She led Vaulkhard to the podium and Harry stole a glance at Doxey. He always found it strange to see in the flesh people he had come to know through television. So often they seemed smaller in real life and much less august. Sir Clive Doxey, however, was an exception to the rule: an imposing figure even when seated, a man whose silver mane had not a single hair out of place. His lips were pursed, as though he was unaccustomed to being kept waiting and it was a habit he did not intend to acquire. Even the way his arms were folded seemed to exude distinction and to make the statement that this was a rare man, a man of principle. It was impossible to remain indifferent on a first encounter with someone so formidable. For Harry, it was a case of deep dislike at first sight.
Patrick Vaulkhard began to speak. He had mastered this particular brief long ago and he glided with ease through the facts of the Walter case, conserving his energy for a scathing and comprehensive attack on those whose misdeeds had led to the original false conviction and those whose contempt for truth had caused them to keep Kevin inside, even after it became clear that he had not committed the crime for which he had been imprisoned. In passing, he paid tribute to Harry’s efforts on his client’s behalf, as well as expressing his admiration for everything that Jeannie had done — ‘although,’ he said with a faint smile, ‘I could never be as eloquent an advocate on that particular subject as she herself has proved to be in the splendid newspaper serialisation about her campaign.’ Occasionally, Harry noticed Kim shooting him a glance, her expression conveying amused annoyance. His lack of concentration must be showing. He guessed she must realise that his thoughts were drifting back to a miscarriage of the distant past.
He found himself beginning to chafe with impatience until the talk finally came to an end and Vaulkhard dealt with questions that ranged from the earnest to the absurd. Kim offered thanks and the small audience gave ragged applause. Harry jumped to his feet, anxious not to miss the chance to buttonhole Clive Doxey, but he need not have worried. Kim gently manoeuvred Doxey through the throng and towards where Harry was standing.
‘Clive, I’d like you to meet a professional colleague of mine, a partner in another firm in the city centre. Harry Devlin, this is Sir Clive Doxey.’
They shook hands and Kim added, ‘As you will have gathered, Harry instructed Patrick Vaulkhard on Kevin Walter’s behalf.’
‘A disgraceful episode,’ said Doxey. ‘It shows how appallingly easy it still is for miscarriages of justice to occur.’
‘Very true,’ said Harry, ‘and another case I’ve been looking at over the last few days bears that out. As it happens, I wondered if I could bend your ear about it, since I’m sure that you can cast light on one or two aspects that have been troubling me.’
Doxey gave a tolerant smile. ‘Well, I don’t need to be off home for another half hour, but I think from the expression of the caretaker standing at the back there that we may have to move elsewhere.’
‘There’s a bar next door. Perhaps you’d let me buy you a drink. You too, Kim, unless you have to dash off this minute.’
‘I’d love to come,’ she said. ‘Harry’s told me a little about this case, Clive, and although it’s an old one which wouldn’t fall within MOJO’s sphere, I’m sure you’ll have a special interest in what he’s uncovered.’
‘I am intrigued,’ said Doxey. ‘Shall we adjourn?’
They found seats in the Empire Bar on the first floor, looking out over the black Mersey to the lights of the Wirral peninsula beyond. Harry brought the drinks over and then settled down in a chair facing Clive Doxey. Doxey was amiable and relaxed, unwinding after a long day. He had asked for a Southern Comfort; Harry was drinking beer, Kim a glass of aqua libra.
‘Now then, Mr Devlin, how can I help you?’
‘I’d like to take you back in time,’ Harry said. ‘To 1964, in fact.’
‘The world was very different then,’ said Doxey reminiscently, ‘and I was a young man, still full of illusions about political progress.’
‘Which you shared with your good friend Guy Jeffries.’
Doxey gave him a sharp look. After a brief silence he said in his most equable tone, ‘Yes, that’s right. Dear Guy, I believe he had the finest mind of our generation.’
‘And yet he died a broken man.’
‘He had — personal problems. His daughter died, you know.’
‘Yes, I do know. Her murder is the reason I wanted a word with you. It turns out that the man convicted of the crime was innocent after all.’
No actor could have feigned the shock on Doxey’s patrician features. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
Harry told him. From his first meeting with Ernest Miller to his conversation with Renata Grierson, he missed out none of the essentials, but he decided to say nothing for the time being about Benny Frederick’s claim that Carole had fallen for Doxey. The great man listened intently, not interrupting; if he had been incredulous at first, he seemed gradually to absorb the enormity of what Harry was saying — that if Smith was innocent, Carole must have died at the hands of someone hitherto unsuspected. When the story was complete, he stroked his jaw thoughtfully before speaking.
‘An extraordinary tale, Mr Devlin. Assuming you are correct, of course.’
‘I believe Renata was telling me the truth. And I’m sure Miller was on the right track.’
‘You’re not suggesting he was murdered for his pains, I gather. That really would be storybook stuff.’
‘No, I spoke again to someone I know in the police before I came out tonight. They’re positive that Miller was not killed by anyone. It was an accidental death. All the same, I am intrigued by his Saturday visitor. Who can it have been?’
‘Well,’ said Doxey with a heavy sigh, ‘I’m afraid I cannot help you there.’
‘That may be, Sir Clive, but you knew the Jeffries family as well as anyone. I would be grateful if you could tell me a little more about them.’
Doxey glanced at Kim and Harry sensed that, had she not been there, he would have made some excuse and left. But he had made a name for himself as someone prepared to delve into any case that carried the faintest whiff of unfairness. He could not escape just yet. So he took refuge in a display of candour.
‘You understand, Mr Devlin, this is painful for me. The killing of Carole Jeffries was not like any other case. I knew her well and Guy and Kathleen were old and dear friends.’
‘Tell me about them.’
Doxey made a show of casting his mind back in time before saying, ‘They first met at the University as students, as I recall. This was before I knew them, but I gather that both were thought to be destined for brilliant careers. Kathleen was as formidable a mathematician as Guy was a political philosopher. Things didn’t work out quite as they planned and Kathleen fell pregnant with Carole.’
‘So there was a shotgun wedding?’
‘You imply that Guy was reluctant to marry, which I think was far from the case. He adored her in those days — as he adored his daughter from the moment she was born. But there were complications with the birth; I never knew the precise details, but Kathleen had gynaecological problems from that day on and having another child was never on the agenda. She suffered from ill health and her career took a back seat while she brought Carole up.’
‘Did she resent that?’
‘Like many mothers, I suppose she had mixed feelings.’
‘And her relationship with Guy when you knew them?’
‘Oh, as I said, he was devoted to her.’
‘Come on,’ said Harry impatiently. ‘You were talking about the time they first married. Did they drift apart later? I gather he once had a reputation as a ladies’ man.’
Doxey seemed on the point of objecting to Harry’s bluntness, then changed his mind. ‘Yes, Guy was a good-looking fellow, of course, sociable and outgoing. He didn’t see it as his role to stay at home lending moral support whilst his wife brought up their child. He was out most nights, giving lectures or attending political meetings, and when he stayed at home he would be closeted in his study, working on a book or an article.’