Part Three

Chapter 19

‘It’s a miracle that you’re still alive,’ Juliet May said over lunch a week later.

‘After I came round,’ Harry said, ‘the paramedic said exactly the same thing. I rather had the impression that he thought I didn’t deserve my good fortune. Not that I felt lucky for the next forty-eight hours. I ached all over. My head has never hurt so much in all my life. Not even when I was doing the Law Society exams.’

‘You actually fell down the fire escape, then?’

‘Seven or eight steps of it, to the first half-landing from the top. When I charged at the security man, I missed him but hit the rail, slipped and took a tumble.’

‘You could easily have tumbled over the edge rather than down the steps.’

‘Tell you the truth,’ he said, giving the shoulder that still hurt him a rub, ‘I’ve imagined it a thousand times since. Jim reckons that there’s a lot of competition in the list of the ten stupidest things I’ve ever done in my life, but panicking on a dark rooftop probably tops the lot.’

He gave her a sheepish grin. They were sitting at the back of the posh wine bar which had recently opened on Drury Lane. She had called him the previous morning, his first back in the office since his calamitous expedition to the studio flat, to ask how he was. When he’d asked if she could make lunch on Saturday, she had said yes right away.

‘At least you’re a man of action,’ she said with a teasing smile.

‘That’s not what the police said when they interviewed me at the hospital,’ Harry confessed.

‘Did the security man call them?’

Harry nodded. ‘He spotted me sneaking up the fire escape while he was doing his rounds in the building next door. He’s an ex-army bloke in his sixties and more of an action man than I’ll ever be. He called the police on his mobile but couldn’t resist nipping out and coming up himself to see what I was up to. He was sure I was up to no good, but I didn’t look as though I could handle a rough-house.’

Juliet shook her head. ‘How many burglars go about their business in a pinstripe suit?’

‘Mine isn’t a very smart suit,’ Harry said humbly. ‘And the coat I was wearing had seen better days. Besides, how many solicitors spend their time shinning up fire escapes in the rain? I could understand why the policemen took a bit of convincing that I wasn’t a rather incompetent villain. Or, even worse, a murderer. Thank God I didn’t have time to break into Roy’s flat. I’d have had even more explaining to do if they’d found me standing over the body of one of my own clients.’

‘You’ve never been tempted to kill a client, then?’ she asked lightly.

‘Tempted, yes. Many times. But I’ve always persuaded myself that it’s a mistake to bite the hand that feeds. Even if what it feeds is sometimes pretty unpalatable.’

Returning his smile, she refilled his glass and hers. He’d noticed that she liked a drink before, when they had dined with Inge Frontzeck and the make-believe Matthew Cullinan. Well, what was the harm? He liked a drink himself. But he was bothered by her appearance today. Not even her expertise with make-up could disguise the bruise on her left cheekbone. He was still looking the worse for wear himself, but she didn’t have the same excuse. He’d acted for too many battered wives not to be anxious about what the blemish might signify. But he hadn’t plucked up the courage to ask her about it. He’d need more than a couple of glasses of wine to start treading on such dangerous ground.

‘So Roy Milburn is dead,’ she said. ‘I heard a little about him from Inge. He sounded - quite a character.’

‘To say the least.’

‘Did you like him?’

Harry considered. ‘I suppose if you’d asked me a week ago, I’d have said I did. It would have been an automatic response. He could make me laugh. And yet I always realised he had his darker side. Roy was a mischief-maker, forever stirring trouble. He had no self-control. He never knew when to stop.’

She raised her eyebrows and said, ‘Which of us does?’

He found himself rubbing his leg against hers under the table. She giggled. Things are getting better, he told himself. Almost as an afterthought, he said, ‘Whatever he’s done, I’m sorry he’s dead.’

‘You said on the phone that he may have murdered Luke Dessaur.’

‘I know a few people in the police and one or two of them now believe it’s possible. But he can’t be brought to trial. So it looks as though the whole business may be buried quietly. Like Roy himself.’

‘And what do you believe?’

‘Big question.’

‘Come on! I’m not asking you to prove that God exists. You’re a mystery addict, just like me. You know the score. Did Roy kill Luke?’

‘I’m not trying to be evasive. I’m just finding it difficult to make sense of everything at present. Roy as a murderer, I can imagine. Roy the suicide I find more difficult to buy.’

‘It isn’t certain that it was suicide, though, is it?’

‘No. Same story as with Luke’s death. There’s more than one possibility, but suicide is the favourite. He’d been drinking heavily and then he took an overdose. They found the pills in his kitchen. Pain-killers. Maybe it wasn’t remorse, but just a spur of the moment thing. Perhaps his bad leg was playing him up. It gave him a lot of trouble - but it wasn’t exactly life-threatening.’

‘Paracetamol with codeine, wasn’t it?’

Harry nodded. ‘He’d taken enough to kill two or three men. A bit over the top if it was a cry for help. Besides, there was no-one for him to cry to. Maybe that was his real tragedy. He’d had hundreds of casual girlfriends over the years, by all accounts, but never anything really serious. I suppose I never regarded him as a serious character. Perhaps he had to kill himself to be taken seriously.’

The main course arrived: nouvelle cuisine, extortionately expensive and far from satisfying. Harry would have preferred steak with chips any day, but this place had been Juliet’s suggestion and a little financial and culinary hardship was a price worth paying for the pleasure of her company. He toyed with his food for a while before adding, ‘One way of looking at it is this. Luke’s death was murder dressed up to look like suicide. And then his murderer does commit suicide. Very neat.’

She laughed. ‘Why is it that I get the impression you’re not convinced?’

He mimicked the sombre tone of a detective in an old black-and-white film: ‘It’s too damned neat.’

‘Okay. Let’s take it in stages. He didn’t leave a suicide note?’

‘No, but the police did find something in his flat which may come close to it. A cartoon of himself hanging from a gallows. Why else would he draw such a picture if he hadn’t killed Luke?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘So the idea is that it had begun to prey on his mind that he’d ended someone else’s life?’

He nodded. ‘And there are parallels between the two deaths. Both men had been drinking before they died. In Luke’s case, he may have invited Roy over to the Hawthorne. Perhaps he had a drink with Roy before coming out with his suspicions. Knowing Luke, he would have wanted to do the decent thing. He might have suggested that if Roy paid back everything that had been stolen, it wouldn’t be necessary to call in the police. If Roy lost his temper, he might have started a brawl which finished up with him pushing Luke out of the window. The only snag is that Julio, the hotel porter, reckons the argument he heard took place an hour and a half before Luke died.’

The desserts were served and for a few minutes they concentrated on eating. ‘How’s the sorbet?’ Juliet asked.

‘I still prefer Death by Chocolate.’

‘One-track mind,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you say there were no signs of a struggle in Luke’s hotel room?’

‘Well,’ Harry said, ‘the idea that Roy killed him is only a theory. We’ll never know the full story.’

‘What about Roy’s own death? Might someone else have been involved?’

‘There’s no sign of it.’

‘The lynx-eyed security man saw no-one, then?’

Harry laughed. ‘I gather he goes off duty at seven o’clock. The indications are that Roy may have died later than that. It was the evening he’d been meant to attend the first night of the show at the Pool Theatre. Possibly he had a change of heart and opted to stay at home and wallow in alcohol and remorse.’

‘He doesn’t sound to me like the sort of man who would be prey to conscience,’ Juliet objected. ‘Besides, he’d got away with it, hadn’t he? He would never have been locked up for killing Luke. Why not just do a flit?’

‘Perhaps he couldn’t think of anywhere worth flitting to. The police can’t be certain, but they think he was alone in the flat that evening and that I was the first person to turn up the day after. The fact that I found the door and gate locked suggests that.’

Juliet’s eyes began to gleam. ‘Don’t tell me we’re confronted by a locked studio flat mystery? A mystery buff’s dream!’

‘I hate to disappoint you, but round here the bad guys don’t bother with icicles kept in vacuum flasks or blowpipes containing a poison unknown to Western science. When they want to settle a little difference of opinion about drugs or women, they rely on a Stanley knife in the ribs or a few rounds from a submachine-gun. Subtlety isn’t their strong point.’

‘This could be the exception that proves the rule,’ she insisted. ‘You’ve told me yourself that half your clients are out of work and claiming benefit. But every once in a while you act for someone different like the Kavanaugh trustees.’

‘Yeah, and look what’s been happening to them.’

She sighed. ‘Inge is heartbroken about Matthew.’

‘You said on the phone that she stayed with you for a couple of nights after Gary Cullinan was exposed.’

‘Yes. It seemed sensible for her to keep out of the way of the Press until she’d had a chance to gather her thoughts. Then we heard the news that the police had picked up Gary Cullinan.’

‘In fact, I’ve been told he gave himself up. Apparently in his initial panic after learning that his cover had been blown, he decided to do a bunk. But then he changed his mind and contacted Reeve, the journalist, with a view to selling his story.’

‘He’s a shit,’ Juliet hissed. Her eyes were wide and he was almost tempted to say My God, you’re beautiful when you’re angry. ‘Poor Inge. In the end, she realised she couldn’t keep hiding. After all, she wasn’t the one who had done anything wrong. So she went back to her flat yesterday. I told her we would put her up for as long as she liked. There’s plenty of room in our house, one advantage of having no kids. But I’m sure she did the right thing. By all accounts, Gary Cullinan has committed a string of crimes, but in my book the worst is the way he’s betrayed Inge. He deserves to go inside.’

‘Don’t hold your breath for that. He’s instructed Ruby Fingall to act for him, so he’ll probably finish up with a public apology from the court for the trouble the legal system has put him to.’

‘Surely the case against him is watertight?’

Harry shrugged. ‘In the law, things are never so simple. Especially when two men who would be the key prosecution witnesses are dead.’

‘Luke and Roy?’

‘Yes. Gary’s scam sounds neat. He complained that the investments held by the Trust had gone down in value and should be sold, with the proceeds reinvested. He produced low, bogus valuations of the old shares on fake stockbrokers’ letterhead to back up his story and then creamed off the profit on the sales for himself. He put the money in a bank account he’d set up under his real name. All Roy saw was that money was leaking away. He was too lazy to check what he was being told. The Financial Times was never his preferred reading and he simply didn’t realise that the original shares purchased by the Trust were still blue-chip performers. Talk about private finance initiative.’

‘He’s not a Robin Hood, you know. He’s only ever been out for himself.’

‘Sure, but he’s back on the scene already. Frances Silverwood told me he phoned her yesterday and sounded full of the joys of spring. He was simply ringing to tender his resignation as a trustee.

‘So you think he may get away with it? I don’t believe his nerve.’

‘Frances says she chewed him out. But I doubt if it will have made any impression. Anyway, there are only two trustees left now. Shades of And Then There Were None.’

Juliet pushed a hand through her hair. It was a habitual gesture which Harry found appealing. ‘And what about Frances Silverwood herself? Didn’t she have a thing about Luke Dessaur? Suppose she discovered that Roy had… Good God, Harry, what’s the matter?’

His eyes had become fixed on the entrance to the wine bar. Outside, Kim and a middle-aged man he did not recognise were peering at the menu in the window. He felt his cheeks burning. Why should you feel embarrassed? he asked himself. You have nothing to hide. Yet he suddenly had an idea of how Geoffrey Willatt must have felt on being discovered with Vera that night at the Ensenada. He found himself uttering a silent prayer that Kim and her companion would decide not to give the place a try.

As usual, his wishes were confounded. Kim turned to the man; he gave an authoritative nod and then ushered her inside. Harry noticed that as she paused on the threshold, the man put his hand on her shoulder. A casual gesture, no doubt. It would be a mistake to read anything into it. Yet Harry’s stomach was tying itself in knots.

He started as Juliet repeated her question. ‘Sorry. I’ve just recognised someone, that’s all.’

‘A sworn enemy, to judge by the look on your face.’

‘Far from it,’ he mumbled. Oh shit, she’s seen me.

At the sight of him, Kim turned crimson. He watched as she hesitated and tried to guess what might be passing through her mind. Then she touched her companion on the arm and steered him over in the direction of their corner table. She moved clumsily between the other diners rather than with her usual lithe grace, as if she were struggling to compose herself before speaking to him.

She gave him a nervous smile of greeting. ‘I didn’t know this was one of your haunts, Harry.’

‘I thought I’d try something different.’

She gave Juliet an appraising glance. At the sight of the bruise, her eyebrows rose. ‘So I see. Well, how are you?’

‘Much better than when you last saw me.’

She smiled. ‘True, though it might not be saying much. You weren’t a pretty sight after you took your tumble.’

She’d visited him first at the hospital and then at his flat after he’d been discharged. For a few wild moments her concern about his accident had made him think that she might change her mind about leaving for London. But of course it had been a fantasy: he’d soon realised that.

‘Thanks again for coming to see me.’

‘The least I could do,’ she said. ‘The very least. So now you’re back at work? I meant to give you a call yesterday but - you know how it is.’

‘Yes.’ He nodded at her companion. The man was in his early forties, at a guess. Dark hair turning grey, smart casual clothes, expression so self-assured that it bordered on arrogance. ‘Sorry. I should have introduced myself. I’m Harry Devlin. This is Juliet May. Juliet, meet Kim Lawrence and…?’

The man stretched out his hand. He was exquisitely manicured. ‘Jethro Wood. I’m on the governing council of MOJO.’

‘Ah.’ Harry thought for a moment. ‘Based in London, I presume?’

‘That’s right. I’m just up here for twenty-four hours to talk over a bit of business with Kim. You know we’ve managed to persuade her to become our Chief Executive?’

Harry nodded. ‘You’re lucky. She’ll be a roaring success.’

‘I’m convinced of it.’ Wood patted Kim on the hand. It was the sort of gesture which would normally have made her flesh creep, but she gave no sign that she objected. ‘Liverpool’s loss is our gain. I’ve always admired her work up here. And at head office, she’ll have the chance to make a much greater impact than any honorary regional representative. I’m at the Bar myself, a civil liberties set, but I find I spend a good deal of time on MOJO business. I’m looking forward to working with her very much. I think we’ll make a good team. Which is important, because there isn’t anything more important to a lawyer than fighting miscarriage cases.’

Especially if it looks good in the newspapers, Harry could not help thinking. Of course it was unfair to suspect Jethro Wood’s motives. But come to think of it, the man’s name did ring a bell. In his mind, he associated it with the sort of high-profile campaigning in which the campaigner seemed to count for more than the campaign.

‘I’ve mentioned Harry to you, Jethro. He’s a fellow solicitor.’

‘That’s right, I remember. I gather you’re on the side of the angels, Harry.’

‘I’m not sure many of my clients fit that description.’

‘Come on now, you know what I mean. You’re not on the side of the big battalions. Just like me. You act for the weak, the ignorant. People who really need us.’

Kim coloured again and Harry could tell she was wondering if the conversation was such a good idea. She said quickly, ‘So are you a client of Harry’s, Juliet?’

Juliet smiled and shook her head. ‘I’m not sure if I can truthfully claim always to be on the side of the angels, but I’m in public relations, so I suppose I ought to.’

Kim pursed her lips. ‘That’s interesting. Don’t tell me you act for Crusoe and Devlin?’

‘Well, Harry and his partner are reviewing their firm’s image and perhaps its position in the marketplace.’

Wood guffawed. ‘Did I speak too soon? Hope you’re not going to start pitching for business from the multinationals.’

‘No danger of that,’ Harry said.

‘We all need to move on,’ Kim said quietly. ‘Speaking of which, I suppose we’d better grab a table. Those people over there look as if they are about to leave. Nice to meet you, Juliet. Harry, I meant to call you to say I’ve arranged an early handover with Windaybanks. I report to MOJO headquarters next Monday morning at nine.’

‘So quick?’

‘I’ll be coming back here a couple of days a week to start with, so that I can help out with any of the problem files that Quentin Pike is taking over. But the plan is that I’ll be full-time in my new job very soon.’

‘We can’t wait for her to start,’ Jethro Wood confirmed.

‘Good luck, then. I hope you’ll keep in touch.’

‘I promised, didn’t I?’ She glanced at Juliet. ‘But I guess I’ll be pretty busy for a while.’

He nodded. ‘Of course you will.’

She turned to go, then looked back over her shoulder. ‘By the way, I gather that it’s all still happening at the Kavanaugh Trust.’

Harry managed a grin. ‘The number of angels in that quarter is diminishing rapidly. Even the toffee-nosed benefactor turned out to be a conman.’

‘And the word on the grapevine at court is that the treasurer who took an overdose may have killed the chairman.’

‘It’s a theory that suits everyone. It closes all the files.’

‘You sound doubtful.’

Juliet smiled. ‘I don’t think Harry likes easy explanations.’

‘When the police settle for an easy explanation, the end result is often a miscarriage of justice,’ he said.

‘If you’re casting round for alternative suspects,’ Kim said, ‘take a tip from me. Tim Aldred didn’t kill Luke Dessaur.’

‘You must admit, he has the track record.’

She shook her head. ‘You’re the last person to fall for another easy explanation, Harry. Tim is a good man, I’ve always been convinced of it.’

Jethro Wood had begun to shift from one foot to another. As the waiter arrived with the coffee, he said, ‘That table’s free now. We’d better stake our claim.’

Kim turned to Juliet and said, ‘Harry simply can’t resist a mystery. Once he’s hooked, he never lets go. You’ll need to keep your eye on him.’

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Juliet said with a sweet and, Harry sensed, deliberately provocative smile. ‘I’ll do that.’

When they were alone again, she asked, ‘Am I right in guessing that Kim is an old flame?’

He finished his wine. ‘Sort of.’

‘Nice-looking. You have good taste.’

‘You say that after seeing the colour scheme in my office?’

She laughed. ‘Sorry, I realise I shouldn’t pry into your private life. You see, we share at least one vice in common. Insatiable curiosity. I simply can’t help it.’

Now it was his turn to pour. After taking another drink, he said softly, ‘So you won’t mind if I indulge in a spot of vice too?’

‘Be my guest.’

‘How did you manage to come by that bruise on your cheek?’

She bit her lip. ‘An accident.’

‘I see a lot of women who have similar accidents.’

‘Oh, I don’t deny that Casper likes to give me a beating,’ she said, with a sudden flash of bravado. ‘The accident was that I let him make contact. Over the past few years, I’ve developed a better body swerve than half the footballers in the Premier League.’

He stared at her defiant expression and realised how little he knew about her. ‘What happened?’

‘He was careless. I found a letter from his latest lady friend in his jacket pocket. He decided attack was the best form of defence and accused me of being a snoop.’

‘You don’t have to put up with violence. Not in this day and age.’ And not, he almost added, with your kind of money. There was no way Juliet May would finish up in a refuge or hostel.

‘Oh believe me, Harry, I know that. I stay through an act of free will.’

‘Are you afraid of him?’

She considered. ‘Not often. And you mustn’t get the wrong idea. This sort of thing’ - she gestured to her cheek - ‘doesn’t happen often. Usually he turns his anger on other people. I’m only the last resort.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I don’t expect you to. I’m not sure I do myself. But none of us are rational all the time, Harry. We don’t do the sensible thing. Wouldn’t life be simpler if we did? But wouldn’t it also be infinitely more boring.’

‘You like that sort of thing?’ he asked incredulously.

‘No, I’m not a masochist. At least I don’t think I am. The truth’s more complicated than that. For all his faults, Casper is the most exciting man I’ve ever met. He’s wild and dangerous, but he can be witty and charming.’ She smiled. ‘And when the black clouds lift, he swears it will never happen again. Of course logic tells me it will, but somehow I keep hoping things will change. I’m sorry to sound like something out of a women’s magazine, but it’s the way things are between us. He turns me on. Your friend Kim is lovely but she strikes me as a battle-hardened feminist. She would tell me that I should be ashamed of myself, that I’m a traitor to the cause of women. But I can’t help it.’

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s none of my business.’

‘But I can tell from your face you think I’m crazy to stay with him.’

‘If you want a blunt answer, then yes, I do.’

She emptied her glass. ‘And if you want me to be honest with you, then all I can say is that each time Casper and I have reconciliation sex, it’s the best I’ve ever known.’

Horrified, he stared at her. Her expression was defiant rather than teasing. For a few seconds neither of them spoke. The bleeping of a telephone broke the deadlock. Juliet blushed and pulled a mobile from her bag.

‘Inge? Well, it’s not perfect timing, but of course I’m glad to hear from you…’ Her face darkened. ‘You’re not serious? After everything that’s happened? Have you taken leave of your senses? Only yesterday you were saying…’

Harry could tell from her face that the phone had been put down at the other end. She swore vividly and banged the mobile down on the table.

‘What’s happened?’

Juliet gazed at the heavens. ‘Perhaps I should be the last one to criticise. You’re going to think that every woman prefers pain to pleasure.’

‘What did she say?’

‘Only that she and Gary Cullinan have got it together again.’

Chapter 20

‘I’d like to think that something good will come out of all of this,’ Gary Cullinan said.

His tone was sober and he was holding Inge Frontzeck’s hand as tenderly as if it were a fragile piece of china. The couple were sitting together on the sofa in the Caldy flat. Every now and then they gazed into each other’s eyes. The air was heavy with the scent from a huge bunch of roses in a vase on the table. For Harry, there was an even greater risk of throwing up over the carpet than when he’d had a skinful on his last visit here.

‘I’m sure it will, darling,’ Inge said. Her head was on his shoulder. ‘Our love has been tested. And we’ve found that it’s stronger than ever.’

‘I don’t deserve you,’ Gary said. ‘And what’s more, I’m quite certain Harry agrees with me.’

Harry writhed in his chair and thought: For once in your life, you’re telling no more than the truth.

Inge turned to him and said, ‘You saw how distressed I was when you and Frances told me about your discussion with the journalist. Of course, it was a great shock. But I wouldn’t want anyone to think that I only cared for Gary because of his pedigree. Nothing could be further from the truth. It was the man I loved, not the family name. What upset me was the thought that I might have lost him. When Gary called me and begged me at least to give him the chance to explain, how could I say no?’

Gary stretched his legs out in front of him. The creases in his trousers were as sharp as ever; his shoes still shone as though a valet had spent half the night polishing them. ‘I told her that I didn’t expect her to take me back. How could I? I’d been living a lie. The truth is, that’s what I’ve been doing for most of my life. Inge’s a wealthy young woman, I thought she was bound to believe that my love for her was about as phoney as my identity as a well-born financial consultant.’

‘But your doubts were overcome?’ Harry asked.

‘It only took a few minutes,’ Inge said. ‘I needed to hear everything from his own lips. Once I’d done that, all I had to do was decide whether I trusted my own judgment in Gary’s character.’ A pause, accompanied by a soft smile. ‘It wasn’t the most difficult decision I’ve ever had to take in my life, Harry, hard as you may find that to understand.’

‘I find plenty of things hard to understand,’ Harry said. Like lust for reconciliation sex with a man who has beaten you up. He’d parted from Juliet an hour earlier, still mystified by her willingness to tolerate brutality. He knew that if he had any sense he would make an excuse and not see her again. But where women were concerned, he never had any sense. ‘Mind you, I have to admit it’s a good story. I hope Reeve is paying you well.’

‘Money isn’t the main consideration,’ Gary Cullinan said. It was rather, Harry thought, like a politician saying there was more to life than votes. ‘We have to be realistic. The cat is out of the bag so far as my impersonation of poor Matthew Cullinan is concerned. This fellow Reeve is obviously determined to spill as much ink as he can over the story. He’s even dug up some lad who went to the same school as me, someone I can barely remember. We may as well take the opportunity to put our side of the story. Stop misinformation being put about by the Press.’

He spoke as if committed to providing a public service. Perhaps one day a career in Parliament would beckon: he had the requisite chutzpah. It made Harry’s flesh prickle and in any other circumstances he would have left by now, unable to bear any more of it. But there was still the chance that Gary Cullinan might help him to make sense of the puzzle surrounding the deaths of Luke and Roy.

‘So you’ve given them your life story?’ Harry reflected that Davey Damnation might be knocked off the front page any moment now.

‘It sounds very grand when you put it like that,’ Gary said in a self-deprecating tone. ‘Really, I’d be the first to admit that there’s plenty in my life to be ashamed of. Right from the start. I’m illegitimate, as it happens. Cullinan was my mother’s maiden name. I never knew my father.’

‘Who can tell?’ Inge said with a smile. ‘For all any of us knows, your father might have been a peer of the realm. Someone with a guilty secret who didn’t dare to acknowledge your birth.’

Gary smirked. ‘That would be a nice twist, wouldn’t it? One thing’s for sure, though, my dad never provided for either my mother or me. We lived in Birkenhead, near the old shipyard. Money was always short and Mum fell foul of the law. There was a business about some forged cheques - she had to go away. I was brought up by an elderly aunt, thinking that my mother was some glamorous gangster on the run. The truth was rather more prosaic. She was doing time.’

Inge squeezed his hand. ‘It must have been dreadful for you.’

‘I won’t pretend life was easy. Of course, I dreamed that when I grew up, I’d make a fortune and look after my mother. She died before I had a chance to make the fantasy come true. I was only nine years old. I suppose after that, one thing led to another. I mixed with bad company.’

Over the years Harry had acted for many clients whose misfortune had been to fall in with a bad crowd. One of these days, perhaps he would meet someone who admitted to being the bad crowd’s moving spirit, rather than one of its luckless victims. He said, ‘So you got into trouble with the police?’

‘Nothing too serious,’ Gary said with a grin. ‘I soon learned how to talk my way out of a tight corner. But eventually I decided that it was time for me to leave Merseyside. Seek my fortune elsewhere, so to speak. I wanted to make it big. Learn how to talk nicely, behave like the rich people I saw on the telly. I must have been all of fifteen.’

‘Didn’t you say you sold cars for a living?’ Inge asked. It was clear that she admired his enterprise, his determination to better himself.

Gary gave a careless wave of the hand. ‘Cars, office equipment, property. You name it. I went to Spain for a while and bought a share in a bar with an expat. For a time we did very well out of it. When things went sour, I came back to this country. I still hadn’t found my niche, but I met a chap who had a financial services business. He needed a salesman and we joined forces. Some of the clients were high net worth folk. One was a blue-rinsed lady who was especially well-connected. She leapt to the conclusion that I was one of the Cullinans and I’m afraid I did nothing to disabuse her.’

‘You are a terrible man,’ Inge said fondly.

‘I must admit I found it enormously entertaining that she thought that I was one of Lord Gralam’s sons. So much so that I decided to check out the family. When I realised quite how rich they were, I started to think: wouldn’t it be nice if I really were one of the Cullinans. It wasn’t such a big leap to turn the idea into reality. I discovered that Matthew had departed for Madras. I fancied working for myself rather than making pots of money for someone else. So I decided to return to my home ground - not as Gary the likely lad, but as Matthew, the wealthy and respectable financial services guru. And you know what?’

‘Go on,’ Harry said.

‘I could never call myself a wizard on investment business. I find it hard enough to pick a winner in a one-horse race. But people didn’t seem to care. As long as they believed they were dealing with the son of Lord Gralam, they were happy to accept anything I said as gospel.’

‘As Luke Dessaur did.’

‘Exactly. It was amazing.’

‘Perhaps,’ Harry said slowly, ‘Luke was more naïve than any of us realised.’

‘I think so. When he invited me on to the board, I felt I could hardly say no. That’s been my problem over the years, I guess. Like mother, like son. Neither of us were ever able to resist temptation.’

He stretched out an arm and began to stroke Inge’s hair. ‘And then a funny thing happened, Harry. I met Inge at a cocktail party - and I fell in love. But by then I was trapped. I was introduced to her as the honourable Matthew Cullinan. What could I do?’

‘He thought I would drop him like a hot potato if I knew the truth,’ Inge said. She gave Gary a gentle punch in the stomach. ‘You should have had more faith in me, darling. It was you I was interested in, not your family background.’

‘But I was afraid you would assume I was on the make, simply after your money. Let’s face it, your father still does think precisely that.’

‘He’ll come round,’ she said. ‘He only wants the best for me. Once he sees that you give me everything I need, he’ll share our happiness.’

Gary beamed. ‘I must say, Harry, it’s really a tremendous relief that the truth has come out. Even though I took fright when I first took the call from Desmond Reeve. And your fellow solicitor, Reuben Fingall, is a damned fine lawyer. I could tell the police were nervous of him. And when

I explained you acted for the Trust, he said how glad he was.’

Harry frowned. Such a compliment from Ruby was akin to a cannibal’s expression of goodwill towards a missionary. ‘What about the missing money?’

‘Reuben said he was confident you would advise Frances Silverwood to take a reasonable view,’ Gary said smoothly. ‘Let’s face it, the publicity would do no-one any good. Besides, the money will be repaid within the next forty-eight hours.’

‘And where is it coming from, may I ask?’

‘Harry, please,’ Inge said. ‘Don’t look stern. It doesn’t suit you. Can’t you forget you’re a solicitor and remember you’re a human being.’

‘The two aren’t always mutually exclusive.’

‘If it matters,’ she said, ‘the money will be coming from me. Together with the appropriate amount of interest. I will let Ms Silverwood have my cheque. In addition, I plan to make a personal donation. I had it in mind when we were at the Pool Theatre. The Trust obviously does a great deal for the arts in Liverpool. I’m keen to give it every possible support.’

‘I don’t want you to think I’m simply content to let Inge buy me out of trouble,’ Gary said. ‘We’ve argued about this for hours.’

‘But I insisted,’ she said. ‘He needs to make a fresh start. We plan to start our married life with a clean sheet.’

‘So the engagement is on?’ Harry asked heavily.

‘We plan to get married as soon as possible. This business - strangely enough, it has brought us even closer together.’

Gary said, ‘What doesn’t destroy you, makes you stronger.’ Harry reflected that the journalists would love his mastery of the confession-story cliché.

‘So I hope that the Trust won’t press charges,’ Inge said.

‘It’s not up to them,’ Harry said. ‘It’s a decision for the prosecution service.’

‘But you will urge Frances Silverwood not to be vindictive? I gather that she and Gary have never hit it off.’

‘I’ve always regarded her as a fair-minded woman.’

‘Spoken like a lawyer, if I may say so. Very careful. The important thing, surely, is that the Trust will not be out of pocket. On the contrary. And I gather there is a prospect of funds from the Kavanaugh estate.’

In the background, Debussy was playing on the hi-fi. At least things could have been worse: Gary might have chosen something else by Gervase Kavanaugh. Harry said, ‘Vera Blackhurst’s solicitor has confirmed that she’s willing to agree a reasonable deal.’

Geoffrey Willatt had spoken to Jim whilst Harry was out of action. Apparently their old boss was a sadder and wiser man. And Vera was off on holiday to the Canaries. She was not expected to return to Liverpool.

‘You can imagine how I felt when she produced that bloody will,’ Gary said in comfortable reminiscence. ‘I’d been relying on that money to tide the Trust over. Besides, I could tell from the start she was a con merchant.’ He paused. ‘Ah, Harry, I can read you mind. You’re thinking: “It takes one to know one.”’

‘Something of the sort,’ Harry admitted. How was it that a cheat and a bullshitter could put him on the defensive, make him feel that he was in the wrong? ‘I can’t make any promises. But I will speak to Frances and Tim.’

‘It’s Frances who concerns me, not dear old Tim,’ Gary said. ‘She can be very ruthless, I suspect, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

Although he killed his own mother, Harry thought. And perhaps even a mercy killing demands a certain ruthlessness.

Inge said, ‘Frances has had enough heartache, she ought not to want to cause heartache to others. She knows what it is like, to lose the man she loved.’

Gary said, ‘She lost him a long time ago.’

‘What do you mean?’ Harry asked.

‘Only that Luke confided in me a little while back that she was keen to marry him. We’d had an evening together and a few drinks. He talked more freely than he usually did, said he was going to tell her it was impossible.’

‘Did he say why?’

Gary looked puzzled. He was not, Harry sensed, someone who ever spent much time wondering what made other people tick. ‘He told me he’d been very happily married. His wife had died tragically and I suppose he didn’t think anyone else would ever live up to his expectations. Frankly, he gave me the impression that he was embarrassed by Frances’s attentions. I think she was bothered by the passage of time. She must be - what? - getting on for forty. Remember that song in the musical at the Pool Theatre? “Tick Tock Goes The Clock”? I thought of Frances when the girls were singing that.’

‘I wonder if Luke ever had that conversation with her?’

‘Not sure.’

‘Perhaps she guessed what was in his mind,’ Inge suggested.

‘Who can tell what a woman thinks?’ Gary smiled and gave her knee a pat. ‘Anyway, thanks for coming to see us. It’s good to talk. And let’s hope that this is one story with a happy ending.’

‘But not for Roy Milburn.’

‘Well, yes. Extraordinary, isn’t it? To think that Roy is dead. I’ve heard a rumour that it may have been suicide.’

‘It might have made more sense if he’d killed himself before Luke died,’ Harry said carefully. ‘After all, Luke suspected him rather than yourself of taking the money from the Trust.’

Gary shook his head. ‘If only. Luke was old-fashioned and something of an innocent. But he did finally cotton on to me before he died.’

Harry raised his eyebrows. ‘What makes you think that?’

‘He told me so. A few days before his death, he asked me to have a chat. When we talked, he caught me off guard. I’d expected another cosy conversation over a drink, with Luke opening his heart about Frances again. But he was a good deal cooler this time round. Of course, he didn’t know that I was not Matthew Cullinan, so he was very cautious. He said he thought I could cast light on the whereabouts of the missing money. I pretended to be baffled, but he persisted. I asked him if he’d spoken to Roy as treasurer and he gave me short shrift. Told me that Roy was useless. He’d checked the share valuations I’d provided and found out they were phoney.’

‘As a matter of interest,’ Harry said, ‘what did you do with the money?’

‘He was saving it to spend on our wedding,’ Inge said. ‘I’m as much to blame as Gary.’

Gary smiled and said, ‘I played for time. Admitted nothing, but hinted that I’d simply - in effect - borrowed the money and that if the worst came to the worst, I could touch Lord Gralam for a loan. Meanwhile, I hoped something would turn up. Shades of Mr Micawber. I hadn’t given up on Charles Kavanaugh’s money - especially if you could turn the screw on the Blackhurst woman’s lawyers. As a last resort, I’m ashamed to say I hadn’t ruled out the possibility of borrowing from Inge. But then Luke died.’

‘A lucky break.’

‘Don’t sound so disapproving, Harry. It doesn’t suit you. I can’t deny that when I heard the news, I breathed a sigh of relief. Who wouldn’t? I’m only flesh and blood. I thought I’d escaped scot free - and so I had until I got careless and allowed that photographer to snap me at the Pool Theatre.’

‘The euphoria of the occasion,’ Inge said with a giggle.

‘Exactly, darling. I was so excited - I got carried away. Do you know, for a time I almost thought I was the honourable Matthew Cullinan.’

‘Darling, shall I tell you something? I’m glad you’re not.’

They gazed lovingly at each other and Harry stood up. ‘I have to be going.’

‘You will - speak to Frances?’ Gary asked.

‘Yes, I hope to see her this evening.’

‘Fine. Thanks. I’m sure she’ll understand when you explain the position to her.’ He beamed. ‘So all’s well that ends well, eh?’

‘Oh yes,’ Harry said. ‘Except for Roy and Luke Dessaur.’

Chapter 21

Frances was singing an old Etta James number, ‘Waiting for Charlie to Come Home’. She invested it with infinite yearning and as Harry watched, her eyes met those of the piano player and the couple smiled at each other like lovers reunited after years apart.

They were in the lounge of the Hawthorne Hotel and sitting at the piano was Tim Aldred. Harry had arrived ten minutes earlier, in the middle of a Cole Porter medley and Frances had acknowledged him with a fractional nod of the head during ‘Love For Sale’. He had spoken to her on the phone earlier in the afternoon and arranged to meet her here. She had told him that she was performing, but had not mentioned the identity of her accompanist. Watching from the back of the room, Harry was struck by the delicacy of the big man’s touch, the care which he took to ensure that the accompaniment did not distract attention from the vocalist. He had begun to realise that there was more to Tim than met the eye and, to judge by the look on her face, the same thing had dawned on Frances.

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.’

‘He kept his secret well. I’d known Luke for a long time, but I never realised he was gay. It wasn’t until I started to wonder why he’d been so keen to back your show that a possible explanation occurred to me.’

‘Oh, he told me he’d always preferred boys to girls. But he came from the generation - and, more importantly, the background - when it wasn’t what he called “the done thing”. Lovely phrase, I think.’

‘He’d been married.’

‘So what? He told me all about that. More than I wanted to hear, truth to tell. God, he loved to talk, did Luke. He’d kept quiet for so long, that was the trouble. He poured his heart out to me - all the time. It was more than I’d ever bargained for.’

‘The marriage was a sham?’

Bruce considered. ‘Kind of. He’d had a repressed childhood, he said. Classic stuff for the shrinks. He went out with girls as a teenager, but they didn’t give him a buzz the way some of the boys he knew did. He was afraid of himself. Bear in mind, this goes back to the dark ages, the days when gay love was illegal. He was fond of Gwen and then she was diagnosed as leukaemic. He married her as much out of pity as anything, I think - and then she went into remission.’

‘He’d expected her to die when they married?’

‘Yeah. He said they were happy enough, but it was never about sex for either of them. When he did lose her, he didn’t need to get married again.’

‘He was the sort of man a lot of women find attractive.’

‘He was attractive - for his age. Believe me, Harry, I’m many things but I’m not a hooker. If he hadn’t turned me on, I wouldn’t have gone to bed with him that night of the dress rehearsal, money or no money.’ Bruce paused and then a slow, mischievous grin crept across his face. ‘At least, I wouldn’t have gone to bed with him more than once.’

‘What went wrong?’

‘For Luke, having a relationship with another man was like busting a dam. He’d been celibate for so long, he’d actually fought against his instincts for over thirty years. Can you imagine? He went wild, never even gave safe sex a thought. Amazing. The whole thing was a big, big deal as far as he was concerned. Right from that first night together, I could tell he’d be the clingy type. Part of him was afraid of what might happen now that he’d succumbed to temptation. Part of him was desperate to make up for lost time.’ Bruce shook his head. ‘For me, it was scary. I’m not into commitment at this point in my life. I told him the honest truth, but he couldn’t handle it. He wanted us to stay together. So naïve. He expected far too much.’

‘He always had high standards,’ Harry said slowly. He was trying to imagine the agonies of self-knowledge that Luke had been forced to confront in the days leading up to his death.

‘Sure. And that’s fine, so long as you don’t impose your own standards on other people. That’s where Luke went wrong. Within twenty-four hours, we were fighting. He wanted us to be together long term, go away somewhere he wasn’t known. He had no family; apart from his godson he had no ties. I told him it was a crazy idea.’

‘How did he react?’

‘He threatened to kill himself. It was late one night. I’d had a bad day behind the bar and the latest rehearsal hadn’t gone well. I was tired and pissed off and there was this old man bleating away in the background. I told him I’d had two lovers die on me through AIDS. Both of them I nursed right through to the bitter end. I wasn’t going to lose any sleep if a guy I scarcely knew took an overdose.’

‘What did he say to that?’

‘Oh, he had a little weep and then he pissed off. Which was all I’d wanted. I thought maybe that was it between us. But then he turned up here again, white as a sheet. He said he’d been thinking about our conversation. I soon figured he was wondering whether I was HIV.’

‘And you told him you were?’

‘Right. It’s not true, as it happens. I’ve been lucky. But it seemed a good way of making the break with Luke once and for all. Of course, I hadn’t thought it through. He began to panic. He was convinced I’d infected him. For a nasty moment I thought he was going to attack me. Instead he broke down and cried. I had a change of heart then and told him I’d made the whole thing up. But he didn’t believe me.’

‘Frances told me he’d seemed afraid during the last few days before he died.’

‘Now you know why. Silly, really. I told him, all he had to do was take a test and he’d prove to himself that he was in the clear. But he couldn’t face it. He was much weaker than he seemed. One little lie and he lost it.’

It had been a cruel lie, but Harry let it pass. ‘Tell me what happened on the day he died.’

‘He checked in here after lunch. I couldn’t believe it. God knows what was going on in his head. The last thing I wanted was a scene at my place of work. I kept my distance during the afternoon but he called me from his room and invited me to have dinner with him. I told him I had to go to the rehearsal and besides, it was against company rules for the staff to fraternise with the guests. He didn’t like that, asked me what I thought we’d been doing together over the last few days. I said I didn’t think ‘fraternising’ was the description I’d choose. We were behaving like a couple of bitchy drama queens, I guess. He was pretty persistent and in the end, I said I’d come to his room when I got back from the theatre.’

‘So you went out that evening while he dined alone and then started knocking back the whisky in his room?’

‘You’ve got it. I kept my promise and turned up to see him. I thought we might as well sort things out once and for all. Part as friends. You know.’

‘Yes,’ Harry said, thinking for a moment of Kim. ‘How was he?’

Bruce began to nibble at his fingernails; it was as if, for the first time, he was experiencing a moment of self-doubt. ‘I tried to explain there was no future together for the two of us. He’d put away a fair amount of scotch and he wasn’t used to drinking. He became maudlin and frankly rather pathetic. I recall he pleaded with me to stay, but I wouldn’t. We argued. It got heated.’

‘The porter Julio heard raised voices.’

‘Thank Christ he didn’t recognise my voice or I would have had some embarrassing questions to answer. As it was, I told Luke he might as well check out first thing the next morning. He and I were finished. And I walked out on him.’

‘And the next thing you knew he’d been found dead in the courtyard?’

‘Uh-huh.’ Bruce puffed out his cheeks. ‘You can imagine how I felt.’

Yes, you selfish bastard. I bet you thought: ‘Well, that’s one problem solved.’ ‘You kept quiet about why Luke threw himself out of the window.’

‘Who’s to say it was deliberate? He was pissed, confused. Don Ragovoy will kill me for saying this, but it’s just possible it might have been an accident.’

Harry shook his head. ‘No, you’re wrong. I’m sure he committed suicide.’

‘How can you be sure? He didn’t leave any sort of note.’

‘Do you know something?’ Harry said, ‘I’m beginning to wonder if perhaps he did.’

Harry pushed his way through the Hawthorne’s revolving door out into the street. By instinct, he turned in the direction of the waterfront; then he paused. It was pouring with rain and bitterly cold: not a night to stay out of doors, but he was not ready to return to his flat. His shoulders were tense and he felt restless; even if he did go back there was no chance of sleep. His mind was buzzing: he had a theory to test. Even as he gazed down into the pools of water on the pavement, glistening under the yellow streetlights, much that had puzzled him was becoming clearer. The gnawing in his stomach was a hunger to establish the truth. If there was even the faintest chance of satisfying his curiosity tonight, he was desperate to seize it.

He pulled up the collar of his coat and crossed the road, this time heading back towards the city centre. The rain was gathering in intensity, driven on by the wind from the river. At the Paradise Street bus station, a drunk was singing ‘Lovely Rita, Meter Maid’ and a few homeless people were huddling on cardboard in shop doorways. But the pubs and clubs had yet to close and for the most part, Liverpool was quiet. The Scissorman would not be on the prowl tonight.

He turned the last corner and came to a halt. Opposite him stood the Speckled Band. He knew that Ashley often stayed there late at night, sorting through stock and now and then succumbing to the temptation to pick up an old book and start reading it. Coming here at this hour in the hope of a chance to talk had been a long shot, though, and the place was in darkness. Shutters were down over the door and windows. But when Harry glanced up, he saw smoke curling from the chimney above the shop.

He caught his breath. Perhaps it had not been a wasted journey after all. He walked round the corner to the back of the building. There was a small yard which contained a rubbish bin; the gate which led into it was ajar. Harry went through, startling a cat which had been prowling along the wall round the yard into a squawk of indignation.

The door was heavy and painted black. Harry pushed and found it gave to his touch. He crossed the threshold and found himself standing in a narrow passageway. The walls were stained with damp. A door to his right was ajar; he could see steps leading underground. There was a smell of burning. He could hear the crackling of the fire in the shop, taste the smoky air on his lips.

He took a deep breath and called out, ‘Ashley?’

For a few seconds, nothing. Then a door at the end of the corridor, the door to the shop, swung slowly open and Melissa Whitaker stepped out from the shadows.

‘Harry.’

Her cheeks seemed hollowed-out, her eyes dim with despair. For the first time in their acquaintance she was wearing a tatty T-shirt and an old pair of denim jeans. He realised, too, that he had never seen her before without make-up. She never spared any expense in looking her best, but her skin seemed bare and coarse.

‘Hello, Melissa. I didn’t expect to see you here at this time of night.’

‘I - I’ve been down in the cellar.’ Her voice was oddly croaky. ‘What do you want?’

‘Where’s Ashley?’

She cleared her throat. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘I need to talk to him.’

‘Can’t - can’t it wait?’

‘No.’ He swallowed. She seemed as tense as he was. It was worth taking a chance. ‘You know it can’t wait.’

‘Maybe you’re right. But you can’t talk to him. He - he’s left me.’

‘I don’t believe you. He’d never do that. He’s crazy about you.’

She closed her eyes. ‘Too much so.’

‘Can you and I talk, then?’

‘There’s no point.’

‘There’s every point.’

She sighed and waved him into the shop. As he moved forward, he could not suppress a shiver. Suppose this all went wrong?

Don’t be a fool, he told himself. This is a bookshop, for God’s sake. Nothing can go wrong.

The fire was blazing wildly, stoked by countless sheets of printed paper. Next to it teetered a stack of old detective stories. What was going on? If he were to learn the truth, he must get her talking; and not just in monosyllables.

Melissa gave a wry smile. ‘More fuel for the flames.’

On top of the heap was an old green Penguin, a copy of a book by a lawyer who had been dead for forty years. Harry picked it up.

‘Tragedy at Law. The story of my life.’ She didn’t smile again, so he added, ‘Actually, it’s one of my favourites.’

‘Ashley’s too.’

‘Did he ever tell you the final line? The detective says that he supposes it’s the first case of someone being driven to suicide by a quotation from the law reports.’

She took the book from him and glanced without seeing at the last page. ‘So many things can drive people to suicide.’

‘You were right, by the way. Luke killed himself.’

‘Yes, I know. Not that it matters. Nothing matters.’

‘That’s not true.’ He paused. ‘Why are you burning the books?’

Her voice breaking, she said, ‘I hate them, didn’t you realise that? Bloody mysteries. I’ve lived with them all my married life. I’m sick of them. I want to rid myself of them. For ever.’

As she tore the title page out of the book, he said, ‘Yet you provided the money to let Ashley run this shop, indulge his hobby to his heart’s content.’

She gave a mocking laugh. ‘Soft, wasn’t I? I felt I owed him something - for his kindness when we first got together after my father died. And because I was less than a proper wife to him. But now that’s all done with. And there are books to be burned.’

She squatted in front of the fire. Seemingly oblivious of his presence, she ripped out a dozen more pages, tossing them into the greedy flames.

He took a deep breath and, crossing his fingers behind his back, sat down beside her. ‘I know what happened, Melissa.’ Well, it was partly true.

She turned her white face to him. ‘You don’t know the half of it…’

‘Ashley killed Roy, didn’t he?’

‘But do you know why?’

‘To keep Roy quiet.’ He paused. ‘What I’m not sure about is the reason he wanted to keep Roy quiet.’

She closed her eyes and bit her teeth into her pale pink lips so hard that even as Harry watched, a trace of blood appeared.

‘Because he’d asked Roy to kill my father.’

Chapter 23

‘He was too ingenious for his own good,’ Harry said, half to himself. His mind was racing. ‘He had what seemed like a smart idea and then couldn’t resist temptation. It was over-elaborate. Once I realised he was trying to misdirect me, I began to understand what he was trying to do.’

She gave an absent-minded nod. Still she was tearing pages and feeding them to the fire. ‘He would always get carried away. This place, for instance, he was like a child in a sweetshop when he was here. I couldn’t deny him.’

‘He wanted to convince me - and the police - that there was something strange and sinister about the death of Luke Dessaur. If Luke had been murdered, then Ashley had a watertight alibi because he was with you in Toronto at the time.’

‘Just as he was in France when my father was killed,’ she said. ‘He was repeating an old trick.’

Harry was thinking aloud. ‘The next step was to link Roy’s death with Luke’s. If Roy’s death was regarded as an accident, fine. But even better if people thought he’d murdered Luke and then committed suicide. Poetic justice of a sort. Either way, Ashley was safe from suspicion. Before you left for Canada, Luke told Ashley that one of the Kavanaugh trustees was on the take. He was too discreet to name the person he had in mind, either to Ashley or me. Ashley assumed that Roy must be the culprit. It was a logical mistake. He knew Roy was greedy…’

‘Roy was blackmailing Ashley,’ Melissa said wearily. ‘That’s why Ashley killed him. Roy had no need to steal from the Trust.’

‘Ashley won’t have seen it like that. He knew Roy of old, he didn’t put anything past him. Besides, Roy was the obvious suspect. Frances, Tim and Matthew Cullinan seemed beyond reproach.’

‘Ashley was supposed to be Roy’s oldest friend,’ she said, ‘but the truth is that he’d always envied Roy,’ she said. ‘Feared him, too. Ashley lived in a fantasy world. Roy was a doer.’

‘Once I learned that Luke had confronted Cullinan about the missing money, I started to question everything Ashley had told me. If Roy had no motive, then either Luke had been murdered by someone else - or not been murdered at all. This evening I finally made sure Luke did kill himself.’

‘You know about Bruce Carpenter?’

He was surprised. ‘Yes. Do you?’

She sighed. ‘The last time we spoke, Ashley told me the whole story.’

‘Would you tell me? Please?’

She swallowed before saying, ‘Luke was drunk and desperate. He tried to ring Ashley in Toronto. He trusted Ashley, had no-one else he felt he could confide in. When he couldn’t get through, he decided it was Fate. He was meant to die. He scribbled a note to Ashley and went downstairs and put it in the hotel postbox. It was waiting for us when we got back to Britain, but Ashley told no-one. He wanted to make use of it. He was fond of Luke, but he wasn’t above exploiting his godfather’s death for his own purposes.’

‘The way I picture it, Luke went up to his room and drank too much whisky. Then he wriggled through the window and chucked himself out. Messy, but quick.’

‘That’s what he said he was going to do in the note. It was maudlin stuff, Ashley said. He’d been heartbroken when we got the news that Luke was dead. He had no idea that Luke was gay.’

‘Ashley portrayed himself as Roy’s loyal friend,’ Harry said. ‘But when I remembered what he had said to me, I realised he’d done nothing to dispel the suggestion that Roy was on the fiddle from the Trust. I found myself wondering if Ashley had concocted an elaborate scheme to frame Roy - and then kill him. Neat: he transformed a suicide into a murder and dressed up a murder of his own as suicide.’

‘He’d read too many books,’ Melissa said sourly. The last of the Hare novel was curled and browning on the fire. She took the next book from the pile. After the Funeral.

‘I suppose that once he hit upon the idea, he found it irresistible. After all, he’d spent a lifetime soaked in mystery fiction - why not create a puzzle of his own? Ashley’s never had to fight to earn a living. He’s been able to indulge himself on your father’s fortune ever since leaving university. To someone out of touch with reality, the plot must have seemed attractive. Especially when he was the only person who had proof that Luke committed suicide. Presumably he destroyed the letter?’

She nodded and kept tearing pages as he continued: ‘I suppose he arranged to call on Roy at the flat and got him so pissed that Roy didn’t have the faintest idea he was being fed a lethal dose of pain-killers.’

‘Roy was meant to be going out that night. To see a show the Trust had supported. But Ashley persuaded him to stay in. Roy had been pressing for more money and Ashley said I was asking questions, starting to get suspicious. He’d rung Roy in the morning and spun some line about needing to talk. I’d had a migraine that day, I couldn’t care less what Ashley was up to. I think he came back in the early hours.’

‘The way I’ve imagined it, after he was satisfied that Roy was out for the count and never going to come round again, he left via the roof, with the door closing itself behind him. All he had to do then was to clamber back down the fire escape and then over the gate which led back to the street so that the main door of the building remained locked from the inside. He also had a stroke of luck. He found something in Roy’s flat which he thought would help him in creating the impression of suicide.’

The heat from the fire was so fierce that he had to move back as he described Roy’s cartoon of himself on the gallows. But Melissa seemed oblivious to it. Her dull eyes gazed at him.

‘The Hanging Man. Like the Tarot card.’

‘What?’

‘Oh, that woman who buys all the books. Juliet May. She gave Ashley a Tarot reading, you know and turned up the Hanging Man card. He wasn’t too happy. He seemed to think it was more alarming than she was prepared to admit. She said he had no need to worry.’ Melissa laughed harshly. ‘What do you think the cartoon meant?’

‘I guess Roy had been thinking a great deal lately about the time he killed your father. Perhaps he wasn’t totally devoid of conscience after all.’

She hissed, ‘He was a monster.’

‘But the cartoon did reinforce the idea of the remorseful suicide, which suited Ashley down to the ground.’ He studied Melissa. ‘Will you tell me your side of the story?’

She put down the book and shrugged. ‘Not much to tell. You know how wives usually discover their husbands’ infidelities by chance - when they empty their jackets before sending them off to the dry cleaners or something? I found out my husband was a murderer in much the same way. He was in his study at home when the phone rang. I picked up the extension to hear Roy talking to Ashley - about killing my father.’

He stared at her, horrified, trying to imagine what must have gone through her mind.

She ran her teeth along her lip and said, ‘It seemed my husband was being bled dry by his old pal - an ex-boyfriend of mine. As far as I could gather, he’d paid Roy to mow down my father in a supposed hit-and-run accident. He was trying to wriggle out of it, pretend it was nothing to do with him, but he was no match for Roy. Roy even teased him about his love for stories about unbreakable alibis.’

‘Oh God,’ Harry said softly. And to think people said Freeman Wills Crofts was a humdrum writer.

‘The three of us hung around together at uni. Ashley was crazy about me, it was almost embarrassing. I liked him, but he didn’t excite me. I suppose I was just a spoiled little daddy’s girl, having a good time. In those days I enjoyed men dancing attendance. As long as it didn’t go too far. Roy and I went out for a while, but his sheer selfishness began to bore me. Besides, he was pestering me for sex all the time.’

Tears were beginning to fill her eyes and she had to wipe them away before continuing. ‘My father was a marvellous man. Tough, handsome, successful. None of the boys I knew began to compare with him. I worshipped Daddy - and he worshipped me. He used to say that I was the only thing that mattered to him once my mother was gone. I could tell he didn’t think much of my boyfriends. So I dropped them. That’s what happened with Roy.’

‘And Roy bore a grudge?’

‘Perhaps. He didn’t like it when I said I didn’t want to see him again. Ashley asked me for a date and I did let him take me to the cinema. He behaved beautifully, but I thought it only fair to say that I wasn’t interested in a relationship.’

‘And then your father was killed?’

‘It was the worst time of my life,’ she said. ‘Even now there are days when I think about him and…’

Her voice trailed away and Harry found himself saying, ‘You told me Ashley was kind to you.’

‘I needed him then. It is pathetic, I know, but getting married seemed a natural thing to do. I felt so grateful.’

‘But when you overheard the conversation on the phone, you realised Ashley and Roy had planned it all?’

‘That’s right. I didn’t listen to the details - I didn’t want to.’

‘You might have been jumping to conclusions. Why not talk to Ashley and find out…?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake stop sounding like a lawyer,’ she snapped. ‘What matters is that those two bastards conspired to take my father away from me. The only man I’ve ever really loved. I told you before - whoever killed Daddy deserved to be punished. I’d always longed for the chance to find the bastard. Longed for it. I just never realised I’d been living with him all these years. For Daddy’s sake, I wanted justice. I suppose you’d call it taking revenge.’

For all the heat in the room, he felt suddenly cold. ‘You mean - by burning Ashley’s books?’

She brushed a stray blonde hair out of her face. ‘It’s worse than that. Much worse.’

Trying to keep his voice calm, he said, ‘Where is he, Melissa?’

‘Downstairs. In the cellar.’

‘What did you do?’ he asked, fearing the answer.

She stared at the pile of books, shifted it nearer to the fire. ‘In many ways, Ashley has been a wonderful husband. He’s stayed in love with me. Even though he had my father murdered, and I hate him for it, it was because of how he felt about me. The truth is, I’ve never given him much encouragement, in bed or out of it. But there were these things he wanted to do…’

‘Yes?’ Harry’s throat was dry.

‘He had endless fantasies. Bondage sex, things I wouldn’t even want to describe. The thought of it turned my stomach. I always used to say no and he put up with it. But when I wanted to hurt him, I knew what I had to do to get him at my mercy. I said I’d decided to give him everything he wanted. The Tarot reading gave me the idea.’ She paused. ‘He was so excited when I lifted his wrists above his head and chained them to the rings in the cellar wall. I waited until he’d realised that he was playing in my game, and not the other way round, before I came back and told him I knew the truth. He denied it, of course. He told me it was Roy’s idea and Roy’s alone. But he would say that, wouldn’t he? I scarcely listened. In the end he was screaming for mercy.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I’ve never had much time for mercy.’

Harry’s heart was thudding inside his chest. ‘When was this?’

She stretched her arms out. ‘I’ve rather lost track of the days. This was just after Ashley killed Roy, I suppose. I was so glad he’d done half my job for me. He told me the whole story. It was as you described. Not as foolproof as he thought, eh?’

He could feel his gorge rising. ‘I - I need to see for myself, Melissa. I must look inside the cellar.’

She nodded in the direction of the door. ‘After you.’

His hands were trembling, but he stood up and moved out into the passageway. Without turning round, he asked, ‘Is he still alive?’

He held his breath until she answered hoarsely. ‘I don’t think so, Harry. I didn’t let him drink anything, you see.’

Pushing open the door which led to the cellar, he peered into the subterranean blackness. The steps were stone and rough-hewn. He began to edge down them. His skin was prickling, his palms were wet. At the bottom, he screwed his eyes up until they hurt as he tried to adjust to the lack of light.

He could see a cracked mirror which bore a smudged message in lipstick. Reflected in the glass was a dark figure suspended from the opposite wall. The naked body of a man Harry had once counted as a friend. A phrase at the end of a thirties detective story filled his mind. And he was duly hanged. But for all that Harry could tell, as waves of sickness convulsed him, Ashley might have been crucified.

The smell of death was suffocating. Harry bent over and retched once, twice. This was no place for the living. Unable to stand any longer, he began to crawl back up the steps. As he reached the top he heard a crash and knew that he had another cause for fear.

Flames were slapping around the shop door at the end of the passageway. To his right lay the way out to the cold city streets and safety. He summoned up all his strength and took the three steps to his left that took him to the room where he had left Melissa.

The fire had driven her behind the counter. Her face wore a look of infinite sadness and in her hand was a burning paperback. The tower of books had become a pyre. As he watched, paralysed, she touched the nearest shelves with her torch.

‘Melissa! For God’s sake!’

She said, so calmly that he could barely hear the words above the noise of the raging flames, ‘There is no God, you ought to know that.’

As she spoke, her shirt caught fire. She let the book fall but did not flinch. Instead, she smiled.

He could scarcely breathe, but he tore off his jacket and slapped it against her burning clothes. Then he caught her wrist and dragged her off her feet and through the door. He could think of nothing but the need to get them both out of the building. His eyes were watering; he could hardly see out of them but it did not matter. She was heavier than he would have thought, but gasping with the effort he pulled her along the passageway.

She began to claw at him. ‘No! Leave me!’

Her fingernails cut into his hand but he did not feel pain. It was as if he were in a stupor, drunk with despair at the evil that men do. They were five strides from the door that led outside. He sucked the foul air into his lungs and tightened his grip on her narrow wrist. Four strides more. Three. Two. One.

A last heave and they were over the threshold. It was raining hard and the smack of the downpour roused him from his daze. She had stopped fighting and he hauled her limp body across the yard into the back street beyond. Then he released his hold and stared at the building from which they had escaped. Far above the cellar that had become a tomb, the fire had lit the night sky. He could hear people calling and footsteps pounding along the pavement.

Melissa lay at his feet. He found it impossible to recall the beauty of the red and ravaged face gazing up at him.

‘Why?’ she whispered.

A vision came into his mind of a high priest wielding a wicked blade. He wanted to say something about blood and sacrifice and the need to believe in something.

But there were too many mysteries and the words refused to come.

‘You said yourself, if only her father wasn’t around…’

‘But I never wished him harm.’

‘Too late now. The deed is done.’

Ashley stared at his friend, appalled. They were in the corner of the bar at the students’ union. Roy had already been drinking for a couple of hours. His face was flushed with booze and excitement.

‘How - how could you have done it?’

‘You’d be surprised, actually. I had a few jars beforehand, of course. But really, it was like the title of that book you were reading at the back of the lecture theatre a couple of months back. Murder is Easy.’

‘I can’t believe it. I simply can’t believe you…’

‘You ought to believe it. I owed you a favour. The money that godfather of yours lent me was a big help, just when I needed it. You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear that he fancied me.’

‘You - you’re sick. You disgust me.’

‘Listen.’ Roy’s voice hardened. ‘Don’t get the idea you can rat on me. Don’t ever think that. We’re in this together. If anyone ever tries to pin anything on me, I’ll say it was your idea. I was helping you out.’

‘But I never wanted you to do anything. I never wanted him dead.’

‘Who’s to know that?’ Roy smiled and put his arm round Ashley’s shoulder. ‘But play your cards right now and she’ll be yours for life. And that is what you wanted, isn’t it? It’s a good bargain.’ Roy paused. ‘It’s worth selling your soul to make your dreams come true.’