Yesterday's Papers

by Martin Edwards

  ‘And what makes you think the woman isn’t telling a pack of lies?’

  ‘Did you never rely on your own nose for the truth?’

  Deysbrook grunted. ‘Often enough. But all the lawyers I ever knew liked hard evidence. Something they could see in black and white.’

  ‘Everything Renata told me fitted the facts. She explained how Edwin could have had the knowledge that incriminated him, about the clothes Carole wore on the day she died. And she gave me a clearer idea of the sort of man he was, a passive inadequate humiliated by his own impotence. I can believe that he would have confessed to the murder to make himself important. When he got in too deep, he tried to save himself, but it was too late. His lawyers hardly listened; they were going through the motions. For Edwin Smith to be guilty was convenient for everyone. Including the real murderer.’

  ‘And who might that have been?’

  ‘Interesting to speculate, isn’t it?’ Harry felt he had hooked his man at last. One thing his job had taught him was how to persuade reluctant people to open up. ‘I wanted to ask you about the police view. Was anyone other than Smith a suspect?’

  Deysbrook rubbed his jaw as he cast his mind back. While he waited, Harry glanced through a glass panel in the door and saw a nurse walk past, her arm around the shoulder of a weeping woman who he supposed must be a patient’s relative. ‘The boyfriend, of course,’ the old man said at last. ‘With every murder, I always looked first at the nearest and dearest. Young Carole was going out with a pop singer, can’t recall his name. Flash character, thought he was God’s gift to the girls. I didn’t take to him.’

  Harry could imagine. ‘Could he have killed her?’

  A shake of the head. ‘No way. He had an alibi.’

  ‘Alibis can be organised. You know that as well as I do.’

  ‘Bet you won’t admit that in court, though, Mr Devlin, will you? You’d soon have no clients left.’

  ‘Look, I’ve been wondering - he was a member of a duo, they were called the Brill Brothers. Is there any chance that his partner might have covered for him?’

  Deysbrook made a scornful noise through his teeth. ‘No-one could have broken his alibi. Not even he could have corrupted five hundred people. That evening the whatsit Brothers appeared in a concert at a big club in London. As far as I can remember, they’d arrived by mid-afternoon.’

  Harry felt a tremor of disappointment. ‘So you are absolutely sure that it was physically impossible for him to have been in Sefton Park when Carole took her last stroll?’

  ‘Absolutely bloody positive.’ Deysbrook burst into a fit of coughing and Harry waited until the old man had composed himself.

  ‘Carole worked for a well-known photographer by the name of Benny Frederick. Was he in the clear?’

  Deysbrook scratched his head. Harry could guess at the effort the man was making to step back thirty years, to a time when he was fit and strong and had a murder on his hands that he was desperate to solve. Finally, he said, ‘Yes, we did speak to him. I soon guessed he was a queer, though he would never have admitted it. In those days, it was a crime. People like that were ashamed of themselves - and afraid. Now they expect a bloody medal and a government grant.’

  ‘Any reason to think he might have had a grudge against Carole?’

  Deysbrook shrugged. From the way he flinched it seemed that even this simple gesture caused him pain. ‘He reckoned to be cut up about the girl’s death, but who knows?’

  ‘Any alibi?’

  ‘Can’t recall. It was a long time ago, Mr Devlin.’

  ‘What about Clive Doxey - Sir Clive, as he now is?’

  ‘Oh yeah, I remember him all right. Pal of the girl’s father and a right pain in the arse. Important chap, even then, a bigwig and he made sure you knew it. I liked him even less than the other feller - and I could never stand queers.’

  ‘You questioned him about his movements?’

  ‘He wasn’t at all co-operative. As far as he was concerned, we were wasting valuable time questioning him which we could have spent finding the killer.’

  ‘I take it he had the opportunity to have committed the murder?’

  ‘Maybe, though again I can’t remember after all this time. To us, he was just another do-gooder - always making a fuss about police brutality, yet he was the first to complain when we didn’t make an arrest within half an hour.’

  ‘But now? Are you prepared to accept that Carole might have been killed by someone other than Edwin Smith?’

  ‘I’d need to speak to this Renata woman of yours before I said yea or nay to that.’ He sighed and added grudgingly, ‘But supposing she’s told you the truth - well, maybe we did make a mistake.’

  Harry was unable to resist saying, ‘Good job the death penalty’s been abolished, eh?’

  Vincent Deysbrook started to cough again, a hoarse retching sound, and Harry realised with a stab of dismay how sick the old detective was and how much it had cost him to talk for so long, let alone have the guts to admit the possibility that his own prejudices might have sent an innocent man to the gallows.

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Mr Devlin,’ he said when he was able to speak again. His tone was subdued, as if he knew that before long his own fight would reach its end, and Harry sensed that in his mind’s eye he was seeing again the dark shadow of the X-ray of his lung. ‘The death penalty hasn’t been abolished, I can vouch for that. I only wish it had.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  and I had to gamble everything

  Shirley Titchard had agreed to meet him in one of the shops she owned. After he had explained his interest in the Sefton Park case, her manner on the telephone had been crisp and businesslike.

  ‘I can’t imagine why you think I can tell you anything, but I don’t mind giving you half an hour. I suppose it will make a change from keeping an eye on the girls. The manageress at Caesar Street is on holiday for the week, so I’m having to run the branch myself, but you can have half an hour, all right?’

  The shop was tucked between a tobacconist’s and a derelict snooker hall; the street was a dead end and noisy ten-year-olds were playing soccer alongside the burnt-out wreck of a stolen car. Jasmine House was no more than five miles away, but it might have been in a different country. Harry pushed open the door and stepped inside. At once the hubbub of voices died down and he was conscious of the scrutiny of a dozen scowling faces. The light was dim and the extractor fan did not seem to work: the smoke made his eyes smart and he couldn’t help thinking to himself that a few of Shirley Titchard’s customers would one day end their lives in the same despair as Vincent Deysbrook.

  His only acquaintance with horse racing was through the novels of Dick Francis and they had not prepared him for the scruffy reality of this place. The walls were covered with cuttings from the sporting press and the racing pages of the national newspapers. Opposite the entrance, a washable white board was covered with offers of odds scrawled in every colour imaginable. In the middle of the room, a television stood on a pillar: a man in the kind of trilby Harry had never seen worn except in old movies was talking rapidly about runners and riders. Through thick mesh grilles he could glimpse two women cashiers, their attention caught by a loudspeaker voice announcing that a horse had withdrawn from the three o’clock at Sandown and that the latest prices would be coming through shortly. The punters were perched on stools or sitting round small tables. Most had cans of beer in their hands, but they had paused in their drinking and study of the form to examine Harry, but even as he looked around and absorbed the scene, one by one they turned back to the papers or the TV. Some started to scribble out bets on slips of paper. Gambling was a serious business and not even the sight of a stranger in a suit could distract them for long.

  Someone tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Mr Devlin?’

  He turned to face a stocky w
oman with tightly permed blonde hair. Her short-sleeved blouse revealed muscular forearms and the cut of her jaw made it clear that she stood for no messing. She was weighing him up as though she’d been asked to give odds on how long he would survive in a fight with one of her regulars.

  ‘That’s me. And you are Shirley Titchard?’

  A brisk nod. ‘Come through.’

  As she led him towards the security door which led from the public area, her path was blocked by a man with beery breath who had seized a teenage lad in denim by the throat. Without hesitating, she gripped the man’s wrist and forced him to face her.

  ‘Not here. If you’ve got a score to settle, do it somewhere else.’

  The man gave her a baleful glance but did not argue. Instead he shook his fist at the youth and said, ‘Next time, pal, next time...’

  As she unlocked the door to the back part of the shop, she said to Harry, ‘You need to show people who’s in charge. Otherwise they take liberties.’

  ‘You have much trouble?’

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle. An hour ago, a kid collapsed in the toilet. He’d been sniffing glue in there, the little bastard. His mates were doped up to the eyeballs and pissing themselves with laughter. I had to get things sorted sharpish. He could easily have died.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  She gave him a look of Thatcheresque severity. ‘It would have been no loss, but I can’t afford an interruption to business. My late husband built this chain up. I reckon I owe it to him to keep it going.’

  They were standing behind a counter girl who was arguing with a punter who had not filled out his slip in the approved manner. Shirley Titchard shook her head and said, ‘Let’s talk in the kitchen. It’s the only spot in here where we’ll be able to make ourselves heard once the next race starts.’

  She took him into a cubbyhole which, although equipped with a grimy sink and the wherewithal for making tea and coffee, was flattered by the name of kitchen. When she shut the door, the noise from outside was muffled but still audible. He wedged himself between the draining board and the fire exit at the rear while she stood with her back to the way in.

  ‘Well now, Mr Devlin. What is it you want to know about my old friend Carole Jeffries?’

  There was a derisive note in her voice that he found difficult to interpret. He said, ‘As I said on the phone, a question has come up about whether the man who was jailed for killing her really did it.’

  ‘Sounds a long shot to me. He confessed, didn’t he?’

  ‘Not everyone who confesses is guilty. Anyway, thanks for talking to me. I realise it’s hard to look back so far in time.’

  The blonde perm shook decisively. ‘It’s as if it was yesterday. I tell you, Mr Devlin, I remember Carole better than the first feller I married.’

  He grinned. ‘You were very close with her?’

  ‘She fascinated me,’ said Shirley Titchard simply. ‘All the people I’d ever known before were ordinary, not glamorous like Carole’s folk. My dad had a newsagent’s just off Aigburth Road, my mum helped behind the counter and we lived over the shop. Carole’s father was a celebrity, his name kept appearing in the press and on TV. Her mother was a formidable lady, just as clever as Guy, and strong-minded with it. I met them a couple of times when they came to the shop to see how she was settling in. They lived in a mansion opposite the Park.’

  ‘Did you feel they looked down on you?’

  ‘No, they weren’t snobs, quite the opposite. Guy was crazy about Carole but he would never have sent her to a private school. She went to the same place as me and give her credit, she was always one of us, as often in trouble as anyone else. More often, if the truth be told.’

  ‘You both left school at the same time?’

  ‘That’s right. For me, it was the obvious thing to do. I wanted to make my own way in the world and besides, I never passed an exam in my life. Carole was different, she was much brighter than me, even if she often didn’t show it. The teachers said she was lazy and I suppose they were right. When I found a job at Benny Frederick’s, Carole decided she would do the same. I remember our headmistress trying to talk her out of it, saying how disappointed her parents would be. Carole put her right on that score. “All my dad wants is for me to be happy,” she said - and she was right. Even though her mother was livid, he didn’t make a fuss at all. She could twist him round her little finger.’

  ‘You enjoyed the work?’

  ‘Took to it like a duck to water. I’d been brought up in a shop, and although I didn’t want to stay at the beck and call of my mum and dad, I thought Benny’s was great. Carole did too. She was crazy about the atmosphere and loved spotting the big names who used to come and go. Liverpool in the sixties was the place to be, Mr Devlin. So much kept happening.’

  ‘Benny was a good boss?’

  ‘Lovely feller, one of the few really sweet men I’ve ever met and I’ve met a lot of men in my time. He was always decent to me.’

  ‘You knew he was gay?’

  ‘I had eyes,’ she said drily. ‘He was always so pally with the young lads who used to hang around his shop. Though he had to be careful. Gay sex was a crime in those days, you know. And anyway, he wasn’t above taking a fancy to us girls, as well.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘He used to flirt with me all the time, though we never took it any further. But every now and then he’d introduce us to a woman visitor and say she was his girlfriend. He’s always had an eye for a pretty face and a neat bum, has Benny, boy or girl, it’s never seemed to matter to him. And he certainly took a shine to Carole once she arrived.’

  ‘And how did she take to him?’

  ‘Oh, she played up to him. She loved being in that shop, having the chance to meet the local celebrities.’

  ‘Was that how she met Ray Brill?’

  Her face darkened. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact it was. But what you won’t know is that I met him first. I’d already come across Ian, the quiet one, he was an old pal of Benny’s and often called at the shop. A nice enough lad, but not really my type. The minute I saw Ray, I fell for him. I thought he made James Dean seem like the boy next door. He was good-looking, successful, and he seemed to fancy me.’

  As Harry tried to regroup his thoughts, a ragged cheer came up from the shop. ‘The favourite’s won,’ she said with a grim smile.

  ‘Look, I didn’t know this. You say you started going out with Ray Brill yourself?’

  Shirley Titchard folded her arms, as if challenging him to disbelieve her. ‘I knew he had other girls, but that didn’t bother me. Ray had appeared on Top of The Pops and Ready, Steady, Go! He was a star and I was happy just to be with him.’

  ‘Until you found out that he was seeing Carole?’

  Pursing her lips at the recollection, she said, ‘Yes, it hurt me badly, though I should have realised what would happen. I was so much in love with him that of course I wanted him to meet my best friend. I introduced them one night at the Cavern. I was so sodding naïve in those days. Carole was the prettiest girl in the place and she knew it. Ray took a shine to her from the first and I was glad, because I wanted the two of them to like each other. And they did, worse luck, they did. Ray started coming to the shop and I was flattered. I didn’t twig that he was keener to see Carole than me.’

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘One of the other girls who worked at Benny’s told me she’d seen the two of them kissing and cuddling down in Mathew Street the previous evening. She was a spiteful cow and I didn’t want to believe her, but she was so jubilant I knew she was sure of her facts - and in my heart of hearts, I realised it made sense. I’d been off sick the previous day with a stomach bug. Ray and Carole had had the chance to get together and knowing them both as I did, I couldn’t imagine either of them resisting temptation. They were well suited, that p
air - they took their pleasures whenever they could.’

  ‘What did you do about it?’

  ‘I confronted her. I couldn’t face Ray, he was too special to me. And besides, I knew he would deny it. He was like that, he would swear black was white rather than admit being in the wrong. Carole was secretive, always had been, but she was no fool. I knew that if I forced the issue, she’d tell me the truth.’

  ‘And did she?’

  ‘Yes, I can still picture the scene now. I spoke to her after work and she said straight away that she realised she’d done something very wrong, but she’d not been able to help herself. Apparently, Ray had called in the previous day, when I’d been down with the bug. He and Ian had a gig at the Cavern and he’d asked her to go with him. She said she’d done it simply to keep him company, but even I wasn’t stupid enough to believe that. One thing had led to another and they’d finished up in bed together.’

  ‘And how did you take that?’

  Her strong features yielded a glimmer of an ironic smile. ‘Oh, I wanted to scream and scratch her eyes out, but I never did any such thing. Carole could always charm the birds off the trees. She said she thought she was in love with him, but she swore she would give him up if I said she must. I didn’t say a word, just went home and wept all night. Ray didn’t call me and I stayed in all weekend. When I went back to work on the Monday, I knew Ray wouldn’t phone me again. There was no point in fighting fate. I let her have him. We didn’t talk about it: she could always read my mind, she knew I’d lost all hope. So she got her own way - as usual.’

  ‘You must have hated her,’ said Harry softly.

  She shrugged. ‘Perhaps I did, deep down. The pair of them had betrayed me - but there was nothing I could do, so I accepted it. Carole wasn’t a fool, she didn’t rub it in. She was kind to me in many ways. I sulked for a while but before long I began telling myself there were plenty more fish in the sea.’