Eve of Destruction: A Harry Devlin Mystery Page 8

  ‘I panicked. I was desperate to get away from him. God knows what he might have done. As luck would have it, a taxi was passing and I hopped in and we moved off before Roger could do anything. But it was a nasty moment.’

  ‘I bet. How did he look?’

  ‘It all happened so quickly. He smiled at me … he always had this ghastly smile, Oh God, Michelle, you can’t believe how frightened I was. Mind, I’ve calmed down a bit now. It’s such a relief to have someone to confide in.’

  ‘Anything I can do, pet.’ Michelle cleared her throat. ‘As a matter of fact, there was another reason for my call. We’ve had another approach from Verdant Pastures. They want to meet us on Monday and they are hinting they might increase their offer by as much as twenty per cent.’

  ‘You’re kidding!’

  ‘I promise you. Of course, they still insist on gaining complete control.’

  ‘So where do we go from here?’

  ‘Same problem as before. The rules of the company – the articles of association, they are called – have this bloody stupid proviso which entitles Steve to block a sale. It seems crazy to me. He’s only a minority shareholder, but apparently, old man Whyatt was persuaded by the company’s lawyer, that man who died, to put this right of veto into the articles. Result: the chance of a lifetime may slip through our fingers. Verdant Pastures have made it clear that this will be their final offer. Not negotiable.’

  ‘Steve will never budge. You know what he’s like.’

  ‘All too well, pet. Even so, Jeremy was wondering …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘If you could use your charms to make him see the error of his ways.’

  ‘Michelle, if I could help you, I’d be glad to. God knows, the money would be welcome. But Steve would sooner cut off his arm than give up the maze business. And that’s what it amounts to. Unless Verdant Pastures are prepared to compromise on that.’

  ‘No, Jeremy pushed them very hard, but they made it clear they are paying a premium for the goodwill of the whole company. The maze side may be a loss leader, but they think it has publicity potential. So it’s a stalemate, unless you can sweet-talk your husband.’

  ‘It would be easier to seduce a monk.’

  ‘If anyone could manage that, pet, it would be you,’ Michelle said, in a tone not altogether kind. ‘You will try, won’t you, pet? After all, you do owe me.’

  Long lines of red cones stretched in elaborate chicanes along Speke Boulevard. Never mind Steven Whyatt, Harry thought, when it came to constructing a maze of fiendish complexity there was no-one to touch the Liverpool City Engineer. He switched off the recording so as to concentrate on the road. The traffic light ahead turned to amber and he put his foot down in the hope of getting through, only to brake fiercely when the police camera winked at the car just in front of him which had also failed to beat the red. He wondered if the camera was a dummy or whether in a fortnight’s time a summons would be dropping through the other driver’s letterbox. There was no escape from surveillance nowadays, he told himself, and the reflection made him feel a little less guilty about the invasion of privacy inherent in listening to the tapes. Whyatt needs you to do it, he thought. You’re saving him the pain of hearing Becky’s sweet nothings. But a still small voice said he was deceiving himself; he was motivated more by curiosity than compassion.

  Easing along the Garston by-pass, he yielded to temptation and put the tape on again. Becky wasted no time in attempting to use her powers of persuasion on her husband. When he rang to say that for once he would be home early, she made it clear that she did not believe he was simply anxious for the pleasure of her company. After she accused him of being afraid to face Jeremy and talk about the improved offer for the business, he scoffed at her for acting as Michelle’s mouthpiece.

  ‘If they doubled the money, it wouldn’t make any difference. I’m not selling.’

  ‘Steve, don’t be so obstinate. This is serious. We’ll never again have such a golden opportunity.’

  ‘It’s no use, my mind’s made up.’

  ‘You’re a fool, do you know that? A bloody-minded fool. Sometimes I think the best thing that could happen is for you to disappear into one of your own mazes and never come out.’

  ‘Thank you for your honesty. It’s good to know where you stand. As for me, the position is crystal clear. We sell to Verdant Pastures over my dead body.’

  Click.

  ‘Eight nine, eight nine.’

  Silence.

  ‘Roger, for God’s sake. Don’t be so ridiculous. Why don’t you have the guts to speak to me?’

  After a pause an uncertain voice said, ‘Hello, Becky. I … I was glad to see you again.’

  ‘I wish I could say the same. What’s the idea? Why have you been ringing my number and then not saying a word?’

  ‘You don’t understand. It’s been such a long time. I needed to speak to you – to hear your voice at the other end of the line. And yet somehow I couldn’t quite get up the nerve …’

  ‘I don’t want to be unkind, Roger, but isn’t that the story of your life?’

  ‘Becky, there are so many things I’ve been desperate to say to you.’

  ‘I’ll give you ten seconds.’

  Another pause. ‘Ten years might not be enough. It’s so – oh, I can hardly find the words to express my feelings.’

  ‘Too bad. There go your ten seconds. I’ve had a hell of a day and I have no time to spare on fun and games with you. Last time you hung up on me – this time, I’ll return the compliment. And please, don’t ring back.’

  Click.

  ‘Eight nine, eight nine.’

  ‘Are you on your own?’ Dominic asked.

  ‘Mmm. Wish I wasn’t, though. I’ve missed you. I tried to call a couple of times, but your nanny answered, so I hung up straight away. I didn’t want to arouse her suspicions, have her telling tales to your wife.’

  ‘No fear of that. She and Evelyn don’t get on. Anyway, how are you?’

  ‘I’m a woman unfulfilled. Steve spent nearly all weekend at the garden centre and by the time he came home and fell into bed he was too knackered to do anything but roll over and go to sleep.’

  ‘With you lying next to him? He’s a fool.’

  She giggled. ‘Remember what we did last time?’

  ‘How could I forget?’

  ‘Would you like a second helping?’

  ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

  ‘There’s just one thing. I’d like to go somewhere else. A hotel is so – impersonal.’

  ‘Your place?’

  ‘The trouble is, it’s so close to the garden centre. Steve often pops home without any warning.’

  ‘Do you think he suspects? Is he trying to catch you out?’

  ‘Don’t sound so apprehensive, darling, it doesn’t suit you. No, I’m sure he hasn’t the least idea about us. But he’s always had the habit of dropping in when he feels like it. To pick up designs or one of his books if a potential customer has a special request. I’d hate him to catch us. He can be so jealous. I simply don’t know what he’d do.’

  ‘Are you saying he might be violent?’

  ‘He has a temper, does Steve, even though he can control it much better than Jeremy. Did I ever tell you he was thrown out of the SAS?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I don’t know the full story. It was kept pretty hush-hush. But while he was stationed in Germany, he got involved in an argument in a bar. The man he quarrelled with was beaten up – so brutally that he was turned into a vegetable, and eventually they decided to switch off his life support.’

  ‘Jesus! The man must be a psychopath.’

  ‘If he is, he’s an attractive one. Dark and dangerous.’

  Dominic strove in vain to recapture the cool George Sanders tone from the first flush of their romance. ‘No wonder your husband’s the jealous type.’

  ‘Have I got you worried, darling? Well, I’ve never hidden my interest in
Jeremy. Michelle’s a lucky woman, I’ve told her so to her face. But he only has eyes for her. Anyway – we still haven’t sorted out our next rendezvous.’

  ‘If you are saying your place is impossible, we definitely need a hotel room. Could you make one-thirty tomorrow?’

  ‘Darling, for you I’ll go anywhere. But why can’t we use your house? You’ve told me yourself that Emma is often away for hours on end seeing clients.’

  ‘You’ve forgotten the nanny. She lives in and spends most of her day in the house.’

  ‘She must take the little boy out sometimes.’

  ‘Yes, but I’ll need to check discreetly. It may take a little while for me to figure out when the coast will be clear. I’m worried about Emma. From one or two remarks she’s dropped, I think she may suspect something. The stupid thing is, she seems to be under the impression that I have my eyes on the nanny.’

  ‘Morticia?’ Becky was startled. ‘But that’s rubbish!’ She paused and then added, ‘Isn’t it?’

  Dominic groaned. ‘Of course. You have my word. Evelyn’s a pretty girl, but she has a boyfriend stashed away somewhere and I certainly haven’t tried anything on with her. Too close to home, even if I wanted to. Emma got hold of the wrong end of the stick, that’s all, but I do need to tread carefully.’

  ‘But you will try? Your place would be so much better than any hotel room. Less hole-in-corner, more – intimate.’ She paused, then added, ‘Anyway, I’d love to see what you’ve done with the building. It sounds heavenly. Besides, the very thought of it turns me on. The idea of making love inside a church …’

  A church? Harry was bewildered and enlightenment was not soon forthcoming. The next call for the Whyatts was from a telesales girl trying to sell them a new kitchen. Becky teased her for a while with hints of interest before bringing the conversation to an abrupt end. Later she embarked on an interminable conversation with Michelle and was discussing the latest fashions and a proposed joint onslaught on the Liverpool clothes stores when Harry arrived back at Fenwick Court.

  Jim greeted him with the news that Sylvia was sick and he had sent her home. ‘This meeting you’ve arranged with the recruitment people is well timed. We need someone badly. I barely know which way to turn at the moment.’

  Harry considered the deep lines around the corners of his partner’s mouth and eyes. ‘You can’t do everything. Can I help?’

  Jim gave a rueful grin. ‘By swearing that you won’t touch any of my files. I don’t want my clients to wake up in six months’ time and find a motorway running through their back garden.’

  ‘Are you hinting that my conveyancing skills are a little rusty?’

  ‘I seem to recall that the last time you helped me out, you turned a perfectly simple house sale into a case of mystery and imagination. You’re the law of real property’s answer to Edgar Allan Poe.’

  ‘I knew I should never have told you the truth about the Graham-Brown deal. Anyway, I deserve a second chance.’

  ‘You’ve been listening to too many of your clients. It would be like putting Raffles in charge of home security.’

  Harry returned to his room grinning. At least Jim had cheered up for the time being. Yet he was still concerned about his partner. The signs of strain were evident – and all the more disturbing since they were so out of character.

  Suzanne rang through an hour later to say that the Revills had arrived. Harry asked her to tell Jim and went out to reception to welcome them. Emma was busy checking her lipstick in a compact mirror while Dominic had his nose in one of the tatty Law Society leaflets which were kept on the table. Harry was startled by the sight of them. The Casanova of the cassette tapes proved in the flesh to be a well-scrubbed nonentity with a chin so weak that it seemed to be crying out for scaffolding support. His wispy fair hair had been carefully combed in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the signs of incipient baldness. Harry had met actuaries who exuded more charisma on first acquaintance. No old school tie was in sight; but instead a cravat in bilious green wrapped his neck like a noose and a matching handkerchief peeped shamelessly from the top pocket of his blazer. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and his wife possibly ten years his senior. She was a square-jawed woman in a smart suit and sensible shoes. A laptop computer in its sleek grey carrying case rested on her knees. The thought ran through Harry’s mind: she means business. As for her alleged disability, he could see no sign of a walking stick, far less a wheelchair.

  Dominic replaced the leaflet and Harry noticed that its subject matter was matrimonial law. Well, well, well: perhaps he was wondering about his own position, the cost and consequences if he and his wife were to split. He misread the surprise on Harry’s face. ‘The name’s Revill. Emma here arranged the appointment. I’m afraid we’re a few minutes early.’

  Shut your eyes and, listening to the silky voice, you could imagine him again as an urbane charmer. No question: this was Becky Whyatt’s lover. Harry extended his hand and said, ‘My partner will be joining us in a moment. Thanks for coming along as well, Mrs Revill.’

  ‘The least we could do,’ she said. ‘If you’re making the whole partnership available to us.’

  Jim arrived and, with introductions performed, suggested that they adjourn to his room. When they were all seated, Emma opened her laptop and proceeded to make notes whilst asking about the nature of the appointment they were planning to make. As Jim explained his requirements, Harry studied the Revills.

  Dominic fingered his cravat whilst his wife spoke. In her company he seemed instinctively to take a back seat. His face was smooth and unlined and he had a sportsman’s supple build: perhaps on reflection it became a little easier to understand what Becky Whyatt saw in him. And frankly it would not take a Kevin Costner to compare favourably to Steven Whyatt as a rival in love. Nevertheless, Emma was the dynamic one: a fluent and forceful talker, before long she had Jim agreeing that several candidates on her books – all of whom had passed their psychometric tests with flying colours, she assured them – sounded suitable for the job. At last the Revills rose, their mission accomplished. The satisfaction on their faces suggested that the commission on the deal would keep Emma in lipstick and Dominic in foul cravats for some time to come. It might even, Harry thought mischievously, cover their phone bill.

  Showing them out, Harry said, ‘I see you’re based in Liverpool 8.’

  Emma smiled, as a schoolteacher might to encourage a pupil slow on the uptake. ‘An unusual address, isn’t it? People are often surprised, they expect a firm like ours to be based in the city centre, rather than a stone’s throw from the heart of Toxteth.’

  Harry nodded: it was like finding a branch of Boycott Duff in the middle of a council estate. He glanced at the Revills’ brochure. ‘St Alwyn’s?’

  ‘We work from home,’ Emma said. ‘Our house is our pride and joy. We only moved a year ago: until then it was a church. When it was declared redundant, we felt it was an opportunity too good to miss. The building had so much potential. Five bedrooms, separate living quarters for a member of staff and plenty of office space sixty seconds from the kitchen. To say nothing of freedom from rush hour commuting. We have a nanny to look after our son, so we’re not interrupted during working hours.’

  Her husband nodded. ‘There’s been a lot to do on the house – we haven’t even started on the grounds yet – but the atmosphere is unique.’

  Harry remembered Dominic’s last conversation with Becky Whyatt. ‘Sounds perfect for entertaining,’ he said.

  Chapter Eight

  His resolution to exercise by running upstairs to his flat at least once a day suffered another setback when he arrived home that evening. When he walked into the lobby of the Empire Dock building, a young woman wearing sunglasses, a skimpy top and very short shorts held the lift doors open for him. It seemed churlish to reject her kindness.

  ‘Third floor, please,’ he said.

  She pressed the button, but did not speak and got out a floor below him. Walkin
g down the corridor to his own front door, he sighed, sorry that he’d not been able to strike up a conversation. In the confines of the lift, he’d cast his eyes down as usual and became preoccupied with studying her bare legs. He supposed she must be one of the many fellow residents whom he seldom saw. There were ninety flats in the block, occupied by everyone from itinerant pop musicians who only stopped off a couple of times a year to the directors of multinational companies with a Liverpool base. He suspected that he was probably in a small minority in that he lived here full-time rather than using it as a second, third or fourth home.

  Whilst waiting for his microwave oven to work its magic, he glanced through a fat paperback called Approach The Bench. It was an American legal thriller, one of dozens he had devoured in recent years. After reading The Firm, he’d fantasised that one day Crusoe and Devlin might be bought up by the Mob; it would make a pleasant change from being in hock to the Lord Chancellor. Approach The Bench featured a hot-shot trial lawyer who wore two-thousand dollar suits, measured his life in billable hours and acted for criminal clients whose innocence he was determined to prove. Women found him irresistible, but he preferred litigation to sex. Harry thought a few days in the Liverpool magistrates’ court would cure the fellow of that.

  Tonight he felt empty. He hungered not for food but for female company. Had he lost Kim for good? If so, it was for reasons he could not begin to understand. A man must have hurt her badly in the past and the wound was taking a long time to heal. He could not be sure whether she wanted him to hang around while she untangled her mixed-up emotions or whether he had the patience to do so even if that was her wish.

  Listening to the latest instalment in the saga of Becky Whyatt’s affair offered scant consolation. He skipped a few minutes of inconsequential chatter with Michelle and fast-forwarded to the next call from Dominic Revill. After a few words of tender greeting, Dominic hastily explained that he could not talk for long: he was booked to visit a firm of Ormskirk accountants in three quarters of an hour for an indepth discussion about the recruitment of a specialist in value added tax. Ah, the glamour of professional life, thought Harry, but Becky was solicitous.