Deadly Reunion

Rafferty lingered in the shower, partly from a reluctance to leave its cool embrace and partly from a desire to let the Cyrus-made tea go cold and give him an excuse to make his own. But eventually he had to turn it off and step out of the stall. He felt sweaty again five minutes after leaving the shower, so he put on a double dose of his Pavanne’s ‘Cool Man’ and went to get dressed.

Abra was awake and gasping for tea. So Rafferty threw on his clothes and went down to the kitchen. Thankfully, it was a Cyrus-free zone. Rafferty quickly made tea for six, gave his four guests their mugs, hoping that, this time, Cyrus would remember what a cup of tea should taste like, and went back to his bedroom. A sight to gladden the eye met him on his return, for Abra had thrown the sheet off and was wearing the flimsiest of baby doll nighties.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘I could always come back in for a cuddle. I’ve got time and with Cyrus and the others here we haven’t done much cuddling, for fear they’ll hear.’

‘It’s too hot, so don’t even think about it. Sticky skin against sticky skin and I haven’t even had a shower yet. I just want to drink my tea and then get in the bathroom before Cyrus.’

‘Spoilsport.’ He hunted in his wardrobe for his lightest jacket, finished his tea and said, ‘right. I’m off.’ He kissed Abra. ‘See you later, sweetheart.’

He went downstairs and stuck his head round the living room door. Cyrus was up and insisted on telling him, at length, about his and Wendy’s plans for the day, which recitation resulted in Rafferty being late for work. He could only hope the heat had made Long-Pockets Bradley sluggish or he’d be waiting for him to give his report with steam coming out of his ears.

Bradley’s Lexus wasn’t in its usual spot in the car park, he noticed as he pulled up and he gave a relieved smile. It might give him a chance to further discuss the latest murder with Llewellyn after their too-brief and lethargic conversation late on the steamy Sunday.

Llewellyn, not discombobulated by the heat or any other weather a variable climate might throw at him, was at his desk, looking cool in a pale green linen jacket.

Rafferty’s second tea of the day was on his desk and he drank it gratefully, parched from the heat of the car whose air-conditioning hardly had a chance to get started between home and his arrival at work. ‘Right,’ he said, his immediate wants met, ‘let’s be having your report again. I had a thumping headache yesterday evening and could hardly take it in.’

Llewellyn duly obliged, repeating the few things he’d learned during his day of sole responsibility for the case.

Rafferty quickly cut to the chase. ‘It’s not much, is it?’ he complained. ‘I can just hear the super pulling his usual holes with it and this heat’s likely to make him fractious.’

‘It’s about as much as we got during the past week,’ said Llewellyn, in a blithe reminder that they were in this together.

‘Hmph. I suppose so. You certainly managed to make it sound more than it is. I suppose that’s the benefits of a university education.’ He got up and gave the air-conditioning unit a thump. ‘Bloody thing.’ He walked back to his desk and slumped in his seat. ‘I suppose, once I’ve got Bradley off my back, we ought to think about doing something, though what, with the suspects flown on the four winds, I don’t know. Did you get Ainsley’s computer over to the boffins?’

‘Yes.’

‘What about the phone company? Have they let us have a list of his calls in the last month or two?’

‘Yes. I’ve got the team checking them out. I’ve also taken the liberty of asking them for those of Sophie Diaz as well.’

‘On the “just in case” principle? Good man.’ His mobile went. ‘Rafferty.’

‘Oh. Hello, Mr Rafferty.’ It was a young girl’s voice. ‘I’m Karen. I’m ringing about the room. Is it still available?’

He’d forgotten all about his advert and now he sat up expectantly. ‘Oh yes. The room’s still available. Both of them are, actually. I only put the card up a few days ago.’

‘I know. I saw it this morning. I’ve been looking for lodgings for ages, so I pop in a couple of times a week in case Miss Cartwright had added anything to the board. How much is it a month?’

Rafferty told her.

‘That’s good. And it’s inclusive of an evening meal, phone and utilities?’

Rafferty confirmed that it was.

‘Could I come and see it?’

‘Of course.’ He told her the address and they arranged a mutually convenient date and Rafferty had no sooner said goodbye and shut his mobile than it went again. ‘Rafferty.’

It was another enquirer about the rooms, a young man this time. Rafferty arranged to show him the rooms at the same time as Karen. He had a key to his ma’s so could show them both round without having recourse to sleight of hand with a credit card. With a bit of luck Ma’s American cousins would be out at the time he’d arranged for the viewing with the two youngsters. He grinned. Divine retribution wasn’t in it. This was the Rafferty version.

‘So you’ve done what you threatened?’ Llewellyn’s voice was disapproving and Rafferty frowned.

‘You bet.’

‘I hope you’ve told your mother.’

‘Not yet. I will. Eventually. By the way, I wanted to ask if you can help me download a short-term tenancy agreement off the internet later.’

Llewellyn turned huffy. ‘I want nothing to do with it. I don’t think it’s a nice trick to play on your mother. She’s not a young woman. You should have asked her permission before arranging these viewings.’

‘Get away. She’s tougher than you and me put together. Besides, I want to teach her a lesson. She’s way too fond of organizing my life.’

Just then the landline rang. It was the expected summons from Superintendent Bradley and Rafferty slunk off, expecting the usual critical reception of his efforts. But he was pleasantly surprised. Because, once he’d given his report, Bradley, instead of the expected bawling out after a second murder with no suspect in view, was quite complimentary.

‘Heard from that headmaster at Griffin School. He rang up this morning from his holiday villa, specially to thank me for all your efforts this past week.’ Of course he had to add his usual twopenn’orth. ‘Though I’d have thought you might have come up with more than you gave me in your report.’ Unfortunately, Bradley, too, was adept at sorting the wheat from the chaff. ‘So what are you doing now?’

‘I’ve got the boffins checking out Ainsley’s computer and the team going through the phone calls made and received by him in the last few months.’

‘That’s them. I want to know what you’re doing.’

The correct answer to this question was ‘nothing much’. But that wasn’t politically advisable, not with Bradley, who had always been far better at office politics than he was at police work. So instead, Rafferty waffled on for a while about their remaining lines of inquiry.

It was Bradley’s turn to go ‘Hmph,’ and complain that they didn’t amount to much. ‘This is a high-profile case, Rafferty, with plenty of high-ranking interested parties such as Simon Fairweather, the Home Office man. Did he have anything else to say when you last saw him?’

‘No, though he didn’t strike me as being ready to fire off letters of complaint in all directions.’

Bradley simply went ‘Hmph,’ again, then said, ‘Well, you’d better get on with the pitifully few lines of inquiry that you do have. I shall want a report last thing this afternoon and I’ll speak to you again in the morning.’

Rafferty didn’t wait for a second invitation. Back in his own office, he said to Llewellyn, ‘Organize a couple of the team to go to Chelsea to speak to Ainsley’s old neighbours. As for you and me, I think we should go and see Alice Douglas. I’ve got a niggle where that young woman’s concerned. She seemed a bit evasive to me. You’ve got her address to hand?’

Of course he had. Llewellyn was a man for the minutiae of a case.

‘We’ll go to see her this afternoon. Catch her just as she comes home from work. The post mortem on Sophie Diaz is scheduled for two o’clock so that gives us time to see the victims’ old headmaster, Cedric Barmforth, and Ainsley’s bank manager this morning. Might learn something about old hatreds and where Adam Ainsley’s money’s gone.’

He told them he lived alone, having never married. Certainly his ramshackle bungalow was untidy, with half-read books scattered on the furniture and a Cromwellian army in the process of being painted, laid out on the dining table.

‘Great man, Oliver Cromwell. Pity his son was so useless. “Falling down, Dick”, they used to call him. But come out to the greenhouse. I’m having a bit of a tidy.’

They followed him outside to a garden whose grass needed cutting and whose borders needed weeding, but for all that, it was a pretty garden, a bit wild, but full of plants and colour. He led them into a large greenhouse, which had borders populated with more weeds, but with trestles filled with plants and shrubs, which were being grown on.

‘Potted these up last year. I’m a bit late getting them planted out.’

Rafferty wondered where he was going to put them, given that the borders already looked overfull, but perhaps, like his ma, he’d find somewhere to cram them.

‘Your man said on the phone that you wanted to talk about young Ainsley. Terrible thing. Fine athlete, but a bit of a bully. Too much of a golden youth. Given too much, too soon. Only child. Parents too soft. Not a good combination, do you see?’ All this was interspersed with vigorous attacks on the weed-strewn border, accompanied by plenty of huffing and puffing. Personally, Rafferty would have waited till the cooler weather returned. The borders looked as if they’d waited a while already so a bit longer wouldn’t hurt.

Cedric Barmforth had just given Rafferty a potted history of Adam Ainsley’s life and family background and saved him the usual painstaking questions and answers most witnesses forced him to go through.

‘I gather he had something of a colourful love life?’

‘You could say that. Matron had a stream of weeping girls in her room for tea and sympathy. Myself, I always thought Ainsley had a fine contempt for the fair sex. Flitted from one to another and never settled, breaking hearts left and right.’

‘What about enemies? A sporty boy who was a hit with the girls must have created some resentment.’

‘Lord, yes. But he was always a big lad, do you see? Few boys cared to take him on.’

‘That indicates that some did.’

‘Ha! Yes. One or two. Young Kennedy fancied his chances. Got a gang of boys together and beat the stuffing out of him. Gave him a good thrashing, of course. Wouldn’t stand for private gangs.’

‘Sebastian Kennedy, you mean?’

‘That’s the one. Rebellious youth. Always in my study. Clever, mind. Shame he didn’t go to university. Lazy. Hardly worked. Passed his A Levels with ease. Did no studying. Took drugs. Thought I didn’t know. Wasted life.’

‘You’ve heard that Sophie Diaz, Sophie Chator, that was, has also been found dead?’

‘Yes. Another lazy one. Married young. Invited me to the wedding. I went, too. Flashy show. Marquee on the lawn. Posh frocks. Morning suits. Looked the poor relation. Ha. Good spread. Give her that. Husband a banker. Filthy rich.’

‘I understand Mrs Diaz was another one of Adam Ainsley’s girlfriends?’

‘Lasted longer than most. More weeping against matron’s ample bosom. Often wished Griffin was still just a boys’ school. Not my decision to let girls in. Board of Governors. Mistake. Claimed she was pregnant. Wanted to get Ainsley in trouble. Give him a fright. And it did. False alarm. More tears.’

His particular form of verbal shorthand conveyed more information than any amount of normal conversation and Rafferty was grateful for it. He hadn’t known that Sophie Diaz had had a false alarm. He wondered if Ainsley had denied paternity and asked Mr Barmforth.

‘Tried. Said she’d been with plenty of other boys. And she had. Little strumpet. There’s always one. Bit of a hoo-ha before she found out her mistake. Took the wind out of Ainsley’s sails for a bit. Stupid boy. Gave him some condoms and told him to use them. Catholic or no Catholic. Too many people in the world already.’

‘Did any of his discarded girlfriends threaten revenge?’

‘No, nothing like that. A tad Romeo and Juliet, and though Romeo didn’t threaten suicide some of the girls did. Few angry fathers. Nothing serious. Tears and tantrums, but no lasting effects. Youngsters resilient.’

Maybe not all of them, was Rafferty’s thought. He named the females amongst the seven reunees that had shared Ainsley’s table and asked if any of them had been amongst those to threaten suicide.

‘No. Not as I remember.’

Rafferty asked him about the other reunees, but Barmforth was able to give him little pertinent information. ‘It’s the bad ones that stick in the mind, do you see? Have more to do with them, of course. But only Sebastian Kennedy amongst your lot could be so described. Young Adam wasn’t a lover of rules and regulations either, mind, but he didn’t end up in my study as often. My Head Boy, Giles Harmsworth, used to deal with him mostly.’

By now the borders were weed-free. Barmforth was sweating profusely and he cast his shirt aside and, in his vest, he started to rake the weeds into a pile.

There was nothing else Rafferty could think to ask him, so they made their goodbyes.

‘You know your way out? Must get on. Lot to do.’

They made their way through the untidy bungalow and back out into the sunshine. Rafferty was sweating. It had been like a sauna in the greenhouse. Just watching the energetic Barmforth had been enough to make him perspire. Not so Llewellyn, of course. Cool as a lime ice-lolly he looked in his pale green jacket. It made Rafferty want to spit. Once back in the car, he mopped his face with a wad of tissues from a box he kept in the glove compartment. The car was another steam bath and he began sweating again. He took a sniff of his armpit. His ‘Cool Man’ didn’t seem able to cope with the current temperatures. He hoped he didn’t offend the bank manager.

‘Mr Adam Ainsley. You wanted to know about his finances? Not a prudent man with his money. He was sent the usual savings information, of course, but he never filled in the forms. A professional sportsman. They’re not always very wise. A tad Lester Piggotish in their financial affairs.’ Mr Jarvis smiled at his little joke.

‘Are you saying he owed money to the taxman?’

‘I don’t know. But I shouldn’t wonder. Certainly no payment to the Revenue and Customs came out of his account. Not since he moved it to this bank a year before he retired from playing professional rugby.’

‘So he lived up to his income?’

‘Lived beyond it, Inspector. Lived beyond it. Very foolish. He made no provision for the future. I tried to advise him, but he was a headstrong man. Seemed to think his stardom would guarantee him an income. It didn’t, to judge from the state of his current account. I think he regretted his lack of prudence. Too late of course. Like a lot of my clients.’

Thinking of blackmail, whether as victim or otherwise, Rafferty asked, ‘did he have any unusual or unexpected sums of money going into or coming out of his account?’

Jarvis gave him a sharp glance, straightened his pen and blotter again and then said, ‘Funny you should ask, but yes. Several sums of money went into his account.’

‘Who were they from?’

‘I don’t know. They were just paid in over the counter.’

‘When was the last payment made?’

Jarvis checked his computer screen. ‘A month ago. These sums were pretty regular.’

‘Every month?’

‘More or less.’

‘How much?’

‘A thousand pounds each time. Came to a tidy sum as it had been going on for the past twelve months.’

‘How long do you keep your CCTV images for?’

‘I thought of that, but I was too late, I’m afraid. The tapes from the day of the last payment have already been wiped and reused.’

So, apart from learning that Ainsley was a thousand pounds to the good every month from a mysterious source, they were no further forward. Who could have paid him the money and why? It was going to niggle at him until he found the answer.

He thanked Mr Jarvis, gave him one of his cards and led the way out down to the car and the post mortem.

‘Oh, ha ha,’ went Rafferty. ‘You’re so droll. I just hope you’re a better pathologist than you are a comedian.’

‘Of course I am. I’m the sine qua non of pathologists. But enough of this badinage. I’ve got a lot on this afternoon, so I suggest we make a start.’

Sam fairly raced through the post mortem. Rafferty had never seen ‘Dilly’ Dally’s knife slice so quickly. Rafferty concluded he must be on a promise. When it was over, he said, ‘I’ll want the toxicology report tagged as urgent.’

‘Of course you will. So does every other detective.’

‘Ah, but I’m the only one in the parish with a fresh murder case. That gets me priority.’

‘If you say so.’

‘So, what’s on now, then, Sam? Got a date with your Mary for a bit of love in the afternoon?’

‘At my age? I should be so lucky. My days of love in the afternoon are long gone. I’m hard pressed to fulfil the expected conjugals at night, never mind in the day as well.’

‘You want to reply to some of those Viagra ad emails.’

‘So do you with your child bride. How do you keep up with her?’

‘I’m not that much older than Abra. Only twelve years.’

‘Yes, but when she’s forty-eight, you’ll be sixty and reaching for your pipe and slippers. Anyway,’ said Sam, breaking up this latest idle chitchat having had the last word, as usual. ‘This lady was a healthy young woman. Her heart was in good nick as were her liver and lights. Altogether she should have lived to her three score years and ten and beyond.’

‘So you don’t know what killed her?’

‘No.’

‘And you a sine qua non. Slipping, or what?’

‘I think you’ll find it’s “or what”. But as you requested, my beautiful assistant will put a priority tag on for toxicology. Satisfied?’

‘It’ll do me.’

‘We aim to please. So what have you got on? Some flitting around the country using up your superintendent’s budget?’

‘You bet. See you later, Sam.’

The front garden was paved over to accommodate a car, but pots were dotted around the edges and sprouted red geraniums and poppies and tall, creamy lilies.

A young woman in her late teens answered the door and when Rafferty stated the nature of their business, she said, ‘Mum’s at work. I suppose this is about the murders at Griffin?’

Rafferty agreed that it was. ‘What time do you expect your mother back?’

‘Any time. She said she wouldn’t be late.’

‘Is it possible for us to come in and wait?’

The young woman looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know. Mum said not to let anyone in the house when I’m here alone.’

‘We are police officers, Miss,’ Llewellyn reminded her.

‘Oh well, I suppose it will be all right.’

She led them to an untidy living room, in which, like Cedric Barmforth, books were a prominent feature. They overflowed from well-stuffed bookcases on to the floor and the top of the corner television cupboard.

‘I’m Joanna.’ Clearly feeling she had to fulfil the duties of a hostess, the teenager offered them tea, but seemed relieved when Rafferty declined. In spite of his parched throat, he was more keen on questioning the girl before her mother returned than he was in slurping tea.

‘Are you enjoying the summer holidays, Joanna?’ Rafferty asked in a polite pursuit of small talk, just to get the conversation started.

‘Gosh, yes. I’m heading for uni in the autumn, so it’s good to enjoy a few weeks of freedom before I have to settle down to more swotting.’

Llewellyn asked what she intended to study.

‘History of Art. But sorry, won’t you sit down?’

They did so and Rafferty decided to ask Joanna a few more questions about herself and her mother while he had the chance. ‘Did you have some nice presents for your eighteenth birthday?’

‘I’m not eighteen yet. My birthday’s in April. Mum’s throwing a party for me. She said I could invite all my school friends.’

‘Ouch. That’ll cost a bit,’ said the ever-practical Rafferty. ‘I bet your dad’s wallet is wincing.’

Joanna’s animation died. ‘My father’s not in our lives.’

‘You must be a bright girl to be going to university early,’ Llewellyn said.

Joanna brightened again, blushed and told him, ‘I’ve been a year ahead of my peers since the second year of school.’ She smiled. ‘I’m hoping to get to spend some time with my dad next year. I managed to get Mum to promise she’d ask him to my birthday party, which surprised me as she never wants to talk about him.’

From the sound of it Rafferty guessed there was a less than amicable estrangement between Alice Douglas and Joanna’s father. He was curious as to what had caused it and casually asked, ‘Are your parents divorced, Joanna? Mine divorced when I was about your age,’ he lied, hoping a bit of fellow feeling would encourage her into confidences. ‘I remember how much it upset me.’

‘No. They’re not divorced. They never married.’

Her answer was abrupt. She didn’t elaborate or look likely to, so Rafferty, having got what he was after, changed the subject to one she should find more to her taste. ‘So, why did you decide on History of Art?’

‘I love art, but I’m hopeless at painting, so this seemed the next best thing. I hope to get a job in one of the big London galleries when I graduate. Mum’s paid for me to spend the last two summers in Italy –’ no mention of Dad’s contribution, Rafferty noted. Maybe the estrangement had been very bitter – ‘so I’ve had the opportunity to learn the language, which will be a great asset in my career.’

They all seemed to run out of things to talk about then and Joanna excused herself and said she’d see if her mother was coming. It gave Rafferty and Llewellyn the opportunity to discuss what they’d learned from the girl.

‘I was interested to discover that Joanne’s birthday is in April,’ said Llewellyn.

‘And me. I’ve done the sums,’ he boasted, albeit he didn’t mention that he’d had to use his fingers for the arithmetic and that it had taken him a while before he’d twigged. ‘I counted back the appropriate time. And judging from that, her mother would have fallen pregnant with Joanna during her last summer term at Griffin. So much for the abortion she claimed to have had. Wonder who the father was? Studious little Alice. Who’d have thought it? Reckon the daddy was another swot?’

‘Possibly. They must have exercised discretion, as, apart from the late Mrs Diaz, no one mentioned her having a boyfriend.’

‘Mmm. Bet it was Giles Harmsworth. He was the only other swot in the group, though when he found the time for fornication, if you believe Sebastian Kennedy, he spent his leisure hours as a youth being the school sneak.’

Joanna came back then to tell them her mother was just parking the car and wouldn’t be long.

‘I wonder, Joanna,’ said Rafferty, testing the water, ‘if you can let me have your father’s address.’

‘I don’t know it. I told you. I don’t know who he is. Why do you want it?’

‘Your mother became pregnant with you during her last summer term at Griffin School. You said she intended to ask your father to attend your eighteenth birthday party and I wondered if he might not be amongst the reunees. I’d like the opportunity to question him more deeply.’

‘Really? Why?’

Rafferty, who’d launched into his request for her father’s address without thinking through his reasons for wanting it, was relieved when Llewellyn spoke up.

‘Your father’s likely to have a double connection to the school: through his own attendance there and then through your mother. Once we know his identity, he might be able to give us more background than we thought to ask him for at the time.’

‘As I said, I don’t know his address. You’ll have to ask Mum for it. If she has it.’

‘Ask Mum for what?’ Alice Douglas stood in the doorway and gazed quizzically from her daughter to the two policemen. ‘Inspector Rafferty. You should have rung and let me know you were coming and I could have taken a few hours off.’

‘I didn’t want to put you to any trouble. Besides, your daughter’s made us more than welcome.’

‘Has she?’

The idea didn’t seem to please her too well. But then, Rafferty supposed she hadn’t expected them to just turn up on her doorstep and discover a teenage daughter in residence, one moreover who was the right age to be starting university. He waited until Joanna had gone off and then he said to Alice, ‘You said you’d had an abortion, Ms Douglas. Why did you lie to us?’

She sat down in an armchair and said carefully, ‘I suppose you could say it seemed a good idea at the time. It seemed an unnecessary complication to admit I’d had the baby. For one thing, I didn’t think it was any of your business. And for another, it’s not as if it’s anything to do with Adam or Sophie’s deaths.’

‘But if Adam isn’t your daughter’s father, as you told me before, who is? Is it Giles Harmsworth?’

She didn’t answer ‘yes’ and she didn’t answer ‘no’. Instead, she said, ‘I still don’t think the identity of the father’s any of your business. Besides, I thought you had one, no, two, murder cases to solve, rather than paternity ones.’

But Rafferty thought that it was very much his business. He determined to find the answer to his question somehow when Alice Douglas stubbornly refused to tell them the man’s identity. It just might take a while.