Kith and Kill (17 page)

‘What about the younger elements of the family? I know you said you didn't know them well, but perhaps you gauged something of their personalities?’

‘I found Adam fun, but unpredictable. Typical homosexual. I know Sophia enjoyed him and thought him far more amusing than the other members of her family. Her sister Alice she found a whiner, always complaining about something.’ She lay back against her pillows, her breathing quick and shallow. Rafferty asked her if she would like some water and she nodded as speech seemed beyond her. Rafferty hurried to do her bidding, scared she was about to pass out.

She seemed a little better after the few sips of water and she handed him back the glass. Gradually, her breathing eased and she was able to speak again. ‘Eric was a bit of a bore. I always thought him one of those, what do they call them? I know. Obsessive-compulsives. Everything always had to be just so with him. Terribly tedious.’ She smiled. Not only a sweet smile, but, as Rafferty noted, all her own teeth. ‘I've yet to meet an accountant who isn't. It's not, I think, a profession for someone who's the life and soul of the party.’

‘And the most likely murderer?’

She hesitated. ‘I don't want to put ideas in your head. But I'd say Adam out of all of them.’

‘What about Dahlia Sullivan, the housekeeper, and her husband?’

‘Oh, are they still there? Poor things. I'd have thought they would have retired years ago. I suppose Sophie was using her money to keep them where she wanted them. She always used it as a weapon, you know. I'm sure they must have wanted to retire.’

‘Do you think them likely to kill to gain their inheritance and the chance to retire to the sun?’

Ellen Everett laughed. But it brought on a bout of coughing and it was some minutes before she was sufficiently recovered to speak again. ‘I could see Dahlia being tempted. She was always a strong-minded girl. In the theatre she was always the poor relation when it came to parts. That must have rankled. I know it did with me, when Sophia got the parts I wanted. And she's continued playing the servant to the lead all these years.’

‘What about Dahlia's husband, Freddie?’

‘Doubt it. Freddie was always easy going. A bit too easy going. Flirtations always took up any extra energy he might have. I'd say he's mostly harmless. I don't suppose he's changed. I can't see him killing anyone. It was always Dahlia who wore the trousers out of those two. She's like Sophia in some ways. Would never brook any nonsense.’

She lay back and her eyelids fluttered closed. The young nurse bustled in, took one look at her patient and hustled them out. ‘I told you not to tire her.’

‘I'm sorry, Nurse. I didn't realise she was so weak. What's the matter with her?’

‘Is that any of your business?’

Rafferty admitted it wasn't.

‘Then mind your own.’ She nodded down the stairs. ‘The door's that way. I'm sure you can see yourselves out.’

Rafferty was amused rather than annoyed by her attitude. The girl was matron material. She should study nursing properly, he thought and get some qualifications, rather than burying herself in a care home, surrounded by patients who were never going to get better and go home. It was a depressing job for a young girl.

He was glad to get outside and discover that while they had been speaking to Ellen Everett, the October day had changed from dull and dismal to wall-to-wall sunshine. Although the wind was a bit raw, the weather really was rather splendid, with brilliant blue skies and bright sunlight which was all the more welcome with winter not too far away. ‘Cecily Barber next on our homeward route?’

Llewellyn nodded.

‘Near enough for us to walk?’

‘I don't know.’

‘What do you mean, you don't know?’

Llewellyn glanced across at him and said. ‘Just that it's always so hard to judge. You tend to start complaining after such a short time, walking. Certainly, she lives near enough for
me
to walk. But, as I said, I'm not sure about you.’

‘Hey. Funny man. I bet I could out-walk you any day. Especially since I don't smoke any longer.’

‘Very well. Come along then, sir. She lives at Northgate.’ Rafferty pulled a face as it was quite a step. But Llewellyn set out at a brisk pace and for all that Rafferty was three inches taller, he had to practically run to catch up with him.

‘A bit more respect for your superiors wouldn't go amiss,’ he complained once he was again alongside his sergeant. ‘And that was an unfair advantage. If I was the line judge I'd call it a false start.’

‘Never mind, sir. Keep up the pace and we can cross the line together.’

‘I certainly deserve a medal. Though whether it's for my walking ability or for working with you…’

Cecily
Barber was something of a Grande Dame. She was tall and statuesque with lots of upswept silver hair. She must have looked after herself, because although she was a peer in age to Ellen Everett, her skin looked soft and with few wrinkles, unlike the former's which had been crevassed with lines. Her house was in a similar vein: tall and stately-looking, with four stories and glossy white satin curtains at the many windows.

Ms Barber invited them up to her first floor drawing-room and asked them to sit down. Rafferty, thirsty after their walk, waited for her to offer tea. But no such offer came. Disgruntled, he subsided on to the sofa.

‘I heard about Sophia's murder. Quite dreadful. How are you getting on with catching the person who did it?’

Rafferty told her that inquiries were progressing.

Cecily Barber fixed him with a stentorian gaze. ‘Please, Inspector. Don't try to fob me off with that sort of piffle. The papers said there was no sign of a break in so, to use the common parlance which I usually deplore, I presume it was an inside job. You must have some idea of who did it. Was it one of the twins? That bitter sister of hers?’

‘We really can't discuss an on-going investigation, Ms Barber.’

‘Pah! Don't see why not. I'm her oldest friend. Surely I'm more entitled to hear news first rather than the gutter press?’

‘As I said, Ms– ‘

‘Yes, yes. I heard you the first time. There's no need to repeat yourself. So, if you're not going to take me into your confidence, what do you want to speak to me about? I really don't know what I can tell you that you can't find out from elsewhere.’

‘As you said – you're Mrs Egerton's oldest friend. You seem to have selected a few possible suspects yourself. Tell me, why did you pick on the twins and Mrs Egerton's sister?’

Cecily Barber shrugged her wide shoulders. ‘No particular reason. The twins because they're young, I suppose and the young always think they should have everything
now.
And Alice Pickford because she was always jealous of her sister. Not a bit grateful that Sophia has put a roof over her head for the last twenty years. Always had a sense of entitlement.’

Cecily let a little sigh escape. ‘Can't blame her, I suppose. With her beauty, everything fell into Sophia's lap: career, husband, wealth. Alice was always plain and dumpy. On the few occasions she got a boy to invite her out, he'd usually dump her once he caught a glimpse of the glorious Sophia. Woman's had a dull life. A sad life in many ways. When you think that even her parents didn't want her... Though, of course, that applied to Sophia too. But at least they kept her for three years before they abandoned her.’

‘Was there anyone else in the household that you consider might have had reason to kill her?’

Cecily shook her head. ‘I didn't mean to direct your inquiries. Ignore me. It will, after all, probably turn out to be an outsider who did it. Someone who managed to gain entrance in spite of the locked doors.’ She glanced shrewdly at him. ‘But no. You'll have considered that and discounted it. That's why you're here. Am I right?’

Unwillingly, Rafferty found himself nodding. There was something about Cecily Barber that encouraged obedience. He hoped he wasn't starting to get into the older man's saddo preference for ladies who corrected. Wouldn't Abra love that?!

‘How did you and Sophia Egerton meet?’ he asked now. ‘Were you in the theatre, too?’

‘Yes. But I didn't tread the boards. I was a director.’ Used to giving orders, Rafferty translated. That explained it. ‘Quite well known in my day. You won't have heard of me. Before your time. So, what now, Inspector? Going to do a re-enaction?’

Rafferty shook his head. He'd like to see Superintendent Bradley's face if he suggested it. Long-Pockets Bradley wouldn't countenance it, that was for sure, even though the cast, like the budget, would be strictly limited. ‘It's early days yet, Ms Barber. We might consider such a course later, if it's thought necessary.’

‘Hmm. It'll be the cuts, I suppose. I know the police are facing them the same as the rest of the country. It's too bad that they should affect the investigation into Sophia's murder, though.’

‘Please, Ms Barber, let me assure you that the cuts won't affect my investigation into Mrs Egerton's murder.’

Cecily tutted and wagged a correcting finger at him. ‘You can assure me all you like, young man. But of course they will. How can they not? Your officers need to be paid. They need the hours to do the paperwork thanks to the bureaucracy of the police service. You'll be losing support staff. So don't tell me that the investigation into Sophia's murder won't be affected. How can it not be?’ Now, was there anything else you wanted to know?’

Rafferty smiled. He didn't trouble to alter her opinion that the cuts wouldn't affect his inquiry. Perhaps they would. Though they wouldn't affect his determination to find Sophia Egerton's killer.

Once they were back out on the pavement, Rafferty said, ‘I was hoping she'd offer us a drink. Let's find a caff and get some tea and a bun. There's a greasy spoon on Victoria Street.’

Five minutes later that were seated at a grimy table with ground in stains. It didn't bother Rafferty, but Llewellyn's nose turned up.

Rafferty placated. ‘I know it doesn't look much and they'd win no beauty contests, but they do a lovely cup of tea.’

‘Yes, but can one trust the cleanliness of the crockery?’

‘Boiling water will kill most of the germs. Don't worry.’

The tea, when it came, was hot and strong and in large white mugs. The sticky buns were of a matching size and satisfyingly chewy.

‘I suppose we ought to catch up on some paperwork when we get back.’

‘Yes. I was thinking the same,’ said Llewellyn. ‘We do seem to be getting rather behind with the paperwork on this investigation.’

‘Toss you for the smallest pile.’

‘You know I don't gamble.’

Rafferty tutted. ‘You're really going to have to take up
some
vices, man. How will you ever know when you're dead, if you don't?’

‘I think the fact that my heart has stopped beating will make it clear.’

‘Mr Logical. Seriously, though. You ought to at least try some alcohol. See what you're missing.’

‘And if I find I like it? Who will you use to chauffeur you and your brothers to the next stag party?’

‘There is that. Okay. Stay off the booze, then. Plenty of other vices for you to take up.’ He considered. ‘Smoking's no good, not with your fitness routine. Have you ever thought about massage parlours? The seamy sort.’

‘Certainly not.’ Llewellyn sipped delicately at his tea. He seemed to be trying to drink it without his lips touching the sides. He didn't succeed. For once, he didn't look quite so pristine.

‘You want to go and wash that off in the gents before it sets.’

‘I was hoping to avoid visiting the facilities.’

‘They're clean enough. They even provided some bog roll last time I visited.’

While Llewellyn was gone, Rafferty thought about the case. But as that brought nothing useful in the way of evidence, he helped himself to Llewellyn's sticky bun instead. The act of chewing, he found, helped his brain turn.

Just about everyone he had spoken to had seemed to point the finger at Adam Chapman. Was that because he was the family naughty boy? Though forging cheques wasn't in the same league as murder. Had he upped his game? And what about the rest of them? How likely was it that the eighty-seven year old Alice Pickford had killed her sister? After living with her for twenty years? Had she felt that her time was running out and had she wanted to get some sun on her bones before they put her six feet under? He found it hard to believe that anyone that close to meeting their Maker would blot their copybook so badly.

Trouble was, every one of them had had the opportunity to kill Sophia. They also all had the means, as cushions were in ready supply in Sophia Egerton's well-appointed bedroom. And motives were in pretty fair supply, too.

Rafferty sighed and concentrated on finishing Llewellyn's bun. That done, he turned to the Welshman's tea and finished that as well as it seemed an odds on certainty that Llewellyn would spurn the rest of it. With nothing left to eat or drink, he became fidgety. He turned his head towards the café’s toilets. What was he doing in there? Taking in laundry?

Llewellyn appeared five minutes later, looking slightly damp, but as pristine as ever.

‘Right. Let's go. See you, Sid,’ Rafferty shouted to the proprietor.