Yesterday's Papers (18 page)

Jim Crusoe said hastily, ‘I think I'd better be off. I have a difficult trust deed to draft tonight. I'll let the two of you - have your chat.'

He shot Harry a cautionary glance as he left. As the door closed behind him, Benny turned to Harry with an expectant look and said, ‘You were saying?'

‘There's a business I've been looking into and I think it's possible that you may be able to give me a little inside information.'

A crease appeared in Benny's brow but he simply said, ‘Fire away.'

‘It's not a current case of mine, but rather one that happened thirty years ago and it has suddenly come to life again.'

‘I'm not with you.'

‘You will be when I mention the Sefton Park Strangling.'

Benny stared at him. ‘What on earth has that to do with you?'

The past few days had given Harry plenty of practice in explaining his interest in the killing of Carole Jeffries and overcoming people's reluctance to accept the notion of Edwin Smith's innocence. Benny heard him out in silence, occasionally pushing a hand through the black curls, as if unable to believe what he was hearing.

‘Amazing,' he said in the end. ‘If it's true. Even so, I don't see where I come in.'

‘You employed Carole, worked with her five days a week. What can you tell me about her?'

Benny took his time before replying. ‘She was a gorgeous girl. I suppose you'll have seen photographs, but even a couple I took never did her justice. Her hair was long and fine, her skin absolutely flawless. She was a child who looked like a goddess - and behaved like one. I could have sworn she was immortal.'

‘But she wasn't immortal, was she?'

‘No, poor kid.' He paused. ‘Apart from that, what can I say? I suppose she was thrilled by glamour. That's why she joined me. In those days I was photographing all the top stars. She wasn't bothered about working in the shop - in fact, she could be a lazy little cow - but she loved the idea of mixing with the John Lennons and all the others who used to beat a path to our door. But above everything she was daring and determined. Once she set her mind on something, she wouldn't let anything get in her way.'

‘You make her sound ruthless.'

‘Maybe so. She had a famous father who let her run wild. He was always an easy touch where she was concerned. Whatever she wanted, she could have. I knew the family, they lived near to me.'

‘I've tried to speak to Kathleen Jeffries - but she rebuffed me.'

‘You don't surprise me. Her memories must be painful even after all these years, although she was never besotted with Carole in the way her husband was. I don't criticise Guy. I've never fathered children and never will, but I can imagine the joy of having an offspring who seemed so perfect.'

‘Shirley Titchard didn't regard her as perfect.'

‘You're a lawyer,' said Benny, mischief glinting in his black eyes. ‘Would you say Shirley was an unbiased witness? After all, Carole stole Ray Brill from her. I felt sorry for Shirl, but it was a contest in which there was only ever going to be one winner. Though once she had her man, things began to change. I've known Ray since he was a kid and he always had a roving eye himself, but Carole was more cold-blooded. After a while she decided he'd served his purpose.'

‘She tired of him?'

‘Yes, she had great fun going out on the arm of a pop singer who could make the other girls swoon, but she kept her eye on the main chance. I reckoned that, the moment someone more appealing than Ray Brill came along, she would ditch him without a second thought. The truth is, she had the moral scruples of a chainsaw.'

‘And did someone else come on to the scene?'

Benny scratched his ear. ‘Maybe.'

‘Was Ray jealous?'

‘You'll have to ask him that.'

‘When he sobers up, I will.'

‘It could be a long wait.'

‘I've gathered that. As well as gathering from your guarded answer to my question that Ray was the jealous type.'

A shrug. ‘None of us likes to be rejected. Especially when we've come to expect adulation.'

‘Was he jealous enough to kill?'

‘Come on!' Benny seemed genuinely shocked by the suggestion. ‘Ray wasn't delighted to be dumped, but it was no catastrophe. He's always been able to pick and choose.'

‘Okay - so can you tell me who had caught Carole's eye?' He paused for a moment, watching Benny's face for a reaction. ‘Was it you?'

‘What in God's name makes you suggest that?'

‘Am I right?'

‘You're joking, aren't you? I thought my tastes were well enough known in Liverpool.'

‘You wouldn't be the first person to swing both ways. You were her boss, the person giving her the chance to meet all the right people. She owed you a lot. And she was lovely to look at, even if there was a splinter of ice in her heart. I can imagine that, being with her day after day, you might have been attracted against your - shall we say, better judgement?'

The mass of curls shook vigorously. ‘You're right, I did find her attractive. I'd have had to be neuter not to sense her appeal, but it went no further than that.'

‘Then who?'

Benny sighed. ‘I've never discussed this with anyone before.'

‘There's always a first time.'

‘Are we speaking in confidence?'

‘I can't force you to tell me anything,' said Harry. He thought it a good politician's reply.

‘You give me the impression that you won't take no for an answer.'

‘Too many people have died not knowing how this whole sorry mess would end,' said Harry. ‘Edwin Smith, in '64. Ernest Miller, the man who put me on to the case originally. Smith's mum, only yesterday. To say nothing of Carole herself, and Guy, who couldn't face continuing to live without her. I think they all deserve to have someone who's willing to work to bring the truth to light.'

‘Okay, I'm convinced,' said Benny. ‘So I'll let you into the secret. Carole had fallen head over heels for Clive Doxey.'

Chapter Nineteen

People talk about justice

After Benny had left, Harry returned to his own room and asked himself whether it mattered a light that Carole had claimed to have been in love with her father's best friend.

‘How do you know this?' he had asked Benny.

‘Because she told me on the day she died.'

After her quarrel in the shop with Ray Brill, Benny explained, he had asked her to come into the back room and have a coffee and a chat with him. When he'd chided her about her treatment of Ray, she had tossed her head like a blonde Scarlett O'Hara and said that she did not care if she never saw the singer again: she wanted to spend her life with someone who was twice the man that Ray was. She was a girl who always loved to shock, said Benny, and she had not been able to resist the temptation to tell him the news she had been hugging to herself.

‘Listen, no-one knows this but you. Clive is coming round to our house in an hour's time. Mum and Dad will both be out. And I'm going to ask him to marry me.'

He could not believe it. ‘What did you say?'

‘It's Leap Year Day, silly, didn't you realise? The one chance I have to pop the question.'

‘You're pulling my leg.'

‘Believe me, Ben, I'm deadly serious.'

‘But you're only sixteen.'

‘Old enough.'

‘Not if your parents object. For God's sake, you're not planning to elope to Gretna Green, are you?'

‘It's a lovely romantic idea, Ben, but it won't be necessary.'

She had been supremely confident, he recalled. There would be no problem, she insisted, she would tell her father what she wanted and that would be that. He would not refuse her, could not refuse her. Benny had not attempted to argue further, even though he still found it all incredible. He was well aware of Doxey's relationship with Guy, but despite being himself an incurable nosey parker - as he made the admission, he smiled sweetly at Harry - he had never had a clue that there was anything between Doxey and Carole. Yet the way she giggled with delight at his disbelief did more than anything to persuade him that she was telling the truth. She had no need to lie: she was certain that Clive was captive to her charm and that when she put her question, his answer would be yes.

And that, said Benny, was the last time he'd ever seen her. Carole had gone home to meet Clive and, later, her terrible fate. He had left Shirley in charge of the shop while he went to Anfield to watch the big match. An FA Cup tie which Liverpool had lost to Swansea: a day to remember for every Welshman, and one of the most famous matches in the history of both clubs. Harry had heard his own father talk about that game and shake his head at the recollection of the Swansea goalkeeper's heroics and the missed penalty kick that cost the home side the match, but he knew that Benny was telling him about it for a reason: to give himself an alibi. When he said that, at the full-time whistle, no-one present could credit that Liverpool had been knocked out of the Cup, he was also saying that no-one in their right mind could credit that he had had either the time or the inclination to go straight from the ground to Sefton Park and strangle Carole Jeffries.

‘You seem to have good recall of the events of thirty years ago,' Harry had suggested.

‘It isn't every day someone you know well and like is brutally murdered,' was the soft reply. ‘These things are apt to stick in your mind.'

‘Carole wasn't the only such person, of course, was she? You knew Warren Hull as well, for instance. The man who was killed a few weeks earlier.'

Benny seemed to choose his words with more than usual care. ‘Yes, I knew Warren. People said he was murdered by a kid he picked up but nothing was ever proved. Why do you mention him?'

‘He was Ray Brill's manager.'

‘What are you getting at? Surely you're not suggesting Ray murdered him?'

Harry let it pass; the coincidence of Hull's death bothered him, but he could not explain why, even to himself. Instead he asked why Benny had said nothing until now about Carole's avowed intention to propose to Clive Doxey. He received a simple answer. The murder had come as a shocking blow, Benny said, and there had never been any reason to believe that her apparent involvement with Clive had any bearing upon it. It was obvious from the start that a sicko must be responsible. By the time the police spoke to him, Edwin Smith was already under arrest and there seemed to be no need to embarrass Doxey or hurt the Jeffries by breaking the dead girl's confidence. Besides, it was just possible that she had been talking out a fantasy. The next time Doxey came into his studio, Benny had spoken to him about the killing but received no hint that he had regarded her as anything other than the daughter of dear friends. They had both agreed it was a terrible tragedy - and left it at that.

Finally, Benny had given Harry a wry glance and said, ‘So if you're right and Smith didn't strangle Carole, who do you think was responsible?'

The question had been put amiably, but Harry had felt sure that Benny was watching closely for his response. He had simply spread his arms and said he wished he knew.

Now, sitting alone in his office, he admitted to himself that he would never be able to prove the identity of the culprit. Jock had pinpointed the problem: there was no chance at this late date of finding evidence to convict that would satisfy a court beyond reasonable doubt. Yet, after all the parents of Edwin Smith and Carole Jeffries had suffered, he told himself, he must make one last effort at least to satisfy himself that Carole's killer would not go to the grave with his guilt unknown to anyone.

Ernest Miller had talked at their first meeting about the perfect murder. The old man had been shrewd: was it possible that he had managed to identify the culprit - and perhaps had even asked him round to Mole Street last Saturday? Tantalised by the thought, Harry found himself wishing that, if Miller had had to die, he had been killed by his visitor rather than succumbing to the asthma that had dogged him over many years: then at least there might have been a crime for which the murderer could be put away. He had ascertained in casual conversation before Benny left where he had been at the time of Miller's death. At a video industry conference in Mayfair had been the easy reply. It had lasted until lunchtime on Sunday, Benny claimed. If he thought he was being quizzed for a purpose, he gave no sign of it, but Harry had already decided that Benny Frederick was nobody's fool. Never mind the openness of his manner: if he had anything to hide, he would hide it well.

Would the same, he wondered, be true of Clive Doxey?

He spent so long mulling over what he had learned that he was almost late for the meeting of the Miscarriages of Justice Organisation. When he finally arrived, Kim Lawrence was chatting to a girl who sat behind the desk at the door of the conference room in Empire Hall. Next to them stood a noticeboard bearing MOJO's logo of a pair of handcuffs that had been snapped in two and in huge red letters the legend TONIGHT'S LECTURE - WHY THERE MUST NEVER BE ANOTHER WALTERGATE, BY PATRICK VAULKHARD.

‘He'll be talking himself out of a job if he's not careful,' said Harry.

‘No danger of that in this bloody society,' said Kim with a wry smile. To his surprise she bent her head forward and brushed his cheek with her lips. ‘Glad you could make it anyway.'

‘Thanks for inviting me,' he said, as he tried to guess if the kiss meant anything more than a simple social greeting. ‘Sorry I only made it at the eleventh hour.'

‘No problem.' She gestured towards the rows of empty chairs in front of the vacant speaker's podium. ‘We need all the support we can get. We're due to start in a minute and the place is three-quarters empty.'

‘It was a mistake to fix a date that clashed with Everton's replay.'

‘Are you suggesting soccer fans are connoisseurs of injustice?'

‘Have you never heard them complain about dodgy refereeing decisions?'

She laughed. ‘How did I get into this? I can never tell whether you're being serious or not.'

‘I promise you,' he said quietly, ‘I am serious about genuine injustice. Whether it occurred thirty years ago or yesterday.'

‘Any more news about the Sefton Park case?'

He nodded. ‘I'll tell you later.'

‘I think,' she said, ‘Edwin Smith would have been glad of you as a champion in 1964. Just as the Walters were lucky to have you - as well as Patrick.'

‘My ears are burning.' said the barrister's voice.

‘Hello, Patrick,' said Kim. ‘Ready to wow them?'

‘I crave only your approval,' said Vaulkhard, bending to kiss her hand. Harry told himself it was a gesture she endured rather than enjoyed. ‘Lovely to see you, Kim. As well as to find you've roped in young Mr Devlin here. Not noticed you at any of these meetings in the past, Harry.'

‘Pressure groups aren't usually my cup of tea. Compulsory membership of the Empire Dock Occupiers' Association causes me enough hassle. It's like belonging to the Mafia but with rules more elaborate than the Law Society's. Anyway, I couldn't miss this one, could I?'

‘It was a hell of a case,' said Vaulkhard. ‘Sorry I seem to have hogged the publicity.'

‘Hardly, in comparison to our Jeannie.'

A foxy grin. ‘When they made Jeannie Walter, they broke the mould.'

‘Thank God,' said Harry.

‘I see Sir Clive is giving me meaningful looks,' said Kim. ‘Perhaps we'd better make a start.'

She led Vaulkhard to the podium and Harry stole a glance at Doxey. He always found it strange to see in the flesh people he had come to know through television. So often they seemed smaller in real life and much less august. Sir Clive Doxey, however, was an exception to the rule: an imposing figure even when seated, a man whose silver mane had not a single hair out of place. His lips were pursed, as though he was unaccustomed to being kept waiting and it was a habit he did not intend to acquire. Even the way his arms were folded seemed to exude distinction and to make the statement that this was a rare man, a man of principle. It was impossible to remain indifferent on a first encounter with someone so formidable. For Harry, it was a case of deep dislike at first sight.

Patrick Vaulkhard began to speak. He had mastered this particular brief long ago and he glided with ease through the facts of the Walter case, conserving his energy for a scathing and comprehensive attack on those whose misdeeds had led to the original false conviction and those whose contempt for truth had caused them to keep Kevin inside, even after it became clear that he had not committed the crime for which he had been imprisoned. In passing, he paid tribute to Harry's efforts on his client's behalf, as well as expressing his admiration for everything that Jeannie had done - ‘although,' he said with a faint smile, ‘I could never be as eloquent an advocate on that particular subject as she herself has proved to be in the splendid newspaper serialisation about her campaign.' Occasionally, Harry noticed Kim shooting him a glance, her expression conveying amused annoyance. His lack of concentration must be showing. He guessed she must realise that his thoughts were drifting back to a miscarriage of the distant past.

He found himself beginning to chafe with impatience until the talk finally came to an end and Vaulkhard dealt with questions that ranged from the earnest to the absurd. Kim offered thanks and the small audience gave ragged applause. Harry jumped to his feet, anxious not to miss the chance to buttonhole Clive Doxey, but he need not have worried. Kim gently manoeuvred Doxey through the throng and towards where Harry was standing.

‘Clive, I'd like you to meet a professional colleague of mine, a partner in another firm in the city centre. Harry Devlin, this is Sir Clive Doxey.'

They shook hands and Kim added, ‘As you will have gathered, Harry instructed Patrick Vaulkhard on Kevin Walter's behalf.'

‘A disgraceful episode,' said Doxey. ‘It shows how appallingly easy it still is for miscarriages of justice to occur.'

‘Very true,' said Harry, ‘and another case I've been looking at over the last few days bears that out. As it happens, I wondered if I could bend your ear about it, since I'm sure that you can cast light on one or two aspects that have been troubling me.'

Doxey gave a tolerant smile. ‘Well, I don't need to be off home for another half hour, but I think from the expression of the caretaker standing at the back there that we may have to move elsewhere.'

‘There's a bar next door. Perhaps you'd let me buy you a drink. You too, Kim, unless you have to dash off this minute.'

‘I'd love to come,' she said. ‘Harry's told me a little about this case, Clive, and although it's an old one which wouldn't fall within MOJO's sphere, I'm sure you'll have a special interest in what he's uncovered.'

‘I am intrigued,' said Doxey. ‘Shall we adjourn?'

They found seats in the Empire Bar on the first floor, looking out over the black Mersey to the lights of the Wirral peninsula beyond. Harry brought the drinks over and then settled down in a chair facing Clive Doxey. Doxey was amiable and relaxed, unwinding after a long day. He had asked for a Southern Comfort; Harry was drinking beer, Kim a glass of aqua libra.

‘Now then, Mr Devlin, how can I help you?'

‘I'd like to take you back in time,' Harry said. ‘To 1964, in fact.'

‘The world was very different then,' said Doxey reminiscently, ‘and I was a young man, still full of illusions about political progress.'

‘Which you shared with your good friend Guy Jeffries.'

Doxey gave him a sharp look. After a brief silence he said in his most equable tone, ‘Yes, that's right. Dear Guy, I believe he had the finest mind of our generation.'

‘And yet he died a broken man.'

‘He had - personal problems. His daughter died, you know.'