| |
RAFFERTY TURNED TO Llewellyn as he lifted the telephone receiver. 'I think I now know the identity of the real murderer.' He began to dial. 'A phone call should confirm it.' He spoke to one of the officers who had conducted the search of the Astells' house. What he said confirmed what Rafferty's dream had already told him.
'Know what?' he asked Llewellyn as he stood up. 'We've been looking at this murder all wrong. I reckon that's exactly what we were intended to do. I don't think this was ever an impetuous, spur of the moment, crime at all.' He made for the door, struggling into his jacket as he went. 'Come on, Dafyd. There's no time to lose. We should never have let Mrs Astell go. I hope to God we're in time to prevent another murder.'
It seemed he had arrived at his conclusions none too soon, because he heard Superintendent Bradley bellowing his name from the top of the stairs just before the rear door of the station slammed behind them, and he quickened his pace.
Llewellyn hesitated and gazed back at the door, before, asking, in a voice usually reserved for the recently-bereaved, whether Rafferty thought someone had finally enlightened the Superintendent as to his amusing talents with an acronym.
'Sounds like it,' Rafferty grunted. Then he grinned. 'But I'd like to see him haul me across the coals once I've dumped the solution to this murder in his lap. Even Bradley wouldn't have the gall for that. Come on.' He grabbed Llewellyn's arm and propelled him towards the car-park before Bradley could catch up with them, giving Llewellyn a rather breathless explanation as they ran for the car. With a squeal of brakes, he drove out of the yard and headed south. He just hoped they were in time.
***
ELLEN HADLEIGH OPENED the Astells' front door. Rafferty pushed past her, ignoring her startled cry. 'Quickly. Where's Mrs Astell?'
'She's upstairs having a lie down. Mr Astell won't want you disturbing her,' she shouted after them as they ran for the stairs.
As there was no answer when Rafferty knocked politely on Sarah Astell's bedroom door, he hesitated, and then pushed it open. She was on the bed and she was in a bad way, the pulse feeble. Rafferty, convinced that if they waited for an ambulance they'd have another corpse on their hands, heaved her across his shoulders. Grunting with the effort, he staggered back down the stairs. 'Pick up the tablets and the note,' he shouted back to Llewellyn, as an open-mouthed Ellen Hadleigh stared at them. 'And a few Hail Mary's wouldn't go amiss.'
***
EDWIN ASTELL STILL hadn't returned home by the time they left the hospital. They found him working quietly in his office in the High Street. Rafferty didn't pause to knock on his door, but thrust it open. 'I want a word, Mr Astell. In fact, I want several words. May we come in? You might be interested to learn that we've just come from the hospital.'
Astell frowned. 'Hospital? What are you talking about? What's happened?'
'I think you know. You might also be interested to learn that your wife’s alive. She seems to make a habit of stumping the doctors, as, after this latest overdose, they didn't give a great deal for her chances. Neither did I, I'll admit. But she's making a surprisingly rapid recovery. She was sitting up in bed, chatting nineteen to the dozen to one of my WPC's when I left her.'
Astell stared at him, a suitably stunned expression on his face. 'My wife in hospital? But why did no-one inform me?' Grey-faced, he pushed back his chair. 'I must go to her.'
'Please sit down, Mr Astell. I doubt your wife will want to see you. Besides, I have a number of questions I'd like to put to you. I'll get straight to the point,' Rafferty continued as, surprisingly, Astell sat down again. 'The point being your murder of Jasper Moon and the attempted faked suicide of your unfortunate wife.'
Astell stood up once more. 'What nonsense is this? Whatever it is, I haven't got time to listen to it. I must get to the hospital. It sounds as if my poor wife has tried to kill herself again. This is your doing,' he accused Rafferty roughly. 'You can be sure I'll make it my business to make you pay for what you've put her through.'
'I wouldn't bother adopting the concerned and devoted husband role. It won't wash. Not any more, though I admit you had us all fooled for a while. One of the things that gave you away was something your little girl said. What was it now?' Rafferty wrinkled his brow. 'Oh yes. She told us that she had reassured her mother that people did like her. Victoria told her mother that she liked her, that Mrs Moreno liked her. Odd that she didn't mention you, sir. Your daughter's an intelligent child. I would have thought she would realise that your liking would be the greatest reassurance her mother could hear. But your name never came up. Isn't that strange? There again, I suppose it's not so strange. She knows the real situation between you and her mother doesn't she? Devoted husband for the outside world and something less than devoted en famille. Sit down Mr Astell. I haven't finished.'
'You may not have finished,' Astell assured them. 'But I have. I've listened to as much of this taradiddle as I care to. Would you please leave?'
'Surely you want to know why your clever scheme didn't come off? When you so nearly got away with it, too. Your wife's only alive now because I finally rumbled you, you see. Humour me, please, Mr Astell.' His glance rested fleetingly on Llewellyn. 'It's not often I get the chance to show off just how clever I've been.'
To his surprise, Astell did sit down again. Rafferty gazed at him for a moment, before he continued. 'As I said, your wife's been talking, but I managed to work out most of it without her assistance. She admitted she lied when she told us you popped in to see her in her sitting room on two occasions on the night Moon was murdered. But we already knew that. You were obliging enough to admit it yourself. Of course, that alibi was originally meant to cover you, and you would only confess you had lied when the case against your wife was solid. We were meant to believe that you lied to protect her. But then Mercedes Moreno agreed to provide you with a better alibi, and “inadvertently” contradicted you over the earlier one. What a very obliging creature she is to be sure. Yet you must have been horrified when you returned from killing Moon, and found her waiting for you. Though I'm sure she soon made you see how useful she could be—for a price, of course. But then you must have realised how much better it would be, from your point of view, to have a second alibi to cover yourself when the first one was found to be false.
'Of course it was natural for your wife to lie for you. She loved you. I wonder what she must feel for you now when she realises you took her love and loyalty, and used them for your own purposes. She thought you were going to leave her, didn't she? That's why she tried to kill herself before. You were the "everything" she feared losing once the rest of the money went.'
Astell said nothing. He simply sat, his arrogant poet's face staring intently at Rafferty.
'Aware, as you were, of your wife's aversion to homosexuals, you deliberately damaged the relationship between her and Moon. You wanted to exploit their estrangement to make it appear she had murdered him in order to protect her supposed father's reputation. You sent her those cuttings about Moon's assault on Terry Hadleigh. You planted that DVD in her wardrobe as well as the one in Moon's home when you set up that fake burglary in his flat so you could get your hands on his Will.
'I wonder when you first realised that Carstairs wasn't your wife's father. Was it when you read back in his journals, and found that Carstairs was abroad at the time your wife was conceived? Did you begin to suspect that Moon was her father when you discovered he had worked for your wife's family shortly before she was born? When you discovered that Moon had tried to deny his homosexuality as a young man? Or when you realised they shared the same uncommon blood type?
'Whenever it happened, the discovery must have come in useful when your wife's money ran out. You read his will, and decided to murder Moon to get your hands on some more.'
Astell broke in. 'You're talking utter nonsense, Inspector. I didn't kill Jasper. And as for Sarah being Jasper's daughter, the idea's preposterous. We all know he was—'
'I know you killed Jasper Moon, Mr Astell.' He even thought he would be able to prove it. 'I admit you might easily have got away with it.' Rafferty put his hand in his pocket, and, as his fingers encountered the Sugalite stone that Mercedes Moreno had given him earlier in the investigation, he added, 'Only the luck was running my way. As I say, you might have got away with it...but for the weather that prompted your wife to change out of the dress you had persuaded her to buy – but of course you didn't know she had changed – you'd already left to kill Moon via the back door, and to plant the threads from her dress in Moon's office. But for the fact we discovered Jasper Moon always sent your birthday card late. And but for the fact you only had one new evening suit when you should have had two.'
The first glimmering of fear passed over Astell's face then, and Rafferty knew he'd got him. 'You see, Mr Astell, we know you bought two off-the-peg dinner suits recently, in separate branches of the same chain of tailors; one in Elmhurst when you were with your wife, and one in Mannleigh, when you were alone. Suits identical in every way, I imagine. One you wore to kill Moon, which was likely to provide valuable forensic evidence, not to mention having mud splatters around the ankles. And the second, clean as a whistle, which you changed into in the garage, along with a second lot of new accessories. You charged one suit to your card and paid cash for the other. But you were seen purchasing the second suit. The person who saw you is an ex-copper. “Hawkeye”, we used to call him. He works as a security guard now at the tailors in Mannleigh where you bought the second suit. He'd been shopping with his wife, and had just started work. He was watching the DVD camera. What you might call a very candid camera, sir, as your purchase was caught on tape for posterity.'
Behind his knee, Rafferty crossed his fingers at the lie. No doubt the tape had been wiped clean several times over by now. Somehow he didn't think Astell was in the right frame of mind to appreciate the fact. 'No man would destroy a brand new suit unless he had a very good reason. So unless you can produce that other new suit...?'
Rafferty took a few moments to savour his triumph before he went on. 'You might be interested to know that your wife told us you’d given her a little potion to calm her after all the recent stress she's endured. Her stomach's been pumped and the contents are being analysed now. Strange that she should forget writing that suicide note. Of course, she's been through a terrible ordeal. And she's already tried to kill herself once. It's only to be expected that the poor woman's mind should become unbalanced. Is that what you hoped we'd think when her body was found? It would be bound to iron out any little quibbles, wouldn't it? Like the fact that she didn't kill Moon at all, never saw that old DVD of Carstairs and Kingston. Didn't even realise he was her father, let alone that his will left her a very rich woman.'
Astell said nothing further, but Rafferty cautioned him anyway, before leading him to the car and driving him to the station. Rafferty left Llewellyn to deposit him with the custody sergeant. He felt too weary, sickened, and ashamed of the humanity of which he was part to want to have anything more to do with the man just yet. Astell had set up his own wife to take a murder rap. It was a wicked thing to do, given her already fragile state of health. And he had almost got away with it. But for those few threads of cashmere, a man named Hawkeye and the fact that it had been a chilly night, he might have succeeded.
***
IT WAS SEVERAL HOURS later when Rafferty came out of Superintendent Bradley's office. He shut the door in a suitably deferential manner before grinning broadly and uncrossing the fingers that had protected him from his lies. Rafferty, you're a silver-tongued devil, his conscience began. I know, he told it. And don't think I'm not grateful.
After congratulating Rafferty on solving the case, Bradley had, of course, brought up the subject closest to his heart. He had huffed, puffed, and finally roared his accusation.
After listening in silence for a few minutes, Rafferty had adjusted his voice to a tone of injured innocence as he defended himself against the PIMP accusation. 'But sir,' he had protested. 'Surely you don't think I did it deliberately...? Can you really believe I've even heard of these, whatdidyoucallems—acronyms? I couldn't spell it, never mind understand what it meant. You, of all people, should know that, sir.'
He did, of course. Bradley also knew that Llewellyn, who had heard of acronyms and could undoubtedly spell the word, too, would never have supplied Rafferty with the damaging ammunition.
That had been the clincher. As he explained to Llewellyn when he reached the sanctuary of his office, Bradley had complained often enough in the past about his reports and their poor use of English. He could hardly turn round now and accuse him of having hidden his erudite light under a bushel for years. Not when he knew damn well he possessed neither light not bushel. Not even Bradley could have it both ways.
'"Radix omnium mabrum est cupiditas",' Llewellyn quoted as he returned to Rafferty's office bearing two celebratory mugs of tea.
'And what does that mean when it's at home?' Rafferty asked.
'The love of money is the root of all evil.'
Llewellyn dug out a mat from under a pile of papers, and carefully placed the mug dead centre on Rafferty’s desk ‘You never explained why Astell should bother to lie to Moon about his star sign. Why tell Moon he was a Gemini when he was actually a Taurus?'
'Ginnie Campbell had the answer. Remember she told us that Moon was superstitious?'
Llewellyn nodded.
'I called her while you were getting Astell booked in. She told me that Moon believed that Air signs were lucky for him and much preferred to work with them. Astell's a thorough man; he'd have read up on Moon when Moon's job offer came out of the blue. There was a series of articles about Moon in one of the magazines he wrote for around that time, according to the editor. It mentioned this superstition of his. I think Astell simply decided to provide Moon with a star sign that would meet his requirements. So he became a Gemini. Gemini to Moon's Aquarius—two compatible Air signs, you see. Of course, he needn't have bothered. Because Moon was already determined to employ him.'
Rafferty cradled his tea and sipped contentedly. 'I can't believe a man like Moon would take a cold fish like Astell on without a very good reason. But, of course, he had a reason. The best of reasons: he wanted to get close to his daughter. That's why he made Astell an offer he couldn't refuse. As we know, Henry, the landlord at The Troubadour, took the place over five years ago, which was when he hung his parents' star photos on the bar walls. And that was just before Moon offered Astell a job with him—an extremely well-paid job that he would have been mad to refuse.
'It's obvious, as I mentioned before, that Moon must have done a bit of arithmetic when he saw the photo of Carstairs, his wife and daughter at the 21st birthday bash in Jubilee Year, and made it his business to check the dates out a bit more thoroughly. He could have discovered without much difficulty that Sarah was born in October—nine months after his affair with Mrs Carstairs.
'No wonder he went out of his way to offer Astell a job. Taking him into the business was the only way he could get to know his daughter. I suppose his interest in her must have roused Astell's curiosity enough to check Moon out.
'Astell tired of Moon's extravagance with what he came to regard as his inheritance. Jasper Moon was too generous for his own good.'
His expression wry, Rafferty held up his right foot in its emerald green wool casing and grinned. 'I should have known a man who shared my excellent taste in socks was a good guy. But I had to get over my own prejudices before I could see the truth—that, with Moon, what you saw was what you got. But Astell—he was into pretending he was something he wasn't in a big way. I imagine that's why he always wore those gloves. His wife didn't believe he had ever suffered from eczema, but given her medical history, she was hardly likely to call him a liar over it. But how else could he conceal his hands from an experienced hand analyst like Moon?
'I imagine Astell depended upon us having the stereotypical police attitude to gay men,' Llewellyn remarked softly: ‘that they're vengeful and malicious, and that Moon, being both gay and theatrical, would possess such traits in abundance.'
'He nearly succeeded. It was hard luck on him that Moon's charitable streak and his open-handed way with money painted a rather different picture. You could say Moon's character both brought about his death and enabled us to catch his murderer. He was generous to a fault. He collected stray dogs—Terry Hadleigh, Ginnie Campbell, Mrs Moreno. He–'
'Talking of stray dogs,' Llewellyn interrupted. 'I understood Taureans like Astell were supposed to be faithful types.'
'But Astell was faithful. Faithful unto death. Faithful, certainly to his first and only love—money. His every act was designed to bring him and his love together; his marriage, his scheming and finally, Moon's murder. Astell wasn't shocked by what those newspaper cuttings revealed about Moon. Sarah Astell said he just tried to persuade her not to contact Moon, and he obviously didn't even try too hard to do that. Yet, if Astell was as upright and moral as he pretends, he'd surely have been appalled? So what does that tell us?'
'That he must already have known about Moon's past.'
'Exactly. Because he was the one who sent those cuttings to his wife. He didn't try too hard to stop his wife ringing Moon because that was precisely what he wanted her to do. It was all part of his plan to set his wife up to take the rap for Moon's murder. He married for money, not love, knowing Sarah Carstairs came from a wealthy family. What he didn't know and could hardly ask about was that her money – what there was of it and there wasn't as much as he thought – was tied up. And then, when Lloyds losses ate up all of it, his wife lost the only appeal she had for him—her wealth. He decided to make use of the knowledge he had gained about the Carstairs family. He must have suspected for some time that his wife was Moon's daughter, presumably his only child. He wondered how he could turn the fact to his advantage. When the Lloyds losses took what money she had, it was time to find out if Moon's will acknowledged the relationship.
'So he stole Moon's key and broke into his apartment—Ginnie Campbell said Moon was terribly careless with his keys. Anyway, he discovered the will, confirmed that his wife was not only Moon's natural daughter, but the main beneficiary of a large sum. Moon's fate was sealed from that moment. So was Sarah Astell's. It was just a matter of how to fix it so his wife was pushed into suicide before she could be found guilty of murder. Then he found that old film of Carstairs and Kingston, and knew, with a bit of help from him, it would be enough to convince us she had a motive.
'I imagine he was worried that Christian Farley would destroy the will once Moon was dead, so he took it, and then concocted his plan to get his hands on the loot. To that end, he fostered a dislike for Moon in his wife, spreading tales that were sure to get back to her. Then he set her up as patsy for Moon's murder. He sent her the newspaper clippings; of course, he knew all about her feelings where homosexuals were concerned. I imagine she'd taken in the prejudice with her mother's milk. After she'd been led by the nose into making that abusive phone call to Moon, he used that homosexual film of his father-in-law to convince us that Moon had died at her hands after he had broken the news about Carstairs. All he had to do then was set up the second, faked suicide.
'No wonder she collapsed when we showed her that DVD and told her we knew Moon was her father; it was the first the poor woman had known of either. He was one cool customer, all right.'
'Must have been. Everyone we've spoken to has said the same—that Moon was a very gifted palmist/astrologer, yet even he didn't realise how very dangerous Astell was.'
Rafferty shook his head. 'I think he did. But his prime concern was his daughter. I think he disregarded any danger to himself in the same way he disregarded Mrs Moreno's Tarot reading—if it ever happened. Emotion affected his judgement. He judged wrongly—and died.'
'All right, I'll accept that. But Edwin Astell couldn't have known Ellen Hadleigh would take ill and leave the Astells’ party early that evening.’ He paused. Unless...are you saying he arranged things that way?'
'Of course he did. He’d have known she didn't drink and drugged her sherry, just to get rid of her. He couldn't risk her staying late in the kitchen. But at the same time, he didn't want to make any suspicious changes to their normal anniversary routine, and she always helped out, presumably staying till the kitchen was tidy. Of course, he knew all about Ellen Hadleigh and her son—she'd worked for the Astells for years, and would have realised that by sending her home, he risked having her charged with Moon's murder. That wouldn't have suited him at all, so he phoned her, thereby providing her with an alibi. He couldn't phone her from Moon's office, of course. He would have known the calls from that office would be checked routinely. It's my guess he rang he from the call box near the office.'
Llewellyn mused, 'I wonder what made Mercedes Moreno hang around after she'd returned to pick up her gloves that night. Do you think she suspected what was going on?’
'As to that, I'm sure she'll tell us that—and the rest, if we ask her nicely. Especially if we tell her that the alternative is a stretch in jail. We know from Sarah Astell that Mrs Moreno didn't knock at their front door. She must have gone round the back—through the garage/conservatory, where she'd have found Astell's change of clothes laid out ready for his return. I'm sure it occurred to her that it was a strange place to leave an entire set of clothes. She must have wondered what he was up to then, and decided to hang about to find out. Once he realised she could give him away, he must have appealed to her greed. He'd worked with her for months; I imagine he recognised a soul mate. He must have known she would be open to offers. She wouldn't have been slow to see the advantages to herself. She was a widow, and I think she foresaw benefits: money, a partnership, maybe even marriage. That must be when they concocted their little alibi.'
'Marriage? To Astell? I think you're reaching ahead of the evidence,' Llewellyn told him. 'I wonder why he didn't just kill her and be done with it?'
'Because he was a man who relied on planning. He wouldn't risk killing her on the spur of the moment. Later, maybe, when her usefulness was at an end, but not then. He couldn't be sure that someone hadn't seen her return to his house, and she would be careful not to enlighten him either way. Of course, later, she would have been smart enough to take suitable precautions to protect herself—like writing a letter to be deposited with a solicitor that told the truth, and which was to be opened in the event of her disappearance or sudden death. I'm sure, unlike Sarah Astell, she would know just how to safeguard herself. Talking of marriage,' Rafferty changed the subject with startling rapidity, 'when are you going to make an honest woman of my cousin?'
Llewellyn gazed at Rafferty with an air of mild reproach. 'Did your mother never teach you it was rude to ask personal questions?'
'Ma?' Rafferty grinned. 'Don't be daft. It was her who told me to ask.'
Llewellyn sighed. 'Of course. Silly of me.' He drained his mug, and then it was his turn to change the subject. 'You never did tell me how your mother got on at the clairvoyant's. Did she manage to get the information she wanted from your father?'
'Course not. I told you the old man never volunteered anything when he was alive. He's not likely to start now he's dead. It was just another of my Ma's ploys. You know she makes her own opportunities to poke her nose into my love-life.'
'And mine,' Llewellyn muttered sotto-voce.
'Talking of which, you might as well tell me if you and Maureen are planning to get hitched. Ma will worm it out of you, anyway.'
Llewellyn relented; he even managed a faint smile. 'When–- if – we decide to marry, you'll be the first to know—after Mrs Rafferty, of course.'
Llewellyn sauntered towards the door. Before he reached it, he turned back, his expression enigmatic. He didn't seem to realise that his final admonishment gave the game away. 'Just as long as it's firmly understood that – if you agree to be my best man – I shall write your speech.' That said, he walked briskly away, leaving Rafferty with a pleased and rather idiotic grin. It faded abruptly as he realised that once his Ma had steered Llewellyn and Maureen into wedded bliss, she would undoubtedly turn her attention back to him. Weddings always had such an unfortunate effect on her.
Rafferty put his head in his hands and groaned.
The End
