‘He can afford it. His practice is successful and he’s become a celebrity since he started to host “Telemedics”. I think Becky quite likes him, but he’s twice her age and in any case he’s not the man on the phone. To the best of my knowledge, the other people she works with are women.’
‘Any other candidates?’
‘No. The – trouble is, since this all began, I’ve realised how little I know about Becky and what makes her tick. We have such different interests. The business takes up a lot of my time, but her idea of a beautiful garden is one that is suitable for topless sunbathing.’
‘Well, if you want me to hire someone to check her out, give me a buzz. In the meantime, let’s turn back to the money matters. I’ll need to see the last three years’ accounts for the business. How do they look?’
‘We’ve been around a long time. Of course, as we’ve grown we’ve had to invest heavily. We keep being squeezed by the competition, but turnover keeps on rising.’
‘And profit?’
‘Up and down, like most firms in the last few years. We took a knock a while ago with a huge bad debt on a job of mine. The client was a name at Lloyd’s with a farm out in North Wales. He had me build a maze with a topiary tower and castellated yew hedges. One of my finest achievements.’ A dreamy look had come into Whyatt’s eyes, as if he was visualising his masterpiece. He seemed to care more about his business than his marriage. Perhaps, Harry reflected, that was part of the problem. ‘I didn’t bother chasing him for stage payments and forty-eight hours before the work was completed, he was declared bankrupt.’ Whyatt paused. ‘I’m sure we can turn the corner, but I can’t have Becky soaking me for every penny. With the company in such a delicate state, it would be disastrous if I came under pressure to sell. Unthinkable.’
Harry’s experience was that divorce clients usually found themselves forced to think the unthinkable sooner or later, but he merely said, ‘Would there be a buyer for your shares, in any event?’
‘Who – who knows?’
‘We need to reckon up your personal assets. The house, your car. Are there any pension schemes, insurance policies, endowments?’
Whyatt was not on the bread-line. He lived in a thatched cottage near Hale and drove a smart car, although the mortgage was heavy and the vehicle was run on a company lease. At any rate, he was worth a great deal dead: he and Becky each had life insurance cover running into six figures. Harry made a note and said, ‘I’ll need to see your recent tax returns and assessments. Plus your credit card statements for, say, the last twelve months.’
‘For God’s sake, why?’
‘I need a full picture of your finances.’
Harry might have added, but did not, that making these enquiries often turned up information which had a crucial bearing on the course of divorce proceedings. He was still haunted by the memory of an occasion as a newly qualified solicitor a decade ago, when in his inexperience he had readily supplied to the streetwise lawyer acting for his client’s spouse a copy of dozens of apparently innocuous credit card slips as evidence of his client’s pattern of expenditure. What he had not realised was that close study of the slips revealed that his client’s recent purchases included a variety of exotic lingerie which he had lavished on the gymslip mistress he had stoutly claimed was no more than a good friend of his own teenage daughter.
‘I didn’t expect all this,’ Whyatt grumbled.
‘If we’re to estimate the likely value of her claims – assuming you did split up – we must have a clear idea of your total worth.’
‘Because she’ll be after her pound of flesh?’
‘It tends to be the pattern,’ said Harry softly. ‘I’ve heard tell of amicable divorces, but I’ve never yet encountered one. If there is a parting, don’t expect it to be simply sweet sorrow. Painful and pricey would be nearer the mark. And by the way, you need to think seriously about making a new will.’
‘God, this is worse than I ever dreamed.’ The Adam’s apple bobbed again. ‘I tell you one thing, though – I won’t have her damaging the business.’
‘Chances are, that won’t be in her best interests anyway. But if her income and capital are much less than yours, she’ll be entitled to look to you for reasonable maintenance.’
Whyatt closed his eyes for a second. ‘It’s true what they say. The law is an ass.’
‘I didn’t invent the law, Mr Whyatt. All I can do is tell you what it means in practice. We live in an age of no-fault divorce.’
His client stood up and jabbed a finger towards the tape recorder. ‘Listen to that! You – you just listen to that and tell me my wife isn’t at fault! I’ll be in touch.’ With that, he marched out and banged the door behind him. If his strides had been less ungainly, it might have been an impressive exit.
Harry remained in his chair, still unsure where he had heard the boyfriend’s voice before. He sighed, realising that there was only one way to find out, and reached to press play.
Click.
‘Eight nine, eight nine.’
‘Me again.’
‘I’ve been waiting for you to call. I’ve discovered your guilty secret.’
A pause, followed by an uncertain laugh. ‘And which guilty secret might that be?’
‘The one that is – let me see – about five feet seven with dark hair down to her waist, a pale but perfect complexion and smouldering eyes. The one who looks like Morticia Addams.’
He chuckled, his nerve regained. ‘Miaow. I want you to know Morticia and I are just good friends.’
‘You never told me about Miss Evelyn Bell.’
‘Do you blame me? Anyone might get the wrong idea. But I want you to know that I had no hand in hiring her. Emma is in charge of everything connected with taking care of Marcus. My job is just to pay the bloody bills. So if my wife wants to recruit a nanny who looks like she’s just stepped off a catwalk, that’s her affair.’
‘And speaking of affairs …’
‘The only time she screws me is when she asks for her monthly salary cheque. These qualified nannies cost a fortune nowadays.’
‘And that’s as far as the relationship goes?’
‘Scout’s honour.’
‘Darling, I don’t believe you were ever in the scouts.’
He chortled. ‘As a matter of fact, you’re right. But I am telling you the truth. Anyway, where in the world did you bump into her?’
‘At the Medical Centre. She’s one of Theo Jelf’s patients.’
‘Oh, of course. When she joined us, she needed to sign on with a doctor. So I pulled a few strings with my old pal Theo.’
‘I’d forgotten you were a friend of his.’
‘We’ve done a little huntin’, shootin’ and fishin’ over the years,’ he said with a languid drawl. ‘But I didn’t know Evelyn was unwell.’
‘As a matter of fact, she seemed rather tense. I hope you haven’t been overworking her.’
‘Far from it … Christ, I hope she isn’t pregnant.’
‘What’s the matter, guilty conscience?’
‘You have no idea how difficult capable nannies are to find.’
‘Well, I didn’t have time to peek at her records, but you’re right, it is a small world. I’ve seen your young lady before, but only this morning did it dawn on me that her address was the same as yours. So whilst she was waiting for her appointment, I engaged her in a little polite conversation. She says the little boy is a bit of a handful and your better half is a pain in the neck. But the money’s good.’
‘She’s told you nothing less than the truth.’
‘Not entirely. She says you’re quite sweet, but not her type.’
He groaned. ‘Now will you believe that I’ve kept my hands to myself? What was this – a friendly chat or the third degree?’
‘She was Theo’s last patient this morning. The waiting room was empty, so I had the chance to move my nose away from the grindstone. I rather liked her. A pretty girl. No wonder Theo kept
her in so long.’
‘She’s a nice kid, although I can’t account for her being able to resist my charm. Anyway, I didn’t ring you to talk about our nanny. When can I see you again?’
‘The sooner the better.’ She breathed out. ‘I need you, darling. Need you badly.’
‘Is tonight impossible?’
A long sigh. ‘Unfortunately, yes. Bloody Jeremy and his wife are coming round for dinner. It’s been rearranged a couple of times already – Steve and Michelle don’t get on and both of them seize any excuse to cancel. I’d gladly persuade him to put them off – but even if I picked up a diplomatic illness, how could I explain to Steve that I needed to be off out?’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘I don’t know how I can bear to wait that long.’
‘You’re not a patient lady, are you?’
‘Have you only just realised? When I want something – I make sure nothing gets in my way.’
‘I’d better be careful, then.’
Her tone suddenly sharpened. ‘I’m not joking, darling. I want you so much – that it frightens me.’
Chapter Three
Harry switched off the tape recorder and stared into space for a couple of minutes. Who was he? Try as he might, he still could not remember where he had heard the man’s voice before. It was the voice of a well-groomed cad, reminding him of the character played by George Sanders in Hitchcock’s Rebecca. In the absence of inspiration, he resorted to elimination. The man was not, he felt sure, one of the other solicitors and barristers in the city. Somebody he had met casually, then? A pub acquaintance, perhaps, or one of the many residents of Empire Dock whom he knew only to say hello to when passing in a corridor or sharing the lift? He shook his head and pushed the machine aside. The question was teasing him and beginning to assume far more importance than it deserved. The mysteries he encountered in life too often, he realised, caught his imagination and took up much more of his time and energy than they should. He was insatiably curious: Jim had once said that, for Harry Devlin, even a bus ticket promised a plot twist. And, whilst aware of his own weakness, he also knew that, come what may, he would worry away at the riddle until it was solved. He always did.
He could not help speculating about Becky. Easy to imagine her embarking upon a new relationship in the same spirit as a child discovering a Christmas present under the tree, full of promise in its ribbons and wrappings. Once the paper was ripped off and she had played with the toy for a while, the novelty would fade. In time familiarity might even begin to breed contempt, but experience told him that reality would dawn too late for her marriage to Whyatt to survive.
The phone rang and Suzanne said, ‘Kim Lawrence is on the line.’
The receptionist spoke in her usual couldn’t-care-less manner, but for Harry her words were as welcome as any he had ever heard her utter. ‘Put her through,’ he said, conscious that his mouth was dry.
‘Harry? Is that you?’ Inside a courtroom, Kim’s characteristic tone was firm and on occasion glacial. In private, her manner was much more hesitant and, so far as he was concerned, infinitely more appealing.
‘Hello, Kim – er, how are things?’
A fractional pause. ‘I think I owe you an apology.’
‘What on earth for?’
‘You’ve rung a couple of times since I came back from Paphos and I haven’t returned the calls.’
‘No problem,’ he lied. ‘I know you’re busy.’
‘It’s not – well, perhaps we can talk about it sometime soon. Anyway, your ears should have been burning this morning. Someone was telling me all about you. And she asked me to send you her love if I happened to be talking to you.’
He was baffled. ‘Who was it?’
‘A lady called Dame.’
‘Good God!’
Kim giggled. ‘I gather she’s an old friend.’
‘That’s right. Well – she was the oldest friend Liz had. How did you happen to meet her? Last time I heard, she was down in London.’
‘She’s back in Liverpool now. And she’s involved with one of my clients.’
Harry’s heart sank. He was fond of Dame and always hoped that one day she would have better luck with her men. But if Kim was acting for the latest boyfriend, it did not bode well. He must be embroiled in either a matrimonial dispute or a prosecution.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘Have you heard about the fracas at the New Generation Gallery?’
‘I did read something in the papers.’
‘Dame’s hitched up with the alleged perpetrator, Paul Disney.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘Not a bit of it. He’s come to me for help with his defence. The case comes up next week. His newspaper is footing the bill, but their lawyers are Boycott Duff, who don’t like to sully their hands with anything as unbusinesslike as criminal law.’
‘Dame and Paul Disney? Amazing!’
Disney’s World was a weekly column in one of the local papers which in a short time had earned its author a reputation as one of the shrewdest yet most scabrous journalists around. Paul Disney specialised in exposing hypocrisy wherever he found it. Charity appeal organisers with their fingers in the till, councillors who kept half their families on the local authority’s payroll, community leaders who did a bit of loan sharking on the side, all were targets of his merciless pen. But an attempt to debunk a fashionable young artist from Bootle called Chaz Strauli – who had opened an exhibition of bodily fluids intermingled with the remains of dead birds and insects to rapturous acclaim from the cognoscenti – had resulted in Disney facing a charge of criminal damage.
Kim laughed. ‘Paul argues that you cannot logically be guilty of vandalising something which even its creator describes as fin de siècle excretions. Though I suspect the main plank of his defence will be that Strauli is such an odious creep. We’ll see. Paul’s certainly a character. And so is Dame. I’ve enjoyed meeting her. In fact, talking to her again this morning prompted me to give you a ring. She told me she has a new job.’
‘Go on.’ When Harry had last seen Dame, she had been mud wrestling in a city centre club, and between her all too occasional legitimate acting engagements, she had served her time as a stripping nun kissogram, a sales assistant at a sex shop and a bouncer at a lesbians’ bar. He dreaded to think what she might be up to now.
‘She’s become a tourist guide.’
‘Don’t tell me she’s down at the Maritime Museum, pretending to be a mermaid?’
‘Not quite. She leads a new walking tour. Merseyside’s Mysterious Murders, would you believe? Just down your street, I suppose. During the season they take half a dozen parties a day and today she gave me a couple of tickets for this evening. At first I said no, because our branch of MOJO was supposed to be meeting tonight to discuss the way Norman Morris was set up for the Scissorman killings.’
Kim was Chair of the regional committee of the Miscarriages of Justice Organisation, a group of volunteers which in recent years had found itself working a great deal of overtime. Harry said, ‘Morris was in the frame, wasn’t he? I gather there was plenty of circumstantial evidence.’
‘I’m not suggesting he’s a hapless innocent, but he shouldn’t have been set up without any proof. Anyway, it turns out half my colleagues are unable to make it this evening, so we’ve decided to cancel. Which means I have the chance to take Dame up on her kind offer. So although this is terribly short notice, I wondered if …’
He could not help pausing for a moment, although there was never any doubt what his answer would be. She added quickly, ‘Of course, if you have something else lined up, fine. I shouldn’t have left it so late before asking.’
‘I’ve got nothing lined up,’ he said. ‘And of course I would love to come.’
‘Wonderful. Shall we say twenty past seven outside the Adelphi? The tour starts at half past. Though God knows why Dame’s chosen a posh hotel as the starting point for a tour about murder and mystery.’
>
‘Did you never see White Mischief? Jock Delves Broughton, the man who was acquitted of murdering Lord Erroll, committed suicide there not long after his trial.’
‘You learn something every day.’
‘If I know Dame,’ he said, ‘we could learn a lot more this evening. I’ll look forward to seeing you. And Kim?’
‘Yes?’
‘Thanks for calling.’
He hung up and leaned back in his chair, feeling like a prisoner granted a reprieve. He had known Kim Lawrence for many years as a professional colleague whom he met regularly at court and with whom from time to time he did battle, but he would not have claimed to know her well. She had a reputation as a crusader against injustice, but Harry had always been wary of her: his instinct was to be sceptical about campaigns and those who waged them. Yet during the course of a bitter matrimonial dispute in which they had both been involved the previous autumn, he had come to revise his views. She was no blinkered idealist, but rather someone who could not help caring about her clients and the calamities they faced. He had begun to see her socially and little by little she had relaxed the defences to closer contact which had discouraged even the most persistent Lotharios of the Liverpool legal profession.
Harry had been aware that she had a boyfriend who was a social worker, but cautious enquiries revealed that the relationship had apparently been consigned to oblivion. On a dramatic afternoon a few months earlier she had saved Harry’s life – although she always insisted that he was in no real danger, he knew otherwise. Since then, their relationship had taken on a romantic tinge. Yet he had proceeded with infinite care. Following Liz’s death, his entanglements with women had been brief and unsatisfactory. He had lost enthusiasm for one-night stands and felt hungry for something more permanently rewarding. His own caution was more than matched by Kim’s. She did not reveal her feelings readily, but from occasional remarks she had dropped during their times together, he gathered that a man had hurt her in the past and she was in no hurry to take any more risks with her peace of mind. Their dates were sporadic and when he’d learned she’d booked a holiday in the East Med, he had feared the worst, although she had assured him she was travelling alone.
Eve of Destruction: A Harry Devlin Mystery Page 3
