The Devil in Disguise (17 page)

‘I'm going to have to cry off
Vertigo
. Quentin and his partners are having a meeting over dinner tonight. It's a regular event in their calendar, but they want to talk over their offer with me. I shall have to make up my mind soon whether or not to accept.'

He sensed that she was waiting for him to respond, but he could not think of anything worthwhile to say. ‘I suppose so. Good luck.'

‘Sorry about the film.'

‘Doesn't matter. Let me know how you get on.'

‘I will. And Harry - '

‘Yes?'

‘Oh, nothing.'

After she had rung off, he sat on top of his bed hugging his knees for a few minutes, telling himself that he should have handled the conversation better. But his mind was jumping around like the playback on a faulty video recorder. He could vaguely recall being helped into a taxi the previous evening by Matthew whilst Inge asked if he would be all right. He had protested that he felt fine, absolutely fine whilst Juliet said something - was it about seeing him again some time? The one thing he could be sure of now was that the queasiness in his stomach was not due solely to the alcohol he had consumed. It was senseless to deceive himself. He wanted badly to see the woman again. Never mind that she was married to Casper May. For the moment, he cared more about whether in his drunken state he had made a fool of himself in front of her than the outcome of Kim's meeting with the partners of Windaybanks.

A shower, a potful of black coffee and a couple of hours later, he was walking from his flat past the police headquarters and in the direction of the city centre. It was the coldest day of the year so far and flecks of snow were falling, but at least the raw wind coming in from the Mersey was helping to clear his head. He felt less fragile now that he had a sense of purpose. He had remembered Juliet mentioning that on Saturdays she often stopped off at Ashley Whitaker's shop in the middle of the day.

Yet there was no sign of her when he arrived at the Speckled Band Bookshop. Ashley was behind the counter, debating the merits of Dorothy L. Sayers with a gnarled customer in a huge camel overcoat. Melissa was sitting on one of the tables in the middle of the ground floor, kicking her long and elegant legs as she leafed through
Strangers in a Train
.

‘I don't often see you here,' he said.

‘I keep away. Ashley's the detective story fan. Personally, I prefer poetry. I think Sylvia Plath is marvellous.'

‘Oh. Right.' Harry decided that Melissa wouldn't be an ideal choice as a fun companion on a desert island. Maybe Roy hadn't simply been jealous of Ashley when he'd described her as being as neurotic as hell. ‘Can I interest you in an exchange of murders?' he asked, nodding at the Highsmith book.

She glanced in Ashley's direction and gave a high-pitched laugh. ‘There are times when I might be tempted. He lives in a world of his own, frankly. Do you know, he spent the whole of yesterday evening on the phone to some crime nut in Milwaukee, having promised faithfully to take me out for a slap-up meal? He's obsessed. I don't think anyone could blame me if I agreed a murder-swop. But who would you wish to do away with?'

‘The list is endless. It starts with the Lord Chancellor and goes all the way down to the computer salesman who told me that his system was idiot-proof.' He shook his head. ‘By the way. I was talking to one of your customers last night. A woman called Juliet May.'

‘Casper May's wife? That's right, she spends a lot of money here.' She grimaced. ‘I'm glad someone does. Where did you meet her?'

‘Matthew Cullinan invited me to dinner. It turned out that Juliet May is friendly with his girlfriend, Inge Frontzeck.'

‘The German girl? She's the daughter of Uwe Frontzeck, isn't she?'

At last he remembered where he had heard the surname before. ‘Isn't he...?'

‘The businessman. He owns Frontzeck Clothes. They have a chain of shops. Very up-market.'

‘The name did ring a distant bell. But I've never been at the cutting edge of fashion.'

She gave a faint smile. ‘Perhaps you'll have seen him mentioned in the financial pages of the Press.'

‘I don't read them,' Harry confessed.

‘I sympathise. My father used to study the share index in the same way that Ashley pores over an Agatha Christie for clues.'

‘Your father was in business as well, wasn't he?'

Melissa's tone softened. ‘Yes, he ran a brewery. I used to complain that he loved the company more than me, but it wasn't true and deep down I always knew it. My mother died of a stroke when I was young and he did everything he could to make sure I was looked after. He was always wonderful to me. And then some bastard killed him in a hit-and-run accident and things were never the same again.'

Harry pushed aside a pile of paperbacks so that he could sit next to her. ‘My parents died when I was still at school. A fire engine screaming through red lights hit them broadside. They never stood a chance. They were killed instantly, or so I was told. But I've always wondered whether, in the last few seconds, they realised what was about to happen, knew that they were helpless and that there was no escape. Silly of me. Morbid.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘The fire engine was answering a hoax call,' he said. ‘The one thing I've never been able to do is defend kids accused of raising false alarms. Again, it's stupid, unfair. I act for rapists, murderers, men of violence. Even drink-drivers. But hoax callers - no, I can't hack it.'

‘And if I had my way,' she said, ‘the kid, whoever he was, who killed my father would hang. I still wish I could meet him, to tell him what a wonderful life was destroyed that day. It's a human reaction, I suppose. But as everyone has always told me, life must go on.'

‘Most people realise that,' Harry said. ‘I suppose that's why Ashley and I find it so difficult to believe that Luke would have killed himself for no good reason.'

She gave him a searching look. ‘So he's been sharing his pet theory with you?'

‘I understand you're not convinced.'

She shook her head. ‘Ashley's getting carried away. He does that. Every so often, he gets a wild idea into his head and nothing can shift it. Like marrying me, for instance.'

‘He once told me it was the best thing he ever did in his life.'

‘He's kinder than I deserve. No-one could accuse him of marrying me just for my money. The last ten years can't have been a picnic. I'm not easy to live with, Harry. I've spent more hours in therapy than you've had hot dinners, but still I have days when I find life is simply - too much. Perhaps I had that in common with Luke.'

‘How close were you to Luke?'

‘We knew each other for years, yet we never talked intimately. But I always sensed that somehow he was - dissatisfied with life. He was lonely. Which is why he liked to spend so much time with us. Ashley wasn't a blood relative, but he was the closest to family that Luke had.'

‘So you're not surprised by the idea that Luke might have committed suicide?'

‘I could understand it. He was in his fifties, a widower.' She sighed. ‘When I told myself that life must go on, I was barely twenty-one, still with everything to look forward to. Very different. Besides, in a strange kind of way, perhaps something good did come out of my father's death. Daddy took the view that no young man would ever be good enough for his only daughter. Ashley is a dear, but he would never have been Daddy's cup of tea. He's never been a go-getter, never will be. But as soon as I phoned him with the news that Daddy had been killed, he rushed back from France. He'd been out there back-packing. We've been together ever since. Whenever I think I'm going to scream if I hear one more word about clues and red herrings, I remember that. He was a tower of strength when I needed one.' She mustered a smile. ‘So perhaps we won't go ahead with the exchange of murders plan, after all.'

Harry looked across to Ashley. He was sealing up a parcel which contained an ancient and dust-jacketed copy of
The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club
. Its cost to the purchaser was fifty times that of an immaculate modern reprint, but collectors prized scarcity over substance. Harry shook his head. Not all the mysteries of crime fiction were to be found between book covers.

When her husband had bidden farewell to the collector and ambled over to join them, Melissa said, ‘Harry knows Juliet May.'

‘I understand she is a regular here,' Harry said.

‘One of my best customers. She loves mysteries, buys them by the carload. As a matter of fact, she often calls in around this time on a Saturday.'

‘Matthew Cullinan introduced them,' Melissa said. ‘Harry dined at Matthew's last night.'

Ashley's eyebrows rose. ‘Rubbing shoulders with the aristocracy, eh?'

‘After sampling Inge's cooking at the Piquet Club, I felt the invitation was an offer I simply couldn't refuse. Though I should have gone easier on the champagne. My head's still buzzing.'

Melissa slipped off the table. ‘I must go. Keys please, darling.' As she held out her hand, she said to Harry, ‘My car's in dock until Monday. I only popped in to borrow the Lexus. And see what happens? I end up kicking my heels for half an hour whilst he prattles on about Dorothy L. But I enjoyed our chat. See you.'

Ashley blew a kiss at her departing back. ‘Can't be easy, being married to a crime book-seller. Did I tell you I'd picked up a collection of first editions by Freeman Wills Crofts? He's one of my all-time favourites. Not exactly Tolstoy, but it's still sad that his work is so neglected today. Anyway, tell me about your dinner. Did you happen to touch on - the matters we spoke about the other day?'

‘Matthew and I did have a word about the Trust.' Harry paused. He was conscious that he acted for the Trust and for Roy Milburn as an individual, as well as for Ashley. His instinct was always to interpret freely the professional rules on conflicts of interests if it seemed right to do so. Nevertheless, he would have to tread carefully. ‘Matthew did mention that he was concerned about the state of the Trust's finances. He'd even raised the matter with Luke.'

‘What exactly was the problem?'

‘Well...'

‘Sorry, I'm being too inquisitive. But it's not just idle curiosity on my part. If there is anything connected with Luke's death that needs to be exposed, I hope you will be prepared to... Hello! Were your ears burning a few minutes ago?'

Ashley's last remark was addressed to Juliet May, who had appeared in the doorway laden with bags. But Saturday shopping did not seem to have ruffled her; evidently her head for champagne was better than Harry's.

‘Hi, you two. Harry - we must stop meeting like this. And why should my ears have been burning, Ashley?'

‘I gather you both dined with Matthew and Inge last night.'

‘A thoroughly enjoyable evening.' She gave Harry a cheeky grin. ‘Don't you agree?'

He felt himself blushing. ‘It's good to see you again.'

‘You too. Ashley, have you had any luck with the Fredric Brown?'

‘It's in the back room. The shipment from the States arrived yesterday and I haven't finished unpacking it all yet. Hang on a couple of ticks and I'll dig the book out.'

As he disappeared from sight, Juliet said, ‘Small world, don't you think?'

Harry cleared his throat. ‘I have a confession to make.'

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Sounds interesting.'

‘I remembered you saying that you often called in here around the middle of Saturday. I've been killing time with Ashley and Melissa in the hope that you'd turn up.'

‘I'm flattered.'

‘You see - I've been meaning to watch a rerun of
Vertigo
at the Philharmonic Picture Palace tonight. You mentioned last night that, with your husband being away, you were at a loose end at present, so I wondered...'

She clapped her hands in delight. ‘How kind!'

‘Of course,' he said hastily, ‘I realise you probably won't be interested at all. And I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea. If you don't...'

‘I promise,' she said in a solemn tone, ‘I haven't got the wrong idea. And I am interested. I love that film. Thank you.'

Ashley returned, carrying a book in a protective plastic wrapper. ‘Here you are,' he said to Juliet. ‘A first edition of
The Screaming Mimi
. Shall I put it on your account?'

‘Please.' She turned to Harry and said, ‘Lovely to bump into you again.'

‘And you.'

After she had gone, Ashley said, ‘Lovely woman.'

‘Yes.' Harry had an uncomfortable sense that his face and mind were too easy to read. In his haste to change the subject, he found himself offering to buy rather more books than he had space for in his flat or time to read. All the same, it had been a worthwhile visit.

***

Less than two hours later, he and Stephanie were together in his MG, taking the turn from the A55 that led to the centre of Colwyn Bay. It had begun to drizzle, reminding Harry of a wet holiday spent here with his parents when he was six or seven. He could remember sitting in his dad's old Austin 1100, parked on the promenade, waiting for the next train to emerge from the tunnel in the cliff at the edge of the bay, since the old man had promised him an ice cream then if he hadn't made a nuisance of himself in the meantime. The Costa del Sol it wasn't, but he cherished the memories, all the same.

On the way over here, he had been regaling Stephanie with tales of the unexpected from the life of a Liverpool lawyer. She was a good listener and his story about a matrimonial dispute over custody of the single set of false teeth possessed by a couple from Huyton had kept her entertained all the way from Connah's Quay. ‘Back to business,' he said as they stopped at traffic lights. ‘Where do we go from here?'