Death Dues

by Evans, Geraldine

  Rafferty hefted the brochure. 'Thanks Nigel. I'll get back to you once we've had a look through this.'

  'You do that. I shall want a ten per cent deposit, of course. Cash will be fine.'

  I'll bet, thought Rafferty. What was Nigel up to? Was he letting his clients' property on the side and pocketing the money? He wouldn't put it past him. And who would be any the wiser, as long as the clients didn't turn up at their holiday home out of the blue and find, like Father Bear in the nursery rhyme, that someone had been sleeping in his bed?

  Rafferty, not wanting to have his and Abra's honeymoon ruined by owners turning up unexpectedly, said, 'I hope this is kosher, Nigel. Abra would never forgive me if we're turfed out of our honeymoon villa in the middle of the night by the arrival of irate owners.'

  'You worry too much. It'll never happen. Trust me.'

  It was clear Nigel wasn't worried. But then it wouldn't be his honeymoon that was ruined. He probably already had his excuses ready in case the owner found out. An oversight. A misfiled booking. A genuine error of some sort. Nigel would wriggle out of it somehow and if the worse happened he'd lose a client, whereas Rafferty would lose a good start to his married life and give Abra a stick to beat him with forever. But, he reasoned, if Nigel could take a chance so could he. A ten per cent reduction on the price wasn't to be sneezed at. And at least it would be one more thing on his list organised.

  Abra had the holiday brochures out and spread all over the coffee table and settee when Rafferty arrived home. She was surrounded by them, each cover destination looked more exotic and costly than the previous one.

  'You can put those away, sweetheart,' Rafferty told her as he flung his coat over the back of the settee and flourished Nigel's brochure. 'Your hero has saved the day. I got us a good deal on a villa in the south of France.'

  'The south of France? But I fancied somewhere more far-flung for our honeymoon.'

  'There's nothing wrong with the south of France. And do you really want to spend the best part of a day either way scrunched up in an airplane seat when we might be enjoying our own pool and celebratory bubbly?'

  'Well, when you put it like that…'

  'You know it makes sense,' Rafferty, willing to take a lead from his more successful cousin’s modus operandi, pushed his advantage as if the decision was a fait accompli already. 'We'll have a look through this brochure after dinner and choose somewhere nice.'

  Abra glanced at the cover of the brochure and pursed her lips when she saw the name ‘Blythe’s Villa’s’ emblazoned on the front with Nigel’s usual in-your-face braggadocio. Rafferty, impressed by his own suddenly flourishing linguistic skills, wished Llewellyn could somehow witness them. The Welshman thought Rafferty’s use of the English language sadly lacking. 'Don't tell me that's Nigel's firm?'

  'The very same. That's why I got a good deal. It's all kosher,' he quickly assured her crossing his fingers for luck. 'And there are some lovely places in here. And won't it be good to get our honeymoon sorted?'

  Abra still looked doubtful. 'Nigel though. You know what a double-dealing, underhand so-and-so he can be. Are you sure he won't cheat you?'

  'He'd better not. I'm a policeman, remember? No, even Nigel knows better than to cheat the law. He might be a ducker and diver, but he's not daft.'

  'I'll get dinner dished up. 'Abra crawled from under the pile of brochures, tidied them into a neat heap and went into the kitchen.

  After dinner, they settled down together on the settee and went through Nigel's brochure.

  'There are some lovely places in here,' Abra commented. 'Look at that one. It's got a huge swimming pool, a barbeque pit and a spa. That'll do for me. It's a short distance from the nearest town, too, so we could walk in of an evening for dinner.'

  Rafferty was more than happy to fall in with Abra's choice. They talked cheerfully about their wedding for the rest of the evening And when Rafferty, pushing his luck even more, suggested they have an early night, 'To get in practise for the honeymoon,' as he jokingly told her, Abra raced off, shouting over her shoulder that if he could catch her, he could have his wicked way with her. Rafferty grinned and set off in pursuit.

  The next morning, Rafferty woke with the gnawing conviction that there was something he’d missed on the investigation, some vital pointer to guilt. In vain, he searched his memory, but all his prodding produced nothing. He flung the bedclothes back and got up. He prowled restlessly around the bedroom, muttering under his breath until his pacing disturbed Abra.

  ‘What’s the matter with you, Joe?’ she mumbled, still half-asleep. ‘Got ants in your pants?’

  ‘In my brain, rather. Immediately I woke up, my mind started agitating that I’ve made a hash of something on this murder case.’

  ‘No change there, then.’

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, my little turtle dove.’

  ‘Quit agitating and come back to bed. I thought we could practise honeymoons again.’

  Rafferty immediately stopped in his tracks, grinned and dived into the bed, pinning Abra down and kissing her soundly.

  She struggled out from under. ‘Let a girl have some air. God, Mr Rafferty, but you don’t need any practise. What say you fetch your bride-to-be a nice cup of tea instead?’

  ‘On your bike, Abracadabra. We’re going for a ride.’

  Abra squealed. Tea presumably forgotten, she flung her arms around him and wrestled with him until she sat, on top, crowing. ‘Get out of that,’ she said.

  ‘Not bloody likely. I love it when you’re masterful. Ooh, Abra,’ he cried, mock-falsetto. ‘Do that again. I like it.’

  ‘Idiot.’

  Late for work, Rafferty was relieved to see that Superintendent Bradley’s car parking space was empty. Perhaps the super had got lucky this morning, as well? He shuddered at the thought and the pictures his fertile imagination conjured up. Definitely not suitable for a man who had breakfasted on nothing but love.

  The mug of tea Llewellyn fetched first thing every morning was cold with a disgusting skin on it. Rafferty flung a pound coin over to the desk in the corner with the plea, ‘Be a good minion, Daff and fetch me a fresh cup, there’s a good lad. Abra and I’ve been practising honeymoons this morning and I’m parched.’

  Apparently, the thought of his love life had a similar effect on Llewellyn as Superintendent Bradley’s had on Rafferty, for the Welshman shuddered. ‘Too much information.’

  ‘Get the tea then or I’ll fill you in on all the gory details.’

  ‘And ‘ll fill Abra in on the filling-in.’

  ‘You wouldn’t!’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t. One of us ought to be a gentleman. And it’s not likely to be you. I’ll get that tea.’

  Left alone, Rafferty ruminated on his earlier thoughts about the murder case. Was it something someone had said during the course of the interviews that was niggling him? He didn’t know. And the more he tried to pummel his brain into submission, the more it resisted.

  When Llewellyn returned with the tea, they went through all the statements and discussed every personality right from the beginning of the case. But nothing struck either of them.

  It was only when they’d got to the end of this mammoth task that Rafferty began to get another idea. It was the merest glimmer of one and might come to nothing, but he thought he knew just the person most likely to have information to help the glimmer grow: Mrs Emily Parker, the woman who was forever in and out of the houses of her neighbours and, like Ma, knew more about each of them than they knew themselves. If anyone could tell him what he wanted to know, she could.

  ‘Turned up out of the blue she did one day. As I said, I’d never seen her before so it made me curious. Anyway, next time she came calling I was in my garden and made sure to catch her when she came out. I invited her in on some pretext or other and she was happy enough to agree. It didn’t take long to get her story out of her.’ Emily Parker sat back with a satisfied smile. ‘I’m a good listener. Anyone will tell you.’
>
  Rafferty didn’t doubt it. He’d been hoping and praying that her ferreting skills were an equal to her listening ones. And so they’d proved to be. He thanked her for her time and the information she had so willingly provided and headed for the car. What she had told him jelled with one or two of his own ideas. All he had to do now was check them out. In pursuit of this, he climbed in the car and headed across town.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Hail the conquering hero!’ Rafferty crowed as he entered his office. ‘I know who killed Jaws Harrison,’ he announced triumphantly. ‘I even know why and what was used for the killing. It wasn’t a hammer as Sam Dally thought. It was a metal tipped walking stick.’

  ‘You mean Jim Jenkins? He’s the only one to my knowledge who uses one.’

  Rafferty nodded.

  ‘So why did he do it? He’s not one of the debtors. What possible motive could he have?’

  ‘You remember the first time we called round to his house and his granddaughter was there?’

  ‘Yes. A pleasant young woman. Mr Jenkins seemed very fond of her.’

  ‘He is. Very fond. But I only found out how much when I decided to pay another visit to Emily Parker, the proverbial nosy neighbour, to see what she could tell me about the girl. She’d seen Kim, that’s the granddaughter, visiting him and was naturally curious because there had never been any sign of the girl until two years ago and Mrs Parker’s lived beside Jim Jenkins for years. She tried to get the information out of Jenkins without success, him being the taciturn sort, so, unbeknownst to Jenkins, she waylaid the girl one day when she’d been visiting, plied her with tea and crumpets and found out the relationship. Young Kim’s apparently a bit artless and was clearly putty to an experienced information gatherer like Emily Parker. Anyway, I got her address from Mrs Parker and went round to see the girl. She admitted to me that she was in debt to Malcolm Forbes.’

  ‘But she wasn’t on the list that Forbes gave us. There was no Kim on it.’

  ‘There wouldn’t be. It was her grandfather’s pet name for her. He was fond of Kipling’s Jungle Book and called her Kim from that. She was adopted as a baby – her real name’s Alicia West.’

  ‘West. The list of debtors is alphabetical. We hadn’t got as far as the Ws.’

  ‘She checked out her parentage when she reached the age of eighteen and got to know her grandfather soon after. I think he was bitterly ashamed that he’d made his daughter give the baby up for adoption – she stayed with an aunt in Liverpool for six months which is how Mrs Parker didn’t know of the pregnancy. Young Kim or Alicia, whatever you want to call her, said her grandfather had admitted as much. He was sorry about all the years when they hadn’t known one another. It made him even more protective than he might otherwise have been. So when Jaws started threatening her for non-payment and her grandfather got it out of her, he decided to kill the man who had frightened her. I gather that Jaws, apart from the threats, had also more than intimated that she could pay him in kindness.

  ‘I checked with the Royal Marines, which was the lot Mr Jenkins was with in the war and Jim Jenkins had been a commando. Well used to creating death by stealth even if he’s crippled with arthritis now. I doubt if Jaws Harrison even heard him come up behind him.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Mr Jenkins?’

  Rafferty shook his head. ‘I couldn’t. He’s been admitted to hospital and not expected to live. He’s got advanced prostate cancer with secondaries. But he left me a letter which he dictated to one of the nurses in which he confessed to what he’d done and why he did it.’

  ‘Killing Harrison wouldn’t have helped his granddaughter for much more than a week or two.’

  ‘No. He realised that. But he thought the man deserved to die. And so he killed him. He has some savings which he’s already given to Kim with the proviso that she pay Forbes off. And her and her natural mother will share the money from the sale of the house between them so she should never get into debt with someone like Forbes again.’

  ‘Why couldn’t he just give her the money to pay off Forbes in the first place rather than kill Harrison?’

  ‘As I said, Jaws had made a play for the girl, suggesting she could pay him in kindness next time she didn’t have the money. Jim Jenkins thought redemption was in order. I suppose with his old army training killing was the regular habit for doing away with enemies. That’s why he targeted Harrison rather than Forbes himself. Who can blame him? It’s not as if Jaws Harrison is any great loss to the world.’

  Rafferty made for the door. ‘I’m off to see the super to do a bit more crowing.’

  ‘Hoping for another pat on the head?’

  ‘Certainly am. And why not? Case over.’

  Epilogue

  The murder was solved, as were the muggings. And now, apart from the wedding flowers which was back in his bailiwick again, there only remained one job for Rafferty to do – sort out his best man for the wedding.

  He’d finally decided on Llewellyn. He was certain he’d do a much better job than either of his brothers or any of his friends.

  ‘Ah, Daff,’ he said when Llewellyn came back from fetching the morning tea. ‘There’s something I want to ask you. I’ve been putting it off because I’ve had so many other things on my mind, but I was always going to ask you.’

  ‘Ask me what?’

  ‘Will you be my best man?’

  Llewellyn smiled. ‘I thought you’d never ask. Of course I will. I’ll be delighted.’ His smile deflated. ‘Only you might change your mind when you hear my confession.’

  ‘Confession? Not another one.’

  ‘Not to murder. Just to telling Maureen one or two things I perhaps shouldn’t have done.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like that I did the invitations for your wedding. And that Nigel Blythe’s house photographer is booked to take the photos.’

  Rafferty beamed. ‘No harm done. I’m sure Mo can keep a still tongue in her—’ He broke off, dismayed. ‘I see. That’s it, isn’t it? She couldn’t keep a still tongue. Don’t tell me she’s told Abra?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. I’ve just had Maureen on the phone. She thought she ought to warn me. And you.’

  ‘How did Abra take it?’

  ‘Like she was on the warpath and with the tomahawk aimed at your head.’

  Rafferty slumped in his chair and slurped some of his consoling tea. ‘I suppose that means the wedding’s off.’

  ‘It certainly will be if she catches you. Maybe you ought to stay with us for a night or two until she calms down.’

  Rafferty, recalling how caught up in the roar of the wedding Abra had been lately, said, ‘A week or two might be better.’

  The phone rang just then. The caller display told him it was Abra. He let it ring, picked up his jacket and said to Llewellyn, ‘That’s Abra. You’d better answer it. I’m off. You can tell her I’ve gone to Paris to check out haute couture wedding dresses.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. Of course I’m not. But it’s the only thing likely to sweeten her current disposition. Give it plenty of Welsh welly.’

  Llewellyn gave a long-suffering sigh and reached out an arm. ‘I don’t recall this sort of thing being mentioned on the job description.’

  ’But it did say “Expect the unexpected”, didn’t it? I think you’ll find that’s probably me.’

  SYNOPSIS OF DEATH DUES

  A Rafferty & Llewellyn cozy procedural #11

  With his wife-to-be’s wedding budget spiralling out of control and his superintendent demanding the swift resolution to the series of muggings of local loan sharks, DI Joe Rafferty is anticipating a long and trying week. And sure, enough, he isn’t disappointed.

  When one John ‘Jaws’ Harrison is found with his skull caved in, in an alleyway backing on to rundown Primrose Avenue while on his way to collect debt repayments from the residents, Rafferty and his intellectual partner, Sergeant Dafyd Llewellyn, imagine the case will be easily solved. Ar
med with a list of local debtors, they begin their investigations. But they hadn’t counted on the conspiracy of silence amongst the residents — most of whom had good reason to want Jaws dead.

  With the Super breathing down his neck and fiancée Abra sending his blood pressure to boiling point, Rafferty is forced to make some unorthodox decisions and stretch his intuitive powers to breaking point.

  CONNECT WITH THE AUTHOR

  Geraldine Evans is the author of twenty published novels, including fifteen in the Rafferty and Llewellyn procedural series, two in the Casey & Catt procedural series, one historical novel (Reluctant Queen), one medical suspense (The Egg Factory) as well as a romance (Land of Dreams), a collection of short stories (A Mix of Six) and a short guide to epublishing with Amazon’s Kindle (How To eFormat Your Novel For Amazon’s Kindle: A Short But Comprehensive A-Z Guide).

  Her previous publishers include Macmillan, Severn House, Hale, St Martin’s Press and Worldwide (US).

  She started writing in her twenties, but it wasn’t till she hit the milestone age of thirty that she actually finished a novel. For the next six years she completed a romantic novel a year, only the last of which was published (Land of Dreams (out of print in any format). When her follow-up romance was rejected, she felt like murdering someone. So she did. She turned to crime. Dead Before Morning, her first mystery novel and the first book in her now 15-strong Rafferty and Llewellyn procedural series, was taken from Macmillan’s slush pile and published, both in the UK and the US by St Martin’s Press. It was the beginning of what has been a long and — ultimately — successful career as a mystery author.