First Cut is the Deepest (Harry Devlin)

by Edwards, Martin

  ‘You got on all right with one of the partners.’

  ‘Oh, Brett was the exception. Not just because he was sweet, but because he treated me like a real person. Someone who mattered. Mind you, by the time the firm collapsed, the other two were treating him with as much contempt as they treated me.’

  ‘So you didn’t hit it off with Nerys Horlock?’

  ‘She didn’t have any time for academic lawyers. I think she had a chip on her shoulder because she came from the back streets of Liverpool and struggled to pass her degree. Maybe that’s why she became a workaholic. She was constantly sneering at me, trying to take me down a peg. When she found out about Brett and me, she hit the roof. She even accused me of wanting to sleep my way to the top. As if. She simply didn’t understand me. I’m not ambitious, I just made the mistake of deciding to become a lawyer.’

  ‘And it was a mistake?’

  ‘At least it pays the rent. But I can’t see myself staying on the end of a phone line for much longer.’

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘God knows,’ she said softly. ‘I certainly don’t.’

  ‘And you say that Carl Symons was just as bad as Nerys?’

  She flinched. ‘Worse. He was - horrible.’

  There was no mistaking her physical revulsion. She wasn’t, he felt sure, simply referring to Symons’ ugliness. He wanted to probe more deeply, but instinct told him that he needed to take care. Carmel and Brett had already warned him that she was highly strung as well as bright.

  ‘Must have been difficult for you when the whole business went belly-up.’

  ‘Brett was the one who really suffered. It broke my heart to see what he went through. He tried so hard to make a go of it. I felt so helpless. There was a lot he didn’t tell me, I’m sure of that. He took it all on himself. I simply couldn’t get through to him. For a long time I thought we would be sure to drift apart.’

  ‘But you didn’t?’

  ‘He’d lost his house, he’d been working in the tribunal on a commission basis, but in the end he had to give up even that. He was depressed, he was taking happy pills - much good that they did him. I did my best to care for him. I won’t say we haven’t had a few stormy exchanges since then. I suppose we’re both emotional people. We have highs, but there are plenty of lows as well.’

  Harry recalled Brett’s hoarse voice, his claim that Andrea was killing him. ‘And you’re both out of private practice.’

  ‘My training stint made me realise I simply couldn’t bear it. As soon as I was qualified, I found myself a proper job.’

  ‘Answering phone calls about consumer disputes in the small hours?’

  She shrugged. ‘At least I’m working at night. It suits me best. I’m an owl, not a lark. I can make enough to get by, then spend the rest of my time as I please. No office politics, no clients to see. Just the voices of people I’ll never meet.’

  He smiled, trying to put her at her ease. ‘On second thoughts, I see the attraction. Perhaps I should apply. But you didn’t come here to talk about life on the helpline.’

  ‘No.’ She cast her eyes down. ‘I caught sight of you in the car with Brett last night. I was hiding in a shop doorway, feeling like a criminal.’

  ‘He offered me a lift home from the Titanic Rooms. I’d followed you out and couldn’t help seeing the little contretemps with Rick Spendlove.’

  She said tightly, ‘Brett got the wrong idea.’

  ‘I tried to tell him that.’

  ‘He didn’t believe you, though, did he? He’s jealous. If I so much as look at another man, he imagines I’m about to embark on an affair.’

  ‘At least he cares.’

  ‘He and I have the same fault. We care too much.’ She swallowed. ‘Did you have much of a conversation?’

  ‘We finished up at his place, had a few drinks. Pity I didn’t stay longer.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘You know Nerys is dead?’

  Her pallor was like a mask, he thought. She inclined her head and said, ‘On the radio, they are suggesting her death was suspicious. Murder and arson, by the sound of it.’

  ‘Uh-huh. And that’s the problem. Two of Brett’s partners have been killed and he doesn’t have an alibi. As for me, I discovered Carl’s body and chose the wrong moment to pay a visit to Nerys’s office this afternoon. The police have half an idea I was revisiting the scene of my crime.’

  ‘At least you haven’t a motive for killing either of them. With Brett, it’s different.’ She had started to tremble again, he noticed. ‘And now he’s disappeared.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Harry glanced at the clock. Brett’s shift should have finished an hour ago. ‘Is he still out in the Sierra?’

  ‘It’s not that. I checked with the owner. Brett should have taken the car back yesterday morning. He didn’t - and he didn’t get in touch all day. He’s switched off the radio, he’s out of contact.’

  ‘Don’t you have any idea where he is?’

  ‘I turned up at his place yesterday evening, on my way into work. All I wanted to do was to say sorry for the night before - to explain that things weren’t the way they looked. There wasn’t a sign of him. I’ve called all through the night, but his number just keeps ringing out.’ She leaned forward in her chair. ‘I’m worried, Mr Devlin. That’s why I looked up your address. You were the last person I’d seen with him. I thought you might know where he is.’

  ‘I met him again yesterday afternoon. He came round to my office, wanting to talk about Nerys Horlock.’

  ‘How was he?’ she asked urgently.

  Harry grimaced. ‘Of course he was uptight. Carl and Nerys have died in mysterious circumstances within the space of a few days. Frankly, Brett is either a prime suspect or a prospective victim.’

  She flinched as if he’d slapped her face. ‘Did he - did he say where he would be going after he left you?’

  ‘No, but listen. My guess is, he’s decided to get away from it all for a while and he’s made use of the car to do it. It’s too early to send out the search parties. Depend on it, he’ll soon be back.’

  She closed her eyes. ‘I hope you’re right.’

  He looked at her curiously. ‘You hated Carl and Nerys. So did Brett. Why in God’s name did he go in with them in the first place?’

  ‘He told me it seemed too good a chance to miss, would you believe? He’d set his heart on making a success out of his career and he thought he’d hit on the right formula. Carl always worked hard, there was no problem there. Nerys wanted to win every case she fought. I can’t pretend they were bad lawyers. I could have learned a lot from them myself, if I’d wanted to sell my soul. The one thing they did teach me was that I didn’t want to be like them. Perhaps I should be grateful.’

  She stared at her long sharp fingernails. He couldn’t guess what was passing through her mind, but now was the moment to solve the conundrum that had been teasing him.

  ‘You called me the other day,’ he said gently.

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry I rang off. I lost my nerve.’

  ‘That’s okay. Can you tell me why you phoned?’

  She nodded. ‘Of course. I almost mentioned it when I saw you at the Titanic Rooms. Someone is checking up on you.’

  ‘The police?’ Harry asked with a frown.

  ‘No. At least, he doesn’t look like a policeman. I can’t believe he has any official status. I did wonder if he was an inquiry agent, but that didn’t add up either. His investigative technique is pretty amateurish, to say the least.’

  Harry was nonplussed. He wasn’t accustomed to being inquired about. ‘What’s he checking on?’

  ‘He was asking about you the other day at the Legal Group offices. I’d called in there first thing, to look up the small print of the Consumer Credit Act. I’d answered a call about the legislation the previous night and on second thoughts I wasn’t happy with the advice I’d given. I overheard him trying to pump Pamela, the receptionist.’

  ‘
What can you tell me about this character?’

  She described her first encounter with Daniel Roberts. ‘He’s tall, early forties, has a Welsh accent. He - he bothered me. I can’t explain, but Pamela felt the same. I couldn’t believe that he was simply intending to consult you for legal advice. It was you he was interested in.’

  ‘Perhaps I should be flattered.’

  ‘Ten minutes after he left, he phoned Pamela from a call box. Apparently he was trying to find out where you lived. It was rather clumsy. He tried to pretend that he knew you had a house near Sefton Park when it was obvious he hadn’t a clue and was simply fishing for information. He made Pamela feel uneasy. She didn’t tell him anything, but she rang me to let me know. I said one of us ought to mention it to you and she asked me if I’d give you a ring. But as soon as I got through, I realised how absurd you’d find it. I didn’t have anything definite to tell you. You’d probably write me off as hopelessly neurotic.’

  Neurotic? Well, yes, Harry didn’t have much doubt about that. But not hopeless. She struck him as perceptive. If she thought there was something strange about the Welshman, she was probably right.

  ‘Another thing. I caught sight of him again outside the Titanic Rooms before the seminar. The night Nerys Horlock was murdered. He was on the other side of the street. It was as if he’d stationed himself there, so that he could watch out for you. I was just behind as you were going in and he had his eyes fixed on you so firmly he didn’t even see that I’d spotted him.’

  Harry was baffled. ‘Are you sure about this?’

  She flushed. ‘I promise, I’m not making it up. When I heard about Nerys Horlock, I realised my first reaction was right. I had to warn you.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Someone is killing solicitors. This man seems to be interested in - God I don’t know - stalking you? You need to be aware.’

  ‘If only I’d realised,’ Harry said, trying to make light of it. ‘I might have offered him my autograph.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s a laughing matter,’ she said, banging her mug down so hard on the table that the coffee splashed over the carpet. ‘I owed it to you to tell you what I saw. Of course, your mind may already be made up. Perhaps you do think Brett is guilty after all. And I suppose you’ve decided I’m just another hysterical bitch.’

  ‘No, it’s just that…’

  She stood up and waved a hand to silence him. ‘Don’t bother to deny it. I can see it on your face. You think I’m unbalanced. Worrying about Brett’s disappearance one minute. Imagining you have a secret pursuer the next. I see it now, it was a mistake to come here. Let’s forget I’ve said anything, shall we?’

  She turned and walked rapidly out of the room. Harry swore under his breath, then hurried after her.

  ‘Wait a minute. I didn’t mean…’

  The outside door slammed in his face. He hesitated, wondering whether to follow her outside again. But this time, he guessed, she would not be persuaded back.

  Chapter Fourteen

  How best to destroy those who exist as the un-dead? This I have made the study of a lifetime. I have pored over ancient manuscripts until the small hours and travelled far to speak in unfamiliar tongues with those who have encountered the enemy and survived to tell the tale, striving all the while to disentangle fact from folklore, myth and legend.

  Fire is, I have learned, amongst the most potent of the hunter’s weapons. Fire is for ever hungry. In its greed it will devour everything that stands in its way. There is no reasoning with the flames. I dread their fury. Yet as I watched from a safe distance as the red tongue of the blaze licked and gorged on its prize, I could not suppress a thrill of exultation. I had become a conqueror again. I had vanquished another enemy.

  Daniel Roberts rubbed his itching eyes as he mulled over the Journal. He’d been straining to read by the inadequate light of the old lamp. Even though sleep had remained elusive as always, he was weary and the words kept jumbling together in his mind, so that nothing he wrote in his small cramped hand seemed to make sense any more. Yet he could not give up now. He must have faith, he must keep going.

  The cottage was built out of stone and roofed with slate from the quarry at Blaneau. It offered rudimentary cover from the elements, little more. He’d been told that a shepherd had lived here once. Shepherds were hardy souls, but he was no less resilient. In the height of summer the cottage was cool, a refreshing spot in which to take refuge from the sun, but as soon as the leaves began to fall, he could feel the draughts coursing through the dimly lit rooms. Yet they did not trouble him and when winter came he would take no notice of either the bitter chill or the damp. Comfort meant nothing to him.

  He yawned and stretched his arms as the old clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour. He glanced round the room, taking in the uneven floor with its rush matting cover and the whitewashed walls. The furniture was ancient, the decoration minimal. His tastes were ascetic; in another life, he might have been a monk. There were no cushions here, no soft fabrics. The only personal touches were to be found on the single shelf above the clock, in the row of old books. The titles were as familiar to him as the names of the authors: Le Fanu, Summers and Stoker. He had inherited the clock, the lamp and the books and he would never be parted from them, but otherwise he had little interest in material possessions. He needed the bare essentials of existence; anything else was an encumbrance.

  His mind strayed to the path he had embarked upon. There was no question of turning back. Once he finished working at the truck stop, he was answerable to no-one and could come and go as he pleased. Few people were even aware of this tiny place, tucked away on an isolated mountain slope, and the remoteness of the spot suited him well. He prized his privacy and he had always taken care to safeguard it. His home might be small, but it was his castle and he allowed no visitors to step inside. No tradesmen called; mail was delivered to the box at the bottom of the hill and he bought his milk from the garage shop. Several times Rhodri had suggested they have a night in together, just the two of them plus a few beers. But Daniel had always said no.

  Once Daniel had overheard Rhodri suggesting to Bronwen that there was something odd in the way he kept himself to himself. Not natural, like. Her reply had been in keeping with her robust character.

  ‘Just ’cause he’s not the same as you, Rhodri Nash, that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with him.’

  ‘Oh aye. Fancy him, do you?’

  ‘No,’ she’d said tersely. ‘But I do feel sorry for him. He seems so alone.’

  Standing on the other side of the partition that divided the garage from the kiosk, Daniel had frowned. She was right, of course. He had always felt different. Somehow apart from other men, isolated and insecure. Yet it seemed right to stay that way. He had no urge to mix with others.

  He recalled eavesdropping on that conversation now, as he climbed off his wooden chair and leaned on the window sill. The room looked out up the hillside. Feeble rays of November sun were crawling in through the gaps in the blinds. He opened the window and breathed in the moist morning air. He’d always loved the peace and quiet amidst the mountains, would never have dreamed of disturbing it with a crackling radio or television with a fuzzy screen. There was no-one to threaten his reveries here. Even on bright days the chirping of the birds seemed subdued and when the squirrels jumped from tree to tree they scarcely made a sound.

  Closing his eyes, he pictured Harry Devlin shambling into the Titanic Rooms. Harry wasn’t how he’d imagined: tall, lithe and brisk. There was a dogged set to the jaw but the corrugated brow belonged to a man accustomed to being taken aback by the way things kept turning out. Although he did not know it, Daniel reflected grimly, a fresh shock was in store for him.

  He’d discovered Harry’s address through the simple expedient of checking the phone book. It listed H. Devlin, Solr at an address in the Empire Dock - presumably a block of flats by the riverside. There had been no need to make that crass call to the Leg
al Group offices. A childish spur-of-the-moment error. Daniel hoped that he hadn’t alarmed the woman to whom he’d spoken. The last thing he wanted was for her to alert Harry, provoke his curiosity about the identity of the middle-aged stranger who was trying to track him down. Harry would be wasting time if he started to wonder what it was all about. He would never guess.

  Daniel picked up the Journal and put it carefully away in the battered sideboard. The time was drawing near when at last he would meet Harry face to face. He could not postpone the encounter indefinitely. Their fates were intertwined. Blood bound them together.

  After Andrea’s departure, Harry’s morning passed in a haze. He spent a couple of hours loafing around in his flat, determined not to let what she had said start bothering him. At least her visit had taken his mind off Peter Blackwell and the prospect that he might blow the gaff to Casper May. He ploughed through the newspapers, trying not too worry too much about whether there was going to be another economic recession. He’d scarcely noticed that the country had recovered from the last one. There were a couple of columns about Nerys Horlock’s death - a London-based editor could discount the killing of a single Liverpool solicitor as just one of those things, but a second murder in quick succession had the makings of a circulation-booster - but the report was as excitable as it was uninformative.

  When he started turning his mind to the prospect of lunch, he discovered he was out of food, so he drove to a supermarket and pushed a squeaking trolley round and round the maze of aisles. From time to time he glanced at the faces of his fellow shoppers, their concentration intense as they checked discounts and calculated the points they might earn on their loyalty cards. He let them dodge past and thought about murder as he plucked tins and packets from the shelves at random. Perhaps he should be on his guard all the time. Any moment now, Andrea Gibbs’s Welshman might emerge from behind a pyramid of cans of peaches.