Surprisingly, Nigel made no objection to this. In fact, he seemed rather amused as if he knew something Rafferty didn’t.
Rafferty discovered what that something was when he had got back in the car and scanned the list. There, large as life, was the name Mrs Kitty Rafferty. What was Ma doing borrowing money from slimy Nigel?
‘Sure and didn’t I need it for your wedding present?’ his Ma told him after he had gone to her home directly from Nigel’s office, leaving Llewellyn to wait in the car. ‘There was a special offer and I needed to buy it before they sold out.’
Rafferty would rather not know about Ma’s ‘special offers’. They were usually the sort that had sneaked out of the back of a lorry in the dark of night.
‘You didn’t need to borrow money for that Ma. You only needed to buy us a token present.’
‘And me the mother of the groom? What would people say if I bought you a set of cheap saucepans as a wedding gift?’
‘Who cares what they’d say? Besides, we’ve already got a perfectly good set of saucepans. In fact, we’ve got an entire flat full of stuff. We don’t need anything.’
‘That’s not what Abra says. She’s got a list as long as your arm.'
This was news to Rafferty. But then, nowadays, most things to do with the wedding seemed to be that.
'Besides, I needed to buy something decent. Something that would take pride of place in the gift display at the wedding breakfast.’
‘How much did you borrow, Ma?’
‘It’s not telling you I am.’ His Ma’s lips firmed.
‘Come on, Ma. How much? I can always ask Nigel, you know.’
Reluctantly, Ma admitted she’d borrowed five hundred pounds. ‘It was only keeping it in the family, I was.’
‘Better than going to Malcolm Forbes, I suppose, but still unnecessary. It’s you that Abra and I want at our wedding, not some fancy overpriced present that puts you in hock.’
Ma looked pleased at this, although still a bit shamefaced that she’d been found out in her borrowing. She was still subdued as Rafferty left, which was something he hadn’t seen in many a long year.
Rafferty marched into Nigel’s office and slapped a cheque down on his desk. ‘I think you’ll find that covers Ma’s debt.’
Nigel quirked an eyebrow. ‘What about the interest?’
‘Don’t push it.’
‘I’d prefer cash.’
‘I bet you would.’
‘There’s an extra charge for early settlement,’ Nigel told him, seemingly determined to get the upper hand somehow.
‘How much?’
‘Fifty should cover it. Seeing as you and Mrs R are family.’
‘Don’t be doing us any favours, Nigel.’
‘OK. Make it a round hundred.’
Bank account unnecessarily further depleted by his own intransigence, Rafferty pulled his cheque book out and wrote another cheque, which he ripped out of the book and laid beside the first one. ‘And don’t lend money to Ma again or you’ll have me to answer to.’
‘I thought I was doing her a favour.’
‘I told you – we can do without favours from you. Is that clear?’
‘As crystal. I suppose that applies to the rest of the Rafferty side of the family?’
‘Got it in one.’
The list of people to be checked out seemed to be growing longer by the day. Now, along with Malcolm Forbes’s staff and debtors, Rafferty had those of Nigel to contend with.
Just to improve his worsening mood, Superintendent Bradley collared him just as he breasted the top step on the first floor.
'Ah, Rafferty. The very man. I presume you were coming to see me for an update?'
'Yes, sir. Of course.' Rafferty cursed. He should have gone home.
'Come along then.' Bradley's plump behind led the way. Reluctantly Rafferty followed, mentally rehearsing his excuses
'Sit down. Sit down,' Bradley invited as he manoeuvred his stout figure behind his desk. 'So. What's been happening?'
'Another loan shark, Name of Blythe, has had one of his collectors assaulted. He's in hospital.'
'Another one? How many more are we going to have before you catch the culprits?'
'I'm doing the best I can with limited resources, Sir.’ Rafferty was quick to get in the jibe about the restricted overtime and manpower. It sailed over Bradley’s head .
‘We all have to manage with those, Rafferty,’ Bradley told him blithely. ‘Get on with it. I want evidence that you’re doing your job, not excuses.’
Rafferty’s lips thinned. He directed his gaze over Bradley’s left shoulder and said woodenly, ‘There's also been a development with the debtors down Primrose Avenue. It seems some of them lied about not seeing Harrison the day of his murder. We have proof of that.'
'Glad to hear you've proof of something, but. Are you any nearer catching a culprit or two? That's what I want to know. What those at Region want to know.'
That was typical Bradley-speak. He always wanted to shine brightly for the brass.
'It's a slow process, sir, not helped by not having enough men on the ground.’ It didn’t hurt to repeat a legitimate complaint. Not that it did him any good. ‘We need to check everything, often several times. But I'm confident we're getting there.'
Bradley harrumphed and muttered something that to Rafferty sounded like, 'I wish I was'.
Like a drowning man coming up for the third time, Rafferty again tried asking Superintendent Bradley for more officers and came away from the encounter with his ears ringing to the sound of “precious resources” and “limited budgets” and “intelligent usage”, the implication being that he applied intelligence to neither. It was exactly what he’d expected, of course. Bradley had always been one for keeping his officers short of funds for their investigations, the better for his money-management skills to earn him a pat on the head from region. Solving crimes came a very poor second with that lot unless their egos were scorched by media criticism.
Oh well, he’d tried. Now he’d just have to put his head down and get on with it.
After they’d eaten and were relaxing in front of the television, Rafferty remembered the invitations Llewellyn had created for him. He pulled them out of his pocket and showed them to Abra.
Abra was delighted with them, though Rafferty, with his talk of ‘hot from the printer,’ was careful not to tell her that Llewellyn had produced them and for nothing. Discretion being the better part of valour and all that.
'Where did you get them?'
'Alderton's, the big store in town. They have a special wedding department.'
'Well, I know that. I've been in there enough times. Though I can't say I remember any of these designs.'
'They were new in,' Rafferty quickly responded. 'I popped in earlier.'
'Really? Perhaps I'll go in myself and see what else they've got in new. There might be something I'd prefer.'
'Oh don't do that, Abra. There's so much to do. Can't we at least get the design of the wedding invitations settled?'
She hummed and hawed for a little, but then said, 'I suppose you're right. It'll be good to get another thing crossed off the list.'
'That's what I thought. Which one do you like?’ Rafferty asked.
‘I think I prefer the jazzy one.’
Rafferty grinned. ‘Me, too. So shall I get Ll — shall I get them ordered?’ he quickly corrected himself, cursing his regretful lack of talent for lying and hoping Abra hadn’t noticed his near-slip. ‘It was two hundred that we wanted?'
’No, of course it wasn't. We're inviting two hundred people, not two hundred separate individuals who'd need an invitation each. Most of the invitees are couples or family groups. I've made a list. Order a hundred so we have some spares.'
Abra paused, then she said, ‘You know, Joe, when you said you’d take over a chunk of the wedding organisation, I had my doubts you wouldn’t make a hash of it.’
Rafferty affected hurt for a moment, but then he co
uldn’t help but admit, ‘Do you think I didn’t know that, my little lemon syllabub? I’ve hidden talents.’
‘Well hidden. Maybe you should let the occasional bit of daylight in on them in future?’
‘I’ll drink to that.’ Rafferty raised his glass of Jameson’s and they clinked. ‘All my talents will be on show in future.’
‘Not quite all, I hope. You don’t want to be done for indecent exposure. I don't want the general public seeing more of you than I do these days.’
Rafferty, sensing the complaint that was coming more regularly these days, quickly turned it into a joke to head her off. ‘No fear of that. These April nights are too chilly.’
Successfully headed off, after a few seconds, Abra told him that, since their last discussion on the subject, she’d plumped for a much more expensive wedding photographer than the one they’d previously agreed on, Rafferty’s attempt at hiring the professional who snapped the police bigwigs on special occasions having fallen flat.
‘So what was wrong with the other snapper?’ Rafferty asked plaintively, thinking that things had gone too smoothly so far this evening. ‘The one who did your friend’s wedding pictures.’
‘Oh, he was all right, I suppose,’ Abra replied. ‘But you must look at some of the specimen photos this new photographer gave me. So arty.’
In Rafferty’s book ‘arty’ just meant an excuse to charge more. He wasn’t interested in wedding pictures of him and Abra peering soulfully through a romantic mist.
He downed his whiskey and poured another before he slumped back down on the settee beside Abra and stared broodingly at the TV. Luckily, he was too sunk in retrospection to hear the news that inflation was on the rise and doing its usual sterling job of pushing up wedding costs along with everything else.
He toyed with suggesting to Abra that they elope together instead. Gretna Green in the moonlight – what could be more romantic? It would certainly be more so than the pile of debts that would await them when they came back from whatever exotic and faraway destination Abra finally settled on for their honeymoon, his attempts at obtaining a freebie holiday having also fallen on stony ground.
To lighten the mood, Rafferty mentioned that Ma had borrowed five hundred pounds to buy their wedding present.
Abra was intrigued. 'Really?' she said. 'What's she getting us?'
'I don't know. I didn't ask.'
'Oh Joe. You are hopeless. For a policeman you have a remarkable lack of curiosity. Fancy your mum spending that much. It's got to be something terrific at that price.'
'Mmm.' Rafferty carefully refrained from mentioning that, as he had given Nigel the five hundred pounds back, they were effectively buying their own wedding present. He also neglected to mention his` suspicion that whatever Ma had bought them would be knocked off.
'I wonder what it is?' Abra continued. 'Do you suppose she'd tell me if I asked her?'
'Doubt it. Anyway, surely it's meant to be a surprise?'
'Oh pooh. Surprises. Surprises are all very well when you don't know about them. When you do, all they do is get your curiosity aroused.'
'You'll have to damp it down till next June then, 'cos I don't suppose Ma'll tell you what it is however much you beg and plead. Ma's a woman well able to keep her own counsel.'
Abra pulled a face. 'Surely she won't expect me to keep my curiosity in check for so long? I'll die.'
'No you won't. You haven't got time to die. There's too much still to do if we're to get everything sorted for the wedding.'
'Oh, you. Aren't you the slightest bit curious?'
'No. Not in the least.' Which was an out and out lie. Though he wasn't so much wondering what Ma had got them as much as where and how she'd acquired it. There had been a raid on a local electrical warehouse last week, so maybe the off-the-back-of-a-lorry bargain Ma had bought them was a huge plasma TV. But, like Abra, he'd have to bear his soul in patience till next June. At least, if Ma's present was stolen property, the heat would be off it by then.
Abra gave up on the subject and returned to the arrangements for their wedding. As well as the photographer, she had now decided she also wanted his assistant to take a video of the day. All Rafferty saw as he lay down in bed that night and tried to sleep, were piles of his hard-earned cash being whisked away from him. And for what? They lived as if they were married already, so it was all for a cheap piece of paper and a couple of wedding bands. Oh, and an album of tastefully mist-shrouded photographs. He mustn’t forget them.
He wondered as he turned over and thumped the pillow if Josie McBride’s fiancé was going through a similar trauma. Easy to see why, rather than putting up shelves at his soon-to-be mother in law’s that he might have struck out at Harrison and all he represented instead.
But Anthony Clifford’s alibi had checked out. Even one of the mother in law’s neighbours had backed up his story. At least that saved him the angst of having to arrest a poor sod who was in similar straits to himself.
Chapter Twelve
Nigel Blythe, it turned out, had three debt collectors on his staff, including the hospitalized Izzy Barber. Rafferty caught up with one of the other two the next morning just as he was setting out on his collection rounds.
The man’s name was Art Decker; AD to his friends, as he told Rafferty, adding, ‘but you can call me Mr Decker.’
Decker was built on similar lines to Jaws Harrison and Izzy Barber, though he was about ten years younger than either of the other men and sported gelled spiky hair and a gold tooth that dazzled in the watery sunlight.
‘Well, Mr Decker,’ Rafferty began. ‘You’ll have heard about the local muggings of people in your line of work, one of your colleagues being currently in hospital.’
Decker nodded and smiled. The movement made the gold tooth flash blindingly.
Rafferty blinked. ‘I wondered whether you could tell me anything about them.’
The gold tooth retreated into its cave. ‘Like what? I know nothing about any muggings, apart from the fact, as you said, that Izzy Barber’s in hospital.’
‘You’ve heard nothing on the street?’
Decker shook his head. ‘I just do my job and go home. Never been one for gossiping on street corners, me.’
‘You haven’t received any threats of violence yourself? Or issued any?’
‘No to both. I told you – I just do my job. I don’t earn enough to get involved in turf wars on my employer’s behalf. Why should I risk getting my lights knocked out, when I’m on not much more than the minimum wage? Bloody Job Centre took long enough in getting me this crummy job after I was made redundant. If I wanted to fight, I’d go in the ring and get properly paid for it.’
‘So there is a turf war going on?’
‘I just told you, didn’t I?’
Rafferty fixed him with a steely gaze.
Decker straightened up and shook his head. ‘No. None that I know of. It’s just that you seemed to be implying—’
‘You must admit that Malcolm Forbes, one of your boss, Nigel Blythe’s, rivals in the business, has something of a reputation.’
‘So I’ve heard. But I know nothing about that.’
‘What about your other colleague, Brian Webb?’
‘You’ll have to ask him. As I told you, I know nothing about it.’ And as he seemed disinclined to say anything more, Rafferty let him go. His colleague, Brian Webb, when he finally ran him to ground, seemed equally disinclined to say anything useful.
Rafferty felt frustrated. He’d rarely encountered a case where so many people kept their own counsel or simply lied to him, as he complained to Llewellyn when he got back to the station.
‘I suppose you’ve got to consider the various elements in our investigation: the four youths who seem to have some involvement in both the muggings and the murder; the loan sharks and their collectors; the desperate people who owe them money. All will be inclined to say as little as possible. We’re not dealing with a case in a Miss Marple village, but the real world. They
’re all naturally going to be wary of us and our questions.’
‘I suppose so. All I can say is – lucky Miss Marple. Everybody seems to talk freely to her. I wish they’d do the same with me.’
Accompanied by a sporadic drizzle that washed away the weak sunlight and that, although not worth putting up the umbrellas for, still managed to seep down collars and into shoes, Rafferty and Llewellyn returned to Primrose Avenue to see if Jake Sterling or any of his three cohorts were sporting bruises following Izzy Barber’s mugging. He’d said his fists had made a couple of connections with faces. But, for once, the quartet weren’t idling their lives away on the street corner.
‘Hiding away with their injuries, you reckon, Daff?’ Rafferty asked as they parked up and got out of the car. ‘Looking black and blue wouldn’t do their street cred much good.’
‘Why don’t we wait and see? There’s little point in speculating in advance of the facts.’
‘But that’s half the fun of police work. Thinking outside the box — and the book. A bit of good, dirty old speculation would liven up that logical mind of yours. You ought to try it some time.’
Llewellyn’s lips gave a tiny quiver and he said dryly, ‘But that’s what I’ve got you for. Sir.’
‘Oh, ha, ha. Funny man.’
The rain began to fall more heavily as they reached the Sterlings’ front door. April was doing its best to live up to its reputation for showery weather.
As it happened, Jake Sterling was currently carrying some facial injuries; his beaky nose had formed a bloody crust on the tip and the skin around his mouth sported a darkening bruise. Jason, his brother, seemed undamaged. Both appeared subdued, unlike Leslie, their father.
‘Wondered when we’d see you lot again,’ he greeted them after Jason had opened the door and led them along to the living room. ‘See what some yobs have done to my lads? What are you going to do about it?’
‘My, but we have been in the wars. What happened?’ Rafferty asked, going through the motions, though he suspected he already knew how the elder youth had sustained his injuries. The likelihood of the injuries coinciding with the attack on Izzy Barber was too great. Not to mention the coincidence of the Nikes both boys were wearing and the fact that Izzy had said he had been attacked by four youths. Had the attack on Jaws Harrison given them an idea of how to make some easy money? Or had they already been into beating up door-to-door collectors and relieving them of their takings down a convenient alley?
Death Dues Page 14
