Down Among the Dead Men Page 10

  'It's not unheard of, you know,' Llewellyn went on. 'Lots of youngsters took a similar vow in the area where I lived. It was a small community, traditional. It's not so common now, of course. I remember the girls used to be encouraged to take a vow of chastity, to save their virginity for their wedding night.'

  'And I suppose some of them combined the two?' Rafferty joked heavy-handedly. 'Shades of - "lips that touch liquour shall never touch mine".' Of course, his joke fell flatter than a Shrove Tuesday pancake.

  'I didn't expect you to understand.'

  Llewellyn sounded put out and Rafferty couldn't really blame him. He'd undergone enough religious indoctrination himself in his time to know what it was like, and with Llewellyn's father having been a Minister, he'd have received more than most. Hadn't the Catholic church done its best to turn his own youth into a desert of denial? As he recalled, everything had been a sin. Even to think naughty thoughts was wicked, though how you were supposed to control thoughts when they sprang unbidden, he'd never understood. Luckily for his libido, he'd never paid too much heed to the squinting Father O'Brien, old wink, blink and nod one night, as they'd called him. Now, he cleared his throat and wisely changed the subject. 'What did you make of the first Mrs Longman?' he asked.

  Llewellyn shrugged. 'Very prickly, very defensive. It's obvious she's bitter about losing custody of her son and blamed the dead woman.'

  Rafferty nodded. 'Could be a possible motive there. And she was vague about her whereabouts at the time of the murder. But unless she had an accomplice, she would seem to be out of it, as she couldn't have made that telephone call. Besides, the woman's a lush and they're not noted for either the excellence of their memories or for being cool-headed enough to get away with murder.'

  He opened the entrance door and they ran for the car to get out of the downpour. Aware of Llewellyn's opinion of his driving, and feeling guilty about his earlier insensitivity, Rafferty handed the car keys to his sergeant. 'You drive.'

  'I don't know about her drinking habits,' Llewellyn remarked, as he started the engine and edged cautiously out into the traffic, 'but she seemed a neurotic woman. The sort who might behave impulsively.'

  'Mm. That's my conclusion, too,' agreed Rafferty. 'But even if we ignore the fact that the telephone caller was male, if she was going to kill Barbara, I can't see her suffocating her. She felt that Barbara had robbed her, not only of her son, but also of his love. I get the impression that all that anger would demand a more bloody revenge, as, apart from the drink, the boy seems to be the only thing in her life that she values.'

  'That's hardly surprising, as there doesn't appear to be anything else in her life to value. We always prize highest that which we cannot have,' pronounced Llewellyn. 'She married very young, too. She was still only eighteen when she had her son, and her brother said she never acquired any qualifications. What sort of job could she get now, do you think, with no qualifications, no experience and a drinking problem? She must feel she's got a lot to be bitter about and she has all the time in the world to brood on it. It's an unhealthy mixture.'

  Yes, but had it become a dangerous mixture, too? Rafferty wondered. Unlike Henry, he thought she'd have sufficient daring to kill Barbara. But daring alone wouldn't have been enough, it would have required coolness, too. A couple of stiff whiskies could have provided that, he supposed. If she had the sense to restrict herself to the two. She'd also have had to find a man friend to entice Barbara to that meadow.

  The car slowed and stopped as the lunchtime traffic built up. Rafferty fretted, as usual hating the trapped feeling a traffic jam invariably induced in him. Of course, he had become used to quieter roads. Unsurprisingly, Llewellyn, with his dislike of rushing anywhere, took the stop-start progress in his stride, which irritated Rafferty even more. He found himself drumming his fingers on his knee, as the windscreen wipers did their best to hypnotise him.

  'I want you to go to Charles Shore's business premises again when we get back, Dafyd. Have a look at his office if you can, and speak to anyone there you didn't speak to last time. Find out if there's any way he could have gone out without anyone else being the wiser. We also need to have another chat with Hilary Shore, pin her down a bit tighter on her claimed appointment times.' They had visited Harvey Nichols and Mrs Armadi before seeing Anne Longman and discovered the size of the gap between her appointments. It was a sizeable gap, but Hilary Shell had given the impression that one had more or less immediately followed the other. Before he returned to his brooding, he added, half to himself, 'they're a bit too loose for my liking.' Glancing at the calm profile of Llewellyn, he asked the question that had often intrigued him. 'Why did you join the police, Dafyd?'

  Llewellyn was silent for a moment, as though reflecting on his own reasons before he replied. 'Philosophy starts up in the air and remains there,' was his cryptic observation. 'Which is mainly why I gave it up at university. With police work, particularly at this level, there's an answer at the end. A resolution. I like that.'

  'Not always, there isn't,' Rafferty pointed out and immediately wished he hadn't. It didn't do to tempt the fates, to put ideas into their too suggestible heads, especially as experience had warned him that, unlike the nun, the fates had no divine pressure to resist temptation.

  Rafferty needed to think, and it seemed a cup of hot sweet tea in the station canteen was the nearest he was going to get to liquid inspiration. Luckily, when they reached the M25, it was fairly clear. So, he ordered Llewellyn to get into the fast lane and put his foot down.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Later that afternoon after Rafferty had downed several cups of tea, each of them singularly failing to provide any inspiration at all, Llewellyn cautiously nosed the car out of the back exit of the police station. Turning right into Bread Street he took a short cut towards the southern outskirts of Elmhurst, carefully avoiding East Hill and its roadworks. But for once Llewellyn's usual efficiency must have deserted him, for they were held up for five minutes at the level crossing in Church Road as, surprisingly dead on time, the express from Liverpool Street Station roared past.

  'Should have taken Station Road and gone under the bridge,' Rafferty informed the Welshman. After pointedly sighing, frowning at the crossing barrier and looking at his watch, Rafferty finally glanced at Llewellyn and remarked casually, 'You know, as we seem to be rapidly eliminating everybody else in the case, I'm becoming more and more convinced that one of her family killed her, especially as, so far, only Charles Shore's alibi has held up. The question is - which one of them did it?'

  Rafferty took no notice of the long-suffering sigh that escaped Llewellyn's thin lips at this pronouncement, and went on. 'Of course, we'll have to continue checking out these other suspects - the Conservation Society members, and the farmer, and you can call me suspicious if you like, but, the more members of that family I meet, the more it strikes me there's something not right, something downright unhealthy about them. You've only got to look at that bloody morbid house they live in to see that.'

  Llewellyn's lips tightened, but, apart from commenting that impressions weren't evidence, he didn't betray his irritation further.

  Rafferty was into his stride now and wouldn't allow Llewellyn's natural caution to deflect him. There were undercurrents in that house; undercurrents that had only confirmed his suspicions. 'For instance, take Hilary Shore. For all her tears, she didn't strike me as exactly grief-stricken at Mrs Longman's death. And her alibis's a bit shaky.'

  The barrier rose just then, and broke his train of thought, but as Llewellyn put the car into gear and bumped over the crossing, he began again. 'At least we can eliminate everyone known to have been at the house before 3.30 p m. I had Hanks test how long it would take to drive to the meadow from the Shores' house. Putting his foot down hard - not that he could do too much of that because the roads are so winding - it still took nearly ten minutes, and then he had to cross the field to where the body was found. So, if someone in the house killed her, they wouldn't h
ave got back there much before 3.30 p.m. According to Mrs Griffiths, Barbara Longman left the house right on 3.00 p.m. She remembers the library clock chiming the hour. Did you check out if they all drive?'

  Llewellyn nodded. 'According to the Licensing Authority at Swansea, they've all got licences.'

  'So, if it took ten minutes to drive to Tiffey Meadow and the same time to get back, plus the time to cross the meadow, kill Barbara and then return to the car, that lets out the housekeeper, the tutor and the au pair. As I said, it lets out anyone known to have been at the house before 3.30 p.m.' With a sideways glance at Llewellyn, he demanded, 'So, who does that leave us with?'

  'Henry Longman, Anne Longman, and Charles and Hilary Shore,' The Welshman intoned. 'But, apart from Anne Longman, they've all given alibis.'

  'I know. But, if they're crackable, I intend to crack them. Don't forget that telephone call must have been made by someone who knew her, someone aware of her interests, who also knew the ex-directory number. The housekeeper admitted the voice sounded familiar, so that means it's not likely to be a casual anti-conservationist acquaintance. She also said the voice sounded muffled, which indicates that they were deliberately trying to disguise it, indicating, in turn, someone far closer, someone who knew their voice would be recognised.'

  'Do you really think it's possible to disguise one's voice?'

  'It's obvious you've led a sheltered life, Taff,' Rafferty scoffed. 'You'd be surprised how much a handkerchief over the mouthpiece can alter a voice. My brothers and I used to think it was a great trick when we were young. One of us would ring up the school pretending to be my father and say we'd all suffered food poisoning.' He grinned. 'We got away with it several times, until my old man met us in the street.'

  'Speaking of telephone calls.' Llewellyn interrupted his reminiscences. 'I went to see the Shores' housekeeper while you were in the canteen. I thought if she did have any ideas about the identity of the caller, she might be more forthcoming to me with us both being Welsh.'

  'And was she?'

  'No,' Llewellyn admitted. 'But she did confirm that Shore had put his name forward to the Tory party for selection. She told me something else as well.'

  Impressed that his sergeant had managed to get any information out of the tight-lipped housekeeper, Rafferty waited.

  'She said that Anne Longman had planned to contest the custody ruling, but changed her mind only a few weeks before Barbara Longman's death. Apparently, her legal advisers finally convinced her she would lose. I gather she didn't take it very well. Rather blamed Barbara Longman. Unfortunately for her, of course, the dead woman was a...'

  'An angel, a wonderful woman, beloved by all,' Rafferty intoned. 'In fact, the sort of woman who no judge would think of removing a child from.'

  Llewellyn murmured, 'From whom no judge...,' under his breath.

  Rafferty couldn't decide which was getting to him more; Llewellyn's pedantry or the supposed saintliness of the victim. He wasn't sure if he was intended to hear the correction, wasn't even sure if Llewellyn realised he did it half the time. But if he could do nothing about the victim's aggravatingly upright character, he could certainly nip the other irritation in the bud.

  'Who from - from whom - who cares?' he demanded. 'You're not at that bloody university now, so just stop trying to teach me the Queen's English, okay?' Llewellyn's mouth shut with the snap of a Venus fly-trap. Rafferty did his best to ignore the hurt silence that formed an aura around him. 'So,' he continued a few seconds later, before Llewellyn retreated into a total huff. 'You're saying that Mrs Griffiths hinted that recently there's been even less love than usual between number one wife and number two?'

  'Oh, I don't think there was any animosity on the part of the second Mrs Longman,' Llewellyn replied with clipped politeness. He applied the brake with rather more force than necessary as they approached the crossroads near the Shores' home. 'No, all the bad feeling stemmed from the first wife. According to Mrs Griffiths, there's a trust fund for the boy. And whoever acts as his guardian controls it.'

  'And the lad's mother would like to get her mitts on it, is that it?'

  The Welshman nodded.

  They were about to turn into the Shores' drive when a woman waved them to a halt. 'Wonder what she wants?' Rafferty mused, as he wound the window down and watched, in the rear view mirror, as she parked her shopping trolley neatly on the grass verge and waited for them to reverse towards her. 'Back up, Dafyd. Let's find out.'

  The woman stuck her head through the open window and demanded of Rafferty, 'You the police?' He nodded. 'I thought you were. I've seen you in and out of the Shores' place since Barbara was taken. I've been waiting and waiting for you to come and see me, but no-one has.'

  Rafferty glanced at Llewellyn. How did she get missed in the house-to-house? his eyebrows asked.

  I don't know, Llewellyn's expression signalled. But I'll find out.

  With the smoothness of long practice, Rafferty concealed the cockup. 'Sorry it's taken so long, but we're here now, Mrs...?'

  'Mrs Watson.' Glancing over her shoulder, she leaned forward conspiratorially, button-brown eyes round and sharp nose aquiver. 'I hear that Barbara's long stick of a husband claimed he was in a meeting all day last Thursday. Well, I can tell you for a fact, he wasn't.'

  She gazed at them with a kind of expectant triumph, and Rafferty said, 'Perhaps you'd like to pop yourself in the back and tell us all about it? Sergeant, get out and open the door for Mrs Watson, like a gentleman, there's a good chap.' Expressionlessly, Llewellyn did as he was told.

  Settled comfortably in the back seat, Mrs Watson proceeded to admire the upholstery, the floor carpet, the winking lights on the dashboard, until Rafferty began to get a crick in his neck from craning round waiting for her stream of inanities to end. Thankfully, she finally said something that interested him.

  'I live in the cottage at the back of the Shores' place,' she explained. 'And I saw him just after 2.30 p m on Thursday, parking at the rear entrance to the big house. Saw him with my own eyes, I did. Furtive he looked. That's the only word for it. Furtive. Gardening I was. Saw him through the hedge, but he couldn't see me.'

  Rafferty and Llewellyn exchanged significant glances. So they'd discovered the first lie. Rafferty wondered how many more there'd be? 'You're sure it was Henry Longman?'

  She gave him a scathing look. 'Course I'm sure. Think I wouldn't recognise that long streak of bacon anywhere? Besides, he was only across the lane from me - a matter of eight or nine feet. And short-sighted I'm not. You ask old Boyd, the optician in the High Street if you don't believe me. I recognised his car an' all - that fancy car that Charles Shore bought for him. Think I wouldn't recognise that?'

  After the scrutiny she'd given their car, Rafferty had to admit she had a point.

  'It were Henry Longman, I'm telling you. He parks that car in front of my house often enough, while he skives off work with his weak belly or his irritable bowels or whatever. Man's a walking 'condriac. He was talking on that car phone of his when I saw him. Spose he was onto his doctor again, though you'd think he could manage to wait till he got to the house to do it.' She smiled with a grim satisfaction. 'From the look on his face the doctor refused to come out.'

  Rafferty glanced at Llewellyn to see if he had any criticisms to make of Mrs Watson's grammar. But if he had, he kept them to himself and Rafferty returned his attention to the woman.

  'Going to arrest him, are you?' she demanded.

  'As for that, we'll have to wait and see what he has to say for himself,' Rafferty observed quietly. 'But thank you, Mrs Watson. What you've told us is very helpful.'

  'Never liked that Henry,' she announced, settlng back against the admired upholstery as if she intended taking up residence. 'Feckless and useless he is. Whatever a fine woman like Barbara saw in him I don't know. And him with a troublesome great lump of a lad for her to worry about as well. As if he wasn't enough, with his weak stomach and his nerves. What cause has he got to have nerv
es, I'd like to know? She had more right to nerves than him, I'm telling you. Woman was a saint, why she...'

  'Yes, thank you, Mrs Watson,' Rafferty put in hurriedly. Surprised that he had managed to stop the flow, he cocked a mischievous eye at Llewellyn and added, 'Perhaps my sergeant here can drop you home and get a formal statement from you?'

  She had started to preen at the prospect of being chauffered home in the car for the neighbours to see, but it was apparent that she didn't find the making of an official statement quite so enticing.

  'Nothing to worry about,' he assured her. 'Only we do like to have things nice and tidy. For the records.'

  She nodded slowly. 'Not one for mess and disorder, me. Keep a clean house and a clean life. I've nothing to sweep under the carpet, I'm sure. Not like some.'

  Rafferty looked pointedly at the Welshman. Find out who had, the signal passed between them. Rafferty slipped quickly out of the car. 'Drive carefully, Llewellyn,' he instructed. As if he ever drove any other way. 'You've got a valuable witness there.' To his amusement, the woman's preening resumed. 'You can leave visiting Shore's office again for now. It'll keep. Check out Mrs Watson's neighbours, while you're at it,' he added in a murmur. 'Find out if they saw Henry that afternoon. You can come back for me when Mrs Watson has finished with you.''

  From the resigned look on Llewellyn's face, he suspected it might be some time before his sergeant managed to get away. Still, it might be better to listen alone first to whatever explanation Henry Longman came up with. Might get more out of him without Llewellyn there, wearing his permanent air of slight disapproval of the human race and their goings on.

  He manhandled Mrs Watson's shopping trolley into the car, said goodbye to her and shut the door. As Llewellyn drove off, Rafferty raised a hand in reply to the woman's self-consciously regal wave, before heading up the drive.