Death Line

by Geraldine Evans

  She recovered surprisingly quickly, and sat quietly sipping her water, rallying enough to give them a tiny smile. “Don't worry, Inspector. I've had these attacks before. I'm not going to die on you. It'll take more than this to see me off.”

  She still looked drained, in spite of her brave words, and slumped back into the chair. Her skin looked grey, her lips bloodless, but, somehow, she had rediscovered her air of defiance. She might be poor, her expression suggested, but she still had a few shreds of pride. Moon had started her son's descent into corruption, condemned both of them to the cruel sniggers of neighbours and the forced move to this high rise slum. Individually, pride or revenge were good enough reasons for murder, Rafferty realised suddenly. But together...?

  He stood up. Her skin still had a pale and clammy look and he was worried about leaving her on her own. “Is there anyone who can stay with you?”

  She shook her head. “I'll be all right.” She stared at him from eyes that were stubbornly independent. “Just leave my boy alone. He's not your murderer. He doesn't have it in him.” She closed her eyes again.

  Rafferty knew he should bring her down to the station and question her further. Somehow, he couldn't do it. He suspected that, in spite of her defiant air, she was very near the end of her strength and the stress might be too much for her. He was only a policeman, not some form of heavenly avenger and he didn't want her death on his conscience. Besides, he didn't think she'd be going very far. He told her he would send a WPC out to stay with her. She just nodded, without opening her eyes. Perhaps by the time the WPC arrived, she would have decided to talk some more.

  “Maybe Moon's last message did mean something after all,” Rafferty commented as they walked down the stairs to the car. “That sign could have been a roughly scrawled 'H” for Hadleigh, rather than a “T” or an “I or the sign for Gemini'. Moon was dying, suppose he made two attempts at writing the cross stroke and missed with both of them?”

  Slowly, Llewellyn nodded.

  Gratified that the Welshman agreed with him for once, Rafferty, carefully forgetting that Llewellyn had already mentioned the matter, added, “After all, if it meant nothing, why should anybody bother washing it off the wall?”

  “Why indeed?” Llewellyn murmured sotto voce as they got in the car and headed back to the station. However, he didn't bother to remind Rafferty that he had already made that very point right at the beginning of the case.

  Hanks had been quick. As they walked through the door, he called after them and told them the results of his digging into Mrs Hadleigh's alleged attack on Moon. After praising his efficiency, Rafferty dismissed him and led the way up to his office. “So Terry Hadleigh was telling the truth about that as well,” said Rafferty as he settled behind his desk. “Interesting that although he must had known Moon's true identity for some time, his mother had only learned of it the day before. Especially now we know that although Terry Hadleigh might never have shown a tendency to violence, his mother had.”

  Hanks had spoken to the brief who had represented Moon at the time of the case. He had confirmed that Ellen Hadleigh had attacked Moon after the court case and that he had taken an umbrella with a stout wooden handle away from her; but not before she had cracked a bone in his wrist, which was why he remembered the incident so well. Fortunately, for her, not only had no reporters got hold of the story – which explained why the cuttings had made no mention of it – but Moon, surprisingly, had refused to press charges, even though he had suffered concussion. Moon had been lucky. But for the speedy intervention of his brief, it might have been a lot worse, especially given his thin skull. Instead, he had gone on to live another twenty-eight years, only to meet his end in a very similar way.

  The two attacks on Moon showed a worrying similarity and Rafferty asked himself if that similarity was merely a coincidence, or an indication of something more? Ellen Hadleigh had been a much younger and fitter woman then, but even though she was now aged and crippled, the intervening years had done nothing to diminish her hatred. Such hatred could fuel even the weakest body to acts of violence.

  “We assumed she was covering up for her son when she made up this Henderson character, and she may well have been,” Rafferty commented. “But she could just as easily have been covering up for herself. Perhaps it's time we investigated Ellen Hadleigh's movements a little more closely?”

  “What about the other suspects? Ginnie Campbell, for instance and Farley and...”

  Rafferty smiled. “Me – I've not got many psychological theories, but the one I do hold firm to is that emotional types are their own worst enemies. If we leave them to stew for a little longer, we'll get more out of them – if there's more to be got. For now, let's just concentrate on Ellen Hadleigh. Check what time the taxi dropped her off home that evening,” Rafferty instructed. “I want the times narrowed down as much as possible.”

  When Llewellyn had gone, Rafferty simply sat for a few moments, staring blindly at the reports that were still piling up. Ellen Hadleigh had suffered badly at the hands of men all her life; father, husband, son, all in their various ways had caused her anguish. It would be too ironic if, in a moment's deviation from a painfully honest life, she had killed the one man who had never done her any harm.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “I checked with the taxi firm,” Llewellyn told Rafferty. “They confirm they dropped Ellen Hadleigh at her flats at about 8.05 p m on the night of the murder. They were delayed for a few minutes at the level crossing,” he explained briefly. “I've asked Lilley to ring every taxi firm in a ten mile radius to check that she didn't order another taxi to take her to Moon's, when she paid off the original one. He's getting on with it now, but he'll be some little while, I imagine.”

  Rafferty nodded approval. “Good work, Dafyd, it's a point worth checking. But, even if she didn't get another cab, she should still be in the running. Her flat is no distance from the High Street. There are two entrances to those flats. She could have walked through the internal corridor towards the lifts as if she intended going up to her flat and left by the pedestrian entrance. It would have saved her five minutes. Moon's phone was off the hook at 8.20 p m and back on five minutes later – which indicates he died around then. He was certainly dead at 8.30 p m or a little earlier if we accept that Terry Hadleigh spent five minutes trying to get an answer. Admittedly, she's not too good on her legs, but she could have walked it in ten minutes, killed Moon, and been home again by just after half past eight. The times are tight, but not impossibly so. How long does it take to bash someone's head in, after all?”

  “You paint a convincing picture,” Llewellyn commented, then spoilt his remark with the reminder, “but it's still just supposition. We have no more proof that she murdered him than we have that any of the other suspects did so. Besides, why go back later to tackle him? He was alone earlier, she could have spoken to him then.”

  “Yes, but she had another job to go on to and not much time. Ellen Hadleigh took her responsibilities seriously. She'd waited nearly thirty years for her revenge; another few hours wouldn't make so much difference. And I know we've still got no proof, but surely, you of all people, have thought more on the psychological angle? How likely is it?” Rafferty asked, “that a woman with the gumption to physically attack him years ago was now so changed in character that she hadn't even verbally assaulted Moon that evening? It explains why she felt unwell at the Astells' and had to leave early. Her mind and stomach must have been churning after learning Moon's real identity the day before.”

  Llewellyn went to break in, but Rafferty was carried away on a wave of his own rhetoric and wasn't about to allow any interruption. 'Her son hadn't told her the truth about the assault, but supposing, when she returned and bearded Moon in his office, he had made her listen while he told her what had really happened all those years ago? That her son had lied to her, lied to the police, lied to the courts, lied to everyone about what had happened between him and Moon. What mother would be likely to believ
e him? And, if there is something in your psychological theory, what mother would be willing to believe him?

  ‘It strikes me that the more he tried to convince her, the angrier she would become. It would be the work of moments to pick up the ball when Moon's head was turned away and to express the extent of her fury by bringing it crashing down on his skull.'

  Satisfied that, not only was he on the right track at last, but that he had laid out his case with sufficient logic for even Llewellyn's tastes, he added decisively, “Get the squad to ask around and find out what Ellen Hadleigh was wearing that night, Dafyd. If she killed Moon, it's possible there are traces of blood on her clothes and as there are no open fires in those flats, she couldn't get rid of the evidence easily. She'd have had to dump her clothing somewhere.” He frowned. “Find out when the refuse collections are made at the flats, she might have thrown them down the rubbish chute.” He hoped not. He could just imagine what Bradley would say when he asked for a large team to search the council dump.

  Llewellyn hadn't been gone any more than five minutes when a visitor arrived to see Rafferty. A most surprising visitor, as Ginnie Campbell hadn't impressed him thus far with her eagerness to talk to the police.

  “Mrs Campbell?” Rafferty opened the door to the front office and beckoned her over. “What can I do for you?”

  “It's more a case of what I can do for you, Inspector,” she told him. “Perhaps we should go to your office?”

  Intrigued, Rafferty held the door for her to walk through and led her up to his office. “Now,” he said, when they were both seated. “What's this about?”

  “Just something that I overheard that I thought you should know. I-forgot about it till now.” She stared at him, daring him to call her a liar. “It must have been the shock of finding Jasper dead. It knocked everything else from my mind.”

  Rafferty doubted it. She'd had sufficient presence of mind to remember to collect the money from Moon's cashbox while Moon lay murdered at her feet. Sufficient, too, to lie about it. All her actions since finding Moon's body had been from callous self-interest. He wondered how what she had to tell him would further her interest. 'Go on.’

  “It concerns the professional invalid, Mrs Ailing Astell. Her of the hundred and one illnesses, none of which anyone can put a name to.” She leaned back in her chair, a hint of a smile on her ruby-red lips. “Ask her about the day she telephoned Jasper. She really laid into him. You should have heard her. There didn't sound much wrong with her then, I can tell you.” Her gaze avid, she added mischievously, “If she could have got her hands on him that day, I think she'd have killed him.”

  Rafferty thought he understood now why Ginnie Campbell had decided to tell them about the phone call. He was willing to bet she'd hoped to make Mrs Astell buy her silence on the matter. But, he realised, she was also capable of making the story up just to cause trouble and get them off her back. Now he asked, “If they were on the phone, how do you know what she said to him?”

  She shrugged. “It was an accident,” she told him, her manner implying he could believe what he liked. “That Peruvian bitch was at lunch and I was covering the shop. Jasper had a new phone system installed recently. I haven't had much practise at transferring calls on it and I thought I'd cut her off at first. Anyway, I must have made the connection correctly because Jasper came on the line and she just laid into him. I didn't mean to listen to their conversation, but I was so shocked at her language that I was more or less hypnotised. Besides, it was odd that she should ring Jasper at all. She never has before, as far as I know. She didn't like him.”

  “So how much of this call did you overhear?”

  “Quite a bit.” She held his gaze for a while, and then laughed in that curiously abrupt way she had. “All right, I admit it. I listened in. So what? I was curious. So would you have been if you'd heard her.” Now that she had dropped the pretence that her eavesdropping had been accidental, she allowed a little acid to creep into her voice. “I could hardly believe my ears. I wouldn't have thought the dying swan knew such language. Such lady of the manor airs she gives herself. Edwin came from a much poorer background, I gather, and is sensitive about it – thinks she married beneath her. But he might have changed his mind if he'd heard her that day.”

  Her lip curled. “Not that she'll be able to think herself so high and mighty now, anyway. I suppose you know she lost a packet through bad investments?” Rafferty nodded. “Nearly everything that her grandfather left her.”

  “Even so,” Rafferty objected. “She must still be a relatively rich woman. Her father was wealthy. Are you saying that whatever he left her has gone too?”

  “He left her nothing in his Will, apart from his old journals and film equipment. His money went to a cousin. The Astells have had to mortgage the house.” Her smile was vindictive. “That should bring her down a peg or two.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  She shrugged. “I keep my ear to the ground. Besides, Edwin has been to and from the accountants for months. Jasper offered them a loan, but Edwin turned him down. Said he did enough already by paying the bulk of the partnership bills.”

  Rafferty nodded. It was strange that Sarah Astell's father had left her nothing. Of course, with his extravagant lifestyle he might well have had little money to leave. Still, he decided, it might be worth checking out Carstairs' Will. If what Ginnie Campbell had said was true, it was their first indication that the Astells were in financial difficulties. The accountant should be able to confirm it, as he'd discovered during his visit that Mr Spenny acted in a private capacity for Mrs Astell, though, unfortunately for her, he hadn't had control of her investments. Maybe he'd acted for her father also?

  “What exactly did Mrs Astell say to Moon?”

  “A lot of it was so garbled, I couldn't understand it. But I think she was accusing Jasper of assaulting someone, though whether it was herself or someone else... She seemed to think he would know what she was talking about, anyway. She threatened to make it public knowledge, ruin his career.”

  Hadleigh, Rafferty thought. She rang him about Terry Hadleigh. “How did Mr Moon react?”

  “How do you expect him to react? He sounded really upset. When I went in to see him later, he was very quiet, brooding, not like himself at all. I asked him what was wrong, but he wouldn't say. And I could hardly admit I'd listened in to the call.”

  “What did he say to her?”

  “Very little at first. But then, when she started threatening him, he broke in and told her she had no idea what she was talking about and that she should take care. He began to explain that whatever she was talking about had been little more than a misunderstanding, but when she shouted him down and refused to listen to what he had to say, he began to shout a bit himself. I remember his exact words. He said the past often concealed more than it revealed, and that if she was determined to pry into it, she might discover more than she bargained for.”

  “And did she say she would carry on, anyway?”

  “She did. She sounded very determined. She certainly wouldn't listen to his explanation, whatever it was.” Ginnie Campbell gave another careless shrug. “I didn't hear the rest. A customer came into the shop, so I had to put the phone down.”

  “And when, exactly, did this conversation between Mr Moon and Mrs Astell take place?”

  Obviously she had deliberately saved the best bit till last. Her eyes darker than ever, she told them, “The day before Jasper died.”

  Although Rafferty judged Ginnie Campbell to be more than capable of lying when it suited her, he thought that the gist of what she had told them had been truthful, even if she had held back the rest of it for purposes of her own. He certainly didn't believe that she had replaced the receiver when the conversation had been so riveting. She would think nothing of letting a customer wait, he was sure.

  Soon after he had shown her out, Llewellyn returned. Rafferty told him what she'd said. “I wonder what Moon thought Sarah Astell might discove
r that she would rather not know?” he mused. “Do you reckon Astell and Moon might have had a thing going? Moon was certainly very generous to him.”

  Llewellyn shrugged. “Possible, I suppose, but unlikely. I would say that Astell is more into the cerebral than the physical. I really can't see him and Moon... No, it's what Mrs Campbell didn't say that interested me. We know she's deeply in debt. She certainly overheard more than she admitted. Possibly she hoped to extract a profit or at least a partnership from Moon for keeping silent about whatever she had just learned.”

  Rafferty nodded. Of course, Ginnie Campbell knew that Sarah Astell was broke; any calls to her would be more for pleasure than profit. But, if she had believed Moon had something to hide – like the Hadleigh case – he would be the natural target for blackmail. But Ginnie Campbell hadn't been as clever as she thought. What she had told them didn't only put Sarah Astell under the spotlight, it further incriminated Ginnie Campbell herself. “She'd worked there for a year. Maybe, given her propensity for eavesdropping, she had come across other sensitive information concerning him.”

  Llewellyn nodded. “She took some time off from the shop immediately after that phone call. I doubt the boyfriend occupied all her time. I wonder where she went?”

  “And who she saw. Depending on what else she found out, she could certainly have gone to see Moon that Thursday evening and threatened him with exposure, in turn Moon could have threatened her with the sack and arrest. Her quick temper would do the rest. But that's all just more speculation at the moment. Another little chat with Mrs Astell would seem indicated. But first.” He picked up the phone. “I think the accountant should be able to clear up a few points.”