‘You’ll forgive me for saying this, Mr Throsby …’ I always knew when Hawthorne was going to turn on someone. He could be friendly one moment, ferocious the next. ‘But you don’t seem too put out by the death of your wife.’
‘You can think that if you like, Mr Hawthorne. But you don’t know me and you never met Harriet, as far as I’m aware. She wasn’t the easiest of people to get along with, but we were happy together. And just because I’m not standing here tearing out my hair or whatever it is you’d like me to do, it doesn’t mean I’m not deeply upset.’
He didn’t sound deeply upset.
‘Harriet wasn’t perfect, but I never wished her any harm and what happened to her is horrible. I’m not going to put on a show for you and your friend and if you haven’t got any more questions, I’d like to be left on my own.’
In his own quiet way, Arthur was angry and I was thinking it was probably time for us to make an exit when the door opened and Olivia came in. She was dressed to go out – in a glittery jacket and T-shirt, carrying a leather bag on a chain. Her hair was still damp from the shower. ‘Dad, I’m on my way—’ she began, then stopped when she saw me and Hawthorne. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.
‘These are police officers,’ her father told her.
Olivia looked at me petulantly. ‘No, he’s not,’ she replied. ‘He wrote the play. The one that I went to with Mum.’
‘What?’ Arthur turned on me. ‘You told me—’
‘I didn’t say anything,’ I said.
‘I’m a private detective,’ Hawthorne cut in. He was addressing Olivia and just for once he seemed to be on my side. ‘I sometimes help the police and that’s why I’m here. Tony works with me – and if you’ll give us a few minutes of your time, maybe the two of us can find out who killed your mother.’
‘I don’t care who killed her,’ Olivia said.
‘Olivia!’ Either Arthur was a brilliant actor or he was genuinely shocked by his daughter’s attitude.
‘Oh, come on, Dad,’ Olivia insisted. ‘What difference does it make? Knowing who killed her won’t bring her back, and don’t pretend you’re going to miss her. You know what she was like.’
‘Olivia! I can’t believe you’re saying these things. You know I’ll miss her. I already do!’
‘She was always criticising you. She never stopped! She was driving you out of your mind.’
‘You’re wrong, dear. You’re quite wrong. It’s never easy … relationships, marriage! It’s a balancing act. There are ups and there are downs—’
‘She’s gone, Dad. She was a total cow and she ruined our lives. Neither of us has to pretend any more.’
Olivia went over to him and rested a hand on his arm, and in that brief moment I was aware of a real affection between them. What had it really been like living with Harriet all these years? The two of them were survivors.
Hawthorne was less impressed. ‘You don’t seem to have many fond memories of your mum,’ he observed.
‘You don’t need to answer any of his questions.’ Arthur put an arm around his daughter, protecting her. ‘These gentlemen were leaving anyway.’ He pointed a finger at me. ‘And you had no right to be here in the first place!’
Olivia glared at Hawthorne. ‘I’ll answer anything you like,’ she said, defiantly. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide.’
Hawthorne smiled. ‘So when was the last time you saw her?’
‘We came home in a taxi from the theatre.’ She glanced at me. ‘She really hated your play, by the way. She finished writing her review when we were in the Savoy and I could tell she was ripping into it from the way she typed.’ She turned back to Hawthorne. ‘I didn’t see her the next morning. I had to be at work by nine.’
‘Where do you work?’
‘Near Paddington Station. I’ve got a job at Starbucks.’
‘And you were there until when?’
‘Until the middle of the afternoon. Three o’clock.’
‘How far is the Starbucks from here?’
‘Five minutes.’
‘Ten minutes there and back.’ Hawthorne looked at her, the obvious question hanging in the air.
‘You think I popped home and killed Mum?’ Olivia smiled unpleasantly. ‘I couldn’t leave work. Someone would have seen me. And anyway, I know exactly what you’re doing. You’re only accusing me because you know who really did it.’