‘You took me for a fool. I resent that.’
‘Oh, I don’t believe for one moment that you’re a fool, Mr Devlin. At worst you’re a tortoise rather than a hare, but remember who won the race at the end?’ Whyatt exhaled. ‘Anyway, what does it matter now? Becky is dead.’
‘Lucky again?’ Harry asked. ‘Or was that one occasion when you made your own luck?’
‘Don’t do it,’ Harry said as he pulled up alongside a boy who was taking more than a casual interest in the cars parked on Upper Parliament Street.
Shaun Quade nodded. ‘Just looking.’
‘As long as that’s all.’ Harry jumped out of the car, but did not forget to lock it. Even if he kept Shaun talking, there were plenty of other predators around who might take a fancy to the MG. ‘I gather you had the shock of your life the other night?’
‘You’re telling me.’ There were rings under Shaun’s eyes and his voice was hoarse. ‘I’ll never forget it. Never.’
‘Rene tells me that you didn’t give the newspaper the full story.’
‘They’re cheating bastards, they …’
‘What about me, then? Will you tell me? Listen, it could be important. Becky Whyatt, one of the women who died, was married to a client of mine. He’s in the frame, which is why I’m …’
‘Sniffing around?’
‘Well, yes.’
Shaun considered. ‘Any chance of a fag?’
Harry had once been a heavy smoker, but these days he kept a packet of Player’s in his pocket solely in order to placate his criminal clients. He fished out the cigarettes and handed them over with only the faintest qualm of conscience about what Shaun might be doing to his lungs.
‘Ta.’ Shaun lit up and leaned against a streetlight. ‘Couple of things. A minute before I went into the churchyard, this car raced past me, heading towards the city. It took the bend at sixty, nearly sent an old girl flying. White Mercedes, it was.’
‘You think it could have been driven by the killer?’
‘You don’t see many Mercs round here,’ Shaun said reasonably. ‘And it came out of the side road there, so why should it be going so fast?’
‘Unless one of your mates had stolen it?’
Shaun gave him a foxy grin. ‘Maybe. Though I’ve asked a few people and no-one round here seems to know anything about a Merc being nicked that night.’
‘Did you tell the police this?’
‘I don’t owe them no favours.’
‘Your aunt’s right, you know. You really must come clean. What else can you tell me?’
The lad rubbed his chin. ‘I didn’t touch the bodies or anything,’ he said defensively. ‘Jesus, there was no chance of that.’
‘What about the bodies?’ Harry was conscious of a rising tide of excitement. Shaun was, he knew, no fool. And he knew something which he sensed was important, even if he could not understand its precise significance.
‘The girl who was shot. Nanny, wasn’t she? She – she died whilst I was there.’
Harry stared. ‘So she wasn’t dead when you arrived?’
‘There wasn’t anything I could do,’ Shaun said quickly. ‘Not anything. But before she …’
Harry leaned forward. ‘Yes?’
‘She mumbled at me. It was – almost like she wanted to pass on some sort of message. But it was only one word and I couldn’t catch it properly anyhow.’
‘What did it sound like?’
Shaun frowned. ‘I dunno. I think it must have been, “Dead”. But the way she was lying on the floor, she seemed to be pointing to something.’
‘What was it?’
‘A little kid’s teddy bear.’
Chapter Eighteen
The phone was ringing as he put the key into the door of his flat that evening. After his talk with Shaun Quade he had returned to the office and tried to catch up with his work, but his good intentions remained unfulfilled. He was seized by the urge to untangle the mystery of St Alwyn’s and it was impossible to concentrate on anything else. A fierce sense of frustration burned inside him. Despite all the clues he had picked up, he could not find his way through to the solution. He was lost in a maze, but he still could not prove that it was one that Steven Whyatt had designed.
He did not rush to pick up the receiver. His ankle was aching and the odds were that the caller was a tramp who had been picked up on a drunk and disorderly charge and couldn’t find anyone else to represent him on a sunny summer evening. He headed for the kitchen in search of a beer, sure that his caller would not be Kim seeking to make amends. It was time to heed the advice of an old hit by the Merseybeats. Wishin’ and hopin’ and plannin’ and dreamin’, they had warned him, that won’t get you into her arms.
Yet the phone kept trilling. He had to give his caller full marks for persistence. Whoever it was would not give up and, as he peeled back the ring pull, he told himself he ought to be flattered to be the object of such persistence: at least the drunk wanted him. In the end his curiosity got the better of him, as it usually did, and he walked into the living room and picked up the receiver. When he heard Kim’s voice he found it almost impossible to resist the urge to laugh out loud. What did pop singers know, anyway?
‘I’d like to talk,’ she said.
‘Uh-huh.’ He forced himself not to sound too eager.
‘If you’re willing, that is.’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘I’ve given you a tough time lately and it’s not your fault.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry.’
He took a deep breath. ‘Apology accepted.’
‘I’ve been thinking hard. Facing up to things I should have faced up to long ago.’ She sighed. ‘God, listen to me. I’m prattling like a character in a TV miniseries. It’s just that … I’d like you to understand. I owe you an explanation for that evening when I brought you home with me.’
‘You don’t owe me anything. And perhaps some things are better left unsaid.’
‘Things have been left unsaid for too long. If you don’t mind meeting for a chat …’
‘When did you have in mind?’
‘Well … are you doing anything this evening?’
Her hopeful, anxious tone was unfamiliar to him. She had always seemed so self-assured. ‘Not much,’ he said slowly, ‘provided my client doesn’t get himself arrested for the murders at St Alwyn’s.’
Her giggle lifted his spirits. ‘Harry, you’re amazing. I never knew anyone with such a knack for getting mixed up in mystery and mayhem.’
‘It’s a very special gift.’
‘Listen, it’s a lovely evening and I don’t want to waste it here at home, moping over past miseries. Why don’t we try to make something of it together? We could go for a walk along Otterspool Promenade and I promise not to be priggish about agents provocateurs. What do you say?’
‘If I had to choose an adjective to suit you,’ he said in a teasing way, ‘it would never be priggish.’
‘I daren’t ask what word you would pick. What time can you make it?’
‘Give me ten minutes. If that suits you.’
‘Yes, it suits me fine.’
They strolled along the riverside walkway, companionable and yet careful not to hold hands. Harry did not want any movement to be misinterpreted and guessed Kim felt the same. It was time to talk, not touch. Today she seemed much more at ease than during the disastrous lunch at the Ensenada, as if she had resolved to put aside whatever was troubling her. Eventually she asked him how the St Alwyn’s enquiry was progressing and he told her the story. The death of Roger Phelan, he said, might explain everything, yet he had genuine doubts.
‘The more I think about Becky, the more it seems to me that she romanticised every aspect of her life. She sanitised her affair with Dominic Revill and transformed her husband’s complaints about her own behaviour into threats that verged upon abuse. In the same way, she made more of Phelan’s pestering than may have been justified.’
Kim frowned. ‘But …’<
br />
He said quickly. ‘I can see your hackles rising again …’
‘Sorry.’ She gave a small smile. ‘Habit.’
‘I’m not defending Phelan’s nuisance calls. He was disturbed, no doubt of it, but I didn’t hear anything to suggest he was truly a danger to anyone but himself. The busker I saw once or twice certainly seemed harmless enough. I know human beings have an infinite capacity to surprise even their nearest and dearest, but I’m not convinced he was a genuine threat to her safety. He wasn’t stalking her, he simply wanted to talk.’
‘And she said no. He should have respected that.’
‘Yes, but that doesn’t make him a murderer. I reckon the truth is that Phelan was properly released from Ashworth because he wasn’t a potential killer and there was every reason to believe he’d got his head together. As long as he kept clear of Becky, everything was likely to be fine. It was his bad luck to bump into her accidentally whilst he was busking. After that, his obsession was rekindled.’
‘What do you believe happened to him?’
‘Quite simple. On the evening of the murders, I guess he did nothing more adventurous than watch the cricket match and then amble the short distance back to Cassar House. The following day, Becky Whyatt’s name was mentioned on the local radio news bulletins after the police had released the first details about the St Alwyn’s murders to the press. Phelan probably heard it. In his mind, her death left him no reason to stay alive. He didn’t leave a note to explain, since as far as he was concerned, there was nobody who would give a damn about him.’
Kim considered. ‘Don’t you need to be careful? Phelan’s death was a gift for Steven Whyatt. If you start persuading people that Phelan was innocent and that a triple-murderer is still on the loose, you may find yourself losing a client.’
‘Too late. I think after our conversation earlier today, he’ll already be looking for a new solicitor. Besides, he isn’t the only suspect. Jeremy Whyatt already has one unnatural death on his CV.’
‘Why would he have murdered Becky? Even if he didn’t like the sound of her plan to kill Steven, from what you’ve told me he was hardly likely to be so consumed by brotherly love that when he learned what his sister-in-law was up to, he couldn’t allow her to live.’
‘He and Becky argued at the Ditton Motel,’ Harry reminded her. ‘Perhaps she tried to blackmail him into helping her.’
Kim pulled a face. ‘I can’t see it. Look at the sequence of events. She approaches Jeremy with her proposition, thinking that he would make the perfect hitman. He has a murky past and in view of his business dealings he has every reason to want his brother out of the way. But he’s well aware that Becky is a romantic dreamer and he can spot a hundred objections to her plan. So he flares up and tells her not to be so stupid. They have a row which the barmaid misinterprets as a lovers’ quarrel. No motive there for Jeremy to kill her. If anything, it would be the other way round.’
He grinned. ‘You make quite a good detective yourself.’
‘From your lips, I’m sure that’s a compliment.’
‘Oh, definitely.’
They smiled at each other and he brushed her arm with his palm. She seemed embarrassed and spoke rapidly, as if to move the conversation back to safe ground. ‘What about Dominic Revill’s wife? Did she have an alibi?’
‘According to Ken, she and the child were staying over at her mother’s. So she’s out of it, unless she hired someone to do the job on her behalf.’
‘Any evidence of that?’
‘None whatsoever. Which leaves Steven right in the frame, even though she had a motive almost as strong.’
‘Because she suspected Dominic of having an affair?’
‘Yes, although she was convinced that the other woman was Evelyn Bell, the nanny. Who just happens to have been pregnant.’
‘Was she? That might explain it.’
‘What?’
She gave a triumphant grin, pleased to be breaking news of which he was unaware. ‘I was talking to Paul Disney yesterday evening. He and Dame threw a party to celebrate the outcome of the court case. You were invited, remember?’
‘Oh no!’ He gazed at her in horror. ‘I forgot all about it. What with the death of Roger Phelan and everything … it completely slipped my mind.’
She blushed. ‘I rather assumed it was because you thought I’d be there and you wanted to avoid us meeting face to face.’
‘Nothing of the kind!’
She smiled. ‘I’m glad. In fact, the same thought crossed Dame’s mind as well. She gave me a good talking-to, I can assure you. Anyway, I was explaining about Paul. The murders cropped up in conversation, as you might expect, and he mentioned that the Revills’ nanny had been in touch with him. She had a story, apparently, and she wanted to give it to him.’
‘What sort of story?’
‘Paul didn’t go into details. It was at about this point that Dame dragged him off to the bedroom and the whole party rather degenerated. I was glad to escape. But I’m sure you can guess what the story would have been if you use your imagination.’
‘I never need much encouragement to do that. Let me see, this is the everyday tale of a young girl who starts to do a spot of nannying, starts sleeping with the boss and then when his ardour cools, finds herself dumped and pregnant. He’s busy carrying on with another mistress – and his wife rubs salt in the girl’s wound by giving her the sack. Enough to make anyone contemplate revenge by selling her true confessions to the press.’
‘That’s the way I see it. She’d fixed up to meet Paul today, he said. The irony is, I can’t believe that he would have been interested in the story prior to the murders. Revill simply wasn’t an important enough man. Only in death have he and Evelyn Bell become public figures. The poor kid was really naive if she thought exposing a recruitment agent was on a par with dishing the dirt on a rock star or a High Court judge.’
‘So what do you make of it all?’
‘I’d ask this question. If Emma Revill had an alibi, how did she arrange for her husband and the two women he betrayed her with to be murdered?’
‘I have another question, actually,’ Harry said. ‘There’s an ice cream van over there. What takes your fancy?’
She gave him a direct look and said, ‘That’s an especially leading question, which ought to be ruled inadmissible. Why don’t you buy us each a cornetto, help us keep cool?’
Five minutes later they were sitting on a bench overlooking the Mersey and finishing their ice creams. A boat full of trippers was passing by and half a dozen children leaning over the rail were waving at the people on the bank. Kim waved back and a little lad with a cheeky face blew her a kiss. She laughed and said, ‘The fresh air is doing me good. I’ve been stupid, staying cooped up inside all day feeling sorry for myself. It’s so easy to forget – isn’t it? – that life is worth living.’
‘And it’s not long enough,’ Harry said lazily. ‘That’s why I find it hard to identify with Roger Phelan. Okay, he had troubles, but even in the depths of despair, I can’t believe I’d want to kill myself. Life is too precious.’
‘You can’t put yourself in his shoes. He’d lost perhaps the only woman he ever loved.’
‘I can, actually,’ Harry said. ‘I lost Liz.’
She blushed. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry. As a matter of fact,
I …’
‘Go on.’ He sensed she was on the brink of a revelation.
She shook her head. ‘To tell you the truth, I had rather too much to drink at the party last night, so I only had myself to blame for feeling down today.’
He was disappointed that she had drawn back, but telt she was still trying to tell him something. Something important. ‘I’ll have to call Dame,’ he said. ‘Explain why I didn’t turn up. Especially if she also thinks I was avoiding you.’
‘She does,’ Kim said. ‘As I said, she took the opportunity when we were in the kitchen together to give me an ear-bashing. It was like being back in the fourth f
orm.’
Harry had difficulty picturing Dame in schoolmarm mode. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I won’t tell you everything she said, though your ears really should have been burning last night. But the top and bottom of it was that she made me realise that it was wrong for me to mess you around. Whatever my reasons were. She said I should either get out of your life or be prepared to make the first move, to kiss and make up.’ She paused and gave him a small smile. ‘Well, “kiss” wasn’t the word she used.’
Harry groaned and gazed skywards. ‘Good old Dame. Sticking her well-meaning foot in it as usual.’
‘No, she was right. I see that now. I have messed you around.’
‘I said on the phone, there’s no need to apologise. And even if there was, the apology was accepted as soon as it was made.’
Kim turned to face him directly. ‘Okay, no apologies. But I do accept that an explanation is in order. You’ll have to bear with me, though. This isn’t a story I’ve told in a long while.’
Her cheeks were pale, but her jaw was set and he could see that she was summoning up her courage. He felt himself tensing, as he wondered what secrets she was about to impart.
‘I think you know,’ she said carefully, ‘that for a long time I was seeing a social worker. We shared a house for a couple of years, then split up, then got back together again. One of those relationships which isn’t going anywhere in particular, but you have too much in common to make it easy to do without each other.’
He nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. This conversation mattered a great deal to both of them, but he realised he must let her lead it. If he moved the talk in the wrong direction, it would be the end for the two of them as a couple. A young foursome passed by: two lads in tee shirts emblazoned with rude slogans accompanied by leggy sixteen-year-olds with bare brown midriffs. They were laughing over a sexy joke and one of the boys had slipped his hand inside his girlfriend’s shorts. Harry found himself envying them and the lack of complication in their lives. He saw Kim’s eyes take in the scene and felt certain she was thinking exactly the same.
Eve of Destruction: A Harry Devlin Mystery Page 19
