The Devil in Disguise (21 page)

‘I know,' Kim said and touched his hand. ‘I couldn't believe the sentence.'

‘I was treated like a common criminal. It was so unjust. The one mistake I made was trying to dress her death up as suicide. I should have come clean from the outset. Lack of guts on my part, I suppose.'

‘I don't think you lacked guts,' she said.

‘I feel ashamed of myself. I don't think it's logical. As I said, I have no regrets about helping her to do something she was incapable of doing herself. But prison leaves a mark.'

She nodded. ‘It puts you on the outside, however much you regard yourself as a victim of injustice.'

‘That's right. And it's why I never talk about it. I'm stigmatised. I dread the idea that people may discuss me behind my back, point a finger, say I murdered my mother, imply that I did it for personal gain.'

‘Did Luke know?' Harry asked gently.

‘Of course not,' Tim said. ‘You know what a stickler he was. He would never have understood.'

‘I'm not so sure.'

‘I am. I had enormous respect for him, but he expected everyone else to live by the same standards as he did. If he'd known I'd done time, he would have wanted me off the board.'

‘You shouldn't assume... Evening, Matthew. Hello, Inge.'

Matthew Cullinan and his girlfriend were arm in arm. He beamed at Harry. ‘Grand to see you again. Frances rang to let me know about Vera Blackhust. Tremendous. I always knew that bloody woman was on the make. I expect now she'll make herself scarce.'

‘She hasn't committed any crime,' Harry pointed out.

Matthew grunted. ‘No smoke without fire, if you ask me.'

Inge Frontzeck patted his shoulder. ‘Perhaps now you can relax, darling.' She gave them a rueful smile. ‘You'll never believe how worried he has been about the Trust's financial difficulties.'

Matthew coloured. ‘I must admit I've been bothered about the money side. Hopefully that's all now in the past. We should be able to negotiate a reasonable share from the Kavanaugh estate.'

‘So now you can enjoy this evening without fretting about how much it has cost the Trust,' Inge said.

Frances smiled. ‘I've only just noticed your ring, Inge. So you two have named the day at last?'

A huge diamond was sparkling on the third finger of Inge's left hand. She beamed and allowed everyone to inspect it. Matthew squeezed her hand and confessed that he had proposed that very afternoon.

‘To my surprise and delight, she said yes.'

‘He even got down on bended knee to pop the question,' Inge told them. ‘After that, I didn't have the heart to refuse.'

‘I'm a great believer in the old traditions,' her fiancé said.

‘How marvellous!' Frances said. ‘So we have a double cause for celebration.'

‘We must have a toast,' Harry said. ‘What would you all like to drink?'

Tim said, ‘Don't you think we ought to take our seats? The show's due to start any minute.'

‘You're quite right,' Matthew said. ‘Everyone's moving through. We'll save the toast for later. Champagne on me, if the theatre bar runs to it.'

As they took up their seats at the far end of the second row, Kim whispered, ‘Call me a bigoted old socialist, but that man Cullinan gives me the creeps.'

‘You're a bigoted old socialist,' Harry said. ‘Now be quiet and watch the show.'

He enjoyed the performance much more than he had expected. He'd never been a fan of musicals and occasional viewing of the works of Rodgers and Hammerstein or Andrew Lloyd Webber on the small screen had convinced him that the choice was usually between sentimentality or lush melodrama. A sixties sex comedy with a chorus line of seedy middle-aged businessmen clicking their fingers as they bemoaned the complexities of playing away from home was more to his taste.

‘Like it?' Tim asked as they queued at the bar during the interval.

‘Mmmm. “Where Can You Take a Girl?” was fun.'

‘At least you and I aren't married men. We don't have to feel guilty if - we get involved with someone.'

‘I don't know about you,' Harry said, trying to keep Juliet May out of his mind, ‘but sometimes I wish I had cause for a troubled conscience where women are concerned.'

Tim gave a sceptical laugh and then said quietly, ‘Can I speak to you - without prejudice, as you lawyers might say?'

‘Go ahead.'

Tim fiddled with his tie and it dawned on Harry that the other man had made a special effort to look smart this evening. It helped that, for the first time in their acquaintance, he was wearing a suit that seemed the right size.

‘You may have guessed this already...' Tim bit his lip. ‘You see, the fact is, I've become very fond of Frances. I don't think she realises. Of course, while Luke was alive, she only had eyes for him. I'm not naïve, I knew that she'd never bother with me.'

He paused while Harry gave the barman his order. ‘But what I wanted to say is - do you feel you have to tell her about my past?'

Harry stared. ‘You mean, the business over your mother's death? Look, it's history. And the way Kim tells it, you were desperately unlucky. But whatever makes you believe Frances wouldn't take exactly the same view? She's a sensible woman, I'm sure if you tell her the full story, she'll understand. Talk to her. I don't think you'll regret it.'

If I had my time again perhaps I should come back as an agony columnist
, he thought as he rejoined Kim. Soon he was absorbed again in Neil Simon's take on the battle of the sexes. The second half of the show entertained him as much as the first. The three-piece band was playing a score written for a thirty-five-strong orchestra, but they made up for lack of numbers with such verve that they managed to drown a couple of the songs. Towards the end, after the latest betrayal of her two-timing boss the heroine sang ‘Whoever You Are, I Love You' before taking an overdose. As the lyric washed over him, Harry mused about the impulses that can lead a person to end it all. For the hundred
th
time, he wondered if it was possible that he and Ashley were mistaken and that Luke Dessaur had indeed killed himself. But what could be the reason, what motive was strong enough?

Just before, in time-honoured fashion, Fran and Chuck finally got it together, they performed the duet that everyone in the audience had grown up with. The one in which they agree that what you get when you fall in love is lies and pain and sorrow. So - for at least until tomorrow - they'd never fall in love again.
The story of my life
, Harry thought as the curtain fell for the last time to continuing applause.

‘Great fun, wasn't it?' Frances asked as they made their way out of the auditorium. ‘You two don't have to rush off home, do you? Come and meet the cast and the backroom team.'

‘They did well,' Harry said. ‘Tell you the truth, I didn't expect to enjoy it so much.'

‘I'm glad,' she said. ‘It's such a relief when you think of the money we've invested in it. Far more than I thought wise, frankly.'

Tim nodded. ‘If only Luke had been here today, he could have seen that his faith was vindicated. I must admit that I had my doubts. Musicals are so expensive, even when they are produced on a shoestring and the run is only from Tuesday to Saturday. They must be one of the highest-risk investments of all.'

‘Why was he so keen?'

‘Oh, he insisted that it was precisely the sort of imaginative venture that Gervase Kavanaugh established the Trust to support all those years ago.'

‘That's right,' Frances said. ‘The producer persuaded him that the show broke the mould of Broadway musicals, but once its run came to an end it disappeared from sight. The Waterfront Players were strapped for cash and he was keen to back their enterprise. Even though his taste in music was more Bach and Verdi than Bacharach and David.' Suddenly she caught sight of someone and raised her voice. ‘Bruce! I've been looking round for you. Congratulations! A terrific production.'

Bruce was a tall, slender man in a leather jacket and denim jeans who had just been smooching with the leading lady. His face was flushed with champagne and excitement. Harry recognised him from somewhere, and not just because of a passing resemblance to the young John Travolta, but for the moment could not place him.

‘I must admit I'm ecstatic,' Bruce drawled, extricating himself from the clutches of the girl who had played Fran Kubelik and coming over to join them. ‘Thanks from the bottom of my heart. If it wasn't for the Kavanaugh Trust, we'd never have been able to make it this far.'

‘Oh, I'm sure you would have managed somehow.'

‘Believe me, it's true. In terms of conventional box office appeal,
Promises, Promises
isn't exactly
My Fair Lady
or
The Phantom of the Opera
.'

‘I thought it was more fun than both of them put together.'

‘Me too. Maybe it's because I come from New York City and I just adore Neil Simon's one-liners. But whichever way you look at it, we owe the Trust a lot.'

‘It was Luke's baby. He drove it through, he was the one to thank.'

A shadow passed across Bruce's face. ‘Yes - yes, of course.'

‘By the way, you know Tim, of course, but have you met Harry Devlin? He's the Trust's solicitor and this is his friend Kim Lawrence. Meet Bruce Carpenter - he's the man who made the whole thing happen. The producer of the show.'

They said hello and then Harry asked casually, ‘I thought I recognised you and now I've remembered. Didn't I see you at Luke's funeral?'

‘Yeah, I was there.' Bruce's smile faded. ‘Well, it was the very least I could do - in the circumstances. Anyway, it's been great to meet you. And now - I really must circulate.'

As he disappeared, Frances said, ‘A very charming young man. Rather too young and handsome for an old maid like me, but a good talker, that's for sure. He could get most people eating out of his hand, I suspect.'

‘Is he a full-time producer?'

‘Heavens, no. The Waterfront Players are amateurs. They all need a day job to survive. At the dress rehearsal Bruce told me that he works as a barman. He'd love a career in showbiz, but he needs to keep body and soul together whilst he hopes for a break. Maybe tonight is just what he needs. Everyone seems to have loved the production.'

She sighed and surveyed the crowded room. A champagne cork exploded and Matthew beckoned them over.

‘Come and have a drink with us to celebrate!'

He broke off to kiss his bride-to-be and people cheered. The place was thick with smoke and everyone seemed to be talking at the same time. A press photographer approached the happy couple, but Matthew feigned shielding his face and pointed at Bruce Carpenter, who had rejoined a group of cast members.

‘Please, those are the people you should be taking pictures of. They've worked very hard to make tonight such a success.'

Bruce shook his head graciously and said, ‘Like I just said to Frances, we owe it all to you and your friends from the Trust.'

A flashbulb popped anyway, to Matthew's evident embarrassment. Frances turned to Harry and said, ‘Just one thing bothers me.'

‘What's that?'

‘Why isn't Roy here?'

Harry spread his arms. There were other things that were bothering him. For example, he had just remembered that he had seen Bruce Carpenter on another occasion after Luke's funeral, polishing glasses behind the bar at the Hawthorne Hotel.

Chapter 16

Dale Street didn't seem the same without Davey Damnation's wild eyes and pointing finger. As Harry left the magistrates' court at half eleven the morning after the show, he turned his collar up against the rain and thought about the pavement prophet. The newspapers were full of his story. Davey was the hero who had single-handedly ended a reign of terror that had defeated the police forces of four counties. It was only a question of time before he became a card-carrying darling of the media, a lovable eccentric, perhaps a rent-a-quote pundit on ecclesiastical affairs. And what was wrong with that? At least he'd helped to make sure that the Scissorman would not strike again. Whereas Luke Dessaur's murderer - if there was one - was still at large. It was time to have another word with Ashley Whitaker. Harry was convinced Ashley knew more than he had yet been prepared to admit and thought he might now be able to guess what it might be.

The Speckled Band was quiet, as usual. Ashley was sitting behind his desk at the back, leafing through an old Inspector French mystery. He waved as Harry walked in.

‘Skiving off work? Don't worry, my lips are sealed.'

‘I've just come from court. My client is an amateur footballer, a very good player. He scored a hat-trick in a vital match and now he's in trouble with the law because of it.'

Ashley tutted. ‘What went wrong?'

‘He was videotaped scoring the winner. The film was taken by inquiry agents acting for a local authority. Twelve months ago, he sued for crippling injuries he said he'd suffered after stumbling into an uncovered manhole. Claimed he was in constant pain and would never be able to play sport again. He was awarded two years' salary. A good result, I was delighted with it. Of course, he didn't tell me he was turning out for this pub team twice a week. Now he's been sent down for obtaining by deception.'

Ashley chortled. ‘Never mind, the coffee's on and there are a few old pulp magazines on the shelf behind you, if you're interested. Good stuff by Joel Townsley Rogers and Jonathan Latimer. Have a browse and a shot of caffeine while you lick your wounds.'

‘Thanks, but I really came to see you rather than the merchandise.'

‘Sounds intriguing.'

‘Specifically, I wanted a word about Luke's death and the Kavanaugh trustees.'