‘Is this some kind of joke?’ Her scorn startled him. ‘Harry Devlin whiling away Midsummer’s Eve with his celebrity chums?’
‘I didn’t mean to start a debate about my social life,’ he snapped.
‘Or your fantasies?’
‘I told you before. Since you and I stopped seeing each other, I’ve moved on.’
‘I’m asking you to take me out to dinner and you come up with the most ridiculous excuse I’ve ever heard.’
‘Sorry you’re not impressed. I’ve been invited to a party, that’s all.’
‘You must be out of…fuck, there’s someone at the door. Casper must have forgotten something.’
‘Yeah, he’s forgotten you two aren’t married any more. Best of luck, Juliet.’
‘I’ll get rid of him.’
‘Good plan.’
‘Give me ten minutes, and I’ll call you back.’
‘Don’t bother.’
‘Harry.’ He pictured her cheeks turning crimson as she fought to keep her temper. ‘Listen to me.’
‘It’s too late for that, Juliet.’
‘You don’t understand.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. Enjoy Midsummer’s Eve.’
He rang off before she could put the phone down on him.
***
He called the hospital, seeking news of Ceri rather than Jim. Beyond learning that she was still alive, he found out nothing about her condition or chances of survival. A weary nurse came close to telling him he had no right to intrude. Ceri might have addressed her suicide note to him, but he had no claim on her.
Would she want to be saved? Even if she made it, the overdose might have damaged her permanently. No chance now of covering up her complicity in the murder of Lee Welch. She didn’t deserve to escape retribution—she was the Coroner, she should strive for justice and truth, not put her own selfish interests ahead of common humanity. What Tom had done to Lee, let alone Kay Cheung, was savage and inexcusable. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to loathe Ceri for her weakness. Everyone was fallible. One disaster in her life had led to another, simple as that.
If Ceri survived, he couldn’t imagine the hell she would endure. Someone who had commanded such respect and envy could never come to terms with humiliation and disgrace. One grey morning, he supposed, a prison officer would unlock the door of her cell, and find she’d finally succeeded in killing herself. Happened all the time. Fred West and Harold Shipman were only the tip of the iceberg. In these civilised days, there was no need for public executioners—it was left to murderers’ initiative to hang themselves.
The phone rang again. Bloody Juliet. He ground his teeth, rehearsing his riposte if she harped on about Midsummer’s Eve.
Half-way across the room, he stopped in his tracks. Suppose it was Juliet who haunted him, teasing him with that forecast of his death on Midsunmer’s Eve? She lived in John Newton House, it would be simplicity itself to drop into the office last Monday morning and leave the mock-obituary for him to find. A resident in the block could easily nip down to the fifth floor and trash his room when no-one else was around.
To think that she might betray him filled him with nausea. They’d cared for each other once, what motive could she have? He couldn’t believe she was jealous, simply because he’d taken a pretty girl to the Stapledon for a drink. Juliet had so much, it would be absurd for her to envy a wannabe actress who’d ended up as a cleaning lady.
Besides, the note about Midsummer’s Eve arrived before she’d bumped into him in Gina Paget’s company. If Juliet hated him, there must be some other reason.
The answering machine kicked in.
‘This is Wayne.’ He sounded as though the stress of preparing for the party had stretched his nerves. ‘Sorry to nag, but I thought I’d better ring to check you haven’t forgotten…’
Harry grabbed the receiver. ‘Sorry. I was…in the other room.’
‘Are you all right? You sound frazzled.’
‘It’s been…quite a day.’
‘Your mobile’s been switched off this afternoon and you were out earlier on,’ Wayne reproached him. ‘I left a message asking you to give me a ring.’
Harry hadn’t noticed the machine blinking red when he’d arrived back home and collapsed on to the bed. After seeing Tom shot and finding Ceri on the verge of death, the last thing on his mind was who might have called.
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll give the party a miss. With Jim in hospital, there’s so much to do.’
‘You’re not on the duty solicitor roster this weekend, Sylvia told me. Do come, I’ve told Tamara all about you. She’s looking forward to seeing you. My old boss, she can’t believe it.’
Neither did Harry. No way would Tamara Dighton have the slightest interest in meeting a downmarket Liverpool brief. Wayne simply couldn’t help shooting a line. This was all about Wayne’s ego, Harry was sure. Look at me, you once said I’d never make it in the legal profession, but look at us now. I’ve made a success of my life. I have all the money I need and a gorgeous lover too.
‘Honestly, I’m knackered. I’d be embarrassed to meet all your smart friends and then nod off in a corner after the first drink.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time you’d embarrassed yourself.’
‘Nothing personal, but I need to chill out for an hour or two. Tell you what, if I feel less like a zombie after I’ve had a kip, I’ll show up at the penthouse later. Okay?’
‘The party isn’t at the penthouse,’ Wayne said, with exaggerated patience. ‘I told you, I want this to be a surprise. If you like, I’ll give you a lift there.’
‘Thanks. I’ll give you a ring if I’m up for it.’
‘See you later, then.’
The moment Wayne rang off, Harry felt his conscience nag. He wasn’t in the mood for socialising, but the man had saved Jim’s life and he owed him for that. If Wayne wanted to brag about his rich and glamorous lifestyle, where was the harm?
The phone trilled again. He glared at it, and didn’t move.
On the answering machine, Juliet’s voice sounded loud and bossy, reminding him of a long-ago history teacher he’d irked through his vague grasp of the causes of the Civil War.
‘Harry, will you pick up the phone?’ Even a bad line couldn’t muffle the harshness of her tone. ‘I know you’re there.’
He folded his arms. Time for Juliet to get it into her skull that he wasn’t going to dance to her tune. He pictured her lips forming into a thin, angry line.
‘I’ve got rid of Casper. He wanted me to sign some papers, that’s all. Come on, answer the bloody phone. Are you afraid I’ve turned into some kind of stalker?’
‘Well,’ he muttered to himself, ‘now you mention it…’
‘You shouldn’t do this, you make me feel as though I’m a sad old bitch, with nothing better to do than chase after something that died long ago.’
He shrugged at the phone. Whatever her game, he wasn’t playing.
‘I like you, Harry. We can still be friends. It hurts me to see you being taken for a fool.’
Provoked, he snatched the receiver.
‘Juliet, it’s over.’
‘You don’t understand what I’m trying to tell you.’
‘And you’re not listening to me. No hard feelings, but I don’t think we should see each other any more.’
The bell rang as she started to speak.
‘Sorry, I have to go.’
‘Don’t you dare hang up!’
For the second time in half an hour, he banged down the phone on her. Through the spyhole in the door, he saw Gina. She was wearing a blue corduroy cap, stripey top and microscopic skirt.
As he opened the door, she grinned and said, ‘Like the outfit?’
‘Makes a change from the white overall. You look like one of David Hemmings’ girls in Blow Up.’
‘Never heard of him, but I’ll take it as a compliment.’
‘He was a beautiful young man and the film was a classic
of sixties cinema.’
‘Fascinating.’ She mimed a yawn. ‘Are you inviting me in, or what?’
‘Sorry, come through.’ He led the way into the living room. ‘It’s great to see you.’
‘I like your flat.’ She tossed her cap to one side, kicked off her shoes and jumped on to the sofa overlooking the Mersey panorama. ‘Oh my God, what a fantastic view.’
He dragged his gaze away from her slender, bare legs.
‘Too right. So what brings you here?’
‘My Saturday job. I’m a guide on the Swinging Sixties Tour. We start at the Cavern Club and finish up by the Yellow Submarine in Albert Dock.’
He blinked. ‘How many jobs do you have?’
‘Got to keep the wolf from the door. The pay’s better for going out with randy old men. But I’d rather skivvy than live on a fat executive’s credit card. Besides, this is a lot less dangerous.’
‘The man who killed your friend is dead.’
She nodded. ‘Lee can rest in peace at last. I heard the news on the radio before I came out. Good riddance, that’s what I say. The tourists started getting twitchy when they saw the police cars at the Salthouse. I did my best to persuade them that murder isn’t an occupational hazard in downtown Liverpool.’
‘It’s sorted now.’
‘You’re pale. Is anything wrong?’
‘I was on the spot when the murderer cut his own throat.’
Her eyes widened, making her look like a startled fourteen-year old. Those dodgy film-makers in Soho must have loved her innocence. Thank God she’d escaped from them and come home to Liverpool.
‘You poor thing.’
‘His name was Tom Gunter. Once upon a time, I acted for him. He was recommended to me by a girl I knew. His partner, Kay Cheung. Tom murdered her as well as Lee.’
‘Don’t forget the other girl, Denise.’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Someone else killed her.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘It’s a long story.’
He would not say a word about Ceri. Right now he wanted to forget what had happened and just enjoy Gina’s company.
She stretched luxuriantly on the sofa. ‘I’m not in a hurry.’
‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘Any chance of a glass of wine? After two hours of being nice to tourists with hearing aids, I could do with a drink.’
‘The best I can do is supermarket Chablis, I’m afraid.’
‘Fine by me.’
She followed him into the kitchen and chattered as he faffed around in search of a corkscrew. ‘So this is your bachelor pad? Your own private kingdom. Bet you love coming back here and getting away from it all.’
‘How did you know where I lived?’
‘You told me you had a flat in Empire Dock. The chap on the desk downstairs gave me directions. I think he took a shine to me.’
‘When you’re wearing a skirt as short as a belt, it would take a monk not to tell you anything you wanted to know.’
‘Depends on the monk,’ she grinned. ‘I think Victor Creepy would be immune to my charms, don’t you?’
He poured the drinks. ‘What brings you here?’
‘I was at a loose end and I didn’t have anything else to do. Sorry, does that sound unkind? I didn’t mean it.’ She sampled the wine. ‘I just thought I’d see if you were around. But I’ll piss off if you’re busy.’
‘Does it look like it?’ He breathed out. ‘Hey, I’m really glad you came. Though you should be swanning off with some hunk who’s half my age.’
‘I ditched the last hunk ten days ago. He didn’t understand, sometimes I just want to talk.’
‘Talking’s all I’m good for, right now.’
Back in the living room, he fished a John Lennon CD out of the rack. Mind Games. After his conversations with Juliet, it seemed appropriate. The woman was trying to mess with his head, but he couldn’t figure out why. As Gina talked about her plans for the future, he half-expected the phone to ring again, but by the time he’d finished his first glass of wine, he’d begun to relax. He needed to put Tom and Ceri out of his head. Maybe Gina would accompany him to the party Wayne was throwing for Tamara. But a quiet meal in Albert Dock and a few more drinks appealed even more.
Out the Blue was playing when the doorbell rang.
‘Expecting a visitor?’ Gina asked.
‘Probably the bloke in the next door flat. He moved in a month ago and he keeps borrowing my speakers. Can’t imagine why he doesn’t buy a set himself, he’s loaded.’
‘Perhaps he’s lonely.’
‘He’s a party animal, out every night of the week.’
‘People aren’t always the way they seem. Take it from me, I’m a cleaning lady. I see life in the raw.’
The bell shrilled again, loud and insistent.
‘Better see what he wants.’
Harry didn’t bother to check the spyhole. Big mistake. As the door opened, he found himself staring at Juliet. Never had a trout pout looked so menacing. She swung her silver handbag as a constable might twirl his truncheon.
‘Since you hung up on me twice, I thought I’d better turn up in person.’
‘This isn’t a good time.’
She made an exasperated noise and stuck a foot in his door. ‘This will only take five minutes. Then I’ll piss off out of your life forever, if that’s what you want.’
All things considered, it wasn’t a bad offer. But there was a snag.
‘I’m not alone.’
‘Let me guess.’ The elegant eyebrows arched. ‘The Premises Regeneration Executive is paying a visit?’
‘She’s a friend.’
‘Is that why you took an hour to answer the door, because you were scrambling back into your pants?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Frankly, my dear, I couldn’t give a damn. You see, I’m not quite the jealous old maid that you take me for.’
‘It’s not that…’
‘Five minutes is all I ask. There’s something you need to know.’
‘You win.’ He stood to one side and waved her through. ‘Five minutes it is.’
She marched into the living room as Gina started to fill the two glasses from the wine bottle. Her gaze measured the younger woman’s legs, took in the scattered shoes and corduroy cap.
‘Very cosy.’
Gina offered a teacher’s pet smile. ‘Mrs. May. You still use your married name, don’t you? Harry, can you fetch another glass?’
‘I’m not stopping.’ Juliet was glacial. ‘No wine, thanks all the same. Sorry to interrupt your tete a tete.’
‘What is it you wanted to tell me?’ Harry asked.
‘This stuff about Tamara’s party. You were making it up, were you? An easy way to fob me off when I suggested we might get together?’
‘Nonsense. Wayne invited me along. He and I go back a long way. He used to work for us before he took up consultancy.’
‘What sort of a consultancy?’
‘Usual kind. Charges people a fortune to tell them what they already know.’
‘He’s taking you for a ride.’
‘He spouts a lot of bullshit, sure. It’s part of the job description. Don’t worry, Jim and I know what he’s like.’
‘You think so?’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘If he’s told you that Tamara’s his latest squeeze, then he’s having a laugh.’
‘You mean she’s dumped him?’
‘Harry, get real. Why would Tamara Dighton, a woman who can take her pick, look twice at a sleazeball like Wayne Saxelby?’
‘It takes all sorts.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. Casper introduced me to Tamara when she came to look round John Newton House. She was with a drop-dead gorgeous Greek footballer who plays for one of the big clubs. She told us that she wouldn’t move in for a while because she’d be filming in the Caribbean. Wayne never lived with her in that penthouse.’
‘He
lives there now.’
‘Only until tomorrow.’
Harry stared. ‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously. Tamara told Casper and me about it. Wayne turned up at some press conference she gave. Said he was a businessman with a sideline as a backer of independent films. He wanted to spend a quiet fortnight down by the waterfront in Liverpool, researching potential storylines and cutting a few deals. According to Tamara, he hated hotels, and preferred to be on his own in a luxury apartment. Long story short, he persuaded her to let him take care of her brand new flat while she was away.’
‘And she agreed?’
‘Why not? He wasn’t asking for money, and didn’t seem short of it. She hadn’t got round to filling the place with prized possessions so there was nothing to steal. It suited her to have someone keeping an eye on the place while it stood empty. She’s nervous about security.’
‘Jesus.’ Harry’s throat was dry. ‘You’re saying Wayne is a glorified house-sitter?’
‘Got it in one.’
He shook his head, remembering the bareness of the penthouse when Wayne had let him in through the balcony window. He’d put it down to a fashionably minimalist taste in interior décor.
‘And she didn’t check up on him?’
‘Did you and Jim?’
‘That’s different.’
‘Don’t kid yourself. I’ve talked to him myself, don’t forget. He’s a plausible charmer, knows exactly what buttons to press. Chutzpah takes you a long way in this life. He told Tamara he wanted to keep a low profile while he was in Liverpool. Never mind Capital of Culture, he said, this is a city of vultures. He reckoned a bunch of losers and wannabes would pester him for investment if they knew he was sniffing around, with money to spend.’
Harry shifted from foot to foot. ‘Even if Wayne was lying when he said he and Tamara were an item, why would…?’
‘I told you, Midsummer’s Eve just happens to be his last night in the penthouse. Tamara isn’t due back for another week. I asked Casper for her mobile number. Call her if you want, check this out for yourself.’
‘I might just do that.’
‘The real question is this. Why would Wayne Saxelby invite you to a homecoming party for someone he hardly knows, and who isn’t even coming home?’
Midsummer’s Eve, Harry thought, it keeps coming back to Midsummer’s Eve. The words that had haunted him since Monday last hummed in his brain.
Waterloo Sunset: A Lake District Mystery #4 (Lake District Mysteries) Page 27
