He was, of course. That was the trouble. And he'd have to continue to do so if his tongue wasn't to land him with even more problems. So, now he sat in the passenger seat, lips tight-pursed against any more unwise outpourings and returned to his silent speculation. Where was he? Ah yes, at the fact of the agency staff being the only ones aware Jenny was likely to attend the party. It made every one of them prime suspects, even though they had all denied signing her up at all, which was pretty suspicious in itself. But at least the holidaying part-timer would soon be back, hopefully, she would clear up that particular discrepancy.
Of course, it was still possible that Jenny's and Estelle's murders had both been purely random killings. Rafferty had proved that anyone could join and attend parties before any criminal record could be checked out. As long as they provided a reasonably-matching photo-ID document, which they could beg, steal or borrow as Rafferty had done. After all, he reminded himself, the murders had both been committed during dating agency parties where any psychopath could be certain of finding many young women looking for love. For such a creature it would have been a feast, a veritable banquet of opportunity. Any one of the female members would have been easy meat for a determined psychopath. Such a creature would believe the situation made for him and his base desires. And if these murders were pre-meditated, the killer would have taken appropriate precautions to avoid staining his clothes with the girls’ blood. He could have easily left protective gear conveniently to hand in his car in New Hall's car park or amongst the shrubs in the grounds of The Elmhurst's annexe during a previous visit so it was to hand, and put it on before he indulged his passion for slashing.
Jenny could have just happened to be the unlucky victim – the first to leave and to leave alone and vulnerable and walk to the sheltered side car park.
Anyone at the party could have seen Jenny about to leave alone and hurried out via the terrace to waylay her, thereby missing Rafferty make his way after Jenny via the drawing room door. The same scenario applied to Estelle's murder also. Anyone could have noticed Rafferty depart, leaving Estelle alone on the bench in the annexe grounds.
Such a sadist could have joined the agency with the specific intention of finding vulnerable and lonely young women to kill. A dating agency could be the perfect setting for a psychopath to indulge his desires. Their strengths in appearing normal, indeed often described as ‘charming’, would help them to disarm their chosen victims.
A roomful of women looking for love and possibly with their guard lowered, believing that the agency had diligently checked out their members would be a perfect habitat for a psychopath looking for a ready supply of victims. Dating agencies were first and foremost businesses run for profit. They couldn't afford to wait the weeks and months required for checking out a new signing's bona fides or criminal record. And they didn't. Rafferty had checked out half-a-dozen of the most prominent nationwide dating agencies and none of them went in for such checks so it was unlikely a small independent one would do so.
The thought that the murderer was still free to kill again spurred them on and, after a hurried lunch in the police canteen, they headed back out for the first of the afternoon interviews – with Caroline Durward and Guy Cranston, the two major partners in the agency.
Rafferty was determined they were going to release the names of all their members, past and present, whether they liked it or not. According to Llewellyn, Caroline Durward had complained bitterly about the damage already done to the business. But not, as he had been obliged to remind her via Llewellyn, as much damage as not catching the killer would cause.
Her protests had caved in after that. But there was still some doubt whether they had been provided with every member's details. The agency was as up-market as its literature had claimed. No doubt there would be several extremely important clients whom a protective Caroline had treated with such discretion that they hadn't even been entered in the agency's computer.
Rafferty's head and neck ached with tension. How could it be otherwise when they were now on their way to interview the woman who had more chance than most of recognising ‘Nigel’ behind the hairy mask and glasses. During the half-hour he had sat across a desk from her, Caroline Cranston, nee Durward, had had time in plenty to study him closely. Which was why, once past the congestion at the centre of town – what should have been a pleasant trip via country lanes lined with cow parsley and creeping purple saxifrage, though the small cottage-clustered hamlets of Elmwood and St Botolphe – turned into the trip from hell, with another, all-too-real nightmare possibly looming at the end of it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Cranstons’ home, New Hall, brought back all too poignant memories for Rafferty. And as he stretched his foot over the step where he and Jenny had lingered, he was again savaged by guilt so acute it was like a physical pain. He hurried down the hall after Guy Cranston as if he hoped to escape it, but the pain followed him.
Before they had reached New Hall the unpredictable April weather had suddenly turned from summer to winter. This had prompted the closing of the panelled dividing doors and the lighting of the fire, warmly shuttering the Cranstons in one end of the drawing room. The windows giving on to the terrace were also shut tight.
As was Caroline; Rafferty supposed she had a perfect right to feel aggrieved that her fledgling business could, like Jenny and Estelle, yet become another victim. Fortunately, though she had already vented most of her feelings on Llewellyn, Rafferty was conscious of emotions simmering beneath the outward politeness. Inevitably, this made for a tense atmosphere, which Guy Cranston seemed to feel it his duty to relieve. He wasn't noticeably successful.
After Llewellyn had gone through another round of introductions and routine questions, Rafferty decided to abandon caution and ask the question to which, as Rafferty, he knew only the official answer. ‘Tell me,’ he said as he lowered himself to the faded sofa. ‘Do you vet your clients with the Criminal Records Bureau?’
During his ‘Nigel Blythe’ interview he had agreed to the agency making the check. But this didn't mean they actually bothered to do so. There was still a backlog on these checks and those hoping to work with children took priority.
‘We insist on background checks for all our members,’ Caroline told him in a firm voice that didn't invite argument. ‘Even though we cater for the educated, professional classes, we still need to be able to reassure the less self-assertive female members that they're not going to meet a predatory male.’
‘These checks can take some time, I know,’ said Rafferty. His comment immediately put Caroline on the defensive.
‘Too long. It's extremely inconvenient. But we must protect our members. That has to be our priority.’
Rafferty caught Llewellyn's glance and although the Welshman didn't utter a word, Rafferty could almost hear him say, ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’.
For the moment, he didn't push it, but as Nigel, he had been able to attend a ‘Getting-to-Know-You’ party and had been free to make dates and take telephone numbers as he chose, well before any answers to checks could have been received. It was interesting that Caroline had skirted round the truth. Was she merely protecting what remained of her business and the agency's reputation after the damaging press coverage? Or was she worried that she had let a predatory male loose? Maybe more than one…
Caroline became more defensive as the interview progressed as if the latter was indeed what she feared. She veiled her deceit with excuses. ‘You must appreciate I have a business to run. At least I did, before–’ She faltered for a moment and leaned toward the fire as if suddenly needing the solace of its heat to warm away the fear her business might never recover from the double blow it had received.
Although Rafferty sympathised, it wasn't as if she would be destitute should her business collapse. She had a wealthy husband who was well able to support her. And although Caroline might not have checked her members out, Rafferty had. They had failed to find any convicted violent c
riminals, though that might be because, if there were such criminals among the agency's members, like Rafferty, they had signed up under names other than their own. But at least the suspects still in the running, although not Persil-white, were mostly without a significant stain on their characters if minor drug busts and occasional drunken violence were discounted. Ralph Dryden had sailed stormy pecuniary waters several times, but always managed to reach the safe harbour of financial probity, though not without the Fraud Squad investigating his business methods. And Lance Bliss, like any successful doctor dealing with rich or neurotic females, had had several complaints of sexual malpractice lodged against him, none of which had held up.
Rory Gifford, though, was more interesting. He seemed to prefer diving in murkier streams. Though he was now the owner of a successful independent production company he had delved deeply in more seamy waters a few years earlier and still liked to make violent porn videos which dealt in images as violent as those captured by the police photographer. The moody, deep, bohemian image he cultivated wasn't merely a thing of surface show; he was deep and dark underneath as well. It made Rafferty wonder whether his taciturn behaviour had been for a very good reason, the very best reason of all; he had something to hide.
As if aware she had betrayed some culpability earlier, Caroline straightened and went back to defending her position. ‘Potential clients won't wait for weeks for us to receive an answer as to their suitability. Besides,’ she told them, ‘we always warn our members to take sensible precautions. One of the reasons we hold our ‘Getting-To-Know-You’ parties mostly in our own home is so we can watch over our newer members.’
Although Rafferty didn't remind her that such ‘watching-over’ had done little to protect Jenny or Estelle, Caroline caught herself up and glanced at Guy as if seeking his support.
Guy supplied it readily enough. ‘Caroline's right, Inspector. We really do as much as we can to protect our members. Our parties are always held in an enclosed setting, either here or somewhere with good security, like the annexe at The Elmhurst. I don't know what more we can do. We even give new members a list of sensible rules to follow.’
This was certainly the truth, as Rafferty's ‘Nigel’ had received a set of rules along with the map and invitations.
‘But as my wife said, our members are all adults, successful, capable adults at that, rather than gullible teenagers. Educated professionals can be expected to have the sense to safeguard themselves, don't you think?’
Again, Rafferty forbore from the reminder that Jenny and Estelle had both failed in this regard. Instead, he pointed out, ‘But even educated professionals can be vulnerable through loneliness.’ And as Rafferty reminded himself, even though he was a trained copper his state of mind had enabled the killer to make of him yet another victim. ‘For committed psychopaths, there is no protection you can put in place that is going to be one hundred per cent effective. These people will always find their victims. That's the reason I requested access to all your members’ details.’
He had put a faint stress on the all, but if Caroline had kept some details back she didn't betray herself. Instead, surprisingly, she looked a little mollified as if she thought his admission that no protection could be totally effective had given her a get out clause.
Having abandoned caution, Rafferty decided he might as well pose another question. ‘Who decided the cars should be parked to the side of the house rather than in front of it?’
Caroline shrugged. ‘Oh that's down to Guy, isn't it darling?’
Guy broke in with a smile of rueful charm. ‘I'm no doubt guilty of the deadly sin of pride, but I love this house, and when Caroline asked if some of the parties might be held here I insisted the guests park to the side. My wife may not love this house as I do, but I've always considered the front of the house imposing and dislike an array of cars breaking it up. Once through the hedge and parked up, they can't be seen from the drive.’
Convenient for the murderer; thought Rafferty. He would know exactly where to find Jenny when she went to drive home.
‘Our friends are expected to obey the rule, too.’ Caroline gave a tinkling laugh. ‘Of course, they all know Guy's little idiosyncrasy.’
Her laugh made her seem less like Miss Robson, Rafferty's severe old religious teacher and made her rather plain face almost pretty. For the first time, he was able to understand what the urbane Guy Cranston had seen in her. Rafferty asked, ‘Is it only getting-to-know-you parties that are held here?’
‘No,’ Caroline told him. ‘We hold more intimate parties also for our long-standing members, many of whom have become friends. Though some, like most of our newer members, are sensitive about the fact they make use of our services and don't want it becoming widely known.’
Rafferty nodded again. It was a sensitivity he shared. Anxiety that his shame would be discovered had been another reason to sign up under a name other than his own. The world at large – and Rafferty himself, he admitted – felt that only the sad and desperate signed up with dating agencies. The wags at the station would never let him forget it if it got out.
‘My sergeant phoned the manager of The Elmhurst after Mr Farnell told us there had been a mix-up about the venue of the first party and he confirmed the mix-up. I gather you and Mr Farnell were both late arriving at the first party?’
Caroline nodded. ‘One of Isobel's muddles, I'm afraid. I was annoyed at the time, though I blame myself for not checking. It looks so unprofessional to arrive late. When I spoke to her about it afterwards Isobel made no attempt to apologise and continued to deny the error had been her fault.’ Caroline sighed. ‘If only such muddles were her only drawback, but the way she dresses at the parties is another problem and gives totally the wrong impression.’ She turned to her husband, ‘Really, Guy, I know you took her on as a favour to her mother, but I think Isobel's going to have to go.’
Guy replied blandly, ‘If you think so, darling. I'll have a word with her.’
Guy seemed to capitulate all too easily. But when Rafferty remembered Lance Bliss's comments about Isobel's pursuit of Guy, it was less surprising; like many men Guy seemed happy for his wife to ease him out of a difficult situation.
‘It was only by chance that I didn't head off for The Elmhurst myself,’ Guy told them. ‘I would have done, but Miss Warburton arrived just before I set out, so saved me a needless trip into town. Though, as Caroline says, by now we should all be aware of Isobel's little foibles and take the trouble to check the venue as she has something of a track record in that area.’
‘Still, it must have been awkward supplying drinks and so on for such a throng with no warning?’
‘That's not a problem,’ Guy said. ‘We hold so many parties here that we're always well-stocked. We buy the stuff by the vanload. I have a sub-office in Calais and drive there a lot for business. I'll park the van up, and get taxis to and from my various business meetings. Then I stock up with lots of lovely cheap booze at the hypermarket. We have three of those enormous American fridges in the garage absolutely full of the stuff. And as we only serve nibbles at these affairs it's simply a matter of opening packets and emptying them into bowls.’
Rafferty remembered thinking it a pity so much booze was supplied but only nibbles were provided to soak it up. But perhaps that was done intentionally to loosen-up shy, newer members? It had certainly worked a treat for him at the second party.
Caroline and Guy Cranston were amongst those whose alibis hadn't been substantiated by a third party. Rafferty questioned them about it.
Caroline told them she and her husband had been together at the relevant times, having retreated to their study at the first party and to the room they kept on a permanent booking at The Elmhurst's annexe during the second.
‘With Guy away so frequently I'm forced to snatch opportunities to update him on agency business. It never takes much more than half-an-hour, but for obvious reasons, when the updating occurs during party nights we have to wait till the party's g
ot going as we can hardly be seen to abandon our clients to look after themselves early in the proceedings. You'd be surprised how much encouragement some of them need, for all they're meant to be confident professionals.’ She frowned. ‘But you already know all this.’
As if sensing that Caroline might be about to lose her temper at being forced to repeat herself, Guy volunteered some information. ‘I spend so much of my time away on business that when I am here I prefer to be able to stay home. That's one reason why I agreed to the agency parties being held here.’
Guy smiled briefly. It was a smile of singular charm and Rafferty found himself warming to the man.
Caroline said, ‘Guy hasn't time to take much part in the day-to-day running of the agency. He's more of a sleeping partner, so it's good of him to allow his home to be invaded by the agency members when our evenings together are so precious. In fact, it was our wedding anniversary the night of The Elmhurst party. I baked a cake.’
Rafferty remembered it. The cake had been sliced and handed round with some ceremony, like a talisman to marital love. It had been good PR. Shame the cake had been too rich for his taste, though it had provided a much-needed lining to his stomach.
‘I'm a lucky man, Inspector.’ Guy put his arm round Caroline and smiled down at her. ‘Most wives expect to be taken out on their anniversary; but not Caro. She knows how many evenings I have to eat restaurant or hotel meals entertaining clients so a home baked cake is a rare treat, even if it does have to be eaten at the annexe of yet another expensive hotel,’ he added with a laugh.
‘I have so few opportunities to spoil my husband.’ Caroline confided, ‘so it's a rare privilege when I'm able to.’
After learning of the semi-detached nature of their marriage Rafferty didn't doubt it. In spite or perhaps because of his lovelorn state, Rafferty found this marital mutual appreciation society no more to his taste that the anniversary cake. To conceal this, he asked Guy about his work.
Dying For You Page 36
