A Thrust to the Vitals

by Evans, Geraldine

  Certainly, it hadn’t taken them long before they began to reveal tittle-tattle about their late boss’s guests that they might have found more profitable to keep to themselves, if extracting a reward for their silence was indeed their usual habit. Or perhaps it was just that they had better, more damaging and even more lucrative sources of information and had judged it prudent to share the stuff they were unable to prove?

  None of the twins’ revelations showed Seward, several of his guests or the twins themselves, in an attractive light. Among other things, they confirmed that Mandy Khan did have a drug habit, though they informed Rafferty hers was a preference for heroin rather than the cocaine that Hanks had found in the main bathroom of Seward’s suite. And as Rafferty had already noted, from their own appearance it seemed probable that they were well placed to recognise the signs of drug addiction in others. They must have some tidy little earners, Rafferty thought, if they were able to afford both their drug habit and an addiction to expensive collectibles.

  The twins also revealed that Idris Khan had reason to hate Seward who had, according to the twins, seduced Khan’s wife, even though he and the mayor were meant to have mutual business interests. Mandy, it seemed, had ambitions to move from her teetotal and somewhat repressive husband to the self-indulgent, international and far wealthier potential one that Seward had represented.

  It was bad enough for Khan that Seward had bedded his wife and in his long-awaited and looked-forward-to mayoral year, too, but to have then learned that Seward thought her only good for sex rather than the permanent commitment she had sought, must have been galling in the extreme. Especially as, to avoid scandal attaching to his mayoral name, Khan had felt obliged to take her back for the remainder of his term in office.

  Certainly, as Keith told them, when Mandy had made her desire for a permanent union plain — ‘within shouting distance of me and my brother while we waited in Marcus Canthorpe’s office to report to the boss about some little bit of business he was engaged in’ — Seward had laughed at her. According to Keith Farraday’s version of events, if it could be believed, Seward had wasted no time in making clear Mandy Khan had nothing he wanted over the longer term.

  ‘Is Marcus Canthorpe able to confirm this?’ Llewellyn asked.

  ‘No,’ Keith told him. ‘It was one of the occasions when he was away from his desk.’

  Conveniently for their tittle-tattle — if that was all it was, thought Rafferty. Lucky for Mandy Khan that after such a humiliation, she had remained outside Seward’s suite when she and her husband had later returned to the suite to pick up her forgotten handbag and with the hotel security men and the security tape to back her up.

  The twins looked remarkably pleased with themselves as their grubby secrets tumbled pell-mell from their fleshy lips. Their dark hair was still worn in the same old-fashioned style they had always sported, with the too-far-over, side parting that looked as though it had been done using a ruler and a cut-throat razor and glued down with copious quantities of Brylcreem; no wonder each of their upholstered chairs sported a wide protective antimacassar.

  Rafferty didn’t know whether or not to believe what the twins had told them. Apart from their long attachment to tale-bearing, it was in their interest to foster suspicion elsewhere and so lessen any that might fall on them. Because, for all Rafferty knew, the twins might also have had reason to bear a grudge against Seward. He had been their boss and Rafferty had already learned from several quarters that Seward hadn’t been one of the most appreciative of employers. In the circumstances, it seemed more than possible that the twins could well have colluded in stabbing Seward themselves, waiting their chance till the evening of the reception when the finger of suspicion would have a wider selection of possible suspects to point at.

  With this thought foremost in his mind, Rafferty questioned them even more closely. Unsurprisingly, when his questions veered round to themselves, they became markedly reticent.

  He was interested in gaining confirmation about who could have had access to the party invitations. Marcus Canthorpe had told them that he had liaised with the council in organising his boss’s civic reception. But, as Canthorpe himself had admitted, he hadn’t thought it necessary to lock the invitations away. They had been clearly visible on his desk for over a week, the blank ones and the rest. Any visitor, of which there were apparently a fair number, who passed through Canthorpe’s office in order to reach Seward’s inner sanctum, could have seen them and helped themselves.

  The twins confirmed what Canthorpe had said. They even admitted that Canthorpe had spent much time away from his desk, out on personal, confidential errands for Sir Rufus.

  This confirmation was not good news for Rafferty. He had hoped the person who could have sent Mickey his unofficial invitation would be restricted to Seward himself, and his staff. Clearly, that wasn’t the case. The list of party attendees and possible murderer that also encompassed visitors to Seward’s Norfolk home during the relevant time, included Idris Khan and Ivor Bignall, both of whom had shared business interests with the deceased in the past, as Keith Farraday now told them. Though why either of them should even know Mickey, much less try to implicate him in Seward’s murder, was a moot point.

  ‘Though I don’t think either Idris Khan or Ivor Bignall talked about mutual business interests with Sir Rufus during their last meeting here, at least not business business, if you know what I mean,’ Keith said.

  Roy sniggered and made one of his first contributions to the conversation. ‘More like mucky business.’

  The Farradays kept glancing at one another and exchanging secretive little smiles. It was getting on Rafferty’s nerves. He couldn’t help wondering what other secrets they had that they were keeping to themselves. He said with a stern edge to his voice, ‘If either of you know anything else that might help us in our investigations, you would be wise to tell us about it now.’

  The twins exchanged another secretive glance, then both shook their heads.

  ‘I really can’t think of anything else, Inspector,’ Keith told him. ‘Can you, Roy?’

  ‘No, nothing at all. So sorry, Inspector. We really would like to help further, but—’

  But if you do know something of value, you would rather it was of value to yourselves only rather than me, Rafferty guessed. These two weren’t just collectors of art and paintings, they had always squirrelled away useful information, too. He wondered what valuable secrets they had acquired during their employment with Rufus Seward? A man like Seward would have had plenty of secrets suitable for exploitation, as would his wealthy business acquaintances.

  ‘This isn’t the schoolyard,’ Rafferty warned them sharply, ‘where the worst you might suffer for causing someone grief was a beating. If either of you know anything more than idle tittle-tattle that might have relevance to Seward’s murder, you should say so now. Whoever Seward’s killer is, he’s already murdered once,’ he warned. ‘I doubt he would have any compunction about adding another two people to his tally if he believed them to be a threat.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, Inspector,’ Keith Farraday protested in tones of injured innocence, ‘but there’s really no cause to make such accusations. We’ve already told you all we know. We can’t help you any further.’

  Strange, Rafferty thought, that in spite of Keith’s denials and his twin’s nod of agreement, both their pasty faces had paled significantly at his warning. But they still chose to tell him nothing more.

  If they did know something it was clear they were determined to keep it to themselves. It wasn’t hard to gauge how they might have managed to acquire such expensive artworks while being on the limited incomes of unqualified gofers. If they elected to place themselves in danger by acquiring the secrets of others, it was their lookout. He had warned them. If they chose not to confide what they knew to him, he couldn’t help them or keep them safe, as he told them in a parting shot when he and Llewellyn left.

  Rafferty was rel
ieved to get out into the fresh air and away from their cloying, over-furnished living room. Its overpowering scent of polish and air freshener had started to make him feel nauseous. Or perhaps that was more down to the twins?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rafferty settled himself in the passenger seat for the journey back to Elmhurst while Llewellyn went through his pernickety pre-driving checks of repositioning the rear-view mirror, which hadn’t been moved since they’d left Elmhurst, checking the wipers and windscreen wash bottle were working and generally being infuriating to the time-strapped Rafferty.

  But as he had decided, as a sop, to allow Llewellyn to drive on the return journey, he didn’t express these criticisms out loud. Instead, to distract himself, Rafferty asked, ‘What do you reckon to Canthorpe and the Farraday brothers? They were all obligingly confiding today.’

  ‘Mmm. They were certainly anxious to relocate our suspicions elsewhere.’

  Rafferty nodded. ‘Understandable, I suppose, in the circumstances. They’ve certainly, between them, managed to give us plenty to think about.’ Too much, thought Rafferty, who felt he already had more than enough on his mind.

  Llewellyn finally turned the key in the ignition. The engine purred quietly as he engaged the clutch. About time, was Rafferty’s thought as, already regretting his decision to let his sergeant drive, he watched Llewellyn at last moved the gear stick into first.

  The camera on the gate swivelled towards them as they approached the end of the long drive. Canthorpe must have been watching for their departure, for the gates swung smoothly open to enable them to leave the estate. Rafferty raised a hand in a ‘thank you’ gesture to the camera as they swung through the gates and out on to the road.

  ‘Interesting that Ivor Bignall was cool towards Seward. Wonder what that was about?’ he murmured.

  ‘There’s one way to find out. But it’s odd that no one but Canthorpe has mentioned this supposed coolness.’

  ‘People aren’t always that observant. Maybe Canthorpe told us about it in the hope of removing our suspicions from himself on the principle that when it comes to murder suspects we’d prefer to have one big bird like Bignall in the hand rather than several minnows like himself and the Farradays.’

  ‘Possibly. Either Canthorpe is unusually perceptive and noticed the coolness when no one else did, or he’s making it up for reasons best known to himself, though, I suppose it’s not necessarily suspicious that Canthorpe was the only person at the reception to notice Bignall’s coolness towards Seward. You seem to have forgotten one important element in the others’ forgetfulness: the lack of sobriety. Mr Canthorpe was on duty and presumably expected to stay sober. It’s scarcely surprising he was more observant of atmosphere and reactions. And I imagine he must have been very familiar with Bignall and his normal behaviour — rather more so than the Farraday twins, who must also have been expected to refrain from alcoholic over indulgence.’

  ‘Mmm. I suppose so.’ Llewellyn had a point, he knew. How was it that the abstemious Welshman had hit on the crux of the matter when he, who had plenty of first-hand experience of what alcohol did to your observational skills, had failed to consider it?

  But there was one oddity that he had noticed and now he pointed it out to Llewellyn. ‘Canthorpe said he only discovered that Seward had been murdered because Ivor Bignall insisted on saying goodbye to his host. But—’

  ‘But it seems unlikely that Bignall, after cold-shouldering Seward all evening – if, in fact, he did so and we’ve only Canthorpe’s word for that — would be so anxious to observe a social nicety.’

  I was going to say that, Rafferty felt like protesting, even though he knew it was a childish response. Instead, he asked, ‘So what did he really want to do? Set the scene to make him look innocent of the murder? Who would draw attention to themselves in such a way if they were guilty, is the implied assumption.’

  ‘A dangerous ploy,’ Llewellyn murmured, slowing down to a crawl after he allowed a slow-moving tractor out of a farm gate.

  Rafferty’s lips thinned. Does he do things like that deliberately, just to annoy me? he wondered. He kept his lips pressed firmly together to restrain the growing urge to criticize.

  ‘It would have muddied the waters nicely if Seward’s body hadn’t been discovered till morning,’ Llewellyn pointed out. ‘Dr Dally’s estimated time of death would have been much wider. Because the body was found so quickly the potential suspects are greatly reduced.’

  ‘Perhaps, if Bignall killed Seward, he was prepared to risk it. He’s a successful businessman; most such types have taken a risk or two in their careers. He could have thought such a calculated gamble worth it if he had a strong reason to want revenge on Seward.’

  ‘Possibly. Mr Bignall’s clearly an intelligent man, more than capable of making such a judgement. We’ve no forensics,’ Llewellyn reminded him as they ambled along behind the tractor at a slow enough pace to admire the frost-crusted Norfolk fields stretching far into the distance on either side of the road. ‘If he did kill him, if he keeps his cool he could well get away with it.’

  ‘Mmm. There’s the rub: If he did it.’

  The tractor driver, with a cheery wave, turned off and Rafferty breathed a sigh of relief as Llewellyn picked up speed. However, in Rafferty’s opinion, he didn’t pick up enough of it. Rafferty studied the speedometer and frowned. He forgot he was meant to be on a charm offensive and asked, ‘Can’t you at least match the speed limit, Dafyd? Go on, put your foot down, man. It’s not as if the roads are busy. I’m keen to question Bignall about this alleged coolness towards Seward. But before we do that, and assuming we actually get back before I die of old age, we’ll stop off at the station first. We’ve already been gone the best part of the day and I need to speak to the team as well and get up to speed on what’s been happening while we’ve been away from the station before we do anything else.’

  With narrowed gaze, he watched as the speedo edged up another couple of miles per hour; they were still five miles under the limit. But Llewellyn wasn’t a man to be rushed, so Rafferty decided it would be better to spend the travelling time to some purpose than to allow Llewellyn’s careful driving style to irritate him.

  ‘Interesting what the Farradays had to say about the impetuous, husband-hunting Mandy Khan. It’s a wonder she and her husband haven’t come to blows. It’s a big thing for an Asian man to find himself cuckolded. Even if Khan’s only half-Asian murders have been committed for much less in that culture.’

  ‘Maybe his Welsh half is dominant on the matter of honour.’

  Llewellyn pulled up at the traffic lights on the outskirts of Norwich just as they turned to amber.

  Rafferty scowled, his good intentions forgotten. ‘You could have gone through the lights. They’d only just changed.’ They weren’t even on red, Rafferty silently fumed.

  ‘Not a good idea at a busy junction.’

  Rafferty’s lips thinned again, but although he directed a scowl towards Llewellyn’s impervious profile, he refrained from making any further comment. As he sat, drumming his fingers on his knee, he remembered it was his turn to visit Mickey this evening and take him more provisions. He checked his watch. It was already getting on for six o’clock. It would be after eight by the time they got back and were able to question Bignall again, always supposing he was at home. He’d promised Ma he’d stop off at her house and collect the clothes she’d washed for Mickey. And then he’d have to visit a supermarket and get some bread and milk and buy Mickey a takeaway. God knew what time it would be when he got home.

  But one thing he did know: he could expect a flea in his ear from his new fiancée when he finally got there.

  Nothing new of any interest had turned up while they were in Norfolk. Soon, they were back in the car — Rafferty having demanded the keys— and, with a brief phone call to confirm he was at home, on their way to see Ivor Bignall.

  Bignall, since the murder, seemed to have become quite the house husband. As before, h
e led them through to the same attractive room. Again, Dorothea Bignall was seated by the fire. She greeted them warmly and once they had sat down at her invitation, she said, ‘I didn’t expect to see you again quite so soon, Inspector. How can we help you?’

  The big man seemed more subdued this time than he had been on the last occasion they’d spoken to him. In contrast, his wife Dorothea seemed quite perky, as if she felt the need to compensate for the silence of her usually gregarious husband.

  ‘Actually, Mrs Bignall,’ Rafferty told her, ‘it’s your husband I wanted to speak to.’

  Rafferty turned to Bignall who was standing, legs spread, with his back to the fire. ‘We’ve been told that there was a distinct coolness between you and Rufus Seward during the evening of his civic reception, sir.’

  Bignall raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘A coolness, Inspector? Really, I don’t know what you can mean.’

  ‘Let me explain. It was described by someone in a position to notice that your manner to Seward was distinctly on the chilly side. I want you to tell me why that was.’

  ‘Your informant was mistaken, Inspector, I can assure you, Bignall boomed. ‘I was not cool towards Seward. I had no reason to be cool towards him. Admittedly, I didn’t speak to him much. But as I believe I’ve already explained, that was because he had so many other guests who wanted to congratulate him on his home town honour. I suppose it might, to some, look as if we had had a falling out, but I can assure you we hadn’t.’

  To Rafferty’s surprise, Dorothea Bignall immediately contradicted her husband.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Ivor, tell the inspector the truth. There’s no need to lie. I know you think you’re protecting me and defending my feelings, but I’m not quite the piece of Dresden china you seem to believe me to be. I won’t break, you know, if you tell them the truth. It really was all a very long time ago. But in case you don’t believe I’m able to cope with the revelation and continue to lie for my sake, I’ll tell the inspector all about it myself.’