He closed his eyes but his mind roamed, trying to pick a path through the maze that had defeated him for so long. Now he realised that the search for Alison had led him to a dead end. And although Stirrup might have murdered his first wife, he could never be convicted if he maintained his categorical denial of guilt. Yet the killing of Claire continued to be a torment. Why had she suffered a fate that did not make sense even in the context of any of The Beast’s previous crimes?
Harry concentrated on images of the dead girl. Claire at Caldy. Claire in Balliol Chambers. Claire’s unexpected visit to Gina Jean-Jacques. Claire’s mysterious trip to West Kirby. Somewhere amongst the childish deceptions of her young life lay, he felt sure, the clue to her death, the reason why The Beast had for the first time abandoned his preference for blondes.
For hours, it seemed, he struggled with the conundrum. Eventually sleep returned and this time he did not dream.
It was half-nine before he awoke once more; neither the alarm nor the shafts of light falling through the narrow gaps in the curtains had stirred him. The day ahead would be long and busy and he was already late. Yet that did not seem to matter. He opened his eyes to the morning and stretched his arms to the heavens, as if freed from a slave’s chains. He felt intensely alive and all-seeing. Now at last he knew the solution. And a solution, what was more, that gave him grim satisfaction.
He rang the office to say he wouldn’t be in until noon at the earliest. Slinging his jacket over his shoulder he headed for the city centre. In Chavasse Park young girls lazed on the grass, soaking up the sun, but he didn’t give them a second glance. Inside ten minutes he was climbing the stairs of Balliol Chambers.
Denise sat behind the desk in reception, her pale pink top revealing tanned flesh. As she caught sight of him she lifted her eyebrows and smiled.
“Oppressive, isn’t it? This must be the hottest day we’ve had yet. They said on the weather forecast that a storm…”
“Where’s Julian?”
She frowned at his brusqueness.
“It’s Mr. Hamer you’d like to see? I didn’t realise a conference was booked.”
“I haven’t an appointment. But I need to see him right now.”
Denise pursed her lips, put out by this breach of professional courtesy.
“Let me see, David Base is having a day off at home. Now where has he put the diary… ?”
“If you don’t mind, I’m going straight in.”
Before Denise could utter a protest Harry walked past her and down the corridor. At Julian’s door he knocked briefly and went straight in.
The room was empty. Harry scanned it slowly, as if the barrister might be lurking under his desk or between book shelves, then tried Valerie’s room. No luck there either. She must be out at court. For an instant as he looked round, Harry recalled the nightmare which had woken him earlier that morning. The memory chilled him and he slammed the door on his way out.
“Mr. Hamer’s on a case,” said Denise in reproach. “I could have told you if only you’d waited.”
“Sorry, love. I’m in a hurry. Where is he?”
“The Law Courts. A medical negligence claim.”
“And Valerie?”
“Miss Kaiwar’s over there too. Road traffic.”
Harry raced down the stairs again. The thought that Valerie was in the same building as Hamer gave him a curious sense of unease. Yet nothing dangerous could happen in a court of law. Could it?
He was soon in the Law Courts, checking the typed daily sheets on the noticeboard to find his quarry. Court number three. He reached the room in half a minute and slipped in at the back.
The court was three-quarters full. A young girl in a wheelchair sat at the front, surrounded by friends here to support her case against the doctor whose clumsiness, Harry presumed, had caused her to lose the use of her legs. Her expression was anxious. No, more than that, panic-stricken. And the people with her were also twitching with alarm.
Julian was on his feet. He was speaking slowly and slurring his words. Yes, there could be no mistake. Fumbling foolishly with his papers and slurring his words. Drunk in court? Harry could scarcely believe that this was the same smooth adversary who had stolen the affections of Valerie Kaiwar.
Suddenly a couple of sheets of paper slipped from Julian Hamer’s hands.
“My Lord. Er - please excuse me.”
Julian bent down and scrabbled around on the floor, trying to gather together the bits and pieces he had let fall. In the row behind, a grey-haired woman solicitor had the look of a schoolmarm watching a blue movie. Her opposite number was whispering in the ear of his barrister. Chuckles were audible.
The judge was old Borrington, a kindly soul who liked to snooze in the afternoon. He peered down at Julian Hamer and in the fluting tone which Harry believed to be in itself a qualification for the Bench said, “Mr. Hamer, I wonder… the day is rather warm. And even in this fine building the air-conditioning is not quite as one would wish. Perhaps if we were to adjourn for ten minutes?”
“My - my Lord. I’m most grateful.”
The court rose as the ancient in ermine pottered out and the defendant’s barrister exchanged a smirk with his instructing solicitor. Hamer stumbled to the door, leaving the grey-haired woman to talk in hushed, urgent tones to her client.
“Julian, can I have a word?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
Hamer flushed. He ran a hand through his normally sleek fair hair.
“What about?”
“In private, if you don’t mind.”
“Look, can we do this some other time? You can see I’m right in the middle of a big case. And f… frankly, it’s not going particularly well so far.”
“So I see. But this can’t wait.”
“What’s got into you?”
“Come on.”
Harry grasped Hamer’s arm and propelled him down to the passageway towards the robing rooms. Finding the barristers’ sanctum empty, Harry bundled his captive inside and onto a chair before releasing his grip.
“For God’s sake, man. What’s all this…”
“Claire Stirrup’s dead.”
Hamer’s face was a puzzled blank. Dark rings curved under his eyes. Someone else hasn’t been sleeping, Harry thought.
“I know. We spoke about it.”
“Why did she have to die, Julian?”
“What do you mean? She was murdered by a maniac.”
“The Beast, yes. But her death troubled me. You know, the way The Beast usually chooses blonde-haired girls, whereas Claire was dark.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Here’s another mystery. Claire laid a false trail on that Saturday when she died. Claimed she was going to the library but she didn’t take her books with her. So what was she up to? I wondered for a while if her father had lied about the library himself. Perhaps he might be implicated. He has guilty secrets of his own, I think. Yet I know he’d never harm his own daughter. He worshipped that girl. So Claire lied to him. Why?”
Wearily, Hamer said, “God knows why you’re asking me. The answer is obvious, isn’t it? She was off to see some lad and Daddy wasn’t to know.”
“Possibly. But the date wasn’t with her regular boyfriend. I’m sure he’s telling the truth on that score. And repellent though he is, I don’t think she had eyes for anyone else. Which led me to think that she must have been up to something different.”
“Look, I’m in the midst of a trial. I haven’t the time to indulge in your guessing games. I’m sorry the client’s child was killed, but it’s nothing to do with me.”
Hamer made as if to get up and leave but Harry again put his arm out in restraint.
“Let me finish. Shortly before she died, Claire did one or two odd things. She visited a girl, not a close friend, who had been raped by The Beast a few weeks earlier. Yet Claire was no angel of compassion.”
“Where is all this leading?�
�
“To you,” Harry said softly.
“To me? I don’t understand.”
“After she met you, she started behaving oddly. I’ve asked myself what could explain everything that happened to her.”
“And?”
“And I’ve come up with the answer. She recognised you.”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“She was on the Wirral Way the afternoon her schoolfriend was attacked. Waiting for her boyfriend. Suppose she saw a man hanging around? Thought nothing of it at the time, but later wondered if he might just have been The Beast. And what if when she attended the conference in chambers she realised you were that man?”
Hamer’s cheeks were as white as mortuary sheets.
“This is monstrous speculation. Absolutely monstrous.”
“No wonder she was so preoccupied that day. Imagine coming face to face with The Beast. Jack Stirrup said something about her mooning over you at the conference. He misunderstood what she saw in you. So she spoke to the other girl, the one who was raped, though I doubt she learned much. Then she got in touch with you, tried a little blackmail. Her boyfriend had given her the taste for it. She may have asked for money, I don’t know. But most of all she wanted power over another human being. So when she told you to meet her in West Kirby, she insisted you bring her a dozen red roses. A token of your submission to her will, I guess. She loved the thought of having you on a string. And as a bonus she could make her boyfriend jealous if she flourished the roses under his nose later that afternoon, make him think she had a secret admirer.”
Harry swallowed hard. “She was naive enough to think she could look after herself. For what it was worth, she’d learned self-defence, picked up a bit of karate. She didn’t take any precautions. I suppose she thought of it all as a kind of game. A deadly game, though. You managed somehow to catch her by surprise. I suppose you had your car handy to take her body to New Brighton. Where you scattered the roses over her corpse and left it to rot in the cave.”
“You must be out of your mind.”
Not Hamer speaking, but a newcomer. Someone Harry recognised only too well. He saw in the doorway the figure of Valerie Kaiwar. A thick bundle of documents tied with pink ribbon was under her arm. Her face was burning, not with the heat of the day but with rage.
“Valerie!”
“Yes,” she said, mimicking the surprise in his tone. “Valerie.”
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough to realise you’ve finally gone round the bloody bend.”
“You don’t understand why…”
“Don’t you tell me I don’t understand! Compared to you, I’m a genius of detection. How dare you stand there and calmly accuse Julian of rape and murder?”
“Valerie, the facts…”
“What do you know about facts? Look at Julian, look at him! How can you possibly have the nerve to say those terrible things?”
Hamer buried his head in his hands. He was beginning to shake. The pathetic spectacle reinforced Harry’s conviction. The man was demoralised because he had been found out.
“Everything points to his guilt, Valerie.”
“Crap! You don’t know the first thing about him.”
“I know enough.”
“Really?” Her manner was withering. “Let’s test that bold assertion, shall we? For instance - when do you think The Beast hid Claire Stirrup’s body in the cave?”
“The police can’t be sure. Even if she was killed around mid-day, they reckon her body was kept somewhere - a carboot presumably - until darkness fell and he had the chance to lift it into the cave unobserved.”
“Right. Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Are we?”
“Yes, Sherlock, we are. You want to know why? Listen - all the time when you think he was over on Wirral burying that little girl, he was at home in Liverpool. And I can prove it. Shall I explain? Because I was there too. Yes, you can wipe that look off your face. It’s true. I was with him all evening.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“You’re lying,” said Harry. “Lying to protect him.”
Valerie exclaimed in anger. Hamer still had his head in his hands. She glanced at him before beckoning grimly to Harry to follow her as she stepped backwards into the corridor.
As soon as they were outside the robing room she banged the door shut and hissed in his ear.
“You utter bastard! How could you do that to him? How could you? And how could you accuse me of - of - God, you’re an idiot! How is it I’ve only just realised?”
Her storm of anger had shipwrecked him.
“Valerie, we need to talk.”
“Too right. Come with me.”
She led him past a couple of doors before pausing outside the entrance to the library.
“We may as well try this place; God knows, there’s seldom anyone here.”
They went inside, squinting along the tall stacks of books. No one was mugging up on the last minute point of law. Valerie walked past the shelf marked crime and sat on one of two high stools next to blasphemy and obscenity. She motioned him to do likewise.
Quietly, as if the books might eavesdrop, she said, “You’ve made a complete and utter fool of yourself.”
“If you’re right,” said Harry, “it wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Nor the last, I expect.” She sighed, pushing a small hand through the thicket of her hair. “Why did you have to do it? To Julian, of all people?”
“Everything fits, Valerie.”
“Nothing fits. For a start, Julian would never terrorise a woman. I’m not guessing. I know him well.”
“So it seems.”
“You can cut out the sarky comments for a start.”
“What would you say if you were me? You’ve already given him your alibi. And I rang your flat last night. Very late. He answered the phone.”
She stared at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You actually think Julian and I are lovers?”
“Do you deny it?”
“For Christ’s sake!” Her anger had returned and, with it, her voice rose. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“What do you expect me to say?”
Wincing, she said, “I can see I’m going to have to satisfy your bloody curiosity, even though it does mean breaking a promise.”
“Maybe you owe me an explanation.”
“Don’t be stuffy, Harry, it doesn’t suit you. And remember this - I don’t owe you anything.”
“Okay, okay, okay. Are you going to tell me or not?”
A warning light shone in her eyes, making him feel like an ant about to be crushed by a sledgehammer.
“Julian has MS.”
“What?”
“Multiple sclerosis, you know?”
Now it was Harry’s turn to stare.
“He’s had the symptoms for months, but he’s said nothing to anyone until recently. Things got worse, he eventually went to see the doctor and the diagnosis was confirmed.”
“Christ.”
“Before I came in and heard you haranguing him I was having a word with the solicitor in the case Julian’s handling today. I gather things went badly. People thought he was pissed.”
“That’s right. At least - I did.”
“After a night of lust with me, I suppose you thought?”
“Something like that,” he muttered.
“Harry, you prick.” Her voice trembled with contempt. “Certainly he was with me. As he has been on several occasions when you’ve wanted me to spend time with you.”
“I see.”
“I doubt it. He swore me to secrecy. I’m still the only person he’s confided in apart from the doctors. He daren’t tell anyone. Not everyone with MS continues to degenerate. He’s been praying that the symptoms are only transient. I try to persuade him he’ll be one of the lucky ones, but he doesn’t believe it and frankly neither do I. All I can do is offer my time, company, whatever comfort I can.
Not sex, if that’s what you’re bothered about, but friendship. We talk long into the night. Why do you think I’ve fobbed you off so many times when you wanted us to spend an evening together? He needs support more than any man I know. More than you, for a start. At least you have your life to lead, your business. Julian knows this bloody disease will destroy his career. What solicitor is going to brief a mouthpiece who can’t even guarantee to get the words out straight?”
She folded her arms and looked at him. It was a mannerism she had picked up in the courts, a let’s-see-what-you-make-of-that look, more effective than any advocate’s rhetoric.
Harry kept quiet for a long time, thinking of small clues he had misunderstood. Like the way Julian had dropped his cup that afternoon in Balliol Chambers when he first saw Claire. A sign not of guilty recognition, but of the bit-by-bit deterioration of his body.
Hoarse with self-reproach, he said, “You’re right. I have made a fool of myself. What can I say?”
“Not a lot. What’s done can’t be easily undone. All I’ll say is - you’re not the man I thought you were. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back and see Julian.”
She turned on her heel and left Harry to his thoughts. He took a step forward and knocked his head, not gently, several times against the shelf labelled contracts and OBLIGATIONS. Out of the corner of his eye the title of an old, calfskin-bound tome caught his eye.
Mistake of Fact.
“Shit!” he said. “Shit, shit, shit!”
As he spoke a young woman, dressed so severely and looking so thirsty for legal knowledge that she could only be an articled clerk working for Maher and Malcolm, walked into the room. She took one look at him, crimsoned and then disappeared out of sight again.
Time to go, Harry said to himself. You’ve done enough damage in the last twenty-four hours to last a professional lifetime.
He loosened his tie, put his jacket over his shoulder and shambled out of the library, down the stairs and into the sweltering heat of Derby Square. There, he spotted a familiar figure limping towards him. Jonah Deegan. Uncertainty flitted across the old detective’s face and he cleared his throat noisily before addressing Harry with less than his usual truculence.
“I was looking for you. Just been to your office. To have a word about Stirrup.”
Suspicious Minds (Harry Devlin) Page 19