| |
BACK AT THE STATION, Rafferty threw off his coat and shouted for tea, commenting, 'though, diplomat or not, you must admit that Astell rather got on his high horse when I asked him for those names,' With a ragged grin, he added, 'For a moment there, I sensed Bradley's PIMP-mobile on my heels. Still, if Astell goes scurrying off to Bradley to complain, you'll be able to confirm that I was politeness itself. I even threw in plenty of "sirs". He had no call to get quite so sniffy.'
'Even an honest man is prone to anger when his honesty's questioned.'
Rafferty nodded absently. Probably Llewellyn was right and they'd find that Astell had been the soul of scrupulousness. But, he reflected, if he'd had his hands in the till up to his armpits, he was hardly likely to admit to it. And even if Moon's other income didn't go into the partnership account, there would still be healthy enough amounts coming in to arouse temptation. Presumably, the clients made their cheques out to the business name, rather than to either individual partner. It would have been easy enough for a man like Astell to help himself to parts of Moon's income and cover his tracks from any but the most rigorous scrutiny. But why would he? If what Astell had told them was true, he was entitled to a fifty per cent share of the profits anyway, yet didn't take it. Of course, Mrs Astell was reputed to be wealthy, so he could presumably afford it.
Still, Rafferty reminded himself, as he again acted as Devil's Advocate, that wasn't quite the same thing as being wealthy yourself. It was possible Astell was too stiff-necked to be happy living on his wife's money and had only pretended to take less than his share to deflect Moon's suspicion. If this was what happened and Moon had caught him out, it could be a motive for murder.
But, Rafferty frowned, as he realised the flaw in his theory, not for this murder. Even if Astell was helping himself to more of the profits than he was legally entitled to, he still couldn't picture him killing Moon so impetuously. It wasn't his style. Besides, he had been tied up most of that evening. Mrs Moreno hadn't finally left till shortly before 9.00 p m, and then Astell had joined his wife. Though, Rafferty reminded himself, she probably extended her’ little woman’ syndrome to include lying for hubby. Anyway, he decided, he could at least check up on the money angle. Flipping open the local phone book, he found the number of the accountants, picked up the handset and began to press buttons. He got the engaged tone and tried again. And again. 'Come on, come on,' he growled. 'Get off the bloody phone.'
'Why don't you use the redial button?' Llewellyn asked mildly, as he pressed it.
'Why didn't I think of that?' he asked disingenuously. He'd often wondered what that particular button was for. He'd pressed it once or twice, out of curiosity, but as nothing much seemed to happen he hadn't bothered again. Of course, the explanatory booklet had long since vanished—not that he'd got very far with it before his brain had given up, in any case. But as this was the age of technological tyranny, he would never be fool enough to admit his ignorance.
For some reason, Llewellyn had decided to connive in this concealment, passing on appropriate tips discreetly. Rafferty had never been sure whether compassion or condescension prompted him, but even though he half-resented the help, he didn't refuse it. Modern policing demanded a wide range of skills, and if Bradley ever realised just how limited was his technological grasp, he'd take great pleasure in writing it large in his record.
'Actually.' Llewellyn cleared his throat and Rafferty glanced up. 'Astell's wife interested me.'
'Wouldn't have thought she was your type,' Rafferty joked. 'Promise I won't tell Maureen.'
Llewellyn took a long-suffering breath. 'I meant that it struck me as odd that Astell should have popped in twice to check on her. Didn't you notice her prompt him? Rafferty looked puzzled for a second, before he agreed. ‘Why was she so keen to mention the visits at all?'
'Now you mention it, twice does seem a bit excessive. Still, people are always anxious to cover themselves in such circumstances. I don't suppose it means anything. Even if she was totally alone from just after 8.00 p m to 8.50 p m, I can't see her creeping out on such a night to kill Moon. She might have disliked the man, but that's hardly strong enough reason for murdering him. Besides, by the look of her, I'd have thought beating Moon around the head with his own crystal ball hard enough to kill him would be physically beyond her.'
Rafferty guessed what was about to come out of Llewellyn's open mouth and forestalled him. 'I know, I know. An open mind is a policeman's friend and conclusion-jumping his enemy. I haven't forgotten.' Not likely to get the chance, Rafferty added to himself, with you around. And even if I am guilty of jumping to conclusions, he mused, I still can't see her doing it.
After staring at the still silent phone with a frown, he said, 'I want you to get onto Moon's London agent. Check that Astell was telling the truth when he said he had nothing to do with Moon's profitable side-lines. Not that it's likely to make much difference one way or the other,' he muttered half to himself. 'It doesn't look as if he would have had the opportunity to kill him. But we'd better get it checked out.'
While Llewellyn busied himself with that, Rafferty glanced through the growing pile of reports, abandoning them with relief when Llewellyn put the phone down and told him that Moon's agent had confirmed that Astell had told them the truth.
Rafferty nodded. He had expected as much.
Half an hour later, the accountant still hadn't got back to him. So much for the benefits of modern technology, Rafferty thought. At least with the old phone system when you dialled in a number yourself, you had the satisfaction of slamming the receiver down when it was continually engaged. 'I reckon the bloody phone's redirected my call to a public phone box in the Outer Hebrides,' he complained to Llewellyn.
Llewellyn smiled his superior smile. 'It's always possible you entered the wrong number in the first place,' he pointed out. 'It's easily done.'
Rafferty scowled. 'Might have known it would be my fault. Why don't you give them a ring, Mr Know-all?'
Of course, Llewellyn got through on the first attempt, obtained the information that Mr Spenny, the partnership accountant was away on a late holiday, and wouldn't be back till the following week and made an appointment for Rafferty to see him as soon as he came back.
With great restraint, Rafferty merely nodded an acknowledgement when Llewellyn told him this. Sitting forward in his chair, he said, 'Let's see what we have to consider so far. Moon's office was broken into on the night of his murder. Could be a coincidence, could be someone trying to throw us off the scent. Of course, £1000 is a large enough sum to kill for, especially when you consider how many people nowadays get murdered for the sake of a few pence. But whatever happened, and aside from the oddities I mentioned earlier, there are four other things we must consider about that break-in.’ He began to mark them off on his fingers. 'One, if it happened before the murder, why did the intruder burgle an obviously occupied office? It could have been a drug addict, as I told Farley, but I doubt it. An addict would find easier pickings by mugging old ladies. Two, if Moon surprised him, why was the only injury to the back of his skull?'
'The intruder could have had a gun and forced Moon to turn around so he could hit him.'
'So why not hit him with the gun? Why bother to look around for another weapon?' Llewellyn's first objection satisfactorily disposed of; Rafferty went back to his counting. 'Three, if the burglar didn't attack him, if he left Moon still alive, why didn't Moon report the break-in? And four, if the break-in happened after the murder, why on earth would any self-respecting burglar break in at all and risk getting involved in what was obviously a violent death? Moon was slumped directly in front of the window.'
'Don't forget, the blinds were drawn. Any burglar might only have seen the body when he had actually climbed in.'
'Okay, that's a fair point. But once he had, it strikes me he'd have climbed right out again, not gone rummaging through Moon's pockets and the desk for the key to the cashbox. If our burglar was that cool and hard-headed, he'd have gone for a more profitable line of work—armed robbery, for instance, rather than burgling an office on the off-chance of finding cash. No, I reckon we've got two separate people involved here. Two very different types.'
Rafferty twirled in his chair and gazed out at the rain. It was gusting sideways, as wind-whipped as the scurrying, forwards-leaning pedestrians. Depressed, he twirled back. 'I wondered if Moon might have invited a pick-up back for the evening. They could have had a lovers' tiff. It would explain the murder and the trashing of the office. A possible pick-up could have been hoping to throw us off the scent.'
'But why should he invite a boyfriend back to the office at all? He had a perfectly comfortable home. Farley was away, so he would have the flat to himself. Besides, even though Lilley said he had found no file for this Henderson, it doesn't mean he wasn't a new client. Moon may have made an exception. And don't forget that Mrs Hadleigh said that Moon had called Henderson a client.'
'Moon wouldn't be likely to flaunt any sexual dalliances in front of his cleaner. What would be the point? And even if Farley was spending a few nights away, Moon couldn't be certain he wouldn't return unexpectedly. Besides,' Rafferty, keen to test their new understanding, suggested with a grin, 'perhaps Moon liked his spare rumpy-pumpy under the stars? And with its star-spangled ceiling, that office of his would be perfect.' The summer heat wave endured with such reluctant stoicism by Rafferty who liked his weather comfortable, was now becoming quite a fond memory, and he commented, 'You must admit, it's a bit parky for outside sexual shenanigans now.'
Llewellyn's light nod accepted both the argument and its presentation, and Rafferty was satisfied that Llewellyn was beginning to accept his black-tinged ways with humour. He didn't for a moment assume they had broken the back of their differing approaches, but at least they had made a start, and now, he tapped the photo-fit picture that Mrs Hadleigh had worked on with their expert. 'Mind you, this Henderson bloke doesn't exactly look the ideal candidate for a bit of on the side naughties. A man as successful as Moon couldn't have been short of offers in that direction, so why settle for a down-at-heel near wrinkly?'
'I believe chronologically-challenged is the term currently in vogue, sir,' Llewellyn murmured.
Rafferty, who'd had enough of having his prejudices criticised for one day, responded sharply. 'Don't start quoting the collected thoughts of the politically correct brigade at me, boyo. Your ancient Greeks are enough. Unlike the PC brigade, at least they understood that preaching at people is more likely to get their backs up than change their attitudes.'
'A little joke, sir, that's all,' said Llewellyn, his expression bland.
‘Mmm.’ Rafferty, half-suspecting that Llewellyn was now teasing him, deemed it wiser to say nothing more on the subject. 'Let's get this picture circulated. I want Henderson's likeness on the streets by this evening. I also want Moon's photographs circulated at the same time. It might throw something up. Send Hanks in on your way out. I want him to go and pay a visit to the partners' bank. If we can get the numbers of those stolen notes, we might be able to trace them. Come back when you've set things in motion, as I want us to go and see this Ginnie Campbell next and find out why she didn't come into work this morning. We'll take a chance that she's at home.'
***
THERE WAS NO ANSWER at Ginnie Campbell's door. As they turned to walk back up the path, the door of the next terraced house opened and a neighbour stepped out in front of them.
'If you're looking for that Campbell woman, she's out.' Ginnie Campbell's neighbour was built on battle-tank lines, and now she planted her solid, fluffy pink slippered feet more firmly on the shared path, blocking it as effectively as any armoured vehicle, and, managing to look marginally more threatening as she crossed meaty arms over her flowered pinny. Eyes as hard and dense as plum stones fixed avidly on them as she added, 'I can give her a message, if you like.'
'Thanks for the offer, but we'll come back.' Without success, Rafferty attempted to edge past her on the narrow path, but as she didn't give an inch, he was forced to retreat.
'If you're looking for money, you'll be wasting your time,' she confided. 'She's got tally-men and debt collectors on her doorstep morning and night, but few of them manage to catch her.' Her eyes darted from one to the other, and she speculated artfully, 'You'll be the bailiffs, I suppose? They must be due about now.'
Rafferty took a quiet satisfaction in disappointing her. Still, with £1000 missing from Moon's office, it was certainly interesting to discover that Virginia Campbell's circumstances were so straitened. 'We do need to see Mrs Campbell urgently,' he said. 'Have you any idea when she'll be back, Mrs...?'
'Naseby. Mrs Naseby's my name. No, can't say I have.' She crossed her arms more firmly over her ample chest, dewlaps of mottled flesh on her upper arms wobbling, seemingly impervious to the chill wind that was steadily turning Llewellyn's ears bright red, and settled to gossip. 'Comes and goes at all hours. Heard her drive back from God knows where before 8 o'clock this morning. Roared up in that car of hers with enough noise to wake the dead.' She sniffed. 'Might be able to pay her rent if she stayed home occasionally.'
'How do you know she's behind with her rent?' Rafferty asked.
'I've got a friend who works in the landlord's offices, that's how. Three months' she owes them.' As a car pulled up at the kerb, her lips drew back in a spiteful smile, and she told them, 'You're in luck. That's her now. Though I wouldn't count on getting any money.'
The car was a sports model, and although its registration plate revealed that it was only a year old, it had certainly been in the wars, as several large dents testified. Rafferty wondered how Ginnie Campbell could afford to pay for fancy cars when she couldn't afford the rent. But perhaps she couldn't, he mused, as the three of them watched her climb out of the car. Perhaps the car company featured among the debt collectors trying to catch up with her? No doubt Mrs Naseby would know.
Virginia Campbell was a statuesque redhead of about forty summers. Her carriage was proud and, as she approached, Mrs Naseby's lips thinned. The other woman's chin rose in response, her shoulders went back and her walk became more swayingly provocative. Dressed in a short, clinging and jewel-bright vermilion skirt, its satin sheen a defiant battle cry, Rafferty guessed, as the ample flesh of the Crimplene chain-store-couturiered Mrs Naseby quivered with outrage, that she would have plenty of practise at out-facing the neighbours.
Sweeping them with a contemptuous glance, Ginnie Campbell asked, 'What's this? A welcoming committee? Come to ask me to join the Neighbourhood Watch?'
Unthinkingly, Rafferty introduced himself and Llewellyn. Predictably, Mrs Naseby pounced.
'So, you've got the police on your tail, as well now, have you?' she demanded with gratified spite. After looking Ginnie Campbell and her short skirt up and down, she added, tartly, 'Can't say I'm surprised.'
Ginnie Campbell poked the other woman sharply in her ample bosom with a vermilion painted forefinger, and rounded fiercely on her. 'Just watch your tongue, you rancid old bat, or I'll put the evil eye on you.' She held up her left hand and made a darting motion towards the neighbour's face.
Mrs Naseby went pale, her aggressive manner crumbled. She backed towards her front door, chased by Ginnie Campbell's derisive laughter, and slammed the door to behind her.
Rafferty was astonished to discover that the intimidating human tank should be as prone to superstitious fears as he was. As Ginnie Campbell's jeering laughter was abruptly cut off, he reintroduced himself.
He'd barely finished when she snapped at him, 'Thanks a lot. Did you have to let her know you're from the police? She'll have the entire street convinced I'm on the game now.'
Turning away, she stalked up the path to her door and disappeared. Exchanging bemused glances, Rafferty and Llewellyn followed her. She had left the door ajar and, after giving a cursory knock, they walked up the hall.
She was in the living room. As they entered, she removed her high heels and flung them in the far corner, before she slumped in an armchair and said, 'Sit down, for God's sake. What do you want, anyway?'
After sitting on a shocking pink settee that was littered with discarded clothing, Rafferty told her the reason for their visit. Although her eyes widened and she stared at him open-mouthed, Rafferty got the impression that she had already known of Moon's death. There was no reason why she shouldn't, of course. His body had been discovered several hours ago; it was probable that, by now, news of his murder had spread like post- Christmas pine needles. But he wondered why – if she had already known about it – she should choose to pretend otherwise?
Gesturing for Llewellyn to take over the questioning, Rafferty studied her. Under the brave paint, her face had careworn lines that made her look every month of her forty years, and, as she bent her head, Rafferty noticed that the roots of her flame-red hair were liberally sprinkled with grey. He got the impression that her aggressive dress and manner camouflaged a woman at the end of her tether. It wasn't altogether surprisingly, of course. Not only was she in debt. She was also a divorcee, with dyed red hair, a voluptuous figure and a too proud manner; an ill-advised combination in a poor neighbourhood, where the men would eye her with hopeful lust and the women with fear and dislike.
Now, he interrupted Llewellyn's slow, but precise interviewing technique. 'You told Sergeant Llewellyn that you had today and yesterday off work. Could you tell us where you spent the time? I gather you didn't attend Mr and Mrs Astell's little anniversary evening?'
The question seemed to amuse her. 'God no. I spent all day yesterday out with my boyfriend. We went to the races at Newmarket. Got back to his place in St Mark's Road about 6.00 p m, and stayed in all evening. I came straight back this morning. About eight.'
Rafferty nodded. Ginnie Campbell's home, like St Mark's Road, was in the southern part of Elmhurst, certainly well away from Moon's High Street premises. 'Not your cup of tea, I take it? This memorial do of the Astells'?'
'I wasn't invited, but I wouldn't have gone anyway. I believe in saving my admiration for live men, not dead ones. Jasper didn't get an invite either, but it's not as if he socialised with the Astells, anyway. Sarah Astell didn't approve of him any more than she does me, so that's hardly surprising.'
Llewellyn broke in. 'Still, it seems odd that Mrs Moreno, an employee, should receive an invitation, when Mr Astell's business partner did not.'
'There's nothing odd about it,' she told him. 'Sarah Astell invited her because "Highly-thought of" made it her business to fawn and flutter round her for some reason of her own.'
Llewellyn nodded. 'I see. It didn't cause an atmosphere at work because Mrs Moreno was the only one invited?'
'I told you. I didn't want to go, anyway, and Jasper understood that Edwin could hardly invite him to his wife's ancestor-worshipping evening when his wife couldn't stand him.'
Rafferty was surprised that Mrs Astell's dislike of Moon should apparently be common knowledge. Though he wasn't particularly surprised that Astell should lie about it. His business partner had just been murdered. It was understandable that he should be at least as protective of his wife as he was of his clients. It would hardly be politic for the man to admit that his wife and his partner weren't exactly bosom buddies. Though, by now, Rafferty guessed he was already regretting his instinctive denial. 'Were you aware that Mr Moon had a client with him yesterday evening?' he continued.
She shook her head, and he pulled out one of the photo-fit pictures and showed it to her. 'A Mr Henderson. Do you know him?'
She glanced at the picture and shook her head again. 'I've neither seen nor heard of him before. Though I'm surprised Jasper should see a client on Thursday evenings. He liked to keep them free. His usual practise was to go out for an early meal before he got down to his latest book.'
'A meal?' Rafferty queried. He should have thought of that himself. 'Do you know what restaurant he went to?' If they found out what he'd eaten and at what time, it might help to narrow the time of death.
'He usually went to that expensive French place in the High Street; the one a couple of doors away from our offices. Jasper fancied himself as something of a gourmet. Really he was more of a gourmand. Poor Jazz.' For the first time, she showed genuine regret. 'All his appetites were large, but then he loved life. The place will be like a morgue without him.'
Plainly, Ginnie Campbell knew nothing about Henderson, and Rafferty put the matter from his mind. For now, he was more curious to learn her opinion of Jasper Moon and who might have killed him. 'I gather Mr Moon was homosexual,' he began.
'Jasper homosexual?' She laughed as if she found his diffident statement amusing. Once again, like a suddenly switched-off sound system, the laughter was abruptly cut off, disconcerting him. 'He was as queer as a piebald canary, Inspector. Not that I hold that against him,' she quickly added. 'Why? Do you think that might have something to do with his death? Do you think the boyfriend killed him?'
'Do you?' he countered.
She shrugged. 'How should I know? But Chris Farley was as jealous as hell that much I do know. I often heard Jasper on the phone, placating him, when I passed his door.'
'Did he have any reason for this jealousy?'
'Again—how should I know? Chris Farley might have been jealous, might have had reason for jealousy for all I know, but I somehow can't see him having the guts to kill. Especially as he'd have lost the comfortable nest Jasper provided him with.'
That had been Rafferty's opinion. 'Tell me, Mrs Campbell—'
'Call me Ginnie. Everyone does. Mrs Campbell always makes me feel like a history teacher or something.'
'"Madam Ginnie,"' Rafferty quoted from one of the posters pinned up in Moon's office ante-room. '"Palmist to the Stars".'
She smiled delightedly. 'You saw it? I'm surprised Edwin hasn’t noticed it and made me take it down again. He told me it was too close to Jasper's publicity posters and wasn't even accurate, though that's not strictly true.' She gave another short laugh. 'It's two stars to be exact. And of the falling variety. Still,' she smiled, but beneath the smile her eyes were resentful. 'They can't get me under the Trades Descriptions Act. No-one said my claimed stars had to be high in the sky.'
Rafferty guessed she minded very much that her skills were side-lined to the postal part of the business. Could it have any bearing on Moon's murder, Rafferty wondered, that both Mrs Moreno and Mrs Campbell harboured resentments against the partnership? Moon had been the most important partner and the natural target for any ill feeling. It could be significant, he decided. 'I'd like the name and address of your boyfriend, if I may.'
'Why?' She sat up straight, all amusement gone now, and demanded, 'Do you think I killed Jazzy?' She sounded angry, Rafferty noted. Angry and more than a little scared. Between the two emotions, she seemed edgy, and her be ringed fingers clenched tightly in her lap.
'Did you have any reason to kill him?' he countered again.
She sat back. 'Hell no. Oh, he could be infuriatingly pernickety sometimes. But, on the whole, he was an old love, generous to a fault. Why—' she broke off and then began again. 'Why I know he used to go to old people's homes, do free readings and liven them up no end. Jasper was always a good turn. It was all done very privately. He always said that what he did was more of a vocation than a job. That's probably why he was so good at it. He had a great gift and he didn't believe it should be used purely for profit. He was kind, generous, superstitious, sentimental...'
'Sentimental? Why do you say that?'
She smiled. 'He adored mementoes of people and places. I remember he lost his keys a little while ago—he was always careless with them. He didn't mind so much about the keys, but he did mind about losing the key-ring. Some old friend had given it to him years ago, and he was terribly upset about it. And he carried around photos of friends and family, photos of star clients autographed with love and kisses. He kept them all in a wallet; first cousins, second cousins twice removed, great aunts. He dropped the wallet one day and they all fell out. He even had a photo of Sarah Astell as a baby—ugly little brat she was, too.'
'How do you know it was of her?' Llewellyn questioned.
'I asked him, of course. He seemed embarrassed to be caught with it, especially when we all knew how she snubbed him. I think he was hurt that she should dislike him. Jas could never bear anyone to dislike him, always tried to bring them round. And he loved kids, was always ready to act as a God-parent if anyone asked him. I suppose, with no children of his own, he tried to make up for what he had missed with other people's. Of course Sarah Astell refused to let him near the little girl. Probably thought she'd catch Aids, or something. Sad really.'
Rafferty found himself nodding. He was beginning to feel sorry for Moon, who, in spite of his wealth and fame, was denied the family life others took for granted. With no siblings, he hadn't even had nephews or nieces with whom he could have played the benevolent uncle. The Astells' little girl was the nearest he got to the real thing, yet he hadn't been allowed near her.
Madam Ginnie pulled a face. 'He loved to buy presents for people. I knew he would have loved the opportunity to spoil the Astells' little girl, but he knew her mother would probably burn them, so he confined himself to buying for Edwin and his wife. I noticed he had a parcel for Sarah Astell on his desk. It looked like a DVD, as it was about the right size and shape. Imagine, having it bought and wrapped several days before her birthday. Wish I could be that organised.'
Moon must have given his gift to Mercedes or Astell to deliver, Rafferty surmised, and reminded himself to ask them about it. It was unlikely to be significant, but anything to do with the victim had to be investigated. Although surprised to discover that Moon went in for charitable work, Rafferty wasn't impressed by her championing of him. It seemed like a clumsy attempt to deflect any suspicions they might have of her. After all, a large sum of money was missing and Madam Ginnie was apparently in straitened circumstances. She had also, so far, avoided giving him the name and address of her "friend". The fact that all the staff had keys meant that any one of them could have waited till they saw Mrs Hadleigh and Henderson, leave and then slipped in and killed Moon. And that included his boyfriend. He had had access to Moon's office keys for five years. He could have had them copied on any occasion during that time, or even helped himself to the originals, letting Moon assume he had lost them. But, as Ginnie Campbell had said, Farley was the loser by Moon's death. And Rafferty did like a nice juicy motive before he seriously suspected someone. Even if only to save himself from Llewellyn's nagging reproaches.
'You were going to give us your boyfriend's details,' Llewellyn reminded her. With a casual confidence, she supplied them. 'And he'll vouch for the fact that you were with him all of Thursday evening?'
'Of course.'
Rafferty was thoughtful as they left, having instructed her to come into the station to have her prints taken. The method of murder was just the sort of impulsive behaviour an irrational woman like Ginnie Campbell would go in for. He had already seen evidence that she had a temper to match her hair; had she begged Jasper for a loan and been refused? It was possible she had seen red and struck him with the ball before helping herself to the contents of the cashbox. And, although she hardly seemed the epitome of the conscientious employee, it was possible she had unthinkingly locked the box up afterwards. It would be interesting to see if her alibi checked out.
