That had been Adrian Lockwood, talking about the man in blue spectacles. The Man in Blue Spectacles. That might make a good chapter heading – but was he really involved in all this? Did he even exist?
Hawthorne seemed to think so. As we walked through Edwardes Square, he had muttered, almost as much to himself as me: ‘He knew what he was doing.’
‘Who?’
‘Blue spectacles. You put something like that on your face, it’s the only thing anyone will notice. You can pull the same trick with an Elastoplast or a gold tooth. Give people something they’ll remember, they forget the rest.’
The break-in had happened on a Thursday, three days before the murder. It had to be related. But how?
It took me about two hours to type up my notes and at the end of it I found myself wondering, had I sat in a room with the killer? Had I already met the person who had murdered Richard Pryce? At the same time, another thought occurred to me. I might not be gifted with quite the same professional skills as Hawthorne – I had never, after all, been trained as a detective – but I had written dozens of murder mysteries for TV. I knew how it worked. Surely I could work this out for myself.
Akira Anno. I drew a circle around her name. She still seemed the most likely suspect, so far anyway. She’d even threatened to murder me!
The telephone rang. It was Hawthorne.
‘Tony! Can you meet me at Highgate Tube station at six?’
I looked at my watch. It was five twenty. ‘Why?’ I asked.
‘We’re seeing Davina Richardson.’ He rang off without waiting for an answer.
It wouldn’t take me long to get up to Highgate. I went through my usual ritual, loading my glasses, keys, wallet and Oyster card into the black leather shoulder bag I always carry and was just on my way out when the doorbell rang. I went over to the intercom and pressed it. We have no video system but I recognised the voice that asked for me. It was Detective Inspector Cara Grunshaw. ‘I wonder if I could come in?’ she asked.
‘What – now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Actually, I’m just leaving.’
‘It won’t take a minute.’
My heart sank. I couldn’t get rid of her. ‘All right. I’ll come down.’
I could have buzzed the doors open for her but I didn’t want her inside the flat. She’d sounded friendly enough out on the doorstep but I wondered what she was doing here and I felt nervous seeing her on my own. I took the six flights of stairs down and opened the front door. She was standing on my doorstep with her leather-jacketed assistant, Darren, slouching behind her.
‘Detective Inspector . . .’ I began.
‘Can I have a word?’ She seemed completely pleasant, relaxed.
‘What is this about?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I’ve got a meeting . . .’
‘This will only take a moment.’
She looked past me, inviting herself in, and I realised that I couldn’t really refuse. She was a police officer, after all, and we were involved in the same case. There might be some information she wanted to share. I moved aside and the two of them stepped past me into the hallway, a wide area with my sons’ bicycles on one side and an exposed brick wall on the other. I allowed the doors to swing shut. They fastened with magnetic locks.
‘I hope you don’t mind—’ I was about to make some excuse as to why I wasn’t going to invite her upstairs when she suddenly grabbed hold of me by the lapels of my jacket and slammed me into the wall with such force that the breath was punched out of my lungs and my spine did the neural equivalent of a Mexican wave. Suddenly her face was close to mine; so close that I could smell the fried food she’d had for lunch. Her little eyes were flaring and her mouth was twisted in an ugly grimace.
‘Now you listen to me, you little fuck,’ Grunshaw said. Her voice was thick with contempt. ‘I don’t know who you think you are, some smarmy kids’ author, walking into my murder scene and thinking you can treat it like a chapter out of Alec Rider—’
‘Alex Rider,’ I managed to gurgle.
‘It’s bad enough Hawthorne being called in but at least he’s a fucking detective. Or was until they threw him out. But if you think that gives you the right to go poncing around in a police investigation, you’ve got another thing coming.’
‘You should take this up with Hawthorne,’ I gasped. She was still holding me, pinning me to the wall with fists like cannonballs. I had thought she was a big woman but I hadn’t realised how much of that was muscle. Being gripped by her was like having a double heart attack. Meanwhile, Darren was watching all this with complete disinterest.
‘I’m not talking to Hawthorne. I’m talking to you.’ She relaxed a little, allowing my shoulder blades to scrape a few inches down the wall. ‘Now, you listen to me,’ she said again. ‘There’s only one reason I’m going to let you hang around. There’s only one reason I’m not arresting you for obstructing a police officer in the course of their duty. And that’s because you’re going to help me.’
‘I can’t help you,’ I said. ‘I don’t know anything!’
‘I’m aware of that. It’s bloody obvious.’ She examined me with distaste. ‘But here’s the thing. There’s no way Hawthorne is going to rain on my parade. I’m not having it. He’s not walking away with the credit for this, the same way he’s done before. This is my case and I’m going to be the one who makes the arrest.’
‘Fine. But I don’t see—’
She leaned forward, once again pressing me into the brickwork. Her lips were inches from my face, her breath moist on my cheek. ‘You’re going to tell me everything he knows and everything he does. Anything he finds out, you’re going to be straight on the phone. Am I making myself clear? And if you tell Hawthorne I was here, you give him even an inkling we’ve had this conversation, I’ll make your life hell.’
‘She can do it,’ Darren said, with a smile. They were the first words he’d spoken to me and I believed him.
‘Do we understand each other?’
‘Yes!’ What else could I say?
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ She let me go and straightened up. At the same time, she took out a business card and shoved it into my top pocket, almost tearing the material. ‘This is my mobile number. Ring it any time. If I don’t answer, leave a message.’
‘Hawthorne never tells me anything,’ I protested. ‘If he does work out anything, I’ll be the last to know.’
‘Call me,’ Grunshaw said. It was an order. It was a threat.
The two of them left.
I stood where I was, hardly believing what had just happened, watching their shadows disappear on the other side of the glazed front door.
I was still unsettled when I met Hawthorne a few minutes after six and of course he noticed it at once. ‘What’s wrong, Tony?’
‘Nothing!’ I had already worked out what I was going to say while I was being carried through the tunnels on the Northern line. ‘I’ve been working on the script.’
‘Michael Kitchen still giving you problems?’
‘Michael hasn’t even seen it yet. It’s ITV.’
‘You should stick to books, mate.’
I didn’t mention the visit. I hadn’t decided yet if I was going to do what Detective Inspector Cara Grunshaw had ordered, but I didn’t think it would help informing Hawthorne that she had come to my home and threatened me. What could he do? Would he even try to protect me? More to the point, what would she do if I defied her? Speeding tickets? Some sort of interruption to Foyle’s War? It was impossible to shoot in London without the co-operation of the police and it might well occur to a malign, borderline psychotic detective (I’d seen her now in her true colours) to throw all sorts of problems in our way. I’d already caused the production enough difficulties. I was behind with my script revisions. If co-operating with her would help them, surely I had no choice.