Suspicious Minds

Chapter Nineteen

“To the detective instincts of the English lawyer,” said Bharat Kaiwar, raising his glass. “Mr. Devlin, I congratulate you on your persistence.”

Harry shared a look of amused complicity with Valerie. It was late in the afternoon and they were the last customers in the Ensenada after a long and lavish lunch. Two empty bottles of Veuve Clicquot peeped out of the ice bucket in front of them. Harry privately regarded their meal more as a celebration of the previous night than as a thank you for his unintended apprehension of the Saviour Money blackmailer, but it was hardly diplomatic to say as much in earshot of Valerie’s courteous, old-fashioned father. After a few token disclaimers he had been content to grin amiably whenever Kaiwar reiterated his gratitude and refilled their glasses.

“Stop it, Daddy,” said Valerie. “He’s inquisitive enough, without your encouragement.”

“How can you say that?” said her father. “You, who have always been so interested in people. And the truth. Why else did you take up a career in the law? Not for the financial rewards, I’m sure, not after telling me for many years that one should work for a cause in which one believes, rather than for money alone.”

Harry glanced at the girl. She was looking at her father with that mixture of impatience and affection which so many children feel for their parents. Bharat Kaiwar was a grey-haired, softly spoken man with a gentle dignity of manner more common amongst clergymen than tycoons. Only the cut of his suit and the finger-snapping authority with which he had ordered the food hinted that he was accustomed to the power that riches bring. Yet beneath his quiet exterior ran, Harry did not doubt, that streak of single-mindedness which divides those who do from those who dream. That sense of purpose which his daughter had inherited.

“One thing I’ve learned already,” she said, “is that the law is not concerned with the search for truth.”

“Justice, then?”

“Occasionally. Though each day in court I see injustices done.”

Harry felt like a spectator at a game which Valerie and Bharat Kaiwar had played many times before. For all the bond between father and daughter, the generation gap would always be a chasm between them.

When Valerie had departed to the loo twenty minutes earlier, Kaiwar had told Harry of his pride in her and of his anxiety that she was sometimes headstrong and too easily hurt. Harry sensed that he was himself being assessed for suitability as a boyfriend of a millionaire’s only child. Most of the easily measured things — age, status, income — were against him. He was even in the wrong branch of the legal profession. At least the Kuiper episode meant he would be spared paternal disapproval. Yet it occurred to him that Valerie would expect Bharat Kaiwar to frown on the men in her life, would be ready to go her own way and make her own choices. Earning her father’s favour had in itself done nothing to cement his relationship with her. It was somehow typical that she approved more of the small steps he had taken to fix Kuiper up with a capable lawyer. Her sympathy would always be with the underdog.

Charge card in hand, Kaiwar ambled over to the cashier. Harry felt Valerie’s hand creeping along his leg, sending a frisson of excitement down his spine. He moved his head so that he felt her hair against his cheek. Last night they had been hot with passion. After making love they had lain naked on the bed together, warmed by each other as well as by the heat of the high summer evening. They hadn’t said much, had been content with the touching of their bodies.

“Don’t stop,” he said.

“Happy?”

“Mmmm.”

He brushed a finger against her cheek. The skin was cool.

“And you?” he asked after a pause.

“I enjoyed last night, Harry. Of course. And I’m glad to see Daddy relaxing today. He aged ten years while the scare was on.”

It wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for, but this was not the time to argue about it.

“I’m glad it’s over for him.”

“Here he comes.” Valerie withdrew her hand from Harry’s leg as Bharat Kaiwar returned.

“Well, Valerie, Mr. Devlin. I’m grateful for you taking the time out from your busy days to let me organise this little celebration.”

“Harry. Please call me Harry.”

“Harry, thank you again.”

“Look, I already said it was a pure chance. I’d no idea what Kuiper was up to.”

“Nevertheless. It was my company’s good fortune that you acted as you did,” said Kaiwar as they walked to the door with thanks and smiles from Pino. “My colleague on the board, Bryan Grealish — I spoke to him this morning. He is delighted also. The problem at the Majestic with the glass worried him. Of course he never dreamed there was any connection between that matter and the trouble at the supermarkets.”

“You know we’ve been invited to a sixties party at the Majestic, Harry?” asked Valerie. “This evening. It’s Bryan’s birthday. He’s planning to mark the occasion in style. Want to come?”

Harry could have thought of better ways in which they could pass the time, but he responded to the mood of the moment and said, “Love to. When?”

“Would you like to pick me up about eight?”

“I’ll see you then.”

Outside they said goodbye. “Don’t pretend you’re going to work after all that champagne,” said Valerie as her father searched for a taxi.

“Best time. The law seems to make more sense when I’ve had a few.”

She laughed. “Till tonight, then.”

The sun was beating down as he headed for the Law Courts. Passers-by in the street looked relaxed, but as usual the heat wave was throwing the country into a panic. Farmers moaning about a drought, environmentalists warning of the greenhouse effect. You can’t ever win, thought Harry. Even he was worrying now that Valerie might be cooling towards him, repenting of her ardour the previous night. Telling himself to relax, not to conjure up unnecessary fears, was logical but didn’t do any good. Why can’t we, he wondered, learn to trust our luck when fortune grants rare favours?

In the court library he checked on the law of attempts — on behalf of a client so inept that he’d been caught picking the empty pocket of an off-duty policeman — and on his way out spotted a familiar stoop-shouldered figure emerging from a doorway at the other end of the landing. What had Jonah Deegan been doing in the Probate Registry?

Harry frowned. He had been trying to phone the detective without success. Naturally Jonah did not have any truck with an answering machine and this morning a quick visit to Albert Dock on the off-chance had failed to yield results. A progress report on the search for Alison would be welcome.

He quickened his pace only to be distracted by the sound of someone calling his name.

“Harry. What news?”

He turned to confront another acquaintance in immaculate three-piece suit and bow tie.

“Just finished my case,” said Julian Hamer, mopping his brow. His face was grey, perhaps the after-effects of gruelling advocacy. The man’s elegance, Harry had begun to realise, was all on the surface. “A landlord and tenant dispute, about as fascinating as watching traffic lights change, but plenty of money at stake. What I wanted to know is, any response from Mrs. Capstick yet?”

Helpless, Harry watched his quarry disappear downstairs. He would have to catch up with the old man some other time.

“Nothing constructive. Sounds as if she wants her day in court.”

Julian tutted. “At all events, her foolish letter fades into insignificance compared with what has happened since. I was sorry to hear about your client’s daughter, Harry. Please convey my sympathy to him.”

“Thanks, I will.” Hamer’s words were right, he thought, but uttered so mechanically as to divest them of meaning. He studied the barrister. At close quarters, the man looked ill.

“Are you all right, Julian?”

“Fine, fine.” Hamer made a dismissive gesture with a handful of court papers. “More importantly, what about you? Rumour has it you’re no longer content with defending villains. You’re even chasing and capturing them now.”

“Anything I can do to make more work for the profession.”

“Valerie told me that her father was going to host a celebratory lunch today.”

“I’m just staggering back to the office.”

Harry wished he could shake off the prickly reaction he experienced whenever Julian Hamer uttered Valerie’s name. Surely after last night he had no need to fear competition? But the barrister’s next words did nothing to cheer him.

“She’s a remarkable girl, Harry. Even you don’t know the half of it about her.”

As Hamer spoke, his haggard expression softened. Harry wondered if he was being teased intentionally.

“Yeah, well.”

“Anyway, I mustn’t keep you. As I say, I’m sorry to hear about Stirrup. Troubles never come singly, do they?”

With a nod Hamer strolled away to the cafeteria. Harry wasn’t sorry to see him go. The liveliness which the first couple of glasses of champagne had sparked in him had gone. All at once he felt dry-mouthed and melancholic. His achievements of the past two days seemed to have diminished.

All right, so he and Valerie had become lovers. But from what she had said before parting, he sensed that last night meant less to her than to him. And with Hamer lurking in the background, evidently on the cosiest of terms with her, Harry still felt insecure.

And all right, so he had contributed by accident to the uncovering of a crime, but the mystery of Stirrup’s double loss remained. Curiosity kept nagging at him like a disgruntled wife. Until he understood the fate of Alison Stirrup and her step-daughter, there would be no rest for Harry Devlin.