The Devil in Disguise (10 page)

‘I hope you're not torturing yourself, Ashley,' she said quietly. ‘It must be tempting to take some of the responsibility on yourself, to imagine that if only you'd taken the call, things might have been different.'

‘You've read his mind,' Melissa Whitaker murmured. A slender woman with high cheekbones, she had the sort of blue eyes that people wrote poems about. Harry knew that Ashley idolised her and he could understand why. Yet she was so quiet that it was surprisingly easy to overlook her. If Harry hadn't been watching her closely, he wouldn't have noticed her give her husband's hand a comforting squeeze as she spoke.

‘It's human nature,' Frances said. ‘You were always close to him, Ashley. It's significant that after he dialled your number and couldn't get through, he didn't try to call any of the rest of us.' She paused and Harry guessed that in her mind she was adding the words:
not even me
. ‘But I'm sure there was nothing you could have done.'

‘I've already told him that,' Melissa said. ‘But he's been brooding ever since we heard the news.'

‘Don't,' Frances said to him. ‘God knows, if there is any blame, we should all take a share of it. Luke knew a great many people, but he was a lonely man. He never got over Gwendoline's death. I have this feeling that his death was a long time coming. He'll have thought it through in his rational way. My guess is that he was calling you simply to say goodbye.'

Ashley grunted and Harry said, ‘In that case, surely it's odd that he didn't write to Ashley. Or anyone else, come to that.'

‘Plenty of suicides don't leave a note,' Tim said.

‘Are you an expert on the subject?' Roy asked.

The question seemed to shock Tim. He coloured and mumbled something unintelligible. There was a short uncomfortable silence. Harry found himself shivering and was not sure that the biting wind was entirely to blame. Finally Frances said, ‘Have we heard any more from Vera's solicitors?'

‘Not yet. I haven't yet revealed what we know about her false references. Meanwhile, I'm waiting for further revelations from our private investigator.'

‘Let me know when there's news,' Frances said briskly. ‘And now, everyone, if you'll excuse me, I must be going. It's been quite a draining day.'

As Matthew followed her down the path towards the lych gate, Ashley sighed and said, ‘Good to see you again, Harry. I'm only sorry about the circumstances. As a matter of fact, I wondered if it would be possible for us to have a quiet word later? Do you have anything on this evening?'

‘Nothing special.' Kim was duty solicitor tonight. He had seen her only briefly at court since the Legal Group's AGM. Anything was better than a television dinner and an evening alone spent watching unfunny sitcoms.

‘Let me run Melissa home, then I'll come back to the shop. I've bought some new stock you might be interested in looking at.'

After the Whitakers had said their goodbyes and headed off towards the car park, Roy Milburn stared after them and said out of the corner of his mouth, ‘Gorgeous, isn't she?'

‘You fancy Melissa?' Harry asked.

‘Why so surprised? She's rich and she looks as good as when I first knew her. Only trouble is, she's always been as neurotic as hell.'

‘I've never noticed.'

‘Look at her fingernails some time. She wears false ones because she chews them down to the quick. Believe me, she's a nervy one. Not someone to mess around with.'

Harry did not regard bitten fingernails as evidence of an unstable personality, but he let it pass. ‘You've known her a long time, then?'

‘We were all students together. Her daddy owned Grayson's Brewery. The ideal father-in-law, wouldn't you say? Ashley was the lucky one she fell for. He had this little-boy-lost manner that came over a treat.'

Tim had been shifting impatiently from foot to foot and Roy's mocking tone seemed to provoke him into saying abruptly, ‘By the way, Roy, when does your case come up?'

Roy's smile faded. ‘Next week, isn't that right, Harry?'

‘Uh-huh.' Roy had been charged with drink-driving after the crash in which he'd been injured and had asked Crusoe and Devlin to take the case. At a cut price, he'd added, given the business they had from the Kavanaugh Trust.

‘Will you lose your licence?' The note of
schadenfreude
in Tim's voice was unmistakable.

Recovering his usual cockiness, Roy put a hand on Harry's shoulder and said, ‘Far from it. With Loophole Devlin on my side, I'm expecting a public apology and handsome compensation.'

‘In that case,' Harry said, ‘you need a magician rather than a solicitor. Have you thought about engaging Tim's services? He's the expert at pulling rabbits out of hats.'

Roy laughed. ‘So how's it going, Tim? Still entertaining Merseyside's infants and geriatrics?'

‘It's all work,' Tim said. ‘And I need the money. Though I do have something different on next week. I've been hired by Jericho Lane Labour Club to perform at a fund-raising event for charity. Come along if you like, you two. And bring a friend.'

Roy chuckled so derisively that Tim reddened with anger.

‘I'd love to come,' Harry said hastily. ‘Though I'll be amazed if you're able to teach Liverpool politicians any new tricks.'

‘Politicians? They're almost as bad as lawyers.' Roy paused. ‘Which reminds me. Why don't lawyers go to the beach?'

Harry's heart began to sink. ‘Break it to me gently.'

‘Because cats keep trying to bury them.'

And Roy shattered the quiet of the graveyard with a belly laugh.

***

As he drove back to the city centre, Harry reflected that until now he had not appreciated how adroitly Luke had maintained peace within the Kavanaugh Trust. He had done it partly through force of character, partly through refined chairmanship skills. Every meeting had been meticulously prepared, with little scope for deviating from the agenda. In any group of people, there was potential for acrimony; the more so, perhaps, with those who might fancy that they had an artistic temperament. But in the past Harry had witnessed little backbiting; with Luke gone, people were daring to antagonise each other.

The prospect of a visit to the Speckled Band Bookshop cheered him up. He spent more time and money there than he should have done. It was a pastime rather than a business; Ashley was as happy to spend half an hour chatting with a fellow devotee about the novels of Agatha Christie or Dorothy L. Sayers as he was to sell any of his stock.

The shop was a stone's throw from the Bluecoat Centre. It occupied an old building that might have been elegant in Britain's imperial heyday but now bore the stains of centuries of unclean air. Harry glanced upwards as he approached and saw a trio of sooty gargoyles glaring down from the rooftop, as if they held him personally responsible for failing to sandblast them back to their original state. The sign on the door said
Closed
, but when Harry knocked, Ashley answered and let him in.

Ashley could have afforded the swishest interior design that money could buy, but Harry was glad he had resisted temptation. The Speckled Band was a dusty, rambling cavern with floor-to-ceiling shelves and creaking wooden floorboards, a world away from the sterile High Street chain stores that only stocked bestsellers, and all the better for that. Towards the back of the ground floor, an open log fire crackled. Never mind what the safety people might say, who knew what treasures might be found lurking in a place like this?

‘Take a look in the boxes on the floor,' Ashley said, indicating a couple of huge cardboard containers. ‘Stuff we brought back from Toronto. I've not marked prices, but if you see anything you fancy, just let me know. I'll make us a coffee in the meantime.'

The smell of old books was everywhere and Harry knew few sweeter perfumes. He dived into the boxes and spent a few happy minutes flicking through battered rarities. Murder stories where bodies were found in hermetically sealed chambers surrounded by snow that bore not a single footmark; crimes investigated by a blind detective with a super-sensitive auditory nerve; and one little gem he remembered borrowing from the library as a boy in which, it was true, the butler really did it.

When his host returned with two chipped mugs, he pointed to a small pile of books he had put to one side. ‘Tell me how much I owe you.'

Ashley waved him into a shabby captain's chair by the side of the desk at the back of the ground floor. ‘Don't worry. They lack their dustwrappers and the Philip Macdonald is no more than a reading copy.'

‘Reading is what interests me. I've never understood why, in your trade, “reading copy” is practically a term of abuse. And as for the idea of putting all one's books in plastic jackets and never daring to open them...'

‘You're like me,' Ashley said. ‘A hoarder rather than a collector.'

‘The one thing that worries me is that I'm running out of space in the flat. I may have to move before the floor gives way under the weight.'

Ashley took a sip of his drink. He'd changed out of his suit into more familiar garb, an old jacket with patches on the elbows and a pair of corduroy trousers. With his prematurely thinning hair and vague manner, he reminded Harry of an Oxford don. Or at least of what he imagined an Oxford don would be like if he ever met one.

‘You're the same as me in another way, I think. When you come across a puzzle, whether it's in a book or in everyday life, you want to solve it.'

‘Everyone tells me it's a character defect.'

Ashley chewed at his lower lip. ‘It's the reason I asked you round this evening.'

‘I thought you simply wanted to sell me a few books.'

‘They were an excuse.'

‘What's on your mind?'

Ashley leaned forward in his chair. ‘It's about Luke. I was very fond of him, you know. I've known him all my life. He was an old friend of my mother. We've always been close.'

‘I'm sure you miss him badly,' Harry said. He wondered what was coming.

‘Although he lived a public life, he was a very private man. Difficult to get to know. Although I say it myself, since poor Gwendoline died, no-one knew him better than I did.'

Harry nodded. ‘His death must have come as a terrible blow.'

‘Yes, it did. It hasn't been easy to think coherently about it. But I've tried to understand how he might have arrived at a decision to kill himself.' Ashley swallowed. ‘And I've come to a conclusion.'

‘Which is?'

‘It's impossible.' Ashley pointed at the locked room mystery at the top of Harry's pile. ‘Not in the physical sense. I'm not talking about John Dickson Carr stuff. But psychologically. It's all wrong, Harry. Luke would never have done it.'

Harry coughed. ‘I do realise it's difficult to come to terms with. When someone does something so - so shocking and out of character.'

‘You think I'm rationalising my distress? Well, maybe. That's Melissa's view. But I wanted to speak to you because I felt you might listen with an open mind.'

‘To what?'

Ashley blinked and said deliberately, ‘To my theory that Luke was murdered.'

Part Two

Chapter 8

‘But the evidence...' Harry began.

Ashley's expression showed what he thought about the evidence. ‘I know that, as a lawyer, you're bound to say that there's nothing at all to suggest that someone else killed Luke. The police took the same attitude when I spoke to them.'

‘So you've already raised this idea officially?'

‘Oh yes. And it got me nowhere. Their minds were made up. It was a simple case, easily ticked off the list of things to deal with. I suppose I can't blame them. They are overworked and at first sight it does all seem very straightforward. Middle-aged, middle-class man going through his own kind of mid-life crisis. Well-respected, but with an empty private life. One day he flips and books into a hotel. He spends the evening drinking in his room and eventually he plucks up the courage to kill himself. The conclusion is obvious - unless you know the man as I did.'

Harry recalled his conversation with Frances. ‘How well
can
we know anyone else?'

‘I understand your point,' Ashley said. ‘But bear with me. In my opinion, Luke wasn't the suicidal type - in fact, he was the last person in the world who was likely to do something like this. But suppose I'm wrong. I'm certain - absolutely certain - that if he did, he would leave behind a message, an explanation of some kind. Yet there was nothing.'

‘There's no law that says a suicide has to explain himself to the people he leaves behind.'

‘Yes, but in Luke's case, I find his supposed behaviour inconceivable. He was the most methodical man I ever met. You're well aware yourself that he hated loose ends.'

‘He tried to call you in Toronto,' Harry pointed out.

‘Yes, and he failed. The official assumption, as I understand it from reading between the lines at the inquest, is that he was planning to break the news to me on the telephone. Yet when he didn't manage to get through to me, he is supposed simply to have clambered through the window and jumped out. Sorry, but I just don't buy that.'

‘I agree it seems extraordinary,' Harry said carefully. He did not wish to make the usual lawyer's mistake of putting words into someone else's mouth.

‘Yes, I gathered that you were puzzled from your remarks at the inquest and at the church. That's one of the reasons why I thought I would have a chat with you about it all.'

‘But what about the possibility that it was an accident?'

Ashley pulled a face. ‘I realise the hotel manager has to protect his own back. But I've had a look at the hotel. I turned up there yesterday, pretending to be interested in booking rooms for a group of friends. I've seen the room in which - it happened.' He sighed. ‘I take the man's point. It's unlikely that Luke died by accident.'

‘Even if he'd had a skinful?'

‘It's
physically
possible that it happened that way. But I simply don't believe it.'

‘You prefer to think that someone else was responsible?'

‘It's not a matter of preference,' Ashley said sharply. ‘It's a question of trying to find out the truth.'

Harry looked at the overburdened shelves all around them. Titles such as
And Death Came Too
,
Murder Included
and
Ten Minute Alibi
spoke for themselves. ‘Don't take this the wrong way, but isn't it possible that you're letting your imagination run away with itself?'

Ashley folded his arms. ‘Melissa thinks so. The police were courteous, but obviously felt the same. They pointed out that there were no signs of a struggle in the hotel room, no evidence to suggest someone else had been present there, let alone that murder was done. I hoped you would have a more open mind.'

‘Because I'm often accused of excessive imagination as well?'

A slow grin eased across Ashley's face. ‘I suppose so. But the truth is that you've been proved right more than once where murder is concerned.' The grin disappeared. ‘And I thought you'd be interested if I told you that whilst I was at the Hawthorne, I talked to as many members of the staff as I could. Guess what I found out?'

‘Tell me.'

‘There is a porter, a chap called Julio. He wasn't keen to talk, but I sensed he knew something and eventually I prised it out of him. The evening that Luke died, he passed his room, carrying a late arrival's luggage. He heard raised voices. Two people were in there, arguing about something.'

‘Luke and who else?'

Ashley grimaced. ‘He couldn't tell me. He was hurrying past, keen to finish his shift. If the man in the room hadn't died, he'd never have given the incident a second thought.'

‘Was anyone seen around the place at the relevant time? An unauthorised visitor, someone hurrying away in a panic? Anything like that?'

Ashley shook his head. ‘It's a big anonymous place, understaffed at night. The security struck me as rudimentary. As far as I can tell, anyone could have wandered in or out, with little risk of being challenged.'

‘Why wasn't Julio's information mentioned at the inquest?'

‘He told me he hadn't reported it to anyone. I sensed it was bothering him, but not enough for him to want to do anything about it, to call attention to himself. Don Ragovoy was keen to brush Luke's death under that carpet and that was fine by Julio.'

‘You told the police about this?'

Ashley nodded. ‘They said they would speak to Julio, but they made it clear they weren't really interested.'

‘Of course, even if Luke met someone at the Hawthorne and had a quarrel with him - or her - it doesn't prove he was murdered by that someone.'

‘True. But it makes it more likely. And remember that Luke had been drinking. He may have opened the window for a bit of air. Even if there was a struggle, he may not have been able to put up much of a fight. In any case, he may have been taken unawares and hit on the head before being pushed out. I gather - he was pretty smashed up by the fall. No way of tracing a prior head injury.'

‘Plenty of ifs in that theory. But suppose you're right. What can you do about it?'

‘Listen, Harry. My parents died a long time ago. Apart from Melissa, Luke was the person I was closest to in the world. Even though we didn't live in each other's pockets, could go weeks without seeing each other, he was someone I always respected, could always rely upon and turn to if ever there was a need. To think of him dying in the way he did makes me sadder than I can describe. If he didn't kill himself, I owe it to him to find out what happened. And to see justice done.'

Neither of them spoke for a few moments and then Harry said, ‘Why would anyone want to kill Luke? And how did they manage it?'

‘So,' Ashley said softly, ‘you are prepared to humour me, to entertain the idea that this might be a case of murder?'

Harry chewed at a ragged fingernail. ‘Tell you something. The thought had already crossed my mind.'

Ashley's eyes gleamed. ‘Really?'

‘I never mentioned it to anyone. I was sure they'd dismiss it as one of my idler fancies - you know the feeling? But my reasoning was much the same as yours. I could accept, with difficulty, that Luke might have wanted to do away with himself, that he might have concealed from the rest of us his deep unhappiness and dissatisfaction with life. But the absence of a note or message - particularly to yourself - that just didn't add up.'

Elated, Ashley clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I was sure you were the man to talk to about this. So - what's the next step?'

Harry indicated the shelves of mysteries which surrounded them. ‘If you and I can't come up with a few ideas, who can?'

They finished up having a meal together at the Ensenada. Ashley insisted on paying and Harry did not argue too strenuously. What was the point of knowing people with money if you did not help them to spend it?

‘Would you like to talk to me about Luke?' he said as the soup arrived. ‘It would be helpful for me to understand him better. Bear in mind I only ever saw him in a professional context. I couldn't claim that we were bosom buddies: it was a formal relationship.'

‘He may have seemed austere, but the truth is that he was very shy. Painfully afraid of doing the wrong thing. Perhaps it was down to his upbringing. He was an only child of elderly parents. Father an actuary, mother a doting housewife. They weren't short of money. As a boy he suffered a lot of ill health and I think his mother over-protected him. He had a rather solitary adolescence and to the best of my knowledge, my own mother was the first girl he ever courted, at the age of twenty-one.'

‘But they didn't marry.'

‘No. My guess is that she was keen to settle down and grew tired of waiting for Luke to pop the question. Then she met my father at a dance. He rode a motor cycle, was a glamorous figure in comparison to Luke. She was swept off her feet. By the time they were married, three months later, I was already on the way.'

‘And Luke kept in touch?'

‘He told me more than once that he was heartbroken at losing her. And she did care for him, insisted on asking him to be my godfather. But she never admitted to any regrets about her choice, even when my father crashed on a bend when I was five and broke his neck.' Ashley sighed. ‘It was a tough time. I've been poor and I've been rich, Harry and there's no doubt: rich is a lot better.'

‘I suppose that if Luke hadn't married by that time...'

‘It's crossed my mind that he and Mother might still have got together, yes. But who knows? It's history. In any case, she met my stepfather.' Ashley grimaced. ‘Another likely lad. A bar owner this time.'

‘Meanwhile, Luke lost his own wife.'

‘It was a tragedy. To understand Luke, you have to bear in mind that Gwendoline's illness was diagnosed before they first became engaged. He'd met her after the break with my mother. Whether it was on the rebound or not, I have no idea, but no-one could have been more devoted. He proposed to Gwendoline and they were married only weeks after she was told about the cancer. Against all the odds, she recovered.'

‘I didn't realise.'

‘Oh yes, I've been told that it seemed like a miracle. Very romantic, you know, love conquering disaster. And by all accounts they had a happy married life. Until, out of the blue, the illness recurred. They had thought it was gone for ever, but really it was only sleeping. This time there was no happy ending. But Luke nursed her through it all. He took his obligations very seriously.'

Harry nodded. ‘Even his worst enemy would have been forced to admit that.'

Ashley leaned across the little table. ‘And it has crossed my mind that, if there was a motive for his murder, that particular characteristic may have provided it. If he came across something that was not right, he would have considered himself duty-bound to act. Luke was never a man to turn a blind eye to wrongdoing.'

‘Have you any particular wrongdoing in mind?'

Ashley seemed to be on the verge of imparting a confidence, then blinked hard and kept his mouth shut after all. Harry was about to press him when he noticed a familiar couple being ushered to a table in the opposite corner of the restaurant. He couldn't help chuckling. So Geoffrey Willatt and Vera Blackhurst really had become an item.

As he sat down, Geoffrey caught Harry's eye. At once his cheeks turned pink, giving him the look of a bishop caught straying into a peep-show. Harry lifted a hand in greeting and then decided to seize the moment. After all, presented with a gift horse, it was a mistake to start looking it in the mouth.

He excused himself to Ashley and strolled over to the corner table. ‘Evening, Geoffrey. Miss Blackhurst, we've met before. At Charles Kavanaugh's funeral.'

Her smile of greeting did not touch her eyes. ‘Mr Devlin, isn't it? I remember. You act for the Trust, don't you?'

He had to admire her coolness. Vera Blackhurst was someone it would be a mistake to underestimate. Her hairstyle was pure sixties Myra Hindley, while her dress displayed a pair of breasts whose gravity-defying upward thrust was a miracle of science. ‘That's right. I suppose we're on opposite sides of the legal fence at the moment.'

Geoffrey Willatt cleared his throat. ‘I mentioned to Mr Devlin the other evening that I felt sure that our - little local difficulty could be amicably resolved.'

‘I'm sure of it,' Vera said pleasantly. ‘Charles often told me that he had a soft spot for the Trust. He was an artist himself, as you well know. I'd hate to see his favourite charity suffer.'

‘Nice of you to say so,' Harry said with a sharp glance at Geoffrey, who was trying hard not to squirm.

‘On the other hand,' she continued in an accent that Harry identified as broad Cheshire, ‘I'm ever so disappointed by the trustees' reaction to Charles's will. I'd have hoped that they would have respected his last wishes. After all, I'm just an ordinary person. The last thing I want is a legal dispute. I'm so fortunate I've found an understanding solicitor.'

There was nothing in the least bit ordinary about Vera Blackhurst, Harry was sure of that. He turned to the understanding solicitor, who looked as though he'd suddenly become afflicted by dyspepsia, and said, ‘Combining business with pleasure, then, this evening?'

‘We have one or two things to discuss,' Geoffrey said stiffly. ‘The office isn't always the ideal setting for these meetings. Miss Blackhurst has had a very trying time lately. She was very attached to her late employer. I suggested that we chat over a bite to eat.'

‘Better not let Pino hear you talk about his cuisine like that,' Harry teased. The loquacious proprietor of the Ensenada was fiercely protective of its reputation for fine food. ‘You make it sound like a transport caff.'

‘You know what I mean,' Geoffrey said through gritted teeth. ‘Now, if you'll excuse us...'