Yesterday's Papers

by Martin Edwards

  ‘So you knew Benny, too?’

  ‘Well, yes, he and I - we go back a long way.’

  ‘You were close friends?’

  ‘What if we were? Why are you asking all these personal questions?’

  ‘And Warren Hull?’ pursued Harry. ‘He was much older, of course, more than twice your age. Did he take you under his wing?’

  Leo’s pale face reddened. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, ‘If you must know, Warren was a swine.’ He specialised in young boys and teenagers. I was simply one of many. For a short time he courted me, until he had his way and then - and then he moved on to his next victim. It was as if I had never existed. He treated me like dirt.’

  ‘Did Benny know this?’

  ‘Of course. He was - kind to me afterwards. He and I had no secrets in those days, even though he had money and I was just another young lad who was crazy about the Merseybeat.’

  ‘What was Benny’s relationship with Warren Hull?’

  ‘Oh, he took his photograph and all that, but basically he loathed him. Most people who knew anything about Warren did. I promise you, few tears were shed when we heard that he had been murdered.’

  ‘Sounds as if there can have been no shortage of suspects.’

  Leo shrugged. ‘I told you. The police never charged anyone.’

  ‘Did they question you?’

  Despite the chatter all around, it seemed to Harry that there was an almost interminable silence before Leo answered. ‘What are you implying? Of course they found out about Warren and me. But I was only one of his conquests.’

  ‘And did you have an alibi?’

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ said Leo, ‘I did.’

  Harry gave him a direct look. ‘Do you mind telling me what it was?’

  ‘I can’t see that it’s any business of yours,’ said Leo sulkily. ‘Aren’t you taking this detective stunt rather too far?’

  ‘I can’t force you to tell me anything,’ Harry agreed.

  Leo sighed. ‘Oh, what the hell? If you must know, on the night Warren Hull was murdered, I was staying over at Benny’s home.’

  Harry nodded. ‘I see.’

  Leo licked his lips. ‘Look, it all happened a very long time ago and I can’t see that any of this can have any bearing on Ray Brill’s death. I think I’ve answered enough questions. Do you still want to have a look at that album or not?’

  ‘Please.’

  They edged through the crowd towards a set of tables in the far corner of the room. Leo pointed to a row of cardboard boxes marked ’50s, ’60s, ’70s, ’80s and ’90s. ‘After all this build-up, let’s hope it hasn’t been snapped up since this morning.’

  Harry leaned over the ’60s box and flipped through the tattered record sleeves with a practised hand. The Allisons, Herb Alpert, John Barry, The Beach Boys, Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg, The Beatles, Pat Boone, The Box Tops and - success! - an album called Brill Cream.

  He froze in the act of stretching out his hand for the record. What he saw on the grimy sleeve hit him like an electric shock.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Harry croakily. ‘I mean ... yes, of course I am.’

  ‘I didn’t think you expected it to be in pristine condition,’ said Leo, ‘but there’s no need to make a performance about it. You can always negotiate on the price.’

  ‘It’s not the state of the record that bothers me,’ said Harry slowly.

  ‘Then what’s the matter? I’ve never known you act as strangely as you are today.’

  ‘Look at the picture,’ said Harry, his voice hoarse.

  Leo stared at the sleeve. ‘Yeah, yeah, it’s the Brill Brothers. Two fresh-faced young lads singing some sugary heartbreaker as if their lives depended on it. So what? One thing is for sure, Ray Brill changed a good deal over the years. I bet by the time he died he looked like an old man.’

  ‘Can’t you see? It’s not Ray Brill that I was looking at.’

  ‘I’m still not with you,’ said Leo, unable to conceal his impatience.

  Harry shook his head. He was beyond speech. Echoing in his head was the lyric of an old Dionne number he had played as recently as last weekend. A line about all the stars that never were, who wound up parking cars and pumping gas. And all at once, he realised that he knew who had murdered Ray Brill - and why.

  Twenty minutes later he was back in the Land of the Dead. He’d left Leo Devaney at the record fair, bewildered by his sudden urge to get away as soon as he had paid for the old record.

  ‘It’s not in great nick,’ said the stallholder as he took the money.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Harry had said before he bade Leo a hasty farewell. From a payphone outside he made a quick call to Kim Lawrence to check one fact, then hurried through the city streets towards the river, scarcely aware of the steadily falling snow.

  Once underground, he bustled through the familiar passageways. Everywhere was quiet. Jock was at his desk as usual. He looked up in surprise as Harry entered his domain and pushed the half-moon spectacles on to his forehead.

  ‘What brings you here? Have you got some more news?’

  Harry registered that the little Scot sounded exhausted. For once Jock was giving no sign that he relished the prospect of detective talk.

  ‘Ray Brill is dead.’

  ‘What? Good grief. How did it happen? Did he fall off Southport Pier last night in a drunken stupor?’

  ‘No, someone called on him at home and bashed his head in, then set the place alight to make it look as if he’d died in an accidental fire.’

  Jock scratched his bald head. ‘Arson? I can’t believe that. Surely there’s some mistake?’

  ‘No mistake,’ said Harry. ‘Except that the murderer got into a rut. He repeated himself once too often.’

  Jock stared at him. ‘You’re not talking sense.’

  ‘I only wish that were true. But you see, I’ve finally figured out what happened. Ernest Miller lost interest in the Sefton Park case because he learned about another unsolved crime. And on this occasion, he was actually told who the culprit was. Hence he had to die. Ray Brill was the only other person in the world who knew and it was simply too dangerous to allow him to survive.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Harry sighed. He slipped the long-player out of its polythene bag and pointed to the photograph on the front cover. ‘I mean that the moment I recognised you, I realised you must have been the one who killed Ray Brill. And realised that your real name must be Ian McCalliog - although at one time everyone knew you better as Ian Brill.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  but I have not altogether escaped punishment’

  The bewilderment on Jock’s face slowly gave way to fear. He half-rose to his feet, then seemed to think better of it and sank back into his chair. Harry could sense his desperate efforts to compose himself, saw his eyelids blinking as his mind whirled, trying to come to terms with the shock of discovery.

  Harry looked again at the photograph on the album sleeve. Ray Brill stood with arms folded: he was acting mean and moody and not a flicker of emotion compromised his dark features. Ian Brill, born McCalliog, stood by his side, wearing a shy and boyish smile. In those days he had been as slim as a girl and his hair had been thick and wavy; his smooth chin might never once have seen a razor. But there was no mistaking him, all the same. The brown eyes had not changed and his two front teeth still overlapped.

  ‘A long time ago,’ said Jock when at last he found his voice. ‘And yet I remember it as if it were yesterday.’

  Harry tossed the record to one side. ‘You’re not the first person to find we can’t escape our past.’

  Jock cast a wry glance at the Ross Macdonald paperback next to his desk. ‘I should have learned that from
reading Lew Archer novels. Tell you one thing. I’d sooner be the detective than the detected. So how much have you worked out, how much have you guessed?’

  ‘Enough to be sure, if not quite enough to satisfy my own inquisitive streak. Whether it will suffice for the police is a different matter. It’s for them to dot every ‘i’ and to cross each ‘t’. I doubt if you’ve managed to kill three people without yielding a single clue.’

  ‘Two,’ said Jock quickly. ‘There were only two murders. Miller died by accident. A lucky chance, as I thought at the time.’

  Harry shook his head. ‘I wish you hadn’t told me so many lies.’

  ‘What do you expect? I’ve always been a survivor. Confession is for the weak.’

  ‘And the innocent?’ demanded Harry, bitterness rising for a moment to the surface. ‘People like Edwin Smith?’

  Jock shrugged. His confidence seemed to be returning and he ventured a small smile. ‘Pity he didn’t cough to the murder of Warren Hull whilst he was at it. But you didn’t answer me. What put you on the track?’

  ‘Ray Brill made enemies easily, but in all his fifty years no-one had hated him enough to kill him. So I asked myself why he had been murdered now. I’d solved the Sefton Park case - ’

  ‘What?’ Jock was genuinely amazed.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Harry. Despite his tension, he was unable to resist the temptation of a devastating throwaway line. ‘Carole’s own father strangled her. It’s a long story. Another time, perhaps.’

  ‘I doubt if there’ll be another time for you and me,’ said Jock.

  ‘You may be right. Anyway, I’d learned that Guy Jeffries did murder his own daughter and he was in his grave, safe from retribution in this world at least. The way I saw it, if Ray hadn’t murdered Carole, and had no cause to shield anyone else, there must be another reason for his death. Similarly, the motive for that mysterious visit to Miller on the day he died could not be connected with the Sefton Park case. Yet Miller did seem to have stumbled on some sort of secret. I remembered how he seemed almost to have lost interest in the identity of Carole’s killer when I met him in the park - which was immediately after he had talked to Ray Brill. I wondered what Ray might have told him.’

  ‘But Ray didn’t say anything to you about Warren Hull.’

  ‘No, because you had already warned him to keep his mouth shut. I knew a little about Hull’s death, though, and although everyone had written it off as a gay killing of no account which would never be solved, when I asked myself why someone might murder for the sake of self-preservation, it occurred to me that Hull’s death might hold the key. Miller had an obsession with perfect crimes. If Ray had spilled a few beans about Hull’s death, he might have found that more interesting even than his investigation into the Sefton Park case.’

  Jock indicated the record sleeve. ‘When did you identify me as Ian?’

  ‘Within the past hour. I’d come round to the view that Ray knew who had killed Hull and had kept quiet for purposes of his own. Suppose the culprit was still around, who might it be? I was still groping in the dark until I saw the record sleeve. When I realised who you were...’

  ‘The pieces of the puzzle all fell into place?’ asked Jock with a wry grin.

  Harry forced a smile. On the way over here, he had been dreading the prospect of a confrontation with a man he had liked, had been far from clear in his own mind what he hoped to achieve. At last he was beginning to relax a little. He wanted Jock to fill in the gaps of the story and thought he could persuade him to do so. ‘I don’t believe Ross Macdonald would ever have sunk so far as to use that hackneyed phrase, but you have the right idea.’

  ‘I told myself not to underestimate you, though - don’t take this the wrong way - it’s easily done.’

  ‘Once it dawned on me how careful you had been not to tell me you were Ian Brill, I found it hard to believe there wasn’t a guilty explanation. Most former stars I’ve ever met still hanker after the limelight and I couldn’t quite imagine you as a kind of subterranean Greta Garbo. Even assuming you genuinely wanted to forget about your days as a pop star, why not say something when we talked about the Brill Brothers?’

  ‘I toyed with the idea, but the last thing I wanted was for you to get too close to the truth.’

  ‘Which is why you took pains to keep tabs on my own nosing around.’

  ‘My interest wasn’t entirely spurious,’ said Jock. ‘I did find the Jeffries case intriguing. I agree with Miller: people who get away with murder have a special fascination.’

  ‘I guessed that when I told you I was going to see Ray, you tipped him off. Presumably you’d been in contact recently, as a result of Miller’s investigations.’

  ‘You’re right, though the night I murdered him was the first time we’d met face to face in over twenty years.’

  ‘Quite a way to renew an acquaintance. Anyway, Ray said something to me that seemed to clinch your involvement. I’d introduced myself simply as a solicitor called Devlin. I don’t flatter myself that I’m a household name in Southport. Frankly, I’m scarcely a household name in my own flat.’

  ‘You do yourself an injustice. I’ve heard other solicitors talk about you even down here, you have a reputation for never letting go. You intrigue me, though. What clue did Ray give?’

  ‘At one point, he called me Mister Harry Devlin. The significance of it didn’t strike me at once, but later on I asked myself: how did he know I was called Harry? Miller might have mentioned me to him, but you were a likelier candidate. I told you the previous day that I would be driving up to Southport to see Ray. The odds were that you had tipped him off. No wonder he didn’t seem too surprised to see me.’

  ‘Simple as that, eh? And I thought I’d been so careful.’

  ‘I decided to call on Ray to ask him how he knew my name, but of course, you beat me to it.’

  ‘So where do we go from here?’

  ‘Let’s talk about that in a little while. First, I’d like to satisfy my own curiosity. Obviously, there’s a good deal I don’t know.’

  ‘And you seem to be short of evidence, as well,’ said Jock, stroking his beard.

  ‘You know as well as I do that when the police take a close look at everything that has taken place, it’s a pound to a penny that they’ll be able to tie you in with Ray’s murder. I see it as a panic measure, am I right?’

  ‘I had no alternative. He’d kept his mouth shut about Warren for thirty years, but I couldn’t trust him any longer. He was down on his luck, he knew I had a few pennies put by. He saw me as his pension. I couldn’t have that, Harry, I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘How did he know you had killed Hull?’

  ‘I admitted it, of course.’ Jock shook his head. ‘I was only a boy, remember. A frightened wee boy.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Warren fancied us, of course. He had a reputation for sleeping with his acts, though I didn’t know that when he signed us up. In the early days, he had his eyes on Ray, and Ray was crafty enough to hold him off whilst encouraging him to think that his defence might one day slip. To keep him interested in us, that’s all. No-one was straighter than Ray, in the sexual sense at least.’

  ‘But in the end Warren turned his attention to you?’

  ‘When we started to hit the big time - or the biggest time we ever hit, at any rate - Ray could afford to be brave and to tell Warren where to get off. The man was no fool, he knew he couldn’t risk exposure. So he started to spend more time with me.’

  ‘And you were glad of his attention?’

  Jock gave him a sharp glance. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I’ve never thought about it coherently until now, but I suppose I’ve sensed subconsciously that you may be gay. You’re not married, are you?’

  ‘So what?’

  Jock ha
d raised his voice and Harry guessed he had touched a nerve. Well, this was no time for tact. ‘And I guess you like the company of young boys like Adrian, your saxophonist friend.’

  ‘There’s been nothing between Adrian and me,’ said Jock fiercely.

  ‘But you wouldn’t have said no, had the opportunity arisen, would you?’ Harry’s tone softened. ‘I suppose society was different in the sixties. Gay sex was a vice. You were young and unsure of yourself, easy meat for an experienced predator like Warren Hull.’

  ‘He was a cruel man,’ said Jock. Suddenly the fight seemed to have gone out of him and he closed his eyes for a moment as he cast his mind back down the years. ‘Selfish and cruel. I was flattered by his overtures, yet frightened at the same time. One night he invited me back to his flat on a pretext. I think I knew what would happen, but I couldn’t find it in me to refuse.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He raped me,’ said Jock flatly. ‘If I’d dared to hope for anything, it was for romance. I’d left my family behind in Glasgow, come down to Liverpool to make my fortune, changed my name. I found it a lonely place and, once I got to know him, I disliked Ray. You could say I was vulnerable.’

  ‘Not as vulnerable as Warren Hull when he was lying naked on his own bed.’

  ‘No,’ admitted Jock, ‘but he was a brutal man and my life was in ruins. Certainly, it was never the same again. While he was sleeping, I picked up a lampstand and just lashed out. God, I’ve never seen so much blood and mess. I watched as the life oozed out of him and laughed hysterically. It took me half an hour to come to my senses, but at last I did so. As I said, my survival instinct is well developed, it has had to be. So I cleaned myself up...’

  ‘I gather it was a frenzied attack,’ said Harry, watching carefully for the reaction.

  ‘So the papers said. I suppose it was a case of the famous red mist - another phrase you’ll never find in the pages of Ross Macdonald, eh? Afterwards I blotted the whole thing out of my mind. You have no choice, otherwise it’s simply too much to bear. I took care to remove any trace of my presence - fingerprints and all that stuff - and then I scurried off home. No-one saw me.’