‘It’s been taken away for examination, but I’ve got a picture.’ Khan had left his laptop on the table and he opened it, then swung it round to show them a set of photographs on the screen. The note had been written on both sides of a single sheet of paper in a loose, flowery scrawl. Roderick Browne had used turquoise ink. Hawthorne and Dudley read it together.
‘I’d say that’s pretty conclusive,’ Khan muttered. ‘All that’s missing is a selfie taken when he was getting in the car with the gas cylinder and the plastic bag. Wouldn’t you agree?’
Hawthorne said nothing. He tapped a keyboard and another image appeared, a second evidence bag.
‘Do you mind?’ Khan was offended.
‘What’s this?’ Hawthorne asked.
He was looking at a photograph of a slim white paper tube, about an inch long, with a swirly red pattern.
‘I’m not sure that’s relevant to what happened,’ Khan said. ‘It was in the breast pocket of the deceased’s jacket. It’s a drinking straw.’
‘You mean part of one.’
‘Yes.’ Khan sniffed. ‘It’s too early to say, but there’s no indication that Mr Browne ever used illegal substances.’
‘That’s a good point, Detective Superintendent,’ Hawthorne said. It was true that cocaine users often used a piece cut off a drinking straw to inhale the drug. Wealthier addicts were quite likely to have a personalised tube made out of silver or gold.
‘Mind you, we can’t be sure,’ Khan went on. ‘He had a lot of celebrity clients.’
They were interrupted by the sound of raised voices out in the hall. Someone was arguing with one of the policemen. ‘What now?’ Khan asked. He walked out of the kitchen. Hawthorne and Dudley followed.
A young man had arrived, casually dressed, with a Whole Foods bag over his shoulder. He was thin and delicate, not someone who might be expected to push his way in. He looked upset. A uniformed policeman was trying to stop him coming any further.
‘Leave this to me,’ Khan said, taking over. The policeman stepped away and he went up to the man. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘I’m Mrs Browne’s carer.’ Damien Shaw had clearly been taken aback to find so many policemen at Riverview Close. Had he so quickly forgotten about the murder that had taken place just a few days before? Or had no one told him?
‘Mrs Browne isn’t here.’
‘I know. But I wanted to make the house nice for her when she got back from her sister’s. I was going to change the sheets and maybe do a bit of dusting.’ Damien looked around him. ‘Why are there so many policemen here? Has this got something to do with Giles Kenworthy? Mr Browne called me. He told me about it. He sounded very upset.’
‘Stop there!’ Hawthorne had taken charge. ‘Let’s talk in the kitchen. It may be more comfortable.’
Khan nodded as if it had been his suggestion in the first place.
‘How did you get into the close?’ he asked, once they were sitting round the table in the kitchen with the laptop closed and pushed aside.
‘The constable there tried to stop me. He was very rude, even though I told them I worked here.’
‘Do you have a set of keys to this house?’
‘Yes. Of course.’ Damien took out a ring and held up a single key. ‘This opens the front door.’
Hawthorne took over. ‘You said you spoke to Mr Browne,’ he said. ‘When was that?’
‘Yesterday morning.’
‘What time exactly?’
