‘Where is he? Do you have any idea?’
‘None, I promise you. He’s vanished off the face of the earth.’ She was speaking quickly, as if frantic with the need to spit it all out before hysteria overwhelmed her. ‘The police are keeping an eye on my flat, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re tapping my phone. Listening to this call. But I’ve had no contact from him. Not a word.’
He bit his lip. A hitherto unsuspected possibility had occurred to him.
It was as if she had read his mind. ‘I’m scared. I keep wondering - if he might be dead.’
‘You think he may have had an accident? Or been murdered?’ He didn’t voice the third possibility: that Brett might have committed suicide.
‘Either.’
‘There’s no evidence, none at all.’ He was trying to persuade himself as much as the girl. Yet he couldn’t forget the scene he had witnessed outside the Titanic Rooms, when Spendlove had flung his arms round Andrea, watched by Brett from his vantage point on the other side of the road. A small incident, but one that an unstable man might brood over until it became a source of rage. Homicidal rage, even.
‘Remember, his two former partners have been killed.’
‘Yes, but Rick Spendlove had nothing to do with their old firm, as far as I know, and that didn’t save him.’
‘It’s dangerous to be a lawyer in Liverpool right now.’ Her voice sounded distant.
Harry rubbed his sore ribs. ‘Don’t I know it?’
For a few seconds neither of them spoke. Then the doorbell screamed. He felt a surge of relief. It must be Daniel.
‘Was that your door?’
‘It’s okay. I think I can guess who it is. Remember the mysterious Welshman?’
She gasped. ‘He’s come for you? Oh my God!’
‘It’s all right,’ he said, ‘there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing at all, believe me. He’s a bit odd, I know, he keeps harping on about vampires…’
He heard her moan and then the phone went dead. His visitor still had a finger on the bell. Swearing, he headed out into the hall. When he opened the door, he found that he had guessed right. Standing outside was Daniel Roberts. He had a bulky lever arch file under his arm.
‘I didn’t mean to be late. You must have been wondering what’s happened.’
Harry was conscious that he was still wearing his pyjamas. ‘Don’t worry, I overslept. Come in and tell me about it.’
Daniel followed him into the living-room and put the file down on the table in the middle of the room. ‘The manuscript, as promised.’
‘Thanks.’
Daniel sighed. ‘A bloody Nissan ran into the back of me, miles from anywhere. I had to call out a repair truck. It took an age, but they managed to fix things so that I was able to limp over here. I’d have rung to put you in the picture, but I don’t have a mobile and once I started, I thought I’d better keep driving.’
As an explanation, it was innocent enough, Harry thought. He had to believe it was true.
‘Any damage done to you?’
‘My shoulders are a bit sore, no more than that. I was lucky.’ Daniel sighed. ‘When you think of how easily these things happen. Remember, that’s how our mother died. A split second disaster on the road.’
‘Yeah.’ Harry bowed his head. ‘There’s been another killing.’
‘So I heard. I do have a primitive radio in the van, but the reception’s usually hopeless. The dead man’s a lawyer, isn’t that right?’ Daniel hesitated. ‘Not someone you know?’
‘Yes. An acquaintance, not a friend. He was a senior partner in a big firm. Fancied himself as a bit of a Casanova. I can’t pretend we were bosom pals.’
‘The reporter obviously believes there’s a serial killer at work, doesn’t he?’
‘I didn’t hear the news on the radio. Andrea Gibbs called. You remember, the girl you met at the Legal Group’s office.’
‘Oh yes.’ Daniel rubbed his chin. ‘I won’t forget her in a hurry.’
‘She’s worried sick about Brett Young.’ Harry gave a brief account of the conversation. ‘She rang off as soon as I told her you’d arrived. Her nerves are in tatters.’
‘That’s one explanation,’ Daniel said pensively.
‘What are you getting at?’
‘Oh, I don’t know … it was only a fleeting impression. Something and nothing, probably.’
Harry was about to press him further when the phone rang again. Andrea, calling back? He snatched up the receiver.
‘Harry, mate …’ Ken Cafferty’s tone was wheedling.
‘What do you want?’
‘No need to sound so suspicious,’ Ken said, all injured dignity. ‘Strange as it may seem, I want to pick your brains.’
‘Go on.’
‘You’ve heard the news, of course?’
‘In the last few minutes. And the victim’s Rick Spendlove?’
‘Right. I’m at the scene now.’ The crackling on the line muffled Ken’s voice, but did not disguise his excitement. ‘He was fished out of Benedict Dock, a stone’s throw from the old Priory. A couple of kids turned up for a bit of late-night nookie and saw a car boot sticking up out of the water.’
‘And the police are definitely connecting this death with the other two?’
Not even the poor reception could obscure Ken’s chortling. ‘It’d be nice to think that there were two separate crazed killers bent on culling the Liverpool legal profession. No, don’t bother to quibble. At least you’d have less competition to worry about. Yes, of course they’re bloody well linking the crimes.’
‘And the vampire angle?’
‘Not quite so sceptical now, eh? Well, the police have decided to go public. There’s no way they can keep things quiet any longer, absolutely no way. Mind you, they’re obviously rationing out the information, keeping as much stuff up their sleeves as they can get away with.’
‘So Rick finished up with a stake through the heart?’
‘Sort of.’ Ken hesitated. ‘That is, he was stabbed with a sharpened wooden stave. Funny thing is, the wound was superficial and they don’t seem to think that’s what killed him. Subject to the autopsy, of course.’
‘I don’t expect being decapitated did him much good.’
‘Well, Boycott Duff are certainly looking for a new Head of Corporate Recovery,’ Ken sniggered. Harry told himself that Ken wasn’t really heartless, that the gallows humour helped him to cope with life’s blackness - but he wasn’t sure it was the whole truth. ‘Bottom line is, though, he wasn’t beheaded. Mitch Eggar says that his throat was slashed, but not fatally. They reckon the actual cause of death was probably drowning.’
Harry ground his teeth. ‘So he may have been alive when he went into the water?’
‘Seems like it. We’ll have to wait for the pathologist’s report for a definite answer. Oh, and one other thing…’
‘Spare me the dramatic pauses, Ken.’
‘Okay, my friend, no need to snap. Now, pin your ears back. Spendlove’s killer had stripped him. Very ritualistic, by the sound of things. This is a front page story, no question. Look, I want a bit of inside track on Spendlove. Any chance you can come over here? I need to stick around for a while. There are people to talk to.’
‘I’m not even dressed yet.’
‘Christ, listen to you. Day of rest, eh? I’ve been out here since the early hours.’
‘There’s another thing. A friend of mine’s here.’
Ken chuckled. ‘Typical. No wonder you’re not dressed yet. Bring her along if you like. I won’t keep you long, then you can get back to taking care of the lucky lady. We can meet outside the Priory, it won’t take you long to nip through the tunnel. Don’t bother to shave. Say twenty minutes?’
‘Half an hour.’
Harry spoke with resignation, but part of him was burning with curiosity. After he’d put down the phone, he turned to Daniel. ‘That was a crime reporter, someone I know. He’s asked me to go to the scene, he wants backg
round on the man who was murdered. It won’t take long. When I mentioned you were here, he jumped to the conclusion you were a lady friend.’
‘Can I come with you? If you don’t mind, that is.’
Harry said slowly, ‘No, that’s okay. If you really want to.’
Daniel gave a bleak smile. ‘Perhaps we share an inquisitive gene.’
A shower, a shave and a mouthful of toast later, Harry was driving through the Kingsway Tunnel. Daniel coughed and said, ‘So is there a lady friend?’
Keeping his eyes on the curving road, Harry said carefully, ‘There have been a few since Liz died. No-one permanent.’
‘And at present?’
He wasn’t ready to say anything about Juliet. Too dangerous. Besides, he still did not know his half-brother well enough. Couldn’t even be sure how much he trusted him. ‘I’m not in the mood to settle down with anyone.’
‘Don’t make the mistake I did, Harry. The single life’s lonely. Lonely as hell.’
‘You’re not an old man. You might find someone.’
‘The only woman I really get to talk to these days is Bronwen from the truckstop. Not exactly my type. Anyway, who would want to get involved with a tongue-tied middle-aged bachelor who writes unpublished four-hundred-page novels about an imaginary vampire hunter? You’re younger, you’re a partner in a law firm. You must have plenty of opportunities.’
‘You may have the wrong idea about partners in solicitors’ firms,’ Harry said. ‘Let’s change the subject, eh? I don’t suppose you know Birkenhead?’
‘Not at all.’
‘The old Priory dates back hundreds of years. The monks used to run the ferry. Now the place is a ruin. Typical bit of Mersey heritage, really. It’s stuck between an industrial estate and a shipyard.’
They emerged from the mouth of the tunnel and Harry tossed a couple of coins into the basket at the toll booth. ‘We’re only a few hundred yards away,’ he said.
‘Seriously?’ Daniel was looking round at the intersecting roads, the single-storey factory units, the yellow cranes on the skyline.
‘I will admit it’s not exactly Tintern Abbey. But a red rose grows out in Spanish Harlem, you know?’
Daniel laughed. ‘Your taste in pop music is as out-of-date as mine in literature.’
‘Here we are.’
As they rounded a corner, they could see flashing blue lights and a cordoned-off area. A knot of sightseers had gathered on the near side of the tape, peering in the direction of the docks. Looking past the police cars, Harry saw a vandalised length of fencing and a nettle-fringed track leading to cobbles on the nearside of the dock. Screens had been set up but they were not big enough to hide the bulk of lifting gear or the battered bonnet of a Porsche. Harry drove on past a couple of television vans and spotted Ken Cafferty waving from a throng of men and women gabbling excitedly into mobile phones. Ken was gesturing that he should park a little distance away by the sandstone wall which edged the grounds of the Priory.
As they climbed out of the MG, Ken was beaming, but he blinked when he saw the state of Harry’s battered and bearded face.
‘Bugger me. You had quite an argument with the car that knocked you down, didn’t you? Who was driving, a disgruntled client? I’d sue, if I were you. Take legal advice, my friend, that’s what you ought to do.’
Harry gestured towards Daniel, who was standing outside the padlocked gate to the Priory, gazing through towards the old Chapter House. ‘This is Daniel Roberts, a relative of mine. He’d just called round when you rang.’
‘Pleased to meet you. Not met any of Harry’s flesh and blood before. Matter of fact, mate, going back to when Liz was done in, I had the impression you didn’t have any family left.’
‘Daniel lives in Snowdonia,’ Harry said casually, as if that explained everything. ‘He’s a writer and vampires happen to be his speciality.’
‘So you agree there’s something in the vampire theory after all?’
‘The man was immersed in water,’ Daniel said softly. ‘It’s one of the vampire-hunter’s favoured techniques.’
Ken scanned his face to check whether he was being sent up. ‘You think that’s why the car finished up in the dock?’
‘Depend upon it. It’s the same as the fire which killed the woman, Nerys Horlock. The murderer wanted to make sure his victim was dead.’
Harry asked, ‘Have the police been able to reconstruct exactly what happened?’
‘Things aren’t clear yet. My guess is, the car was parked close to the dock when Spendlove was killed. Then the handbrake was released and - Bob’s your uncle.’
‘Then Spendlove must have had a rendezvous with the murderer?’
‘I’d say it’s the only explanation. Maybe Young contacted him. Perhaps he even pretended that he needed to seek Spendlove’s professional advice. I make it a rule never to feel sorry for policemen, but I might just make an exception in Mitch Eggar’s case. Never mind Symons, Horlock and Spendlove, it’ll be Mitch’s head for the chopper if he doesn’t make an arrest very soon.’
‘Hang on a minute. You seem very sure that Brett Young is guilty.’
‘Listen, I know you love a mystery. Don’t we all? But there can’t be much doubt, can there? Young’s definitely got a screw loose.’
‘You’re jumping to…’
Ken wagged a finger. ‘Hear me out. Young lied about being a solicitor. He’d never passed the exams, but he inveigled his way into a job. Forged documents, concocted a c.v. that was more a work of fiction than one of my expense claims. Eventually he teamed up with Symons and Horlock. I don’t say he had no skills at all. For all I know, he was probably a better advocate than half the people with proper paper qualifications. But he wasn’t cut out for partnership. He didn’t have much nous where business was concerned. It was the glamour of the law that attracted him.’
‘Oh yeah, we all lead really glamorous lives. Even Rick Spendlove was doing his weekly shop the last time I saw him.’
‘Well, I won’t deny Brett was naïve. My theory is that Symons found out the truth and blackmailed him.’
‘And Nerys Horlock?’
‘I don’t say she was a blackmailer, but if she did know Young’s secret, he probably decided he couldn’t allow her to live.’
‘Rather over the top, don’t you think?’
‘Frankly, Harry, I’d say that driving a stake through someone’s heart and then chopping their head off to make sure was astonishingly over the top. After that, pretty much anything else is a model of restraint.’
‘All right, so what about Spendlove? Where does he fit in?’
‘That’s the one thing that bothers me. It’s why I asked you over. There must be a motive, maybe you can figure it out. Did Spendlove ever have any business dealings with Young? Would they have crossed each other’s paths in court?’
‘No, they operated in different areas of the law. I can’t imagine any reason why they’d want to meet, here or anywhere else. Spendlove was a business lawyer. Even Brett’s wildest fantasies didn’t stretch that far. Much the same as me. You don’t find a Fancy Dan like Rick Spendlove down the magistrates’.’
‘Wouldn’t be seen dead there?’ Ken sniggered. ‘Unlike Benedict Dock, eh? All right. What about women, then? Spendlove was a naughty boy. I caught the tail end of that fiasco in the Maritime Bar, remember? Could there have been bad blood between them on that account?’
Harry shrugged and avoided Ken’s eye, gazing past him towards the shell of St Mary’s Church. He didn’t want to say anything about Spendlove canoodling Andrea Gibbs in Old Hall Street. Ken could make out a convincing enough case for Brett’s guilt without it. But it was impossible to forget the angry drumming of Brett’s fingers on the steering wheel of the taxi that evening, as he tormented himself with what he had seen. Maybe Ken’s instinct was right and Brett had taken a brutal revenge.
‘It’s all guesswork,’ he said, trying to sound more casual than he felt. ‘Speaking of which, where do yo
u think your prime suspect might be hiding?’
Ken pursed his lips. ‘Good question. Until Spendlove was killed, my bet was that he’d turn up dead. I thought he’d have topped himself after killing his two ex-partners and someone walking a dog somewhere would stumble over his body and a suicide note. If he’s still around, then maybe he’ll get in touch with his girlfriend. If he hasn’t done so already.’
‘You’ve talked to her?’
‘Tried to. Strange girl. She wouldn’t say much, but she was certainly doing a Tammy Wynette and standing by her man. Denied all knowledge of his whereabouts. I didn’t take to her, but I was almost inclined to break the cynicism of a lifetime and believe she was telling the truth. In which case, God alone knows where Young has got to. Perhaps not very far at all. He might be sleeping rough in Birkenhead Park.’
‘And these vampiric elements,’ Daniel asked suddenly, ‘where do they fit in?’
Ken lowered his voice. ‘Don’t tell anyone I said this, but between the three of us, all that stuff’s starting to look like a red herring. Certainly, this time around he’s been pretty half-hearted about it all. Even though he did strip that poor bastard Spendlove stark naked.’
‘What exactly happened?’ Harry asked.
‘The way I heard it, the stave only inflicted a glorified flesh wound and if a cut throat can ever be superficial, Spendlove’s was. Assuming the water in the lungs did for him, it seems as if the vampire paraphernalia was all a bit of window dressing. Young’s been trying to throw people off the scent.’
‘Not a very successful ploy, if you’re right.’
Ken shrugged. ‘I never said the man was a genius. After all, even you passed the same exams he failed.’
Five minutes later, Harry and his half-brother were speeding under the river back towards Liverpool. They had left Ken making up a profile of Rick Spendlove, which from the early indications would bear as little resemblance to the reality as did tabloid obituaries of Diana, Princess of Wales to the real woman.
‘Well, what do you think?’ Harry inquired.
‘I can’t say I liked him.’
‘Listen, Ken’s not so bad. I meant, what do you make of the murder?’
First Cut is the Deepest (Harry Devlin) Page 26