‘What about the coin?’ I asked. I’d noticed an image of the two-euro coin that Hawthorne had found and left behind.

Hawthorne searched out the relevant information. ‘No fingerprints, which is interesting.’

‘Why?’

‘Because how do you carry a coin, take it out of your pocket and drop it on the floor without leaving a fingerprint?’

‘Someone must have wiped it clean.’

‘Then why leave it behind? And here’s something else to think about. Le Mesurier didn’t have any other coins on him and it looks as if he hadn’t been in France for months.’

‘Maybe the two-euro piece belonged to whoever killed him.’

Hawthorne moved on to another page and read it out word for word: ‘According to initial analysis, the tape used to secure the victim’s feet and one of his hands was Duck Brand HP260 high-performance packaging tape. It’s a fairly common brand, but one not available on the island of Alderney . . .’

‘Suggesting that the killer brought it with him.’

‘Or bought it on Amazon. But, yes. I’d say there’s a good chance that he – or she – brought it across.’

‘So this was planned,’ I said.

Either Hawthorne wasn’t listening to me or he’d already worked that out for himself. ‘They found the will!’ he said, and showed me a photocopy that Torode had included with the other documents. At least he was living up to his promise. He was sharing everything he had. Again, Hawthorne scanned the contents. He gave a low whistle. ‘He’s left a bit to his mum and dad and big brother, but it looks as if Helen le Mesurier gets the lot: the houses, the businesses, the private jet, all of it!’

I was quite surprised. Helen le Mesurier had said that she loved Charles, but from the sound of it he hadn’t been all that close to her, gallivanting around the world and keeping her out of the limelight while she stayed at home. And now she was a multimillionaire! Perhaps it was simply that he didn’t have anyone else to leave his wealth to. After all, they had no children. Also, of course, he hadn’t been expecting to die.

I watched Hawthorne slide all the pictures and papers back into the envelope. He’d go over them all meticulously when I wasn’t there. ‘Do you know who killed him?’ I asked.

He stopped what he was doing, genuinely surprised. ‘Why do you ask that?’

‘I’m just wondering. The whole thing is completely unfathomable to me and it doesn’t help that there must be half a dozen people who wanted le Mesurier dead, including his wife. But somehow you always work it out and since I’m here, tagging along with you as usual, it would be quite nice to know what’s in your head and whether you’ve solved the mystery yet.’

‘Is this for the book?’