Down Among the Dead Men Read online

  Miss Colman, less strident now she had convinced herself the Conservation Society could be absolved of any possible guilt, became quite chatty. 'Barbara was a friendly woman, but a little too trusting in my opinion. I thought it was most unwise the way she gave men lifts in her car. Just because they were husbands or boyfriends of our members didn't make them above suspicion, as I told her. She used to laugh at me, but,' her chin rose as if her feelings about the general male population had been amply vindicated, 'her death proves I was right. If she had listened to me, she ...'

  Before she managed to get into her stride about the wickedness of men, Rafferty quickly reminded her that they needed to see the membership list.

  She drew herself up with a sniff. 'I'm aware of that, but there's a slight problem. Barbara put it on the computer. I've never had much affinity with the wretched things, but, if you think you can work it ...' Her dismissive glance told Rafferty that, whatever else he might delude himself about, she was sure his accomplishments wouldn't include anything useful.

  Unfortunately, as far as the current skill requirement was concerned, Rafferty had to admit she was right. Computers were far from being his strong suit and he sighed as he eyed the blank-screened box that sat importantly in the centre of the desk. In spite of the force sending him on various computer courses, he still felt intimidated by the wretched things and insisted on tapping his reports out on a battered old Remington manual.

  'Barbara got it for us,' she went on in a milder tone, evidently gratified that her earlier assumption about his abilities had been correct. 'She said being able to do a mail-shot' - the jargon tripped no more naturally off her tongue than it would have off his own, Rafferty noted - 'would make it easier to circulate information to the members. She intended to teach the other committee members how to use it, but...' She sniffed and turned away, blowing her nose into what looked like a handkerchief made of recycled blotting paper. 'There's a manual in the drawer, I believe.'

  'Don't worry, sir,' said Llewellyn. His voice, though polite as ever, betrayed a hint of triumph. Pulling out a chair, the Welshman observed evenly, 'It's an Amstrad, I've got one of these at home, so I think I'll be able to extract the information without too much trouble. With your permission, of course?' He glanced at Rita Colman, as his hand hovered at the side of the screen.

  At her tightlipped nod, Llewellyn switched on. Almost instantly the screen brightened and he opened a plastic box at the side of the keyboard, selected a disk and inserted it. 'Just loading the programme,' he informed them. As they watched, the screen went black again and short lines of white text appeared.

  In a little while, the printer hummed, columns of information emerged onto the screen and it seemed they were ready for action. Llewellyn removed the first disk, inserted another and settled happily, tapping at the keyboard with an air of expertise. After a few minutes spent bringing likely looking files onto the screen, Llewellyn exclaimed, 'Ah. This looks like it.'

  Miss Colman confirmed it. The list of familiar names and addresses flickering on the screen seemed to bring back all her antagonism, and she rushed to the defence of her members again. Rafferty shut his ears, and, as if realising that she had lost her audience, she went out shutting the door loudly behind her, as though to make it quite clear that she disassociated herself from their actions.

  Llewellyn pressed several more keys in quick succession and, with a just discernible smugness, told Rafferty, 'I've instructed it to start printing, sir.'

  Nothing happened for a few seconds and Rafferty, a bit put out that his sergeant had, once again, managed to make him feel like an uneducated know-nothing, seized happily on the hold-up. With an acid smile, he remarked, 'It doesn't seem to be working, Sergeant,' just as the printer pounded into life.

  Disgruntled, Rafferty retreated to the other end of the room, and for the next few minutes, he watched with a dismay that grew in proportion to the pile of computer paper produced. In no time, it had turned out sufficient lists of names and addresses to gladden the hearts of a dozen direct mail junkies. It looked like more than the hundred members Rita Colman had claimed during their telephone conversation. Investigating them, and all their friends and relations, would probably be the total waste of time she had claimed. And it would take forever, tying up precious manpower in the process.

  How likely was it that this 'J', if he was the murderer, would leave such an obvious trail for the police to trace back? Rafferty asked himself. Unless he was playing a clever game of double-bluff, he thought it likely the man was simply taunting them, knowing they'd have to spend valuable hours checking the Society out.

  It would be common knowledge among her friends and acquaintances that Barbara Longman was fierce in defence of those wild flowers. "Green" concerns was the one area of her life where she was fierce, apparently, the one area where kindness never entered the arena. Anyone who knew her even slightly could be pretty certain that, after such a warning phone message, she would head straight for the meadow ready to defend the flowers from all comers. For a murderer, keen on certainty and privacy, it had all the charm of a sure thing to a compulsive gambler. And obligingly, Barbara Longman had gone to the meadow, and died there, in that desolate spot, with only her precious wild flowers and the Sniffy Tiffey as witnesses.

  He slapped at the pile of paper. 'Now that we've got them, I suppose we'd better give this lot to Hanks and the house-to-house team to copy and check out. And one of us had better make time to go and see this farmer chap again.' With the unkind, but fervent hope, that a muddy farm and a surly farmer would humble his know-all sergeant, he told Llewellyn, 'You can do that. Speak to any neighbours while you're at it. Find out what's known about him. Check with the computer to see if he's got a record for violence.'

  Llewellyn gave a stiff nod.

  Rita Colman came back. 'You got what you wanted then?' Her voice was sharp and she gazed with a proprietary air at the pile of paper in Llewellyn's arms.

  'Yes. Thanks for your help. It will probably come to nothing,' Rafferty assured her. 'But we have to be thorough.'

  Given the mysterious telephone call that had lured her to her death and the fact that the Suffolk killer and the local weirdos had been eradicated from their enquiries, Rafferty knew he had to consider other motives than rape for Mrs Longman's murder. After all, she hadn't been raped; it was possible her killer had decided that a copycat killing would effectively conceal an act of personal vengeance. It had been done before. And, as far as Rafferty had so far discovered, the only area of Barbara Longman's life that attracted controversy was her conservation work.

  He eyed Miss Colman thoughtfully. Being a despised male, he was wary of rousing her ire again. 'Perhaps we could ask you one or two further questions?' he suggested tentatively. She nodded. 'Do you know if Mrs Longman had made any enemies over her conservation work? I know it's a subject on which many people have strong opinions, even those on the same side don't always agree about methods so...' He broke off as she looked suspiciously at him and became aware that his way of expressing himself had been less than tactful.

  'It doesn't mean to say that any of us would go in for murder, Inspector,' she assured him frostily. 'All our members got on very well with Barbara. And as you believe she was the third victim of the Suffolk killer, I don't see why you should be so interested in any enemies she made in her conservation work.'

  Rafferty had forgotten he had let Miss Colman go on thinking the Suffolk killer was the prime suspect and his head echoed to his ma's mocking voice, "Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practise to deceive". She was right, as usual. Rafferty wondered how best to conceal his deceit without antagonising the woman. Especially as she now had the impression that he was going to start hounding her members...

  'We did believe that, certainly,' he admitted cautiously. 'Didn't I say that was no longer a possibility?'

  'No,' she told him abruptly. 'You didn't. You let me believe that my members weren't under suspicion and...'

&nb
sp; 'But they're not,' he told her disingenuously. 'That wasn't what I was thinking at all. If Mrs Longman had an enemy, an enemy who wished to harm her, then wouldn't you say he's more likely to come from among the anti-conservationists?'

  He was gratified to see that he had adopted the right tone, for she nodded slowly and said, 'And you want to know if there was anyone in particular that Barbara had crossed swords with?'

  'That's the idea,' he encouraged.

  To his astonishment, she actually smiled. She leaned forward confidingly, her expression eager. 'Now that's much more likely. Especially as there was someone. Barbara was always in the forefront of our campaigns and took on some very powerful people; big business polluters, men who put profit above the environment.' She paused and gazed at him from brown eyes bright with malice. 'One of them was Charles Shore.'

  After returning to the police station, Llewellyn went back out again to speak to the farmer and Rafferty took himself off to the public library. An hour later, he sat back and stared at the front page story on the library's microfiche. What Rita Colman had said hadn't been just the malicious tittle-tattle of an embittered woman, as he had suspected. Two and a half years earlier, Barbara Longman had accused Charles Shore's chemical firm of deliberately discharging chemicals into the River Tiffey. Her accusation hadn't been substantiated and Shore had denied it. But, strangely, he hadn't sued her for slander, libel, defamation or anything else, which Rafferty felt was uncharacteristically forgiving of him.

  Rafferty paged forward over issues covering the following months, but there were no further mention of her accusations. The story had just petered out. But it wasn't hard to understand why. Rita Colman had told them that Charles Shore had bought up the local newspaper chain and put his yes-men in charge, effectively ending the paper's support for the Society's campaign against polluters. She had told them that, at the time, she hadn't understood why he should go to so much expense. He had never pretended to care about "Green" opinion. And it wasn't as if he couldn't afford the piddling amounts such polluters were fined. But, she had gone on to explain, recent events had provided a probable reason for his actions. Ill-health had persuaded the local Tory MP to step down at the soon to be held by-elections and Barbara had told her that Charles Shore, who had long nurtured political ambitions, had grabbed his opportunity to put himself forward to the Tory party selection committee.

  Rafferty had been surprised that Charles Shore should consider running as an MP, with all his other commitments, and had remarked on it.

  Rita Colman had smiled condescendingly at his naivety and said, 'Think of all the powerful business contacts he'd make at Westminster. But for that, he needs to get selected, then elected. It's a fairly safe Tory seat, even in the midst of a recession. Unfortunately for him, a free local newspaper has recently started up in Elmhurst which he hasn't so far managed to gag with his money. And they commissioned Barbara as a freelance to work on a series of investigative environmental articles. Barbara was always very strong on honesty and truth. If she found out he was still polluting the river, she wouldn't hesitate to make it public again. I doubt if the Tory selection committee would be quite so keen to select him then, do you?'

  Rafferty nodded. Such bad publicity could end his political ambitions before they had even got off the ground. And Shore would know it. 'But her husband works for Shore - they live in his house,' he had objected. 'Would she put their security on the line for a principle?'

  She gave him a look that demanded, what could a mere man know? 'Barbara had principles. I don't expect you to understand that. I doubt if Shore did, either. She wouldn't consider abandoning them even for such personal considerations. She was an admirable woman in many ways.'

  'But do you have any proof that he's polluted the river lately?'

  'No,' she admitted reluctantly. 'But maybe Barbara had. She had certainly discovered something recently that upset her, but she didn't tell me what it was - she probably wanted to tackle him about it first. And if he had been up to his old tricks, do you really think it's likely he'd let her stand in the way of his ambitions? We already know he can be utterly ruthless, just like his father.' Her voice was suddenly harsh, condemning and filled with hatred. 'He wouldn't think twice about killing her. He'd snuff her out like a candle, if it suited him. Make no mistake about it.'

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rafferty switched off the microfiche with a flourish and looked round as if he expected a round of applause for his techno-wizardry. None being forthcoming, he strolled back to the desk, thanked the assistant for her many patient explanations as to the gadget's operation and returned to the station.

  He found Llewellyn back in the office, busily typing away. 'Rita Colman's story checks out,' he told the Welshman. 'The local paper had a big front page splash about Barbara Longman's accusations against Shore over two years ago. I printed it out for you,' he added casually, carefully forgetting that it had been the librarian's skill rather than his own which had produced the printout.

  'So what do you think,' Rafferty asked, after Llewellyn had read the report.

  Llewellyn looked steadily at him. 'You really want to know?'

  'Of course.'

  'Very well. For one thing, Shore's a very powerful and influential man. I don't think either of us should go at this in a bull-headed manner.'

  Rafferty gave him a belligerent stare. 'Meaning me, I suppose?'

  Loftily, Llewellyn told him, 'You did ask.'

  Rafferty sighed. 'I did, didn't I?' He gave a rueful smile. 'Don't worry, Dafyd. I'll go easy. I don't have much choice. We've no proof that Barbara Longman had discovered anything damaging against Shore and, so far, his alibi checks out. Quite possibly there's nothing in it at all, and it was something else entirely that was worrying her. But, if he had been illegally dumping chemicals in the river and Barbara found out about it and threatened to put an end to his political ambitions, it would certainly provide him with a powerful motive.' Rafferty twirled himself gently in his chair for a few moments before turning back with a grin. 'And if there is anything in it, I know just the person to find out.'

  Llewellyn, noted the grin, gazed steadily back and said, 'Meaning me, I suppose?'

  'Meaning you. I - as you've implied on several occasions - have all the finesse and discretion of a bull elephant with wind. Whereas you...' Satisfied that Charles Shore, his reputation, habits and ambitions would get a thorough, but discreet going over by Llewellyn, Rafferty switched the conversation to another suspect. 'What did you manage to find out about that farmer?'

  'He's got a record. I'm typing the report now, if you want to wait and read...'

  Rafferty waved the offer away. 'Just tell me.'

  'He has a couple of drunk driving and drunk and disorderly convictions, but nothing more - at least nothing on record, though none of his few neighbours had a good word to say for him. I can't say I'm surprised, as he's as surly an individual as Charles Shore claimed. He said he hasn't had a tractor in that meadow for years. Said he isn't allowed to, as the rare flowers there are protected, though I doubt if that would stop him. His neighbours told me he argued with everybody and went out of his way to be obstructive and unhelpful. Last year he had to be taken to court to stop him blocking access to a public footpath on his land. The year before that he just missed being prosecuted for threatening to set his dogs on one of his elderly neighbours. He also had something of an open feud going on with the Conservation Society. I'm surprised Rita Colman didn't mention him.'

  'I imagine Recycled Rita prefers to drop the big boys, like Charles Shore, in it. Much more satisfying. Still, as you say, he's another possibility. Small farmers like Thomson are generally anti-conservationist to a man. If they thought there was a profit in it, most of them would plough up their granny's grave and plant it with rape seed.'

  'Speaking of profit,' Llewellyn remarked, 'I would imagine there were money problems there, too. The farmhouse looked as if it was about to fall down.'

  'Don't see ho
w that helps us. It's not likely Barbara Longman remembered him in her will. What sort of alibi has he got?'

  'Told me the same story that he told Hanks - that he was busy on another part of the farm during the relevant time. Said his mother would substantiate his story when she returned from town.'

  Rafferty smiled. 'What? Dear old mum? Not exactly watertight, is it? In my experience, mothers can generally be relied upon to save their sons from nasty policemen and their questions. I reckon if you laid the lies of all the mothers in the world end to end...' Aware of Llewellyn's implacably intelligent gaze, his mind thrashed about trying to come up with an appropriate metaphor and failed. He concealed his lack of success by carrying on smoothly, 'You'd wish you hadn't started the job. Perhaps I should go and see old Ma Thomson myself?'

  It was a pleasant afternoon, the dead heat of a few days before had mysteriously faded. And, he realised, a bit of fresh country air would help clear his lungs of some of the remaining sludge from his smoking. He swore, as he realised he couldn't go. His successes at the library had made him forget that Bradley had arranged a date for him. He would have to make it another day. Still, the weathermen forecast a similar outlook, he consoled himself. And before he saw Ma Thomson, there were one or two other people of more pressing interest. Shore's sister - Henry's first wife, for instance. He was sure she'd have some interesting things to say about her brother, her ex-husband, and the rest of the Shore menagerie.

  But first, he had to get through the press conference.

  Although Rafferty tried to keep calm, the ladies and gentlemen of the press were evidently in a bullish, police-baiting mood. As the conference wore on the tension in the room heightened, the questions became increasingly hostile and Rafferty cursed the absent Superintendent Bradley under his breath. Trust him to be 'unavoidably detained' elsewhere, he muttered. As Ian Haslam, senior crime reporter with The National Bulletin leapt to his feet again, Rafferty gritted his teeth.