Rafferty kissed Abra and Neeve, said, ‘I’ll try not to be late. Only, it’s really important.’
‘I know. If it brings this case to an end, the sooner we can have our holiday. Go on, before your daughter changes her mind.’
Fortunately, Neeve was sleeping, with a bellyful of milk inside her.
He blew them both a kiss, and went out. And then he came back, and blew another one.
Abra gave a low laugh. ‘Go on, you silly bugger. Before I change my mind.’
***
Rafferty got in the car with Llewellyn and Mary Carmody. As the only person who had spent time with the woman who’d viewed the body, Rafferty was confident she would be able to tell if the woman who came to view the body and gave a false address – and Tracey Briggs – were truly one and the same. Llewellyn had been studying the Spanish Marriage Certificate that Rafferty had inveigled off her husband, and had been assured by Inspector Herrera that it was a fake. With all their various proofs, let Tracey attempt to deny anything.
‘That’s why I wanted to wait till this evening. They’re both at home? Smales confirms it?’
Llewellyn nodded. ‘I told him to ring me if either of them went out again.’ He held up his mobile. ‘He hasn’t rung, so they’re both still there.’
Rafferty had issued hurried instructions to Llewellyn the previous evening, and Timothy Smales had been discreetly parked on another driveway with the permission of the house-holder from early evening. He had a perfect view to see when they both arrived home.
It was nearly eight p m, but it was July, the height of summer, and the evening was still bright.
There was a feeling of tense expectation within the vehicle, as Llewellyn disengaged the handbrake. This time, there was no fumbling, no unnecessary extra-long seconds gazing in the mirror to decide that it was safe to move out. He had waited in the road, and now he signalled and pushed his way out into the traffic, so Rafferty could tell that Llewellyn, who usually required one hundred yards before he pulled out, shared the excitement of himself and Mary.
‘Wonder how she managed to hook up with Fanshaw,’ said Mary, as she let her window down to get some air.
‘No idea.’ It was a warm night, and Rafferty had slipped into his jacket with reluctance. But he wouldn’t feel right confronting the Fanshaws in just shirtsleeves. It would lack a certain dignity, a certain professionalism. And he could be sure Fanshaw was a stickler for both. ‘It’s like something out of Eliza Doolittle. The flower girl and the professor. She must be a clever woman to have made such a transformation on her own, with no resources.’ Rafferty recalled Tracey Briggs, as she had been. Attractive, yes, there was no doubt of that, but—
His thoughts were interrupted by Llewellyn, set on giving a lecture, even now. ‘There have been many instances, throughout history, of such attractions, between the low-born and the high, kings and commoners, even professors and the uneducated. Such attractions transcend class.’
‘Still, you have to admit, Dafyd, she makes quite a lady. We haven’t proved she isn’t yet,’ he warned them. ‘That’s where you come in, Mary. You got a good, long look at the woman who came to see the body of Joey Briggs. I know we’ve got the marriage certificate, but only you can tell if Mrs Fanshaw is definitely her.’ Smales had taken several photos, but, as he’d only got her side-on, while she was zapping her car, they weren’t really much use.
Behind him, he sensed Mary nod. ‘She won’t have been able to make another transformation in the short time between then, and now, not without leaving evident marks. If it’s the same woman, I’ll know her.’
Rafferty was glad to be assured of Mary’s confidence, and he sat back, while Llewellyn drew up at the lights around the corner from London Road.
The lights turned green and Llewellyn made the turn, pulling up out of sight of the house. They all got out. ‘I wanted our arrival at the house to be a complete surprise to her. I forgot about the damn gravel. That’ll give our approach away.’
‘We could always walk on the borders at the edge,’ Mary suggested.
But Rafferty shook his head. ‘I’ll be damned if I’ll approach like a thief in the night.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Right. All set?’ They both nodded. And they set off up the drive.
Fortunately, the Fanshaws must have been in the back of the house, and clearly hadn’t heard their approach. Mrs Fanshaw answered the door. She looked momentarily disconcerted to be confronted by three plain clothes detectives at her front door, but dealt with the surprise with remarkable aplomb.
‘Inspector Rafferty and Sergeant Llewellyn, isn’t it?’ She caught sight of Mary Carmody then, and she took an involuntary step back. But she recovered quickly, raised her eyebrows, and enquired, ‘Don’t tell me Eric’s got another dead body at that dig of his?’
Rafferty smiled. ‘No, nothing like that. Can we come in? There’s something we’d like to discuss with you both.’
‘Really? Will I have to put back dinner, or is it unlikely to take long?’
‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On your answers.’
Mrs Fanshaw looked closely at him. But, for once, his face wasn’t giving anything away. He was practically as inscrutable as Llewellyn.
‘Well, you’d better come in then.’ She stood back and Rafferty ushered Mary Carmody in first. As she passed him, Mary nodded. Rafferty’s growing excitement threatened his inscrutability, and he had to hold onto his taut expression, so it didn’t betray him. She led them to a beautifully decorated room. ‘I’ll just get my husband. Make yourselves comfortable.’ With that, she slipped from the room.
This time, instead of Professor Fanshaw’s study, they’d been ushered into the drawing room. It was a lovely room, stretching from the front to the back of the house, with double views; to the front of the house with its sweeping gravel drive and flower borders, and the rear garden which looked huge. He didn’t have time to take in more, because Mrs Fanshaw came back with her husband. Or pretend husband, as they now knew he was.
‘Professor.’
The professor looked from Rafferty, to his wife, and back again. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, but I can’t quite understand why you’ve come to my home. There’s nothing wrong at the dig?’
‘No. Nothing like that.’ He nodded at Llewellyn, and he subtly slipped the Marriage Certificate from his pocket and gave it to Rafferty. ‘It’s just that there seems to be a problem with your certificate.’
‘Problem?’
‘The problem being that it’s a fake.’ Into the silence, he said, ‘Hello, Tracey. Long time, no see.’
Tracey Briggs recovered from this double shock first. She didn’t even try to deny it. ‘I should have had the nose done. But I’m really rather fond of it. Still, I’m surprised you recognised me. I suppose it was my visit to see Joey’s body? I saw her,’ she gestured at Mary Carmody, ‘give you a nod. So, what’s this about a fake Marriage Certificate?’
Professor Fanshaw said, ‘The Inspector wanted so see our Wedding Lines, my dear, to reassure himself that we weren’t – I don’t know – terrorists, was it, Inspector? We have never used the Marriage Certificate to support official documents, Inspector, I assure you. I must say, I’d have thought the police would have more important things to occupy them.’
‘Eric—’
‘We only obtained it because Tracey is rather moral at heart. Aren’t you, my dear?’ He didn’t wait for her agreement, but went on before he embarrassed her. ‘She even insisted on marrying that low-life that was her first husband, God knows why. He was a—’
‘Joey was all right,’ she insisted, clearly annoyed that her present partner should choose to belittle her former one. ‘He had his good points, and it was a good marriage on the whole. And at least it was real, unlike that fake.’ She gestured at their fake certificate with a certain scorn. ‘God knows what you were—’ She broke off, and shook her head. After berating her husband, she turned to Rafferty. ‘I suppose it’s romantic, really. Perhaps I should be grateful.’
‘We haven’t broken any laws.’ The professor looked from one to the other. ‘Have we?’
Llewellyn chimed in. ‘Not unless you used it to deceive others.’
‘We haven’t even been out of the country since we got it,’ said Fanshaw. He drew beetling brows together. ‘And that was what all this –if I might say so – over the top, visitation, was about?’
‘What else could it be about, sir?’ It was Rafferty’s turn to wear an innocent look. ‘Sorry if you think we turned up at your door mob-handed, but Sergeant Carmody was the only one able to recognise Mrs Briggs as the woman who looked at the body of Joey Briggs.’
Tracey Briggs gripped her husband’s arm, and looked up at him with a smile. ‘Now that Joey’s dead, we’ll be able to get a real certificate, won’t we, Eric?’
Eric Fanshaw looked momentarily taken-aback, as if he hadn’t quite bargained on that. He recovered quickly, though, even if his next words were faint, as if he didn’t quite believe in them himself. ‘Of course we will, my dear.’
Tracy Briggs looked as if she didn’t believe them, either, for her eyes narrowed at the reluctance in his voice. ‘Eric?’
‘Let’s see the policemen out, and then we can discuss it.’
Tracey dug her heels in. ‘No. I want to discuss it now. Sod the police. They can see themselves out if they want to go. Well, are you going to marry me for real?’
Rafferty awaited developments. One thing he did know—Tracey Briggs was a real fire-cracker when she let rip. He didn’t think the professor knew what he was in for. But, as he’d thought they’d lost their chance, he was more than happy to have another chance to divide and rule.