A Thrust to the Vitals

by Evans, Geraldine

  Rafferty rose to pay the bill. ‘But this is all speculation, of course. We’d better pay a courtesy visit to the local nick before we go and question Marcus Canthorpe and the Farraday twins again. Maybe one or both of the twins will, if they know anything, have decided to snitch to teacher by now.’

  Chapter Twelve

  After they’d had a brief chat about the case with a DI Apsley, Rafferty’s opposite number at Norwich Police Station, and received directions to Sir Rufus Seward’s estate, they got a taxi back to their car and drove northwards out of the city. The estate was, as Apsley had said, several miles outside Norwich, but it was a short journey as the traffic was surprisingly light.

  On their arrival, even from the gate, Rafferty could see Seward’s estate was a sizeable place.

  ‘The wages of sin,’ he remarked. ‘For sure God’s lot have never shown me much favour. Maybe I should give up on religion and sign up with Old Nick’s crew instead?’

  ‘I thought you already had,’ Llewellyn coolly remarked, before he got out and pressed the buzzer of the intercom set into the brickwork at the side of the gate. He exchanged a few words with the gate’s guardian, and the gates swung back. Llewellyn returned to the driver’s seat, put the car into gear and headed up the lengthy drive.

  Rafferty, uncomfortably conscious of his own many sins, was determined not to rise to the bait. He didn’t want to risk letting another kitty out of the bag. Instead, he gazed about him with interest as they drove past vast expanses of lawns that were still immaculate even in December. He was finding the wages of sin more attractive by the second. But this time he kept his thoughts to himself.

  Seward’s house was a priceless gem enclosed within immaculate emerald lawns. It was stunning, an imposing, four-storey, seven-bay, late Georgian mansion, with its central doorway enclosed snugly in its own deep-set canopy. The ground’s acreage surely extended well into double figures.

  ‘Got to have a Grade One listing,’ Rafferty murmured. He glanced at Llewellyn and tried a second rapprochement. ‘Ever thought we might be in the wrong line of work, Daff?’ He was surprised when Llewellyn thawed sufficiently to meet him halfway, and with more than a single, caustic sentence.

  ‘No. Money has never been a major motivating factor for me. Besides, maintenance costs for a building of such a size and age must be prohibitive, even for a man of Seward’s means.’

  ‘I never thought money was a motivating factor for me, either,’ Rafferty commented as they reached the end of the long drive and parked in front of the house. ‘Though I could be persuaded to change my mind.’

  He was disconcerted to find that Rufus Seward should have chosen to live in such a beautiful house. Somehow, he had expected something more brash and modern.

  Marcus Canthorpe, Llewellyn had reported, had been quite curt on the phone. He was no less so in the flesh once they had rung the bell and gained admission. Clearly, he wasn’t pleased to see them.

  Rafferty shrugged. Like Randy Rawlins, he could live with discourtesy, especially when he had the privilege of visiting such a place. And as Canthorpe led them through the house to the office accommodation at the rear, Rafferty’s gaze took in, through an open door, a huge, elegant drawing room with a fabulous ornamental ceiling that, given the age and grandeur of the house, on which it was apparent that no expense had been spared, must surely have been designed by Robert Adam himself.

  The ceiling was framed by an equally ornate cornice. Ahead, Rafferty just caught a glimpse of an enormous conservatory, which looked like a Victorian addition attached to the south-facing rear of the house, when Canthorpe opened the last in a run of handsome, panelled and pedimented doors off to the left of the hall and led them into a room that was clearly now used as his office.

  Although Canthorpe’s welcome had been far from effusive, once seated in the visitors’ chairs in his office, it was easy to see why their interruption to his day was unwelcome, for his desk was piled high with files and papers.

  Rafferty, thinking of the pile of paperwork doubtless awaiting him in his own office on his return, gave a sympathetic nod at these piles. ‘It looks like you’ve got a lot on work on, Mr Canthorpe. We’ll try not to keep you too long.’

  Canthorpe’s surly expression softened a bit at this. ‘Since Sir Rufus’s death I’ve been swamped with paperwork. You’ve no idea what is entailed in winding up the different areas of the life of a man like him. And although his two solicitors, personal and business, are dealing with the bulk of his estate, there are still many aspects that fall to me to sort out.’

  For a moment, the normally efficient Canthorpe looked all but overwhelmed by his workload, but then he smiled. ‘But once this is sorted and I’ve got my legacy from Sir Rufus’s will, I’ll be off for some R and R on a hot sandy beach.’

  ‘Legacy?’ Rafferty queried, while doing his best not to catch Llewellyn’s eye.

  ‘Yes. Sir Rufus told me he was leaving me a generous legacy in his will.’ Canthorpe’s lips thinned. ‘I’ve certainly earned it and I’ll enjoy spending it.’

  Rafferty wondered how much Marcus Canthorpe expected to receive in the promised legacy. Enough to kill for? And although the solicitor had confided the truth to him, still he questioned Canthorpe about the non-existent legacy. ‘I hope it’s a substantial one, sir.’

  Canthorpe shrugged. ‘As to the precise amount, I have no idea. Sir Rufus always insisted he opened and dealt with any correspondence to do with his will, including letters and redrafted wills that came from his solicitors. Such documents were easy enough to spot and put aside as they always carried the solicitors’ logo on the envelopes.’

  ‘What about the other staff, Mr Canthorpe? Sir Rufus’s chauffeur, for instance?’ Llewellyn asked. ‘And the housekeepers at his various homes? And then there’s Roy and Keith Farraday, too. Were they all to receive legacies also?’

  ‘As to that, I’ve no idea, though I don’t believe so. Although I can’t say for sure, of course. As I said, Sir Rufus always kept such matters close to his chest. But from what my fellow employees have said, Sir Rufus seems to have given them the impression that he had remembered them in his will. Even if he did, I doubt any of them will receive much, as none of them had been in his employ for long.’

  He spread a rueful smile between them. ‘Sir Rufus didn’t tend to keep his employees, you see. I’ve been with him for five years and during my time there’s been a considerable turnover of staff.’

  Rafferty nodded. ‘Perhaps you could let me have a list?’ Who knew where such presumably grudge-bearing and aggrieved ex-employees might have ended up? Working at the Elmhurst Hotel was certainly one possibility.

  Canthorpe bit off a sigh at this request, but he rose to accommodate it. He opened one of an array of filing cabinets that lined the left wall of his office, and with an efficient hand, jotted down the details of Seward’s past employees before, some fifteen minutes later, handing them over. Their personnel files filled all of two drawers of a cabinet.

  Rafferty thanked him.

  Canthorpe shrugged. ‘Not that I imagine it’s likely to help your investigation. I saw none of those on my list at the Elmhurst Hotel the night Sir Rufus died. I would certainly have recognised any one of them.’

  Rafferty nodded. ‘You’re probably right, but it’s as well to check them out.’ He paused and then remarked, ‘I imagine, since you were with your late employer for five years, you would know a good deal about his life, his business dealings and any people who might have reason to bear him a grudge?’

  A tiny smile curled its way round Canthorpe’s lips. ‘People with reason to bear him a grudge?’ he repeated.’ The smile widened. ‘It would probably be easier for me to tell you who didn’t have reason to bear him a grudge. It wouldn’t make a very long list.’

  ‘Why did you remain in his employ for so long if he was an unpleasant man to work for?’ Llewellyn asked.

  Canthorpe shrugged. ‘It’s a good job and it’s interesting. Oh, don’t get me
wrong; I’ve had offers — some very attractive job offers, as it happens, since I’ve been here. I was seriously tempted once or twice. But Sir Rufus was the kind of man who liked to keep the reigns of power firmly in his own hands; he oversaw everything in his various businesses, which gave me learning opportunities not so readily available elsewhere. And I’ve learned a lot since I’ve been here — how the rich and powerful operate across a wide range of businesses, for instance. And while I might have earned far more elsewhere, it suited me to remain. You’d be amazed at what you can learn just by watching and listening to such people as Sir Rufus and having the paperwork from their day-to-day affairs cross your desk.’

  Rafferty didn’t doubt it. He mused on what would be Canthorpe’s likely reaction when he discovered he wasn’t down to receive a legacy at all, never mind the substantial one for which he had such plans.

  Rafferty glanced at Llewellyn to see if he had any further questions he wished to pose, and when Llewellyn gave a tiny shake of his head, Rafferty moved the interview forward. ‘Have you remembered anything new about the night of the reception, sir?’ he asked. ‘Anything at all?’

  Canthorpe frowned. He hesitated before he said doubtfully, ‘there was one thing, but I’m not sure if it’s of any significance. I doubt I’d have remembered it at all if it hadn’t been for Sir Rufus dying like that, but I noticed that Ivor Bignall was distinctly cool towards him all evening. I don’t know why or what it was about. And, apart from him remonstrating with my late boss when he was rude to the barman, it’s not as if there was a big row or anything. I can’t begin to explain what might have caused the frosty atmosphere between them, but it was there even before Sir Rufus started drinking heavily and picked on the barman, so it can’t have been that which sparked it.’

  ‘And this coolness you say was definitely evident before Mr Bignall spoke up for the barman that Sir Rufus insulted?’

  ‘Yes. As I said, the coolness was evident immediately Mr and Mrs Bignall arrived.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, I’ve told you about it, for what it’s worth. Maybe Bignall will explain the reason for it himself.’

  As Canthorpe was able to tell them nothing more, Rafferty asked for the security tapes from the camera he had noticed mounted on one of the gateposts at the entrance to the estate. Although Canthorpe had already supplied them with a list of those who had visited the estate and who had opportunity to help themselves to a blank invitation or two, it was possible there might be some visitors he had forgotten about.

  Canthorpe handed over half-a-dozen tapes before Rafferty asked to speak to the Farraday twins.

  He was directed to a cottage in the grounds. After a brief battle of wills, Rafferty, who was anyway, feeling lethargic and replete after his filling lunch, handed the car keys to Llewellyn with barely a murmur. As they made their way in the car to the twins’ cottage, Rafferty glimpsed the blue water of a swimming pool through the glass of what appeared to be a remodelled stable block. ‘How the other half live,’ he muttered, overtaken with envy once again and unable to keep it to himself.

  He felt Llewellyn glance at him before the Welshman, with all his upright Methodist morality to the fore, quietly remarked, ‘Maybe, rather than dwelling on the late Sir Marcus Seward’s wealth and property, you would do better to ponder what he had to do to acquire it all in the first place. From what we’ve learned of him, he didn’t start out a rich man.’

  As Seward had attended the same school as the decidedly unwealthy Rafferty brothers, this was undoubtedly true. Rafferty supposed Llewellyn was right. The cut-throat world of international business was ruthless and took no prisoners. He doubted his burdensome, demanding Catholic conscience would have provided him with much peace if he’d attempted such a life.

  He smiled ruefully to himself at the realisation that a lack of education and the requisite business nous had saved him from such a perilous existence. ‘Thank you, God,’ he murmured. ‘Come up trumps again.’

  The Farradays’ shared cottage in the grounds was well away from the main house and concealed by tall trees, presumably so the rich man in the mansion didn’t have his gaze soured by the poor people. Certainly, it had originally been designed as staff accommodation, probably for the male outdoor staff who, years ago when class distinctions were even more pronounced than now, were often housed separately from the indoor staff.

  As Llewellyn pulled up and parked, Rafferty swept his gaze over the cottage. Plain and simple, with a stable-door, the cottage had none of the embellishments of Seward’s mansion. Still, it looked comfortable enough from the outside.

  One of the twins, Rafferty wasn’t certain whether it was Keith or Roy, opened the door to Llewellyn’s knock. Whichever twin he was, he looked even less pleased to see the two policemen again than had Marcus Canthorpe.

  The identical twins whose school days had been devoted to snitching to teacher and weaselling confidences from their school mates, hadn’t improved with maturity, as Rafferty had had ample opportunity to discover when he had first re-made their acquaintance on questioning them immediately after Seward’s murder.

  They had both always been very thin, but, as he and Llewellyn followed whichever twin it was through to the living room where they found the second sibling, Rafferty noticed that now, both had a brittleness about them that hadn’t been evident in their youth. The reason for this brittleness became apparent as he studied them: their eyes had the pinpoint pupils and the unnatural glitter of the habitual drug user. The discovery made him hope that the cocaine in the main bathroom of Seward’s hotel suite didn’t turn out to belong to them rather than Mandy Khan, as he still had faint, if fading, hopes in that direction.

  The Farradays’ thin, weasel faces still had the sly air about them that Rafferty recalled from their shared schooldays and had noticed on the night of the murder. They had had that smug, ‘I know something you don’t know’ air even when young. You could be sure, when they were looking particularly smug, that someone was about to land in trouble with teacher.

  After Seward’s murder, they, like Marcus Canthorpe, had removed themselves back to Seward’s Norfolk home. And although they had only worked for Sir Rufus for a matter of months, the cottage they shared was well-stuffed with attractive possessions and gave the impression of a residence of years’ duration. It was plain that they both had squirrelling tendencies; every surface was crammed with collectable china and objets d’art. Neither twin had ever married, though perhaps, as they presented like an old married couple rather than brothers, they had no need of brides.

  Their tastes were expensive, for although it seemed likely that most of the furniture came with the cottage, the other contents certainly didn’t. Rafferty couldn’t imagine Rufus Seward had been willing to adorn his workers’ accommodation with modern art works and other such extravagancies.

  ‘I see you’re admiring our little collection, Inspector,’ said the twin whose next comment proved him to be Keith Farraday. ‘Roy and I like to consider ourselves connoisseurs of the art world, and fortunately, neither of us have wives or teenage children to spend our income. But do sit down, both of you. Make yourselves comfortable.’

  Rather unwillingly, Rafferty sat down on an armchair when invited to do so. And although his seat was well-padded, comfortable was far from what he was feeling; the twins had always induced a feeling of distaste. Although the place was spotless – the Farradays were nothing if not particular about their surroundings — he somehow felt reluctant to allow his body close contact with anything they used or sat on, perhaps with a superstitious dread that something of their personalities would be transferred to him in the process. He was being fanciful, he knew, and did his best to dismiss the thought.

  ‘So, what can my brother and I do for you, Inspector?’ Keith asked as he perched his skinny bottom on a plumply-cushioned Regency chair that Rafferty guessed must be one of their own. Certainly it and partner at the other side of the hearth, on which Rafferty sat, were far from being in keeping with the rest of the
furniture, which looked as if it had received some rough treatment over the years. Perhaps Sir Rufus’s revolving door of employees had taken their displeasure with their boss out on his furniture.

  Now Rafferty recalled that, as the older by some twenty minutes, Keith Farraday had always taken the lead. Roy had never quibbled about the arrangement and he didn’t do so now. He simply sat, relaxed with his hands in his lap and let his twin do all the talking, with that irritating, smug expression that, in their youth, had always given Rafferty the desire to hit him.

  ‘We just wanted to put some follow-up questions to you both,’ Rafferty told them as he forced a smile. ‘See if time might have jogged your memory of the evening Sir Rufus died.’

  The gazes from the twins’ matching small green eyes met and held before both set settled on Rafferty.

  ‘It’s been suggested to us that Mr Ivor Bignall behaved very coolly towards Sir Rufus on the evening of the reception. Can you confirm that?’

  Both the twins shook their heads and Keith replied, ‘We certainly never noticed anything like that, Inspector. Who can have said such a thing? And why? one has to wonder.’

  Indeed one did, thought Rafferty, surprised they hadn’t seized on what Canthorpe had said in order to shift his suspicions elsewhere. Then he told them, ‘That’s not relevant. But you’re sure you never noticed any coolness?’

  Again they shook their heads in unison.

  With that question out of the way, Rafferty got on with the rest of the interview. At first, to his surprise, they were remarkably forthcoming, though all their confidences were of the unprovable, gossipy sort rather than anything more substantial. Perhaps they now regarded him as the teacher figure to whom they should pour forth their bile?