‘You mean you got chucked out of three pubs?’
‘And barred. One of them doing the barring was our new local, so you can forget about enjoying their hospitality any time in the near future. Some people have no soul.’ Thus saying, Rafferty fell into bed on his back and started snoring.
In vain, did Abra push at him and shout, ‘Turn over. I don’t want to have to listen to that noise all night.’
Failing to either wake or move him, Abra, unlike the fighting republicans, rolled over, pulled the pillow over her head, and admitted defeat.
Gerry Hanks’s and the team’s further questioning of Adam Ainsley’s other schoolmates was gradually bringing in more information. But, so far, only one ex-pupil had been cajoled into admitting that Ainsley had subjected any of the younger boys to sexual bullying and even he refused to come out and say the word ‘rape’. To make admissions more likely Rafferty had instructed his team to make sure they interviewed their witnesses in circumstances conducive to confessions and to avoid questioning anyone in the bosom of his family.
When the results were slow to trickle in, Rafferty had everyone in the incident room in order to give them a moral-boosting pep talk. Having been subjected to Cyrus’s conversational style for the best part of two weeks, Rafferty felt he had learned something about public speaking and his rip-roaring team talk brought a new verve and they went back to their phones and their paperwork with greater vigour.
‘Is there really going to be plenty of overtime?’ Llewellyn asked afterwards. ‘I didn’t think Superintendent Bradley would sanction more outlay.’
‘He didn’t. I’ve gone over his head, haven’t I?’ said Rafferty. ‘I’ve gone to Jack Mulcahy and he’s OK’d some more money.’ Jack Mulcahy was the Deputy Assistant Chief Constable for the county.
‘How has that gone down with the superintendent?’
‘About how you’d expect. I’m even less flavour of the month than I usually am. You watch, when we put in our expenses, he’ll query every item. Anyway, let’s get off. We’ve got three more suspect interviews to fit in today, so we’d better get a move on.’
Their re-interviewing of the other reunees was a time-consuming business, involving, as it did, many miles on the country’s motorways to all points of the compass. But at least it got them away from the office and Bradley.
They went out to the car. The weather had turned cool and grey clouds, pregnant with rain, stretched from horizon to horizon. ‘Driving’ll be fun when that lot starts chucking it down,’ Rafferty observed as he did up his seatbelt.
‘I’ll drive, if you like,’ Llewellyn quickly offered. Never one to admire Rafferty’s gung-ho style of driving, the Welshman always preferred to take the wheel when he could. But this wasn’t one of those occasions.
‘We’ll never get round Harmsworth, Sadiq and Fairweather if you’re behind the wheel,’ Rafferty told him. ‘As it is, we’re lucky that Gary Sadiq had business in London today; we can get him and Harmsworth done before we see the mandarin.’
The rain started in earnest as Rafferty nosed out of the Bacon Lane car park. Soon it was hissing against the windscreen like so many biblical locusts proving almost too much for the wipers and he had to hunch forward over the wheel and peer through the screen with all his concentration. Beside him, Llewellyn was tense, the combination of his inspector behind the wheel and atrocious weather made him nervous. But even Rafferty had to go slowly in such conditions and soon Llewellyn gave up applying an imaginary brake and sat back and relaxed.
The journey into London was stop-start and frustrating. Even more so when they hit the M25, the so-called London orbital that Londoners had nicknamed the Giant Car Park. But eventually they arrived at the family home where Gary Sadiq was staying – the occupants of which seemed to have imposed some sort of code of silence because Sadiq had had nothing to add to what he’d already said and, eventually, Rafferty gave up his attempts to squeeze information out of him.
Back in the car, he made for Giles Harmsworth’s home. Harmsworth lived in Canary Wharf, in a Thames-side apartment. Rafferty envied him the outlook if not the traffic.
Harmsworth was every bit as organizing and officious as he’d been at Griffin. He sat them down, decided that, as they were policemen, they’d want tea, and had it made and poured before Rafferty could be contrary and say he’d prefer coffee.
‘Remember me telling you that Alice Douglas had a baby?’ Rafferty began. ‘Remember me asking if the kid might have been yours?’
‘Yes. Of course I remember. You never did tell me why you thought it a possibility.’
On the basis of you and Alice both being swots, he might have said. But he didn’t. ‘Don’t worry, sir. We’ve now discovered who was the father.’
‘That’s a relief. I wouldn’t like the possibility that I’d fathered an illegitimate child bandied about. My wife wouldn’t like it.’ He paused. ‘So, as you say you’ve now discovered the identity of the real father, why are you here? I really don’t know that I can tell you any more than I’ve already done.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve a few deals on the go, Inspector, and need to get back to work, so can we make this short?’
Rafferty said he’d do his best to oblige him. But as, one after one, he revealed Adam Ainsley’s homosexuality, his pursuit of young boys at Griffin and the possibility of blackmail, he saw that Harmsworth wasn’t shocked by any of it.
‘I was Head Boy, Inspector. It was my job to know all this, though of course I didn’t know about the blackmail.’ He paused, then added, ‘Or Alice’s pregnancy.’
Rafferty admitted that blackmail was just a possibility and only one amongst several that they were considering.
‘You say you knew about Ainsley’s homosexuality and his pursuit of young boys at the school. Did you do nothing to stop it?’
‘I tried to get evidence – Mr Barmforth, the then headmaster, was hot on evidence of wrong-doing. He didn’t like to be told what he called tittle-tattle. But I never managed to get any. I caught Ainsley in the toilets with one of the younger boys once, but if he had been intending to assault the boy, it hadn’t gone very far. Certainly the child still had his trousers on, so there was nothing I could take to the headmaster.’
‘Did you feel he was making a fool of you?’
Giles Harmsworth coloured up at this. He didn’t answer immediately, but after a few seconds, he said, ‘There were always boys who liked to test authority, to buck against the system. Sebastian Kennedy was the same. Adam resented me, of course. He seemed to think he should have been Head Boy, given his superiority on the sports field, but I believe Mr Barmforth thought he had enough glory. Besides, he wasn’t good at rules. He thought they didn’t apply to him, only to lesser mortals. I had to disabuse him of that idea several times.’
This was getting them nowhere. He’d thrown all he had at Harmsworth and hadn’t shaken anything from the man. It was time to head for the Home Office and Simon Fairweather.
FOURTEEN
Simon Fairweather’s office was on the first floor of the new architect-designed Home Office. The Department had moved from the brutal, old Sir Basil Spence monstrosity near St James’s Park and was now situated in an ultra-modern building at Marsham Street. As they passed under the multi-coloured glass roof canopy designed, so Rafferty understood from Llewellyn, by a Turner Prize-winner, which said it all for Rafferty, he elected to use the stairs so as to stretch his legs.
Alerted by reception, Simon Fairweather was waiting for them. ‘Inspector.’ He held out his hand and Rafferty shook it. ‘How can I help you this time?’
Rafferty waited until Fairweather had led them along the corridor to his own room and settled them in chairs facing his desk. There were as many pictures adorning the walls here as there had been in Sebastian Kennedy’s apartment in Hampstead, but none of them featured naked ladies. Here was displayed original art borrowed from the London galleries. Most were boring landscapes featuring the usual munching cattle, sheep and sheepdog
s that showed what a steady civil servant Fairweather was, but there was also a series of political cartoons that lightened the atmosphere and reminded Rafferty of the impish quality to Fairweather’s mandarin-bland appearance.
‘I was hoping you might have remembered something more since I last spoke to you,’ Rafferty told him.
‘I’m afraid not. I have been thinking about the lunchtime that Adam was poisoned and I really can’t say that I noticed anything untoward. But I’m forgetting my manners. I’m sure you’d like something warming to drink after driving all the way here in such atrocious conditions. And to think the weathermen promised us a golden summer. That promise seems to have followed the examples of the promises of most of our political masters.’
Rafferty was surprised and pleased when instead of ringing his secretary and ordering tea, Fairweather pulled open the door of a cupboard behind his desk and revealed a well-stocked drinks cabinet.
‘I can offer you whisky, gin, brandy, vodka. I’ve even got some tequila somewhere.’
‘Whisky’s fine.’
‘Sergeant?
‘Perhaps a mineral water.’
Fairweather served the drinks and Rafferty was glad to see that the Home Office man didn’t believe in short measures. The heater on their car only worked when it wanted to and he was chilled, so he soon knocked the whisky back and Fairweather offered to top up his glass – an offer that Rafferty accepted with alacrity.
Fairweather seemed to have a relaxed attitude to drinking on duty, though Rafferty noted that the mandarin followed Llewellyn’s example and opted for mineral water. Perhaps he had important meetings later for which he had to keep a clear head? Or perhaps it was this meeting that required clarity? As the Home Office man had claimed he had nothing new to tell them, Rafferty decided he would stir the waters and see what struggled to shore.
‘Did you know that Adam Ainsley was a closet homosexual?’
‘One did hear rumours. Nothing more. I wasn’t importuned myself.’
‘Do you know the identity of those who were?’ Although Rafferty had names from a number of sources, he was always pleased to add to them. He couldn’t know which piece of information would lead him to the truth. Certainly, so far, not one of the suspects had been named as one of Ainsley’s sexual conquests.
Fairweather offered a couple of names, but they were ones already in their possession, so they were no further forward.
Rafferty decided on another stir. ‘Were you aware that Jeremy Paxton’s half nephew had a love affair with Ainsley and killed himself as a result?’
‘Paxton? Paxton? I’m afraid you’ll have to refresh my memory.’
‘The new headmaster of Griffin School.’
‘Ah. Yes, of course. I’m afraid the only headmaster I think of in relation to Griffin is Mr Barmforth. He knew how to instil the fear of a God of retribution into us all. I’m sure Mr Paxton will be a very good headmaster and will grow into the role. But in these days of health and safety and “protect little children”, he won’t have the opportunity to make such an impression on his pupils as old B did on us.’ Fairweather took a sip of his mineral water. ‘And his half nephew killed himself, you say?’
Rafferty nodded.
‘Any grounds for suspecting Mr Paxton intended any harm to Adam?’
Rafferty shrugged. If this had been a normal interview, he would have said nothing further. But Fairweather was a Home Office mandarin, so he added, ‘It doesn’t seem likely. He said he hardly knew the boy and his parents confirmed that that was so. No, I think we must look elsewhere for our culprit.’
‘I’m only sorry I can’t be more help.’ Fairweather finished the water in his crystal glass and stood up. It was a signal the interview was over. But, Rafferty said to himself, I decide when an interview’s finished, whether the witness is a mandarin or a tea-leaf. ‘Have you always worked as a civil servant, sir?’ he asked, going off on a tangent in the hope it would reveal something – anything – new.
‘Good Lord, no.’ Fairweather glanced at his watch and sat down again. ‘I had a life, quite an interesting one, before I started here. I used to work as a chemist.’
Chemistry. Drugs. Poisons. The words reverberated around Rafferty’s brain and he gave Fairweather a sharp glance. Didn’t most drugs originate from plants? Digitalis from foxgloves, for instance, and datura from the Jimsonweed that was used to treat asthma at one time, and opium from poppies. Who better than a chemist to get his hands on the poison that killed Ainsley? Who better than a chemist to know where and how to get hold of it?
It seemed Rafferty’s too open face had revealed the texture of his thoughts for Fairweather laughed and said, ‘Don’t bother, Inspector, to think that my old career is pertinent to your investigation. I used to work in the petrochemical industry and even if I was in the right branch of the profession, it’s a decade since I worked in the industry and things – and people – have moved on. I really don’t know anyone in that sphere now. I wouldn’t be able to get hold of the poison that killed Adam even if I wanted to.’
Maybe not, Rafferty thought. But, in spite of your protests to the contrary, I bet you’d know who would. You might even know, or be able to find out, where to look for the plant that hemlock comes from. You might even be able to recognize it or have the relevant reference books to help you find it, more easily, anyway, than the average layman. Or woman.
It seemed that just as he was about to accept that Simon Fairweather should no longer be numbered amongst the suspects, he suddenly rose to the top of the list.
Rafferty made to head back to the office. As he’d been about to get behind the wheel, Llewellyn reminded him he’d been drinking and he handed the keys to his sergeant. He wanted to ring Sam Dally and check something out, but rather than use his mobile, he wanted to be at his desk and easily able to make notes. The rain had eased off and he told Llewellyn to put his foot down. As expected, the Welshman ignored this instruction.
‘Why can’t you be a hare rather than a tortoise for a change?’ Rafferty asked. ‘Just once?’
‘If you remember the story, it was the tortoise that won the race in the end.’ Llewellyn paused. ‘I was wondering whether it might not be a good idea to investigate the previous careers of our other suspects, given Mr Fairweather’s admission of his past life as a chemist.’
Though as to Fairweather’s mention of the bullying of which he had himself been a victim, Rafferty was now beginning to think he should be no hastier than the tortoise. Did such an admission really have any value? It would be a different thing if he’d tried to conceal his past as a chemist, but to be so up front about it rather took away some of his previous suspicion. Still, that notwithstanding, Llewellyn’s suggestion was a good one and he told him so, thereby earning himself the reward of a tiny increase in the car’s speed. It didn’t last long.
In spite of the Welshman being behind the wheel, they made good time and the journey back to Elmhurst was done in half the time of the outward trip.
As soon as he reached his office, Rafferty had Sam on the phone. ‘What was the Latin name of the plant that hemlock comes from?’ he asked immediately Sam came on the line. ‘And where does it grow?’
‘Good afternoon, Sam. How are you keeping? Got many corpses to cut up today?’
‘Sorry, Sam. You sound pretty chipper to me, so I’ll take it as read that you’re well. But good afternoon, anyway. Now, about that plant.’
‘Conium Maculatum. And how do I know where it grows? I’m not a botanist or a gardener. It’s Alan Titchmarsh you want, not me.’
‘I don’t know Alan Titchmarsh. Can you find out?’
‘You mean you want me to consult my tame plant expert?’
‘Yes please.’
‘He’s not my favourite person, so it’ll cost you. A large malt next time we meet up in a local hostelry.’
‘You’re on.’
‘Leave it with me. I’ll get back to you.’
Sam was as good as his word and c
ame back to him at the gut-end of the afternoon, when Rafferty had about given up on him and was thinking about going home before Bradley caught him for another update.
‘You can find Conium Maculatum all over Europe,’ said Sam. ‘It’s a native plant to Britain. Every part is deadly, especially the fruits at flowering time. The root is pretty harmless in spring, but deadly at any other time.’
‘So if the killer knew where to find it and knew how to recognize it—’
‘Then he’s presented with a marvellous murdering opportunity. Why? Got someone in mind?’
‘Could be. Thanks, Sam. Let’s arrange for that drink very soon. I’ll give you a ring.’
Rafferty turned thoughtfully to Llewellyn. ‘Can you find out – discreetly – if Simon Fairweather worked in another branch of chemistry before he joined the petrochemical industry?’
Llewellyn nodded. ‘I know someone in the Home Office who can check Fairweather’s personnel record. It should reveal the names of the firms who employed him. I also know someone at the chemists’ professional body who can check out his qualifications.’
Rafferty was reluctantly impressed. ‘Your Welsh Mafia seems to have its tentacles all over the place,’ he observed. ‘You’ll be checking up on me next.’ He hoped not, because one good root around in his family history would reveal plenty.
‘It’s not the Welsh Mafia,’ Llewellyn protested, ‘Merely old friends from my Cambridge days.’
‘I wish I had a network of pals in high places,’ Rafferty commented. ‘I might be able to get Bradley promoted out of my hair. Maybe you could try?’
‘I don’t believe in promoting a person beyond their competence. There are enough people at the top already who are politicians rather than policemen.’
‘Ain’t that the truth.’
‘Maybe if you placated Superintendent Bradley rather than deliberately antagonized him, you’d have a better relationship.’
It was what Nigel had suggested. The thought wasn’t any more palatable from the Welshman’s mouth. ‘I doubt it. We just rub one another up the wrong way. And seeing as I’m stuck with him, I might as well have the occasional bit of fun at his expense.’
Deadly Reunion Page 21
