Daniel gave a sudden dazzling smile. ‘Stoker was a lawyer, too, you know. The title of his first book was The Duties of Clerks of Petty Sessions in Ireland.’
‘Don’t tell me. A cult classic of gore and law?’
‘No fangs.’ Daniel bared his teeth in a grin that Harry found vaguely alarming. ‘Mind you, there are plenty of clues to Stoker’s legal training in Dracula. Do you recall that Jonathan Harker, the narrator, is a recently admitted solicitor? He’s been sent out to Transylvania to advise the Count on the purchase of an estate in London.’
‘Those were the days. Have quill pen, will travel. That’s the trouble, all the romance has gone out of the profession. The furthest I was ever allowed to roam was the Small Claims Court at Macclesfield.’
‘Jonathan’s an innocent abroad, a young man turning up at this remote castle in the midst of the Carpathians.’ Daniel sighed. ‘I feel a bit like that about my trips to Liverpool. A yokel in the city. Anyway, Jonathan seeks out familiar things. It gladdens his heart when he examines Dracula’s library and his eyes fall on the Law List.’
‘Sounds like desperation to me.’
‘Oh, believe me,’ Daniel said with fervour, ‘there’s more. Jonathan explains at length to his host how solicitors act as local agents. After the Count has quizzed him about the conduct of various business transactions, he decides that Dracula “would have made a wonderful solicitor”.’
Harry couldn’t help laughing. ‘That’s all we need. To be identified with the king of the bloodsuckers.’
‘Jonathan means it as a compliment. He visualises the Count as a lawyer because “there was nothing that he did not think of or foresee.”’
‘That proves it. I’m in the wrong job.’
They had reached the van. Daniel paused in the act of unlocking the door. ‘You thought I was going to kill you, didn’t you?’
Taken by surprise, Harry gave a non-committal cough while he pondered a reply. It had to be convincing; whatever else he might be, Daniel was no fool.
Daniel leaned against the van, resting his chin on his palm as he looked across at Harry. ‘My fault. I’d concentrated so much on tracking you down, I never gave a second thought to how you might react when you found someone was on your trail. I’d invested so much - I suppose you might call it emotional capital - that perhaps I was afraid of what you’d say. It was bound to be a shock when I told you that we were family.’
Harry shifted from one foot to another. He wasn’t accustomed to talking intimately with another man. Daniel’s arrival in his life had opened doors that he had believed to be closed for ever. An agony columnist, he guessed, would urge him to accentuate the positive. He’d been given a chance, a unique chance, to share his life in a wholly unexpected way. He ought to be exhilarated. The only trouble was that he would be sharing his life with a stranger whose conversation sometimes made him shiver.
‘You frightened me, I’ll confess that.’
Daniel gave his back a gentle slap. ‘I promise I don’t have any immediate plans to decapitate you. The trouble is, whenever we talk, it seems we’re sailing in uncharted waters.’
‘I’m afraid you’re hoping for more than I can give.’
‘Hoping that you can help me get a life? The life I mislaid a long time ago?’ Daniel shook his head. ‘No, Harry. I’m not naïve. It’s enough for me that I’ve found you. I don’t intend to make myself a nuisance.’
‘I’m glad you got in touch,’ Harry said softly. ‘Obviously it was a bolt from the blue. I won’t pretend I wasn’t shocked. Truth is, what you’ve told me still hasn’t sunk in yet. I guess it will take time. One thing’s for sure: you did well to track me down. I’ve decided you’re a better detective than me.’
‘We both want the same thing, don’t you agree?’ Daniel’s tone suggested he thought he regarded the idea as reassuring. Harry remembered Juliet on the phone, a few hours before she’d stumbled over Symons’ body. She was someone else who was convinced she knew what he wanted. ‘To find things out. Even when finding out might be more painful than remaining in ignorance.’
Harry cast his mind back to tragedies that his investigations had in the past revealed. The passion that had caused the death of his wife. The fear that explained the murder of Finbar Rogan. The secret kept by the mother of a strangled teenager. ‘I can’t deny it,’ he admitted. ‘Even though it can be dangerous. A drug.’
‘I read the press cuttings about you. It seems you simply can’t stop getting involved with murder.’
Harry winced. He didn’t regard himself as a ghoul, didn’t want Daniel to see him that way. ‘I didn’t have much choice as far as Carl Symons was concerned. And Nerys Horlock was an acquaintance as well. When people you know are butchered, people in the same line of business, it’s all coming pretty close to home.’
‘I’ve read up about the killings in the newspaper. You dropped a hint this morning about a vampire connection.’
‘Me and my big mouth.’ As he’d made coffee in the flat, he had gabbled about the murders for the sake of having something to say.
‘Where do vampires come in? I’ve seen nothing in the Press.’
‘No, the police are keeping that aspect of the case - for what it’s worth - under wraps. They’ll be lucky if someone doesn’t blow the gaff any time now in the hope of making a fast buck from the tabloids. I didn’t mean to let the cat out of the bag, though. My fault. I should have kept quiet.’
‘I don’t want to embarrass you,’ Daniel said. ‘Saying that, I must confess I’m intrigued. Especially given - my own interests. Can you tell me any more?’
Harry shrugged. The damage was done now. Besides, Ken hadn’t sworn him to secrecy and the odds were that he might not run the vampire story until Brett was found and he could discover whether there was anything in it. Daniel knew plenty about vampires. Perhaps he could help. ‘It’s a long story and I don’t know a lot of the details. But let’s get in and I’ll give you a flavour of it.’
As they drove towards the city centre, he described briefly what he knew. ‘So there you are. It’s not much to go on. A shattered mirror, a whiff of garlic. Stakes through the victims’ hearts.’
‘Significant that both Carl Symons and Nerys Horlock had their heads cut off,’ Daniel said, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. He was a maddening driver, careful to the point of irrational timidity in negotiating Liverpool’s one-way system. ‘That’s part of the myth.’
‘Tell me more.’
‘After Lucy Westenra became a vampire, Abraham Van Helsing insisted that it wasn’t enough to drive a stake through her heart. She had to be decapitated as well. Her coffin was opened and they mutilated her.’
‘But why?’
‘Because, Van Helsing said, it was the only way to make sure that she would no longer be one of “the Devil’s Un-Dead”. Only when her head was cut off could she be “true dead”. Only then could God have possession of her soul.’
Daniel spoke in the same matter-of-fact tone that a broadcaster might use for reading out the racing results. Harry felt his gorge rising. He wasn’t sure which he found the more disturbing: the murderer’s modus operandi or Daniel’s calm appraisal of it.
‘When I think about vampires,’ he said, ‘and it isn’t too often, I picture Christopher Lee in a long black cloak. Apart from that, I’m pretty hazy.’
‘Don’t be deceived by cheap Hammer Horror films,’ Daniel said. ‘Vampires represent our deepest fears. Of disease, of sex, of death. They are powerful and dangerous. Human dignity means nothing to them.’
‘A bit like game show hosts, then?’
The car halted at a red light. Daniel turned his head and gave the thinnest of smiles. He did not altogether lack a sense of humour, Harry thought, but there was no doubt that it came a poor second to his obsession with the Un-Dead.
‘They have died, yet they have conquered the darkness. By feeding on the blood of others, they retain their potency. They are repulsive, yet at the same time s
trangely glamorous. They drain the life from their victims, sucking all the vitality out of them. And all too often, the victims may be those closest to us.’ The lights had changed, but Daniel made no move. When a car’s horn sounded behind them, he took no notice. It was as if he were talking to himself, intoning the words like a preacher giving a sermon at a non-conformist chapel somewhere in the wilds of Wales. ‘Lucy Westenra was beloved by Arthur Holmwood, yet he had no choice but to drive the stake through her heart. That’s part of the reason for our fear of them. Our terror that our loved ones have become lost souls.’
‘How do you get on with him?’ Jim asked that evening. He’d come round to the flat to check on how Harry’s recuperation was progressing whilst they put away a couple of beers. In the background Marvin Gaye was crooning about what he’d heard on the grapevine.
‘He’s different.’ The ringpull of the can opened with a hiss. ‘That’s one thing I can say for sure. All those years living on his own in the Welsh mountains haven’t done much for his social skills. You don’t get small talk with Daniel Roberts. Just non-stop cross-examination.’
‘Quizzing you about your mum?’
‘It’s only natural. I want to help as much as I can. I was the lucky one. Even though I lost her, I did have her for the early years. I keep wondering if I was a disappointment, if she asked herself how Daniel would have compared to me, had she kept him. But whether or not she did, she never gave a hint of it to me. Perhaps that’s all that matters.’
‘Seeing him again?’
‘Tomorrow. I suggested he stay overnight, but he said no, he had things to do back at home. He works at a truckstop, to make enough money so that he can eat whilst he’s penning his novel. So he’s driving back here again and bringing his manuscript with him.’
‘Make a change from all that mystery stuff you read by the yard.’
‘I’m intrigued, I admit it. Mind, I’ve warned him that I’m not too keen on stories of horror and the supernatural. I like my puzzles to have a rational explanation.’
‘Then you’re in the wrong job, aren’t you?’
‘At least I did manage to qualify as a solicitor. Not like Brett Young.’
‘Yeah, you could have knocked me over with a quill pen when I heard about that. And there’s still no sign of him, I gather.’
‘He could be anywhere by now. For all we know, he could be putting his experience as a cabbie to good use somewhere else, pretending to be an expert in road traffic law.’ Harry yawned. ‘By the way, before you ask, I should be in the office on Monday morning and I guess that once I’m back I’ll have plenty to do, catching up with the backlog.’
‘You’re not wrong. The lovely Carmel has done a good job covering in your absence, but somehow the clients miss your inimitable style.’
‘You mean because her letters are crammed with advice based on legal precedent, whereas mine usually run to two paragraphs?’
‘That’s one way of looking at it.’
‘You do realise mine are short whenever I’m hazy about what the law actually is?’
Jim wiped the foam from his mouth. ‘You know that, I know that. The clients think that you’re distilling the wisdom of years of study in concise and practical fashion without running up unnecessary fees. It’s like the lawyer in that film you like so much. Body Heat. It was on the box the other night. Remember when his mate accuses him of using his incompetence as a weapon?’
‘Thanks a lot.’
‘Any road, it’ll be good to see you behind the desk again. You’ll notice one or two changes.’
Harry scowled. ‘You’ve got rid of my spider plants, haven’t you?’
‘They were dying, old son. It was a kindness. Think mercy killing. Besides, Suzanne raised serious questions about whether they were up to the mark in terms of Feng Shui. Incidentally, it may not be mumbo-jumbo after all. Since I let her persuade me to have reception repainted, business has been brisker than ever. We may even have a slug of decent new work in the offing. All the signs are good, so keep your fingers crossed. Tell you more on Monday.’
‘By then I guess I’ll be glad of the break. I’ve spent so long walking down Memory Lane with my new brother. Did I tell you his book is about vampires?’ Harry grinned. ‘He’s batty about Dracula.’
Jim’s bushy eyebrows shot up. ‘That’s - topical. Lot of talk in the city at the moment about vampires.’
‘Because of the way the murders were committed? I thought the police were trying to keep things under wraps. Ken Cafferty was planning to break the story, but he seems to have got cold feet since Brett did a runner.’
‘Word’s got round. As it usually does. Mitch Eggar is under a lot of pressure to deliver a result. If he can’t track Brett down, then anyone hanging round the law courts wearing a cape and baring his canines is likely to find himself locked up.’
‘One or two judges must be worried, then.’
‘Yeah.’ Jim put his can down on the carpet. ‘Have you talked to Daniel about the murders?’
Harry nodded. ‘He reckons that there’s something in the vampire connection. It’s not just the product of a journalist’s overheated imagination. The decapitation is symbolic, it’s what the prudent vampire hunter does to make sure that the coffin lid doesn’t get pushed open again. To make extra sure, it may be worth destroying the vampire’s body. For example by burning it.’
Jim’s eyes narrowed. ‘Hence the fire at Nerys’s office? Well, well. Maybe the police ought to consult Daniel’s expertise.’
‘Maybe.’
‘What’s up? You don’t look happy.’
Harry sighed. ‘It’s stupid, of course. But he worries me, does Daniel.’
‘You don’t seriously think he has anything to do with these killings?’
‘I said it was stupid,’ Harry said mulishly.
‘Come on. Brett had the motive, plus the opportunity. He knocked you down with his car but didn’t stop. He’s on the run. You’re a defence lawyer, I don’t expect you to agree, but most people would say those are the actions of a guilty man.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Harry said. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to believe it.
The insistent shrill of the telephone woke Harry the next morning. His head was throbbing and his mouth was dry. He opened one eye to look at the bedside alarm. Ten to eleven. He swore under his breath. Hadn’t Daniel said he’d turn up at ten thirty? He had a vague recollection that he’d carried on drinking alone after Jim’s departure. He’d put on a tape of a favourite old Edward G. Robinson film, Nightmare, but he’d fallen asleep before the end. It didn’t matter; he’d watched the movie half a dozen times before. When he’d woken up, some bloke in a kipper tie and flares had occupied the screen, sharing with Open University students and other night owls the secrets of higher mathematics. He’d struggled off to bed and although he’d slept deeply, for once he couldn’t remember any of his dreams.
The telephone kept ringing. He shambled over and picked up the receiver. His body was stiff and his ribs still hurt: the sudden unwelcome shafts of pain reminded him that he was still weak after the accident.
‘Harry?’
At first he couldn’t place the woman’s voice. She sounded breathless, frightened. ‘Who’s that?’
‘It’s Andrea. Andrea Gibbs. When - when I rang your office the other day, I heard you’d been hit by a car.’
Driven by your boyfriend, actually. ‘I’ll live. So you’ve been trying to contact me?’
‘I called after the news broke about Brett. This stuff about his not being a qualified lawyer. It knocked the stuffing out of me. I don’t know, I suppose I wanted someone to talk to. Someone I could trust.’
You hardly know me. You must be desperate. ‘Has he been in touch?’
‘No, no - but have you heard the news?’
‘What news?’
She sounded as though she were gulping for air. ‘Don’t you know there was another murder last night?’
For all the silence of the flat, Harry thought he might be deafened by the pounding inside his head. He clutched the table for support. For a moment he feared his legs would buckle beneath him. Why did he waste his time watching old movies about nightmares, when every day seemed to bring horrors closer to home?
‘What are you talking about?’ he said, his voice thick with catarrh.
‘It’s been on the radio. Television news as well.’
‘I’ve been in bed.’
‘Sorry. I - I didn’t mean to disturb you. But there wasn’t anyone else I could…’
‘Doesn’t matter. Look, do you know who’s been killed?’
Her voice was shaking so much that she could hardly talk. He heard her gulp before her voice steadied enough to make herself understood.
‘Another lawyer.’
Chapter Twenty
He felt himself tensing, dreading what she would say next. For God’s sake - what if it were Jim? Fighting to keep a tremor out of his own voice, he asked, ‘A friend?’
‘No. God, no. But…’
She had started crying. Helpless at the other end of the line, Harry tried to soothe her. As the sobbing eased, he said, ‘Have they given a name?’
‘A few minutes ago. It’s Rick Spendlove.’
His first instinctive reaction was one of relief. Thank God it’s no-one I care about, then. But then shame flooded through him. He hated his own selfishness. He hadn’t liked Spendlove, but the death penalty had been abolished years ago. You couldn’t be, shouldn’t be, slaughtered just because you were a creep. Or just because you were a solicitor, come to that.
‘Do you know what’s happened?’
She had begun to weep again. ‘His car was found in a dock at Birkenhead. The police say they are linking it to the other two murders.’
‘Shit.’ His thoughts flew to Daniel. Surely it wasn’t possible that he was the killer? If only he’d agreed to stay overnight in the flat. And why hadn’t he arrived here this morning?
‘I’m afraid, Harry. Afraid for Brett.’
First Cut is the Deepest (Harry Devlin) Page 25