‘One of them may not be,’ Dudley said.
But Khan was already walking away, catching up with DC Goodwin, who had just arrived in a police car.
Dudley watched him go. ‘Where do you want to start?’ he asked.
‘The murder weapon belonged to Roderick Browne,’ Hawthorne replied.
‘I don’t like dentists,’ Dudley sighed.
They walked the short distance across the courtyard and rang the bell of Woodlands, the last house in the terrace of three. The door opened almost at once, as if Roderick Browne had been waiting for them on the other side. He looked ill. He clearly wasn’t going into work today and had forsaken his morning routine, not shaving, not picking out the right tie, not even flossing. He had pulled on a crumpled shirt that ballooned over his trousers. Looking at him, with his pink face and cloud of white hair, Dudley was reminded of something you might win at a funfair. At the same time, the way he was gazing at them, he could have just stepped off the ghost train.
He had been expecting Khan and looked at Hawthorne with bewilderment. ‘Yes?’
‘Mr Browne?’
‘Yes. Yes . . . That’s me.’
‘My name’s Hawthorne. I’m helping the police with this inquiry. This is my assistant, John Dudley. Can we come in?’
‘Of course you can. I spoke to the police yesterday, but if there’s anything I can do to help . . .’
He stood back and allowed them to enter a hallway which had an elegance and formality that might have mirrored the reception area of his clinic in Cadogan Square. Everything was very neat. A faux-antique chest of drawers stood against the back wall, with a small pile of magazines next to an art deco lamp. A photograph in a silver frame had been carefully placed to one side so that it was hard to miss. It showed Roderick standing next to Ewan McGregor, presumably one of his celebrity clients. Two wooden chairs had been positioned symmetrically, one on either side of the front door, and Hawthorne noticed a suitcase perched on one of them, with a woman’s light raincoat draped over the top. Roderick led them into the kitchen, which provided a complete contrast to the entrance: everything modern, white and silver, too brightly lit, and so clean it might never have been used. A true dentist’s kitchen. There was a window at the far end with views towards the Kenworthys’ garden.
‘Has anyone said anything?’ Roderick asked before they had even sat down. He hadn’t offered either of them a coffee. He didn’t look in any fit state to make it.
‘Are you talking about your neighbours?’ Hawthorne took a seat at the head of the table that stretched out in front of the window.
‘Yes.’
‘That seems a very strange question to ask, Mr Browne.’
‘Do you think so? I was just wondering if you’d talked to any of them and if they’d said anything . . .’
‘About you?’
‘No! About Giles Kenworthy. You’ll have to forgive me, Mr Hawthorne. For something like this to happen, not just in the close but right next door to me . . . and with my crossbow! As you can imagine, the whole thing is a complete nightmare and I find it hard to know what to think. Do you have any suspects?’
‘I would say that everyone who lives here is a suspect, Mr Browne.’ Hawthorne paused. ‘Including you.’
‘Well, that’s ridiculous. I’m a highly respected dental practitioner. I’ve never had so much as a speeding ticket in my life. Do I really look like a murderer to you?’
‘Well, actually . . .’ Dudley began.
‘It’s outrageous. We certainly had our issues with Giles Kenworthy. I’m not making any secret of that. But to come here, into my house, asking me all these questions . . .’
‘We haven’t asked you very much yet,’ Hawthorne said reasonably. ‘And we will be talking to everyone in Riverview Close.’
‘I’m sure you know who lives in this community. We’re very respectable people. A doctor. A barrister. Two ladies who used to be nuns. This is Richmond, for heaven’s sake! I feel as if I’ve woken up in Mexico City.’
Hawthorne waited for him to finish. ‘Why don’t you start by telling us when you came here?’ he suggested. ‘You and your wife?’
‘You haven’t told us her name,’ Dudley said.
‘Felicity. She’s upstairs in bed. She has ME.’ He leaned forward, confidentially. ‘That’s why this business with the swimming pool mattered so much to us. If you take away the view from her, you take away everything. And the noise! Their children are bad enough anyway, but with all their friends, shouting and screaming . . . We’d have had to move. And that’s not fair. We love it here.’
‘So when did you move in?’ Hawthorne repeated the question he’d asked earlier.
‘Fourteen years ago, just after the close had been developed. We arrived about a month after our neighbours, May Winslow and Phyllis Moore. They’re next door.’
‘Like most neighbours,’ Dudley said.
‘Yes. They’re quite elderly and they have a bookshop in the town centre. They sell crime novels. Then there’s Andrew Pennington next to them, Adam Strauss and his wife in The Stables and Dr Beresford and his family across the way. We’re all good friends – in a neighbourly sort of way. We like to have a drink together now and then. Nothing wrong with that! We look out for each other.’
‘When did the Kenworthys arrive?’
‘At the end of last year.’ Roderick Browne was speaking more confidently now. ‘Jon Emin and his wife were living in The Stables . . . a very nice couple. At that time, Adam was living in Riverview Lodge with his second wife, Teri, but she persuaded him that they would be more comfortable with something smaller. So they moved into The Stables when the Emins sold and that was when Giles Kenworthy bought the Lodge. We were all looking forward to meeting him. We really were. We’re not stand-offish here. Don’t let anyone tell you that.’
‘So what went wrong?’
‘Everything!’ Roderick Browne shook his head in dismay. ‘Nobody liked him,’ he went on. ‘Nobody! It wasn’t just me. Mr Kenworthy was a horrible man – not that he deserved what happened to him. He didn’t deserve that at all, and whatever I may have said in the heat of the moment, I never wished him any harm. None of us did. The fact is, he seemed to take a delight in putting our noses out of joint. He and his wife and his children. There were so many incidents, and they just got worse and worse until they were making all our lives unbearable.’
‘What sort of incidents?’
‘Well . . .’ Roderick already seemed to be regretting that he had volunteered so much, but now that he had started it was hard to stop. ‘There were lots of things. They may seem petty, describing them to you now, but they added up. The parking, the loud music, cricket and skateboards . . . The children were out of control. I said to Felicity things were going from bad to worse when he just dumped his Christmas tree in the drive as if it was up to us to get rid of it. No consideration! And then there were the parties. He never stopped having parties, although he never invited any of us. The swimming pool was the final straw. We never thought the council would give them permission, but it did and maybe that’s something you should look into. I wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t some sort of backhander involved. I mean . . . see for yourself.’ He pointed out of the window. ‘He was going to rip up the lawn – right there! You see that lovely magnolia? It attracts so many wild birds. Adam planted it, but they were going to chop it down . . . just like they did his yew trees when they moved in.’
Hawthorne glanced at John Dudley. ‘You put all that together, it does sound like a motive for murder,’ he said.