‘He wasn’t the sort of man who told you his life story over a drink in a bar.’
A careful answer, he realised. Even with a couple of drinks inside her, Suki wasn’t going to give much away, either. He saw her stealing a glance at her watch and guessed that she’d wanted to pump him, to see if he knew anything she didn’t. Not exactly flattering. Now that she was satisfied that he couldn’t shed any light on the killing, she wanted to be away.
‘You’ll miss him, then?’
She shrugged. ‘Carl was a good lawyer. Rick was right. He’ll be a real loss to the CPS.’
‘Taking my name in vain?’ Rick had shoved through the crowd to join them, leaving Willis Arkwright to hold court before a group of keen young litigators. He still moved with the muscular swagger which had helped him to score a couple of tries in the Varsity Match of twenty years ago. ‘Evening, Harry. Glad you could make it. Especially in the circumstances.’
Harry said, ‘Yeah, well. I like to keep up to date with best practice.’
Rick almost spilled his gin and tonic but managed to bite back a cutting rejoinder. ‘So tell me. One or two of us have been wondering. I mean, how did you happen to call at Symons’ place? The Dee coast isn’t exactly your regular beat, is it?’
It may only have been an idle enquiry, but Harry was aware of Suki leaning forward, her upper body almost touching his as she waited for his answer. He could see Andrea Gibbs, too, standing behind Rick; she seemed to be listening intently. ‘It’s a long story. Let’s just say I finished up in the wrong place at the wrong time. After listening to Willis, I’m starting to wonder if finding a brother solicitor dead isn’t a breach of some Law Society rule. I’m half expecting my insurance premium to go up next year as a result.’
Rick snorted with amusement for Suki’s benefit. He liked playing to the gallery; perhaps in his mind he still imagined himself acknowledging the roar of the crowd at Twickenham. ‘Didn’t they once make a film about you? The Trouble With Harry? Oh well, good to see you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have one or two boring bits of committee business to discuss with Ms Anwar here.’
Suki gave him her habitual teasing smile. ‘Sorry, Rick. I’d love to, but I was up early this morning and I’m in court first thing tomorrow. I think what I need is an early night. Another time, perhaps.’
‘I’ll look forward to it.’ Cutting his losses with the ease of the accomplished womaniser, Rick turned and exclaimed, ‘Andrea, good to see you! My God, you’re looking more gorgeous than ever tonight.’
Harry had wondered if Andrea might have been hanging around in the hope of catching his eye, rather than Rick’s, perhaps to follow up her enigmatic phone call. But when she smiled at Rick, he dismissed the idea. Better not fall into the trap of believing that all these women craved his company. Leave those delusions to the Ricks of this world.
A mournful man who was in-house solicitor for a firm of undertakers tugged at his sleeve and asked if he knew who was handling the arrangements for Carl Symons’ funeral. It took Harry ten minutes to escape. By now the room was clearing; Rick and Andrea were nowhere to be seen. Vaguely dissatisfied, he made his way towards the exit. He hadn’t learned anything from Suki and he still didn’t know why Andrea had bothered to phone him. Perhaps he might be better giving the whole detective thing a wide berth.
As he left the building, he saw Rick on the opposite pavement, talking to Andrea Gibbs. As if to emphasise a point, he slipped his arm around her shoulder. For a moment she seemed to freeze, then she looked up into his eyes and they moved closer together.
Suddenly a Sierra that had been parked a hundred yards away revved up and drove towards the pair. Rick glanced round and, as Andrea said something, took a step away from her. The car screeched to a halt beside the pair of them. Rick ducked down and took a look through the passenger’s window. Something he saw there must have alarmed him, for he muttered a few words to Andrea and then scuttled off down the alleyway which led to the multi-storey behind Rumford Place.
The window was wound down and Andrea bent down to speak to the driver. Harry watched as she put her hand on the door, then removed it as if scalded. He guessed that the driver had made a remark she hadn’t liked.
‘You’re crazy! You’re absolutely crazy!’ Her voice rang out, high and clear in the still evening air.
As Harry watched, she moved away from the car and broke into a run, her long hair flapping as she disappeared round the corner into Tithebarn Street and out of sight.
The Sierra did not move. Harry hesitated for a moment before walking slowly towards it. His route home to Empire Dock should take him in the other direction, but his curiosity had been aroused. Drawing nearer, he could see a private hire plate above the vehicle registration number. As he passed the cab, he stole a glance through the window. The profile of the man in the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, was at once familiar. It belonged to the man who had once been in partnership with Carl Symons and Nerys Horlock. He was also Andrea Gibbs’ boyfriend, although right now that relationship looked to be equally ill-starred. He was Brett Young, solicitor turned cab driver.
Chapter Nine
Brett stopped drumming on the wheel and said, ‘Hello, Harry. Long time no see.’
‘That’s right.’ Frantically trying to gather his thoughts, Harry glanced at the car. A patch of rust spread from the door handle. Inside, an empty packet of cigarettes lay in the well under the instrument panel. A dog-eared Liverpool A-Z was face down on the passenger seat. The beige upholstery was tatty and reeked of smoke. ‘How are things?’
As soon as he asked the question, he wanted to bite his tongue. Diplomacy had never been his strong suit. Then again, why should anyone who’d once billed by the hour be embarrassed about a job where he charged by the mile?
‘So-so.’ Brett spoke almost in a whisper. ‘I’m okay. More to the point, how with you?’
‘Well. You know.’
‘Quite - quite an adventure you had the night before last, by all accounts. Carl Symons murdered, eh?’ Brett grunted. ‘Couldn’t have happened to a nicer bloke.’
‘I scarcely knew him.’
‘You didn’t miss anything.’
‘So you haven’t shed too many tears?’
‘If I covered myself in sackcloth and ashes, nobody would believe me. Why pretend? I’m glad the bastard’s dead.’ Brett hesitated. ‘You live on the waterfront, don’t you? Why don’t you hop in? I’ll give you a lift.’
Harry rested his shoulders on the edge of the window. ‘Aren’t private hire cars forbidden to pick up in the street?’
‘That’s the difference between us,’ Brett said with a grimace. ‘You’re still working in the legal profession. These days, I don’t have to worry about playing by the rules. Get in.’
‘All right.’ Harry opened the door. So what if Brett wanted, like everyone else, to try to pump him for information? Two could play at that game.
As he fiddled with the belt, Brett fished a pack of Benson and Hedges out of the pocket of his jacket. Suede Italian tailoring, probably cost a small fortune at one time. Now the elbows were patched and a button was missing. He paused in the act of offering a cigarette. ‘You don’t, do you?’
‘Gave them up a few years back.’
‘Wish I could. I seem to need them to get through the day. And night.’
Brett lit up, shifting around in his seat as he did so. He wasn’t a big man, but his build was wiry. Early thirties, at a guess, fresh-faced but with an emerging bald patch. His manner was restless; the car seemed too small for him, as though he hated being strapped in and was itching to escape.
‘I suppose you saw what happened a moment ago? Andrea and I, we had a few words.’
That’s one way of putting it. Harry wasn’t a lawyer for nothing: he stonewalled. ‘So how long have the two of you been together?’
‘You could say it’s been an on-off thing.’ Brett was breathing hard. ‘As much off as on, lately. It’s not easy - you could sa
y we’re both a bit highly strung.’
‘You met at Symons, Horlock and Young?’
‘Yes, she was our one and only trainee solicitor and I did a bit of cradle-snatching. I couldn’t resist, frankly. When she sets her mind to something … anyway, at least when the firm collapsed and she lost her job, she didn’t blame me. She saw I’d done everything in my power to keep the business afloat. When I had problems, Andrea was the only person who stuck around.’
‘I’ve not seen her working in the courts lately. Who does she work for now?’
‘She qualified in the end. People rallied round. Windaybanks let her join them and the Law Society took pity.’ There was an odd, sour note in Brett’s voice, as if a thought had struck him which had caused him pain. ‘By then, she was sick of private practice. Understandable in the circumstances. So she’s finished up working on a telephone hot-line. Twenty-four-hour legal advice for consumers. You know the sort of stuff, it’s offered as an add-on with your house insurance. She works nights.’
‘Can’t be much fun.’
‘Andrea doesn’t mind. The money’s not bad and we can see each other during the day. Though maybe not after tonight, I suppose. She never found it easy, dealing with clients face to face. The anonymity of the phone lines suits her.’
Harry made a face. ‘All those legal questions.’
‘She’s always been academic, she’s pretty good on tricky points of law. Not like me. I used to dread exams.’
‘But you made it in the end.’
A wary look came into Brett’s eyes. ‘Let’s say I knew what I wanted. When I was a kid, I simply got hooked on the idea of becoming a lawyer. I came from a working class family, so maybe it was a status thing. I always intended to be a solicitor of the Supreme Court, I’d never have hacked it at the Bar. I truly believed that once I put up my own brass nameplate, I’d have it made. More fool me.’
He wasn’t disguising his bitterness. Harry said quietly, ‘So you both work lates?’
‘Yeah. I’m usually on six to six. Andrea thought she’d better attend tonight’s seminar. The mob she works for aren’t lawyers, they don’t have any infrastructure. No proper law library, no training, but they’d be quick enough to kick her out if she made a mess of advising over the phone. I offered to pick her up afterwards. I thought we might have time to call back at my flat for an hour before she was due in work. Seemed like a good idea, but it all went wrong.’
‘Don’t read anything into what happened. Rick must have chatted up half the women in Liverpool since he split from his wife. I expect Andrea was desperate to get away.’
Brett exhaled. The smoke made Harry’s eyes water. ‘Didn’t look much like that to me. Or maybe she was simply hoping to make me jealous.’
Time to change the subject. ‘So how’s life on the cabs?’
‘Different,’ Brett said, switching on the ignition. ‘When I slogged through law college, I didn’t imagine I’d end up driving round darkest Liverpool on the graveyard shift ferrying drunks and whores back home.’
‘This is your car?’
‘No. When the partnership crashed, I lost pretty much everything except the shirt on my back. I pay the owner a settle - like a rent - in return for the vehicle and use of the radio. He had a problem with his previous driver.’
‘Yeah?’
‘The lad used to specialise in airport runs, taking people to Manchester to catch night flights. A couple of his customers missed their plane and found someone else to bring them back home. They walked in through the front door and fell over their taxi driver, helping himself to their video recorder and television. Turned out he had a profitable sideline, robbing holidaymakers whilst they were jetting off to warmer climes.’
‘Not Billy Rosler?’ Harry laughed. ‘Small world. I acted for him.’
Brett raised his eyebrows. ‘Got five years, didn’t he?’
‘Can’t win ’em all.’ Harry coughed. ‘So, you enjoy the driving?’
‘It’s something to do. You meet a few people, get to spend time on your own. I like the solitude. There are worse ways of earning a living. But I miss the law. It still fascinates me, the way it’s woven into all our lives. I used to love reading about old murder trials in the days before they abolished the death penalty. Marshall Hall cross-examining defence witnesses to save the life of a client on a capital charge. Those cases had everything.’ Brett added in a whisper, ‘And a life was always at stake.’
Harry pondered. ‘But it’s not actually like that, is it? I spend half my time hanging around in courtroom corridors and filling in forms to keep the Legal Aid Board quiet.’
‘Yes, yes, you’re right. The business of law doesn’t have much to do with justice any more. Perhaps it never did. At least as a cabbie, I can please myself. I’m not beholden to anyone. There’s nobody from Chancery Lane breathing down my neck.’ Brett’s face creased, as if at a painful memory. ‘So where are we heading? The Colonnades?’
‘I’m not in the right income bracket. Try Empire Dock.’
‘Could be worse.’ Brett gave a harsh laugh as he executed an illicit three-point-turn. ‘Beats my place. I’ve rented a bedsit in Toxteth. The woman next door is on the game. She specialises in S and M, does a roaring trade. The crack of her whip and the punters’ groans keep me awake when I’m trying to grab a bit of sleep in the middle of the afternoon. At least if Andrea and I are finished, I’ll have time to catch up on my shut-eye.’
‘Seriously, I don’t think you need worry about Andrea.’
‘I worry a lot about Andrea,’ Brett said. There was a bleak faraway look in his eyes. ‘She’s - temperamental. Sometimes we seem to spend more time quarrelling than in bed together.’ He let out a breath. ‘You know what women are like.’
Do I? He made a non-committal noise which Brett evidently took as assent.
‘Anyway, that’s my problem. You’ve got enough on your mind, I guess, after finding Carl. I heard - that it was gruesome. Some bloke I picked up last night said he’d been talking to a friend of a friend, a civilian who works for Merseyside Police. Story goes, they think it was some kind of ritual killing.’
Harry jerked round in his seat. ‘What sort of ritual?’
‘Search me,’ Brett said quickly. ‘People are saying all kinds of things. Half a dozen passengers must have mentioned it over the last couple of days. Everyone I speak to seems to have heard a different rumour. I thought you’d be the horse’s mouth.’
‘I didn’t hang around to do an autopsy. All I can say for sure is that Carl met a messy end.’
The car radio crackled and a bored woman’s voice asked if anyone was near to Everton Valley. A fare wanted to catch a flight from Speke and had been let down by another cab company. Brett turned the off-switch. ‘No long-bonneting tonight.’
‘What?’
‘Airport runs pay well, even if you don’t burgle the customers’ house once you’ve dropped them. If you’re nowhere near the pick-up point, the temptation is to tell a fib to control and say you are. So you get the job by cracking on that your car’s got a bonnet that stretches all the way to your destination.’ Keeping his eyes on the road, he said, ‘You don’t know whether it’s true, then, that there was something - odd about the killing?’
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
Brett pouted. He had an actor’s smooth profile; easy to understand why Andrea Gibbs had been smitten by him. But every now and then his mouth curved like that of a child deprived of a favourite toy.
‘Listen, Harry. You were there, though God knows why.’
‘It’s a long story. Believe me, when I went into that cottage I had no idea it belonged to Carl Symons.’
‘All right. But if anyone knows whether there’s any truth in all the stories flying around, it’s you. Must be.’
‘Put it like this. I didn’t see any pentangles chalked on the floor. There was no smell of incense, either. The only thing out of the ordinary was a smashed mirror. If you call that extraordi
nary. Bad luck for Carl. And one of the local journalists seems to think it’s interesting, but I’ve no idea why.’
‘Someone had destroyed the mirror?’ Brett’s voice cracked. If it had not been absurd, Harry would have said that he was afraid. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes - but so what?’
Brett flushed. ‘Empire Dock, did you say? It’s coming up on the right.’
‘Why don’t you drive on?’ Harry suggested on impulse. It must be worth trying to find out more. Filling his lungs with high tar for a few minutes was a price he’d have to pay. ‘I’ll see you right on the fare. It’s been ages since we talked.’
‘We never had much in common when I was in practice,’ Brett said. ‘What is there to talk about?’
‘The police gave me a hard enough time yesterday, even though I hardly knew Carl Symons. It’s made me interested in him. You must have known him better than most.’
Brett sucked in his cheeks. Harry hadn’t quite wound his window up and he could hear the plaintive hooting of a vessel in the Mersey. To their right gleamed the lights of Albert Dock. In the distance loomed the buildings of the waterfront. He travelled along this road every day and yet in the dark it always seemed to belong to a foreign landscape. The block of flats where he lived, the massive Lubianka that was the Customs and Excise headquarters. The development around the marina seemed like a ghost town. The city’s different at night. Like the lyric to a catchy song, the phrase hummed in his mind. It came from a film; he could hear Jack Nicholson’s lazy, nasal voice uttering the words. The Two Jakes, that was it.
‘I can’t believe anyone really knew Carl Symons,’ Brett said at last. ‘They say no man is an island. He was the exception that proves the rule.’
‘You had a row with him. Parting company cost you a huge wad of money. The police must have put you through the wringer even more than they did me.’
‘Nothing I couldn’t cope with. Only problem was, I didn’t have the foresight to arrange myself an alibi.’
‘You weren’t working on the evening he was killed?’
First Cut is the Deepest (Harry Devlin) Page 11
