Rosemary gazed at him in bewilderment, apparently lost for words. He was thinking furiously. If some of McCray’s gang were members of, say, an active service unit, using the Fenwick Court contract as a cover which had somehow been blown, no wonder there was no sign of them outside this morning. For all he knew, they might be back in the Emerald Isle by now.
‘You’re crazy,’ she said. ‘Stuart would never get mixed up with anything like that. Terrorists? I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’
‘Stuart may not know who or what he’s dealing with. Where there’s money, there’s often muck. It’s wise not to ask too many questions.’ The same could be said of work in the legal profession, he knew, but he resisted the comparison.
Rosemary cradled her chin in her hand. She too seemed to be thinking fast.
‘I don’t want you talking to Stuart about this, do you hear? You’re imagining things. It’s bad enough that you haven’t managed to sell our bloody house. If he even dreamed you’d said these things, he’d raise blue murder.’
‘I want to help you,’ said Harry. ‘Believe me, I’m not sure what Stuart’s up to, and I suppose it’s none of my business, but I’d hate to see you getting into any kind of trouble.’
She snatched up her handbag and rushed to the door. When she turned to face him again, there were high spots of colour on her cheeks. ‘I’m not in any kind of trouble, do you hear? You mean well, I do see that, but you have the wrong idea about Stuart and me. Take my word for it. I’m not in any kind of trouble!’
The door slammed behind her. Harry thought for a moment about following her but at once realised to do so would be folly: let her think things over alone and make her own decision about whether to accept his help. For he was sure she was protesting too much. When she denied being in trouble, Rosemary was desperately trying to reassure herself.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Why in God’s name are you scaring away one of our best clients? I should have known leaving you to run the practice would be like putting Charles Manson in charge of a creche.’
Harry looked up from his desk with a start. Jim Crusoe was framed in the doorway, leaning on a stick for support and jabbing an accusatory finger. Anger had brought a flush of colour to his bruised and battered face.
‘Morning, Lazarus! It’s good to see you, but what do you think you’re doing here? You’re supposed to be recuperating.’
‘I heard the news about Finbar on the radio, so I thought I’d better catch a cab and come in to see if we’ve still got a business left. And what do I find? Those of our clients who haven’t been murdered are racing past me without a second glance, looking so terrified I can only assume you’ve been showing them our balance sheet.’
‘You saw Rosemary Graham-Brown?’
‘Just a foggy blur, she was moving so fast. What have you been doing to her? I know today’s Hallowe’en — don’t tell me you offered her a trick or treat.’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘With you,’ said Jim through gritted teeth, ‘it usually is.’ He hobbled painfully to a chair. ‘You can start by telling me where we are with the sale of Crow’s Nest House.’
‘The good news is,’ said Harry wryly, ‘we’ve exchanged contracts.’
‘I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what’s the bad news?’
‘The buyers have pulled out. Byzantium are relocating Ambrose to West Africa.’
‘Then serve a notice to complete. Sylvia will prepare the paperwork we need.’ Unspoken was the suggestion that she should have been allowed to handle the whole file in Jim’s absence.
‘I don’t think legal orthodoxy will give the Graham-Browns what they want.’
‘Which is?’
‘A quick sale and a flight to the sun. Beyond that, I can only guess at what they have in mind. One thing is definite: you and I haven’t been told the whole truth.’
‘God forbid I should discover the whole truth about any of my clients! I’m sure it would shatter every last shred of my faith in human nature. It’s not our job to unravel the mysteries of their lives.’
‘Sometimes there’s no alternative.’
Jim groaned. ‘Typical Harry Devlin. If you ever called at the Law Society Library, I’m sure you’d find a body in it. Go on, then, what have the Graham-Browns been up to?’
Harry described the sequence of events leading up to Rosemary’s anguished departure from the office a few minutes earlier and Jim listened closely, his displeasure fading into bewilderment.
‘So what do you make of all that, Sherlock?’
‘Wish I knew.’
Jim made a scoffing noise. ‘Time you donated your deerstalker to Oxfam.’
Provoked, Harry said, ‘Maybe Rosemary got wind of Stuart’s affair with the blonde. Although she must be bitter, she won’t want to give up the good life she’s accustomed to. It’s not as if she’s a free agent; she has a small child to care for. So she’s desperate to pack them all off to Spain before Stuart changes his mind, sues for divorce and does a bunk with his fancy woman instead.’
‘And how come the office doesn’t know he’s about to disappear?’
‘I imagine his mistress works there and he hasn’t summoned the courage to tell her he’s on his way to warmer climes.’
‘But you said the business is a one-man band — Rosemary’s obviously no more than a sleeping partner. The moment Stuart emigrates, Merseycredit is bound to collapse.’
‘So perhaps he’s been creaming a few bob off for himself along the way. He might not be going to Spain simply to improve his tan. They say it’s easier to extract beer from blotting paper than to extradite a crook from his exile in the sun.’
Jim frowned. Harry sensed his partner succumbing to the urge to speculate.
‘You think his scam may involve McCray? That might be another reason why he’s keeping quiet about the flit and why it’s so urgent to sell the house.’
‘Could be, though he’d have to be truly tired of life to try pulling a fast one with money earmarked for terrorists. Those people have long memories and they won’t worry about the niceties of Spanish extradition law. If he defrauds them now, sooner or later he’ll finish up with a bullet through his brain.’
Deep in thought, Jim tugged at his beard. ‘Tell me this. How can you be sure McCray is hand in glove with terrorists? I know we have a fine tradition in this country of convicting Irishmen on dodgy evidence, but it seems to me you haven’t actually got anything on the man at all. The same goes for Graham-Brown: what if Rosemary flies straight from here to Tobacco Court and tells Stuart we suspect Merseycredit of moving around money for murderers?’
‘It could be the end of a beautiful friendship,’ admitted Harry.
‘It could be the end of your practising certificate, if the Graham-Browns complain to the Law Society. I know we’re encouraged to provide client care, but tipping Rosemary off that her husband’s guilty of criminal conspiracy when you don’t have a shred of proof is taking things to extremes. I reckon you’ve been hanging around with Finbar Rogan too long. He’s taught you there’s no difference between the truth and a tall story.’
‘Finbar won’t be pulling the wool over any more eyes,’ said Harry softly.
Jim bowed his head. ‘Yes, well, perhaps I’ve become tactless too. It’s bloody awful news. I know you liked him.’
‘He was good company, though the more I found out about him, the less harmless he seemed. He was so full of life, it was easy to be blind to his shortcomings when you were with him.’
‘At least you don’t suspect McCray of doing him in.’
‘Some people might not blame him if he had — Eileen was his only daughter. No wonder he hated Finbar and set fire to his studio, blew up his car.’
‘You’re sure that was McCray?’
‘You missed your way in life, you ought to have become a defence counsel. I suppose the honest answer is, I’m not sure about anything. He had the motive, of course.’