First Cut is the Deepest (Harry Devlin)

by Edwards, Martin

  ‘Okay, okay. I’ll think of something.’

  ‘It had better be good.’

  ‘You’re not the only one who can make up a story. Life as a defence lawyer sharpens the imagination.’

  She forced a smile. ‘Perhaps you should have gone in for public relations. So how do we contact the police? Don’t forget, the phones are down. I’m not going back to that charnel house to use the mobile. Not for anyone.’

  ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘No choice.’

  ‘But what about me? What if whoever did this…?’

  ‘Like I said, he’ll have long gone. I’m sure of it.’ He paused, realising that he was much less confident than he sounded. ‘But lock yourself in, all the same. Just as a precaution. Don’t open the door to anyone else. I’ll bang on the front window when I’m back.’

  ‘I tell you, it’s - it’s not a pretty sight.’

  ‘Dead bodies never are,’ Harry said harshly.

  ‘There’s a poker by the fireplace. Take it, will you?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘And when you go over there, don’t look in the kitchen, whatever you do.’

  He shrugged and said nothing. When she’d told him about the body next door, he had first been horrified, then fearful. Now he was becoming conscious of a familiar yearning, mixed in with the terrors. It was like an emptiness in his belly, a hunger. He realised with a shudder of guilty self-awareness that it was a pang of curiosity. Did he know the murdered man? Soon he would find out.

  The wind had become little more than a sigh through the pine leaves and the rain had eased to a fine drizzle. The path was steep and narrow and as he walked, his shoes kept sticking in the mud, but he forced himself on, knowing that time was precious.

  He gripped the poker so hard that he risked crushing the bones of his hand, yet he knew he could never bring himself to use it as a weapon. He hated violence and did not dare contemplate the possibility that he might need to protect himself, that his life might depend on a willingness to strike the first blow. It would never happen; he had to believe that. The killer must be long gone, surely. There were other things he ought to worry about. Like what he should do when he reached the cottage.

  He must be careful not to wipe fingerprints off the mobile. He doubted that the killer had touched it, but all the same, he would use a paper tissue when picking it up. He mustn’t do anything that might prevent the police from solving the crime. First he would call Linda and explain what had happened, make sure that she would go along with his plan before he dialled 999. He’d soon find out whether Juliet was right in believing that her PA had steel nerves. He needed to make sure she came over at once. West Kirby wasn’t far away. If she put her foot down, she could get back home before the police arrived at the murder scene.

  The police would check on calls made from the mobile. They would want to know why he’d rung the number of Linda’s son. He’d have to say Linda had asked him to tell Peter what had happened, maybe see if she could stay overnight with him in West Kirby. Christ, this was going to get complicated. Should he change his mind, call the police first? No, he’d have to risk it. If Linda wouldn’t help out, he’d need to come up with another story. He’d fob the detectives off, tell them that he wasn’t thinking straight. Not far from the truth, actually. It would seem flimsy and they were sure to be sceptical, but he’d have to chance it.

  As he picked his way down the path to the dead man’s house, he rehearsed in his mind what he would say when the police came to take statements. He, Juliet and Linda would have to sing from the same hymn-sheet. Their version of events would need to be capable of standing up to scrutiny, not merely from the investigating detectives, but also from Casper May if need be. It was crucial to avoid arousing suspicion of any kind.

  Like most lawyers, he had over the years learned the basic principles of lying. Keep it short. Keep it simple. And keep it as close to the truth as you can. The first challenge was to find an innocent explanation for his visit to the Customs House on a night when no-one in his senses would venture out of doors.

  He would say that he needed advice from Juliet on an advertising campaign. Someone from Enterprise Spotlight had rung him that morning, urging him to participate in a feature about legal help for businesses. Trying to fob off the sales rep had been as fruitless as arguing with a doorstep evangelist. In the end he had found himself agreeing to look at the rates for an ad in an issue focusing on the north-west’s captains of industry. The rep had pressed for a decision, offering as an incentive a supposedly unrepeatable discount. So it was just about plausible that, before taking the plunge and agreeing to spend money the firm could - according to the Loan Arranger - ill afford, a prudent lawyer might wish to pick expert brains right away. And Juliet had said she would draft the advertising copy for him that very evening.

  It didn’t take long to map out Juliet’s statement. Suppose she said that, with her husband out of town for forty-eight hours, she’d arranged to spend the evening with Linda. They had been together for years; they were friends as much as employer and employee. She might tell them she’d intended to pick up Linda so that they could go out for a drink, but when Harry rang, she suggested that he meet them at Linda’s house. Since the weather was so grim, the evening would not be unduly spoiled. When the tree had crashed into the house, Juliet had volunteered to ask the neighbour for the use of his phone to call the emergency services. But then she had discovered the body and come rushing back in deep distress.

  Jesus, it was thin. But what else could he say?

  Everything depended on Linda. Without her help, he found it impossible to dream up any innocent explanation for his and Juliet’s presence in the isolated cottage. She had to return and support them in their story. At least it was safe to assume that, tonight of all nights, she would not have strayed from her son’s fireside.

  Twigs cracked under his feet as he followed a bend in the path. As the trees cleared, he saw his destination immediately in front of him. The house was a little larger than Linda’s. A slate nameplate bore the legend Harbour Master’s Cottage. The house had been built just above the water’s edge. Harry could hear the waves slapping against the shore on the other side of the building. The front door was swinging backwards and forwards, banging against the jamb.

  Would he and Juliet get away with it? If he thought long and hard, perhaps he could come up with a better solution to their dilemma. There might be flaws in his plan that he could not foresee. He took a deep breath. Better not think about what might go wrong or to indulge in flights of fancy. In ordinary times, he and Juliet shared a fascination with mysteries. Tonight, though, he’d had more than enough of tales of the unexpected. This wasn’t the time to indulge in wild guessing games - what if the body has disappeared?

  He crunched up the wet gravel and paused on the threshold. Impossible to walk into a house of death without a second thought. But a moment’s hesitation was all that he allowed himself before he stepped into the hallway and slammed the door behind him.

  The flashlight revealed a stone-floored passage with a low beamed ceiling. He moved forward, his footsteps echoing in the silence. The only article of furniture was the small mahogany table; the mobile was where Juliet had left it. Shards of glass lay on the floor. He stared down into the largest fragment of the shattered mirror and saw a wary, hollow-cheeked face. For an instant he did not recognise it as his own.

  There was a musty odour. Rising damp, yes, and food smells, but he also caught the whiff of death. He could feel his bowels churning. Should he make the calls, then run away? It was a far cry from the mortuary, with its sweet sickly smell, where he had been taken to identify the corpse of his wife. He didn’t need to see this body. But then, he hadn’t needed to spend the night with Juliet. He clenched his fists, digging the fingernails into his palms. No time to panic, he told himself. Curiosity wouldn’t kill him.

  Grinding his teeth together in concentration, he
shone the lamp into the kitchen. It lit on a sprawled naked figure scarcely recognisable as human. Tears of horror pricked Harry’s eyes, as if to protect him by blurring the horror. He could dimly make out that the arms and legs were stretched out wide, as if trying to escape the torso. A dark mess saturated the chest and throat. The head lay inches away from the shattered neck.

  Nothing Juliet might have said could have prepared him for this. Even though he’d seen corpses before, he’d never encountered a scene so unnatural or savage. How could one person have done this to another? Easier to believe that the man on the ground had fallen victim to a wild and pitiless creature. Harry felt vomit rise at the back of his throat as he smelled the dead man’s urine. His beam wavered as his hand shook; for a moment it settled upon the face staring up towards the ceiling. The mouth was open as if uttering a soundless plea for mercy. The eyes stared as though they could see through the gates of hell.

  For a few seconds, his memory stalled and he could not put a name to the face, for all the familiarity of the bald scalp and black bushy eyebrows. He could not associate it with a living man who harried witnesses, glared at opponents, smirked at jokes cracked by magistrates. But as the horror soaked into his mind, he remembered.

  Carl Symons, the prosecutor. Not a man he cared for: a famously ugly loner engaged in a long-term love affair with himself. But not a man who deserved to die like this. No-one deserved to die like this.

  Standing outside the kitchen, gazing at the remains of Carl Symons, Harry found himself speaking aloud.

  ‘Who could have hated you so much?’

  ‘So,’ Linda Blackwell said half an hour later, ‘I’ve - I’ve never left the cottage all evening?’

  ‘You’ve got it,’ Juliet told her. ‘We all stick to the same story, okay? Then no-one will get the wrong idea.’

  ‘No,’ Linda said. She had a dazed expression, as if someone had struck her over the head with a mallet. There was a note of bewilderment in everything she said and her eyes didn’t look as though they were focusing properly. When she’d stood up to pour herself a brandy a few moments earlier, she’d seemed unsteady on her feet even without the help of the alcohol. Her hands kept trembling.

  Understandable, Harry reflected. Since she’d walked through the door ten minutes earlier, she’d found her house wrecked, her next-door neighbour murdered and her boss imploring her to lie to the police about it all. Talk about a night to remember. Wasn’t that the title of an old film about the last voyage of the Titanic? This evening had turned into their own personal disaster movie.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Juliet put an arm round the older woman. ‘I realise it’s a lot to ask.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’ll be fine,’ Linda said, although Harry was not convinced. ‘It’s just difficult to take it all in. But of course I know what Casper’s like. He mustn’t get to hear of this.’

  ‘I do think Harry’s explanation is a good one,’ Juliet said. Her cheeks were flushed, her voice a little louder than usual. The brandy had revived her, as it had Harry. They were relying on that, plus adrenalin, to get them through. ‘It’s not so far from the truth. We won’t be misleading the detectives about anything essential, anything connected with the crime. There’s no point in causing unnecessary pain.’

  Nicely put, Harry thought. Linda knew as well as they did that more than Casper’s ego would be dented if the affair became common knowledge. But perhaps everything might work out. So far he had to admit that Linda was living up to her advance billing: a true friend who was willing to massage the truth in order to save their skins.

  ‘Tell me,’ Juliet asked. ‘Had you realised Harry and I were…?’

  Linda looked at him and shook her head. ‘I worked out some time ago that you’d found someone. I was glad. You deserve better than Casper, much better. But I had the shock of my life when I heard Harry’s voice on the phone. It never once crossed my mind that he might be the man. To be honest, I was really startled.’

  Harry didn’t find her answer altogether flattering, but that was the least of his worries. ‘Thanks for agreeing to come over. And for not firing too many difficult questions all at once. I’m sorry to land you with all this. But we do need to discuss what happens next. Like I said, the police are sure to want to segregate us, test our statements for inconsistencies. The people first on the scene at a murder are always the obvious suspects.’

  ‘My head’s still spinning,’ Linda said.

  ‘What did you tell Peter?’ Juliet asked.

  Linda coloured. ‘Oh, I don’t know - just that there was a problem here. A tree had blown over in the storm.’

  ‘I was afraid he’d insist on coming over with you,’ Juliet said. ‘I know he’s a good son.’

  ‘He is,’ she said, her voice softening. ‘One in a million. But - no, he’s staying at home.’

  ‘Just as well. I mean, I’m normally delighted to see him, but I don’t really think this is the ideal time. And - I’m not quite sure how to put this…’

  ‘I won’t tell him about you and Harry,’ Linda said quickly. ‘I can keep my mouth shut when I have to, even with my own boy.’

  ‘I’ve been mulling it over,’ Harry said. ‘You may have no alternative but to give him a clue. After all, it’s a racing certainty that the police will check Peter out as well. He has to back you up.’

  ‘Then he will,’ Linda said. ‘I promise you that.’

  Juliet patted her hand. ‘God, I’m lucky to have you on my side. When we’ve talked to the police we can set about getting your house put right. At least Casper’s contacts may come in useful. His security people work for several building companies. Don’t worry, everything will soon be back to normal.’

  Linda shivered. ‘But not for Carl Symons.’

  ‘How well did you know him?’ Harry asked.

  A frown. ‘He only moved next door in June. I didn’t see much of him. It’s a dreadful thing to say, but he - he wasn’t a pleasant person.’

  ‘Didn’t you say you’d had a row with him?’ Juliet asked.

  ‘It was nothing,’ Linda said quickly. ‘We didn’t hit it off, that’s all. A pity, since he’s my only neighbour. An elderly couple used to have that cottage. They were twitchers, fanatical birdwatchers, that is. We used to help each other out if ever there was a little problem. When they left, I hoped someone decent would move in. There are plenty of people around here in the summer months, walking along the shore, but in winter, it’s a lonely spot. Quite cut-off.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ Juliet said.

  Linda smoothed out an errant strand of blonde hair. Even in these circumstances her instinct was to keep things neat and tidy. ‘This man, Symons, he wasn’t sociable. Liked to keep himself to himself. But his manner was always superior, he obviously regarded me as a woman of no importance. He complained a couple of times when Peter parked his car in front of his garage. A silly thing to make a song and dance about: Peter was in the wrong, but this past year he’s been distracted, he’s had a lot on his plate. I’m sure he’d have been only too happy to move the car at once if he was asked. But no, Carl Symons sent me a formal letter, threatening to seek compensation if it ever happened again.’

  ‘Quite a charmer, then,’ Juliet said.

  ‘Put it this way. If I ran out of something, there was no question of my popping round to his house to borrow a bag of sugar or whatever. He’d not only have charged, but demanded interest on top.’ She hesitated. ‘I’d say he was the sort who would make enemies, plenty of them.’

  ‘You said you knew him, Harry?’

  ‘Vaguely. Before he became a prosecutor, he was in partnership with a couple of other lawyers. It broke up a while ago.’

  Juliet leaned forward. ‘Acrimoniously?’

  ‘Looking for suspects already? You’re worse than me. But yes, there was a bitter dispute, or so I heard. Nothing unusual in that. Partnership’s like a marriage. Divorce is never easy.’

  ‘So the poacher turned gamekeeper?’

>   ‘Good way of describing it. He moved over to prosecuting. I suppose he rather liked that. I should imagine he was good at it, too. I always had the impression that he was efficient, disciplined. You could usually bet that if he prepared a case, the defence would have a hard time persuading the court there was reasonable doubt of guilt. He liked to pick winners, did Carl Symons.’

  Juliet turned to Linda. ‘Was he married?’

  ‘If he was, I never saw her. After the trouble over Peter’s car, I kept out of the chap’s way.’

  ‘Was he gay?’ Juliet demanded of Harry.

  ‘No idea. He and I were no more than acquaintances. For all I know, he might have been sleeping with half the members of the Liverpool Legal Group. I don’t keep in close touch with the grapevine.’

  ‘Liar,’ she said. ‘You love gossip and scandal as much as I do.’

  He forced a grin. ‘I plead the right of silence. You won’t…’

  He was interrupted by a fierce knock at the door. The three of them looked at each other. Harry mouthed the word ‘Police’.

  Juliet gritted her teeth. ‘Okay, then. The story we agreed, the whole story and nothing but that story. All right? Let’s do it.’

  Chapter Four

  I had killed a nightmare. Or - shall I say? - I had given my enemy peace by liberating his soul. Yet I could not rest. As the first shafts of daylight penetrated my little room, I paced back and forth over the stone flags. So much accomplished. So much yet to do.

  Daniel Roberts leaned back in his chair, rubbing eyes made sore by the glare from the screen. He blinked hard, trying to cleanse his mind of the bloody image imprinted on it, then saved the document and closed down the computer.

  The cottage was cold; he had little money and didn’t waste what he had on heating. The old clock chimed six. He shivered, knowing that it was time to start his journey. He had not had a moment’s sleep all night and yet he was tense and alert. His life was entering a new phase. Since early childhood, he had felt that he was in search of something, without being clear about the object of his quest. At last he knew what it was - and what he had to do to get it.