Take My Breath Away (7 page)

‘About what?’

‘How do you expect me to remember? It was social
chit-chat, that’s all. We didn’t get on to the meaning of life. She was flirting, perhaps, and I teased her.’

‘Sexual innuendo?’

‘Nothing anyone could object to. Especially not her.’

‘She says you became persistent. She had the key to her room in her hand and you kept badgering her. Inviting yourself in for a nightcap.’

‘Balls.’

‘Do you remember touching her?’

Haycraft hesitated. ‘Well, I did peck her on the cheek when we said goodnight. Is that a crime? I don’t seem to remember her kicking up a fuss at the time.’

‘She says she was shocked by your behaviour. She didn’t know what to do. You were her boss, yet you’d abused your power. You rubbed yourself up against her as she stood outside her bedroom door.’

‘It’s a lie!’ The eyes were bulging again.

‘She says you started by brushing your hand against her bottom. You tried to force your tongue between her lips and at the same time your hand crept up her skirt. She claims you were in an aroused state.’

‘“Aroused state”! For crying out loud! She’d never use that turn of phrase. Gina’s the kind who calls a spade a bloody shovel. That’s lawyer-speak for you. Her brief has put words in her mouth.’

Joel’s eyes narrowed. No more Mister Nice Guy, Roxanne thought. The best advocates were always clinical when they went for the kill.

‘Were you in an aroused state?’ he demanded.

‘Of course I bloody was,’ Haycraft said. ‘And all she said was that anyone could tell I was with Thrust.’

‘I thought your bloody boss was supposed to be on my side,’ Haycraft said half an hour later.

The evidence rehearsal was over and Roxanne had taken Haycraft, at Joel’s suggestion, to the Reading Room in Law Society Hall for a debrief. On the way, in the cab, he’d fumed about the injustice of it all, and the way all the cards were stacked in favour of women with a grudge. Roxanne let him talk, an outpouring of self-pity. He was forty-four years old and had been married for eighteen years. How could he have imagined that Gina Mandel, by all accounts a pretty woman young enough to be one of his kids, would ever have wanted to seize the opportunity afforded by a weekend away and invite him to share her bed?

‘He’s on the company’s side,’ she said, taking a sip of coffee. She was trying not to think about Tara Glass.

‘I represent the company,’ he said in an injured tone.

‘You’re also under suspension,’ she reminded him.

He clenched his fists, breathing hard. ‘It’s so fucking unjust!’

When Roxanne replied with a shrug, Haycraft said in a low voice, ‘Look, what’s going to happen with this case?’

‘It’s early days yet.’

‘I know, but…’

‘The company needs to make a decision whether to fight the case or settle. That’s a matter for them. Joel Anthony will be reporting to them now that he’s had a chance to evaluate your evidence.’

‘He thinks I’m a dirty old man, doesn’t he?’

Roxanne said nothing.

‘It was just a moment of madness. That’s all! A moment of madness.’

Roxanne exhaled, kept her eyes on the ceiling.

When Haycraft spoke again, his voice was choked. ‘Either way, I’m finished, aren’t I? Not just with Thrust, but in the industry. I’m ruined. I’ll never work again. My wife will find out, won’t she? I haven’t told her about this, not a word. Things are…difficult at home.’

He buried his face in his hands.

In her mind, Roxanne heard Joel Anthony’s voice.
Deep, deep trouble.

When Haycraft looked up, she returned his gaze. She couldn’t offer him any hope.

Pursing her lips, she said, ‘You must understand, it’s for management to decide what action to take.’

He blinked hard. She saw tears in his eyes. He clambered to his feet without another word and stumbled blindly towards the door. She watched him shove his way past a couple of young women solicitors, saw their expressions of distaste as he blundered on without offering an apology.

Roxanne gathered her papers together. She did not care for Howard Haycraft, but it had been cruel not to offer him a sliver of hope. She’d acted for too many employees with ruined careers and lives to want to inflict more pain. If only she hadn’t let Tara Glass cut and run, perhaps things might have ended differently. Would it help to chase after him and try to calm him down or would he see it as a sign of weakness? Never mind, she’d do it anyway. Hurrying down the steps that led from the main entrance to the pavement, she caught sight of Haycraft, weaving unsteadily along Chancery Lane.

She was about to call him when, without warning, he stepped off the pavement. A builder’s wagon loaded with breeze blocks was bearing down upon him. Roxanne put a hand to her mouth as she watched.
Haycraft walked straight in front of the wagon. Brakes squealed, a couple of girls emerging from a bistro screamed. The wagon shuddered to a halt. For a split second, there was a moment of silence in the city. As if for an instant all activity had been suspended in a show of respect. Then people rushed forward.

Roxanne followed the crowd. A group of onlookers had gathered in the road. The traffic was at a standstill. A fat woman with a mobile phone called out that she was dialling 999. Roxanne could not see what had happened to Howard Haycraft. He had gone under the wheels of the wagon and that was all she knew.

A young man peeled away from the gathering. His face was white. He said, to no one in particular, ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

The fat woman seemed to be taking charge. Roxanne heard her say, ‘He just walked under the wheels. He never looked. There was nothing the driver could do.’

Roxanne hesitated, then made up her mind. She turned on her heel and walked quickly back in the direction of Fleet Street. There was nothing she could do either.

‘I never even knew that Ella had a sister,’ Nic said.

Lea Valentine stroked her double chins with a chubby forefinger. They were in her office, a cramped and stuffy room. A fan whirred noisily and to no effect. ‘I have this picture in my mind of a kid at the funeral, throwing flowers on to the coffin as it was lowered into the grave. Amy Vinton. A slip of a girl, smaller than Ella and not quite as pretty. She kept blowing her nose, she didn’t speak. People said she’d always idolised her big sister. She was in her first year of university at the time.’

‘I thought Ella had come back from the grave.’

‘Way I hear it, no actress could have impersonated her as well as young Amy did.’ Lea leaned back on her chair, wobbling dangerously. Her tent-like mauve top was complemented by vivid floral leggings that might have suited a skinny adolescent. Nic didn’t know anyone brave enough to suggest that a skirt would be a better idea. She wasn’t someone it was wise to provoke. She had a rough tongue and she wasn’t afraid to use it. ‘No wonder you thought you were pissed or hallucinating. She already had the right build, the bone structure. Lifts in her shoes to give her the height. She’d kept Ella’s clothes, her make-up even. End result – a
doppelgänger
.’

‘So she was trying to take on her sister’s identity?’

Lea wrinkled her nose. ‘Bollocks to that. Take a tip from me and forget the spooky psychological stuff. She just wanted to scare the shit out of Dylan, and then make him pay for what he’d done. It was all about vengeance.’

‘Perhaps she expected him to show remorse.’

Lea opened a bag of prawn cocktail crisps that lay amid the clutter of her desk. The room was awash with faxes, scribbled notes and sheaves of printouts. She and Dylan did their business away from here, visiting employer clients in their offices, chatting up jobseekers in discreet corners of hotel lobbies. They were as likely to be found here late in the evening as during the day, grabbing a snack while they updated their records. A musty smell of pot noodle hung in the air.

‘I could have saved her the trouble if she’d only asked. My late lamented partner had many qualities, but he lacked a sense of shame.’

‘He was a lawyer turned headhunter. What do you expect?’

‘That’s rich, coming from a lawyer turned crime buff. Next to you, Dylan and I are saints. Well, even if he wasn’t, I fucking am.’

She swore with a zest that would have made D.H. Lawrence blush. For a moment she treated him to a fierce stare and then they both broke into laughter. Lea’s parents had been a petty criminal and an occasional prostitute. She’d made it to college against the odds and drifted into recruitment as a way of making ends meet, only to find that she possessed a flair for screwing the rich that had always eluded her mother. She’d set up in partnership with Dylan and the combination of her negotiating skills with his gift for making people feel good about giving him their business had earned them a lot of money. She spent all her spare time and cash supporting a cats’ sanctuary down the road. On the evening of Dylan’s death, whilst the kids were downing Bollinger at Westminster, she’d been out selling raffle tickets for an anti-vivisection campaign.
She shared her home with half a dozen tabbies and a whiff of them clung to her wherever she went.

She stuffed a fistful of crisps into her mouth. ‘Never thought I’d say this, but I’m going to miss Dylan. I don’t want to. I’ve cleared his stuff out already, as much as I can. That’s why things are looking tidier than usual.’

‘Christ.’

‘People used to ask how we managed to stick together. We were both working class kids, of course. Otherwise, chalk and cheese. I suppose it helped that we never screwed each other. He didn’t go for fat women, I couldn’t ever fancy anyone who didn’t care about animals. But we worked well as a team. Dylan needed someone who wouldn’t take any crap from him. People under-estimated him because he was a Casanova, but he was smart. He took risks with some of the candidates he placed, but his instincts didn’t often let him down.’

‘At the party, he was pushing the line that you and he were matchmakers.’

‘And I bet he had the kids swallowing it hook, line and sinker, same as always. Me, I’m a realist. You can’t say I haven’t learned from my poor old mum’s mistakes. I used to tell him we were more like pimps, flogging bodies to the punters with the biggest cheque book. Dylan wouldn’t have that. He was a romantic, prided himself on it.’

‘How will you manage without him?’

Lea wiped her lips with the back of her hand. ‘I’ll cope, don’t you fret.’ She added, almost to herself, ‘I’m not saying it will be easy. Thing about Dylan, he understood what makes people tick. Me, I prefer cats. He loved gossip, it was his stock-in-trade. He talked a
lot, but what most folk didn’t realise was, he could be a brilliant listener too. Like you.’

‘Flattery will get you everywhere.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh yeah? Well, Dylan always knew who was unhappy at work, or ready for a move. Sometimes before they realised it themselves. People would tell him things, and afterwards maybe regret it. Like he used to say, knowledge is power.’

‘He wasn’t any sort of megalomaniac.’

‘No, all I’m saying is, he enjoyed being on the inside track. For him, it was a game. He loved finding things out. Another thing you and he had in common.’

She was right. He’d always felt a connection with Dylan, perhaps because his friend reminded him of his own father. As soon as the thought struck him, he shoved it to the back of his mind. He didn’t want to recall the past.

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Lea said, ‘I’m not going to come over all sentimental about him. Many’s the time I wanted to throw things at him when he misbehaved. Sometimes I did – see that stain on the wall behind you? Can of Budweiser. He’d two-timed one of our candidates, a pretty little probate lawyer, and she withdrew her instructions from the agency. Cost us a bloody mint. But that was Dylan for you. He was a commitment-phobe. He could never settle down and be content with one woman. He had to keep proving he was irresistible. In the end, that’s what did for him.’

He couldn’t help yawning. ‘Sorry, tired as a dog.’

‘Sleeping any better?’ she demanded.

He shook his head. Since the killing, his insomnia had been as bad as ever. As bad as when it first began, all those years ago. He simply wanted to stop dreaming about Amy Vinton, slashing Dylan’s jugular vein.

‘So you think that’s what the murder was all about?’ he asked. ‘Amy blamed Dylan for her sister’s death and wanted to take revenge?’

‘Isn’t that what the police think?’

‘Sure.’ Of course they did, they loved simple solutions every bit as much as he hated them. It had been the same when his mother had died. He’d learned then that it was a waste of time, trying to open up minds that were closed.

Lea put her head on one side, considering him. ‘What else? The grapevine says she suffered some sort of breakdown after Ella died. She couldn’t cope, said it was all Dylan’s fault. In her eyes, he’d murdered Ella. She dropped out of college, took one dead end job after another. Her parents did their best to care for her, tried to sort out psychiatric help. They thought that this past twelve months, the scars had begun to heal. She’d been talking about going back to college, making something of her life at last. It didn’t work out. For the past few months she’d been waitressing in a coffee bar next to Somerset House. Seems the hatred of Dylan got the better of her in the end.’

‘Was it fair to scapegoat him? Did Ella really kill herself because he was unfaithful?’

Lea puffed out air. ‘Don’t waste your time acting as counsel for the defence of Dylan’s moral fibre. It’s a shit brief. He cheated on her and she wasn’t smart enough to figure out that she could never change him. They were looking for different things from each other. No prizes for guessing what Dylan was after. As far as Ella was concerned, on the other hand, he was a once-in-a-lifetime romance. Big mistake.’

‘Even though the affairs didn’t mean anything to him?’

‘Not much consolation when it dawned that she didn’t mean much to him either. So off to the railway line she went. Pity she didn’t choose my route home – the eternity you have to wait for a train, she’d have had a chance to change her mind.’ Then, as if for once regretting a brutal turn of phrase, she added in a softer voice, ‘But fuck me, you’d have to be pretty tired of life to want to finish it like that, eh?’

‘Dylan kept her photograph on his mantelpiece. He told me at the time he’d sworn to change his ways.’

‘Sure.’ Lea grimaced. ‘And so he did, till the next blue-eyed blonde with big tits signed up with us. The photo became part of his seduction technique, or so I heard. He could tell each latest conquest about the tragedy of a girlfriend who died young. Re-write a bit of history – the suicide became an accident – then play for sympathy. He could be a manipulative bastard, could Dylan. For him, life always moved on. He was a survivor. Until the other night.’

Nic bit his lip. ‘If only I hadn’t been pissed. If only I’d…’

Lea leaned across the desk and seized his wrist. ‘Stop that, Nic. You’ve no cause to blame yourself, do you hear? You were nearly a fucking hero.’

‘People keep saying that. And you know something? It really doesn’t make me feel better.’

‘Come on, Amy was determined to kill him. Look at how she conned her way past the flunkeys and into the party. If she hadn’t made it that night, there would have been another chance, another day.’

‘Simple as that?’

‘Yeah, simple as that. Hey, that’s something Dylan used to say about you. That you can’t ever bear to take the easy way out. You always love to make things 
complicated.’ She snorted with laughter. ‘You should never have given up being a lawyer. When it comes to making something out of nothing, you were a natural.’

‘I’ve been wondering. Why did Amy wait five years before murdering Dylan?’

‘Who knows what the fuck was going through her mind all that time?’ Lea shrugged, a seismic movement. She never bothered to conceal her contempt for excessive introspection. Animals appealed to her more than human beings. They concentrated on living rather than wasting their time worrying about things they could never change. ‘The hatred must have festered. Suddenly something blew inside her head and she decided to kill him. Spur of the moment thing.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Going to make a mystery out of it?’

‘I’m curious. You see, there’s something else.’

‘Namely?’

‘Did Dylan talk to you about the dead lawyers?’

She blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

‘That’s why I showed up at the party. After it was over, he was going to tell me the story.’

The rich man who burned in Paradise. A giant who chopped himself in half. To say nothing of the boy who died of shock.

Lea heard him out, but as soon as he’d finished she said, ‘Load of crap, frankly. Mysterious deaths and some old flame he thought was living on borrowed time? He was winding you up, Nic. If not, then for fuck’s sake, what was he talking about?’

‘He never mentioned any of this to you?’

‘Not a word.’ Lea pursed her lips. ‘Though maybe it’s not so strange. He’d have known I’d send him off
with a flea in his ear, told him he was letting his imagination run riot.’

‘Whereas I’m a credulous air-head?’

‘Well.’ Lea rubbed her chin. ‘You do have this thing about unexplained deaths. Or deaths that don’t have the right explanation, according to you. Like Crippen’s missus. If I wanted to grab your attention, guess what line I’d spin?’

‘Dylan was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t have wasted my time for no reason.’

‘He was getting carried away, as per usual. You should have seen his expenses claims. I never met a man with such a talent for make-believe.’

‘This woman he had the fling with at Oxford. Any idea who she might be?’

‘Do me a favour. Even if I wanted to keep track of Dylan’s love life, it wasn’t possible. There simply weren’t enough hours in the day.’

‘So he told you nothing about her?’

‘We didn’t waste time discussing his affairs. I worked on the premise it was better not to know what he was up to. That way, everything was deniable if the shit hit the fan. Although I knew something was going on. He’d been seeing an Australian girl who worked in radio. She found out he’d been two-timing her and the balloon went up. I don’t know the details. Now he’s dead, of course I wish we’d talked more. Too bloody late.’

By the look of her, Lea was not far from tears. Nic stroked her large, blotchy hand.

‘The last thing Dylan said was, “Why not jazz?” He whispered it. I’m not sure anyone but me heard. Any idea what he could have meant?’

‘You’re the one with the vivid imagination, you tell
me. Maybe he was confused. He used to go to Ronnie Scott’s, but why would that inspire famous last words?’ She snorted with disgust. ‘You’re trying to make a mystery out of nothing. Don’t you have anything better to do with your time?’

‘I owe it to him to figure out what he was talking about.’

‘You don’t owe him anything. All right, take that look off your face. Go on, what did the police have to say?’

‘I’m a writer, okay? So by definition I have an overheated imagination. The sergeant took a few notes and gave me rather more dirty looks. He obviously thought I was trying to work up a story.’

‘They showed no interest, then?’

He thought about his mother’s death. ‘They never do. Not if it’s something that contradicts their preconceived ideas. Anyway, I’ve disturbed you for long enough. Perhaps Dylan talked to someone else. Anyone I could speak to? This Australian woman, maybe?’

Lea shook her head. ‘Caron? You’re wasting your time there.’

Nic thrust his hands deep in his pockets. He wanted to make his request sound casual, an afterthought. ‘You mentioned Dylan’s laptop. He used to call it his life support, didn’t he? If he’d been squirrelling information about these dead lawyers, he’d have kept it in there for sure. He didn’t take it with him to the House of Lords, so I presume he left it here. Any chance I can borrow it?’