The shock of Finbar’s death had almost made him forget how much he wanted to see Rosemary again. Although he didn’t kid himself that she had come here to do anything more than discuss the Ambroses’ default, he was glad she had risen to his bait, and the sight of her husband with the hard-faced blonde had made him wonder again about the state of the Graham-Browns’ marriage. Was she unaware Stuart was playing away from home - and if he told her, how would she react?
He went out to greet her. She was perched on the edge of her chair, as if she didn’t feel she had the right to be there. He was shocked to see how pale she looked; in her haste to get out that morning, she hadn’t bothered with make-up. Her face looked younger than ever - and pinched with anxiety.
‘I got your letter,’ she said. ‘This is dreadful news. How can people behave like this? I had to come over to see you straight away.’
He took her to his room. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been upset. Snags like these do occur from time to time. Of course, you will be wanting to press the Ambroses for compensation for your inconvenience.’
‘The money’s not important,’ she said.
How many times had Harry heard clients utter that sentiment? It was the regular refrain of the obsessive litigants who talked a lot about principles and kept lawyers in business. Almost invariably it was untrue. Yet when Rosemary wore that earnest expression, he could not help believing her. She seemed to have been shattered by his news.
‘You have a fine property,’ he said. ‘You’ll find another buyer, sooner or later.’
She waved the suggestion away with an angry jerk of her hand. ‘That might take ages and we can’t afford to hang around. You don’t understand, it’s so important that this sale goes through. Surely you can do something?’
She had a beseeching look that he found hard to resist. He was a fool to be flattered by her faith in him, he knew, but he could not help it. In a gentler tone, he said, ‘I’m sorry. You do have various rights. But you can’t force the Ambroses to buy at the point of a gun.’
She closed her eyes and he moved his chair close to hers. Greatly daring, he took her hand in his.
‘Why is it so important, Rosemary? Surely a few weeks don’t make any difference.’ He paused. ‘Especially when Stuart hasn’t even got round yet to telling his staff that he’s leaving town for good.’
She stared at him and withdrew her hand. ‘What? You don’t have any connection with Merseycredit!’
‘The firm had a stand at an exhibition I was attending. I came across it quite by chance.’
‘Have you - have you spoken to Stuart?’
She was stunned by what he was saying, no question about it. He determined to press home his advantage.
‘No, not yet. But I’ve seen him and, though it’s none of my business, I can’t say I like the company he keeps.’
‘What do you mean?’
She seemed genuinely puzzled by his remark. He had to make a split-second decision whether to tell her about her husband’s fancy woman. He chose to leave that to one side; his first concern was to ask after Dermot. Even as they talked, an idea had been forming in his mind which would explain why the builder and financier had got together.
‘There’s a man called Dermot McCray, a local builder - I believe he may have links with an Irish terrorist organisation. I’ve seen him drinking with Stuart and I’ve wondered what they had in common. The answer may be that McCray has funds he needs to launder: illicit money, to be sent back to Ireland perhaps. A company like Merseycredit might be able to help.’
It was a long shot, of course. He had no hard facts to support his theory. And yet if McCray was involved with terrorists it would explain a good deal: not only the bomb, but perhaps also the odd behaviour of the building workers.
Rosemary gazed at him in bewilderment, apparently lost for words. He was thinking furiously. If some of McCray’s gang were members of, say, an active service unit, using the Fenwick Court contract as a cover which had somehow been blown, no wonder there was no sign of them outside this morning. For all he knew, they might be back in the Emerald Isle by now.
‘You’re crazy,’ she said. ‘Stuart would never get mixed up with anything like that. Terrorists? I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’
‘Stuart may not know who or what he’s dealing with. Where there’s money, there’s often muck. It’s wise not to ask too many questions.’ The same could be said of work in the legal profession, he knew, but he resisted the comparison.
Rosemary cradled her chin in her hand. She too seemed to be thinking fast.
‘I don’t want you talking to Stuart about this, do you hear? You’re imagining things. It’s bad enough that you haven’t managed to sell our bloody house. If he even dreamed you’d said these things, he’d raise blue murder.’
‘I want to help you,’ said Harry. ‘Believe me, I’m not sure what Stuart’s up to, and I suppose it’s none of my business, but I’d hate to see you getting into any kind of trouble.’
She snatched up her handbag and rushed to the door. When she turned to face him again, there were high spots of colour on her cheeks. ‘I’m not in any kind of trouble, do you hear? You mean well, I do see that, but you have the wrong idea about Stuart and me. Take my word for it. I’m not in any kind of trouble!’
The door slammed behind her. Harry thought for a moment about following her but at once realised to do so would be folly: let her think things over alone and make her own decision about whether to accept his help. For he was sure she was protesting too much. When she denied being in trouble, Rosemary was desperately trying to reassure herself.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Why in God’s name are you scaring away one of our best clients? I should have known leaving you to run the practice would be like putting Charles Manson in charge of a crèche.’
Harry looked up from his desk with a start. Jim Crusoe was framed in the doorway, leaning on a stick for support and jabbing an accusatory finger. Anger had brought a flush of colour to his bruised and battered face.
‘Morning, Lazarus! It’s good to see you, but what do you think you’re doing here? You’re supposed to be recuperating.’
‘I heard the news about Finbar on the radio, so I thought I’d better catch a cab and come in to see if we’ve still got a business left. And what do I find? Those of our clients who haven’t been murdered are racing past me without a second glance, looking so terrified I can only assume you’ve been showing them our balance sheet.’
‘You saw Rosemary Graham-Brown?’
‘Just a foggy blur, she was moving so fast. What have you been doing to her? I know today’s Hallowe’en - don’t tell me you offered her a trick or treat.’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘With you,’ said Jim through gritted teeth, ‘it usually is.’ He hobbled painfully to a chair. ‘You can start by telling me where we are with the sale of Crow’s Nest House.’
‘The good news is,’ said Harry wryly, ‘we’ve exchanged contracts.’
‘I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what’s the bad news?’
‘The buyers have pulled out. Byzantium are relocating Ambrose to West Africa.’
‘Then serve a notice to complete. Sylvia will prepare the paperwork we need.’ Unspoken was the suggestion that she should have been allowed to handle the whole file in Jim’s absence.
‘I don’t think legal orthodoxy will give the Graham-Browns what they want.’
‘Which is?’
‘A quick sale and a flight to the sun. Beyond that, I can only guess at what they have in mind. One thing is definite: you and I haven’t been told the whole truth.’
‘God forbid I should discover the whole truth about any of my clients! I’m sure it would shatter every last shred of my faith in human nature. It’s not our job to unravel
the mysteries of their lives.’
‘Sometimes there’s no alternative.’
Jim groaned. ‘Typical Harry Devlin. If you ever called at the Law Society Library, I’m sure you’d find a body in it. Go on, then, what have the Graham-Browns been up to?’
Harry described the sequence of events leading up to Rosemary’s anguished departure from the office a few minutes earlier and Jim listened closely, his displeasure fading into bewilderment.
‘So what do you make of all that, Sherlock?’
‘Wish I knew.’
Jim made a scoffing noise. ‘Time you donated your deerstalker to Oxfam.’
Provoked, Harry said, ‘Maybe Rosemary got wind of Stuart’s affair with the blonde. Although she must be bitter, she won’t want to give up the good life she’s accustomed to. It’s not as if she’s a free agent; she has a small child to care for. So she’s desperate to pack them all off to Spain before Stuart changes his mind, sues for divorce and does a bunk with his fancy woman instead.’
‘And how come the office doesn’t know he’s about to disappear?’
‘I imagine his mistress works there and he hasn’t summoned the courage to tell her he’s on his way to warmer climes.’
‘But you said the business is a one-man band - Rosemary’s obviously no more than a sleeping partner. The moment Stuart emigrates, Merseycredit is bound to collapse.’
‘So perhaps he’s been creaming a few bob off for himself along the way. He might not be going to Spain simply to improve his tan. They say it’s easier to extract beer from blotting paper than to extradite a crook from his exile in the sun.’
Jim frowned. Harry sensed his partner succumbing to the urge to speculate.
‘You think his scam may involve McCray? That might be another reason why he’s keeping quiet about the flit and why it’s so urgent to sell the house.’
‘Could be, though he’d have to be truly tired of life to try pulling a fast one with money earmarked for terrorists. Those people have long memories and they won’t worry about the niceties of Spanish extradition law. If he defrauds them now, sooner or later he’ll finish up with a bullet through his brain.’
Deep in thought, Jim tugged at his beard. ‘Tell me this. How can you be sure McCray is hand in glove with terrorists? I know we have a fine tradition in this country of convicting Irishmen on dodgy evidence, but it seems to me you haven’t actually got anything on the man at all. The same goes for Graham-Brown: what if Rosemary flies straight from here to Tobacco Court and tells Stuart we suspect Merseycredit of moving around money for murderers?’
‘It could be the end of a beautiful friendship,’ admitted Harry.
‘It could be the end of your practising certificate, if the Graham-Browns complain to the Law Society. I know we’re encouraged to provide client care, but tipping Rosemary off that her husband’s guilty of criminal conspiracy when you don’t have a shred of proof is taking things to extremes. I reckon you’ve been hanging around with Finbar Rogan too long. He’s taught you there’s no difference between the truth and a tall story.’
‘Finbar won’t be pulling the wool over any more eyes,’ said Harry softly.
Jim bowed his head. ‘Yes, well, perhaps I’ve become tactless too. It’s bloody awful news. I know you liked him.’
‘He was good company, though the more I found out about him, the less harmless he seemed. He was so full of life, it was easy to be blind to his shortcomings when you were with him.’
‘At least you don’t suspect McCray of doing him in.’
‘Some people might not blame him if he had - Eileen was his only daughter. No wonder he hated Finbar and set fire to his studio, blew up his car.’
‘You’re sure that was McCray?’
‘You missed your way in life, you ought to have become a defence counsel. I suppose the honest answer is, I’m not sure about anything. He had the motive, of course.’
‘So did plenty of others.’
‘True, but how many of them had access to bomb-making equipment? Not Melissa, not Sophie, not ...’ His voice trailed away as a thought occurred to him.
Jim narrowed his eyes. ‘I can see the great detective has had an idea. Come on, spit it out.’
‘Perhaps I’ve been on the wrong track all along.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’
‘Thanks very much. But look, what if the Irish connection is totally irrelevant?’
‘A green herring?’
‘With your sense of humour, you ought to be appearing in one of Nick Folley’s talent contests. No, there is someone else who had cause to hate Finbar, who could have planted the bomb in his car: someone who might be off-balance and behaving more dangerously with each day that passes. Someone who failed to kill Finbar by fire or explosion and finally settled for running him down.’
Jim had given up all pretence of disdain for amateur sleuthing. He leaned forward in his chair, his damaged face alive with interest. ‘Who do you have in mind?’
‘The woman Finbar cheated on more than any other, of course. His wife.’
‘Sinead?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised. She’s an obvious suspect, if you think about it. Remember she’s a member of an extremist group of animal rights campaigners - presumably they wouldn’t be averse to bombing labs where experiments are carried out. The republican movement don’t have a monopoly on terror, you know.’
‘But why go to such lengths at precisely the time when Finbar is severing the knot? She’d put up with him for long enough. Soon she would have been rid of him as a husband through the legal process. Why would she murder him?’
‘You didn’t see her at the Divorce Registry. I’ve seldom seen such pure hatred.’
‘You’re not saying she killed him rather than get divorced?’
Harry brushed the objection aside; he was excited by his latest theory and Jim’s doubts served only to strengthen his belief in the likelihood of Sinead’s guilt.
‘Of course not. Although she’d opposed the divorce all along, I agree that, in itself, is hardly a motive for murder. After all, in my experience, most Catholics who are divorced against their will are able to console themselves with the fact that it’s no more than a civil proceeding. No, my guess is that the turning point came when Sinead heard the story about Eileen. As far as she was concerned, Finbar was responsible for a young girl’s abortion and death - so she wanted him to suffer too.’
Jim stared at him. ‘So what do you propose to do?’
‘Talk to Sladdin, I suppose. He may not...’
The phone shrilled and he snatched up the receiver.
‘Suzanne, I’m talking with Jim. We don’t want to be disturbed until...
‘All right,’ said the girl mutinously, ‘but I have Kim Lawrence on the line and she did insist it was important.’
‘Kim?’ Harry was puzzled, but the chance to speak to Sinead’s lawyer was too good to miss. ‘Okay, put her through.’
Suzanne muttered something which may have been, ‘Make up your mind,’ before Kim Lawrence came on the line.
‘Harry? Are you there? I wanted to speak to you as soon as I could. Of course, I’ve heard Finbar Rogan is dead.’
‘Murdered,’ said Harry, ‘although the police haven’t said so officially.’
‘My God. I can’t begin to work out what’s going on. I wasn’t sure whether you had heard the news about Sinead.’
He tensed, wondering what she was going to say.
‘No, tell me.’
Kim gave a weary sigh. ‘The police have arrested her.’
Chapter Eighteen
Harry could hardly restrain himself from punching the air in triumph as he absorbed the impact of Kim’s news. So - he had guessed right. Finbar’s killer was already under lock and key. Justice
would be served. Sladdin must have moved with impressive speed.
Giving Jim a thumbs-up sign, he strove to keep his voice calm. ‘Already? When did they pick her up?’
‘You talk as though you were expecting it,’ said Kim Lawrence, sounding nonplussed. ‘The police took her in for questioning at two o’clock yesterday.’
He thought either he had misheard or she was mistaken.
‘Two? Are you sure?’
‘Of course! I accompanied her to the police station.’
‘So they released her on bail?’ The whole scenario was incredible. God, if she’d walked straight out of there and at once murdered her husband, someone would be in deep, deep trouble.
‘No,’ said Kim Lawrence, ‘she was kept in overnight and released on bail this morning. I’ve just come back from court.’
Harry stared blindly at the telephone, unable to believe what he was being told.
‘Are you still there?’ asked Kim.
‘I don’t follow. What’s - what’s the charge?’
‘Criminal damage. The fire and the bomb. Originally there was talk of attempted murder, but they quietly dropped that after they learned someone else had actually done Rogan in that very evening.’
‘So - you mean there’s no question of her having committed that crime?’
‘Of course not.’ Kim sounded angry that the possibility had even crossed his mind. ‘The present charges are serious enough, but not even a hard case like Sladdin can claim Sinead ran Rogan down when at the estimated time of death he was personally subjecting her to the third degree.’
Harry swore silently. A few minutes earlier he had thought he had solved the mystery - now he was more confused than ever.
‘Can we talk? I mean, now?’
‘Yes, if you want to,’ Kim said after a pause.
‘I’ll meet you outside your office in five minutes.’
‘Outside? In this weather?’
‘This mist isn’t anything compared to the fog in my brain.’
She grunted. ‘Suit yourself. And perhaps you can tell me a little more about how your client came to die. The police are playing their cards very close to their chest.’
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