But he hadn’t finished yet. He reached into his pocket and took out the crumpled packet of American cigarettes he had found at the theatre. ‘Are these yours, Mr Yurdakul?’ he asked.
Ahmet was puzzled. ‘It’s the brand I smoke. Yes.’
‘I found this in the green room at the Vaudeville.’ He opened the packet, showing Ahmet the three broken white tubes spilling out their tobacco. ‘I wondered why you didn’t finish the pack.’
‘I don’t remember. Where were they?’
‘They were in the bin.’
‘Maybe somebody found them and threw them away. I don’t remember leaving them behind.’
‘What have three broken cigarettes got to do with anything?’ Maureen asked, scornful now.
‘Probably nothing.’ Hawthorne smiled and got to his feet. ‘Thank you, Mr Yurdakul. You’ve been very helpful.’
‘I’ll show you out.’
We left the office and went back into the hallway. Maureen closed the door behind us as we came out. ‘Mr Yurdakul is very upset,’ she said in a low voice. She was almost admonishing Hawthorne, as if he had no right to come barging in with his questions. ‘You can’t possibly think he had anything to do with that woman’s death.’
‘He had the most to lose,’ Hawthorne remarked, pragmatically.
‘If he’d wanted to kill someone, he’d have killed Anthony.’ I was shocked to hear her say that, but she had already turned on me with fury in her eyes and there was no stopping her. ‘I warned him against your play. I said that it was too peculiar for a modern audience and that nobody would understand what you were trying to get at. Is it a comedy? Is it a thriller? What is it, exactly? But he had complete faith in you, and now you turn up with your detective friend and cast aspersions on a man who is absolutely blameless and wouldn’t dream of hurting anyone. Mr Yurdakul has been wonderful to work with. I’d do anything for him! And just so you know, I’ve never seen him lose his temper … not once. He’s a gentleman in every sense of the word.’
‘So where was he on Wednesday morning?’ Hawthorne asked, cutting her short.
She looked at him in disbelief. ‘He was nowhere near Palgrove Gardens. He had a meeting at Frost and Longhurst at eleven o’clock.’
‘Who are Frost and Longhurst?’
‘His accountants. That was Martin Longhurst you met just now.’
‘And where are they based?’
‘In Holborn.’
Hawthorne sighed. ‘Holborn is less than thirty minutes from Little Venice on the tube. That would have left him plenty of time to kill Harriet Throsby.’
Maureen stared at him with poison in her eyes. ‘You clearly haven’t listened to a word I’ve said …’ she sniffed.
‘You think she didn’t deserve it?’ He was deliberately provoking her.
‘Just so you know, I agree with every single word she said – about the play, anyway. Maybe I wouldn’t have couched it in quite those terms, but of course she didn’t deserve to die. Nobody does.’
‘Just out of interest, how did you know she lived in Palgrove Gardens.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘You just said that Ahmet was nowhere near that address.’
Maureen took a deep breath. I thought she might be about to scream. ‘The police told me where she lived,’ she explained, simply. ‘Before they came here, I knew almost nothing about Harriet Throsby. As far as I’m concerned, I never want to hear her name again.’ She opened the door, allowing the cold air to rush in. ‘I very much hope you won’t come back,’ she continued. ‘We’ve got nothing more to tell you and as far as I can see, you’re not helping at all.’
We walked past her and climbed back up to street level.
‘Frost and Longhurst,’ Hawthorne said.
‘The accountants …’ I muttered.
‘The name doesn’t mean anything to you?’
‘No. Should it?’
‘It’s lucky you’re not a detective.’ Hawthorne glanced at his watch. ‘Time for one more visit. If you’re up for it.’
‘Don’t you ever eat, Hawthorne?’
‘Ewan Lloyd is expecting us.’
Ewan Lloyd would complete the line-up, and perhaps he would shed some light on what had happened. For myself, I had no idea who had killed Harriet Throsby. It was always possible that her husband had finally got tired of being criticised day in, day out. It would have been easy enough to slip out of school, cycle home and kill his wife. Her daughter had made no secret that she loathed her mother and she didn’t work too far from home either. Jordan Williams, Tirian Kirke, Sky Palmer, Ahmet Yurdakul, Maureen Bates and Ewan Lloyd were the six main suspects, all connected to her by the play. Any one of them could have got hold of my dagger and planted it in her chest.