The Hanging Tree Read online

  'That wasn't quite what— '

  Ma waved him to silence. 'Dafyd's mum must take us as she finds us. If she turns her nose up, it's better for Maureen to know it now than after the wedding.' Her face softened, even her tight Christmas perm seemed to loosen a bit as she added, 'You must remember, Joseph, she's only got the one chick. She's entitled to give us all the onceover. She wants her boy to be happy, same as any mother would. Should I begrudge her the chance to make sure he's marrying the right girl?

  ‘Talking of weddings,' she went on, 'that reminds me. I've picked up a new suit that would fit you a treat. Come and have a look.'

  Following her into the hall, Rafferty helped himself to the local paper. He glanced at its headines while she rummaged in the wardrobe. Not surprisingly, they were still leading with Smith's murder. Determinedly, he turned the page. A small paragraph caught his eye. ‘Wedding outfitters robbed’. It was certainly one way to cut the costs of the average wedding, he mused. He wondered if Llewellyn had considered it?

  He glanced again at the paragraph as his Ma held up a smart grey suit of far better quality than the ones he usually bought.

  'What do you think? Reckon it's about time you gave that tired brown suit a holiday.' She held the jacket out to him. 'Feel the quality of that. Lovely bit of cloth. Real bargain it was.'

  Rafferty's gaze narrowed. Ma and her "bargains" were a by-word for trouble. 'Why are there no labels on it?' he demanded. 'Suit's got to be a bit iffy if it hasn't got any labels. So where did you get it? It says here in the paper that—'

  Ma raised her eyes to the ceiling and complained, 'The man's offered a quality suit at a bargain price and he worries about a little thing like labels. I'll put a blessed label in if you're that fussy.'

  'Not if it's bent gear. You know—'

  'Bent? What kind of language is that? Slightly out of kilter it may be, but that's all. The man I got it from said he was doing a favour for a friend. Some poor devil of a tailor down on his luck, he said.'

  'You mean an insurance fiddle? A put up job?'

  'Sure and I didn't ask the man his private business. You know me, I've never been one to pry. Anyway, even if what you say is true, nobody's lost anything. Only the insurance company and as everybody knows they're the biggest bunch of crooks this side of prison bars, you couldn't really call it a crime at all. More an act of mercy. Like Robin Hood.'

  'I doubt the force would agree with you, Ma,' he said as he followed her back to the living room. 'Perhaps you should come and defend me when I'm hauled in front of the Super for not only receiving stolen goods, but for wearing the blessed things. Get rid of it, Ma. Please. For all our sakes.'

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rafferty gave a low whistle as he pulled up in the short drive of Prosecutor Elizabeth Probyn's house on Saturday morning. 'She's spent a few bob here recently on security.' He grinned. 'Wonder who else she's managed to rub up the wrong way? One of those criminals she feels so impartial about, perhaps?'

  The burglar alarm squatted like a square red carbuncle on the white-painted face of the house; the front door had a spyhole, and the ground floor windows all had dark green metal shutters that could be rolled down at night.

  Although Rafferty had only once before, some five months previously, had occasion to visit the house, he knew none of these precautions had been in evidence then. He grinned again. He couldn't help it. Of course Llewellyn had to speak up for her.

  'I think you misjudge her. She does her job well; but she does it within the limits of the law. If one were to listen solely to your opinion of her, one could be forgiven for thinking she wasn't successful. But she is — frequently. As for the security, I imagine she receives the usual threats when one of the more vindictive amongst the criminal fraternity gets sent down. Why make it easy for any who decide to carry out their threats?' He rang the bell.

  Rafferty's lip curled. His sergeant was of as cool and impartial a turn of mind as Elizabeth Probyn and could be relied upon to stand up for her. Of course Llewellyn hadn't experienced the shouting matches that he had with her. Or rather, ruefully, he corrected himself — he had been the one to do the shouting. Typically, Elizabeth Probyn had responded in that cool manner of hers that always infuriated him even more.

  Unlike several other Crown Prosecution Service lawyers with whom Rafferty had worked in the past, Elizabeth Probyn made no attempt to pretend she was there to help the police to nail villains. On the contrary, she insisted that the role of the prosecutor was an objective, impartial one; to lay before the court both the facts for the accused as well as those against. As she had crisply informed Rafferty on more than one occasion, the Prosecution Service was a representative, not of the police, but of the public, on whose behalf cases were brought. Winning or losing didn't come into it.

  Rafferty had no patience with such legalese; it invariably rendered him incoherent with rage. Older and wiser after their first few confrontations, he had with difficulty learned to control his feelings when they met and, while simmering underneath, on top he was all unnatural politeness like a reluctant dancing partner.

  The door was eventually answered by a dumpy middle-aged woman in a dingy grey overall, who through lips that held a dangling cigarette, told them she was Mrs Chadden, and that she "did" for the prosecutor. She was new, too, Rafferty realised. He remembered the previous cleaner had been thin, elderly, and tending to sniffiness when Rafferty had introduced himself. He had concluded that, out of the courtroom at least, Elizabeth Probyn dropped a large chunk of her prized impartiality. No doubt the other cleaner had retired.

  They were expected and Mrs Chadden let them in with all the chatty enthusiasm of one whose main occupation was finding excuses to stop work. The state of the kitchen confirmed that she had little trouble in finding such excuses. It was barely superficially clean. It was obvious that as a "treasure" she had limited worth. Rafferty was surprised Elizabeth Probyn didn't get rid of her and hire a more competent model.

  'Madam said she'd been delayed and I was to look after you,' she told them when her first rapid flow of chat was finally used up. 'I don't normally work weekends, but she rang and asked me to come in special this morning.' She left them in no doubt that she regarded this as a major concession.

  'I suppose you want tea?' Not pausing for their response, she filled the electric kettle and plonked it down on its base on the worktop and switched on, before reaching into a cupboard for mugs. 'Course what with that high-powered job of hers, and now, with her daughter being in hospital, she seems to spend all her time running from pillar to post. And then her previous lady retired suddenly. She was lucky I was available at such short notice.'

  Which explained her employment of Mrs Chadden, Rafferty reflected. 'I didn't know she had a daughter,' he remarked.

  It was hardly surprising. Their stilted working relationship scarcely encouraged the bringing out of the family albums. Rafferty, who liked to get to know colleagues on a deeper, more personal level, found her standoffish attitude even more constraining.

  'Been abroad at school, I imagine. Not met her meself. As I said, it was the hospital visiting on top of her work that got me the job. Some sort of women's trouble, the daughter has, I gather,' Mrs Chadden confided, in delicately lowered tones. 'Must admit, she does look terrible peaky in the latest photos the Missis took of her. So, as I say, what with the long hours the Missis works and then the hospital visiting, she needed a decent woman to look after her, and I was happy to oblige. Recommended I was.' The idea appeared as startling to her as it did to Rafferty.

  Must have been a disgruntled copper who had made the recommendation, Rafferty thought. He watched, fascinated, as the cigarette, in apparent defiance of the laws of gravity, remained perched on the edge of her lower lip as she chattered on. 'Best little job I've had for a long time, I don't mind telling you. Course, I've only worked here a few weeks, and she might be being on her best behaviour, like. Some do. But then,' she gazed round the barely clean kitchen with a pr
oprietary air. 'You can see she's used to having things nice.'

  She glanced at the clock and frowned. 'I hope she's not going to be much longer, only I've got to get to the chemist in town and it's their early closing day. Promised my old mum I'd pick up some snaps of her and some other old biddies she was in the forces with. I don't like to leave you here on your own. Hardly hospitable.'

  Rafferty's glance caught her straw basket, through the holes of which a 2lb bag of sugar was visible, and it occurred to him that it wasn't politeness that was making her anxious so much as concern that, left on their own, the law's finest might half-inch stores that she regarded as her prerogative. Judging from the other holes, the sugar had company. Careful to keep the amusement from his voice, Rafferty attempted to reassure her, but she showed no inclination to trust them and depart.

  'Two hours a day I put in here, Monday to Friday,' she told them. 'From eight to ten in the morning.' It was now 10.10 a m on a Saturday and she was obviously getting restive. She slopped water into the cups, gave the teabags a dunk or two and tipped the milk in. 'Help yourselves to sugar,' she invited, as she dumped the cups before them and sat down. Her invitation notwithstanding, as she chattered on, she gazed with a pained expression as Rafferty helped himself to three sugars and took a tentative sip.

  Thankfully, they weren't to be subjected to Mrs Chadden's runaway tongue beyond bearing, as, after another couple of minutes, she cocked her head on one side and announced, 'Here she is now,' before rearranging the folds of a cardigan more discreetly over the basket and getting into her coat. 'I'll be off then,' she told Ms Probyn, as the Prosecutor came into the kitchen.

  Elizabeth Probyn was a tall woman, and although she was undoubtedly a little overweight, Rafferty noted once again that she carried both height and weight well. She was, he knew, thirty-six, two years younger than him, though from her poised, confident air, she always seemed much older. In a burst of honesty, Rafferty acknowledged that if he hadn't lacked these qualities himself, he wouldn't feel nearly so irritated by her possession of them. Unconsciously, he straightened his shoulders, commenting, 'Charming woman,' when Mrs Chadden had left.

  If she suspected that Rafferty was making a sly dig about her poor choice of cleaner, Elizabeth Probyn didn't let it show. 'Can't say I've noticed myself,' she briefly commented, adding, 'shall we go through to the lounge?'

  The lounge was a spacious, comfortable room, though like the kitchen, the air of neglect was evident. Rafferty had learned on the police grapevine that Elizabeth Probyn was divorced. Grudgingly, he admitted she had her work cut out keeping up a house of this size if the only help she had was the slapdash Mrs Chadden. She certainly looked tired; the mauve shadows under her eyes were beginning to deepen to purple and gave her an air of fragility he had never noticed before.

  Determined to start the interview off on the right foot for once, as they sat down, Rafferty forced a sympathetic comment, 'I gather Mrs Chadden's something of a stop-gap while your daughter's in hospital?' She stared at him as if she resented his familiarity, and he said quickly, 'It must be a worrying time for you.' The frown told him she suspected he had deliberately encouraged her gossiping treasure.

  She said, 'It is,' and abruptly changed the subject. 'I gather you wanted to speak to me about the Maurice Smith case?'

  His friendly overtures rebuffed, Rafferty now became equally abrupt. 'Yes.' Curiosity compelled him to let his gaze travel surreptitiously round the room, as he gestured to Llewellyn to take out his notebook. The only other time he'd been here, he'd got no further than the hall, and now, he noticed lots of framed photographs, presumably of the daughter, as a tiny baby and young woman, resting on top of the piano in the window alcove. She was an attractive girl, or could be, if she took some trouble. But she dressed drably, as so many young women did nowadays, and she gazed out at the world with wary eyes from beneath an unkempt mop of dark hair.

  'I just wanted your general recollections, if any,' Rafferty continued, forcing a calmness he was far from feeling. Keep it light, Rafferty, he advised himself. Don't let her get to you. She's bound to be uptight about her ancient failure, especially as it's you asking the questions. 'For instance, you were the prosecutor in the case. Did you believe him to be guilty?'

  As though explaining something to a tiresome child, her voice was measured as she said, 'Come, Inspector, you know I don't make such judgments.'

  'But you did that time,' he came back at her. 'In fact, from what I understand, it was you who insisted there was sufficient evidence to press ahead with the case, even though—' He broke off and tried again as he saw her lips thin. 'We've spoken to ex-Inspector Stubbs, the officer in charge,' he added, 'and he was helpful. And as it was his last case before he retired, he remembered it well, even though it was ten years ago.'

  'I'm sure.' Ms Probyn gave them a taut smile. 'So do I. It was his last big case and my first, as I've no doubt he told you. And, if it gives you any satisfaction, Inspector, yes, I did believe Smith to be guilty. He was as guilty as hell.' For a moment the idealist that she must have been in her youth showed though the calm facade. Rafferty had always suspected that, underneath, she was a passionate woman and was glad to see his own judgement vindicated. He still couldn't warm to her, but at least it made her seem more human.

  She flushed, no doubt embarrassed by her outburst. 'Of course Chief Inspector Stubbs resented us.' She glanced coolly at him. 'Most of the police did.' She shrugged. 'It was a natural enough reaction, I suppose. There we were, a newly-hatched Crown Prosecution Service, taking the decision-making power about who to prosecute out of police hands, and with all us fluffy little chicks eager to stretch our wings. And then there was Inspector Stubbs, the rooster of the coop, wishing us all in perdition. I didn't deal with it very well,' she admitted. It was plain she found the admission difficult.

  'Thankfully, experience has brought a measure of self-control, but at the time, his attitude made me stubborn and when he said he had doubts that we'd get a conviction and wanted more time I lost my temper and insisted that the prosecution went ahead. Foolishly, as it turned out. But then I was young, eager to prove myself. No doubt my head was filled with dreams of glory.' She gave a sudden, harsh laugh. 'As you can imagine, the Maurice Smith case brought me down to earth with a bump. I learned a hard lesson that day.'

  Rafferty nodded, for the first time getting a glimmer of understanding as to what had helped shape her outlook. The young Elizabeth Osbourne-that was must have felt her career over before it had really begun and that, ever afterwards, her name would be associated with the Maurice Smith fiasco. She'd done well to put it behind her. She'd shed her idealism a touch quicker than most, and acquired a useful maturity; shame it wasn't matched by an equal compassion for the victims of crimes, he thought. But, whatever his private opinions, she had gone on to become one of the youngest Chief Crown Prosecutors in the country; not a bad achievement from such early beginnings. It must make it even more galling to be quizzed on her early days.

  'I really don't see what I can say that Archibald Stubbs hasn't already told you,' she said with a return to her earlier brusqueness, as if anxious to get rid of them. 'It's all ancient history now. Do you really think–'

  'It might be ancient history to you, Ms Probyn,' Rafferty told her sharply, pleased to be in the right for once. 'But I doubt the Walkers, the Masseys, the Dennington and the Figgs feel the same.' He had the satisfaction of seeing he had discomfited her. But, as always, she had a tart remark ready to put him in his place.

  'You'll have plenty of suspects, then. I hope–'

  Convinced by her cool gaze that she was mocking him, Rafferty broke in. 'That's right.' It had been one of her most frequent criticisms in the past that he threw his net too wide, employing little logic and less finesse in his conduct of cases, wasting precious resources in the process. 'The little girls Smith assaulted and their devastated parents for a start.' She had the grace to flush and drop her gaze.

  'We've also got another
angle.' He told her about the 'outing' letter Smith had been sent. 'Probably from a bunch of local feminists, but we've yet to look into that.'

  Her interest was piqued when he told her that. Thankfully, she offered no more taunts, intended or otherwise, answering the rest of his questions without another clash. But, as he had expected, he learned nothing new and he stood up to go. 'If you remember anything else that might help, anything at all, we'd be grateful.'

  'Of course.' Her gaze was steady, unblinking, but Rafferty felt he could read a message in the grey depths. It was the same as the one that Mrs ffinch-Robinson had less-subtly passed — you'll need all the help you can get. With a brief nod, he made ungraciously for the door, leaving Llewellyn to observe the civilities.

  As Llewellyn climbed into the car beside him, he placed a couple of tickets in Rafferty's lap. 'Ms Probyn gave me these for a performance of The Scottish play she's been acting in for the last week, but I think your need is greater than mine. It might help you to see another side of her.'

  'I've seen more than enough sides of her already, thanks.' Still, he took the tickets and stuffed them in his pocket. 'Took the wind out of her sails this time, at least. You could see she hated being questioned about the Smith case. I wonder how she really feels about it?'

  He gave a cautious glance at Llewellyn before venturing a further comment. 'I know she could be said to have less reason to hold a grudge than Stubbs, Thompson or the victims and their families, but it did come right at the beginning of her career.' Ignoring Llewellyn's sceptical silence, he added, 'Maybe a person's first case, like the first love, stays in the memory.'

  Llewellyn threw him a pitying look and Rafferty admitted, 'All right, maybe I'm indulging in a bout of wishful thinking. I agree the Smith case taught her a valuable lesson and could be said to have acted as a springboard to success, but—'