Death Line

by Geraldine Evans

  Convinced that, as long as you failed them with olde-worlde politeness, the public were ready to forgive your failure and even thank you for bothering at all, cost-cutting, "Long Pockets" Bradley had exhorted them all to mind their p's and q's and indulge in as much forelock-tugging as their hair would stand, and then some, and 'woe betide' the officer who offended against this regime.

  As Rafferty, as a matter of principle, had offended against several of Bradley's previous arse-licking exercises aimed at winning for himself even more friends at Region, PIMP wasn't something he could lightly ignore. Not that he had anything against being polite to the public, far from it. It was just that the superintendent's man-management methods tended to pettiness, deviousness and, when these didn't work, outright bullying. His favourite pastime was reducing the younger WPC's to tears.

  Thankfully, Edwin Astell wasn't aware of the Super's newly-tender approach to public relations, and although his nostrils pinched slightly, he didn't contradict Rafferty's description of Jasper Moon's character.

  “I wouldn't have put it quite like that, Inspector, but yes, I suppose he was inquisitive. Though, a competent, experienced palmist could discover much about a person without them saying a word. I'm merely a knowledgeable amateur as far as hand analysis is concerned, but even I needed only to study a person's hands for a short time to discover if they were generous or mean, passionate or placid, creative or practical. Jasper, as a professional, was, of course, far more skilled.”

  Perhaps he'd caught the look of scepticism on Rafferty's face, for Astell went on, “If I might be permitted to provide you with an example?” Rafferty nodded. “Although I've just met him and we've exchanged no more than a few words, I'd say your sergeant's a highly intelligent, analytical person, with refined tastes and a certain sensitivity. Of course,” self-deprecatingly, he added, “this is just a cursory appraisal.” He turned to Llewellyn with an apologetic smile. “You must forgive my using you as a guinea-pig, Sergeant. I hope I haven't offended you?” Not surprisingly, after such a glowing character reference, Llewellyn seemed more than happy to reassure him on the point.

  Rafferty was shaken that his prejudices had been challenged and trumped with such ease. Although unwilling to second Astell's appraisal of his sergeant's virtues, he found himself admitting, “You're right. That's Llewellyn to a 'T'. How on earth did you do it?” Next he'd be telling him, a la Sherlock Holmes, that Llewellyn was contemplating marriage and the production of 2.4 children.

  Astell's smile had a certain diffident charm. He was quite a good-looking man, Rafferty realised. Along with his distinctly old-fashioned manners, he had the kind of face that, for some reason, made Rafferty think of tragic First World War poets; all planes and angles and shadowed melancholic hollows.

  “It's not magic, Inspector,” Astell told him. “Merely observation and rather elementary observation at that. Any student of palmistry could tell you as much. Your sergeant's hand is long, slim and full of lines, what we term a Water hand. It invariably points to sensitivity and an interest in the arts. The intellectuality is indicated by the long, straight Head Lines on both palms and the length of the topmost phalanges on his fingers. I told you, nothing can be concealed from an experienced palmist.”

  Hastily, Rafferty put his hands behind his back, in case Astell was tempted to point out certain aspects of his own character. He doubted their revelation would render his expression as smug as that of his sergeant. “And Jasper Moon was an experienced palmist?” he queried

  “Oh yes, of course. Don't let Jasper's esoteric taste in decor give you the wrong idea. His knowledge was wide. I only dabble, though, as I said, astrologically, Jasper has taught me a lot. Of course, my real training is on the business side, which is why Jasper originally employed me before he offered me the partnership. I still take care of the administration side of the business.”

  Rafferty felt out of his depth with all this hocus-pocus, as he thought of it. Whether Moon had been murdered by one of his clients or not, it sounded to Rafferty as if Moon's profession could offer lucrative opportunities to the unscrupulous. Judging from the quantity of files that had been scattered about Moon's room, he had a lot of clients, and, as his charges were, in Rafferty's opinion, extortionate, none of his clients was likely to be poor. They would all have to be questioned and eliminated. Rafferty sighed and asked, “How soon could you let us know if anything's missing, sir?”

  “As to the files – I'll have to go through the client list and match it up with the individual folders. It'll take a little while.”

  Rafferty nodded. “You can do that as soon as the forensic team have finished with them. What about the rest of Mr Moon's stuff? Did you notice if anything was missing?”

  Astell's narrow face was apologetic. “It was a bit difficult to tell. Jasper liked a lot of clutter about him.”

  “What about money, sir?” Llewellyn put in. “Do you keep much cash on the premises?”

  “Not usually, but, as a matter of fact, Jasper asked me to draw £1000 out of the bank only yesterday morning. It should still be in the cash box.”

  “Where do you keep this box?” Rafferty questioned.

  “In one of the drawers of Jasper's desk.”

  “If you'll just wait here, sir, I'll check.” Rafferty quickly put his gloves back on and opened the door to the waiting room. There was another door on the other side connected to Moon's office. He opened this too, and after a quick word with Appleby, walked over to the desk. The cashbox, a large, black affair, squatted in the deepest of the drawers. After lifting the other two drawers from on top of it, Rafferty attempted to raise its lid with a paperknife, but it was obviously locked. He shouted through to Astell, “Have you got the key, sir?”

  Astell appeared at the door and, after painstakingly removing a key from a leather pouch in his jacket pocket, he handed it to Llewellyn who passed it over. Careful to touch nothing, Rafferty inserted the key and turned it, raising the lid with the knife. The usual coin tray was on top. It must have contained about £50 in coins and with difficulty, Rafferty raised this, too, and peered underneath. Apart from a few folded sheets of stamps, the bottom of the cashbox was empty. “You said there should be a £1000 in notes?”

  Astell nodded. “All in brand new £50 notes. I always insist on new notes.”

  “Apart from the coins, there's nothing here now, sir,” Rafferty told him. He lifted up the cashbox. “See for yourself.”

  Astell's shocked face peered over Llewellyn's shoulder. “I warned Jasper that carrying such large sums of cash about was dangerous. Of course, I was thinking more about him being attacked on the street. With the entry phone and window locks, I assumed he'd be safe enough here.”

  “How many keys are there to this box?”

  “Only two. I have one and Jasper had the other. Though, of course, our staff have daily access to it. Jasper usually left his key in his desk, I believe.” Rafferty checked. Moon's key was still there. “Mr Moon wouldn't have taken the money himself and spent it already?” he questioned. “You said you took the money out of the bank yesterday morning.”

  Astell shook his head. “When I warned him to be careful, he told me he wouldn't even be removing it from the premises. It would stay in the box till tomorrow – or rather, today, as it wouldn't be wanted till then. I take it from that, that whoever he wanted the money for would be coming to the office for it.” His lips thinned. Apparently that pleased him little more than that Jasper should walk about the streets with it.

  In spite of his insistence that an intruder was responsible for the crime, the discovery of the robbery seemed to have shaken him. A case of the smaller shock helping the larger one to sink in, Rafferty guessed. He had seen it before. Though Astell seemed to find no incongruity, to Rafferty, there were points about this so-called burglary that struck him as peculiar. Although the money was missing, several other obviously expensive items on Moon's desk had not been taken; small silver, easily pocketable knick-knacks, for instanc
e. If a burglar had taken the money, why hadn't he taken these also? Just as odd was the fact that there was no sign that he had entered the other offices. Even Astell had reluctantly admitted that he didn't think anything had been taken from them and their filing cabinets and desks were undisturbed.

  Another thing, Moon's cashbox had been locked. Even if the key had been taken from Moon's desk, why would a burglar bother locking the box up afterwards, never mind replacing the key? Rafferty doubted that this careful burglar was the same person who had vandalised the office and murdered Moon. He relocked the box and stood up. After telling Appleby that the box was another item for priority fingerprinting, he made a mental note to check with the bank to see if they could let him have a list of the notes' numbers. It would be interesting to see if any of them showed up; even more so to discover who disposed of them. Back in Astell's office, Rafferty resumed the questioning. “He didn't tell you who he wanted the money for?”

  “No, but I can hazard a guess. Oh, not a specific identity,” he added as he saw Rafferty's quick interest. “I don't mean that. Jasper was a bit of a magpie, Inspector and more than a little extravagant.” Astell's lips pursed. “If he saw something bright and shiny he had to have it. This money would undoubtedly be required for some gewgaw. Though it's strange that Jasper arranged to see the seller here. As far as I'm aware, he never had before, yet he asked me to withdraw such large sums three or four times a year.” His gaze fixed on Rafferty. “You – you don't think this person could have killed him?”

  “I doubt it, sir. If this person did business fairly regularly with Mr Moon, as seems likely given that he had invited him to his office, why would he kill such a valued customer?”

  “Why were these transactions always in cash, sir?” Llewellyn queried what Rafferty – brought up by his off-the-back-of-a-lorry, bargain-hunting Ma – had already guessed. “Surely he could have written out a cheque or paid by credit card?”

  Astell hesitated, shifting his gaze from Llewellyn's ascetic features to Rafferty's more accommodating ones. “The legality of some of Jasper's purchases was a little – suspect shall we say? I gather he invariably dealt with the same man, and he insisted on cash. That's why I wondered if this person mightn't have killed him. Obviously, he's some kind of criminal.”

  Rafferty nodded. “I see your reasoning, sir, but I still feel there is a lack of motive for murder. As I said before, if this acquaintance of Mr Moon's had been doing business for some time, he would be unlikely to kill a long-standing and prosperous customer like Mr Moon.”

  Astell admitted that, put like that, it sounded improbable. Rafferty paused, before softly posing the question that was guaranteed to get under Astell's skin. “Was Mr Moon seeing a client last night, do you know, sir?”

  As expected, Astell's lips thinned. “Most unlikely, Inspector.” Rafferty deduced from his tone that Astell felt the partnership's clientele should be out of bounds to the police investigation. “Jasper rarely saw clients on Thursday evenings,” he told them. “He liked to keep them free for other work. But if he had made an appointment it would be in his diary.”

  There had been nothing booked later than 4.00 p m against yesterday's date, Rafferty knew. He had made a particular point of checking this as he had flipped through using the end of a pen.

  Astell was sufficient of a realist to add what the police would have anyway soon discovered from another source, “Occasionally, if a client needed to see him urgently for a consultation, Jasper would make an exception, but that happened rarely. He was working on another book – you know that as well as more generalised works, he wrote astrological forecasts every year for each of the sun signs?”

  Rafferty nodded. He'd seen them on sale in the shops – his Ma bought one every year, as did his sisters. They seemed very popular. But then Jasper Moon had been a popular astrologer. The walls of the waiting room beside Moon's office displayed the monthly forecast columns he supplied to various women's glossy magazines. Rafferty persisted. “Might he have forgotten to enter a later appointment? If the client rang after everyone else had gone home, say, and intended to arrive within a short time?”

  Reluctantly, Astell admitted it was possible. “Jasper could be careless about such things. But he's been better lately as I've impressed on him that if he doesn't enter the details I can't bill the clients. Jasper preferred to have his regular clients invoiced rather than charged cash at the time of the consultation. He felt financial transactions then were unprofessional.”

  Too much like having his palm crossed with silver on the end of the pier, Rafferty sardonically translated before he could stop himself. Luckily, Astell was staring thoughtfully into space and unlikely to guess at Rafferty's latest breach of the PIMP code.

  “You could ask our cleaner, Mrs Hadleigh. She was working here till about 7.00 p m. She'd be able to confirm that there was no client with Jasper.”

  Astell seemed anxious to dispel the idea that one of Moon's clients had killed him. Understandable of course, Rafferty reasoned; the more sensitive souls amongst their customers wouldn't be reassured to discover that Moon numbered a killer among his clientele. Apart from any other considerations, it was hardly likely to improve customer confidence when the famous half of the partnership had failed to foresee and avoid his own murder.

  CHAPTER TWO

  There were two other doors off the landing, and Rafferty asked where they led. Astell placed his gloved hands together in the precise manner that was already getting on Rafferty's nerves and nodded towards the first of the doors on the left. “This office is used by one of our staff, Mrs Virginia Campbell. The other one is used as a storeroom for any overflow of stock from the shop.” He opened each of the doors in turn. The second room contained books and fancily packaged bottles of oil, CDs, records and cassettes, all stacked on wall shelves, along with many other items. An old easel, stained and shoved just inside the door, was balanced precariously against the wall and Astell straightened it with a gesture of annoyance. “I must throw this old thing away. I don't know why Jasper insisted on keeping it.”

  “Not yet, please,” Rafferty cautioned. “I don't want anything discarded until the case is concluded.”

  Astell nodded and went on. “As you know, the room between my office and Jasper's is used as a waiting room.”

  “Do you employ a receptionist?”

  “No. The nature of the work hardly warrants it. Mrs Mercedes Moreno, the woman we employ in the shop, directs our clients to the waiting room. She's from South America,” Astell explained the unusual name. “Peru.”

  “And they're the only other people that work here?”

  Astell nodded. “Apart from Mrs Hadleigh, the cleaner. She comes in at about 7.00 every morning.”

  Rafferty frowned. “I understood that you found the body when you came in at 7.30 a m. Or did you only make the call?”

  “No. I found him. I had an early booking with one of my few regulars – she likes to see me on her way to the station. Mrs Hadleigh had a hospital appointment yesterday morning so I agreed she could do her chores in the evening, from 5.00 to 7.00 p m. My wife and I had a few guests last night and Mrs Hadleigh came over afterwards to help out. Unfortunately, she was only there a short time before she began to feel unwell. I sent her home just before 8.00 p m. Naturally, I told her not to bother coming in this morning. I tried to ring Jasper last night to tell him that if he made his usual mess he'd have to clean it up himself. He can – could be rather untidy.”

  “You say you tried to ring Mr Moon? At what time?”

  Astell nodded. “I'm sorry. I suppose I should have mentioned it before. I didn't get through. The first few times I tried, Jasper's phone was engaged, and then, when it did ring, no-one answered.” His eyes widened, aghast at the implication of what he'd just said. “God, I never thought...so many things going round and round in my mind. I suppose he must have died around then. How – horrible.”

  “What time would this have been, sir?” Rafferty asked aga
in.

  “What?” Although still obviously stunned, Astell managed to pull himself together sufficiently to answer Rafferty's question. “It was at 8.20 p m. That's right. I'd just made Mrs Moreno a cup of coffee – she had forgotten her gloves and returned about ten minutes earlier. I remember as the clock in the hall had just rung the quarter chime – it tends to be five minutes slow.” Rafferty made a mental note of the time. As Astell had surmised, it could be important. Whether Moon's killer had called someone from his office, or whether the phone had just become dislodged from its rest during the attack and the killer had replaced it, the phone company should be able to tell them.

  Astell, his voice slow and disjointed after this latest shock, explained, “I didn't want-want his first client to turn up and encounter Jas-Jasper's usual shambles, you see.” He broke off and after glancing at his watch, said in a more normal voice, “It hardly matters now, does it? Still, I suppose I should ring and put them off? Though what I can possibly say to them...”

  “Don't worry about that, sir. One of my officers will contact them.” Rafferty nodded to Llewellyn, who disappeared. “You mentioned you had a client this morning. Did you ask her to leave when you found the body?”

  Astell shook his head and looked cross with himself. “Sorry. No. Didn't I explain? She rang to cancel, so I decided I might as well get on with some work. It was then that I found Jasper's body. I needed some stamps – as you saw, they're kept in the cashbox.”