Death Dance (15 page)

After they’d released Kyle, Rafferty went back upstairs to the office. He sent Llewellyn to get tea from the canteen. It helped him think and he drank copious quantities of it every day.

‘So much for that,’ he said, disgruntled, when Llewellyn returned. ‘When the Met rang to say they’d found the boy, I admit I felt hopeful. No longer. We’re no further forward than we ever were.’

‘Well, at least the boy’s been found,’ said Llewellyn in an attempt to console him as he put the tea on the desk.

Rafferty snorted. ‘Much good it’s done us.’

But with no evidence against Kyle – or anyone else for that matter – they had to move on. Superintendent Bradley would insist on it.

Rafferty decided to review what they had so far, so he and Llewellyn divided the statements into two piles and got started. Silence reigned for half an hour. Rafferty finished his now cold tea, and then chewed on his finger nails.

‘What I don’t understand,’ he said finally, ‘is how all this paperwork amounts to a big pile of nothing. As I said before, we must be going wrong somewhere. Hours of work, of interviews, come to precious little.’

‘In that, it’s no different from any other case we’ve dealt with,’ said Llewellyn as he looked up from his desk. ‘We’ll get there; we always have before.’

‘Mmm, maybe. But this case seems to be shaping up differently. I swear we’re longer, this time, getting results.’ And if Abra was involved in this death he wasn’t sure he wanted a resolution.

‘We’ll get them. Don’t worry. Something will turn up.’

‘Well, it’s taking its own sweet time. I wish it would hurry up. My wedding’s getting nearer by the day. And with each day that passes, Abra’s becoming more of a nervous wreck, wondering if we’re going to have to cancel. I told her we can still get married, that it’s just a case of taking a few hours off, but she’s not convinced. And then there’s the honeymoon. She’s been so looking forward to it and it’s not as if my cousin will give me a refund if we have to cancel that as well.’

‘Ah. Yes. That’s a bit of a knotty problem. Perhaps it wasn’t wise booking your honeymoon through your cousin, Nigel.’

‘Tell me about it. It’s too late now. We’ll just have to hope for the best, I suppose. There’s nothing else we can do. Maybe, if this case doesn’t start moving soon, I should go to see Nigel and see if I can’t impinge on his better nature.’

‘Does he have one?’ Llewellyn, who, by now, knew Nigel pretty well, sounded doubtful.

It was unlike the Welshman to propound the negative aspects of the situation. Rafferty was surprised. ‘Probably not.’ he said. ‘But anything’s worth a try, if only to make Abra see I’m doing something on the honeymoon front.’

‘I suppose so. How is she by the way? Not getting cold feet, I hope?’

‘Not so far. Though if this Limbo situation continues, I won’t rule it out. I can’t make her see that it’s just as bad for me. Worse, in fact, as everything depends on my bringing the case to a satisfactory conclusion. It all rests on that.’

‘Well, at least now you know that Abra had no involvement, don’t you?’

Rafferty gave a sickly grin.

‘I take it that means you have yet to speak to her about it.’

Rafferty nodded miserably. ‘How can I tackle her? You know how she flares up when she thinks she’s accused of something. What am I supposed to say — was it John Staveley or his wife that you were having the affair with? Or rather than having an affair with Adrienne, did you kill her and if so, why?’

It was clear that Llewellyn had been thinking along similar lines because he gave a slow nod and said nothing more

Wishing to change the subject, Rafferty said, ‘You know, I think I’ll go and see Nigel after work this evening. See if I can’t make him show a bit of family solidarity.’ Not that that had ever been his cousin’s strong point. Nigel tended to shy away from family entanglements more often than not. He thought family over-rated and more trouble than it was worth. Sometimes, given the Rafferty clan’s love of off-the-back-of-a-lorry bargains, and all the angst it caused him as the family’s only copper, Rafferty was inclined to agree with him. Especially when one or more of the Rafferty clan was getting inveigled into stuff on the wrong side of the law, which wasn’t an unusual occurrence. Rafferty sighed and went back to studying statements for a few minutes before he sat back, checked in his pocket for change, and said, ‘It’s my turn to get tea. Do you fancy a sticky bun?’

Llewellyn shook his head.

But the break from the office and its infernal paperwork didn’t last long. He was soon back. Reluctantly, he returned to studying the statements.

But it was an unproductive afternoon, and, for all their painstaking perusal of the paperwork, it threw nothing new up. It was after seven when he admitted defeat, told Llewellyn to go home and headed for Nigel’s estate agency. It was his cousin’s late night, so he knew Nigel should be there.

He was. And not inclined to listen to Rafferty’s pleas about refunds.

‘No can do, coz. I told you before.’

‘I know you did. But have a heart, Nigel. This is our honeymoon I’m talking about. Have you no family feeling?’

‘Not so’s you’d notice, no. I can’t operate one policy for family and another for my other clients. It wouldn’t be ethical.’

Rafferty just stopped himself from snorting in disbelief. Nigel was as unacquainted with ethics as he was with Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. He wondered why his cousin was coming over all moral now. Then his antenna turned to suspicion mode.

‘There’s no problem with the honeymoon booking, is there? You
have
paid the money I gave you to the villa owners?’

Nigel gave what, to Rafferty, looked like a guilty grin. ‘Of course I have. What else would I do with it?’

‘Spend it. Use it to pay your staff.’

When Nigel didn’t reply immediately, Rafferty’s antenna turned to overdrive. ‘You have, haven’t you? Used my money to meet a shortfall in the staff wages?’

‘No, of course I haven’t. What makes you say such a thing?’

‘Simply knowing you is enough. Show me the stub of the cheque you’ve written to pay the villa owners and I might believe you.’

But Nigel couldn’t or wouldn’t, which Rafferty felt only confirmed his suspicions. And eventually, he wore Nigel down enough to confirm that Rafferty’s money had gone nowhere near the owners.

‘So what happens to my honeymoon?’ he demanded.

‘Much the same as would happen to it if you cancelled. Nothing. You don’t go.’

‘What?’

‘Well you seem convinced you’re going to have to cancel, so I can’t see the difference.’

‘I can. I can see a lot of difference. You’re a crook, Nigel. A dirty rotten crook. You’d better find the money to sort out my honeymoon or I’ll set Abra on you — not to mention the law.’

‘Keep your hair on, Joe. I’ll sort you something out.’

‘Yes, you will. And the something had better be the equivalent of the honeymoon I’ve booked and paid for.’

‘It will be, don’t worry. Things are looking up as I’ve sold several properties recently and am due to get my cut on one of them tomorrow.’

‘Good for you. So let’s talk about what we’re going to book for the honeymoon.’

‘Yes, by all means. Let me just get our brochure. Are you still thinking of the south of France?’

‘Yes. I want the nearest thing to the villa I booked. Come to that, is there any reason why I can’t still have that one?’

‘There is, as a matter of fact. The owners have taken it off the books.’

That was something; at least Abra wouldn’t be able to blame him for that. ‘Give me the brochure,’ he said. ‘There was one other villa Abra liked the look of when I booked. Perhaps that one’s available for the weeks I want.’

Nigel handed over the brochure and Rafferty quickly thumbed his way through till he found the villa that interested him. ‘That’s the one,’ he said. ‘Book that one.’ He handed the brochure back to Nigel and pointed to the holiday home that interested him.

‘Right you are. Consider it done.’

‘I won’t consider it done till we’re ensconced after the wedding and no one comes to ask what we’re doing there.’

‘They won’t. This booking will be firm. I told you — I’ve now got some money coming in from property sales.’

‘Just as long as you don’t use my money again to fund another salary shortfall.’

‘Fear not. It won’t happen.’

‘It already has. Just don’t do it again or I’ll come down on you with all the force of the law.’

‘You won’t do that.’ Nigel sounded confident of his ground. ‘You won’t want my name joined with yours at the cop shop. You know how hot they are on what they’d probably call undesirables having a family connection with a police officer.’

Rafferty did and his threat was an empty one — just as Nigel had been quick to realise. He said no more about the forces of the law. It was a pointless threat, as the last thing Rafferty wanted was for the station brass to find out his family wasn’t whiter than white. His family’s tendency to a less than wholehearted honesty had bedevilled his career. It was only sheer luck that this propensity hadn’t got back to the brass. And he didn’t know how long such luck could last. It had already had a good innings.

They fixed up the alternative honeymoon and Rafferty drove home.

Abra was still on tenterhooks about their wedding arrangements. She’d been a bag of nerves recently. Rafferty could only hope that it was just the wedding that was concerning her.

‘Any news on the murder investigation?’ she asked eagerly the minute Rafferty stepped through the door of the flat.

‘Things are progressing,’ was all that Rafferty said.

‘Yes, but how are they progressing?’ Abra wasn’t to be put off. ‘For good or ill?’

‘For good, of course. Kyle Staveley’s been found and is back home.’

‘So was he the killer?’

‘I don’t think so. I don’t know. But at least he’s back and can be questioned again.’

‘And that’s it? The sole product of the day?’

‘Give us a chance, Abra. It’s only been a few weeks. You’re worse than the superintendent.’

‘No one could be worse than him,’ Abra replied. ‘Certainly not me. Tell me, though, Joe; are you really no further forward?’

Rafferty sighed and knew he’d have to come clean. ‘Not so’s you’d notice,’ he said. ‘We’ve several possibilities, strong possibilities. We just need to wait for the evidence to catch up with them.’

‘Is that all? Abra flounced off to the kitchen and began to dish up their meal. Rafferty followed her.

‘It’s not that bad,’ Rafferty told her as he put the kettle on and brought mugs out of the cupboard. ‘It’s more a matter of time than anything else.’

‘Yes. Time we haven’t got. It’s less than a week to the wedding now and everything’s still up in the air.’

‘It won’t be. I promise.’

‘How can you make such a promise?’ Abra demanded as she turned round and waved a potato-smeared wooden spoon at him. She turned back and began to spoon mash on to the plates with the faggots and peas.

Rafferty didn’t answer. He concentrated on making the tea instead. He felt it was safer. For both of them.

Chapter Eleven

Rafferty was late up the next morning. He’d tossed and turned for most of the night thinking about the wedding and honeymoon and how he was to sort out both issues. Not to mention his other worry, the one about Abra’s behaviour. The facts said she was either a suspected criminal or as near to an adulteress as it was possible to be without being married.

It had been dawn before he finally slept, still with the various problems unresolved. He just hoped he didn’t have to cancel this honeymoon and that Nigel hadn’t pocketed the payment again. But even Nigel wouldn’t do the dirty on him twice. Rather, he didn’t think he would, but who could tell with his wily cousin? Nigel did as much ducking and diving as Del Boy Trotter and was generally able to talk himself out of whatever hole he landed in.

He did without a shower to save time and considered not shaving, but the ribald comments he could expect at the station if he turned up looking like he hadn’t slept in his own bed made him think again. Even so, the shave was a perfunctory one and with not so much as a cup of tea to sustain him, he left for the station.

Llewellyn, of course, was there before him, looking as bright-eyed and bushy tailed as a squirrel with his store of nuts safely gathered in. The sight of his sergeant made him groan inwardly. He could do without a raring to go Llewellyn. He hoped the start of his day wasn’t a pointer to how the rest of it would go.

‘Anything new come in?’ Rafferty asked as he slumped into his chair.

Llewellyn shook his head. ‘Nothing of interest. Do you want some fresh tea? The one I got earlier must be lukewarm by now.’

Llewellyn’s subtle way of saying he was late didn’t escape Rafferty. He sipped his tea experimentally. ‘No. This one’s all right.’ He downed it in one before it got cooler. ‘I suppose we’d better go and see our main suspects again,’ he said. ‘Badger them a bit and see what comes out.’

‘Don’t you think we should go and see Abra and question her about why her fingerprints were found all over the Staveleys’ home?’

‘What beard her in her place of work? She’d love that. No. Leave Abra to me. I’ll speak to her.’

‘When?’

‘Soon.’ He’d have to. He had no choice really. His greatest horror was that he might have to charge her with murder. The thought of this was infinitely worse than the possibility of infidelity and that was bad enough.

‘Okay. You know your own business best. So who do you want to see first?’

‘Gary Oldfield springs to mind. He’s still looking tasty to my way of thinking. He could still have done it. He could have rung through to the Chinese takeaway and ordered his meal and driven straight to the Staveleys’ house.’

‘He looks no more interesting than anyone else, surely?’

‘Yes he does. He lied to us, remember, and induced his girlfriend to lie to us as well. Why lie if he’s not got something to hide?

‘Maybe because he didn’t want us to know that he had been out and about near the Staveleys’ home at the relevant time.’