Design for Murder (9 page)

His voice died away uncertainly. Eric frowned. ‘The
Metro
… that’s a free newspaper, isn’t it?’

‘It’s interested in local news, of course,’ Fraser said hurriedly. ‘However, I feel that my future is more to be secured in the field of rather longer pieces, if you know what I mean. I’m a great admirer of those writers who concentrated on real-life drama, like Truman Capote and his
In Cold Blood
, and the Lord knows there’s enough of that sort of thing around. Which is why I felt it would be useful if I came to talk to you.’

Eric chewed his lip. ‘I’m not certain quite what you mean.’

Fraser took a deep breath and forced a nervous smile to his lips. ‘I’ve been following the Raymond Conroy case since the beginning. I mean, the actual killings, the published
details … and then when Conroy was arrested my interest increased. Of course, the collapse of the trial has raised a number of questions, a package of issues, and I feel it would offer me the breakthrough I’ve been seeking.’

‘Breakthrough,’ Eric murmured, still unclear about Fraser’s motives.

‘I would like to write a book about Conroy, not seeking to brand him as a killer, if you understand what I mean, but to set his life against the background of the murders, to show how a man can be caught up by circumstance, have his life all but destroyed by rumour and innuendo, and to delve into his innermost thoughts and desires…. Sort of like Henry Fonda in that film about an innocent man charged—’

Eric shook his head and interrupted him. ‘I’m not sure why you’re talking to me about this. I don’t see how I can help you.’

Fraser took a deep breath and linked his fingers tightly together. ‘You’ve been briefed by Conroy,’ he said. ‘You’ve had opportunity to talk with him, discuss the murders, learn about his background, his feelings….’

Eric held up a hand. ‘I think I should stop you there, Mr Fraser. As a … journalist, you must surely be aware that anything I learn while acting for Mr Conroy would have been covered by the lawyer-client relationship, and could not be disclosed without the permission of the client himself.’

Hurriedly, Fraser said, ‘Well, yes, but now the relationship is over, I would have thought that you would be free to talk. Not about the details relating to the case itself, because I understand your position there, but about your own take on the man, your own feelings, your view about him as a person, his motives, his—’

‘I’m a lawyer, not a psychologist,’ Eric interrupted quietly.
‘And I fear that my own feelings or views would still fall, as far as I’m concerned, within the restriction placed by the lawyer-client relationship. Mr Conroy has spoken to me in confidence during the period that I represented him. I would have to keep that confidence. I fear I’m unable to help you, Mr Fraser.’

‘You could recommend me to him,’ Fraser suggested.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You could put me in touch with him. Explain to him what I’m after. Convince him of my bona fides!’

Eric rose slowly from his seat, wandered over towards the window and took a deep breath. Fraser was irritating him with his persistence. He turned to face the man seated in front of him. ‘I repeat, Mr Fraser, I don’t see how I can help you. I acted as Conroy’s lawyer. Nothing he told me during that period can be repeated by me without his permission. And to be frank, I would be reluctant to do that even if he gave me that permission. I’m clear about my responsibilities as a lawyer. I’m equally clear that I have no desire to get involved in the kind of project that you are considering.’

Oddly enough, Fraser did not seem surprised, or even greatly disappointed. He frowned; thought for a moment. Then he nodded. ‘I understand your position, Mr Ward. Perhaps I’ve been … overcome by my enthusiasm. I’ve pinned a lot of hopes on this idea – I feel it could be my way to success and God knows I’ve seen little enough of that over the years. But you see, well, I’ll be frank with you. My background has been, shall we say, difficult. I was raised in a series of foster homes. I was subjected to abuse. I got in with the wrong kind of kids and I got into trouble. I’ll confess to you that I’ve spent time in prison myself, Mr Ward, but the few years I did inside made me realize there was a better life available. It was then I decided to become a
journalist. Took a correspondence course in prison. But it’s turned out to be a tough choice. I’ve still to prove myself. But I know what it’s like to be suspected, to be innocent when others say you deserve conviction. I’m drawn to Raymond Conroy. He’s had a tough deal. He has a story to tell.’ His eyes were fixed on Eric, earnestly. ‘And with my experience, I think I’m the man to tell it to the world.’

He saw the determination in Eric’s eyes and he hurried on. ‘But I accept you can’t help me in the manner I would have wished. On the other hand, if you would be prepared just to put me directly in touch with Conroy. Perhaps explain what I’m after. Persuade him—’

Eric shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I can’t even do that, Mr Fraser.’

‘But at least you must know where he’s to be found at the moment!’

Eric hesitated. It was already public knowledge that there had been a fracas outside the hotel in Gosforth. Fraser should follow his own nose on the matter. Eric could suggest to him that he might follow the trail from the hotel. Then he demurred once again. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Fraser. Conroy is still my client at the moment, though that relationship is about to end. I regret I really can’t help you.’

He moved towards the door and opened it. He could have offered Fraser a lifeline, the hope that he might succeed in his enterprise. But he could not bring himself to do it. Raymond Conroy had been charged with murder, had faced trial, had escaped conviction for the moment – the last thing he would want would be to be pursued by an obsessive who wanted to write his life story, peel back his emotional skin to determine his innermost feelings. A journalist with his own life problems.

Disappointed or not, Fraser was not someone to whom
Eric owed a thing, and he had no intention of getting involved with a man who was seeking to make his own reputation by dredging into the sensationalism that had already surrounded the hunt for the Zodiac Killer. Fraser did not say goodbye as he left. He failed to meet Eric’s eyes. There was disappointment in the set of his shoulders as he made his way through Susie’s office. Eric closed the door on him with relief.

Shaking his head, he picked up the phone and dialled Sharon’s chambers. After a brief conversation with the clerk, he was put through to her extension.

‘Hi. Look, I’ve been up to Alnwick and I’ve met the solicitor who was holding the papers. Strudmore. You met him?’

‘Damp hands, eye for the ladies.’

Eric laughed. ‘That’s him. Anyway, he insisted on giving me the family history as well as the trust papers. Seems to me the papers at least are all in order. Your family … that’s another matter.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Sharon laughed.

‘Anyway, all I need to do is get your final written consent to the distribution of the funds in the trust. Can we get together to do that?’

‘Very businesslike,’ she laughed.

‘Doesn’t stop us having dinner afterwards,’ he suggested.

‘Instead of a fee?’

‘That’s a deal.’

He had barely replaced the phone when Susie Cartwright tapped at the door and entered. She closed it behind her. There was a strange look on her face. Her lips were tight with disapproval. Eric raised his eyebrows. ‘A problem?’

‘There’s someone in reception who wants to see you.’

‘So?’

‘It’s Raymond Conroy.’

Eric grimaced. He was silent for a moment. ‘Have you sent him the bill for our fees?’

Susie nodded. ‘And he’s just given me a cheque.’

‘Very prompt,’ Eric murmured.

‘And now he wants to see you.’

Hopefully, to say goodbye, Eric thought. He nodded. ‘All right. Tell him I’m busy, but can spare him just a few minutes.’

Susie turned, and as she did so he recalled that Conroy had been attacked. It was possible he would want to ask Eric to start proceedings against the man who had attacked him. It was not an action Eric was keen to get involved in. A few moments later the door opened again and Raymond Conroy entered the room.

His left eye was half closed. There was a purple bruise on his forehead and his mouth was swollen. The injuries were superficial, Eric guessed, with nothing broken, but the man would have suffered a degree of pain in the fracas outside the hotel. Eric noted Conroy was also limping: his guess was that his former client may have been kicked in the leg.

‘I’ve paid your bill, Mr Ward,’ Conroy said, and his tongue flickered against his swollen lip as though it pained him to speak. ‘But you will see I have been somewhat in the wars. Now, I’d like to take your advice. Regarding this assault.’

Eric did not suggest that the man sat down. He stared at Conroy, considering his words carefully. ‘Mr Conroy, I have to tell you I’ve a great deal on my plate at the moment. Now you’ve paid the fees, strictly speaking our association is at an end, and you’re no longer my client. If you wish to take action regarding this attack upon you, I would advise that perhaps it would be as well if you were to go to another lawyer….’

His voice died away as he saw the cynical glint in Conroy’s eyes.

‘I merely seek a piece of simple advice, Mr Ward,’ Conroy said with difficulty. ‘We’ve got over the big problem, with your assistance … and that of Miss Owen, of course. But now that I’ve been attacked—’

‘If you’re thinking of pressing charges,’ Eric cut in, ‘you should consider the consequences. If I may speak plainly, you’d be well advised to do nothing about it. You’ve been injured, but it doesn’t seem the injuries are serious. It might be galling to you, but you must be aware that in the community at large there is a great deal of ill feeling towards you, probably stirred up by the media, but nevertheless, you should think carefully before you consider entering a courtroom again. If you were to proceed, your injuries … well, I would suspect you’d get little by way of compensation, and as for the man who attacked you….’

‘He’d be regarded as a hero?’ Conroy’s tone had a bitter, mocking edge. ‘Man attacks the freed Zodiac Killer. The alleged, falsely accused,
innocent
suspect. Justice is not available to all, it seems.’

‘I would agree,’ Eric replied coldly. ‘The public would hold the view that there are three unfortunate women who have not yet managed to achieve justice.’

‘And I remain condemned in the public consciousness even though I’ve been shown to be innocent of any crimes?’ Conroy said challengingly.

‘Even so.’ Eric hesitated. ‘I’m not saying you should not pursue this man for the attack upon you, but I do counsel care. You’ve been in the spotlight for months. You’ve read what’s been written about you; you’ll be aware of the strength of public feeling aroused by the judge throwing out the case against you—’

‘Because there wasn’t one!’ Conroy intervened in measured, steely tones.

‘The question is,’ Eric continued quietly, ‘do you want to inflame things further? If you bring an action against this man—’

‘His name’s Lawson. He was involved with one of the dead women. Or at least,’ Conroy sneered, ‘he claims to have been.’

‘So he’ll gain some sympathy in the public mind. I would tread carefully, Mr Conroy. And in view of my advice, I regret I would not wish to represent you if you wanted to take action. That doesn’t prevent you going elsewhere for representation.’

There was a short silence. Raymond Conroy’s good eye held Eric’s for several seconds; there was a glint of understanding in the glance. At last the man nodded coldly. ‘I thought that might be your advice … and your reaction. It’s advice I am prepared to accept. You’re right, of course. It would be foolish to court publicity. I’ve no desire to face the media pack again. I shall now seek a quiet life. But … I was going to ask you to do one more thing for me. However, in view of your feelings, I’ll seek assistance elsewhere. You see, Mr Ward, I’ve decided not to return to the Midlands.’

Eric was barely surprised. Conroy would find it difficult to keep a low profile in Birmingham after what had happened, not least since no further killings had occurred during the time he had been held pending trial. ‘So what will you do?’

Conroy’s mouth twisted into a mockery of a smile. He glanced out of the window, nodding towards the Quayside and the river. ‘The Midlands hold no attraction for me. I’ve put my apartment on the market. I have some private income which enables me to keep my head above water:
indulgent, wealthy, dear departed parents,’ he mocked. ‘How could one have gone on without them?’ He waved towards the window. ‘My presence here had been forced on me, of course, but I’ve now become quite enamoured of the far north. The decay of industry, the collapse of shipyards, the dark gleam of the river, the area offers me scope for my work, my painting. And I’m told the Northumbrian countryside is quite beautiful, and empty. Peaceful. That’s what I crave now, Mr Ward. Peace. So, I came to see you to pay your fees but also to ask you to find a little property for me – a cottage, perhaps, in the country.’

Eric hesitated, opened his mouth to speak but was forestalled.

Conroy held up a hand. ‘But I understand. You don’t wish our acquaintance to be continued. I’m not surprised. I know you don’t like me, Mr Ward.’ The cold eyes held a glint of faint amusement. ‘It’s of little consequence. And the cottage … I can always see to that myself. Find some other agent, perhaps.’ He stepped a little closer to Eric. ‘So this can be by way of an
au revoir
.’

Eric was relieved to hear it. He moved away, not wishing to shake the man’s hand.

Conroy turned, walked away, then hesitated at the door. ‘I won’t thank you for what you’ve done,’ he continued, speaking with difficulty as he caressed his swollen lips. ‘After all, you were simply doing your job. Efficiently, I’ll admit. Though, of course, the prosecution case was a weak one … and I was innocent of the charges they brought.’

Eric had a crawling feeling along his spine. He had acted for Raymond Conroy, done his best to expose the weakness in the prosecution case, but he felt no great confidence that the man facing him was indeed innocent of the murders of the three women in the Midlands. And he detected a certain
triumphalism in Conroy’s tone, a hint of mockery as though the man felt he had won a prize, overcome his detractors.