But in this case, Mr Strauss remembered that he had some straws left over from a party and it just seemed so appropriate – so biblical, almost. We would draw straws and whoever picked the shortest would have to kill Giles Kenworthy. Of course, sitting here in the light of day, it may seem very silly and irresponsible to you. But that’s what we did.
Phyllis Moore
We cut eight pieces of straw, each one of them a different size. There were eight of us there. And so there could be no cheating, Mr Strauss held them behind his back so he couldn’t see which straw was being taken. I went first. It was quite exciting. We all entered into the spirit of the thing . . . the game.
Andrew Pennington
It’s true. We were all very caught up in the spirit of the moment, and I might add that Roderick was probably keener than anyone. Mrs Winslow drew a straw that was about two or three inches long. I was next and mine was shorter, but I knew there was an even shorter one somewhere in there. There was quite a bit of nervous laughter as Adam shuffled from person to person until there was only him and Roderick left.
And then it was Roderick’s turn. He looked at the two straws that were sticking out of Adam’s hand and he milked the moment for all it was worth. Then he made his choice and drew the shortest straw, holding it up for us all to see. He wasn’t upset. He was almost triumphant. ‘Well, that’s it,’ he said. ‘I suppose I’d better go round and get it over with!’
Adam Strauss
It’s funny how quickly the mood changed after that. The whole thing was a joke, of course, but we’d reached the punchline and I suppose it wasn’t as funny as we’d thought it was going to be. The conversation turned quite serious again – the letters we were going to write, the actions that we might take. Andrew repeated some of the advice he had already given us. By now it was about half past nine and we were all tired and a little drunk. Nothing had been resolved. Things went downhill pretty quickly and everyone went home to bed.
Roderick was the last to leave and I was very worried about him. Not because I thought he’d go through with it and take it upon himself to kill Giles Kenworthy. That thought never crossed my mind. But he was desperately worried about Felicity. The meeting had achieved nothing. And I could see that he was depressed. I told him to call me the next day if he wanted to talk, but as things turned out, I didn’t speak to him again properly until the day he died. As you know, he called me and asked me to come round.
That was Wednesday evening. By then, Giles Kenworthy was dead. Three days after Roderick had told everyone he was going to do it. And Kenworthy had been killed in exactly the way that he had described – a crossbow bolt through the neck. Everything I told you, the last time we spoke about this, was true. The only thing I omitted to mention was the context, what had happened at that second meeting. It was the reason why Roderick was so upset.
In fact, he was terrified. He told me over and over again that he hadn’t done it, that it wasn’t him, and although I did my best to calm him down, I’m not sure if I believed him or not. It just seemed like too much of a coincidence – unless someone else in the room had heard what he’d said and had decided to do it themselves. But, hand on heart, I can’t say I suspect anyone here. And anyway, how would they have got into the garage with both Roderick and Felicity in the house? As far as I know, the up-and-over door was kept locked and they could hardly have sneaked in through the kitchen.
He had already been interrogated – twice – and he said he could feel the net closing in on him, that Detective Superintendent Khan was going to arrest him at any moment. And then there was the added worry that one of us would tell the police about the second meeting, drawing straws, everything you now know. If that happened, he’d be finished. He’d confessed to the murder before it had even happened!
Andrew Pennington
That second meeting has cast a very long shadow. None of us could be completely honest with you, Mr Hawthorne. We also had to conceal what we knew from the police. I’m sure you can imagine how difficult that was for me. It went against everything in my nature.
The basic fact of the matter is this. We had taken part in what we have described as a fantasy, a party game. But everything had changed when Giles Kenworthy was killed. We were guilty of conspiracy to commit murder as defined by the Criminal Law Act of 1977. Looking back, I can’t believe I allowed it to continue. We had selected the victim and discussed various weapons. We had drawn straws to decide who was going to do it, for heaven’s sake! Even if Giles Kenworthy hadn’t been touched, we had still committed a crime – technically speaking. But if any of it had come out during the police investigation, we could all of us have been facing a life sentence.
May Winslow
The moment I left the garage, I telephoned Mr Pennington. I told him what had happened and he came straight round to my house. He couldn’t believe it. Nor could I. He warned me that we might all be in serious trouble. We couldn’t lie to the police. That would be an offence in itself. We couldn’t obstruct their investigation. But nor could we tell them about the meeting we’d had on Sunday night. That was what he told me. We had to keep absolutely quiet about that.
Andrew Pennington
I telephoned everyone on the Thursday morning when Roderick’s body was discovered. We could not lie. But the law does not compel a witness to provide information to the police. Our silence was not itself illegal and there was no reason why anyone should have asked us what we were doing on Sunday evening. I’m afraid this has also coloured our dealings with you, Mr Hawthorne, and for that I must apologise. I suppose there’s nothing to prevent you passing on what you know to Detective Superintendent Khan.
Tom Beresford
What’s the point? We all know the truth. Roderick Browne was a decent enough man. I liked him. We all did. And we’re all desperately sorry for Felicity. But what we said and what we did that evening have got nothing to do with the end result. Roderick was the one who had the most to lose if Giles Kenworthy went on living. It was his crossbow. I have never doubted, not for a minute, that he was the one who committed the crime.
And then he got scared. The police knew it was him: Detective Superintendent Khan had made that clear. He was going to be arrested. So he sent his wife off to Woking, wrote a suicide note and killed himself. A dead man in a locked car in a locked garage with a suicide note in his lap. What other explanation can there be?
5
Hawthorne and Dudley let themselves into Woodlands with the keys that Felicity Browne had given them. There were cameras in Gardener’s Cottage and burglar alarms in both The Stables and the Lodge, but otherwise the houses in Riverview Close were surprisingly lacking in electronic security. It was part of the charm of the place that it existed in the world as it had been fifty years ago, when neighbours left their doors open or their keys under the mat and burglaries were rare enough to be news.
The house was still in pain. Both Hawthorne and Dudley sensed it the moment they crossed the threshold, the strange atmosphere, almost an awareness, that always lingers after a sudden death, as if the bricks and the plasterwork that have embraced so much day-to-day activity somehow know. Roderick Browne’s absence was everywhere. The police had been and gone, taking with them their photographic markers and crime-scene tape. But they had been unable to erase the memories.