A uniformed commissionaire gave him a security pass flatteringly labelled authorised visitor and directed him tot he seventh floor. The lift whirred upwards without asound and when the doors opened, he was greeted by a sleek secretary whose startling resemblance to Kim Basinger would have guaranteed her a job even had she been unable to type her own name. She ushered him into Derek’s presence and then withdrew.
Immaculate in a dark grey three-piece, his brother-in-law came from behind his desk, right hand outstretched.
“My dear fellow. Take a seat.”
Harry sat. The chair was low and squelchy. Like all the furniture in the room it was black: some designer’s concept of chic, heedless of comfort. A picture window behind the desk commanded a view of the Liver Building and the Mersey. Harry saw the Seacombe ferry was chugging towards the Pier Head.
He brought the conversational preliminaries to an end. “I gather you dined with Liz on the night that she was murdered?”
Derek’s pallid face invariably yielded as many clues as a sheet of blank paper. Coolly, he said, “It’s rapidly becoming common knowledge.”
“I’ve talked to Maggie more than once. She’s never mentioned this to me. Haven’t you told her?”
“Yes, I have. There was no particular concealment on my part. The police came to see me, as a matter of fact. I made a statement. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to do any more than sketch in Liz’s movements during a part of the day in question.”
Harry stared at him curiously. “And why exactly were you out on the town with my wife? I hadn’t realised you were such bosom buddies.”
Derek Edge shrugged. “Frankly, it was a spur of the moment thing. Liz was my sister-in-law, after all. I offered her a meal for old time’s sake.”
In common with most of the affluent people whom Harry knew, his brother-in-law was not noted for generosity. He said, “Was she more to you that just a sister-in-law, Derek? Did you fancy her?”
“For heaven’s sake!”
“Or ever sleep with her?”
That evoked a facial reaction. Derek pressed his thin lips so closely together that they almost vanished from sight. Harshly, he said, “I realise you’re upset, and I’m making allowances, but if you’re going to be gratuitously offensive, I shall have to ask you to leave.”
Harry banged his fist on the desk, scattering the assortment of pens and paper clips that lay beside Derek’s leather-trimmed blotter. “I want the truth, Derek. Don’t forget, I’m a lawyer. I’m familiar with prevarication. More so even than an accountant discussing a client’s tax return. The glib stuff won’t work with me.”
Edge toyed with his wedding ring. “Liz was right about you,” he said. “She said you’d never be more than a poor man’s brief. Too many “B” movies in youth, she suspected. They made you irredeemably second-rate.”
It was a rabbit’s punch: Liz had teased Harry to his face, saying much the same. Calmly, he said, “She was right about many things, Derek. Including her estimate of you. I’ll spare you the details. Let’s just say I’m not convinced by this beloved sister-in-law crap, whether the police fell for it or not.”
The accountant hesitated. He was still playing with the wedding band; it was as near to a neurotic gesture as Harry had ever seen in him. “This doesn’t go beyond these four walls?”
“No promises, Derek, but you know I’m not a blabbermouth. You should concede that, however second-rate I am.”
Edge twisted in his chair. “I didn’t mean to — well…” He essayed a flickering smile. “I suppose all our nerves must be a little taut in the circumstances.”
“Go on.”
Taking in a gulp of air, Edge said, “If you must know the gory details, then you could say that I was besotted with Liz. Like a schoolboy, though you may find it hard to credit.”
Harry studied his brother-in-law. Derek gave the impression of having been born middle-aged. He still wasn’t forty, but with that neatly parted, thinning brown hair, uninflected voice, and fondness for bridge and the Financial Times, it was a feat of imagination to believe he had ever been young.
Harry would have though him no more susceptible to Liz’swiles than an inanimate piece of computer hardware.
“Maggie guessed, of course. My wife’s no fool. She kept Liz well away from me until we’d tied the knot. I gather she’d lost a string of boyfriends to her sister over the years and she wasn’t inclined to take any more chances. But Liz had a way of looking at you so that, whatever she said, however trivial or joking, you felt that she was longing to be alone with you.”
Harry knew what the man meant. His mind switched back to courtship days; he saw them like sepia stills from an old silent movie, with Liz as the heroine; himself as the Chaplinesque simpleton who had fallen for her.
The story dribbled out. Derek had resisted temptation for a time before succumbing. There had followed a game of cat and mouse: when he expressed an interest in Liz, however obliquely, she backed away. When he pretended indifference, she would take advantage of any moments alone together to flirt with him before reverting to more orthodox teasing as soon as anyone else entered the room. This had been the way of it before, during and even after her years with Harry. After she had started living with Coghlan, Derek had seen much less of her. But six months ago he had bumped into her in the Cavern Walks and she had responded eagerly to his invitation for a drink. He sensed her discontent with her new life and, hoping to play upon it, arranged to take her out from time to time. Again her interest had faded, but by now Derek was caught like a mouse in a trap.
“I would ring her up,” he said, “but always there was some excuse why she wasn’t able to see me. I couldn’t understand it. Coghlan would never change his ways, I told her so a thousand times. She’d never be happy with him.”
“By then she’d found herself another playmate.”
Edge stood up and looked at the view through the window. The ferry was now out of sight. When at last he spoke again, his tone was heavy with despair. “Who could read her mind? Not me. But on Thursday I was just stepping out of India Buildings when I spotted her on the other side of the street. I was on my way to lunch with a client. She waved and seemed glad to talk. She told me she’d walked out on Coghlan and was staying with you. Not that you were getting back together, she said you had more sense, but you’d offered her a roof over her head while she sorted one or two things out. I was excited, I thought I had a chance. So I asked her out to dinner that night and she said yes.”
“And?”
A hollow laugh. “And nothing. We ate together, and I was rebuffed, naturally. Oh, in a good-humoured way, of course. As you say, she had someone else waiting in the wings. Some wealthy businessman. I didn’t ask for details. I pressed her, but there was nothing doing. I was just a one-night meal ticket. She seemed happy and glad to be rid of Coghlan, so I paid the bill and left. I had a formal dinner to attend at the Adelphi, I was late as it was. I crept in and didn’t bother with the main course. Concentrated on the brandies. End of story.”
“Where did she go?”
Edge fiddled nervously with his fingernail. “The police harped on about that. Frankly, I have no idea. I think she was going to meet her fancy man, but I couldn’t swear to it. By that stage, I wasn’t taking in much of what she said.” He risked a glance at Harry. “I have to say, I didn’t tell the detectives all about — my feelings for Liz. I thought it would only complicate matters. Maggie had to know, but no one else.”
No wonder Maggie had been behaving so oddly during the past few days, had been so anxious that Harry should not ferret around, had been so willing to seize on Coghlan as a suitable scapegoat. She must have been nursing a secret fear that her husband had been provoked by Liz into murder. But was she, in her distress, over- reacting? Or did she believe that beneath Derek’s unemotional exterior lurked a violent man of impulse?
Roughly, Harry said, “You realise that this puts you in the frame, so far as Liz’s death is concerned?”
“Do you think that hasn’t crossed my mind? I may have been the last person to see her alive — other than the murderer, that is. But I’ve made one or two discreet enquiries and it’s apparent that the police have checked my arrival time at the hotel. Plenty of people can vouch for that. It’s hardly a perfect alibi, but it’s the best I can do.” Suddenly, Edge began to tremble. Harry sensed that he was about to cry. The incongruity of it seemed shocking: it was like expecting an adding machine to burst into tears.
Harry had seen and heard enough; he rose and walked swiftly through the door. Soon he was back at the
