Martin Edwards: I Remember You

He swung round and saw Melissa sitting in the corner. She was warmly wrapped in suede coat and cashmere scarf, but he could sense she was trembling.

‘Sorry, I didn’t realise … Have you been here long?’

‘Only a few minutes,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, it’s my fault. I didn’t make an appointment. I wanted to talk to you face to face, so I simply turned up on the off-chance you’d be around.’

‘Come through,’ he said and led her to his room. ‘And how are you?’

A shadow crossed her face. ‘I saw the police again this morning. They took a statement which confirmed everything I told them last night — about Finbar’s coming to see me, our row, the time he left, that sort of thing.’

‘You could have called me. I’d have sat in, if you’d wished.’

She twisted a loose thread from one of her gloves between her fingers. ‘I was grateful for your help last night, Harry — for rushing round at a moment’s notice when I called. You were kind and I didn’t appreciate it.’

‘Forget it. We were both shocked by Finbar’s death.’

‘You — you were a good friend to him. Better than he deserved. Which is why you wanted to press me on what happened between us yesterday afternoon, and why I could read your suspicions of me on your face.’

‘I was only — ’

‘And why I came to my senses this morning and saw I was putting you in an impossible position, asking you to help me when, for all you knew, I might have been the person who ran Finbar down.’

Harry could feel his cheeks burning. She was right: foolish to deny it.

‘So I decided today I mustn’t presume on you any more. I went out and hired another solicitor: Quentin Pike of Windaybanks. I’ve heard you mention his name in the past, I remember you saying he was good.’

Her logic was impeccable. The previous night he’d been aware, as Sladdin had, of the incongruity of his assisting a woman who might have been responsible for Finbar’s death. Yet perversely he felt a stab of rejection; it was as if he had been judged and found wanting, for owing allegiance to a dead man.

‘I understand.’

‘Judging by your expression, I doubt it. I suppose you think I’m ungrateful. That’s why I came here, so I could explain personally, rather than in a note or on the phone.’

‘Well … thanks for that. And you’ve done the right thing. Quentin is a good brief.’

‘Yes, he didn’t let Sladdin’s sidekicks hassle me. They were left in no doubt I was helping them out of public spirit.’ She gave him a faint smile. ‘He portrayed me as the grieving girlfriend. I almost believed him myself.’

‘And how do you really feel?’

She passed her tongue across her lips. ‘I’m — I’m too numb to mourn Finbar at the moment. What I’ll think when the shock subsides, I simply can’t imagine. The last time I saw him alive, I wished him dead.’

‘And you tried to make your wish come true.’

‘With the scissors? Oh, Harry, I just lashed out! It was a momentary aberration, nothing more. You can’t seriously believe I would kill in cold blood?’

The pupils of her eyes were dilated. Because of fear about what his answer may be? He thought not.

‘No,’ he said. ‘All the same, I’m sure his death was not a cool premeditated crime.’

‘So who is your prime suspect — other than me?’

‘Where do you begin with a man like Finbar? I suppose you could point the finger at Sophie. She says she was with Nick Folley last night. That’s untrue, which puts her in the frame — and maybe him as well.’

‘You don’t — you don’t suspect Nick of being driven to murder by jealousy?’

‘Who knows?’ Harry watched for her reaction. ‘He’d already lost you to Finbar, then history repeated itself with Sophie. But there may be some other motive, with roots in the past. Had Finbar known Nick for as long as he’d known Sophie, by any chance?’

‘I don’t follow you. He hadn’t known Sophie long at all, only since I made the mistake of asking Baz to have him on Pop In . A matter of days, in other words. Finbar was a fast worker, don’t forget.’

Harry knitted his brow. ‘I thought he and Sophie went back a long way together?’

‘Never. Until this last summer she had a job down south. You surely don’t think she picked up that la-di-da accent round here?’

‘Has she spent time in Dublin, then?’

‘If so, it wasn’t on her CV. It passed over my desk when she applied to Radio Liverpool — I was working for Nick at the time, of course. Christ, if I’d guessed what a prize bitch she would turn out to be, I’d have shredded the thing before he ever clapped eyes on it!’

Harry nodded absently, trying to take in what she had told him. If she was right, it turned his ideas upside down. He felt a surge of adrenalin. Instinct told him the solution to the puzzle was almost within his grasp.

She stood up. ‘Well, I won’t keep you any longer.’

‘I’m glad you hired Pike. You did the right thing.’

‘No hard feelings, then?’

‘Course not. But…’

He hesitated. Even as he spoke he was still trying to untangle the skein of suspicions in his mind.

‘Yes?’

He gnawed at his lower lip. Go for it , he told himself.

‘I do have one last question.’

‘Ask away.’

‘Melissa,’ he said softly, ‘where do you get your cocaine?’

She cried out, a sharp yelp of panic mixed with shame. A frail hand flew up to cover her mouth.

‘What — what do you mean?’

‘Finbar told me you’d been on drugs. I misunderstood at the time, didn’t pay much attention. I thought he was talking about treatment you’d had for your nerves. But of course he meant nose candy. I should have recognised the physical symptoms — I’ve acted for other coke addicts in my time.’

She stared at him, transfixed with dismay, unable to utter a word.

‘Please,’ he said in his gentlest tone, ‘I’d like to help. Not as a lawyer, but as a friend. If you’ll only tell me…’

‘Help?’ At last her tongue was loosened. ‘Help? You can’t be serious, Harry. No one can help me, the mess I’m in. Do you hear? No one!’

And before he could stop her, she had rushed out through the door. He stood listening to the clatter of her heels along the corridor. Thank God Suzanne had gone. Two women had run out on him inside one day; people would start to talk.

He paced around his office, striving to order his thoughts. What to do now? He wandered through the building, checking that all the staff had left for the day, before walking to the front door, where he could make out no more than the dim outlines of the boarded-up construction site on the opposite side of the courtyard.

The boots of an approaching figure crunched towards him. From the murk emerged a spectral figure, clad in heavy anorak and gauntlets. The man pushed back his hood, revealing carroty hair and prominent rabbit’s teeth. Harry recognised him as the landlord’s agent, someone with whom he’d exchanged occasional words of greeting since the construction work began.

Good. The chance encounter gave him the chance to test another of the ideas taking shape inside his head. He called out: ‘So what happened to McCray’s men?’

‘What d’you think? They split as soon as they found out they weren’t getting paid. The buggers may be Irish, but they’re not bloody daft.’

‘Money trouble?’

‘Too bleeding right. McCray’s gone bust.’

Harry nodded. So his latest guess was confirmed; in the end the right answer had been the obvious one. Builders went out of business all the time. And with his own eyes he’d seen McCray haggling with that bespoke-tailored usurer Stuart Graham-Brown.