Martin Edwards: Suspicious Minds

He was soon in the Law Courts, checking the typed daily sheets on the noticeboard to find his quarry. Court number three. He reached the room in half a minute and slipped in at the back.

The court was three-quarters full. A young girl in a wheelchair sat at the front, surrounded by friends here to support her case against the doctor whose clumsiness, Harry presumed, had caused her to lose the use of her legs. Her expression was anxious. No, more than that, panic-stricken. And the people with her were also twitching with alarm.

Julian was on his feet. He was speaking slowly and slurring his words. Yes, there could be no mistake. Fumbling foolishly with his papers and slurring his words. Drunk in court? Harry could scarcely believe that this was the same smooth adversary who had stolen the affections of Valerie Kaiwar.

Suddenly a couple of sheets of paper slipped from Julian Hamer’s hands.

“My Lord. Er — please excuse me.”

Julian bent down and scrabbled around on the floor, trying to gather together the bits and pieces he had let fall. In the row behind, a grey-haired woman solicitor had the look of a schoolmarm watching a blue movie. Her opposite number was whispering in the ear of his barrister. Chuckles were audible.

The judge was old Borrington, a kindly soul who liked to snooze in the afternoon. He peered down at Julian Hamer and in the fluting tone which Harry believed to be in itself a qualification for the Bench said, “Mr. Hamer, I wonder… the day is rather warm. And even in this fine building the air-conditioning is not quite as one would wish. Perhaps if we were to adjourn for ten minutes?”

“My — my Lord. I’m most grateful.”

The court rose as the ancient in ermine pottered out and the defendant’s barrister exchanged a smirk with his instructing solicitor. Hamer stumbled to the door, leaving the grey-haired woman to talk in hushed, urgent tones to her client.

“Julian, can I have a word?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Hamer flushed. He ran a hand through his normally sleek fair hair.

“What about?”

“In private, if you don’t mind.”

“Look, can we do this some other time? You can see I’m right in the middle of a big case. And f… frankly, it’s not going particularly well so far.”

“So I see. But this can’t wait.”

“What’s got into you?”

“Come on.”

Harry grasped Hamer’s arm and propelled him down to the passageway towards the robing rooms. Finding the barristers’ sanctum empty, Harry bundled his captive inside and onto a chair before releasing his grip.

“For God’s sake, man. What’s all this…”

“Claire Stirrup’s dead.”

Hamer’s face was a puzzled blank. Dark rings curved under his eyes. Someone else hasn’t been sleeping, Harry thought.

“I know. We spoke about it.”

“Why did she have to die, Julian?”

“What do you mean? She was murdered by a maniac.”

“The Beast, yes. But her death troubled me. You know, the way The Beast usually chooses blonde-haired girls, whereas Claire was dark.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Here’s another mystery. Claire laid a false trail on that Saturday when she died. Claimed she was going to the library but she didn’t take her books with her. So what was she up to? I wondered for a while if her father had lied about the library himself. Perhaps he might be implicated. He has guilty secrets of his own, I think. Yet I know he’d never harm his own daughter. He worshipped that girl. So Claire lied to him. Why?”

Wearily, Hamer said, “God knows why you’re asking me. The answer is obvious, isn’t it? She was off to see some lad and Daddy wasn’t to know.”

“Possibly. But the date wasn’t with her regular boyfriend. I’m sure he’s telling the truth on that score. And repellent though he is, I don’t think she had eyes for anyone else. Which led me to think that she must have been up to something different.”

“Look, I’m in the midst of a trial. I haven’t the time to indulge in your guessing games. I’m sorry the client’s child was killed, but it’s nothing to do with me.”

Hamer made as if to get up and leave but Harry again put his arm out in restraint.

“Let me finish. Shortly before she died, Claire did one or two odd things. She visited a girl, not a close friend, who had been raped by The Beast a few weeks earlier. Yet Claire was no angel of compassion.”

“Where is all this leading?”

“To you,” Harry said softly.

“To me? I don’t understand.”

“After she met you, she started behaving oddly. I’ve asked myself what could explain everything that happened to her.”

“And?”

“And I’ve come up with the answer. She recognised you.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“She was on the Wirral Way the afternoon her schoolfriend was attacked. Waiting for her boyfriend. Suppose she saw a man hanging around? Thought nothing of it at the time, but later wondered if he might just have been The Beast. And what if when she attended the conference in chambers she realised you were that man?”

Hamer’s cheeks were as white as mortuary sheets.

“This is monstrous speculation. Absolutely monstrous.”

“No wonder she was so preoccupied that day. Imagine coming face to face with The Beast. Jack Stirrup said something about her mooning over you at the conference. He misunderstood what she saw in you. So she spoke to the other girl, the one who was raped, though I doubt she learned much. Then she got in touch with you, tried a little blackmail. Her boyfriend had given her the taste for it. She may have asked for money, I don’t know. But most of all she wanted power over another human being. So when she told you to meet her in West Kirby, she insisted you bring her a dozen red roses. A token of your submission to her will, I guess. She loved the thought of having you on a string. And as a bonus she could make her boyfriend jealous if she flourished the roses under his nose later that afternoon, make him think she had a secret admirer.”

Harry swallowed hard. “She was naive enough to think she could look after herself. For what it was worth, she’d learned self-defence, picked up a bit of karate. She didn’t take any precautions. I suppose she thought of it all as a kind of game. A deadly game, though. You managed somehow to catch her by surprise. I suppose you had your car handy to take her body to New Brighton. Where you scattered the roses over her corpse and left it to rot in the cave.”

“You must be out of your mind.”

Not Hamer speaking, but a newcomer. Someone Harry recognised only too well. He saw in the doorway the figure of Valerie Kaiwar. A thick bundle of documents tied with pink ribbon was under her arm. Her face was burning, not with the heat of the day but with rage.

“Valerie!”

“Yes,” she said, mimicking the surprise in his tone. “Valerie.”

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough to realise you’ve finally gone round the bloody bend.”

“You don’t understand why…”

“Don’t you tell me I don’t understand! Compared to you, I’m a genius of detection. How dare you stand there and calmly accuse Julian of rape and murder?”

“Valerie, the facts…”

“What do you know about facts? Look at Julian, look at him! How can you possibly have the nerve to say those terrible things?”

Hamer buried his head in his hands. He was beginning to shake. The pathetic spectacle reinforced Harry’s conviction. The man was demoralised because he had been found out.

“Everything points to his guilt, Valerie.”

“Crap! You don’t know the first thing about him.”

“I know enough.”