Kith and Kill (28 page)

‘So what did you do with it? Get rid of it, did you? After knifing the old lady?’

‘Knifin’ her? What you talkin’ about? I never knifed nobody and you can't prove I did, see.’

‘I wouldn't be so sure of that. Means, motive, opportunity. You had all three in spades, Sonny. And you know it. After all, you're hardly an innocent abroad.’

Harper said nothing. He seemed to be calculating the odds. Then he burst out, ‘I didn't do it. You ask Adam, I was with him all night until he turfed me out in the mornin’.’

‘And what time was that?’

‘How do I know? I haven't got a watch’

‘You had one last time my officer spoke to you. A real pricey job, from what I hear. What did you do? Pawn it?’

‘What's it to you? And as for the time, all I know is that it was still bleedin’ dark when I left. Unearthly bloody time of day to turf someone out of bed, if you ask me.’

Was that an indication that Adam didn't know his grandmother was dead and was keen to remove his lover from the house before she woke? Or was it the craftier Harper's idea to make it
look
like he didn't? And that he was complaining about the early start to strengthen the look? ‘Got you out of the house before the old lady's body was discovered, did he?’

‘He got me out of the house before she got up and found me in the kitchen eating her cornflakes. I'm not sayin’ no more. I want a brief.’ His mouth shut tight as a rat-trap.

‘I'll get you a brief, Mr Harper,’ said Rafferty, adding for the benefit of the tape, ‘Interview suspended at three-fifteen pm.’

They left Will Harper with the uniformed constable to keep him company and adjourned to their office.

‘What do you think, Dafyd? Think he did it to speed along his nuptials with Adam?’

‘Maybe. He certainly had good reason to want to kill Mrs Egerton. As long as she lived she would stand in the way of his path to the good life with Adam Chambers. Mr Chambers must have told him he couldn't marry him until his grandmother died.’

‘And Sophia was hale and hearty and likely to live a lot longer than his love affair with Adam. The Harpers of this world soon show their true colours. Doubt it would have lasted more than a few more months, which would give him reason to want to encourage a speedy civil partnership. I suppose Dahlia Sullivan must have seen something, suspected something, which would give them reason to kill her. As he said, he's not stupid. He must have realized the usual downward spiral of his love life. Knifing one old lady who surely couldn't have too many more years, must have seemed small beer and an easy path to the good life with Adam. I might have taken it if I'd been him.’

‘Really?’ Llewellyn stared at him.

‘If I was him, I said. But I'm not him, so you can stop looking at me like
I
crawled out from under a stone.’ Rafferty paused thoughtfully. ‘We need to find that knife. It'll give us forensics even if it didn't kill Sophia. The search teams can hunt again for the weapon used to stun Dahlia while they're at it. But that knife could be the clincher. We'll keep Harper in custody for as long as we can, but we need to find that knife or they'll get away with it.’

Between the
multifarious tasks of a double murder investigation, Rafferty managed to fit in time to find a car that matched the description he'd given Patrick Sean and bought it after some haggling and the unusual agreement to turn the clock back
after
the sale rather than before.

Patrick Sean was delighted with it and paid up his share without a quibble. Rafferty could only hope it ran like it had been owned by one responsible lady owner. Fortunately his brother didn't glance at the registration document which listed previous owners, but just dumped it with a pile of other papers on the coffee table when Rafferty brought the car round. He was busy so he didn't stop and chat, but got Patrick Sean to drop him back at the station. He still had a double murder investigation to put to bed.

The
inquiry was a fortnight old and Rafferty was starting to feel the effects of the late nights. So when he got finished work after yet another long day, the last thing he wanted was Abra in Rupert Ballantyne mode.

‘What's this?’ Abra asked as soon as he got home. She was holding up what looked suspiciously like his credit card statement. ‘You're another two and a half grand in hock to Shylock & Co. Why? We haven't bought anything major since our wedding.’

Rafferty knew he was caught on the horns of his own bribery extravaganza and he squirmed in a thoroughly guilty manner. Then he went on the offensive. ‘That's
my
statement. Why did
you
open it?’

‘I didn't notice it was for you. I'm with the same bunch. Remember? But never mind that.’ Abra's gaze narrowed suspiciously. ‘What have you been up to, Joe?’

‘Up to? Nothing. Nothing. I swear.’

Rafferty wished he could tell her the truth, but she'd go ballistic if she learned he'd forked out two and a half grand towards a new car for his brother, especially as she'd been denied a new kitchen.

‘So, come on. If it's nothing you need to hide, you can tell me what the money was for. What have you spent it on?’

Rafferty thought on his feet. It was something he'd never been good at and he knew he'd regret it. ‘It's a surprise.’ It certainly would be.

Abra's expression immediately softened. ‘For me? Ooh! I love surprises.’

Not this one you won't, my sweet, Rafferty thought. Not if you find out it was spent on bribery and corruption. What the hell could he buy her that cost two and a half grand and how the hell was he supposed to pay for it? He didn't think it likely his credit card company would agree to extending his limit by such a lump for a second time. Not in these austere times. Perhaps he could try for another card?

Abra beamed at him. ‘I know what you're getting me.’

‘You do?’ It was more than he knew.

Abra nodded. ‘Yes. It's a new kitchen, isn't it? You've put a down payment on one!’

Caught, Rafferty could only give a sickly smile.

‘I thought you said we couldn't afford one after the expense of the wedding.’

‘I did, didn't I? I must have got my sums wrong.’

‘Oh, Joe.’ Abra rushed him and hugged him tight enough to give his breathing pause. ‘Can we go this weekend and look at some units, then?’ She kissed him, long and thoroughly, then said, ‘I wish now I hadn't thrown away those catalogues I'd been collecting. I only got rid because you were so adamant that we had to make do with the old kitchen.’

‘Well, now you can have the pleasure of collecting them all over again.’ Rafferty was left, with his poor grasp of arithmetic, trying to collect his thoughts and figure out how much more he'd have to pay to Shylock & Co a month. And for how long.

With
the search for the missing knife and the blunt instrument that had killed Dahlia continuing, in sudden squalls and high winds that made the job of searching unpleasant, Rafferty and Llewellyn concentrated on Adam Chambers and Will Harper.

Adrian Chambers had told his boyfriend to dispense with the duty brief and had provided him with the services of Ballantyne who insisted that they either release or charge the pair. But Rafferty insisted on hanging on to them until the statutory thirty-six hours had passed and was seriously considering requesting the permitted extension. But Llewellyn persuaded him against it.

‘You don't want Ballantyne to infer that you were staging a personal vendetta if we do get this case to court.’

‘A personal vendetta? What do you mean?’

‘I mean that you know how good Ballantyne is at twisting things. If he gets an inkling that you're a homophobe–‘

‘I'm not a homophobe,’ Rafferty protested.’ I just like taking the mickey. I do it to everyone. I'm not homophobic. Or any sort of phobic. I'm not ageist. Or sexist. Or any ‘ist’, either, really. It's more that I resent having my freedom of speech – a freedom my ancestors – and yours – fought hard for over the centuries – restricted by a bunch of self-righteous, mealy-mouthed wankers. Too much like the Thought Police of Orwell's 1984, for my liking.’ Rafferty was rather proud of the literary reference. Pleased, too, to see the quickly-masked astonishment cross Llewellyn's face. ‘If I want to call you a “smug Welsh git”, I'd like to feel able to do so. Likewise, feel free to call me a ‘bog-trotter.’ Though, in my case, it wouldn't be very accurate, city-raised boy as I am.’

‘In my experience, you already feel free to call me a “smug Welsh git”, self-righteous moralisers notwithstanding. Not to mention other things. “Intellectual know-nothing” springs to mind.’

‘But I didn't know you then,’ Rafferty defended himself. ‘You're not a “know-nothing” at all. I'd say you're more of a “know too bloody much-er”, myself. Latin quotations being a case in point.’

‘I can't help the fact I went to university and dabble in the classics.’

‘You do a damn sight more than dabble. Didn't I see a book by some ancient Roman clever-clogs whose name escapes me, in the original Latin, in your house?’

‘I might have one or two. It's a useful language to know when one is following a career in the law.’

‘Well, I've never found it necessary.’

‘Really? Haven't you ever felt patronised by the legal types with their references to
habeus corpus
and
ad rem
and
ad hominem
and–?’

‘Well, yes. That's true. I get your drift. And you're right. Those legal types are a bunch of patronising twats. God knows they've always done their best to make me feel like PC Plodder the dunce of the class. But then, you see, people from my background have our own linguistic expertise. It's fun to use Cockney rhyming slang in court and see their jaws drop. Would you believe that one of those superior briefs had no idea that “Jam jars” is Cockney rhyming slang for cars? Funny how so much of the criminal class's
patois
’ – this brought another brief look of surprise from Llewellyn – ‘has passed them by. Look at judges if you want a prime example of what I mean. What a shower of out-of-touch nincompoops some of them are. They let criminals go free, left and right and then seem astonished when the poor, misunderstood, misbegotten buggers break the law again. Ping! Light bulb time. They're criminals, Your Honour. It's what they do. It's what they'll always do, most likely. But those dozy buggers make me feel I'm wasting my time catchin’ ‘em.’ Rafferty grinned. ‘Sorry. Outburst over. What were you saying. I've forgotten.’

‘We were discussing Ballantyne. We've both seen him perform in court. We've both seen him sway juries and homophobe or no, he's likely to pounce on any use of non PC language and use it against you. So far, all we have is circumstantial evidence.’

Rafferty cursed. He knew that Llewellyn was right. He'd have to let the pair go if he wasn't to be smeared if – when –they did eventually get the pair to court. To be labelled homophobe or any of the other ’ists’ he'd mentioned, was a big no no in the modern police service. It could be enough to get him suspended. It would be too ironic if he got suspended after all his trouble at getting out of trouble over the hookey jewellery.

Scowling, he left Llewellyn to organize their release and slouched up to his office by way of the canteen. What now? he pondered over a mug of hot, sweet tea and a doughnut specially donated by Pearl, the Caribbean canteen lady after he'd loaded a few moans on to her. Desultorily, he read through the paperwork they had accumulated during the case, liberally sprinkling sugar from the cake. Page after page turned under his fingers: statements and more statements – the paperwork was never-ending. It was only as he reached almost to the end that something occurred to him and he started searching back through the bundles. Feverishly, he seized a thin sheaf of documents and scrabbled through them, past waffle and more waffle.

There! That was it. And as he read, he realized that it all fitted. He stared into space, tea and doughnut forgotten as he thought out the ramifications. Ballantyne would likely be called into play again. Their culprit had been very crafty. The more he thought of the defiant denials, the uncertain support and the probable outcome after Adam's arrest, the more he believed they had their perpetrator. There were one or two things still unexplained, of course, like why their murderer had murdered the first victim twice and why they'd killed Dahlia who could no way have witnessed the deed, but weren't there always? He'd figure something out to explain the discrepancies.

And he did. For as he picked up his mug and absent-mindedly drank the now cold tea, he realized he had been right all along. There
had
been two murderers. Or as Dally would have it, one murderer and one would-be murderer of Sophia Egerton, one of whom had also killed Dahlia. And now that he believed he knew the identity of both murderers a little chat with Father Kelly seemed called for.

Triumphantly, he went in search of Llewellyn. He needed the logical Welshman to see what he had seen and to come to the same conclusions.

Llewellyn
was uncertain. ‘It's still only circumstantial. Still no more proof of anything than we had before.’

‘Yes, but do you think I'm right?’

Slowly, ponderously, Llewellyn nodded and Rafferty punched the air. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘How do we set about proving it?’