Terry had driven round in the car and neither of us spoke as we walked over to him.

In the background, the recording of Mozart’s Requiem had reached the last section and I heard the words of the Communio sung by an alto voice that seemed to cut through the gloom. Lux aeterna luceat eis, Domine. ‘May eternal light shine on them, O Lord.’ And as I listened, it occurred to me that there was some sort of justice in the world and that even if he had escaped a long prison sentence, Derek Abbott had been punished for his past sins. He was utterly alone, not just trapped on a tiny island but further isolated from it in a house to which nobody came. The living room I had seen was exactly that: the room in which he lived his life. Charles le Mesurier might have decided to champion him for his own amusement, but that too was over.

Even the lighthouse had given up on him. That was his fate. To be an outcast, lost and forgotten in a place where the light never shone.

18

The Hercule Programme

If there hadn’t been a glitch with the hotel computer, we would never have seen Maïssa Lamar again. She was arguing with the hotel receptionist when we got back, trying to settle her bill.

‘Please . . . I have to leave now.’

‘I’m sorry, Ms Lamar. What was your room number again?’

‘I already tell you!’

She was not alone. The fair-haired man I’d seen at Southampton Airport and later in the street outside the cinema was standing next to her. They both had suitcases.

‘You on your way home?’ Hawthorne had already noticed the taxi waiting outside. He closed in on her with relish.

‘Mr Hawthorne!’ She was annoyed and didn’t try to hide it. ‘Yes. I wish to return home at once.’

‘That’s very strange. I thought we’d all been told to stick around.’ He examined the man. ‘And you must be the toy boy Tony saw at the airport. It seems he was right after all.’

‘Here you are!’ The receptionist had won control of the computer. He hit a button and the printer spat out two sheets of paper.

But it was too late for Maïssa. ‘You talk to me now or I’ll close down your flight,’ Hawthorne said. ‘Don’t believe I can’t do it. And maybe you should drop the pantomime French. I know who you are. I know what you’re doing here. You’ve been interfering in what has now become a double murder investigation. You have no idea how much trouble I can make for you.’

She hesitated, but not for very long. ‘We will pay the account in a minute,’ she told the receptionist and I noticed an immediate improvement in her English. ‘Where do you want to talk?’ she asked.

‘The lounge.’