‘She sounded unhappy,’ Suzanne insisted.
‘Maybe she’s spotted a couple of printers’ errors,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Don’t worry, it won’t be important. I’ll get back to her as soon as I can.’
Suzanne put down a creased paperback edition of Feng Shui Can Heal Your Life. Juliet, in evangelical mood, had lent it to her and she’d become an enthusiastic convert. Folding her arms, she scowled and said, ‘Well, don’t say I didn’t pass the message on. And by the way, did you realise that reception’s laid out all wrong? No wonder you don’t get a better class of client when there’s so much bad Chi.’
He escaped to his room. As he slumped into his chair, he realised his hands were trembling. It would take more than a commitment to Feng Shui to put things right. Closing his eyes, he asked himself why he had ever allowed himself to become involved with the wife of Casper May. Their relationship was starting to resemble a suicide pact.
Of course, it hadn’t always been like that. At the outset - if he was honest with himself - he had been flattered by her interest in him. After all, there was no doubt that she could have her pick of men. He’d been in the mood for someone new; the woman he had been seeing for over a year, a solicitor called Kim Lawrence, had been made an offer she couldn’t refuse of a high-profile job in London. Juliet was sexy and funny and she liked many of the things he liked. Crime, for instance. It fascinated her. She loved mysteries and arguing about such things as whether the murdered cotton broker James Maybrick really was the author of the diaries of Jack the Ripper. For a time after getting to know her, he’d tried to keep his distance. He was scared not only of Casper May, but also of himself. But one evening when Casper was away she’d persuaded him to join her at the Philharmonic Picture Palace for a John Dahl double bill. Red Rock West followed by The Last Seduction. Inevitably, they’d finished up in bed together afterwards. From that night on, he’d been lost.
The door opened and he heard Jim saying, ‘Bit early for a siesta, isn’t it?’
He opened his eyes. ‘I didn’t get any sleep last night.’
His partner winced. ‘Too much to hope that you were catching up on your backlog of legal aid claims?’
‘It is, really.’
‘All right. The suspense is unbearable. I’ll regret asking, but who cares? What kept you up?’
Harry let out a breath. ‘You’ll have to be told sooner or later. Fact is, I stumbled over a body.’
Jim’s craggy features froze in bewilderment. ‘Go on. Tell me this is your idea of a joke.’
The phone rang and Harry picked up the receiver. ‘There’s a Detective Inspector Eggar to see you.’ Suzanne was breathless with excitement. ‘He says - he says it’s about a statement.’
‘Sorry,’ he said to Jim, putting his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘The police have turned up already. I suppose they want to check a few details.’
Jim uttered a low groan. ‘Why did I ever get mixed up with you?’
‘You must admit it,’ Harry said ruefully. ‘Life’s seldom dull.’
‘Look, old son, I’m a conveyancing lawyer from choice. Title deeds turn me on. Anything more dramatic than a dispute over rights of way brings me out in a rash.’
‘Then sod off before they arrest you for obstructing the course of justice.’ He spoke into the phone. ‘Send DI Eggar in, will you?’
With a despairing shake of the head, Jim said, ‘Aren’t you going to tell me who the body belonged to?’
‘A brother solicitor.’
Jim’s expression lightened a touch. ‘Oh well. Every cloud, eh?’
‘Seems a bit odd, that’s all.’
There was a note of disappointed puzzlement in Mitch Eggar’s voice that almost made Harry want to confide in him, to set the record straight. But then he thought about Eggar’s senior officer confiding in Casper May over a beer at the nineteenth hole and dug his nails into his palm. The truth about his affair with Juliet mustn’t be told.
‘I don’t see why.’
‘Well, Harry, it’s like this. With all due respect, your firm isn’t famous for its high profile in the media. So why, on the worst night of the year, do you trek out to the far side of the Wirral for a chin-wag with a marketing consultant about some bloody advertisement? It doesn’t stack up.’
‘You’ve said it yourself. We need to brush up our image. Jim’s been harping on about it for years. Finally, I’ve been convinced. We brought in this lady to help us, we’re spending money we can barely afford. It seemed right to take it seriously. Jim and I are new to this game. We need the best advice.’ Warming to his theme, Harry stretched his arms in an open, nothing-to-hide gesture. Hadn’t Juliet once told him about the importance of body language in getting a message across to a sceptical audience? ‘Frankly, there are plenty of things I’d rather have been doing last night than driving to the back of beyond to talk about a bloody press campaign. Let alone discovering a body and spending half the night in a police station. But given the deadline for approving final copy, it made sense to go to Mrs May for help.’
‘Real expert, then, is she?’
Harry gazed sorrowfully at the detective. It was a shamelessly candid look, one he’d copied from his most disingenuous clients. ‘Well, between you and me…’
‘Yes?’
‘I gagged a bit when she insisted that we should use power words in the advertising copy.’
A frown. ‘Power words?’
‘Yeah, that’s the jargon. Proven sellers, she calls them. Words like “new”, “fast” and “guarantee”. Mind you, I told her I draw the line at “money back”.’
As if sensing that the conversation might be drifting out of control, Eggar said sharply, ‘How long have you known her?’
‘She first came to see Jim earlier this year. He persuaded me we needed to invest in expertise. She has a good track record.’
‘You know who she is, don’t you?’
Harry rubbed his chin. ‘Well. I read her c.v. when we first interviewed her. She’s worked in local television and for one of the big agencies.’
‘I mean,’ Mitch Eggar said with exaggerated patience, ‘who she’s married to?’
Harry experimented with a baffled stare before saying, ‘Oh yes. The chap who does a lot for charity.’
The policeman sighed. ‘Come on, Harry. You weren’t born yesterday. You know all about Casper May.’
‘Never met the bloke.’
They looked at each other for a while in silence. Eggar wasn’t soft. He could tell that he was being spun a line. But he was patient, willing to give plenty of rope. He probably thought he could rely on Harry to hang himself sooner or later.
‘Fine, if that’s your attitude, let’s move on. You claimed you had only a passing acquaintance with Carl Symons?’
‘Right. I’d encountered him in the courts a few times. We never talked much to each other. He’d probably have regarded it as fraternising with the enemy.’
‘Yet not so long ago he was in private practice, same as you.’
‘Our paths seldom crossed, but there’s one thing that was pretty obvious. With Carl, his career was everything. Once he joined the CPS, his aim was to rise through the ranks as quickly as possible. He’d already been promoted once.’
‘So the fact it was you who happened to find his body was a complete coincidence?’
‘As I explained last night. At great length, I thought. I wanted to give you every possible help. I don’t like the idea of solicitors as murder victims. The profession doesn’t want the public getting ideas. So I hoped that if I volunteered a full statement, that would help you to make rapid progress in catching the murderer.’
‘It was a full statement, all right. No complaints about that. Or about the level of co-operation from Mrs May or Mrs Blackwell.’
‘Well, then.’
‘One thing puzzles me. All three of you told exactly the same story.’
Harry put his elbows on the desk and groaned. ‘Wouldn’t it h
ave been rather more sinister if the statements hadn’t tallied?’
‘As you lawyers like to say: on the one hand, yes - but then on the other hand, no. Call me hard to please if you like.’
‘You’re bloody hard to please,’ Harry said. He chose a cold tone, thinking that he’d missed his vocation. Perhaps he should have taken up acting.
‘Fact is, all your statements were astonishingly similar. I mean, practically word for word. When I looked at them, something made me wonder if they might have been carefully rehearsed. Made me wonder if I could really believe everything I was being told.’
‘So we can’t win,’ Harry said sulkily.
Mitch Eggar nodded. ‘That’s life, isn’t it? A bit like when you used to play cricket. You just can’t win.’
He tested his story on Jim once Eggar had departed. Its plausibility didn’t improve with retelling. Jim’s eyes rolled once or twice as he listened, but at least he seemed willing to suspend disbelief.
‘Not your lucky night, then.’
‘You could say the same about Carl Symons.’
‘There won’t be many people mourning him.’
‘Don’t tell me you knew him?’
‘No. I always keep as far away from crime as I can. Being in partnership with you is bad enough. But I’d heard about him from Brett Young. Nasty piece of work, by the sound of things.’
‘I didn’t realise you knew Brett.’
‘He and I were at law college together. We were never bosom buddies. He was always a nervy bugger. Worrying about the exams, fretting that he might not manage to get qualified. He flunked his finals in the end, but he must have passed his resits. Much good it did him, eh? I lost touch with him after college, but over the past two or three years we’ve bumped into each other now and then. Last time I saw him, he’d just finished a tribunal case in the Cunard Building. It was obvious he was in a bad way. His suit and shoes were even scruffier than yours.’
‘You’re so good for my ego.’
Jim bared his teeth in a grin. ‘Listening to his tale of woe made me realise that you and I couldn’t afford to split up. Mind, if you keep falling over bodies, I may have to reconsider.’
‘I promise you, I don’t mean to make a habit of it.’
‘So what do the police have to say?’
‘Mitch Eggar isn’t giving anything away. It’s early days. First, he needs to eliminate the three of us from his inquiries.’
‘That won’t take long, will it?’
‘Hope not,’ Harry said meekly. ‘For all I know, there may be a truck load of forensic that leads them to the killer inside the next twenty-four hours. God knows, there was enough blood there. It was as if the poor devil’s body had been drained of it. It was a nightmare for Juliet. She told me she’d never seen a corpse before.’
Jim grunted. ‘Getting mixed up in a murder inquiry wasn’t the sort of profile-raising venture I had in mind when we hired her. Once the Press find out you were involved, they are bound to start asking questions.’
‘We’ll need Juliet’s advice on how to answer them.’
‘I’m not so…’
The phone trilled. ‘What is it, Suzanne?’
‘Mrs May is on again for you. Insists that it’s urgent.’
‘Put her through … Juliet? We were just talking about you. I’m with Jim at the moment. Would you like a word with him?’ Harry spoke quickly, before she could say anything, then handed the receiver to his partner.
Caught off balance, Jim said, ‘How are you, Juliet? Ummm … yes, Harry’s been telling me. Sounds horrific. Sorry you’ve both had such an experience … the police, yes … no, personally I’d be happier if you could keep me out of it. Right, you’ll be wanting to discuss things with Harry. Fine. Be in touch.’
His face red, he clambered to his feet and mouthed, ‘Talk to you later.’
As the door closed behind him, Harry said quietly into the phone, ‘You okay?’
‘I’ve had better days. Christ, what a night! Where did you finish up?’
‘Birkenhead. And you?’
‘Upton. They took Linda to Bromborough. Both of us were interrogated for ages. You’d almost think they genuinely regarded us as suspects. I tell you, there were times when I cursed you for persuading me that we should call the police.’
‘Imagine their attitude if you’d kept mum and then they’d discovered that you’d been present at the scene of the crime.’
‘It’s Linda I feel sorry for. Dragged into it through no fault of her own.’
‘How is she?’
‘Shattered, as you might expect. We agreed neither of us would bother with work today. Thank God for answering machines, eh? She and I both had a follow-up visit from a detective inspector this morning. A man called Eggar. He seemed pleasant enough, but…’
‘You’re right, there’s usually a “but” where Mitch Eggar is concerned. Matter of fact, he left here half an hour ago. You need to watch him, he’s not convinced.’
‘I promise you, I did my best. So did Linda. We both stuck to our story.’
Harry thought it would be imprudent to mention that Eggar regarded even that as grounds for suspicion. Instead he said, ‘You’ve done the hard part now.’
A pause. ‘I don’t know, Harry. Eggar was asking all sorts of questions about Casper, as well as about you and me. I can’t be sure that he believed me.’
‘Don’t fret. He may be curious, but he can’t waste time on trivia. He’ll soon start focusing on the real suspects.’
‘It’s all very well saying that. This is familiar territory as far as you’re concerned. Remember, I’m not used to dealing with the police. I know Casper has lived dangerously in the past, but I was never a part of that. He kept me away from it all.’
‘Sure,’ he said, although he wasn’t sure whether he could believe her.
‘The same goes for Linda. When we spoke on the phone she was weeping. Last night she was so strong, but now things are taking a toll.’
‘Keep your eye on her. Tell her not to panic. This will all blow over quicker than you expect.’
‘We need to talk. Sooner rather than later. The three of us could meet tonight.’
‘You’re including Linda?’
‘She’s wound up, Harry, she needs to be reassured. I don’t want her to crack up. The truth is, she’s not as strong as you may think.’
Now you tell me. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘Then there’s her son to consider. She’s confided in him, as we agreed. It was just as well, even if he is a bit of a loose cannon. The police have already questioned him. At least he stood up to it, according to Linda. She’s staying at his place for the time being. Obviously she can’t go back home at present.’
‘The more the merrier,’ he said gloomily. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’
‘Listen,’ she said, an acid note entering her voice. ‘Linda and Peter have bailed us out of a mess. They didn’t have to do that. We owe them. Let’s face it, we’re all in this together.’
The address Juliet had given him proved to be a flat at the end of a tree-lined street leading from the West Kirby promenade. It was above a Greek restaurant and as Harry pressed the bell of the adjoining door he was assailed by the pungent aroma of steamed fish and a lusty performance of ‘The White Rose of Athens’ on the bouzoukis.
Linda answered. She was wearing a sweatshirt and tight denim jeans. Even casually dressed, she was strikingly attractive for a fiftysomething. To his surprise she kissed him hard on each cheek and clasped his hand in hers. ‘It’s good of you to come,’ she said.
Remembering his reluctance to drive out here and thank her again in person for her help, he felt a jolt of shame. ‘The least I could do,’ he mumbled.
‘Juliet’s already here,’ she said, jerking her thumb upwards. She seemed as calm as ever. Maybe it was an act, but he couldn’t help wondering if Juliet had exaggerated her jumpiness. Did she want to keep him on his toes? He followed Linda up a steep and narr
ow staircase. When he’d joined her on the landing, she opened a glassed door and ushered him through.
The living-room was cramped and airless. Harry could smell stale cooking, as if odours had wafted here from downstairs and become trapped in the furnishings, a worn three-piece suite and curtains in a floral design that might have been popular in the seventies. The wail of the bouzoukis was coming through the floorboards.
A tall fair-haired man in a sleeveless pullover which revealed frayed shirt cuffs stood with his back to them, gazing out of the front window. He was whistling an accompaniment to the music from the restaurant. Curled up on the sofa, Juliet was nibbling at her fingernails. Dark rings curved beneath her eyes and Harry could hear the strain in her voice when she said hello.
Linda said, ‘Darling, this is Harry Devlin.’
The man at the window paused in mid-chorus and turned round. He wasn’t bad looking, Harry thought. The blue eyes and curled lip were reminiscent of a minor aristocrat from Brideshead Revisited, but the effect was spoiled by his blotchy complexion and the careless way in which he’d shaved. As Peter offered a hand with grubby fingernails, Harry cast his mind back to the photographs of the smart young man in Linda’s bedroom. The past few years hadn’t done his host any favours.
‘Peter Blackwell. We’ve met before, haven’t we?’
‘Briefly. When I called round at Juliet’s office.’
Peter raised his eyebrows. ‘You introduced yourself as one of her clients, as I recall.’
‘It was true.’ Harry was irked by the defensive note in his own voice.
‘Glad to see the relationship has gone from strength to strength.’
‘That’s enough, Peter,’ Linda said sharply.
‘Sorry, Mother.’ He flushed. ‘Don’t mind me, Harry. I can be a sour bugger at times, I don’t need telling. You’ve had a traumatic time this last twenty-four hours. Can I offer you a drink?’
Harry spotted a bottle of supermarket sherry on top of the bookcase and caught a whiff of the alcohol on his host’s breath. ‘Not for me, thanks. I’m just sorry you and your mother have been dragged into this. But I’m grateful for everything you’ve done.’
First Cut is the Deepest (Harry Devlin) Page 7
