Death Dues

by Evans, Geraldine

  But no answers came to that particular question. He shut the diary and put it in his desk drawer with a mental reminder to return it to the Joneses so they could hand it and the rest of Allbright’s belongings over to his parents. He felt sorry for Allbright’s parents when they read it. How would they feel on finding out the extent of their son’s desolation? Harry and Margaret Jones were distraught enough and Peter had only been lodging with them.

  Had Peter Allbright decided on suicide after the murder, a guilty conscience hounding him to his own death? Rafferty, a martyr himself to an accusation-prone conscience, thought it only too likely.

  There had been nothing else in the bedroom beyond clothes and a few books and newspapers with job adverts ringed and a concertina file filled with application letters to local businesses, most of which had clearly not even received an acknowledgement. But then such courtesies were rarely gone through now; if you were unsuitable for a job you didn’t even get a formal rejection letter more often than not. Your application was just ignored. Several of Rafferty’s numerous nephews and nieces were now of an age to enter the jobs’ market. Their indignation at the lack of consideration of today’s employers compared to Rafferty’s youth, was regularly complained about in his hearing, so he was only too aware of the resultant damage to fragile self-esteem.

  The diary had mentioned Harrison’s murder, but only briefly. Its purpose seemed chiefly to be the soul-mate and best friend, roles that had clearly been lacking in Allbright’s all too brief life.

  Vaguely aware that Llewellyn had left him to thrash out possibilities on his own, Rafferty reluctantly acknowledged his growing conviction that Peter Allbright hadn’t been responsible for Harrison’s death. Llewellyn’s, oft-derided, obsession with the psychological angle, had some merit in this case, Rafferty accepted. Would a man so depressed and deflated be likely to find the spirit or energy for murder? His confidences to his diary had shown just how knocked down by life he had been; certainly, with each re-reading of the pages, the main thing that showed through was defeat. There had been no fight left in the man.

  No, Rafferty was convinced that all he had been guilty of was going along with the others when they had decided to lie. And even that had been a half-hearted effort seeing as he hadn’t even opened his mouth but had merely nodded or shook his head in response to each question he and Llewellyn had put to him.

  ‘You know, it’s still possible we’re on the wrong scent and that someone else had reason other than debt to want Harrison dead,’ Rafferty commented when Llewellyn returned with what Rafferty hoped would be restorative tea.

  ‘We’ve no evidence for that,’ Llewellyn objected as he dug amongst Rafferty’s paper-littered desk for his coaster and carefully placed the cup on top. ‘The facts we have point the other way. Few enough could have had the opportunity to kill him without their entry to the alley being spotted.’

  ‘Maybe, but we’ve only the word of Tony Moran for that. Him and young Bazza Lomond. Moran himself admitted he and his pals were larking about and not always in view of the alley. And Bazza, in spite of what he said about keeping an eye out for Jaws in order to warn his mother of his imminent arrival, was probably paying more attention to his computer game than to what was going on outside his window.’

  In spite of Llewellyn objection, it was certainly a possibility that someone other than one of the Primrose Avenue residents had a motive to kill Harrison, especially given the likelihood that his notebook contained evidence for blackmail. Harrison had spent his life throwing his weight about and threatening those in no position to retaliate; maybe he’d met his match, and his murderer, like Malcolm Forbes, had been another whose visit to the Avenue Moran had failed to report to the police, whether from reasons of self-preservation or simply because the alley hadn’t been in his view all the time.

  But if a blackmail victim had been Harrison’s murderer, they were no further forward in finding out. Rafferty admitted that that had been his fault as the brain-box Llewellyn’s limited leisure time had been taken up with designing and printing his wedding invitations. But at least now that job was done. Llewellyn had promised he’d dedicate the few spare evening hours the murder investigation left to him in attempting to de-mystify the coded notebook they’d found in Jaws Harrison’s home.

  Rafferty had had another word with Moran on his way home. Like Eric Lewis, Moran seemed to be nursing a cold and also seemed to be feeling sorry for himself.

  'You did the right thing, you know, Tony. It's as well that you've confessed to the muggings and incriminated the others. It might just save you from landing in deeper trouble in the future.'

  Tony Moran didn't look particularly consoled by this. 'What's going to happen to me?' he plaintively demanded. 'I'm scared to go out in case I see Jake and the others. They'll have it in for me for sure. Will I go to prison?'

  'You might. These were particularly vicious assaults.'

  'But I hardly touched any of them. Only put a kick or two in so Jake wouldn’t call me chicken.'

  'That doesn't matter. That you were there and involved's enough, though the court might go more leniently on you seeing as you confessed. Take whatever punishment you get as a lesson for the future.' Rafferty paused. 'There was something else I wanted to ask you. Did you see Les Sterling at all on the afternoon of the murder?'

  Moran shook his head. 'He'd have been indoors watching the racing. Or up the pub. I didn't see him.'

  'Did you see anyone else? I was thinking particularly of Malcolm Forbes. He himself admitted he saw Harrison that afternoon. He came to the alleyway to collect something from Harrison.'

  'If he did, I didn't see him. He can't have been there long.'

  It wouldn't have taken long to kill Harrison, was Rafferty's thought. But at least now he thought that Tony Moran had told him the whole truth. And while he admitted to seeing no one else enter the alley, neither did he admit to seeing Leslie Sterling or Malcolm Forbes. They seemed to have reached a stalemate.

  Chapter Fourteen

  But it was a stalemate that was broken the next morning at Llewellyn’s triumphant entrance to their shared office.

  ‘I’ve managed to decode John Harrison’s notebook. It didn’t really take very long once I got into it. It was quite a simple code.’

  ‘I suppose it would have to be for Jaws Harrison to concoct it. So what did you find out?’

  ‘That the late Mr Harrison was a blackmailer. And that one of his victims is a suspect in his murder.’

  ‘Really? Sounds too good to be true. Which one?’

  ‘One of my preferred suspects. Harry Jones.’

  ‘And what had he done to make him interesting to a blackmailer? Did Harrison’s notes reveal that as well?’

  ‘Oh yes. According to Harrison, Mr Jones had been seeing a widow, a Mrs Singleton on a regular basis. The notebook even supplies the lady’s address.’

  ‘Interesting. I wondered how he expended his excess energy given that his wife looks like she’d struggle to find the enthusiasm for supplying marital conjugals.’ Jones had admitted he and his wife were having trouble paying off the loan, so if he was being blackmailed on top of that it could easily be enough to persuade him to violence.

  ‘What do you want to do? Shall I arrange to have him brought in?’

  ‘No. Not just yet anyway. I thought I’d try to catch him on his own. He’s got enough troubles without me dropping him in it with his wife. Maybe you can give him a bell later and ask him to pop into the station?’

  Llewellyn nodded.

  ‘I think, in the meantime, we could at least have a word with his lady love. Find out how long it has been going on and when Harrison found out about it.’

  Mrs Singleton lived in a pretty pastel house in the expensive Dutch Quarter of the town with a view over the River Tiffey. It looked like there was no shortage of money here. Had that been part of the attraction for the cash-strapped Harry Jones? Madeleine Singleton was tall and slim like Margaret Jones and around
the same age, but any similarity ended there. She was vivacious and quick in her movements unlike the lethargic Mrs Jones and kept her attractive house looking spruce.

  The Jones’s house, although clean, had shown a distinct lack of homemaking skills, but here, every wall was adorned with paintings, the shelves held books on a variety of subjects and when they called, Mrs Singleton was industriously making a set of blinds on an electric sewing machine. She seemed to have as much energy to spare as Harry Jones. No wonder they’d found mutual satisfaction in expending that energy together.

  She didn’t try to deny the liaison or act coy when they questioned her about her relationship with Jones.

  ‘We were both lonely, Inspector. We met in the local supermarket – Harry always does the shopping – and we just clicked over the cabbages. Rather prosaic, I know. His wife doesn’t know about us and I’d rather, for Harry’s sake, that she didn’t find out.’

  Rafferty nodded and assured her she wouldn’t find out from them. ‘How long have you and Mr Jones been seeing each other?’

  ‘Six months. It was just after their daughter moved out. I don’t think he’d have attempted an affair while his daughter was still at home. Females have a way of sniffing these things out.’

  ‘His wife hasn’t.’

  ‘No. But then she’s apparently not a very inquisitive woman. She’s one of those types who are happy just keeping the house clean and who have no interest in anything else.’

  Rafferty thought the judgement a little harsh as Margaret Jones had seemed deeply enough affected by her lodger’s sudden death. ‘His wife mightn’t have found out about your affair,’ Rafferty told her, ‘but someone did. Did Mr Jones mention to you that he was being blackmailed over it?’

  ‘Blackmailed? No. It’s the first I’ve heard of it. Do you know who?’

  Rafferty nodded. ‘I wondered how long the blackmail had been going on.’

  ‘I’ve no idea. As I said, it’s the first I’ve heard of it. Harry never said anything.’ Understandably, she seemed upset about that.

  Rafferty had at first believed he should tackle Jones immediately, thinking the shock of his discovery might loosen the man’s tongue. But he’d decided against that, merely because if he called him into the station in order to avoid dropping him in it with his wife he would have been on his guard anyway and watchful of what he said. ‘I’d like you to speak to him,’ Rafferty said now. ‘See if you can get him to tell you anything. Will you do that?’

  ‘I’ll try.’ A fleeting flash of insight crossed her face and she said, ‘It was the dead man who was blackmailing him, wasn’t it? The one who was murdered down his street?’

  Rafferty neither confirmed nor denied it. He and Llewellyn left shortly after, leaving Mrs Singleton looking very thoughtful indeed.

  ‘Do you think she knew Harry Jones was being blackmailed in spite of her denial?’

  Rafferty shook his head. ‘Doubt it. Though I reckon now she knows it won’t take her long to get the truth out of him. Who else can he turn to? And with Harrison dead he might be glad to get it off his chest.’

  ‘Not if he realises how much more it points the finger of suspicion at him.’

  Rafferty nodded sadly. ‘There’s always that,’ he agreed.

  Rafferty was called away when they returned to the station and was secluded in a meeting for much of the rest of the afternoon. Llewellyn was waiting for him when he returned to his office with the news that Harry Jones’s lady love, Mrs Singleton had rung up while he’d been otherwise engaged.

  ‘And did she get Harry to spill the blackmailing beans?’

  ‘Unfortunately not. She said he clammed up as soon as she mentioned our visit and refused to be drawn. She said he tried to laugh off the possibility that he was being blackmailed over their affair, though, according to Mrs Singleton, he didn’t manage it very successfully.’

  ‘Maybe it’s time we had a word with him ourselves. Did you contact him as I asked?’

  ‘Yes. He’s coming in later this afternoon.’

  ‘Has the team dug up anyone else on Forbes’s long list of debtors who has relatives on Primrose Avenue?’

  ‘Not yet. But of course the names of any debtor relatives aren’t always the same as those of the residents, which doesn’t make the job any easier especially if the debtors fail to inform us of any family connection.’

  ‘Keep them at it as we seem to be going nowhere very fast on this one.’ If he didn’t find the culprit soon he’d be forced to take up Llewellyn’s suggestion of looking at the psychological angle more deeply. But he couldn’t see that taking them further forward. After all, Llewellyn’s favourite suspects had been Leslie Sterling, Harry Jones and Peter Allbright. And they already knew that Sterling appeared a selfish scrounger who’d slit his granny’s throat for a betting stake. And as for Harry Jones – the man had shown himself capable of deception in carrying on with the widow Singleton for six months. Who was to say of what else he might be capable? And Allbright was a defeated suicide with no energy for life, never mind murder. Such conclusions hadn’t required any great psychological insight. But unless Jones cracked when they interviewed him they would be no further forward apart from having a second motive for the man to go alongside the original one.

  As soon as Harry Jones was shown into Interview Room One, before he had even taken a seat, Rafferty threw down Jaws Harrison’s notebook, open on the page that referred to Jones’s affair with Mrs Singleton then threw Llewellyn’s decoding of its contents down after it and said, ‘You didn’t mention the dead man was blackmailing you.’

  Harry Jones was remarkably calm. But then he’d had time to get used to the idea that they knew of his predicament, as, presumably, Mrs Singleton had told him from where she’d obtained the information. He sat down and looked Rafferty in the eye before he replied. ‘I was being blackmailed, yes. But how was I to know it was Jaws Harrison doing the blackmailing? I didn’t. I never even got to speak to him. He mailed me the evidence he had of dates and times I spent with Madeleine. He even sent incriminating photos of us kissing on her doorstep. And I sent him the money he demanded via a post office box. It could have been anyone I knew. I had no more reason to kill him than any of the others had.’

  ‘And why should I believe you? You’ve done nothing but lie to me throughout this investigation.’

  ‘I’m not the only one who’s lied to you.’

  ‘No, but you’re the only one who had an additional reason beyond your debt to Malcolm Forbes, to want Harrison dead.’

  ‘I told you I didn’t know it was him who was the blackmailer.’

  ‘So you say. So how long had he been putting the screws on you?’

  ‘A couple of weeks.’

  And within less than a fortnight Harrison had been murdered. It was pretty damning whatever Jones might say about not knowing or guessing the identity of the blackmailer. ‘How much did you pay him?’

  ‘Five hundred pounds.’ He pulled a face. ‘I got another loan out.’

  ‘So you’re deeper in the mire than ever, then?’

  ‘What choice did I have?’ Jones burst out. ‘I can’t get a job. I’m already up to my ears in debt that I’m having difficulty in repaying. What difference does a bit more make? I’m in Queer Street anyway and at the end of my tether. Seeing Madeleine Singleton is the only aspect of my life that gives me some joy to compensate for the rest.’ He hesitated and then said, ‘You’re—you’re not going to tell my wife about our affair?’

  Rafferty thought it would serve him right after his lies if he did so. But as Jones had said, he was clearly unable to take much more strain. He didn’t want another Peter Allbright on his conscience. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I won’t tell your wife. But if there’s anything else you’ve been concealing from me, I want to know now. Is there anything?’

  Harry Jones shook his head. ‘There’s nothing else. I’ve told you everything. Can I go now?’

  ‘Yes.’ Rafferty nodded to Llewellyn who was
sitting at his own desk in the corner taking notes. ‘Perhaps you’ll escort Mr Jones from the premises.’

  When Llewellyn and Harry Jones had gone, Rafferty stared down at Harrison’s incriminating notebook and the sheets containing Llewellyn’s cracking of his code, but he didn’t see the words written on it. All he could see was a case that was still going nowhere. Even if Jones had killed Harrison they had no evidence to prove it.

  Rafferty's phone rang then and he snatched it up, ever hopeful of some new piece of evidence come to life. But it was only his Ma.

  'What do you want, Ma? I'm busy.'

  'Sure and you're always busy, according to you. But not too busy to speak to your Mammy. Besides, I've a piece of news I thought might interest you.'

  'News? What news?'

  'Sure and it can wait a minute while you ask how I am and how the rest of the family are. What's happened to your manners, son? I didn't teach you to speak to people like that.'

  'Sorry Ma. How are you?'

  'My veins are playing up a bit. My legs are throbbing.'

  'Put your feet up then and take it easy.'

  'That's what I'm doing. Though it's annoying me. You know how I hate to be idle. I was going to take down the living room curtains and give them and the windows a good wash.'

  'Don't you go climbing on chairs, Ma. I'll take them down next time I come round. Surely there's no rush?'

  'I like to keep a clean house. Not like some.'

  Him, he supposed. He judged it safe now to return to the news she had spoken of. 'You said you had something for me, Ma. What was it?'

  'A little bit of gossip from the neighbourhood I thought would interest you. Mrs Parker of Primrose Avenue told me.'

  Told you what? he felt like demanding. But he kept his cool. Ma liked to string her stories out fox maximum impact.

  'You'll never guess.'

  'You’re right there, Ma, so why don't you just tell me?'