The Devil in Disguise

by Martin Edwards

  ‘This is a surprise,’ he said. ‘I’ve left a couple of messages for Jonah on the answering machine but he hasn’t got back to me. I wondered if something was wrong.’

  ‘There is,’ she said, following him into his room. ‘He’s in the Royal.’

  Harry’s stomach lurched. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Heart attack,’ she said thickly, pulling a tissue from the pocket of her coat. ‘Too many of those bloody cheap cigarettes. He complained of chest pains when we had a meal together at the weekend. Six hours later he was in intensive care.’

  Harry swore. ‘How is he?’

  ‘Oh, he’ll pull through. They put him back in a normal ward yesterday. The doctor says he’s as tough as old boots.’

  The relief made Harry grin. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you needed a medical expert to tell you that. But I must visit him later on today. If he’s up to it.’

  ‘He’d like that. Though he’d never admit as much. I went to see him this morning. For the first time, he’d started to complain. His pillow wasn’t comfortable and the breakfast hadn’t been up to much. He couldn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed a full-scale fry-up. I took that as a good sign.’ Stephanie passed her tongue across her lips. ‘But things will have to change. He’ll have to take things easy for a while.’

  ‘Better wear protective clothing when you break the news to him.’

  For the first time, she smiled. ‘Oh, if anyone can handle him, I can.’

  ‘I bet you’re right. The answering machine was quite a coup.’

  ‘Hard work, believe me.’ She leaned forward. ‘But then, I’m not afraid of that. And now Jonah will be forced to trust me with assignments more demanding than serving writs and keeping tabs on errant husbands. Which brings me to Vera Blackhurst.’

  ‘What’s the latest? The trustees would be thrilled if you discovered she’d just finished a five-stretch in Holloway Prison.’

  ‘I bet. At least I’m beginning to make progress through talking to people she met while she was working with Charles. There are one or two leads. She knows North Wales well, for example, and she once let slip that she lived in Colwyn Bay for a number of years. I’m planning to go over there on Saturday afternoon to find out precisely what she got up to there. I gather she may have grown up in Cheshire.’

  ‘I realise Jonah’s illness will slow the inquiry down.’

  ‘Thanks, but I do want to be professional about this. The show must go on and all that. I’d hate to let any client down after I’ve only been in the business five minutes. Especially such a high-profile client as the Kavanaugh Trust.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Besides, the trustees probably feel they are too high-profile for their own good at the moment. You heard about Luke Dessaur?’

  She nodded and a smile began to spread against her face, though he guessed she was trying to suppress it.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘You want the honest answer?’

  ‘Usually,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘It’s just that when Jonah mentioned Dessaur’s death to me, he said, “Ten to one, Harry will start poking his nose in where it isn’t wanted”.’

  Her mimicry of her uncle’s gruff tones was startlingly accurate and Harry laughed out loud. He was beginning to realise that it would be a mistake to underestimate this young woman.

  ‘He was right, as usual.’ He hesitated. ‘And the fact is, the further I’ve poked my nose in, the more I’ve become convinced there is something to smell.’

  ‘Such as?’

  Almost without realising it, he found himself relating the whole story. By the time he was finished, Stephanie’s eyes were rounder and larger than ever. ‘So what do you intend to do?’

  ‘What can I do? The body has been buried, there’s no forensic evidence to prove that Luke was murdered. Nor will there ever be.’

  She frowned. ‘Surely you won’t be content to let it go at that?’

  ‘Well,’ he admitted. ‘I thought I might ask a few questions. Perhaps talk to the trustees away from the formality of the board meetings. See whether or not Ashley is barking up the wrong tree.’

  ‘That’s more like it.’ She smiled. ‘Jonah’s told me about you. One thing he always says is this: you never give up. He once even described you as one of the stubbornest buggers he’d ever met. You should be flattered. It’s the highest praise he can bestow.’

  He laughed. ‘Look, I must sort out a few things here before I go to visit him. And one other thing.’

  ‘Yes?’

  Forget Jim and his disapproval, he thought. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to come over to Colwyn Bay with you at the weekend.’

  She stared, unsure whether to be offended. ‘Thanks, but I really don’t need a chaperon.’

  ‘I’m sure you don’t,’ he said hastily. ‘That wasn’t what I meant at all. But I’ve always been fascinated by detectives - and I’m dying to find out the truth about Vera Blackhurst’s past. I’d never have had the courage to ask Jonah if I could accompany him.’

  She took her glasses off and gave him a smile which transformed her earnest face. ‘I can imagine what he would have said. Of course, I’d be glad of the company. And I can pick your brains about the law on the journey. For my exam.’ She giggled at his bafflement. ‘I’m taking a course in private investigation.’

  ‘Jesus. What happened to the glamorous life of the gumshoe?’

  She gave his scuffed Hush Puppies an appraising glance. ‘Same as happened to the wealthy lifestyle of the Liverpudlian lawyer, I expect.’

  Chapter 10

  The Labour Club’s wizened doorkeeper looked as if he’d been around since the days of the Tolpuddle Martyrs and found little to smile about in the intervening years. He sat on a wobbly plastic chair behind a Formica-topped table. Behind his head, a huge orange poster with black lettering announced that The Great Timothy was appearing tonight. Even in this stronghold of socialism, there was a place for private enterprise: a placard on the table offered the cheapest tinned tobacco on Merseyside. But the doorman’s demeanour reminded Harry of a picket outside the dock gates, constantly on the look-out for scabs trying to scuttle past. When Harry and Kim registered in the book for non-members, he pored over their signatures with thinly veiled suspicion.

  Kim watched him with barely suppressed amusement and, when they had finally escaped his clutches, she linked her arm with Harry’s and whispered, ‘He probably suspects you of being a spy from Conservative Central Office.’

  He handed their coats to a girl on cloakroom duty. ‘Being in the company of the honourable Matthew Cullinan must have rubbed off on me. By the way, I’ve been asked to a select dinner party with Matthew and his lady love. They suggested I bring a guest, but I thought you...’

  ‘From what little you’ve told me of the honourable Matthew, I’d rather pass,’ she said. ‘It’s years since the one and only time I made the mistake of attending a dinner party for toffs. I had a brief relationship with a solicitor who worked in-house for one of the big printing companies. He was invited to his boss’s mansion over on the Wirral and took me along. Our very first date, would you believe? God, it was an experience I’ll never forget. Five hours of small-talk about private school fees and goings-on in the local Tory Association.’

  ‘End of a beautiful friendship?’ he asked as the girl returned from her inner sanctum and handed him a receipt.

  ‘Not all that beautiful,’ Kim said. ‘I’m afraid you’ll be better off taking someone else.’

  They entered the concert room. The stage was in darkness but the place was filling up and a crowd had already gathered at the bar. As Harry waited to be served, he glanced at the silent television in the corner. A handful of people were clustered around it, watching a boxing match on a satellite channel. He looked around. The walls were festooned
with notices. Do Not Walk On The Dance Floor When The Artiste Is Performing. Anyone Found Bringing Their Food Or Drink On To The Premises Will Be Ejected. No Swearing. No Dogs. Have You Paid Your Annual Subscription Yet?

  ‘Takes me back to my schooldays,’ Kim said when the drinks had been bought. ‘My father used to be the steward in a club exactly like this. I spent my formative years watching housewives playing bingo, throwing my pocket money away on the one-armed bandits, eavesdropping on the gossip about the latest scandal, the latest bit of in-fighting between committee members.’

  Harry grinned. He’d found Jonah in characteristically crusty form that afternoon and it had lifted his spirits to see that the old curmudgeon was on the mend. ‘These places are all the same. My old man used to be the coach at a non-league football club. When I was a boy, he used to give me coins to keep me occupied on the jukebox whilst he chewed the fat with his cronies.’

  ‘So we have something in common, apart from the law?’

  ‘More than maybe either of us realise.’

  Quickly, too quickly for Harry’s liking, she returned to her original theme. ‘I remember that every now and then I would spot the Member of Parliament popping his head round the door once his constituency surgery was done for the week. He’d have a quick look to see if there was anyone he needed to be pleasant to. If not, he’d do a bunk faster than you could say “train to London paid for by the tax-payer”. Leaving the local barons to rule the roost. See the four men huddled over there? Members of the committee, bound to be. Conspiring against someone, I expect.’

  Harry laughed. ‘I’d expect nothing less of political animals.’

  ‘Believe me, the Tories won’t be the target. In any group of people, the enemy within is always the real danger. The committee may have no time for the Matthew Cullinans of this world, but the people they really hate are the comrades who cross their paths on their own territory.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me more?’ Harry asked gently.

  She took another sip from her drink. ‘My father was a strong-minded man. He spoke his mind, didn’t care who he upset if he believed he was right. It’s not a recipe for popularity. One fine day, when I was still at school, his manager sacked him. It was a terrible disgrace. Nothing personal, mind. All the bar staff went. Money had gone missing and no-one could prove who had taken it. So the committee decided it was safest to dismiss the whole bunch of them.’

  ‘Employers still do that.’

  ‘And it’s no fairer now than it was then,’ Kim said fiercely. ‘My father suffered from that act of cowardice for the rest of his life. Oh, he found other work. He was good at the job, no-one could deny that, and he didn’t mind long hours. But his heart was never in it afterwards. He’d been accused of stealing and nothing could ever be the same again. Even the blow to his pride didn’t hurt as much as the frustration of having done nothing wrong, yet being punished at least as much as the true culprit. Whoever that was.’

  ‘Agatha Christie called it an ordeal by innocence.’

  ‘A good way of putting it.’ Kim gave a bleak smile. ‘I

  never thought of your beloved Dame Agatha as a social commentator.’

  ‘She never tried to be. That’s the whole point. But I didn’t mean to distract you. What happened to your father?’

  ‘They broke him. He had a heart attack when I was sixteen. At least it was a quick end. But he was only fifty-three. Such a waste.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  She touched his hand. ‘Ever since then, I’ve felt a kind of personal responsibility to make sure that things are put right.’

  ‘You feel you owe it to your father?’

  ‘Exactly - but it’s an impossible task. For every miscarriage that can be rectified, a dozen others pass unnoticed. However hard MOJO tries. And that’s something else I need to put in the balance: even if I take this job in London, what are the chances that I will manage to make any difference? Is it simple vanity that makes me think I can?’

  They finished their drinks in silence, while the sound of Gene Pitney drifted across the room. He was singing ‘True Love Never Runs Smooth’.

  ‘Too right, Gene,’ Harry muttered.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t catch that.’

  ‘Nothing.’ Besides, was what he felt really love? Harry could not be sure; perhaps he should take that as proof that it was not. He cared for Kim, cared deeply. But it was not the same as the love he had felt for Liz. ‘Let me buy you another drink and then we’ll find a seat next door before the show begins.’

  As they left, he couldn’t help noticing the latest on the television screen. One of the boxers was sprawled across the canvas; his right eye was closed and blood was leaking from a cut on his temple. The referee had raised the victor’s arm aloft. Someone had switched up the volume and the commentator was talking about another triumph for the champion.

  By the time they were settled in the concert room, a compère had appeared on the stage and started cracking politically incorrect jokes that would have had the chic socialists of Hampstead and Islington retching into their vodka and limes. A story about a bad-tempered barmaid and three Irishmen with a speech impediment had even Harry cringing. But the regulars loved it. Especially when the compère confessed that he came from Kirkby. A place so rough, he said, that the first prize in the local pub quiz was an alibi for two for a fortnight. But it was better than Wigan, a parochial town, where a kebab was no more than a meat pie on a stick.

  The daughter of one of the committee members made a brief onslaught upon the greatest hits of Shirley Bassey before the Great Timothy was at last introduced. Tim Aldred strode out on to the stage kitted out in top hat and tails and brandishing his wand as if he were conducting at the Last Night of the Proms. The top hat was slightly askew, the jacket carelessly buttoned. Harry’s heart sank: Tim might be able to get away with an act that had been out of date in the fifties when entertaining the Darby and Joans. A Labour Club, even on a charity night, was a different proposition. There was a ripple of applause, but plenty of people in the audience kept talking as Tim started his patter. When he asked for a volunteer, a youth in an ill-fitting suit who had evidently taken advantage of the all-day drinking laws put up his hand. After Tim chose a meek woman with acne to assist him, the drunk started shouting abuse until a heavy in a dicky bow put a menacing hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Nice suit, young man,’ Tim said. ‘Got it in a car boot sale, did you?’

  The youth bellowed something unintelligible. Tim shook his head sadly. ‘Now I’ve heard everything - a dyslexic heckler.’

  It began to dawn on Harry that the Great Timothy had little in common with the Tim Aldred he thought he knew. He had a nice line in self-mockery and an unexpectedly quick wit. And he was good, very good, at conjuring. In truth, there was nothing unexpected in the tricks that he performed. Bits of nonsense with playing cards, silk handkerchiefs and a ten-pound note were followed by a sequence in which he invited his helper to bind his wrists with rope and then tie him to a chair. The knots seemed elaborate and impenetrable, but with a shrug of the shoulders he freed himself and took a bow. He sent the woman back to her seat, and then called her back to recover the bracelet which he had discovered inside the crown of his top hat. For a finale, he lay on the stage and covered himself in a huge black cloak. A drum rolled and gradually it seemed that he was levitating above the ground.

  By now, the audience’s chatter had died away. Even the drunk was quiet. When the Great Timothy landed back on terra firma, shrugged off the cloak and took a bow, the applause was hearty and prolonged. As the curtain fell, Harry turned to look at Kim. To his surprise, her brow was furrowed.

  ‘Penny for them.’

  She started guiltily. ‘Oh, it’s nothing. Nothing.’

  Disco lights began to flash and the thud of dance music echoed around the room. He said, ‘Shall we
escape next door?’

  ‘Good idea.’

  ‘So what did you think of the Great Timothy?’ he asked after he had replenished their glasses.

  ‘I recognise him from somewhere. It will bug me until I remember.’

  ‘Let me know when it comes back to you. In the meantime, how do you rate his act?’

  ‘Fun,’ she said. ‘Simple stuff compared to the illusions you see on the box, but he put it over well.’

  Harry nodded. ‘“It’s the way you tell ’em.” I must admit I hadn’t expected him to be such an accomplished performer. I couldn’t help thinking back to when I was a kid. Magic fascinated me. I seem to remember that at the age of nine, it was my ambition to become a conjuror.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Seriously. My parents even bought me a magic set. As I recall, it contained a simple version of the rope trick Tim performed. Trouble was, I kept forgetting to make sure that the cord went the right way around my wrists. Result: I was trussed up without a hope of making an escape. Houdini must have been spinning in his grave.’

  She laughed. ‘So you decided on mature reflection to concentrate your efforts on hocus-pocus in the Liverpool magistrates’?’

  ‘The only spells they understand involve a couple of years inside. Ah, here’s the Great Timothy in person! Good to see you. This is Kim Lawrence. Kim, meet the star of tonight’s show.’

  Tim Aldred smiled. ‘Enjoy it?’

  ‘Wonderful. You’re wasted at children’s parties.’

  ‘You think so? I promise you, compared to a dozen eight-year-olds, performing in front of this lot is child’s play. All the same, a pint of bitter will do no harm.’

  ‘I haven’t been to a magic show since I was a kid,’ Kim said after Harry returned from the bar. ‘And I loved it.’

  Tim nodded. A dreamy look came into his eyes. ‘I got the bug myself when I was nine or ten. A boy I knew had a birthday party with an old man pulling rabbits out of a hat. The whole class was invited. Most of the lads weren’t impressed; television had spoiled them. But I was entranced and went straight to the local library so I could borrow every book they had on magic. I felt that if I kept people entertained, they would accept me. I learned to play the piano as well. Same reason. Sounds pathetic, I realise that, but I’d always been a bit of a loner, an odd one out. Still am, I suppose.’