Chapter Nineteen

Turning into North John Street five minutes later, he saw Baz Gilbert and Penny Newland coming out of the offices of Radio Liverpool, hand in hand.

The disc jockey spotted him crossing the road and waited for him to catch up with them.

‘You’ve heard about Finbar?’

‘Melissa called me round last night,’ said Harry. ‘The police broke the news to her.’

‘How did she take it?’

‘As you would expect. I don’t think it’s sunk in yet.’

‘She’s well rid of him,’ said Penny.

Embarrassed by his girlfriend’s willingness to speak ill of the dead, Baz said hurriedly, ‘As if Melissa hasn’t had enough on her plate without this!’

‘You mean?’ asked Harry.

Again Baz became keen to change the subject. ‘Oh, you know, she had a rough time with Finbar - and on top of that, she lost her job.’

Harry sensed the disc jockey had something else in mind. He pressed on.

‘No sign of Nick Folley changing his decision and reinstating her?’

‘She’ll have to crawl to him first,’ said Penny.

‘And do you think she’ll do that?’

Penny shrugged. Harry gathered there was more to be said about the relationship between Melissa and her former boss - but Penny was in no mood to say it. He decided to try another line of attack.

‘What about Sophie? Did she seem shocked?’

‘She’s been very subdued this morning,’ said Baz, ‘though I suppose that’s true of all of us who knew him. Besides, Sophie is another one with problems of her own. I don’t think her rift with Nick has healed yet, by any means.’

‘It strikes me Nick is a bad person to cross,’ Harry said, trying to sound casual.

‘You know what he’s like.’

‘I know his reputation - but not the man.’

The couple exchanged glances which Harry could not interpret.

‘You’re probably best keeping it that way,’ said Baz.

Baz and Penny were determined, Harry sensed, to keep their own counsel. That didn’t surprise him. Both of them took Nick Folley’s shilling and he couldn’t blame them for not wanting to put their jobs on the line. He would learn more from confronting the man himself.

‘Are Nick and Sophie both around today?’

‘Why do you ask?’ demanded Penny.

Under her keen gaze, he felt himself wavering. Amateur sleuthing was never straightforward; perhaps that was part of its appeal.

‘I just wondered if I could have a word with them.’

‘Sophie’s still in the office,’ said Baz, ‘but Nick’s down in London at the moment.’

‘London? When did he go?’

‘I heard him say he was taking the train yesterday night, although he’s due back shortly. It was a last-minute arrangement - some urgent business cropped up. Suits us, anyway.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Nick was due to have an expense account lunch at Bellingham’s today with one of our major advertisers. We’re putting on a show for them tonight, a Hallowe’en party at Empire Hall, and he asked me to step in for him, said I could take Pen along too. That’s where we’re heading now.’

‘Then don’t let me keep you. I’ll just have a word with Sophie.’

‘I don’t see what you’re trying to achieve,’ said Penny. ‘You said Melissa asked you round when the police came to see her. What in heaven’s name is going on?’

‘It’s like this,’ said Harry, her scrutiny prompting him to candour. ‘Finbar’s death is unlikely to have been an accident. I’m sure he was run over deliberately.’

‘Murder?’ Baz sounded startled. ‘But I thought from the news bulletin…’

‘Nothing is certain yet. You could say I’m exceeding my brief, but Finbar was my client and I’d like to learn why he was killed - and who killed him.’

With that, he left the couple staring after him as he hurried up the steps which led to the entrance to the radio station.

‘How may I help you?’ enquired a young girl at the front desk, forcing herself to tear her eyes from a cheap magazine. She evidently did not remember his previous visit.

‘I’d like to speak to Sophie Wilkins,’ said Harry, giving his name. ‘Tell her it’s about our mutual friend.’

‘One moment.’ The girl spoke into a receiver and raised her eyebrows as she listened to the reply. Fixing a bright, disingenuous smile on her face, she said, ‘I’m afraid Miss Wilkins is in conference.’

‘I’ll wait.’

‘She says it will be a very long conference.’

‘I’m extremely patient.’

‘I don’t think she’ll have time to - ’

‘Please tell her I won’t keep her long, but I do need to see her. I’m not going away till I’ve done so.’

Covering her mouth, the girl passed on the message. Leaning over the veneered desk surface, Harry caught the phrase ‘looks as if he means business’. Finally she turned back to him. ‘Miss Wilkins may be able to give you a couple of minutes after all. She’ll come out shortly, but she is very busy and…’

‘Fine.’

Harry took a seat next to a tub of greenery. Above his head, a speaker relayed a programme hosted by a DJ whose heyday had been with Radio One in the seventies; he was now reduced to conducting phone-ins interspersed with numbers from the likes of James Taylor and Joni Mitchell. As Harry listened to an attack on the Labour Party’s class treachery from an ex-docker with a smoker’s cough, Sophie pushed through the double doors which led to the studios. As ever, she was brilliantly dressed, this time in a canary-coloured tracksuit. Yet her eyes seemed dull with fatigue and even her hair had lost its rich shine.

‘Thanks for seeing me,’ he said quickly. ‘Is there somewhere private we can talk?’

She reopened the doors and led him down the corridor into a cramped kitchen.

‘This will have to do. I don’t have my own office and anyway, I can’t give you long. As you ought to realise, I have a great deal of work to organise.’

‘I’ll get straight to the point. You’ve heard that Finbar is dead?’

She folded her arms. Harry sensed she was making a conscious effort to be calm and in control.

‘We’ve been broadcasting the news every thirty minutes since we went on the air, so I’m hardly likely to be unaware of it.’

‘I believe he was murdered.’

‘But the police haven’t…’

‘The circumstances seem to rule out an accident.’

She plucked at her lower lip. ‘Well, it comes as no surprise. After the fire and the bombing, it was obvious someone wanted his blood.’

‘This is different. The person who committed the earlier crimes couldn’t have run him down last night.’

Sophie screwed her features into a savage frown, clearly trying to decide whether he was shooting a line. Harry felt sure his words came as a shock to her.

‘But that’s absurd!’

‘Not at all. Sinead Rogan had been taken in for questioning about both the arson and the bomb attack at the time Finbar was killed. This morning she was bailed on charges of criminal damage.’

‘What? I simply don’t believe it!’

‘Whether you do or not, it’s a fact. Assuming Finbar was the victim of a deliberate crime rather than an improbable stroke of bad luck, the police need to find another culprit.’

She cleared her throat nervously. ‘Well, there must be plenty of candidates. I never knew a man with such a talent for making enemies.’

‘Including yourself, of course.’

‘What are you insinuating?’

‘Come on, Sophie. Let’s be frank’ He could tell her attempt to rein in her emotions was collapsing. ‘You didn’t part the best of chums, did you? When the police start casting round for possible suspects, they’re bound to take a closer look at you. They may arrive with their notebooks any time now, wanting to find out whether you saw Finbar yesterday, where you were last night at the time he was killed…’

‘What you say is outrageous,’ she said; in her voice he recognised fear rather than the simple rage of the unjustly accused. The last vestiges of her self-confidence had vanished.

‘Look, the sooner this whole bloody mess is cleared up, the better - for everyone.’

‘How dare you come here and make these slanderous innuendoes? And a lawyer, too! I’ve a good mind to report you to the Law Society.’

‘Join the queue,’ he said wearily. ‘Listen, Sophie. Anything I can do to help identify who killed Finbar, I will. I’m not saying for a minute that you were involved - ’

‘You’re too kind.’

‘- I’m simply pointing out that questions are bound to be asked. You need to be ready for them.’

‘Thanks very much. When I need professional advice, I’ll contact someone like Windaybanks.’

‘Okay, Sophie, have it your way. I didn’t come here to pick a fight.’

The truth, if not the whole truth. His motives for turning up here were not disinterested. He had wanted to see at first hand how she would react to the suggestion that she was in the frame - and he had been rewarded by her hostile response.

‘I have to go now,’ she said. ‘Some of us have work to do.’ She turned, but paused to glance back over her shoulder from the doorway.

‘I had plenty to keep me occupied yesterday. You know the station’s in trouble - I’m working all the hours God sends at present.’

‘When did you leave?’

She hesitated and he guessed she was wondering whether he would check on her.

‘Five o’clock. Late enough, after my usual dawn start.’

Over the years, he’d encountered many witnesses like Sophie: uncertain how far to spin their stories, more concerned to put themselves in the right than to stick to the truth. He kept quiet, watching her lick her lips.

‘And in case you’re wondering,’ she said, ‘after that, Nick and I went to his place. When Finbar Rogan was killed, the two of us were tucked up in bed together. Does that satisfy your curiosity?’ She gave him a defiant look, then strode away.

Harry did not attempt to follow; he was satisfied with what he had achieved so far. He’d provoked her into saying too much and into a panicky attempt to allay any suspicion that she had been involved in Finbar’s death.

As for the alibi, he was sure she was lying.