The Devil in Disguise (28 page)

The song came to an end to a ripple of applause from the people in the lounge. The audience was composed almost exclusively of elderly Americans sipping coffee or wine after dinner in the restaurant. Frances and Tim bowed to them and said that they would be taking a break for half an hour. She walked briskly towards Harry. Tim lumbered along behind her, knocking a table as he passed it and spilling an old lady's drink.

‘Congratulations,' Harry said.

She smiled. ‘You liked what you heard?'

‘Very much.' He turned to Tim, who had finished stammering his apologies to the old lady. ‘You're a man of many talents. I knew you played, but I'm afraid I assumed you were a member of the honky-tonk school rather than Liverpool's answer to Vladimir Ashkenazy.'

‘Isn't he the goalkeeper for Moscow Dynamos?' Tim asked with a blush that betrayed his pleasure at the compliment.

‘You're quite right, Harry,' Frances said. ‘Tim's always too modest. I had a terrible job persuading him to help me out tonight. Thank goodness I persisted. You were wonderful, Tim.'

She pecked him on the cheek and he reddened again. ‘A bit rusty, really.'

‘Nonsense. You were absolutely marvellous. Quite frankly, you ought to reconsider your priorities. I know you love conjuring, but you could do even better as a pianist. Especially if you worked with a true professional, rather than an amateur like me.'

He patted her arm. ‘Frances, there is no-one I'd rather work with than you.'

For the second time in a matter of hours, Harry had the feeling that two was company, three a crowd. He said, ‘So you've only just started working together?'

‘Tonight is the very first time.' Frances said.

‘I'd never have realised.'

‘It's quite true. The man who regularly works with me had to cry off. His wife has been taken seriously ill and he needed to be with her. I thought I'd have to cancel our date here. I'd been in two minds about it since - since Luke died. I didn't know how I would cope with performing here. On the other hand, I hate to break an engagement. But I was on the verge of ringing in and making my excuses when Tim rang and I found myself asking him if he would be willing to help me out.'

‘I was afraid I'd let you down,' Tim said.

‘When you can play like that? Believe me...'

‘Let me buy you a drink,' Harry said hastily. ‘You both deserve it.'

When they were settled at a table in the bar, he told them about his conversation with Gary Cullinan and Inge Frontzeck. The glow faded from Frances's face as she listened and, when Harry told her that Inge was prepared to pay back to the Trust every penny that Gary had stolen and more, she snorted with contempt.

‘I've a good mind to tell her what to do with her cheque. She ought to have more sense.'

Harry shrugged. ‘She's fallen for his story hook, line and sinker. She seems to regard every lie that he's told as proof of his devotion to her.'

‘Some women,' Frances said bitterly, ‘never learn.'

‘We mustn't be vindictive,' Tim said. ‘I know you wouldn't want that, Frances. Perhaps he's learned his lesson.'

‘That'll be the day.'

‘Maybe. But I think we should accept the compensation and draw a line under the whole sorry business. Involving the police never does any good.'

‘What about justice?' Frances demanded. ‘The man's committed a crime.'

‘Sometimes blind justice does no-one any good. Let's give him another chance. If he muffs it, that's his business.'

‘And Inge's.'

‘And Inge's. But she's a grown woman. If she makes a mistake, at least it will have been her choice. Let's not make a martyr out of him.' He turned his earnest face to Harry. ‘What do you say?'

Harry remembered that Tim knew what it was like to face blind justice. ‘I agree with you,' he said quietly. ‘The Trust won't be any worse off. Besides, the prisons are full enough already. Mostly with my clients, I sometimes think.'

‘Very well,' Frances said, unexpectedly meek. ‘Tim, I've never known you be so eloquent.'

‘I'm inspired by your company,' he said and then threw Harry a glance. ‘Besides, there's something I'd like to talk to you about. Later on.'

So he was going to tell her about the killing of his mother. Harry was glad. But before he left them, he needed to find out if there was any substance to the theory that was taking shape in his mind. When Tim headed for the bar, he seized the moment.

‘Frances. About Luke. I hardly know how to put this in a tactful way, but did he tell you recently that there was no chance that the two of you would get together permanently?'

Her eyes grew narrow. ‘What makes you think that?'

‘Gary Cullinan told me that Luke confided in him.'

She bowed her head. ‘God, I loathe that man. But he was telling the truth for once. I've known Luke a long time. We were firm friends, we had a great deal in common. I suppose I started to think that it would be nice if we... well, you know...'

‘Did he encourage you?'

‘Oh no, quite the reverse. He was an entirely honourable man. But I persisted. Silly of me, I suppose. I should have realised that no-one could replace Gwendoline in his affections. In the end, I plucked up the courage to talk to him, ask if I was really wasting my time. And though in my heart of hearts, I didn't expect it, he told me I was. Kindly, of course, but he was absolutely clear. He didn't want to get married again. Once was enough.'

‘It must have been hard for you,' Harry said.

‘I was shattered. I suppose you could call me a private person. My work has always mattered a great deal to me. I've never had much time for personal relationships. Those I've had have been brief and disastrous. I'd given up hope of finding a decent man until I met Luke. I hoped he would read the signs - and respond. But he didn't.'

‘You must have felt bitter towards him.'

She sighed. ‘Perhaps, for a short time. But I soon realised I was being selfish. It would have been dreadful if I'd spoiled our relationship. When he suggested taking me to the dress rehearsal of
Promises, Promises
I was glad to accept. Even though just then it seemed I'd spend the rest of my life with Uncle Joe as my closest companion.'

‘And now - you have Tim,' Harry said.

‘Yes.' Her expression lightened. ‘It rather looks as though I do. And do you know something, I was thinking only today that perhaps it's time for Uncle Joe to be interred with the rest of his mates in Everton Cemetery?'

‘Good idea,' Harry said. ‘You deserve better than him.

And here comes Tim with the drinks.'

She smiled. ‘What's the betting he'll drop them?'

But Tim Aldred negotiated his way back through the crowd at the bar with unaccustomed skill. ‘Cheers,' he said. ‘Shall we drink to the Trust? With Cullinan out of the way and Vera Blackhurst sorted, it should go from strength to strength from now on.'

‘We'll have to start looking for new recruits,' Frances said. ‘Who would have thought that in such a short time we would lose Luke, Roy and Matthew?'

‘It's an amazing coincidence,' Tim said.

‘Is it?' Harry asked as he sipped from his glass.

‘What do you mean?' Frances's voice was sharp.

‘I'm not sure I believe in coincidences like that, Frances.'

‘What else can it be? Presumably Roy got himself drunk as usual and then swallowed more pain-killers than he should have done.'

‘There's an alternative theory.' He told her about the cartoon of Roy on the gallows and the theory that he had murdered Luke.

‘But why?' she demanded. ‘Roy didn't care much for Luke and the feeling was mutual - but murder...'

Harry finished his drink. ‘What if Luke suspected Roy of being the one who was on the take from the Trust?'

‘But surely now that Matthew has confessed...'

‘Yes, well. For what it's worth, I don't believe Roy killed Luke.' He let out a breath. ‘And I don't believe he committed suicide either.'

Both Frances and Tim were staring at him now. ‘What do you think happened?' Tim asked hoarsely.

Harry said gently, ‘I'll tell you when I
know
what happened. Meanwhile, I'd like to have a word with Bruce Carpenter while I'm here.'

‘We saw him earlier on,' Tim said. ‘We exchanged a few words.'

Frances gave a crisp nod. She had begun to recover her composure. ‘I scarcely recognised him at first.'

Harry leaned forward. ‘Why's that?'

‘An Elvis Presley convention is being held upstairs and now that the show's run is over, he's been press-ganged into tending bar. And getting himself up as an Elvis look-alike.' She winced. ‘Quite a racket up there. Not really my taste in music at all.'

‘Pity I forgot my blue suede shoes,' Harry said. ‘Elvis I can cope with. Just as long as I don't have to listen to anything else by Gervase Kavanaugh.'

Nathaniel Hawthorne must have been turning in his grave. The mezzanine floor was seething with Elvis wannabees from twenty-five to sixty-five. The place was a Brylcreem salesman's dream. Many of the men were wiggling their hips in a grotesque parody of the King whose voice was issuing from the huge speakers in the corner of the room. He was singing an old number one: ‘The Devil in Disguise'.

‘Harry Devlin, isn't it?' an American voice said in his ear. ‘Forgive me, but you seem a little out of place here. Can I help you?'

The fleeting thought passed through Harry's mind that he seemed a little out of place almost everywhere, but he dismissed it impatiently. ‘As a matter of fact, you can. I was looking for you.'

Bruce Carpenter raised his eyebrows. ‘Perhaps I should be flattered.'

He had a tray of drinks in his hand and was wearing a white, gold and silver suit, the sort the singer had worn during his Las Vegas period, together with dark glasses and cowboy boots. His hair was done in a quiff and at first glance it was possible to believe that the tabloid headlines had come true and the rock-'n'-roll saviour had come back to life. He noticed Harry looking at the boots and said with a smile, ‘Would you believe it? Hand-stretched python skin.'

‘Haven't I seen them on sale in the market at Toxteth?'

‘As a matter of fact, I had to have them specially imported from the States. I only wear them for special occasions like this. They cost a small fortune and I'd hate to get them scuffed.'

Abandoning irony, Harry said, ‘I didn't realise you were a fan.'

‘Just because I love Stephen Sondheim, that doesn't mean I can't
adore
rock 'n' roll,' Bruce said teasingly. ‘Remember what your local lad, John Lennon, said? “Before Elvis, there was nothing.” I've been besotted with the King since I was a boy.' He paused, then said, ‘But you didn't come here to talk about music, did you?'

‘No. I wanted to have another word with you about Luke Dessaur.'

Bruce ran a hand through his quiff. ‘Look, it was tragic about Luke. Tragic. But I don't know why you have to drag up the past. What's the point?'

‘I want to know why Luke died.'

Bruce studied Harry for a moment. ‘Don't you know already?'

‘I think I may have guessed.'

‘Well, then.'

‘You're the one person who can confirm the truth.'

‘What makes you say that?'

‘You had a hold over him. An emotional hold, is my guess. Were you lovers?'

Bruce Carpenter rubbed his chin. Harry suddenly thought how young the man was. Not more than twenty-five, twenty-six. Half the age of the eternally respectable Luke Dessaur. For a while neither of them spoke. In the background Elvis was starting to ask: ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight?'

‘So you weren't fooled when I kept kissing and cuddling my leading lady?' Bruce said at last. ‘Well, why should you be? I've been out for a long while. Not like poor old Luke. And yes, we were lovers, we had a brief encounter.'

‘That's why Luke killed himself, isn't it?' Harry asked. ‘Because for you it was just a passing affair. But he had fallen in love for the first time and couldn't face life without you.'

Chapter 22

‘How did it begin?' Harry asked three quarters of an hour later. He'd had to wait until Bruce's stint of overtime had come to an end before he could start asking questions. They were in Bruce's own room on the top floor of the hotel. The walls were covered with framed posters advertising musical shows, shots of Elvis on stage and a couple of pictures of he-men with hairy chests that had been cut out of magazines. Harry was occupying the solitary chair, Bruce lying on his back across the bed with his feet resting on an anglepoise lamp.

‘I approached Luke as chair of the Kavanaugh Trust while we were working on the show. Our main backer had pulled out and we were running over-budget too. We'd cut every corner with the music but we still needed money badly. Without it, I knew we'd never even make the first night. Luke was sympathetic. Of course, he was shy. He'd never dreamed of coming out. But I picked up the signals.' Bruce laughed. ‘Lots of experience at that. The message was coming over loud and clear. He was prepared to help, cash-wise. And he fancied me.'

‘He offered you a deal? Money in return for a relationship?'

‘Oh God, nothing as crude as that. It was never expressed. Luke would have been horrified at the faintest whiff of bribery and corruption.' Bruce winked. ‘But we all know what makes the world go round, don't we? No-one does something for nothing. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours.'

Harry sighed inwardly. The hateful thing was that Bruce was probably right. ‘So what happened?'

‘He offered us all the dough we wanted, no strings. I was thrilled, of course. I told him how grateful I was and I suggested he come along to the dress rehearsal. Even then he brought a lady friend with him. Frances, his sidekick from the Trust. He liked to have a woman on his arm - but not in his bed. He told me later that she'd had the hots for him. He'd found it tough to deal with. She was a good friend and he didn't want to hurt her. Or give himself away. I said, “Why didn't you simply tell her the truth?” He nearly had a seizure.'