The Hanging Tree Read online

  However, Fred's face stayed intact and suddenly he barked at Llewellyn, who, unable to stretch across to place the mug on the table in case he tumbled from his precariously balanced paper throne had been passing the piping hot brew from hand to hand. 'Are you going to drink that tea or play with it, young feller? Made it special, I did.'

  Llewellyn, obliged to humour the old man if they wanted to get anything out of him, screwed up his eyes in the manner of one taking a particularly nasty medicine and obeyed, his Adam's apple shuddering with each swallow, as though attempting to jump aside from the molten brown stream as it gushed past. Scarlet and breathless, Llewellyn lowered the empty mug, only to have Fred leap from his chair, his gums bared with a peculiarly malevolent humour, as he snatched the mug. 'Can see you enjoyed that. I'll make you another.'

  Llewellyn looked aghast and Rafferty frowned him to silence. It was too late anyway, as Fred thrust another piping hot brew at him. Rafferty buried his grin in his own mug. Fred's crockery must offend against every hygiene regulation known to man, not to mention the extra ones that only ‘elf and Safety’ and the hygiene-obsessed Llewellyns of this world knew about. Llewellyn would have to comfort his Virgo-pure soul with the thought that the mug's plentiful germs would be killed by the boiling water. Most of them, anyway. Rafferty turned his attention back to Fred Skeggs.

  'We were talking about last Thursday,' he reminded him. 'And whether you might have enjoyed a stroll in the woods that night.'

  Fred nodded and confided artlessly, 'As it happens, I do like a bit of a stroll.' He sat down again and sipped his tea, slapping his sunken lips together in obvious enjoyment. 'And, as you say, the wood's right on me doorstep. Shame not to make use of it.'

  'That's what I thought.'

  'Mind, as I told them other young fellers you sent, I'm not sayin' I was there. Not for certain. Might not have been Thursday.' He studied Rafferty through the steam rising from his mug. 'Might have been another night. Mebbe you can jog me memory?'

  Rafferty had anticipated that a bit of memory jogging might be required and had brought the necessary. He pulled a £5 note from his pocket and placed it on the table.

  Faster than any professional conjuror, Fred made it disappear, before taking another sip of tea and confiding, 'It were Thursday night, now I think about it. Funny how it comes back to you. Mind,' he added, as though reluctant to get Rafferty's hopes up, 'I can't tell you what the time were. A light in the wood, it was, that drew me attention. Someone had a torch and I could see a car parked right on the verge near the old Hanging Tree. Thought it were that sneakin' old bugger, Jenkins at first, and though I were only enjoyin' the moonlight, like you said, I were about to scarper.'

  Jenkins was the official warden of the nature reserve. An unctuous, humourless man, Rafferty had found him, and one who would, without doubt, insist on prosecuting poachers, so he could understand Fred's concern.

  'Then I 'ear this woman muttering under her breath. Pretty rum. Don't get many wimmin in the woods at night, certainly not alone. Not nowadays, with so many of these 'ere crim'nals about. Anyways, I creeps forward and takes a look. She were just getting' in her car by the time I got close.'

  'Would you recognise her again?' Rafferty asked quickly, eager for a firm description.

  Fred looked at him as if he were mad. 'She were just a woman,' he told him, in tones that made Rafferty realise that, to a solitary man like Fred Skeggs, women, like Chinamen to a Little Englander, were probably all alike. 'Mind, she had a big arse.' He cackled, drawing his lips over his gums. 'I remember thinking that fat rump'd make many a fine meal.'

  'What about the car?' Llewellyn asked in a strangled voice as his scalded throat recovered, determinedly wiping his hands and mouth with a pristine white handkerchief as though he felt he would never feel clean again.

  Rafferty bit his lip as he noticed that, this time, Llewellyn was careful not to finish his tea, just in case Fred’s sadistic streak proved perverse enough to insist on another refill.

  'Were you able to make out what style of car it was or to get the registration number?'

  Fred spared the Welshman an even more scornful look; he seemed to have a vast store of such expressions. 'Are ye daft, man? The moon had gone in and it were black as my old dad's fingernails under the trees. Besides, I don't take me reading glasses with me. Not when I'm strolling in the woods, enjoyin' the moonlight. And cars is all the same to me.'

  Like wimmin, Rafferty muttered under his breath. Needless to say, Fred hadn't noticed whether Smith's corpse had still been hanging from the tree either. Rafferty was surprised that the old man hadn't simply supplied them with a steady stream of made-up information in exchange for more fivers. But it seemed Fred Skeggs had a moral code of sorts. He'd told them all he knew, which was that one unidentifiable woman, in an unidentifiable car, had driven away from Dedman Wood on Thursday night at an unidentifiable time. He was really glad he'd come.

  To Llewellyn's obvious relief, they successfully evaded any more of Fred's determined hospitality, though on the way out, the goat proved to have an even more mischievous character than her owner. Having missed making their acquaintance on their arrival, she made sure she didn't miss the pleasure on their departure. Llewellyn had a hell of a job to shake her off when she took a fancy to his trouser leg. He was still complaining bitterly about the trouble this case was causing his wardrobe as they got in the car and pulled away; it was all Rafferty could do to keep them on the road for stifled laughter.

  'I think we should contact Sinead Fay and the other women again,' Rafferty commented, when Llewellyn climbed back in the car after insisting they stop at his flat so he could change his clothes. 'See what they have to say for themselves. One of them might let something slip. If one or more of them didn't kill Smith, it's becoming obvious that they followed the person who did to Dedman Wood, and know their identity.'

  'And if they refuse to admit it, what could we do?' Llewellyn asked shortly, as usual putting his finger on the nub of the matter. 'We would have shown our hand and be forced to back down. After all, what have we got? A Zephyr parked near Smith's flat that might or might not be the one belonging to Ms Fay; a car that might be the same one seen on the road near the woods and Fred Skeggs, who, I might add, is scarcely the most reliable witness, who saw an unknown car and an unknown woman in the woods at an unknown time. As I've already pointed out, we wouldn't have them in the station more than five minutes before the merest journeyman solicitor would have them out again. You're a gambling man, I would have thought you would realise the dangers of showing your hand prematurely.'

  Deflated, Rafferty asked, 'What do you suggest we do then — ignore the evidence we do have, and these women, and hope something breaks?'

  'Something already has – Massey. I have a feeling it won't be long before he's found. From what you said it doesn't seem likely he's equipped for a life on the run. I doubt he's equipped either to withstand determined questioning. Once we've got him, and if he's aware of the involvement of Sinead Fay and her friends, he'll certainly implicate them – if they're involved, that is. So, yes, I do think we should do nothing. At least until then.'

  Although champing at the bit to do something, Rafferty knew that Llewellyn was right again. As usual. All the evidence they had against the breakaway Rape Support Group women was circumstantial. Although Rafferty had finally made the decision to investigate the other Zephyr owners more deeply, little had been turned up.

  Out of the twelve other vehicles they had found, three were rust heaps which the neighbours had assured them hadn't gone for months. Of the others, the their owners and their families all seemed respectable enough – not that that proved anything, Rafferty told himself. His own family looked respectable enough but thought nothing of breaking laws they regarded as minor.

  The checks into the Zephyr-owners were continuing, but Rafferty was convinced it would lead nowhere. He was still certain that Sinead Fay's car was the one that had been parked outside Smith's f
lat. The only thing was, it was looking increasingly likely that he'd never be able to prove it.

  Still frustrated by the desire to be doing something – anything, he turned the engine back on, rammed the gear lever into first, and as he pulled away from the kerb, said, 'All right, we'll leave them alone for now. But if Frank Massey isn't caught soon, we may have to think again. You know what the Super's like. He wants results and it's up to us to give them to him.'

  He consulted his watch. It was almost lunchtime. 'You might as well get off. No point in the two of us sitting in the office on Christmas Eve twiddling our thumbs. Your mum's seen hardly anything of you. I'll drop you at Ma's.'

  Llewellyn glanced at him. 'Why don't you take a few hours off yourself and meet her?'

  Rafferty, suspecting that Llewellyn was looking for moral support, took the coward's way out. 'Better not. I'm already taking most of tomorrow off. And even though nothing's breaking, I should be there, on the spot. Besides, you never know, if I sit quiet, something might occur to me to get this case back on track.' He pulled up as close to his Ma's house as he could get and dropped Llewellyn off.

  'You've got your mobile?' Llewellyn questioned. Rafferty patted his pocket and nodded. 'Don't hesitate to contact me if anything breaks in the meantime.'

  Llewellyn seemed reluctant to leave. Several times he began to say something, then broke off. Rafferty found it unnerving. Convinced Llewellyn had finally geared himself up for an uncharacteristic emotional outpouring, he did his best to sidestep it by saying firmly, 'I'll see you tomorrow.'

  Tomorrow, he thought. The nose-poker's day of reckoning. If, as he suspected, the visit of Llewellyn's mother had driven a wedge between him and Maureen, the next day would be soon enough to discover it. Soon enough, too, if Llewellyn and Maureen's romance was teetering on the brink of disaster, to face the fact that it would be largely his fault.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Rafferty came into the office bright and early on Christmas morning, through streets that, overnight, had been clothed in a light sprinkling of snow. The air was hushed, expectant and even though he was usually caustic about what he regarded as sentimental religious mush, he was forced to acknowledge a sense almost of awe.

  Nothing to do with babies in mangers or any similar tosh he had been force-fed as a child, he insisted to himself. It was something to do with the rare peace and beauty of the December day; like the pavements, the roads were practically empty and, with most of the populace still at home, the snow retained a purity of look and texture that brought magic even to the meanest street. It would be spoiled soon enough as the Great British public indulged the annual humbug of family togetherness which the rising divorce statistics put in perspective.

  The pleasure in the morning vanished as he remembered he would soon form part of the visiting hordes himself, and he turned glumly away from admiring the lacy patterns on his office window, sat down and tried to concentrate on the latest reports. There were few enough of them and as they brought nothing in the way of new areas of investigation, his mind was soon free to return to the problem of Llewellyn.

  Why did I ever suggest this visit? he asked himself for the umpteenth time.

  He put off leaving for as long as he could, but eventually, he could prevaricate no longer. His ma had already had him on the phone several times asking when he could be expected as she'd put the dinner back twice and if he didn't get a move on it would surely be spoilt.

  Slowly, like a man going to his execution, Rafferty put on his coat, quietly shut the office door behind him and headed towards his nemesis.

  Rafferty had imagined Llewellyn's mother, when he had found the courage to think of her at all, as being as long and thin and forbidding as those tall black hats Welsh women traditionally wore. So, when he finally met her, he was prepared for the worst. Although surprised to find that Mrs Llewellyn was a rather elegant woman, tall, small-featured and, at fifty-five, still pretty, he had more than half-expected her to have a sharp tongue and decidedly old-fashioned attitudes. And, with the introductions barely over, she didn't disappoint him, though the attack came from an angle he hadn't expected.

  Tapping him on the arm, she said, 'I understand you've been introducing my son to the local public houses. He's told me all about it and I have to say I'm surprised. I never thought to live to see the day when he entered what his father always called Dens of Iniquity.'

  Rafferty threw an accusatory look at Llewellyn, who was sitting on the sofa with Maureen, before he attempted to defend himself. 'I'm sorry if you don't approve, Mrs Llewellyn,' he began, looking desperately round his family for some moral support. But they all seemed to find his predicament fascinating. Conversations died and everywhere he looked he met bright eyes and elbow nudges. They were enjoying his discomfiture, he realized indignantly. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to defend himself. 'I didn't mean,' he began. 'That is, I can assure you he didn't—'

  A howl of laughter went up round the room as she tapped him on the arm again and said simply, 'I hope you'll take me, too, while I'm here, if you can find the time. Dafyd might have taken a vow of abstinence to please his father.' For the first time, Rafferty noted the laughter in her eyes, as she added, 'But I didn't. I imagine he knew I was a lost cause as far as that went.'

  Another howl of laughter went up. Even young Gemma, whey-faced and unnaturally quiet in the corner of the room, managed a tiny smile.

  'Your face, Joe. It's a picture.' Maggie, the eldest of his three sisters and the one he had always felt closest to, teased him before she took pity on him and explained. 'Gloria was a dancer before she met Dafyd's father. Case of opposites attracting, you might say.'

  Gloria, Rafferty repeated the name and realised it was the first time he'd heard Mrs Llewellyn's forename. Pity he hadn't heard it before, he reflected, then his imagination mightn't have worked overtime turning her into a monster. He'd known a few Glorias in his time and they'd all known how to enjoy life.

  'Dafyd takes after his father, apparently,' Maggie advised him.

  'Who'd have guessed it?' Rafferty muttered. Obviously Dafyd's likeness to his father was in character not looks, for he and his mother were both dark and remarkably similar, superficially at least. But, as Rafferty began to discover, where his sergeant was all long-faced lugubriousness, she was lightness and laughter. She smiled often and obviously enjoyed a good joke as much as any of the other Glorias he had known. And not only did she and his Ma appear to have reached a remarkable level of understanding and friendship, but Maureen and her prospective mother-in-law also seemed delighted with one another. There was no trace of the imagined breach. It had all been in his mind. But something had put it there, he reasoned. And that something had undoubtedly been Llewellyn. He resolved to have a quiet word with his sergeant as soon as he got the chance.

  'I don't know quite what he expected when he saw you, Gloria,' Kitty Rafferty commented mischievously. 'Some kind of fire-breathing dragon, I dare say.'

  Rafferty managed a sheepish grin. 'Not at all,' he insisted. 'Take no notice of Ma,' he advised Gloria. 'She's always had this tendency to exaggerate.'

  As the conversation in the rest of the room returned to its previous volume, he turned back to Gloria and confided, 'Though Ma's right. I was a bit apprehensive about meeting you. Especially as your visit was my idea and I was more or less responsible for getting Dafyd and Maureen together in the first place. I was afraid—–' He paused, reluctant to admit just what he had been afraid of.

  Gloria continued for him. 'You were afraid that, as Dafyd's my only son, I'd come between them.'

  Rafferty nodded. 'It's just that Dafyd's talk of his childhood coloured my expectations, especially when he mentioned that you didn't even have a television. I suppose I thought—'

  'He thought you must be a terribly dour, humourless woman, Gloria,' Ma chipped in again. 'And isn't he ashamed of himself now.' She darted a glance at Gemma before confiding, 'Gloria's been that sympathetic, Joseph. Her visit and good
sense has made us all feel so much better about the baby.

  'Anyway.' She got to her feet. 'I must dish up. No, you stay there Gloria,' she insisted when Mrs Llewellyn went to get up and help. 'Perhaps you can persuade Joseph that he's too old to be still playing the field. Maybe, if you tell him it's time he settled down, he'd listen.'

  Gloria smiled at him when his Ma had bustled off to the kitchen. 'Don't worry. I wouldn't dream of telling you any such thing. And, actually, I do have a television set. Just don't tell Dafyd.’ They shared a conspiratorial smile. ‘He adored his father and, even now, he would upset if he thought I wasn't living up to his father's high-minded principles. I'd rather he didn't realise I'm just a fallible mortal like everyone else, so, whenever I know Dafyd's coming for a visit, I hide the TV. It's only a small portable, so it's quickly enough done. That and the radio go under my bed.'

  Her gaze strayed to the upright figure of her son, as he sat chatting to Maureen and Maggie and she added softly, 'His father was killed by a hit and run driver – drunk, the police thought. The man was never caught. I think it was that which prompted him to join the police. He never actually said, but I think he wanted to try to make sure that other people received the justice that we were denied. Promise me you won't tell him my secret?'

  ‘May the Lord curse me with a far-arsed wife and a huge brood from her child-bearing hips, if I do,’ Rafferty promised, hand on heart. Gloria grinned and winked.

  Just then his Ma carried the turkey in. It was the plumpest turkey he had ever seen and as the aroma of the well-stuffed bird wafted past his nostrils, his mouth watered, making more speech impossible. His sisters followed on with dishes piled high with vegetables and everyone came to the table.