‘I’m not so sure,’ said Harry. ‘There were no signs of a disturbance in his house and the police didn’t seem to think he’d been killed by a person or persons unknown.’
‘I rest my case.’
He grinned. When their paths had crossed in court, Kim Lawrence had been earnest and determined, never revealing a sense of humour or irony. The more she relaxed, the more he liked her. ‘And your prime suspect?’
‘How about this man Ray Brill? I don’t read many detective stories — real-life crime is enough for me — but as I understand it the man with the cast-iron alibi is invariably the one who dunnit.’
‘Dead right, although I can’t believe that the police didn’t check Ray out thoroughly, even though Edwin was soon in their sights. After all, the finger would usually point at the boyfriend in a case like that.’
‘I agree,’ said Jock. ‘Besides, surely Miller couldn’t prove anything after thirty years? It doesn’t make sense to me. Presumably there was no evidence of any kind to suggest that Edwin Smith wasn’t guilty. So — even if someone else was accused, presumably he could laugh it off.’
Harry nodded. ‘Exactly. And yet I can’t help feeling that someone has taken Miller’s enquiries all too seriously. True, the death and the break-in might have nothing to do with Miller’s investigations. His visitor may have been the local pools collector and I may have been burgled by a teenage delinquent with time on his grubby hands. But I find it hard to believe.’
‘Perhaps the answer is in Cyril’s file, after all,’ said Kim.
‘If so, it’s escaped me.’
‘Shall I tell you my guess?’ asked Jock. His dark brown eyes were shining: involvement in a real mystery, even at second-hand, clearly enthralled him. ‘I reckon Miller was rattled by his visitor. A man who had killed Carole Jeffries might be ready to kill again. Perhaps he feared for his own safety and thought the best course was to say that the crucial information was in your hands, not his. Then with all the excitement he had an asthma attack and died. A genuine accident. The man stole Miller’s own file but Cyril’s was a red herring — yet he swallowed Miller’s story and couldn’t resist searching through your office for it even though he knew he would never be proved guilty of murdering either Carole or Miller.’
‘Plausible,’ said Harry, ‘except for one thing. The burglary occurred before the unknown visitor knocked on Miller’s door. Back to the drawing board, Marlowe.’
Jock sighed. ‘I agree it’s a fascinating case. Imagine all the skeletons that have safely been locked in their cupboards for the past thirty years.’ He gestured at the file-laden shelves all around. ‘And look at all this stuff. There must be so many secrets locked away down here, stories from long ago of crime and romance and greed. Yet I never get to know about any of them. It’s a tantalising thought. So do keep me posted with your investigations. I’d love to have the chance to pit my wits.’
‘I think I’m getting bitten by the detective bug as well,’ said Kim. ‘What’s your next move?’
‘First things first,’ said Harry. ‘I still have no proof of Edwin Smith’s innocence. I need to trace Renata Grierson and find out exactly why she told Miller that her boyfriend was no murderer.’
Chapter Fourteen
An hour later he was sitting at a corner table in the Ensenada opposite Jim Crusoe, who was raising a glass of Moet and wishing that every week brought a new Waltergate.
‘Here’s to justice,’ said Jim. ‘Long may it miscarry.’
‘As long as the fees are good?’ asked Harry mischievously.
‘A man’s got to eat,’ said his partner, eyeing his steak with enthusiasm. ‘Besides, I know our social conscience is safe in your care. I suppose this Sefton Park case is going to be another of your pro bono publico enquiries, is it?’
On the way to the restaurant, Harry had regaled him with an account of his conversations with Miller and what he knew of the Carole Jeffries case. ‘I’m thinking as much of Edwin Smith’s mum as of my own curiosity. She paid Cyril handsomely for poor reward. If her son now turns out to have been innocent all along, he deserves to have his name cleared.’
‘Are you thinking of a posthumous pardon?’
Harry spread his arms, and almost sent a passing waiter flying. ‘Why not? The poor idiot has spent thirty years being considered guilty of a crime he may not have committed — assuming that this Renata woman wasn’t pulling the wool over Miller’s eyes when she assured him Edwin couldn’t have been guilty. I wish I knew how to get in touch with her. Perhaps the best idea is to follow Miller’s example and advertise.’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘Do you have a better suggestion?’
‘As a matter of fact, I do.’ Jim reached down for the briefcase he had brought along from the office. ‘If only you’d let me get a word in edgeways earlier, I might have put you out of your misery. Look at this.’
He took out the red file Miller had handed Harry about his personal affairs and drew from it a single sheet of paper. ‘I take it you didn’t study the documents our client passed to you?’
‘I glanced at the summary, but I didn’t trouble with the rest of the paperwork. It’s more your line of country than mine.’
‘Not necessarily.’ Jim passed him the sheet. ‘When I was working on the will, I couldn’t make head nor tail of this stuff. None of it had any bearing on Miller’s instructions about his estate. But I think you may find it useful.’
‘Too right,’ breathed Harry as he stared at the sheet. It was headed CONTACTS and contained a list of names, telephone numbers and addresses in Miller’s immaculate script. They were names that had begun to mean a good deal to him: Vera Smith, Kathleen Jeffries, Ray Brill, Clive Doxey, Benny Frederick, Shirley Titchard, Vincent Deysbrook — and Renata Grierson.
‘I don’t know how it got mixed up with the financial papers,’ said Jim between mouthfuls of steak, ‘unless Miller meant to pass it to you surreptitiously.’
‘Nothing so melodramatic. I remember now, he dropped his files when we met in Sefton Park and several sheets spilled out. He must have put this one back in the wrong file.’ He grinned and took another sip of champagne. ‘Wonderful! Maybe I’m now a step ahead of the character who nicked the rest of Miller’s papers on the case.’
‘Watch your step. If you’re right in thinking he killed Carole Jeffries — and maybe Miller for good measure — he won’t take kindly to your sticking your nose in.’
‘No need for you to worry. Don’t forget our cross-insurance.’
Jim wiped his mouth on the back of his napkin. ‘I live in fear that the small print may exclude death in the course of detective work.’
‘Anyway, I’m far from certain that he did murder Miller. I need to find out what the post mortem revealed.’
‘I’ll ask for you if you like. I’m ringing that policewoman who came round to the burglary — whatshername, Lynn — to find out if they have any leads, so I can progress our claim. I could ask her if she can find out.’
‘Thanks, but there’s no need. I’ll speak to the constable I met at Everton. He ought to be willing to talk to me. I was the late Ernest Miller’s legal representative, remember.’
As soon as he got back to the office he called the number Miller had listed for Renata Grierson. The phone was answered on the second ring. ‘Is that Mrs Grierson?’
‘Who wants her?’ asked a woman’s voice at the other end of the telephone line. The accent was broad Scouse, the tone provocative.
‘This is Harry Devlin.’
‘I don’t care if it’s hare krishna, love. What are you after?’
‘I’d like to talk to you, Mrs Grierson. It’s quite urgent.’
‘You’re getting me all excited, love, but what’s it all about?’
No point in beating about the bush. ‘Thirty years ago, you knew a young man called Edwin Smith who was convicted of murder.’
At once the woman became cautious. ‘And what if I did? Not that I’m admitting anything, mind.’