RAFFERTY & LLEWELLYN BOXED SET: BOOKS 1 - 4

by Geraldine Evans

  'And?'

  'All innocuous, and, apart from a call to Astell shortly after, all were to office numbers rung before 5.30 p m, and all the call recipients even had unimpeachable alibis.'

  'What did he call Astell about?'

  'As you know, the day of the party was also Mrs Astell’s birthday. Mrs Campbell told us Moon had a wrapped parcel for her on his desk, and Mr Astell said that Moon rang to find out whether she'd liked her present.'

  'He didn't speak to her, then?'

  'No. She was busy preparing that evening's snacks.' Llewellyn paused and went on to state the obvious, for which he had a remarkable propensity. 'At least now we know that Moon didn't call anybody much after 6.00 p m, it would seem to indicate that Moon's receiver was knocked off its rest during the murder, which narrows the time down.'

  ‘Mm.’ Rafferty lowered his gaze back to the papers on his desk. 'And this,' he slapped his hand down on the paperwork, 'which was placed in my grateful hand not five minutes ago, would seem to indicate someone with a possible motive. Seems Hedges was Moon's real name,' he told Llewellyn. 'And it wasn't wholly surprising that he changed it to the more mystic-sounding Jasper Moon. Because under his Hedges persona, Jasper Moon had a record. He was a teacher in his younger days, apparently, and had been convicted of sexually assaulting a young boy in his charge.' Rafferty's eyes were bright as he added, 'And guess what the name of the boy he assaulted was—Terry Hadleigh. And Hadleigh not only has a record for burglary, but I've just had Fingers Fraser on the phone—turns out Hadleigh's fingerprints are all over Moon's office.'

  Fraser had also dusted the cashbox and the DVD they had found in Moon's wardrobe. The cashbox had prints of the Consultancy's entire staff, but that wasn't surprising, they all handled it. If anyone else had touched it, they hadn't left prints behind. As for the DVD, the only prints they had found on it had been Rafferty's. Embarrassed by the last piece of information, and puzzled as to what it could mean, once he had mentioned it, he moved swiftly on. Unfortunately, as he told Llewellyn, Hadleigh had left no prints on the crystal ball itself; that had been wiped clean, but in Rafferty's book that made him look more guilty rather than less, as most of the prints had a perfect right to be there. Astell had told him that most people seemed fascinated by Moon's crystal ball and couldn't help touching it. Maybe Hadleigh had been seeking the help of Moon in order to discover the likely success of his next petty criminal enterprise. Savouring Llewellyn's expected reaction, he paused before he added the coup-de-grace. 'Not just any fingerprints, mind. He left those bloody ones on the window-sill.'

  Llewellyn's reaction wasn't entirely gratifying. His lips pursed, his eyes narrowed and he complained, 'Seems a little bit too easy, don't you think?'

  Rafferty sighed. 'I might have known you'd have some fault to find. That Methodist work ethic of yours has a lot to answer for. Why shouldn't we have something easy for a change? I'm certainly not going to turn up my nose at a nice open and shut case. That's just the way I like them. Could even tie up with your theory about Moon trying to scrawl his attacker's name on the wall. The scrawl wasn't that clear. Could be he tried to write a 'T' rather than an 'I'. It's not as if you've had any luck finding any Ian’s, Isaac’s, or Isiah’s known to Moon. Put out a call for Hadleigh pronto, Dafyd. Like yesterday.' He handed over the papers before adding, 'And get yourself in front of a mirror and practise smiling. The way you look at the moment, you'll frighten our good fortune away.'

  Llewellyn made for the door and opened it. Constable Beard stood on the other side, carefully balancing a tray with two mugs of tea. He was keeping it well away from his uniform jacket, with its gleaming buttons, in case of spills. Before Llewellyn disappeared, Rafferty added, 'Hadleigh's last known address and his usual haunts are in the file. Though if he is our killer, he's unlikely to be at any one of them. Probably gone to ground.' Llewellyn nodded and departed.

  'Hadleigh, did you say?' Constable Beard carefully placed one mug on each of the desks and straightened up, his lined face wincing slightly, as if his rheumatics were troubling him. 'Would that be Terry Hadleigh you're talking about? Son of Mrs Ellen Hadleigh?'

  'Rafferty nodded. 'That's right. Why? Do you know them?'

  'Lord love you, yes.'

  Rafferty managed to keep a straight face at this unusual mode of addressing a senior officer. Some of his colleagues objected to Beard's familiarity, but it didn't worry Rafferty; he certainly preferred such up-front behaviour to the devious office politics that others went in for. Besides, Beard was something of an institution at the station and, in Rafferty's opinion, had more than earned the right to consider himself the equal of anyone there. 'Go on,' he now encouraged. 'Tell me about them.'

  'Mrs Hadleigh herself is a very respectable, hard-working woman. Believes in keeping herself to herself. But that son of hers used to be one of our more regular customers as a lad. Before your time, I imagine. Spends most of his time in London, now, I hear. You've obviously read his file, so you'll know he was into petty theft, burglary, even er, soliciting. The times we live in, hey?' Beard sighed and shook his head sorrowfully. 'I was eighteen before I knew there was such a thing as a female prostitute, never mind any other sort. I wouldn't have learned that much but for joining the army at a young age.'

  'Yes, it's a man's life in the army,' said Rafferty. 'Learn how to kill, learn how to strip a gun, learn how to put your condoms on. Seems like Hadleigh may have moved up several leagues. Into murder, no less.'

  'Doesn't sound like Terry Hadleigh's cup of tea,' Beard objected. 'He's never been into violence. In his game, he's more likely to be on the receiving end.'

  'This time it looks like he's graduated into the big boys' league. And a fine mess he's made of it. Dabs all over the place. Do you reckon Ellen Hadleigh might know where he's to be found?'

  Beard nodded. 'Possible. He usually comes running home to mum when he's in trouble; when he's short of cash and wants to scrounge. If anyone knows where he is it'll be her. You might try that pub by the river at Northgate as well, The Troubadour. Last I heard, that's his favourite haunt when he's here. Where he goes for a drink and a pick-up. Maybe some of the other customers might have an idea of his whereabouts, too.'

  Rafferty nodded. He knew the place. It was a gay bar. Henry, the landlord had been running the place for about five years, since returning from up north; he'd been born and brought up in Elmhurst. His parents had run an up-market bar and restaurant, The George Inn, to the south of the town for years. They'd only retired when their son had returned to Elmhurst.

  'Tell Llewellyn to get copies of Hadleigh's mug-shots circulated, will you, Bill? And tell him to come back when he's done that and we'll pay a visit to this pub. I'd like to learn as much as possible about Sonny Jim before we see his mother, and his favourite gay haunt sounds the best place to start.'

  Contentedly, Rafferty picked up his tea and sipped, determined to savour his unusual good fortune. An open and shut case wasn't something that fell into his lap every day. But, as Llewellyn's previous comment took insidious hold, doubts began to fill him, and he put the cup down again and stared pensively into space.

  ALTHOUGH HE KNEW HENRY, the landlord by sight, Rafferty had never needed to go into The Troubadour's bar, on raucous Saturday nights when he was still in uniformed. Henry was a big chap and could handle himself. He ran a well-ordered pub and there was rarely any trouble there.

  Rafferty realised that Henry must have inherited his parents' photo gallery of their famous and not so famous patrons when they retired. Many pubs made a feature of such things, though Rafferty had reason to doubt the stars had patronised The George as frequently as the collection of pictures implied. He'd taken Angie there once or twice. She'd been keen to rub shoulders with TV personalities, and, anything for a quiet life, Rafferty had given in and taken her. The meal had cost an arm and a leg, but to Rafferty's relief and Angie's annoyance, the nights they'd gone, they'd not seen so much as a weather girl. She hadn't asked to be taken a third t
ime.

  He was amused to see Henry even had a photo of the Queen, taken during her Jubilee year, as the large silver, 1977 sign made clear. It had a centralised place of honour amongst the famous faces that had also supposedly patronised his parents' restaurant that year. Though Rafferty doubted that even Henry's parents expected to convince many that the Queen had really popped into their place for a leisurely prawn and steak dinner.

  The Troubadour was busy, but the conversation died and the crowd parted as he and Llewellyn made their way to the bar. Conscious of the assessing stares, Rafferty wasn't sure whether to be amused or insulted to find the glances dismissed him almost immediately before moving on to his immaculately groomed sergeant. But maybe he was wrongly assessing either of their supposed attractions, he told himself. Perhaps it was simply that some of The Troubadour's more louche customers had reason to recognise a policeman when they saw one, and that their more obvious interest in Llewellyn was simply because he was the most elegantly turned out copper they'd seen in a long while.

  There was the expected mix of willowy queens and butch, leather types that frequent any homosexual haunt, but nothing too overt. After all this was Elmhurst, not Soho.

  'Henry.' Shuffling his feet and trying to ignore the whispered comments behind them, Rafferty greeted the landlord and introduced Llewellyn.

  In front of the customers, Henry always pretended he didn't know any of the local police. Now, with an arch smile, he ignored Rafferty's greeting, and went into a well-worn routine for the benefit of his customers. 'What'll it be, dears? I do a nice line in Harvey Wallbangers. Or else there's a Long Sloe Screw Against the Wall.'

  Rafferty smiled thinly. 'Too rich for my blood. I'll have a half of Elgood's bitter, and my friend,' this produced a titter from behind them; 'my friend will have an orange juice. I imagine you've heard about Jasper Moon's murder,' he murmured when the landlord had brought the drinks.

  Henry immediately dropped his comic turn, and nodded soberly. 'We're all pretty cut up about it. You in charge of the case, then?' Rafferty nodded. 'I hope you get the bastard who did it.'

  Rafferty sipped his bitter, savouring its delicate hop aroma. He was surprised that Henry should be so amenable. In front of his customers, too. It was far from usual amongst homosexuals, even in a murder case. 'He must have been well known around here,' he commented, 'with his morning television spot and so on.'

  'Quite a regular was Jasper, when he was at home. He liked to sit on that stool there in the corner of the bar and hold Court.'

  'Known him long? Like before he needed to change his name?'

  Henry studied him for a moment, nodded, and then told him quietly, 'Wondered how quickly you'd find out about that. I knew him slightly years ago, long before he began calling himself Moon, though as he seems unwilling to talk about those days, or the court case, I've never pushed it. Used to go to my parents' restaurant when he worked for that photographer chap Alan Carstairs.'

  Rafferty raised his head. 'Hold on. I didn't know Moon had worked for Alan Carstairs. How long ago was this?'

  'Oh, years and years ago.' Henry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 'Must be knocking on for forty years ago now. He only worked for him for a year or two, though. Must have decided working for such a prima donna wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Never showed his face in The George again, that much I do know. Didn't set eyes on him again myself till I opened this place.'

  Rafferty nodded. It explained why Sarah Astell hadn't known Moon in his Hedges days; he'd have been long gone before she was born.

  Henry went on. 'Carstairs could be demanding, I know, because years later, my parents' held his daughter's twenty-first birthday bash in their function room. In the October of the Queen's Jubilee year it was. It was the only function he ever booked at The George, though you'd swear he entertained there all the time and contributed to half the profits from the way he threw his weight around. I wouldn't mind, but he didn't exactly push the boat out when it came to spending his money. Had the cheapest set menu. With a man like that, you'd have thought he'd have had marquees on the lawn and an orchestra, but not a bit of it. Still, even if he wasn't mum's favourite customer, he was very well known.' Henry grinned, and nodded towards the wall of famous faces and Rafferty followed his gaze to the family group around the birthday cake. 'She made sure she got him on film during the birthday bash. She was determined to get something other than complaints and a stingy cut-price cheque out of him for being such a pain.'

  'You were telling us about Moon,' Rafferty reminded him when Henry dried up.

  ‘So I was. Anyway, when he left Carstairs', he decided to take up art again, only this time as a teacher. But obviously, you know all about that.'

  Rafferty nodded. 'What about Terry Hadleigh? We understood he came in here sometimes. Have you seen him recently?'

  The landlord shook his head. 'Can't say I have. Rarely comes in now. I heard he spends most of his time in London. Why?' Henry's gaze narrowed shrewdly. 'Think he did it?'

  'Just routine inquiries,' Rafferty quickly answered. Even though the landlord seemed anxious for Moon's killer to be caught, he might just clam up if he thought they suspected another homosexual of killing him, even a low-life like Hadleigh. 'Did you ever see them together in here?'

  'No. But then I'm not here every night. Got another pub ten miles away now. I spend half the week there.

  Rafferty nodded and said, 'It would help if we could eliminate Hadleigh from our investigation. Did he have any particular friends here? Someone who might be able to tell us where we could find him?'

  The landlord shook his head. It seemed Beard's information had been stale, as Henry added, 'I don't encourage my place to be used as a pick-up joint. Got my licence to think of. Not that Terry Hadleigh was ever too popular, anyway. Reckon he'd have trouble giving it away now, last I saw of him.'

  'What about Jasper Moon? Did he have any particular friends?' Llewellyn asked. 'Anyone he was close to?'

  'Apart from his live-in boyfriend, you mean? No. Jasper was friendly with everyone, but he didn't play away from home if that's what you mean. At least, he hadn't.' The landlord frowned, 'But now you mention it, there had been rumours recently that he was seeing someone else. Jasper was very close-mouthed about it, but I'm pretty sure he had a regular thing with someone in his office on Thursday evenings. It's probably why Jazz refused to give Farley a key to the building. It was the only place he could get away from him.'

  'Did he want to get away from him?'

  'I would if I'd been him. Farley – that's the boyfriend – is the jealous type. Wanted to keep Jazz to himself. I think he was scared stiff he'd lose him. Jasper was a bit of a soft touch, to tell you the truth. He even gave that red-headed termagant Ginnie Campbell a job when she was on her uppers; though we all told him he'd regret it. Jazz just said that providing she didn't dip her fingers in the till she could have a job with him for as long as she needed it. Dishonesty amongst friends was his pet hate, you see. Thought it showed the worst sort of disloyalty. Funny really, as I gather he wasn't above buying things off the back of a lorry when it suited him. Still, takes all sorts.'

  Interested to discover that Henry knew of Moon's little hobby, Rafferty questioned him further, but it was apparent that the landlord had no idea of the identity of Moon's supplier.

  'Farley didn't like him doing favours for other people,' the landlord confided, returning to his earlier point. 'If he wasn't sulking about that, he made scenes when Jasper bought a round of drinks; anyone would think it was his money. Jasper was an open-handed guy; he earned a lot and he spent a lot. We all liked him. But as for that Farley... We all wondered what Jazz saw in him.'

  'You can say that again. Chris Farley is a prize bitch.'

  Rafferty turned to find himself face to face with a slender youth in pale blue, blonde hair curled becomingly around his collar. The landlord excused himself to serve a customer at the other end of the bar, and the youth enlarged on his previous comment.

&
nbsp; 'Farley has upset most of the people in this bar at one time or another. Used to come in here wearing that showy black cape of Jasper's, the little hair he's got swept back, just like he was Count Dracula or something. He could certainly bite. Draw blood, too, sometimes. We're all sorry that Jasper's gone, but you won't find many in here offering Christian Farley a shoulder to cry on.' He leant forward conspiratorially. 'Actually, I got the impression that Jasper was tiring of him. Not surprising, of course, because as Jasper became better known, started appearing on television and so on, Farley became even more jealous. He's thrown a few tantrums in here, I can tell you. All over nothing. Jasper wasn't into playing around. At least, if he was, he'd been reasonably discreet about it. Until these recent rumours that is.'

  Rafferty got the impression the youth had hoped to step into Farley's shoes.

  'I did wonder if he'd met up again with someone from his past, the great love of his life. He only talked about it when he had one over the eight and got maudlin', and then he let slip that there was one ruined relationship he would always regret.' The blond sighed. 'That was some torch he was carrying. No wonder Farley was prone to jealousy. There's nothing as difficult to compete with as the ghost of a past love.' His expression as blue as the dregs of his cocktail, he brightened when Rafferty offered to buy him another.

  As soon as it was served, he resumed his story. 'Jazz was popular, always willing to do a reading for nothing. He liked to flirt, but it was no more than that. He put up with a lot from Farley. I'm amazed Jasper hadn't thrown him out months ago.'

  Rafferty concluded from this that Moon had received more than enough encouragement to do so. He wondered if Moon had been carrying on a secret affair. But whether he had or not, Rafferty felt he'd certainly learned sufficient to turn Farley into one of the chief suspects, and he trawled his net a little wider to see what else he could pick up. 'I hear Terry Hadleigh comes in here, too, sometimes. Do you know him? Is he a friend of yours?'