The session came to an end. There was to be no signing session because we hadn’t yet produced any books. As the audience filed out, Colin Matheson leaned across. ‘I’m so sorry about that,’ he said. ‘Derek Abbott is an absolutely vile human being. He works for Charles le Mesurier, advising him on his investments and various financial matters. You saw the two of them come in together? I don’t know why he was here. He hardly ever appears in public and quite frankly, if I’d known he was going to be in the cinema, I might have declined to take part. He lives on the island and he’s pure poison.’

‘What did you say his name was?’ I asked.

‘Derek Abbott.’

Suddenly, everything was clear. This was the reason Hawthorne had been so keen to come to Alderney. Derek Abbott! He was the child pornographer who had ‘fallen’ down a flight of stairs while Hawthorne was escorting him to the interview room. And he lived here! What was in Hawthorne’s mind? Was he pursuing some sort of vendetta? Did he mean to have a second go at finishing him off? And why hadn’t he told me? The bastard! Didn’t he think I’d find out?

I had been told the story of Abbott’s life-changing accident by another police officer and although Hawthorne had denied it, I had always assumed that he must have known exactly what he was doing. I had tried not to allow it to affect what I thought of him. How could I make a hero out of a man accused of police brutality – even if his victim had been about as repulsive as it is possible to be? Wouldn’t that make me complicit?

In the end, I had done everything I could to put the whole thing out of my mind and maybe that was why I was so angry when we got out into the street. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that Derek Abbott lived here?’ I almost shouted at him as soon as Colin Matheson had left the two of us alone. ‘Why didn’t you tell me he was on the island?’

‘I didn’t think it was any of your business, mate.’ Hawthorne was unruffled, which only made me angrier.

‘Of course it’s my business. I’m writing about you.’

‘You don’t have to write about him, though.’

‘What? You think I can lie? Or just pretend it never happened?’ I tried to collect my thoughts. ‘Why did you even want to see him again?’

‘I was interested to find out what had happened to him.’

‘You know perfectly well what happened to him. You turned him into a cripple!’

‘He tripped. He fell. I did nothing.’

‘So why are you here, then? What are you going to do to him this time? Push him off a cliff?’

Hawthorne had had enough. He was already walking away.