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LATER THAT AFTERNOON, after Rafferty had downed several cups of tea, each of them singularly failing to provide any inspiration at all, Llewellyn cautiously nosed the car out of the back exit of the police station. Turning right into Bread Street he took a short cut towards the southern outskirts of Elmhurst, carefully avoiding East Hill and its road works. But for once Llewellyn's usual efficiency must have deserted him, for they were held up for five minutes at the level crossing in Church Road as, surprisingly dead on time, the express from Liverpool Street Station roared past.
'Should have taken Station Road and gone under the bridge,' Rafferty informed the Welshman. After pointedly sighing, frowning at the crossing barrier and looking at his watch, Rafferty finally glanced at Llewellyn and remarked casually, 'You know, as we seem to be rapidly eliminating everybody else in the case, I'm becoming more and more convinced that one of her family killed her, especially as, so far, only Charles Shore's alibi has held up. The question is—which one of them did it?'
Rafferty took no notice of the long-suffering sigh that escaped Llewellyn's thin lips at this pronouncement, and went on. 'Of course, we'll have to continue checking out these other suspects—the Conservation Society members, and the farmer, and you can call me suspicious if you like, but, the more members of that family I meet, the more it strikes me there's something not right, something downright unhealthy about them. You've only got to look at that bloody morbid house they live in to see that.'
Llewellyn's lips tightened, but, apart from commenting that impressions weren't evidence, he didn't betray his irritation further.
Rafferty was into his stride now and wouldn't allow Llewellyn's natural caution to deflect him. There were undercurrents in that house; undercurrents that had only confirmed his suspicions. 'For instance, take Hilary Shore. For all her tears, she didn't strike me as exactly grief-stricken at Mrs Longman's death. And her alibi’s a bit shaky.'
The barrier rose just then, and broke his train of thought, but as Llewellyn put the car into gear and bumped over the crossing, he began again. 'At least we can eliminate everyone known to have been at the house before 3.30 p m. I had Hanks test how long it would take to drive to the meadow from the Shores' house. Putting his foot down hard – not that he could do too much of that because the roads are so winding – it still took nearly ten minutes, and then he had to cross the field to where the body was found. So, if someone in the house killed her, they wouldn't have got back there much before 3.30 p.m. According to Mrs Griffiths, Barbara Longman left the house right on 3.00 p.m. She remembers the library clock chiming the hour. Did you check out if they all drive?'
Llewellyn nodded. 'According to the Licensing Authority at Swansea, they've all got licences.'
'So, if it took ten minutes to drive to Tiffey Meadow and the same time to get back, plus the time to cross the meadow, kill Barbara and then return to the car, that lets out the housekeeper, the tutor and the au pair. As I said, it lets out anyone known to have been at the house before 3.30 p.m.' With a sideways glance at Llewellyn, he demanded, 'So, who does that leave us with?'
'Henry Longman, Anne Longman, and Charles and Hilary Shore,' The Welshman intoned. 'But, apart from Anne Longman, they've all given alibis.'
'I know. But, if they're crackable, I intend to crack them. Don't forget that telephone call must have been made by someone who knew her, someone aware of her interests, who also knew the ex-directory number. The housekeeper admitted the voice sounded familiar, so that means it's not likely to be a casual anti-conservationist acquaintance. She also said the voice sounded muffled, which indicates that they were deliberately trying to disguise it, indicating, in turn, someone far closer, someone who knew their voice would be recognised.'
'Do you really think it's possible to disguise one's voice?'
'It's obvious you've led a sheltered life, Taff,' Rafferty scoffed. 'You'd be surprised how much a handkerchief over the mouthpiece can alter a voice. My brothers and I used to think it was a great trick when we were young. One of us would ring up the school pretending to be my father and say we'd all suffered food poisoning.' He grinned. 'We got away with it several times, until my old man saw us in the street.'
'Speaking of telephone calls.' Llewellyn interrupted his reminiscences. 'I went to see the Shores' housekeeper while you were in the canteen. I thought if she did have any ideas about the identity of the caller, she might be more forthcoming to me with us both being Welsh.'
'And was she?'
'No,' Llewellyn admitted. 'But she did confirm that Shore had put his name forward to the Tory party for selection. She told me something else as well.'
Impressed that his sergeant had managed to get any information out of the tight-lipped housekeeper, Rafferty waited.
'She said that Anne Longman had planned to contest the custody ruling, but changed her mind only a few weeks before Barbara Longman's death. Apparently, her legal advisers finally convinced her she would lose. I gather she didn't take it very well. Rather blamed Barbara Longman. Unfortunately for her, of course, the dead woman was—'
'An angel, a wonderful woman, beloved by all,' Rafferty intoned. 'In fact, the sort of woman who no judge would think of removing a child from.'
Llewellyn murmured, 'From whom no judge...' under his breath.
Rafferty couldn't decide which was getting to him more; Llewellyn's pedantry or the supposed saintliness of the victim. He wasn't sure if he was intended to hear the correction, wasn't even sure if Llewellyn realised he did it half the time. But if he could do nothing about the victim's aggravatingly upright character, he could certainly nip the other irritation in the bud.
'Who from –- from whom – who cares?' he demanded. 'You're not at that bloody university now, so just stop trying to teach me the Queen's English, okay?'
Llewellyn's mouth shut with the snap of a Venus fly-trap.
Rafferty did his best to ignore the hurt silence that formed an aura around him. 'So,' he continued a few seconds later, before Llewellyn retreated into a total huff. 'You're saying that Mrs Griffiths hinted that recently there's been even less love than usual between number one wife and number two?'
'Oh, I don't think there was any animosity on the part of the second Mrs Longman,' Llewellyn replied with clipped politeness. He applied the brake with rather more force than necessary as they approached the crossroads near the Shores' home. 'No, all the bad feeling stemmed from the first wife. According to Mrs Griffiths, there's a trust fund for the boy. And whoever acts as his guardian controls it.'
'And the lad's mother would like to get her mitts on it, is that it?'
The Welshman nodded.
They were about to turn into the Shores' drive when a woman waved them to a halt. 'Wonder what she wants?' Rafferty mused, as he wound the window down and watched, in the rear view mirror, as she parked her shopping trolley neatly on the grass verge and waited for them to reverse towards her. 'Back up, Dafyd. Let's find out.'
The woman stuck her head through the open window and demanded of Rafferty, 'You the police?' He nodded. 'I thought you were. I've seen you in and out of the Shores' place since Barbara was taken. I've been waiting and waiting for you to come and see me, but no-one has.'
Rafferty glanced at Llewellyn. How did she get missed in the house-to-house? his eyebrows asked.
I don't know, Llewellyn's expression signalled. But I'll find out.
With the smoothness of long practise, Rafferty concealed the cockup. 'Sorry it's taken so long, but we're here now, Mrs...?'
'Mrs Watson.' Glancing over her shoulder, she leaned forward conspiratorially, button-brown eyes round and sharp nose aquiver. 'I hear that Barbara's long stick of a husband claimed he was in a meeting all day last Thursday. Well, I can tell you for a fact, he wasn't.'
She gazed at them with a kind of expectant triumph, and Rafferty said, 'Perhaps you'd like to pop yourself in the back and tell us all about it? Sergeant, get out and open the door for Mrs Watson, like a gentleman, there's a good chap.' Expressionlessly, Llewellyn did as he was told.
Once settled comfortably in the back seat, Mrs Watson proceeded to admire the upholstery, the floor carpet, the winking lights on the dashboard, until Rafferty began to get a crick in his neck from craning round waiting for her stream of inanities to end. Thankfully, she finally said something that interested him.
'I live in the cottage at the back of the Shores' place,' she explained. 'And I saw him just after 2.30 p m on Thursday, parking at the rear entrance to the big house. Saw him with my own eyes, I did. Furtive he looked. That's the only word for it. Furtive. Gardening I was. Saw him through the hedge, but he couldn't see me.'
Rafferty and Llewellyn exchanged significant glances. So they'd discovered the first lie. Rafferty wondered how many more there'd be. 'You're sure it was Henry Longman?'
She gave him a scathing look. 'Course I'm sure. Think I wouldn't recognise that long streak of bacon anywhere? Besides, he was only across the lane from me—a matter of eight or nine feet. And short-sighted I'm not. You ask old Boyd, the optician in the High Street if you don't believe me. I recognised his car an' all—that fancy car that Charles Shore bought for him. Think I wouldn't recognise that?'
After the scrutiny she'd given their car, Rafferty had to admit she had a point.
'It were Henry Longman, I'm telling you. He parks that car in front of my house often enough, while he skives off work with his weak belly or his irritable bowels or whatever. Man's a walking 'condriac. He was talking on that car phone of his when I saw him. S’pose he was onto his doctor again, though you'd think he could manage to wait till he got to the house to do it.' She smiled with a grim satisfaction. 'From the look on his face the doctor refused to come out.'
Rafferty glanced at Llewellyn to see if he had any criticisms to make of Mrs Watson's grammar. But if he had, he kept them to himself. Rafferty returned his attention to the woman.
'Going to arrest him, are you?' she demanded.
'As for that, we'll have to wait and see what he has to say for himself,' Rafferty observed quietly. 'But thank you, Mrs Watson. What you've told us is very helpful.'
'Never liked that Henry,' she announced, settling back against the admired upholstery as if she intended taking up residence. 'Feckless and useless he is. Whatever a fine woman like Barbara saw in him I don't know. And him with a troublesome great lump of a lad for her to worry about as well. As if he wasn't enough, with his weak stomach and his nerves. What cause has he got to have nerves, I'd like to know? She had more right to nerves than him, I'm telling you. Woman was a saint, why she—'
'Yes, thank you, Mrs Watson,' Rafferty put in hurriedly. Surprised that he had managed to stop the flow, he cocked a mischievous eye at Llewellyn and added, 'Perhaps my sergeant here can drop you home and get a formal statement from you?'
She had started to preen at the prospect of being chauffeured home in the car for the neighbours to see, but it was apparent that she didn't find the making of an official statement quite so enticing.
'Nothing to worry about,' he assured her. 'Only we do like to have things nice and tidy. For the records.'
She nodded slowly. 'Not one for mess and disorder, me. Keep a clean house and a clean life. I've nothing to sweep under the carpet, I'm sure. Not like some.'
Rafferty looked pointedly at the Welshman. Find out who had, the signal passed between them. Rafferty slipped quickly out of the car. 'Drive carefully, Llewellyn,' he instructed. As if he ever drove any other way. 'You've got a valuable witness there.' To his amusement, the woman's preening resumed. 'You can leave visiting Shore's office again for now. It'll keep. Check out Mrs Watson's neighbours, while you're at it,' he added in a murmur. 'Find out if they saw Henry that afternoon. You can come back for me when Mrs Watson has finished with you.'
From the resigned look on Llewellyn's face, he suspected it might be some time before his sergeant managed to get away. Still, it might be better to listen alone first to whatever explanation Henry Longman came up with. Might get more out of him without Llewellyn there, wearing his permanent air of slight disapproval of the human race and their goings on.
He manhandled Mrs Watson's shopping trolley into the car, said goodbye to her and shut the door. As Llewellyn drove off, Rafferty raised a hand in reply to the woman's self-consciously regal wave, before heading up the drive.
