Design for Murder

by Roy Lewis

  ‘The quarrel,’ Eric prompted him. ‘It relates to the proceeds of the trust?’

  ‘Precisely. Coleen Chivers is now managing director of a successful property development company and one would think that she would hardly bother with such matters but she has shown a persistent interest in the … ah … black hole that appeared in trust fund moneys as a result of the depredations of James Owen.’

  Perhaps the word had slipped out. Previously, Strudmore had spoken only of inefficiency. ‘Depredations?’ Eric asked carefully.

  Strudmore sniffed, then wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘Well, yes, I’m afraid it was not simply a matter of inefficiency, but wrongdoing, I regret to say. Mr Owen had made certain drawings on the funds, to his own benefit.’

  ‘At the same time his daughter Sharon, a beneficiary under the trust, was becoming a lawyer herself,’ Eric mused.

  Strudmore was silent for a little while. Thoughtfully, he said, ‘Miss Owen is carving a successful career for herself at the bar. I think she comes out of all this as the only clear-sighted and sensible person in the whole business. The trust is to be wound up, she and her cousin Coleen Chivers are the sole beneficiaries, but while Miss Chivers has insisted on demanding her full rights Miss Owen has kept her distance. Leaving matters to her lawyers. You, now.’ Strudmore shrugged, caressing his chubby lips with careful fingers. ‘The parties haven’t even met: Miss Chivers wanted action but no contact.’

  ‘But issues have now been largely resolved?’ Eric asked.

  ‘Preliminary agreements have been drafted,’ Strudmore replied, nodding. ‘I would have wished that Miss Owen might have fought more strenuously for her own interests, but she has been insistent on agreeing compromises which, I must say, favour her cousin quite strongly.’

  Eric could guess at Sharon’s feelings: if the discrepancies had been due to her father’s failings she would not have wanted to enter into bitter disputes with her cousin.

  ‘So,’ Strudmore said, tapping the files in front of him, ‘I think we can safely say that all is now more or less sorted out. I have prepared the drafts; if you would like to take over these files, I am happy to let you wind up the trust proper. I’ve taken the liberty of adding my own charges in these papers, and I must admit I’m relieved to see the end of the whole business. It’s always unpleasant when families fall out.’

  ‘Though lucrative for lawyers,’ Eric added.

  ‘Quite so.’ Strudmore flushed. ‘Though you will see that our charges have been reasonable, in view of the time and energy we have had to devote to this affair.’

  Time, perhaps, but Eric doubted whether the chubby little partner in Strudmore and Evans would have devoted much energy to the issues. He rose, extending his hand to Strudmore. ‘Good. I’ll take up no more of your time. And I’m sure your charges are more than reasonable.’

  Strudmore rose also, shook Eric’s hand, picked up the files and presented them to him. ‘And even after our charges,’ he tried to joke, ‘you will see that Miss Owen will receive a considerable amount of money under the trust.’

  Though her cousin Coleen Chivers would get her hands on a lot more, Eric guessed.

  Eric did not see Sharon that evening: she had been called away to a hearing at the Court of Appeal in London. He spent the evening at his apartment going through the trust files. It was more or less as Strudmore had explained. As a beneficiary under the Chivers Trust, Sharon would receive a considerable amount of money even though it amounted to only one third of the total. The hard-headed property developer Coleen Chivers had certainly pressed her case. With some justification, Eric was forced to admit. Sharon’s father had been most indiscreet with some of the investments he had made on behalf of the trust, and there were certainly discrepancies in some of the liquid funds, discrepancies that could have caused him to be struck off the roll of solicitors had they come to light before his premature death. Eric could understand why Sharon would not want to argue too much over the splitting of the money: she would feel strongly about her father’s weakness. It would be a matter of honour for her to repair the damage.

  There was a brief hearing in the magistrates court to attend the following morning, after which Eric dawdled over a coffee at The Slug and Lettuce on the Quayside before presenting himself at the office again. He held a brief consultation with his two assistant solicitors concerning the immigration briefs that had come in from the Home Office and reached agreement over some of the files that were crying out for attention. He spent the rest of the morning with two clients before having a sandwich at his desk.

  Susie buzzed him at three in the afternoon. ‘Mr Fraser is here. Are you ready to see him now?’

  ‘Fraser?’ For a moment Eric was puzzled, then he muttered under his breath. The man he had taken for a journalist, who had spoken briefly to him at the end of Conroy’s trial. He sighed. ‘Yes, you can send him in, Susie.’

  Some moments later the man who had introduced himself as Tony Fraser entered the room.

  He was still clad in the worn leather jacket and jeans and his shirt collar was still grubby. He held out his hand: his handshake was limp, the skin soft as a woman’s. He was smiling but the smile did not reach his eyes. There was something about the man Eric did not like though he was unable to pin down what it was. It might have been the air of failure that hung around the man, the feeling of disappointment that seemed ingrained in the sagging line of his jaw, the insincerity of the smile. Fraser sat down. Eric decided to dispense with the usual courtesies, and make the interview as brief as possible.

  ‘What can I do for you, Mr Fraser?’

  Tony Fraser’s glance flickered around the room. ‘I was very impressed, Mr Ward, by Miss Owen’s handling of the case against Raymond Conroy. But, of course, she would have been well briefed by you.’

  Eric remained silent.

  Fraser licked dry lips. He coughed nervously. ‘Perhaps I should explain. It’s a few years ago that I decided to follow a career as a journalist. It’s a tougher game than I expected, but I’ve persisted and things aren’t going too badly at the moment.’

  ‘Which newspaper are you with?’ Eric asked.

  There was a short silence, a hesitation as Fraser’s glance flicked away from Eric and looked around the room again. ‘Well, I’m sort of freelance, in that I’m not in full employment with any one newspaper, but I’ve had pieces in the Metro, and occasional articles in the Shields Gazette….’

  His voice died away uncertainly. Eric frowned. ‘The Metro … that’s a free newspaper, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s interested in local news, of course,’ Fraser said hurriedly. ‘However, I feel that my future is more to be secured in the field of rather longer pieces, if you know what I mean. I’m a great admirer of those writers who concentrated on real-life drama, like Truman Capote and his In Cold Blood, and the Lord knows there’s enough of that sort of thing around. Which is why I felt it would be useful if I came to talk to you.’

  Eric chewed his lip. ‘I’m not certain quite what you mean.’

  Fraser took a deep breath and forced a nervous smile to his lips. ‘I’ve been following the Raymond Conroy case since the beginning. I mean, the actual killings, the published details … and then when Conroy was arrested my interest increased. Of course, the collapse of the trial has raised a number of questions, a package of issues, and I feel it would offer me the breakthrough I’ve been seeking.’

  ‘Breakthrough,’ Eric murmured, still unclear about Fraser’s motives.

  ‘I would like to write a book about Conroy, not seeking to brand him as a killer, if you understand what I mean, but to set his life against the background of the murders, to show how a man can be caught up by circumstance, have his life all but destroyed by rumour and innuendo, and to delve into his innermost thoughts and desires…. Sort of like Henry Fonda in that film about an innocent man charged—’

  Eric shook his head and interrupted him. ‘I’m not sure why you’re talking to me about this. I don’t
see how I can help you.’

  Fraser took a deep breath and linked his fingers tightly together. ‘You’ve been briefed by Conroy,’ he said. ‘You’ve had opportunity to talk with him, discuss the murders, learn about his background, his feelings….’

  Eric held up a hand. ‘I think I should stop you there, Mr Fraser. As a … journalist, you must surely be aware that anything I learn while acting for Mr Conroy would have been covered by the lawyer-client relationship, and could not be disclosed without the permission of the client himself.’

  Hurriedly, Fraser said, ‘Well, yes, but now the relationship is over, I would have thought that you would be free to talk. Not about the details relating to the case itself, because I understand your position there, but about your own take on the man, your own feelings, your view about him as a person, his motives, his—’

  ‘I’m a lawyer, not a psychologist,’ Eric interrupted quietly. ‘And I fear that my own feelings or views would still fall, as far as I’m concerned, within the restriction placed by the lawyer-client relationship. Mr Conroy has spoken to me in confidence during the period that I represented him. I would have to keep that confidence. I fear I’m unable to help you, Mr Fraser.’

  ‘You could recommend me to him,’ Fraser suggested.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘You could put me in touch with him. Explain to him what I’m after. Convince him of my bona fides!’

  Eric rose slowly from his seat, wandered over towards the window and took a deep breath. Fraser was irritating him with his persistence. He turned to face the man seated in front of him. ‘I repeat, Mr Fraser, I don’t see how I can help you. I acted as Conroy’s lawyer. Nothing he told me during that period can be repeated by me without his permission. And to be frank, I would be reluctant to do that even if he gave me that permission. I’m clear about my responsibilities as a lawyer. I’m equally clear that I have no desire to get involved in the kind of project that you are considering.’

  Oddly enough, Fraser did not seem surprised, or even greatly disappointed. He frowned; thought for a moment. Then he nodded. ‘I understand your position, Mr Ward. Perhaps I’ve been … overcome by my enthusiasm. I’ve pinned a lot of hopes on this idea – I feel it could be my way to success and God knows I’ve seen little enough of that over the years. But you see, well, I’ll be frank with you. My background has been, shall we say, difficult. I was raised in a series of foster homes. I was subjected to abuse. I got in with the wrong kind of kids and I got into trouble. I’ll confess to you that I’ve spent time in prison myself, Mr Ward, but the few years I did inside made me realize there was a better life available. It was then I decided to become a journalist. Took a correspondence course in prison. But it’s turned out to be a tough choice. I’ve still to prove myself. But I know what it’s like to be suspected, to be innocent when others say you deserve conviction. I’m drawn to Raymond Conroy. He’s had a tough deal. He has a story to tell.’ His eyes were fixed on Eric, earnestly. ‘And with my experience, I think I’m the man to tell it to the world.’

  He saw the determination in Eric’s eyes and he hurried on. ‘But I accept you can’t help me in the manner I would have wished. On the other hand, if you would be prepared just to put me directly in touch with Conroy. Perhaps explain what I’m after. Persuade him—’

  Eric shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I can’t even do that, Mr Fraser.’

  ‘But at least you must know where he’s to be found at the moment!’

  Eric hesitated. It was already public knowledge that there had been a fracas outside the hotel in Gosforth. Fraser should follow his own nose on the matter. Eric could suggest to him that he might follow the trail from the hotel. Then he demurred once again. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Fraser. Conroy is still my client at the moment, though that relationship is about to end. I regret I really can’t help you.’

  He moved towards the door and opened it. He could have offered Fraser a lifeline, the hope that he might succeed in his enterprise. But he could not bring himself to do it. Raymond Conroy had been charged with murder, had faced trial, had escaped conviction for the moment – the last thing he would want would be to be pursued by an obsessive who wanted to write his life story, peel back his emotional skin to determine his innermost feelings. A journalist with his own life problems.

  Disappointed or not, Fraser was not someone to whom Eric owed a thing, and he had no intention of getting involved with a man who was seeking to make his own reputation by dredging into the sensationalism that had already surrounded the hunt for the Zodiac Killer. Fraser did not say goodbye as he left. He failed to meet Eric’s eyes. There was disappointment in the set of his shoulders as he made his way through Susie’s office. Eric closed the door on him with relief.

  Shaking his head, he picked up the phone and dialled Sharon’s chambers. After a brief conversation with the clerk, he was put through to her extension.

  ‘Hi. Look, I’ve been up to Alnwick and I’ve met the solicitor who was holding the papers. Strudmore. You met him?’

  ‘Damp hands, eye for the ladies.’

  Eric laughed. ‘That’s him. Anyway, he insisted on giving me the family history as well as the trust papers. Seems to me the papers at least are all in order. Your family … that’s another matter.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ Sharon laughed.

  ‘Anyway, all I need to do is get your final written consent to the distribution of the funds in the trust. Can we get together to do that?’

  ‘Very businesslike,’ she laughed.

  ‘Doesn’t stop us having dinner afterwards,’ he suggested.

  ‘Instead of a fee?’

  ‘That’s a deal.’

  He had barely replaced the phone when Susie Cartwright tapped at the door and entered. She closed it behind her. There was a strange look on her face. Her lips were tight with disapproval. Eric raised his eyebrows. ‘A problem?’

  ‘There’s someone in reception who wants to see you.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘It’s Raymond Conroy.’

  Eric grimaced. He was silent for a moment. ‘Have you sent him the bill for our fees?’

  Susie nodded. ‘And he’s just given me a cheque.’

  ‘Very prompt,’ Eric murmured.

  ‘And now he wants to see you.’

  Hopefully, to say goodbye, Eric thought. He nodded. ‘All right. Tell him I’m busy, but can spare him just a few minutes.’

  Susie turned, and as she did so he recalled that Conroy had been attacked. It was possible he would want to ask Eric to start proceedings against the man who had attacked him. It was not an action Eric was keen to get involved in. A few moments later the door opened again and Raymond Conroy entered the room.

  His left eye was half closed. There was a purple bruise on his forehead and his mouth was swollen. The injuries were superficial, Eric guessed, with nothing broken, but the man would have suffered a degree of pain in the fracas outside the hotel. Eric noted Conroy was also limping: his guess was that his former client may have been kicked in the leg.

  ‘I’ve paid your bill, Mr Ward,’ Conroy said, and his tongue flickered against his swollen lip as though it pained him to speak. ‘But you will see I have been somewhat in the wars. Now, I’d like to take your advice. Regarding this assault.’

  Eric did not suggest that the man sat down. He stared at Conroy, considering his words carefully. ‘Mr Conroy, I have to tell you I’ve a great deal on my plate at the moment. Now you’ve paid the fees, strictly speaking our association is at an end, and you’re no longer my client. If you wish to take action regarding this attack upon you, I would advise that perhaps it would be as well if you were to go to another lawyer….’

  His voice died away as he saw the cynical glint in Conroy’s eyes.

  ‘I merely seek a piece of simple advice, Mr Ward,’ Conroy said with difficulty. ‘We’ve got over the big problem, with your assistance … and that of Miss Owen, of course. But now that I’ve been attacked—’ />
  ‘If you’re thinking of pressing charges,’ Eric cut in, ‘you should consider the consequences. If I may speak plainly, you’d be well advised to do nothing about it. You’ve been injured, but it doesn’t seem the injuries are serious. It might be galling to you, but you must be aware that in the community at large there is a great deal of ill feeling towards you, probably stirred up by the media, but nevertheless, you should think carefully before you consider entering a courtroom again. If you were to proceed, your injuries … well, I would suspect you’d get little by way of compensation, and as for the man who attacked you….’

  ‘He’d be regarded as a hero?’ Conroy’s tone had a bitter, mocking edge. ‘Man attacks the freed Zodiac Killer. The alleged, falsely accused, innocent suspect. Justice is not available to all, it seems.’

  ‘I would agree,’ Eric replied coldly. ‘The public would hold the view that there are three unfortunate women who have not yet managed to achieve justice.’

  ‘And I remain condemned in the public consciousness even though I’ve been shown to be innocent of any crimes?’ Conroy said challengingly.

  ‘Even so.’ Eric hesitated. ‘I’m not saying you should not pursue this man for the attack upon you, but I do counsel care. You’ve been in the spotlight for months. You’ve read what’s been written about you; you’ll be aware of the strength of public feeling aroused by the judge throwing out the case against you—’

  ‘Because there wasn’t one!’ Conroy intervened in measured, steely tones.

  ‘The question is,’ Eric continued quietly, ‘do you want to inflame things further? If you bring an action against this man—’