Death Line

by Geraldine Evans

  Now that he had the evidence of Moon's Will, Rafferty tried to contact Sarah's mother to get her to admit the truth of her daughter's paternity. Unfortunately, she was uncontactable, being, at that moment, on the shuttle flying to be with her overwrought daughter.

  Rafferty got Llewellyn to organise the search warrant. Of course, it was unlikely they would still find the dress. She would surely have destroyed it by now. But, she had paid for

  Chez Sophie's frock by credit card, so the purchase could be easily proved.

  A little while later, Rafferty nosed the car out of the police car park and turned it in the direction of the Astells' house, accompanied in the car by Llewellyn and two other officers. WPC Green and Constable Hanks followed in another vehicle.

  Astell answered the door. He didn't seem surprised to see them. “Inspector.” With a frown, he took in the other officers, before returning his gaze to Rafferty. “What's going on?”

  “I think you know, sir. Is your wife at home?”

  “My wife? Yes, of course. She only came out of hospital yesterday. But why do you want to see her? She's hardly up to receiving visitors at present. I really can't allow-”

  “I'm afraid you have no choice, sir.” It was the sort of situation Rafferty hated and he forced his voice to sound firmer. There was no doubt that Sarah Astell was a sick woman, maybe not even totally responsible for her actions, but, if so, that was for others to decide. His job was to take her into custody. For himself, he believed her actions had been at least half prompted by greed, and this conviction firmed his voice still further, as he added, “I really must insist.”

  For a few seconds more, Astell barred their way and then, as if recognising the futility of his delaying actions, he stood aside and, with a defeated air, told them, “She's in her sitting room.”

  Rafferty, by now familiar with the layout of the ground floor, led the way. After knocking firmly on the door, he thrust it open. Sarah Astell was reclining on the chaise longue, just as she had been on the occasion of their first visit to the house.

  “Inspector?” She sat up straight, and looked at him, her expression curiously blank. “My goodness. So many policemen. Whatever do they want, Edwin?”

  “I think you know,” Rafferty told her. He paused for a moment, to gain strength for the inevitable hysterics, before he cautioned her. She simply stared dumbly at him, as if unable to believe what was happening, and it was left to Edwin to make the denial.

  He did so swiftly, stepping forward protectively in front of his wife. “You can't suspect my wife of murdering Jasper. The idea's insane. She was here all that evening.”

  “I don't think so,” Rafferty told him. “In fact, we have evidence to the contrary. And a warrant to search this house.”

  “But you can't just come in here and arrest my wife,” Astell protested. “What about your other suspects? Ellen Hadleigh, for instance. After what my wife discovered about Moon and her son, I would have thought she had a particularly strong motive. What about her?” Even now, Astell's olde-worlde manners didn't desert him. “You must excuse me, Inspector, but when you turn up here to arrest my wife – my wife of all people – I must question your competence and your judgement.”

  Rafferty flushed. But before he could make some possibly unwise reply, Llewellyn interposed himself between them.

  “I think the Inspector will permit me to tell you that your own evidence exonerates Mrs Hadleigh.”

  “My evidence? What do you mean, Sergeant?”

  Rafferty, unwilling to admit that he was as bewildered by Llewellyn's claim as Edwin Astell, waited, intrigued to discover what he had missed.

  “You told us yourself that, as well as trying and failing to speak to Mr Moon on the telephone that night, you also telephoned Mrs Hadleigh.”

  Light seemed to be dawning behind Astell's eyes. After a worried glance at his wife, who had collapsed back onto the settee, he admitted it.

  “Would you mind telling us what time you spoke to her?”

  Astell hesitated. Rafferty broke in quickly. He now understood that Llewellyn was playing a game of double-bluff and he was scared the Welshman, not being a gambling man, might overplay his hand. “Please think very carefully before you answer, Mr Astell. It wouldn't be a good idea to lie to protect your wife. It can easily be checked.” But as Llewellyn had guessed, it seemed probable the call had been made around the same time as the one to Moon; either just before, or just after.

  Thirty seconds passed before Astell, his voice dull, defeated, told them, “I rang her just before 8.25 p m.”

  “In other words, after you had tried and failed to ring Mr Moon, whom we, as you know, have reason to believe was dead by then. You must see that your evidence clears Ellen Hadleigh. We know she didn't take another taxi to or from Moon's office – I had that checked out. She couldn't have walked from her home to Moon's office, killed him, and then returned home in time to take your call.” Rafferty cleared his throat. It sounded unnaturally loud in the now tense silence. “But, while your evidence clears the person you yourself considered the main suspect, it points the finger even more firmly at your wife.”

  Astell sank down on the nearest chair and, briefly, put his head in his hands. Rafferty turned to Sarah Astell, who had remained silent throughout. She seemed bewildered by the turn of events, and shrank back in her chair as Rafferty gestured for WPC Green and PC Hanks to come forward.

  “These two officers will accompany you to the station, Mrs Astell. I'll be along shortly.” Even though it wasn't strictly necessary for him to be present, Rafferty was anxious to begin the search for the incriminating dress. He wanted to find out if it was still in the house before he began interviewing her.

  “No!” Sarah Astell gripped the wooden surround of her chair as the officers approached. “Go away! Edwin, stop them. Make them understand I didn't do it.”

  Astell's only answer was to put his head in his hands again, as if to shield himself from the sight and sound of his distraught wife. But her next imploring wailing of his name brought him to his feet, white-faced now, and he pulled her up. “I think you'll have to be brave, Sarah. At least for a little while.” She swayed in his arms and he told her in a tone intended to encourage, “Come along, my dear. You'll have to go with them. It'll only be for a short while, I promise. Try not to worry. I can't believe they have a case against you. They'll soon find out their mistake. Anyway, I understand they can only hold you for a limited time before they must either let you go or arrest you, and I doubt they'll be able to do that.”

  At the word arrest, she clutched at him and let out a frightened cry. “They can't arrest me, Edwin, they can't. You mustn't let them. You know I'm not well...”

  Somehow Astell managed to calm her. “I can't stop them taking you, but you'll be back home very soon, I'll make sure of it. Just promise me you'll say nothing until I can contact our solicitor and get him to the police station. Promise me?” His long, gloved fingers cradled her head on either side while he gazed at her, his expression that of an anxious parent trying to imbue a weak and easily-swayed child with some of his own strength.

  His voice, with its sensible advice and measured tones seemed to calm her, for, after gazing uncertainly back at him, she nodded, the action sending the tears in her eyes cascading over their rims. “I promise.”

  “Good girl.” After helping his trembling wife into a warm coat, he had more words of comfort for her. “I'll get straight onto Courtney and then follow you on to the police station. We'll be with you very soon.”

  “But what if he can't come, Edwin? What if he...?”

  Her shushed her. “He'll come. I don't care what it costs, or how inconvenient he finds it to do so. I want you home here with me, not locked up in a police station. And the sooner the better.”

  In spite of her distress, a creeping flush of pleasure stole into Sarah Astell's pale cheeks. She reached out a trembling hand and touched his face, gazing searchingly at him, murmuring his name softly be
fore he released her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  As soon as Mrs Astell had been driven off to the station, Rafferty wasted no time. He called more officers, and when they arrived five minutes later, he led the way upstairs. Once in the Astells' bedroom, he instructed them to begin searching. They started with the wardrobes; Astell's wardrobe was half-empty, but Mrs Astell's was full to bursting. Rafferty watched impatiently, as the clothes in each were checked. To his surprise, Mrs Astell hadn't destroyed the dress. It was very foolish of her, but also very natural. It had been expensive. Even if it was likely to incriminate them, not many women would be able to bring themselves to throw away such a beautiful gown. After he examined the hem and discovered it did have several pulled threads, he had it carefully bagged up and labelled.

  Moon, father and daughter, both seemed to favour the same hiding places for their secrets. Because, hidden at the back of Mrs Astell's wardrobe, they found the twin of the Memory Lane video they had found concealed in Jasper Moon's wardrobe. After killing Moon, she would have taken and destroyed the video Moon played in his office, but she would have realised he would have another copy hidden away. In desperation, she had ransacked his office. Unfortunately for her, Moon had taken the precaution of hiding it at his flat.

  Rafferty frowned, he was missing something – what was it? But, he realised, it hardly mattered. They had the dress and the video; with the rest of the case against her, they had more than enough for a conviction. Now he had the evidence, Rafferty was content to leave the other officers to continue their search. With a nod to Llewellyn, he led the way downstairs and into the sitting room. There was one more thing he needed. He thumbed along the spines of Carstairs' journals till he found the one he wanted. Quickly, he hunted through the first quarter of the journal for 1956. It was as he had thought – Carstairs had been continuously abroad throughout that period. It was just another piece in the jigsaw, because they already knew he couldn't have fathered Sarah.

  Astell had been speaking to his solicitor on the telephone when Rafferty came out into the hall and had just put the phone down when someone rang the front door bell.

  It was Mercedes Moreno, a large bouquet of flowers in her hand and a concerned expression on her face.

  “I'm afraid Sarah isn't here,” Astell told her. “The police have taken her to the station for questioning over Jasper's death.” He attempted a bleak smile. “They seem to think she killed him.”

  “What nonsense is this?” Mrs Moreno demanded, turning to Rafferty. “You think that poor, sick lady could have killed Jaspair? Is stupid. She could not have even left the house,” she insisted. “I know this as Edwin and I, we were both in the kitchen the entire time, and would have seen her leave the sitting room.”

  “Not if she left by the French window in her sitting room,” he told her. Edwin Astell must have momentarily forgotten his earlier story, he realised, because when Mercedes Moreno had stated that neither of them had left the kitchen once she had returned to collect her gloves, but had stood chatting to her, he had nodded his head absently in agreement.

  Rafferty quickly picked up the discrepancy. “I thought you said before that you had popped in on your wife twice during that time?” he said to Astell. “Mrs Moreno has already told us that she arrived back to fetch her gloves just before 8.10 p m and she's now let slip that you were both in the kitchen the whole time. Perhaps you'd care to explain?” he invited. Behind him, he heard Mrs Moreno's gasp of dismay. “Perhaps it's time you both told me the whole truth. Mr Astell? I'm waiting.”

  “I-I.” Astell cleared his throat and gazed unhappily at him. Then he sighed. “All right, I admit I lied. I was worried about her. Worried that when you learned of that foolish telephone call she made to Jasper, you might suspect what you evidently do suspect. I thought by saying I had popped in on two occasions between 8.00 p m and 8.30 p m, I would be able to supply her with an alibi. It was obvious that Jasper must have died during those times.”

  “I see. Thank you for at last confirming what we've long suspected.” As Llewellyn had said near the beginning of the case, those two visits Astell had claimed to have made to his wife's sitting room hadn't quite rung true. “You realise that now we've finally got this information, it strengthens the case against your wife considerably?”

  Astell only managed an unhappy nod in reply, all his earlier bluster quite gone.

  Rafferty had expected Sarah Astell to go to pieces during questioning. Instead, to Rafferty's astonishment, she had shown sufficient sense to take her husband's excellent advice to heart and had said nothing until her solicitor arrived. Even then, when Rafferty pointed out that the alibi she and her husband had concocted for her hadn't stood up to deeper investigation, she had merely asked, “What alibi? I don't know what you're talking about,” refused to discuss it any further, and again insisted she was innocent.

  Exasperated by her continuing denials, Rafferty took the video out of his pocket, put it in the machine, and pressed the “play' button. 'We know you went to Moon's office,” he told her. “We know what happened there.”

  As the naked images began playing on the screen, she screamed, making Rafferty jump. “What are you doing to my Daddy?” she shouted at the writhing bodies on the film. “Don't you hurt my Daddy. Get off him, get off him.” Her voice had taken on the lisping tones of a little girl and she leapt at the screen as if she intended to destroy it and the evidence it showed.

  Stunned, it was a few seconds before Rafferty reacted and when he tried to restrain her, he found she was stronger than she looked. With difficulty, he managed to force her back in her chair.

  She blinked, and Rafferty, thinking she had got herself under control, moved away. But as she caught sight of the still playing film, she began screaming again.

  Courtney, her solicitor, the soul of urbanity till now, banged on the table and shouted above the noise, “I really must protest, Inspector Rafferty. Protest in the strongest possible terms. What do you think you're doing, showing my client a pornographic film? I really must protest,” he began again, like a stuck record. But his voice was cut off in mid-stream as his client leapt to her feet, one hand landing inadvertently on the solicitor's paunch, effectively robbing him of breath, much to Rafferty's relief.

  “Make them turn it off,” she demanded of Courtney, as she put her hands over her face. “Make them turn it off. Where did they get that filthy thing?”

  “You know where,” Rafferty told her. “It's the video Moon sent you for your birthday.”

  She denied it, of course. “It is not! He sent me one of the classics,” she paused as she stumbled for a name – any name, Rafferty thought. “He sent me a video of Jane Eyre, I tell you. Not this ... this...abomination. Edwin will tell you it's the truth.”

  Rafferty didn't doubt it. Astell would say anything to protect her, that much was clear. “And where is this other video?”

  “It's at home in the rack,” she told him sullenly. “Edwin wouldn't let me throw it away, as I had intended. But I had no intention of playing it. You'd think he'd realised I didn't want birthday presents from him.”

  Rafferty frowned. They were getting nowhere. It was evident they were further away from a confession than ever. He switched the video off, hoping it would calm her and sat beside her. “We understand how you must have felt, especially when you learned that Alan Carstairs wasn't your father.” He had left an officer at the Astells' house to await the arrival of Sarah's mother. She had insisted on coming to the station and Rafferty, after a little persuasion, had persuaded her to tell them the truth about Sarah's parentage. But it was plain her daughter wasn't about to admit she had discovered her mother's secret that night. At Rafferty's words, she took refuge in her semi-invalid status and slumped to the floor in a swoon.

  They swiftly revived her. After giving her a glass of water, Rafferty said, “Please, Mrs Astell, acting like this isn't helping you. I can understand that you've had some tremendous shocks recently. First that video and
learning that Moon was your father.”

  She stared at him, giving a convincing display that this was the first she had heard of such a suggestion. “Moon my father? How dare you say such a thing? Of course he wasn't my father.” Naively, she added, “How could such as he be anyone's father?”

  Rafferty tried to make her see that she was only harming herself by her insistent denials. “Look, Mrs Astell, this behaviour isn't helping you. I'm sure, when the case comes to court, the judge will be sympathetic. But it would still be better for you to start to co-operate, you know. You must tell us the truth.” He paused. “Now, perhaps we can start again?” He nodded at Llewellyn to turn the tape recorder back on. Quickly, he repeated the details into the machine, before turning back to Mrs Astell. “We know you went to Moon's offices that night, so why don't you admit it?”

  “But I didn't, I tell you.” She appealed to her solicitor. “Why won't they believe me?”

  A little breathlessly, Courtney told her, “They believe they have evidence that you were there that night.”

  “Evidence? But how can they have? What evidence?”

  Rafferty told her. “Unfortunately for you, that expensive cashmere dress with the silver threads snagged on Moon's desk. It's a very distinctive dress, Mrs Astell. Perhaps you can explain how we found threads from it on the desk when you told us you'd never been to the offices?”

  “But I wasn't wearing that dress,” Mrs Astell protested.