Eve of Destruction: A Harry Devlin Mystery Read online

  ‘One weekend last summer, I booked for a weekend conference set up by the Liverpool and Manchester Legal Groups.’ She giggled nervously. ‘Don’t say anything! I can tell you regard that as a mark of a desperate woman with too much time on her hands. The truth was that Julian and I were going through another sticky patch and I was glad of an excuse to get away. Even if it meant sitting through seminars on “Whither The Legal Profession?”’

  ‘That’s the sort of question to which I’d rather not know the answer,’ Harry said.

  ‘Too right. Anyway, the big dinner on the Saturday evening gave everyone a chance to let their hair down. We were all so glad to escape from the lecture room that even Geoffrey Willatt was seen flirting with a waitress.’

  ‘My God. It must have been positively bacchanalian.’

  ‘Well, maybe I exaggerate. Perhaps he was simply urging her to seek better advice about financial services. Anyway, by the time of the disco, I was well and truly pissed and around midnight I finished up smooching with someone I’d never normally give the time of day.’

  She paused and Harry waited, watching her intently. The sun seemed to be burning more fiercely than ever and it seemed to him that the heat was stripping everything bare. He guessed that she wanted him to say something now, to help her make the final disclosure.

  ‘Tell me his name,’ he said gently.

  She cleared her throat and said almost in a whisper, ‘Ed Rosencrantz.’

  As he stared at her in bewilderment, she said hurriedly, ‘Yes, you might well look like that. I’m sure you can guess that I’d always regarded Edward Rosencrantz as a randy old goat of the sort I most despised. And I’m not sure even now that I was far wrong. The trouble was that with a few drinks inside me, his line in chat began to seem charming. Julian had always been very earnest – like me, I suppose most people might say – but I was in the mood for a complete change. I’m not pretending for a moment that I was so drunk that I didn’t know what I was doing. It’s just that it suddenly seemed like something I’d denied myself for too long. What Ed might have called “a spot of harmless fun’”.

  His mind began to work rapidly and a thought occurred to him so dreadful that he could only pray that it was mistaken. ‘Last summer,’ he said, ‘but surely Ed …’

  ‘You’ve guessed what’s next, haven’t you? Oh, Harry, it’s the worst thing possible and it happened to me. Ed took me to his room. I undressed and got into bed and he climbed on top of me and then …’

  Her voice trailed away. She was looking out across the water but Harry had no doubt that in her mind she was picturing the scene in the hotel room. He felt it was kinder not to let her take the tale to its terrible conclusion.

  ‘Ed had a heart attack whilst you were making love,’ he said slowly, scarcely able to comprehend the horror of it.

  Tears were glistening in the corners of her eyes as she remembered everything. ‘He gave a ghastly grunt – I’ll never forget the sound. And then he shuddered and didn’t move again. It happened so quickly, for a few moments I didn’t even realise what had happened. But he was a dead weight, quite literally, and he didn’t respond when I spoke to him. And in a few seconds it dawned on me that he’d had a massive coronary and – that was that.’

  He reached across and took her hand. ‘Kim, I’m so sorry.’

  She was crying openly now as she squeezed hard on his fingers. ‘So now you’ve heard my confession, Harry. I went to bed with a man I didn’t even like. And I killed him.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  It was like the bursting of a dam. Once she started weeping, she could not stop and he held her to him as she sobbed long and hard. His cheeks were soon as damp as hers, but he was oblivious to the nudges and stares of the people passing by. He was aware of nothing but the need to comfort her.

  ‘I felt so guilty,’ she said. ‘I felt so bloody guilty.’

  ‘You weren’t to blame,’ he said, but as soon as he spoke he cursed the inadequacy of his words. He wanted so desperately to help her forget the past, but he knew it was impossible. Old scars fade, but never disappear. Although she had lived with her secret for twelve months, it would take longer for the hurt to ease. He tried to guess what it must be like, to be alone in an anonymous room with just a dead lover for company, but for once his imagination failed.

  ‘I was frantic,’ she said at length, as if she’d read his mind. ‘What could I do? I pulled on a few clothes and called the manager. He organised an ambulance as well as the police. Although I was beside myself, I managed to give a brief statement. I remember saying one thing over and over again, like a record stuck in the groove. “No-one must be told. Think of his wife. No-one must be told.” I’d met his wife, actually, at a social evening a couple of years earlier. She’s called Beryl – a pleasant woman, a few years older than Ed, I believe. A wife of the old school, I think, well aware that she’d married a philanderer but content for ignorance to be bliss where hubby’s peccadilloes were concerned. A safe wife, the sort he’d never leave for any mistress.’

  ‘The two of you had a one-night affair,’ Harry said. ‘You were hardly a mistress. What happened to Ed could have happened at any time. He was unfit and overweight. I can see his red face now, hear him wheezing as he climbed the Law Court stairs. It was simply your bad luck, as well as his, that his heart gave in when it did.’

  She touched his hand. ‘Thanks, but I’ve tried logic before. It doesn’t seem to work. I still have the same nightmare two or three times each week. Ed is making love to me, then suddenly he shrieks and dies and I wake up screaming to find myself on my own.’

  He tried a rueful grin. ‘At least you managed to keep it all hush-hush. Quite a feat in Liverpool. The Legal Group has more chatterboxes than the chimps’ tea party at Chester Zoo, yet despite all the whispers about Ed’s death, you’ve never once been mentioned.’

  She dabbed at her cheeks with a paper tissue. ‘That’s one skill we have in this country, isn’t it? When it comes to cover-ups, we’re Olympic gold medallists. One of the paramedics took care of me, tried to cheer me up. He said that Ed’s fate was not unusual. “Middle-aged men, pretty women, weekend away together, it’s enough to put a strain on any heart.” He explained that the police would treat the whole business with discretion, so as not to cause the widow unnecessary grief. Coroners were usually sympathetic, too, so there was no need for the truth to come out. And do you know? He was absolutely right.’

  ‘Does Beryl still not know, then?’

  Kim shook her head. ‘People were told that Ed had died in his own room. The details of how he came to be found were glossed over. Ossie Fowler was there that weekend, and he’d seen Ed and me together, talked to us for a couple of minutes after the girl he was chasing developed a convenient migraine. He’s no fool; I couldn’t hide the truth from him. Everyone else was either too drunk to notice or too wrapped up in their own little love affairs.’

  ‘I’ll have to try one of these conferences.’

  She gave him a wry glance. ‘Distance learning is better, I promise you. Anyway, after one nervous crack about unsafe sex, Ossie swore not to tell anyone what had happened. Usually he loves a gossip, but to the best of my knowledge, he has kept his word. He’s not my favourite person, but he is genuinely fond of Beryl and there was an element of self-interest too. As you would expect with a man like Ossie. He said the firm would become a laughing stock if it became common knowledge that the senior partner had died in flagrante.’

  A thought occurred to him. ‘And Ed’s GP, Theo Jelf, was in on the secret as well, presumably?’ When she nodded, he said, ‘That explains a conversation he and I had about Ed a few days ago. I could tell he was holding something back from me.’

  ‘People were very kind. Everyone agreed that it would have been cruel for Beryl to suffer the public humiliation of losing her husband in that particular way. And of course, I won’t deny that it suited me well. The shock of Ed’s death was bad enough, without the shame of being brand
ed a cheap tart.’ When Harry began to protest, she raised a hand. ‘Oh yes. I’ve made a few enemies in this city in my time. It’s inevitable if you do our kind of work. How they would gloat if word got around about Ed and me. Over the years, I suppose I’ve said a few incautious things about morality and the law, spent a bit too much time on my high horse. But the moral high ground can turn to quicksand, can’t it? I’ve learned a few lessons myself this past year.’

  He gave her hand another squeeze. ‘Show me anyone who isn’t still on a learning curve and I’ll show you a fool. Thanks for telling me all this. It does help me to understand about the other night.’

  ‘Do you know, since the night Ed died, I’ve never slept with a man. It – hasn’t seemed possible. The other evening, I was happy. The tour with Dame had been fun, we’d had a few drinks, I felt in the mood. But when it came to the crunch, I froze. Sorry.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  ‘I think it does, she said. ‘You see, I can’t be sure the day will ever dawn when I don’t freeze. It’s twelve months plus and I’m no better. I keep asking myself, how long will it take? But I can never find an answer.’

  ‘You’ll be okay. Talking is the first step.’

  She gave him a weak smile. ‘You’re very patient, Harry, but I’m hardly an ideal girlfriend.’

  ‘Then you won’t mind, will you, that I’m not an ideal man?’

  They had a pub meal and a couple of drinks together and Harry suggested that they might take in a film, but she shook her head and said she had to get back home. She was conducting a workshop for the Miscarriages of Justice Organisation in the morning and there was still a good deal of preparation to undertake.

  ‘Thanks for listening,’ she said and then added hesitantly, ‘Will we see each other again before too long?’

  ‘I’ll give you a call.’ He nodded and touched her cheek with a chaste kiss. On his way home his thoughts drifted back to the killings at St Alwyn’s. Lust, he’d decided, was the most dangerous emotion. Ed Rosencrantz had died for it and so, he felt sure, had Becky Whyatt, Dominic Revill and Evelyn Bell. The theory that Emma had been responsible for the murders had struck him as compelling, yet as he walked towards Empire Dock, he realised that it required suspension of disbelief on the Clifton Bridge scale. For it meant that, at the same time that Becky was trying to talk Dominic into hiring a hitman to murder Steven Whyatt, Emma Revill was recruiting someone to gun down her husband and both his lovers. Of course it was possible: during the last ten years the number of contract killings had risen sharply. Yet the more he pondered the idea, the less likely it seemed. The difficulty was – what other explanation might fit the facts?

  From his flat he phoned Ken Cafferty and asked if it was possible that the nanny had been the intended target after all. The journalist’s reaction was sceptical. ‘Emma had sacked the girl already, remember? Why draw attention to her dislike of Evelyn if she was already planning to bump her off?’

  ‘She might have lost her temper,’ Harry suggested. ‘The murders had all the hallmarks of a spur of the moment slaying, didn’t they?’

  ‘Okay, so where does that leave you? Emma’s alibi is cast-iron, I’ve already told you that, and although I know hired killers are a mixed bunch, I wouldn’t have expected Emma to pick on someone quite so panicky.’

  ‘So you think I’ve been led up the garden path?’

  ‘If not the garden centre path. I still fancy your client as the culprit.’ Ken paused. ‘I don’t suppose …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I don’t suppose he could have been the man Evelyn Bell was seeing?’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Just a thought. I can tell it’s taken you aback. Why don’t you chew it over and let me know whether you think there’s anything in it.’

  After he had rung off, Harry pondered for a few minutes. Ken’s theory about Steven Whyatt was mistaken, he believed – and yet it had prompted him to reconsider an assumption he had made perhaps too readily. At last he could now discern the outlines of the truth, but the picture was fuzzy, as if on a scrambled television screen. Conscious of a sense of mounting excitement, he checked the number Dame had given him, hoping with a sudden desperation that she would be there to take his call.

  She didn’t let him down: she never had. When she heard his voice she said with mock rage, ‘And where the bloody hell did you get to last night?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘With you, Harry Devlin, it usually is.’

  ‘Look, I’m terribly sorry. The party simply went out of my mind. Believe me, there were reasons, but I wanted to call and apologise. And there’s something else I need to ask.’

  ‘Why do all the men I like specialise in ulterior motives?’

  ‘Our subtlety exerts a fatal fascination?’

  ‘I’m a sucker for bullshit, more like. Go on.’

  ‘Kim tells me …’

  ‘So you’ve spoken to her?’ Dame’s tone was exultant.

  ‘Yes, and thanks for what you said to her.’

  ‘Pleasure, darling. I’m so glad if you’re friends again. My only question is, why aren’t the two of you in bed together?’

  ‘That’s another long story. I was trying to say that Kim told me that Evelyn Bell, the nanny who was murdered, had contacted Paul and offered him a story. Can I have a word with him? I’d like to know exactly what she was offering for sale.’

  Dame chuckled. ‘He’s not decent at the moment. And he’s rather tired as well. In fact, he’s crashed out in the bedroom. I can hear the snores from here. Romantic or what?’

  ‘Wake him up, would you? I’m sure you know how.’

  Ten minutes later Harry was on the ground floor of the building, deep in discussion with Griff the night porter. The stocky Welshman was shaking his head and saying, ‘If I didn’t know you so well, sir, I’d say it was out of the question. It’s a matter of security.’

  ‘This is a matter of life and death,’ Harry said. He gestured towards the camera lens which overlooked the entrance lobby. ‘As I understand it, the video is on twenty-four hours a day and you keep the film on site for at least a fortnight before it’s shipped out to the landlords.’

  ‘Correct. How long they keep it after that, I don’t really …’

  ‘I don’t care how long it’s kept, as long as I’m able to have a squint at the film from Monday evening. What do you say?’

  Griff frowned but said, ‘Well, seeing as it’s you. Follow me.’

  He led the way through a door marked PRIVATE where the porters could sit and sip their tea at the same time as keeping an eye on a dozen screens which showed scenes from the main vantage points around the building. He unlocked a cupboard door to reveal a bank of time-lapse video recorders. Griff selected a tape marked with a camera number and the previous Monday’s date. Harry held his breath as Griff slotted the tape into place and wound it on. Any moment now, he thought, I’ll know whether I’m dreaming. But deep in his heart he knew he was not.

  ‘Freeze it there,’ he commanded.

  Griff stared at him in bewilderment and stabbed a finger at the image of Harry stepping through the main doors which gave on to the lobby. ‘But that’s you, sir.’

  Harry pointed to the other figure walking into the lift. ‘Yes. But that isn’t.’

  He was up and away within moments. If he paused to think logically, it was inevitable that he would decide to call the police, to tell them everything he knew and had deduced and leave them to perform the final act in the drama. The last time he had confronted a man he knew to be guilty of murder, he had almost paid for his folly with his life. He had sworn then never to allow himself to make the same mistake again. But of course, when faced with the opportunity to do things differently, he was like the veteran safebreaker who has sworn to go straight but is then offered the chance of one last job. Before he could even tell himself that he was a fool, he was haring up the stairs two at a time.

  Of course his q
uarry might not be home. He did, after all, have another home to go to. But Harry thought that this particular murderer was likely to be in a Garbo mood. After everything had gone so terribly wrong, the chances were that he would want to be alone whilst he sought the courage to put his public face back on.

  Harry kept his finger on the bell of the second-floor flat until at length he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The tread seemed to him to be reluctant, as if the man inside feared that any call at any time might bring exposure and ruin.

  The door opened slowly and Harry put his foot over the threshold. His ankle was aching, but for once seeking medical opinion was the last thing on his mind as he saw the haggard face of Theo Jelf.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Evening, Theo. Sorry to call so late, but it’s urgent. You see, I need to talk to you about Evelyn Bell.’

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘How did you find out?’ Theo Jelf asked.

  They were reclining in heavy leather armchairs in his living room, while music by Mozart played in the background. Through the open curtains Harry could see dusk falling over the Mersey. He took another sip from the glass of brandy which his host had offered and which it had seemed churlish to refuse. He could not imagine more civilised circumstances in which to listen to a murderer’s confession. And Theo was eager to talk, to try to ease the burden of the crushing weight of guilt. He had four deaths on his conscience, he’d said to Harry, and although he had so many times urged the viewers of ‘Telemedics’ to remember that a trouble shared is a trouble halved, it had been impossible for him to act on his own advice. Besides, this trouble was an exception to the rule: nothing could halve it, nothing could undo the damage that had been done. Theo had from the moment of inviting Harry inside displayed the calm resignation of a man who knows that he must accept his fate. After pouring the drinks, he had insisted on calling the police. Soon they would arrive.

  ‘I saw Evelyn here the other night. We came up in the lift together. I only glimpsed her briefly and she was wearing dark glasses. I met her again on the very day you killed her, when I called at St Alwyn’s to talk to the Revills. There was something familiar about her, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. She’d been crying – Emma had sacked her that morning, to add to her other woes. But I’d heard of her before then, when I listened to a conversation between Becky Whyatt and Dominic Revill. I’ve been acting for Becky’s husband and he taped her telephone calls to gather ammunition so he could screw her in a divorce settlement.’