gareth looked doubtful but fished them out: two Yale keys attached to a silver ring with a mortice key next to them. Hawthorne showed Felicity the third key. ‘This opens the door into the garage,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘And you’ve had it on you all the time? There’s no chance someone else might have used it?’

‘No. It always stays with me.’ Felicity had answered enough questions. She was exhausted. ‘If there’s nothing more you want to know, I think I’ll go back to bed now,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry, but there are still a few things, Mrs Browne. The police were only able to find one set of car keys. It was in your husband’s pocket.’

She nodded. ‘There is only one set. He lost the other one while we were on holiday in Torquay and he hadn’t got round to ordering a replacement. Why? Is it important?’

‘Probably not. Also, they weren’t able to find his mobile.’

‘That’s very strange.’

‘He had it when he came here,’ Alison cut in. ‘He checked his messages. That was about midday. I saw him.’

‘And then he went straight back home?’

‘He kept his phone on the chest of drawers in the hallway,’ Felicity said. ‘He was quite religious about that. He could hear it from everywhere in the house if it rang and he always knew where to find it.’

‘We’ll look for it,’ Hawthorne said. ‘I don’t suppose you happen to know the PIN?’ Felicity looked unsure, so he added: ‘If we do find it, it might give us valuable information. We’ll need to open it.’

She nodded. ‘One nine six five. It was his birthday.’

She reached out and Gareth helped her to her feet. She had expended all her strength on the conversation. Gareth started to lead her out of the room, but before she reached the door, Hawthorne stopped her.

‘There was a second meeting,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry?’ Felicity turned.

‘I’d imagine they were all there – probably at The Stables. That was where the first one happened. It was probably sometime over the weekend. Giles Kenworthy died on Monday, so just before that.’

She stood there, clinging on to Gareth. It took her a long time to find the strength to reply. ‘It was Sunday evening,’ she said. ‘How did you know about it? Who told you?’

‘Nobody told me,’ Hawthorne said. ‘Not in so many words. Were you there?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I was too tired and I couldn’t see any point in talking any more.’

‘And . . . ?’

‘I can’t tell you anything, Mr Hawthorne. I didn’t see Roderick on Sunday evening, but I could tell he must have drunk a lot because I could smell the alcohol the next morning. He went into work on Monday like he always did. He brought in my breakfast before he left. I could see he wasn’t himself. He said that he had been at The Stables the night before and I could see that something had upset him, but when I asked him about it, he refused to tell me. He said I wasn’t to mention it to anyone.

‘I didn’t ask him again. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that I didn’t like to, but maybe I should have – because two days later he was gone. Two days later, he was taken from me.’

She was desperate to leave the room, but there was one last thing she had to say.

‘They did meet a second time. I don’t know what happened, but I hope you’ll find out, because whatever it was, that was the reason my Roderick had to die.’

2

Hawthorne and Dudley took a taxi back from Woking to Richmond. Not a black cab. The distance was almost twenty miles. They had wedged themselves into the back of a car provided by a local company: sticky plastic seats, half-inflated tyres and a driver who was too cheerful by half. Hawthorne seldom used public transport. He didn’t like being close to people he didn’t know. But in many ways, this ponderous journey along the M3 was even worse.