‘Think nothing of it. Makes a change.’ Peter gave a surprisingly high-pitched laugh. ‘I’ve - never been questioned by the police before.’
‘You’ve stood up to it better than any of us,’ Linda said, putting an arm round his waist. The instinctive maternal gesture made her son look for a moment like a schoolboy gone to seed. ‘It’s an experience I don’t want to relive in a hurry.’
‘Did they give you a hard time?’ Harry asked, sitting down next to Juliet.
‘In retrospect,’ Linda said, ‘this morning was worse than last night. That man Eggar came to see us. He didn’t seem convinced by what I was saying. It was different the first time they questioned me. After I came back to the cottage, I was so stunned by what had happened that the trip to the police station seemed like part of a dream. I could have said anything and persuaded myself that it was true. It’s taken all day for the reality to sink in.’
‘I agree. Eggar doesn’t believe us,’ Juliet said.
‘Why should he doubt you?’ Peter said brusquely. ‘You’re respectable people…’
‘I’m not sure he would regard the wife of Casper May as respectable,’ Juliet interrupted.
‘Even though these days the politicians do.’
Linda said, ‘You’re not responsible for Casper or what he may or may not have done in the past. You’ve never broken the law. I’ve said it enough times. The only mistake you made was to marry him.’
Peter strode briskly around the room, swinging his long arms. Harry thought that any moment now he would send either Juliet or his mother flying. ‘We all make mistakes about marriage, Mother. What about Tuesday?’
‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ Linda said fiercely. ‘I wouldn’t treat a dog the way she behaved to you.’
He turned to Harry. ‘My wife and I divorced recently. She found someone else, it’s the old, old story, but God, did she clean me out. You’d never imagine that eighteen months ago I was living in a four-bedroomed house in Hoylake, running a decent little prosthetics business, would you? All kaput now, of course. And all because I was dumped by Tuesday.’
‘I know it isn’t easy,’ Harry said softly. ‘A few years back, my wife left me for another man.’
‘Really?’ Peter leaned forward. ‘And tell me this - did you ever forgive the bitch?’
As Harry shifted on the sofa and started to mumble something about time the great healer, Juliet said, ‘As a matter of fact, Harry’s wife was murdered.’
‘Oh.’ Peter flushed. ‘Sorry. I didn’t know.’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Harry said.
Linda was absent-mindedly folding and refolding a copy of the Liverpool Echo. Harry guessed the pair of them had been poring over the story of Symons’ death. He’d glanced at it himself, but it told him nothing he didn’t already know. She said, ‘I’m just praying the police will leave us alone now. We’ve spoken to them twice. Surely that’s enough?’
‘Our best hope,’ Harry said, ‘is that they soon find out who did kill Carl Symons. Until then we won’t be out of the spotlight, even though from what I can gather there are plenty of likely suspects.’
‘I can believe that. He was horrible to Peter.’
‘But he didn’t deserve to die like that,’ Juliet said. ‘I’m glad you didn’t see the body, Linda. I’ll never forget it.’
She blinked hard. Harry saw tears forming at the corners of her eyes and put his arm around her.
‘Hey, what’s all this?’
‘Oh, don’t mind me,’ she sniffed. ‘Sorry about this, everyone. I suppose it’s just reaction setting in. Whilst we were working out what to tell the police, the adrenalin was flowing. It kept the horror at bay. Now I feel as though I could sleep for a year.’
‘Come on, Peter,’ Linda said. ‘Let’s make some coffee in the kitchen whilst this pair have a few private minutes together.’
‘Forget coffee,’ he grunted, picking up the sherry bottle. ‘I think I need something a little stronger.’
As the Blackwells left the room, Harry turned to Juliet and said, ‘It’s going to be all right. Promise.’
She shivered. ‘Eggar’s no fool. He’s guessed he’s not been told the whole truth.’
‘Sure, and he might not be averse to giving me a hard time because of it. But he’ll soon discover I had no axe to grind with Symons. He needs to concentrate on people with a motive. Whoever murdered Symons meant him to suffer. Remember the blood?’
He realised it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left his lips and he bit his tongue as she flinched. Tears crawling down her cheeks, she said, ‘Jesus, Harry. How could I forget?’
From downstairs came the familiar strains of ‘Zorba the Greek’. He squeezed her shoulder. ‘Listen. We’ll get through this. Linda’s done her best for us. Peter too. As long as he stays sober.’
‘You can’t be too hard on him for liking a drink,’ Juliet snapped. ‘Linda told me he’s not been able to find a job since his company went down the pan. In the space of eighteen months he lost his father, his wife and his livelihood.’
Abashed by her sharpness, he mumbled, ‘It’s rough, but as long as he keeps his mouth shut…’
‘I think he will.’
‘Then we’ll be fine. Anyway, so far, so good. And when it’s all over…’
‘Yes?’
He suddenly realised that he did not have a clue what would happen when the murder was solved and they were able to breathe again. It seemed inconceivable that things could carry on as before. Murder, he thought, changes everything. Even when the victim is someone you disliked.
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted lamely. ‘But you’re the expert on telling the future. What has the Tarot got to say?’
Chapter Seven
‘Do something outrageous,’ Juliet suggested the next afternoon.
Jim wrinkled his nose and nodded towards Harry. ‘I leave that sort of thing to my friend here.’
‘You need to be noticed,’ she persisted, ‘to stand out from the crowd.’
Jim leaned his elbows on the small pile of books about management theory that he kept on his desk. He’d picked them up second-hand from the book fair in the Bluecoat Gallery to show Juliet they meant business about adapting to the challenges of the competitive legal marketplace. Titles like When Giants Learn To Dance and In Search Of Excellence set Harry’s teeth on edge and he was deeply sceptical about The One-Minute Manager. Perhaps he might try Thriving On Chaos. His partner spotted his jaundiced scanning of the paperback spines and scowled.
‘We did have the feller in charge of the murder investigation round here yesterday, but if that’s what we need to rebrand our image, perhaps we’d be better keeping a low profile instead.’
‘Well, you did ask.’
She gave a shrug and a weary smile. Harry could not remember seeing her in such subdued mood, yet he understood precisely why her face beneath the light make-up was drained of its usual colour. His own limbs felt heavy, as if he were still short of sleep, even though he’d slumbered through the alarm that morning and turned up late at court. Shaking off questions from inquisitive professional colleagues had proved even more taxing than putting together a plea in mitigation for a serial car thief.
He chewed at his lower lip. For both of them the enormity of events at Dawpool were sinking in. Juliet was finding, as he had found more than once, that the most testing murder puzzle of all was not ‘whodunit?’ but ‘how could this cruelty have been inflicted, whatever the provocation?’
And yet - the show must go on. Under their contract with her, she called in every fortnight to hold their hands for a half hour review as they took their first tentative steps along the tightrope of public relations. Today the theme was pitching for new business. Jim had the idea that this was the way of the future for the business-oriented legal practice, responding to invitations to tender with slickly packaged brochures extolling the virtues of the firm’s commitment to partner-led delivery of high-calibre profession
al services, delivered in prompt and practical manner and yet at reasonable cost. He’d mooted the possibility that the two of them might attend a course for training in presentation skills. Harry had demurred on the basis that if he’d wanted to become a salesman, he’d have spent the past ten years on the Costa del Sol flogging timeshares to tourists with more money than sense. But he had the familiar feeling that it was an argument he was bound to lose in the end.
Jim leaned back in his chair and said lazily, ‘What about this advertising feature in Enterprise Spotlight, then? Worth a shot, do you think?’
Harry jerked up straight in his chair. During the talk about beauty parades, he’d had to fight to keep his eyes open. Why didn’t commercial clients simply check out the Yellow Pages rather than forcing their prospective legal advisers to mince down a catwalk, murmuring platitudes about quality standards and added value? But that particular advertising feature was something else. The supposed reason for his visit to Linda’s cottage. Oh God, if only he’d come up with something more credible.
‘Juliet ruled it out on grounds of cost,’ he muttered.
Jim’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh really? I thought their rates were supposed to be highly competitive?’
Harry tensed. Had Jim seen through the subterfuge? The big man was no fool. Because he was a large awkward man who spoke slowly and in a broad Lancashire accent - which broadened further whenever he found himself in the company of people who patronised him - he was often underestimated. That was one mistake that Harry never made. He glanced across at Juliet. She was pursing her lips, giving the question serious thought. He’d better leave it to her to allay suspicion. It was something she was good at.
‘Leave it until after Christmas,’ she said in a tone so judicious as to make Solomon seem whimsical. ‘I’ll be able to negotiate a keener discount for you when the market’s a bit flat, with everyone spent up.’
‘Really?’ Jim seemed to be on the point of pressing her further, then thought better of it. He stood up, a signal that he needed to be off to his next appointment. ‘Well, you’re the expert. As to beauty parades, I’ll keep an eye on the business press for invitations to tender. Maybe I’ll put in a quote as an experiment, see how we make out.’
‘Why not?’ She fiddled with her wedding ring. ‘Nothing ventured…’
‘I’ll show you out,’ Harry said.
As the door closed behind them, she touched his hand with cool fingers. ‘That was a close one. Do you think he’s guessed about us?’
Think positive. ‘No, he’s just curious, that’s all. We’ve been very discreet.’
‘Not easy, is it?’ She grinned, although he sensed that it was an effort for her. ‘Specially when I’m itching to get my hands back on you.’
‘Uh-huh.’
He brushed his hand against her backside. She always had the capacity to excite him; even standing next to her in the draughty corridor, he was headily aware of her physical presence, aware too of his temperature rising, of a mounting excitement that was difficult to contain. Yet even when they were together, he could never quite rid himself of lurking doubts, the suspicion that he didn’t turn her on as much as she would have him believe. For her, he feared, their affair was a game in much the same way that murder mysteries were entertaining conundrums, not really to do with life and death. Perhaps the amusement lay in the sheer contrast between Casper and himself, perhaps she was like a small child learning the first lessons of independence, testing the boundaries of what one can get away with in the big bad grown-up world.
After leaving Peter’s flat the previous night, Juliet had suggested they go for a quick drink before parting. They’d picked a small pub Harry had never even noticed before, but he’d kept glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting to be seen by someone who knew him - or Juliet and her husband.
‘What’s the matter?’ she’d asked.
‘I don’t think I’m cut out for this,’ he said at last. ‘Must be my old Catholic roots. Perhaps I’m rediscovering them. I feel as though I’m drowning in guilt.’
‘Try going to confession and it’ll all be fine. Face it, Harry, we’ve been lucky. Linda and Peter have been marvellous, the way they’ve backed us up.’
‘Ummm. Linda is fine, everything you said was right. But the son still bothers me. He’s difficult to read. Moody.’
‘You’d be moody too if you’d been through as much.’
‘You keep saying that,’ Harry complained.
‘Well, it’s true. His father wrapped his car round a crash barrier on a motorway because some kids on a bridge were throwing stones at the traffic for a lark. Then his wife walked out. She was a bit of a scrubber, by all accounts, she’d been having it off with her boss, but it hit Peter hard. Like he said, his business folded under the strain. No wonder he’s cracked up, taken to drink, that sort of thing. You or I would do the same in his shoes, I bet. But when the police interviewed him, he toed the party line. What more could you ask for?’
‘Okay, but what if Mitch Eggar catches him on an off day?’
She slid her warm palm under the table and on to his thigh. ‘You don’t exactly look on the bright side, do you?’
With a doleful grin, he’d said, ‘At present, I’d take some convincing that there is a bright side.’
‘You’ve got me, what more do you want?’
He shook his head. ‘Wrong. Casper’s got you. He’s the man you married.’
‘You only live once.’ Her hand had begun to explore.
They’d finished up smooching in the doorway of a grocer’s shop and he hadn’t arrived back until the stroke of midnight. Later he’d lain awake for a while, wondering if she was right, that Peter could be trusted to keep his mouth shut and that Casper was too busy bedding bimbos and cuddling up to Cabinet ministers to be concerned about what his wife was playing at when he left her alone during the long dark nights.
Now she said, ‘You’re still worried about Peter spilling the beans, aren’t you?’
‘About that amongst other things.’
‘Talk to him again, if you like. One to one. Satisfy yourself he’ll button his lip.’
The very suggestion told him that she was more anxious about relying on Peter than she was willing to admit. ‘Okay. I’ll nip round there this afternoon if I get a chance. Somehow I get the impression he’ll be holed up at the flat. He doesn’t seem to have much going on in his life.’
‘You’re good at persuasion. I’m sure he’ll understand how important this is to you and me.’
‘We’ll soon find out.’
‘How about a reading from the cards?’
He shook his head. ‘No thanks. On second thoughts, I’d rather not know what else fate has in store for us.’
‘Blissful ignorance? You don’t look too blissful at the moment, Harry.’
‘Sorry. I suppose I haven’t forgotten Carl Symons, lying on that floor.’
‘No,’ she murmured, ‘nor have I.’
The door at the far end of the corridor swung open and Suzanne bustled through. ‘So there you are, Harry!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere! I had no idea you were still chatting to Mrs May.’
He cringed inwardly. Why didn’t she just pick up a megaphone and announce that he was deep in intimate conversation with an attractive woman who wasn’t his wife? ‘What is it, Suzanne?’
‘I have a call for you.’
‘Why don’t you take a number, say I’ll ring back?’
‘She’s in a callbox, so you can’t do that,’ Suzanne proclaimed triumphantly. ‘She offered to hold whilst I found out what you were up to.’
‘I’d better be going,’ Juliet said. ‘I’ll be in touch, Harry. Let me know if Jim has any luck with tendering for new business.’
Harry nodded. His private guess was that the average blue chip company was as likely to appoint Crusoe and Devlin as its lawyers as to distribute all its dividends to the homeless in a gesture of commitment to social equality. Back
in his own room, the phone was shrilling.
‘Hello?’
‘Harry. This is Andrea. That is, Andrea Gibbs.’ She spoke softly, sounded tongue-tied. ‘You won’t remember, but we’ve met a couple of times. I trained with Symons, Horlock and Young.’
‘Of course I remember.’ She wasn’t easily forgotten: a striking girl he’d bumped into on a couple of occasions, either when she’d been sitting behind counsel in court or at functions organised by the Liverpool Legal Group. He wasn’t sure what had happened to her after the firm she’d been working for suddenly imploded. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘It’s - oh, I don’t know. It’s probably nothing. I thought you should know, but now we’re talking it seems so silly, so trivial.’
‘What is it?’
‘No, I’m wasting your time. It was just about a new client.’
‘A new client?’ Harry repeated, baffled.
‘At least, he implied he was a new client. Or did he? Oh God, I’m being stupid. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Very sorry. Goodbye.’
The line went dead. Harry glared at the telephone, then called Suzanne. ‘I was cut off.’
‘It wasn’t my fault, I didn’t do anything!’ Suzanne believed that the best form of defence was attack. ‘Sure she didn’t just hang up on you?’
He banged the receiver down. What had that all been about? An idea occurred to him; he buzzed Carmel Sutcliffe and asked her to come in. Carmel was Jim’s assistant, a recruit taken on a few weeks ago in the hope that her presence would help the firm to cope if work flooded in as a result of all their marketing initiatives. So far she’d spent much of her time employed in key tasks such as helping Jim with the preparation of the new office manual, a weighty tome whose existence was a condition of funding under the legal aid franchise scheme. Its turgid contents seemed to Harry to have about as much bearing on the sharp end of legal practice as did Broom’s Legal Maxims, but at least it kept her out of mischief. Carmel was an exuberant and flirtatious young woman and he’d heard that, during her time on the committee of the Northern Association of Young Lawyers, her raunchy sense of humour - coupled with her enthusiasm for the law of real property, which struck most people as pretty kinky in itself - had earned her the nickname of Carmel Sutra. He liked her enormously but had resolved on the day Jim offered her the job to resist any temptation to misbehave where she was concerned. Life was complicated enough.
First Cut is the Deepest (Harry Devlin) Page 8