After speaking to his Burleigh colleague, Rafferty had done some more digging and now he filled Llewellyn in on the rest. 'Smith moved from Burleigh to Rawston after the aborted rape trial. From there, after a new neighbour recognised him, he moved here to Elmhurst, where, I gather, he's lived for two years. If this missing cadaver does turn out to be Maurice Smith, I very much fear someone's been acting as judge, jury and Albert Pierrepoint, the old hangman.'
Was there anything more worrying to a policeman than the public taking the law into its own hands, Rafferty mused. Yet, at the same time, he was aware of a degree of sympathy with such action. Particularly in cases like Smith's, where justice was not only not done, but seen not to be done.
Becoming aware of Llewellyn's expectant gaze, he straightened his shoulders, firmed up his spine, and said, 'First, we'd better check that he is missing. Send Smales round to his home, Dafyd. Here's the addresses of Smith and his family.’ Rafferty handed over a scribbled note. ‘And for God's sake, tell Smales to be discreet. Smith's living under the name of Martin Smithson. Tell Smales to make sure he asks for him under that name. When you've done that, I want you to contact Smith's family. Find out when they last heard from him. I'm sure I don't need to tell you to be discreet. As for me and Lilley, we're going to Dedman Wood to take a look at the scene.'
Llewellyn nodded and departed. Rafferty opened his door and shouted for Lilley and when the young officer appeared, told him, 'We're going out to Dedman Woods. I want to have a look for myself.'
It was now getting on for 11 o'clock and Rafferty, cheated of his early night, was in just the right mood for issuing Mrs ffinch-Robinson's advised rebuke. After he had shrugged into his coat, he said tersely, 'And next time an obviously sober citizen like Mrs ffinch-Robinson reports finding a body, please try not to get their back up. Apart from anything else, it offends against Superintendent Bradley's favourite pet project: “Politeness in Interaction with Members of the Public.”' Rafferty always made sure to mention it whenever one of the younger officers offended against the programme. He felt he had to do his bit to keep it alive, especially as the super had tried to smother it after finally sussing the PIMP acronym that Rafferty had helpfully suggested for the programme. 'You know how fond he is of his pet Politeness programme. You wouldn't like him to get to hear of your doings, I'm sure.'
Lilley's blond complexion went a little paler and he shook his head. It was well known that Bradley threw himself into a towering rage whenever anyone breached his Politeness Programme, and though few realised the reason why, it always gave Rafferty reason to snigger.
As, by now, Lilley was staring at his boots, he didn't notice Rafferty's lips twitch. 'Sorry, sir. Won't happen again, sir.'
'See that it doesn't. Admittedly, you're not likely to have too many truly disappearing cadavers in your career. But if you treat important witnesses like Mrs ffinch-Robinson in such a cavalier fashion, your career's likely to be short. Remember that.'
Rebuke over, Rafferty shut his door behind them, hiding the tiny smile as he did so. Even at the end of a long day that promised to wipe the smile completely, the PIMP episode had the power to amuse. Several months ago, he had got away with supplying the apt acronym for "Long-Pockets" Bradley's latest attempt to enhance his status at Region with the immoral, penny-pinching, 'Politeness costs nothing' scam. When Bradley had finally woken up to the realisation that the acronym selected revealed the paucity of his own morals, Rafferty had succeeded in convincing him that, not only had his suggestion been made in all innocence, but that Region would be less than impressed if he dropped his ‘wool-over-the-public's-eyes’ policing wheeze when he had spent so much time and money on its promotion. So Bradley had been stuck with it.
Warmed by the memory, Rafferty’s step, as he followed Lilley out to the car park, was jauntier than it had any right to be.
'MAURICE SMITH'S FAMILY say they haven't seen him since yesterday evening,' Llewellyn reported, when Rafferty got back to the station after examining the scene. It had been as Lilley had described, even down to the rope tuft. Rafferty nodded glumly, doubts and amusement both already fading.
'And, as far as they know, he had no travel plans. From what they say, he's something of a loner, and rarely went out or socialised. He had no friends, as far as they're aware. They said they don't see much of him themselves, though I got the impression they don't exactly extend a hearty welcome when he does visit.'
'Understandable,' Rafferty commented. 'He must have put them through hell one way and another. Still,' he continued, uneasily, 'if Mrs ffinch-Robinson is right, and it was Maurice Smith's body she saw, then this case could have some very awkward connotations. If he's been killed by the family of one of his victims, then public sympathy for them will make our job extremely difficult. Nobody will co-operate. Nobody will answer our questions and our chances of catching his killer could be zilch.'
Rafferty, his attitude towards the presumed victim still ambivalent, wasn't sure that wouldn't be the best result. From his understanding of the case, Smith had ruined enough lives; dead, he wouldn't have the chance to ruin more. But, aware that the high-moral ground Welshman would be unlikely to share his opinion, he kept it to himself. Llewellyn believed that, whatever the provocation, no one had the right to take the law into their own hands. Increasingly, these days, Rafferty found his own beliefs wavering. The man, rather than the policeman, thought that ultimately, every human being was responsible for their own survival and that of their family. If parliament and the courts, who were supposed to protect the honest citizen, failed in their responsibility, what was the law-abiding citizen to do? Cower in a corner and let the barbarians do what they liked?
Society had been overwhelmed by crime in recent years; like a flood tide, it poured over their homes, their schools, their neighbourhoods, tainting every aspect of life. The courts issued what he and many other people considered to be futile punishments to the perpetrators, when they punished them at all. Young criminals, in particular, laughed at the law. Without majesty, dignity and a strong right arm, the law deserved to be laughed at for the joke it had become. Lately, he had often thought that the Old Bailey, the Central Criminal Court, and the prime upholder of the law, should be crowned with "Crime Rools OK" graffiti, rather than the bronze Justice statue.
With a tired sigh, he forced such thoughts to the back of his mind and asked how Smales had got on.
'He was unable to get a reply from either Smith or his landlady,' Llewellyn told him. 'And as he was anxious about your warning on discretion, he thought better of asking amongst the neighbours. I told him to return to the station. I hope that's all right?'
'Yes. It's getting late, too late for banging on doors and disturbing people. We'll go ourselves in the morning. For the moment, I want to keep this low-key. I know Mrs ffinch-Robinson was convinced the corpse was Smith's, but it's possible she made a mistake. Time enough to turn up the volume if Smith has vanished.'
In spite of his forced optimism, Rafferty wished he could get out of his mind the conviction that the Mrs ffinch-Robinson’s of this world were pretty well infallible. Such thoughts were, he felt sure, guaranteed to give him a sleepless night.
Chapter Two
ON FRIDAY MORNING RAFFERTY and Llewellyn drove to Maurice Smith's flat. He lived in an Edwardian terraced house, a once-family home that had seen better days and had long been converted to separate dwellings. Smith's home was on the first floor, above the landlady, Mrs Penny's, flat. There was an unlocked outside door, and, inside this, the two flats each had their own doors with letterboxes and secondary bells. Rafferty noticed that Smith's door had a spyhole, an amateur effort which he had probably made himself.
After getting no answer from Smith, Rafferty tried the landlady's bell. But there was no answer there either and he suggested they have a look around the back.
A six-foot double wooden gate concealed concrete hard-standing. Rafferty frowned as he saw the lock on the gate had been forced. 'Looks very recent,
' he observed as he examined the bright wood around the lock. As well as the broken gate lock, when they walked up the back path they found a few threads of navy cotton clinging to the fire escape. According to Mrs ffinch-Robinson, the corpse she had found had been wearing a navy and maroon tracksuit. After he drew Llewellyn's attention to the threads Rafferty sealed them in a plastic bag without further comment.
He was beginning to feel he should have posted an officer in Dedman Wood last night to secure the scene. But it was too late for that now and he consoled himself with the thought that there could be few enough people choosing to walk in the woods after dark, particularly in the depths of winter. Anyway, on the way out this morning, he had instructed Lilley to stand guard duty at the scene and with such a belated effort he had to be content. After all, with no corpse, they couldn't be sure they had a murder on their hands and, until they were sure, he didn't want to alert the press by putting a uniform at the scene.
They found nothing else and came back to the front of the property. Mrs Penny had still not returned, but, determined to get some answers, Rafferty decided they would wait. There was a baker’s shop on the corner and he sent Llewellyn over to get coffee, which they drank sitting in the car.
The baker's had a three-tiered wedding cake in the window. It turned Rafferty's mind to other things than Smith. Llewellyn had been strongly courting Rafferty's second cousin, Maureen, since the previous April, and, from various remarks that Llewellyn had made, Rafferty had got the impression that an announcement was imminent. But several months had gone by and no announcement had happened. Now, glancing at Llewellyn he asked, 'So, how's the love life? Popped the question yet?'
Beside him, Llewellyn stiffened. 'We have only known one another for a little over six months, you know. Matrimony is too important a step to rush into.'
'And faint hearts never won fair lady,' Rafferty reminded him. 'What's the matter? Getting cold feet?'
Llewellyn said nothing and Rafferty, who would himself like nothing more than a spot of connubial bliss, commented tartly, 'If I know you, you'll be saying the same in six years. You do love each other, I take it?' They'd certainly looked moony-eyed enough to Rafferty on the occasions he'd seen them together.
Llewellyn forced out a 'yes'.
'There you are, then.'
Of course, the Welshman couldn't help being the way he was, Rafferty reminded himself. His background as a Welsh Methodist minister's only son was hardly guaranteed to turn him into a young Lochinvar. What Llewellyn needed was an agony uncle, he decided. Or a boot up the backside. Or both.
He plumped for the gentle approach. 'So, what seems to be the problem?' he asked, in his best bedside manner. 'You've got heaps in common, you love each other fit to bust. What else is holding you up?'
Llewellyn hesitated, then confided, 'I want her to go up to Wales with me to meet my mother. Just a short visit, over a weekend.'
'And Maureen won't go, I take it?'
Llewellyn nodded glumly. 'She said she has no intention of being paraded around my home village like a prize cow.'
Rafferty spluttered into his coffee and muttered to himself, that sounds like Maureen. He thought for a moment, then said brightly, 'So, if the prize cow won't go to the cattle show, what you've got to do is hold the show down here and let Daisy parade only for the prospective purchaser rather than the non-spending gawkers.'
'I wish you wouldn't keep referring to her as—'
Rafferty held up his hand. 'All right. Sorry. It's a good idea, though, isn't it? Isn't it?' he repeated, when Llewellyn failed to respond.
'It would be if it didn't have several drawbacks, which was the reason I didn't suggest it. For one, my flat's too small. Of course my mother could stay with Maureen's mother, but—'
'Exactly—but.'
Maureen's mother was a difficult woman. No, Rafferty thought, scrub that. She was bloody impossible; all airs and graces and condescension; starched tablecloths and starched pillows cases. Starched knickers, too, probably. 'Your mother wouldn't stay in a hotel, I suppose?'
'I wouldn't ask it of her. Hotels can be lonely places. And she's lived a very quiet life.' He glanced quickly at Rafferty. 'You'll probably find this amusing, but she still hasn't got a television set.'
Rafferty didn't find it funny at all. In a sudden burst of generosity, he found himself saying, 'She could stay with Ma. She's got plenty of room.'
Rafferty, always convinced his ideas were excellent until events proved otherwise, pushed this one with his usual enthusiasm. Ignoring the doubtful look in Llewellyn's eye, he said, 'It's the perfect solution, Daff. They're both widows, both alone, it'd be welcome company for both of them. At least let me put it to Ma.'
Llewellyn's old-fashioned look made Rafferty re-examine his initial enthusiasm. Perhaps volunteering Ma and her best spare room wasn't such an inspired notion; if Llewellyn's childhood had been even half as dreary as Rafferty suspected, his mother must be a dour old biddy, as narrow in outlook as his Ma was broad.
But he realised he had talked Llewellyn into it when the Welshman suddenly asked, 'You're sure Mrs Rafferty won't mind?'
'Sure I'm sure.' Rafferty swallowed hard and added, 'she'll love it.'
Rafferty's Ma had taken even more of a proprietary interest in the romance than Rafferty, and was well on the way to persuading Llewellyn to convert to Catholicism. Rafferty consoled himself with the thought that it would only be for a week or so. Just while Mrs Llewellyn looked 'Daisy' over. He'd have to ensure he made that clear. 'I'll ask her tonight,' he told Llewellyn. 'And then you can sort the details out between yourselves.'
It seemed Llewellyn, too, had a few reservations, for he said quickly, 'Perhaps it would be best to make the invitation for after Christmas? I'm sure your mother will be far too busy to want to entertain strangers then.'
'Good idea.' Christmas at Ma's house was normally riotous. Not suitable for an old-fashioned Methodist matron, who was likely to be long on sin and short on forgiveness. Not suitable at all.
Though, the more Rafferty thought about it, the more he realised there were few periods in the year when the visit wouldn't turn out to be an unmitigated disaster. Morosely, he asked himself, why don't I keep my big mouth shut? It'll all end in tears, I know it will. Probably mine.
He pushed his gloomy conclusions aside as he saw a comfortably built woman in her seventies walking towards them, a well-filled shopping trolley pushed before her. 'Want to bet that's Smith's landlady?'
Not being a betting man, Llewellyn didn't take him up on his offer. But Rafferty's guess was borne out when she stopped at the front door and pulled out a key.
They got out of the car. Rafferty, careful not to startle her, took his warrant card from his pocket and softly called her name. As she turned, he held the card up and slowly approached.
'We're police officers. You are Mrs Penny?' She nodded and Rafferty introduced himself and Llewellyn. 'I wonder; could we have a word? It's about your lodger.'
'About Ma—Martin?' She studied them anxiously before asking, 'Why? Whatever has he done?'
'He hasn't done anything,' Rafferty hastened to reassure her. At least not lately, he silently amended. 'We just need to speak to him, but as he isn't home...'
She hesitated, then said, 'You'd better come in.'
Mrs Penny's living room was homely; comfortable, if over-furnished, with masses of family photographs dotted about. Her face creased in anxiety as, after she had sat them down, she said, 'You're sure he's not in any sort of trouble.'
'No.' Rafferty paused and added, 'that is, not exactly. As I said, we just wanted to speak to him. Actually, one of my officers called round yesterday evening,' Rafferty told her. 'But he could get no reply at either Mr Smithson's flat or yours. Of course, it was rather late.'
In spite of her obvious anxiety about her lodger, Mrs Penny managed a tiny smile. 'Isn't that always the way? Last night was the first evening I've been out in four months. Went to a WRAF's reunion at a local hotel. It w
as after midnight before I got home. Haven't had such a good time since I don't know when.'
The houses on either side were also multi-occupancy, she told them, but their landlords, unlike her, didn't live on the premises and the tenants were mostly young and tended to come and go. She had been widowed two years earlier, and nowadays, she rarely saw anyone unless she went out and, apart from shopping, that happened seldom. 'But here am I forgetting my manners. Let me make some tea.'
She bustled into the kitchen and was soon plying them with such quantities of tea, home-made sponge cake and biscuits that it wasn't hard to guess the extent of her loneliness.
As she sat down, Rafferty explained that her lodger had been reported missing. He judged that was the safest way to describe the peculiar events of yesterday. 'There are certain—aspects that warrant further investigation.'
Her wide brow creased as she returned to his previous answer. 'But who would report him missing? He has no friends, and although he saw his family on Wednesday evening, that's the first time he's seen them in weeks.' Her warm gaze was sad. 'His mother died some years ago and he doesn't really get on with his step-father and half-brother. From odd things he's said, I gather they don't encourage his visits. I don't know why he bothers. Still, I suppose they're the only family he's got. But, in reality, I'm probably the nearest thing he's got to true friend and family both, and I certainly haven't reported him missing.' She eyed them shrewdly. 'So who has?'
'I'm afraid I can't tell you that, Mrs Penny,' Rafferty replied. 'I can only say again that the person who did so is very respectable, very responsible, and wouldn't make such a report without being pretty sure of the facts.'
Her expression anxious, she told them, 'You know, now you mention it, I haven't heard him at all this morning and he's generally an early riser. Usually, I hear him moving about. On Wednesday evening he was pacing up and down as though he had something on his mind; it went on till the early hours. Yesterday evening was the same—at least until I went out. It worried me to leave him alone when he was so obviously troubled. I had half a mind to stay home after all, but Martin wouldn't hear of it. He wouldn't tell me what was the matter either and I couldn't force him.'
RAFFERTY & LLEWELLYN BOXED SET: BOOKS 1 - 4 Page 68
