The Devil in Disguise

by Martin Edwards

  ‘Well, then.’

  ‘You’re the one person who can confirm the truth.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘You had a hold over him. An emotional hold, is my guess. Were you lovers?’

  Bruce Carpenter rubbed his chin. Harry suddenly thought how young the man was. Not more than twenty-five, twenty-six. Half the age of the eternally respectable Luke Dessaur. For a while neither of them spoke. In the background Elvis was starting to ask: ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight?’

  ‘So you weren’t fooled when I kept kissing and cuddling my leading lady?’ Bruce said at last. ‘Well, why should you be? I’ve been out for a long while. Not like poor old Luke. And yes, we were lovers, we had a brief encounter.’

  ‘That’s why Luke killed himself, isn’t it?’ Harry asked. ‘Because for you it was just a passing affair. But he had fallen in love for the first time and couldn’t face life without you.’

  Chapter 22

  ‘How did it begin?’ Harry asked three quarters of an hour later. He’d had to wait until Bruce’s stint of overtime had come to an end before he could start asking questions. They were in Bruce’s own room on the top floor of the hotel. The walls were covered with framed posters advertising musical shows, shots of Elvis on stage and a couple of pictures of he-men with hairy chests that had been cut out of magazines. Harry was occupying the solitary chair, Bruce lying on his back across the bed with his feet resting on an anglepoise lamp.

  ‘I approached Luke as chair of the Kavanaugh Trust while we were working on the show. Our main backer had pulled out and we were running over-budget too. We’d cut every corner with the music but we still needed money badly. Without it, I knew we’d never even make the first night. Luke was sympathetic. Of course, he was shy. He’d never dreamed of coming out. But I picked up the signals.’ Bruce laughed. ‘Lots of experience at that. The message was coming over loud and clear. He was prepared to help, cash-wise. And he fancied me.’

  ‘He offered you a deal? Money in return for a relationship?’

  ‘Oh God, nothing as crude as that. It was never expressed. Luke would have been horrified at the faintest whiff of bribery and corruption.’ Bruce winked. ‘But we all know what makes the world go round, don’t we? No-one does something for nothing. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.’

  Harry sighed inwardly. The hateful thing was that Bruce was probably right. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘He offered us all the dough we wanted, no strings. I was thrilled, of course. I told him how grateful I was and I suggested he come along to the dress rehearsal. Even then he brought a lady friend with him. Frances, his sidekick from the Trust. He liked to have a woman on his arm - but not in his bed. He told me later that she’d had the hots for him. He’d found it tough to deal with. She was a good friend and he didn’t want to hurt her. Or give himself away. I said, “Why didn’t you simply tell her the truth?” He nearly had a seizure.’

  ‘He kept his secret well. I’d known Luke for a long time, but I never realised he was gay. It wasn’t until I started to wonder why he’d been so keen to back your show that a possible explanation occurred to me.’

  ‘Oh, he told me he’d always preferred boys to girls. But he came from the generation - and, more importantly, the background - when it wasn’t what he called “the done thing”. Lovely phrase, I think.’

  ‘He’d been married.’

  ‘So what? He told me all about that. More than I wanted to hear, truth to tell. God, he loved to talk, did Luke. He’d kept quiet for so long, that was the trouble. He poured his heart out to me - all the time. It was more than I’d ever bargained for.’

  ‘The marriage was a sham?’

  Bruce considered. ‘Kind of. He’d had a repressed childhood, he said. Classic stuff for the shrinks. He went out with girls as a teenager, but they didn’t give him a buzz the way some of the boys he knew did. He was afraid of himself. Bear in mind, this goes back to the dark ages, the days when gay love was illegal. He was fond of Gwen and then she was diagnosed as leukaemic. He married her as much out of pity as anything, I think - and then she went into remission.’

  ‘He’d expected her to die when they married?’

  ‘Yeah. He said they were happy enough, but it was never about sex for either of them. When he did lose her, he didn’t need to get married again.’

  ‘He was the sort of man a lot of women find attractive.’

  ‘He was attractive - for his age. Believe me, Harry, I’m many things but I’m not a hooker. If he hadn’t turned me on, I wouldn’t have gone to bed with him that night of the dress rehearsal, money or no money.’ Bruce paused and then a slow, mischievous grin crept across his face. ‘At least, I wouldn’t have gone to bed with him more than once.’

  ‘What went wrong?’

  ‘For Luke, having a relationship with another man was like busting a dam. He’d been celibate for so long, he’d actually fought against his instincts for over thirty years. Can you imagine? He went wild, never even gave safe sex a thought. Amazing. The whole thing was a big, big deal as far as he was concerned. Right from that first night together, I could tell he’d be the clingy type. Part of him was afraid of what might happen now that he’d succumbed to temptation. Part of him was desperate to make up for lost time.’ Bruce shook his head. ‘For me, it was scary. I’m not into commitment at this point in my life. I told him the honest truth, but he couldn’t handle it. He wanted us to stay together. So naïve. He expected far too much.’

  ‘He always had high standards,’ Harry said slowly. He was trying to imagine the agonies of self-knowledge that Luke had been forced to confront in the days leading up to his death.

  ‘Sure. And that’s fine, so long as you don’t impose your own standards on other people. That’s where Luke went wrong. Within twenty-four hours, we were fighting. He wanted us to be together long term, go away somewhere he wasn’t known. He had no family; apart from his godson he had no ties. I told him it was a crazy idea.’

  ‘How did he react?’

  ‘He threatened to kill himself. It was late one night. I’d had a bad day behind the bar and the latest rehearsal hadn’t gone well. I was tired and pissed off and there was this old man bleating away in the background. I told him I’d had two lovers die on me through AIDS. Both of them I nursed right through to the bitter end. I wasn’t going to lose any sleep if a guy I scarcely knew took an overdose.’

  ‘What did he say to that?’

  ‘Oh, he had a little weep and then he pissed off. Which was all I’d wanted. I thought maybe that was it between us. But then he turned up here again, white as a sheet. He said he’d been thinking about our conversation. I soon figured he was wondering whether I was HIV.’

  ‘And you told him you were?’

  ‘Right. It’s not true, as it happens. I’ve been lucky. But it seemed a good way of making the break with Luke once and for all. Of course, I hadn’t thought it through. He began to panic. He was convinced I’d infected him. For a nasty moment I thought he was going to attack me. Instead he broke down and cried. I had a change of heart then and told him I’d made the whole thing up. But he didn’t believe me.’

  ‘Frances told me he’d seemed afraid during the last few days before he died.’

  ‘Now you know why. Silly, really. I told him, all he had to do was take a test and he’d prove to himself that he was in the clear. But he couldn’t face it. He was much weaker than he seemed. One little lie and he lost it.’

  It had been a cruel lie, but Harry let it pass. ‘Tell me what happened on the day he died.’

  ‘He checked in here after lunch. I couldn’t believe it. God knows what was going on in his head. The last thing I wanted was a scene at my place of work. I kept my distance during the afternoon but he called me from his room and invited me to have dinner with him. I told him I had to go t
o the rehearsal and besides, it was against company rules for the staff to fraternise with the guests. He didn’t like that, asked me what I thought we’d been doing together over the last few days. I said I didn’t think ‘fraternising’ was the description I’d choose. We were behaving like a couple of bitchy drama queens, I guess. He was pretty persistent and in the end, I said I’d come to his room when I got back from the theatre.’

  ‘So you went out that evening while he dined alone and then started knocking back the whisky in his room?’

  ‘You’ve got it. I kept my promise and turned up to see him. I thought we might as well sort things out once and for all. Part as friends. You know.’

  ‘Yes,’ Harry said, thinking for a moment of Kim. ‘How was he?’

  Bruce began to nibble at his fingernails; it was as if, for the first time, he was experiencing a moment of self-doubt. ‘I tried to explain there was no future together for the two of us. He’d put away a fair amount of scotch and he wasn’t used to drinking. He became maudlin and frankly rather pathetic. I recall he pleaded with me to stay, but I wouldn’t. We argued. It got heated.’

  ‘The porter Julio heard raised voices.’

  ‘Thank Christ he didn’t recognise my voice or I would have had some embarrassing questions to answer. As it was, I told Luke he might as well check out first thing the next morning. He and I were finished. And I walked out on him.’

  ‘And the next thing you knew he’d been found dead in the courtyard?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Bruce puffed out his cheeks. ‘You can imagine how I felt.’

  Yes, you selfish bastard. I bet you thought: ‘Well, that’s one problem solved.’ ‘You kept quiet about why Luke threw himself out of the window.’

  ‘Who’s to say it was deliberate? He was pissed, confused. Don Ragovoy will kill me for saying this, but it’s just possible it might have been an accident.’

  Harry shook his head. ‘No, you’re wrong. I’m sure he committed suicide.’

  ‘How can you be sure? He didn’t leave any sort of note.’

  ‘Do you know something?’ Harry said, ‘I’m beginning to wonder if perhaps he did.’

  Harry pushed his way through the Hawthorne’s revolving door out into the street. By instinct, he turned in the direction of the waterfront; then he paused. It was pouring with rain and bitterly cold: not a night to stay out of doors, but he was not ready to return to his flat. His shoulders were tense and he felt restless; even if he did go back there was no chance of sleep. His mind was buzzing: he had a theory to test. Even as he gazed down into the pools of water on the pavement, glistening under the yellow streetlights, much that had puzzled him was becoming clearer. The gnawing in his stomach was a hunger to establish the truth. If there was even the faintest chance of satisfying his curiosity tonight, he was desperate to seize it.

  He pulled up the collar of his coat and crossed the road, this time heading back towards the city centre. The rain was gathering in intensity, driven on by the wind from the river. At the Paradise Street bus station, a drunk was singing ‘Lovely Rita, Meter Maid’ and a few homeless people were huddling on cardboard in shop doorways. But the pubs and clubs had yet to close and for the most part, Liverpool was quiet. The Scissorman would not be on the prowl tonight.

  He turned the last corner and came to a halt. Opposite him stood the Speckled Band. He knew that Ashley often stayed there late at night, sorting through stock and now and then succumbing to the temptation to pick up an old book and start reading it. Coming here at this hour in the hope of a chance to talk had been a long shot, though, and the place was in darkness. Shutters were down over the door and windows. But when Harry glanced up, he saw smoke curling from the chimney above the shop.

  He caught his breath. Perhaps it had not been a wasted journey after all. He walked round the corner to the back of the building. There was a small yard which contained a rubbish bin; the gate which led into it was ajar. Harry went through, startling a cat which had been prowling along the wall round the yard into a squawk of indignation.

  The door was heavy and painted black. Harry pushed and found it gave to his touch. He crossed the threshold and found himself standing in a narrow passageway. The walls were stained with damp. A door to his right was ajar; he could see steps leading underground. There was a smell of burning. He could hear the crackling of the fire in the shop, taste the smoky air on his lips.

  He took a deep breath and called out, ‘Ashley?’

  For a few seconds, nothing. Then a door at the end of the corridor, the door to the shop, swung slowly open and Melissa Whitaker stepped out from the shadows.

  ‘Harry.’

  Her cheeks seemed hollowed-out, her eyes dim with despair. For the first time in their acquaintance she was wearing a tatty T-shirt and an old pair of denim jeans. He realised, too, that he had never seen her before without make-up. She never spared any expense in looking her best, but her skin seemed bare and coarse.

  ‘Hello, Melissa. I didn’t expect to see you here at this time of night.’

  ‘I - I’ve been down in the cellar.’ Her voice was oddly croaky. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Where’s Ashley?’

  She cleared her throat. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I need to talk to him.’

  ‘Can’t - can’t it wait?’

  ‘No.’ He swallowed. She seemed as tense as he was. It was worth taking a chance. ‘You know it can’t wait.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right. But you can’t talk to him. He - he’s left me.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. He’d never do that. He’s crazy about you.’

  She closed her eyes. ‘Too much so.’

  ‘Can you and I talk, then?’

  ‘There’s no point.’

  ‘There’s every point.’

  She sighed and waved him into the shop. As he moved forward, he could not suppress a shiver. Suppose this all went wrong?

  Don’t be a fool, he told himself. This is a bookshop, for God’s sake. Nothing can go wrong.

  The fire was blazing wildly, stoked by countless sheets of printed paper. Next to it teetered a stack of old detective stories. What was going on? If he were to learn the truth, he must get her talking; and not just in monosyllables.

  Melissa gave a wry smile. ‘More fuel for the flames.’

  On top of the heap was an old green Penguin, a copy of a book by a lawyer who had been dead for forty years. Harry picked it up.

  ‘Tragedy at Law. The story of my life.’ She didn’t smile again, so he added, ‘Actually, it’s one of my favourites.’

  ‘Ashley’s too.’

  ‘Did he ever tell you the final line? The detective says that he supposes it’s the first case of someone being driven to suicide by a quotation from the law reports.’

  She took the book from him and glanced without seeing at the last page. ‘So many things can drive people to suicide.’

  ‘You were right, by the way. Luke killed himself.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Not that it matters. Nothing matters.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ He paused. ‘Why are you burning the books?’

  Her voice breaking, she said, ‘I hate them, didn’t you realise that? Bloody mysteries. I’ve lived with them all my married life. I’m sick of them. I want to rid myself of them. For ever.’

  As she tore the title page out of the book, he said, ‘Yet you provided the money to let Ashley run this shop, indulge his hobby to his heart’s content.’

  She gave a mocking laugh. ‘Soft, wasn’t I? I felt I owed him something - for his kindness when we first got together after my father died. And because I was less than a proper wife to him. But now that’s all done with. And there are books to be burned.’

  She squatted in front of the fire. Seemingly oblivious of his presence, she ripped ou
t a dozen more pages, tossing them into the greedy flames.

  He took a deep breath and, crossing his fingers behind his back, sat down beside her. ‘I know what happened, Melissa.’ Well, it was partly true.

  She turned her white face to him. ‘You don’t know the half of it...’

  ‘Ashley killed Roy, didn’t he?’

  ‘But do you know why?’

  ‘To keep Roy quiet.’ He paused. ‘What I’m not sure about is the reason he wanted to keep Roy quiet.’

  She closed her eyes and bit her teeth into her pale pink lips so hard that even as Harry watched, a trace of blood appeared.

  ‘Because he’d asked Roy to kill my father.’

  Chapter 23

  ‘He was too ingenious for his own good,’ Harry said, half to himself. His mind was racing. ‘He had what seemed like a smart idea and then couldn’t resist temptation. It was over-elaborate. Once I realised he was trying to misdirect me, I began to understand what he was trying to do.’

  She gave an absent-minded nod. Still she was tearing pages and feeding them to the fire. ‘He would always get carried away. This place, for instance, he was like a child in a sweetshop when he was here. I couldn’t deny him.’

  ‘He wanted to convince me - and the police - that there was something strange and sinister about the death of Luke Dessaur. If Luke had been murdered, then Ashley had a watertight alibi because he was with you in Toronto at the time.’

  ‘Just as he was in France when my father was killed,’ she said. ‘He was repeating an old trick.’

  Harry was thinking aloud. ‘The next step was to link Roy’s death with Luke’s. If Roy’s death was regarded as an accident, fine. But even better if people thought he’d murdered Luke and then committed suicide. Poetic justice of a sort. Either way, Ashley was safe from suspicion. Before you left for Canada, Luke told Ashley that one of the Kavanaugh trustees was on the take. He was too discreet to name the person he had in mind, either to Ashley or me. Ashley assumed that Roy must be the culprit. It was a logical mistake. He knew Roy was greedy...’