Nigel was the family pariah, even more so than Rafferty as a copper was, probably because, as an estate agent, he was a bent one. Rafferty's family – some of them anyway – would have preferred him to be a bent copper, though as a straight police officer, he earned a grudging respect.
Doubtless it was the prospect of easy money and high interest rates that had attracted Nigel to the loan sharking business. Always, even as a lad, he'd had an eye for the main chance and would somehow manage to cheat the other school kids out of their dinner money. He and Rafferty had never been particularly close. It was more a toleration than anything else, a toleration that had increased with the years when both, in their different ways, had broken out from the family's usual pursuits of working in the building trade, Rafferty as a policeman and Nigel as an estate agent. Then their paths had also crossed at family weddings, christenings and funerals and in several of Rafferty’s investigations over the years. They both had secrets about the other which sometimes gave a little leeway one way or the other.
‘So what did Nigel have to say for himself? You have seen him, I take it?’
‘No. I thought I’d save that particular treat for you, though I did telephone him.’
‘Did he give you the name of his collector who called on Tracey Stubbs?’
‘He did indeed. The collector was none other than Mr Blythe himself. It seems his regular collector isn’t as regular or dependable as Mr Blythe would like, so he was forced to do that day’s rounds himself.’
Probably couldn’t bring himself to trust someone else when it came to collecting his money, thought Rafferty. Nigel thought everyone was as bent as he was. This was a turn up and no mistake. ‘And did our Nigel have anything helpful to say?’
‘The conversation went much as I expected. Mr Blythe claims he saw nothing untoward, though he did admit to seeing John “Jaws” Harrison enter the alley. He’d apparently been keeping him in view so he didn’t bump into him. I gather there had been a little unpleasantness between Mr Forbes’s collector and the one Mr Blythe used. A certain intimidation over whose ‘turf’ it was, I gather.’
Nigel was taking a risk trying to muscle in on Forbes The Enforcer’s patch. It wasn’t like Nigel to put his handsome face and even handsomer suits at risk from fisticuffs or worse. Nigel was more likely to put a million miles and a thousand smarms between himself and such dangers. So had the lure of filthy lucre changed his mind? It was the only thing likely to, in Rafferty’s judgement.
‘You’re right,’ he told Llewellyn. ‘I need to speak to Mr Blythe myself.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘It’s too late to catch him now. He’ll probably be out on the town with one of his lady friends. ‘I’ll have to try tomorrow. Maybe he’ll tell me more than he told you.’
‘Do you really think so?’
Rafferty didn’t. Knowing Nigel, or Jerry Kelly as was, the name with which he had been bestowed at birth and which he had discarded along with his lowly roots, he would be more likely to tell him even less than he’d confided to Llewellyn. Still, it would be worth it to get a feel for his cousin’s latest entrepreneurial enterprise. He wondered who Nigel used as his regular collector down Primrose Avenue. He also wondered how long his latest business venture had been going. It couldn’t have been long otherwise he would surely have heard of it. ‘Good work, Daff,’ he said. ‘Isn’t it amazing what worms come out of the ground when you do a bit of digging?’
Llewellyn, who knew this particular worm quite well, gave a nod.
‘Let’s speak to Mr Jenkins at number eleven next,’ Rafferty said. ‘We’ve just got time to fit him in.’
A young blonde woman in her early twenties answered when they knocked on Jim Jenkins’s door to follow up the house-to-house interviews. Mr Jenkins made brief introductions.
‘This is my granddaughter, Kim.’
Kim smiled, kissed her grandfather and said, ‘I’ll leave you to it, Pops. And thanks again.’
‘Get along with you girl. What are granddads for?’ In spite of his disclaimer, he looked pleased, the crepey skin around his blue eyes crinkled even more as he patted her hand affectionately.
As she passed Rafferty, she said in a low murmur, ‘Go easy on him, Inspector. He’s neither a young nor a well man.’
Rafferty could see that Jim Jenkins moved with difficulty around his living room, hanging on to the table and a chair back as he settled himself into a clean but neatly patched up armchair after insisting on seeing his granddaughter out. Invited to sit down, Rafferty did so. Llewellyn perched beside him.
‘I understand, Sir, that you aren’t numbered amongst those who took out a loan with Malcolm Forbes’s company?’
‘Certainly not. I don’t believe in taking out loans. “Neither a borrower nor a lender be”, was what my old mum taught me and it’s held me in good stead throughout my life.’
Although looking well over ninety and far from sprightly, Jim Jenkins’s voice was strong and held the timbre of command. Rafferty guessed from the few pictures of old soldiers hanging on the walls that Jim Jenkins was a World War Two veteran. He could just glimpse what must be a chestful of medals through the partly open drawer of the old Welsh dresser. Rafferty nodded at the photos and asked, ‘Which regiment were you in, Sir?’
‘Royal Marines, young man. But I rarely talk about my war experiences. It was all a very long time ago. Now, tell me how I can help you.’
Rafferty nodded. ‘I know you told the house-to-house team that you saw nothing on the day Mr Harrison was murdered, but I wondered if you might have heard anything that you’ve since remembered. A cry or a scuffle. Anything, no matter how trivial you might think it.’
‘My faculties aren’t what they were, Inspector. I heard nothing out of the ordinary. Friday was just another day to be got through to me until the policeman knocked on my back door. I’m not one of those forever peering through the curtains to see what the neighbours are up to. I keep myself to myself. The neighbourhood isn’t what it was when my late wife and I bought this house.’
He didn’t add: ‘neither are the neighbours’, but he might as well have done.
‘I gather you lent one of the neighbours, a Mr Eric Lewis, your hedge-trimmer?’
‘That’s correct. He kept it for weeks. Most annoying as I had my own hedges to trim. I thought I’d have to ask him for it back. I was going to, but with all the rumpus this man Harrison’s death has caused, it went out of my mind. I like to keep a tidy garden, you see.’
Rafferty did see. In spite of his age and poor mobility, Jim Jenkins’s garden was the best-kept in the street and was a symbol of the neighbourhood’s previous standards whilst most of the other gardens were weed-strewn evidence of its decline.
‘One of my officers picked up your hedge trimmer from the alley where Eric Lewis dropped it when he stumbled over the body. It’s currently undergoing forensic tests. I’ll make sure it’s returned to you as soon as they're completed.’
Mr Jenkins thanked him.
‘Did you know the dead man?’ Llewellyn asked.
‘Not to speak to. He didn’t strike me as the type willing to pass the time of day, especially not with an old man like me. I nodded to him when I saw him, whether or not he displayed a similar courtesy. But I knew of him. My next-door-neighbour, Mrs Parker told me she took out a loan with the dead man’s firm. I think she’s lived to regret it. I’ve several times seen him knock on her door. She didn’t even trouble to keep her borrowing secret as one would in my day. She told me all about it. She’s always catching me over the garden fence to share the latest gossip. It’s getting so I’m reluctant to go out there. She’s a very difficult woman to get away from unless one is rude. So I knew what he did. I just didn’t make use of his services.’
Poor Jim Jenkins, thought Rafferty. What a come down for an old soldier. Caught between a determined gossip for a neighbour on one side and a horde of unruly kids on the other. Between the two he couldn’t get a lot of peace. No wonder he tried to keep himself to him
self. With limited success, it seemed, if Mrs Emily Parker had anything to do with it.
It was clear Jim Jenkins couldn’t help them further. Rafferty got up and bade the old man goodbye as he handed him his card. ‘If you remember anything, anything at all, perhaps you’d give me a call.’
‘Certainly. But I’d prefer to speak to you face to face if I remember anything. I don’t like telephones. I find them a trial since my hearing started to fail.’ He went to heave himself out of his chair with the aid of a stick, but Rafferty forestalled him.
‘Please don’t trouble. We can see ourselves out.’
‘It’s no trouble. As well as not being a borrower, my mother also instilled good manners into me. I’m still able to follow the basic courtesies.’ By now, he had prised himself out of his chair and stood on uncertain legs like a new-born foal, precariously balanced by the use of a stick. ‘The day I can’t manage the civilities is the day they carry me out of here in my box.’
As they made for the car, Llewellyn returned to an earlier topic of conversation. ‘Do you really think you’ll learn anything from Mr Blythe?’
‘Probably not. He’s already putting his health on the line by setting up in competition with Forbes. He’s unlikely to be able to hide behind a post office box number for very long.’ They climbed in the car and buckled up. ‘I know our Nigel likes the old folding stuff and lots of it, but I wouldn’t believe him likely to think a bit more of it worth a good kicking. Especially with him having such a pretty face. Still, you never know. If he saw Forbes’ or some other loan shark’s thuggish minions besides Harrison while he was in Primrose Avenue, he might think it worth his while to let us know on the quiet, in the hope that we’ll remove one of his competitors.’
Nigel grassing to his police inspector cousin sounded an unlikely event once voiced. But as he turned the car towards the station Rafferty tried to keep optimistic; maybe Nigel had turned over a new leaf and would be co operative? He could but hope.
Chapter Seven
Jaws Harrison had been quite the enterprising fellow if blackmail had been his game. His entrepreneurial skills made Rafferty see he’d been sluggish in ordering his own life to his advantage. But it wasn’t too late to change that. After all, cousin Nigel wasn’t the only member of the family able to branch out. Wedding Organiser had a certain ring to it. How difficult could it be? Maybe one day, with his own wedding organisation under his belt, and if he got really fed up with the job, he could take it up full time. He was full of his idea when he got home to Abra that evening and broached it to her.
‘Abra. About the wedding.’
Immediately, a defensive look crossed her face. ‘What about it?’ she asked sharply.
She sounded defensive, too, Rafferty knew that Llewellyn’s wife, Maureen, had had a word with Abra about unnecessary extravagance, but from her tone, the word had been to no avail.
‘I just wanted to see if we could compromise on some areas, that’s all,’ Rafferty began before Abra interrupted him.
‘Like what? Do you want us to provide a wedding breakfast of cod and chips, perhaps? Join the lunchtime queue at the chippie and hand out paper-wrapped portions to our guests?’
Why not? Rafferty thought. It’s got to be better than an over-priced, pretentiously-named chicken salad. Taste better, too.
‘Or do you want me dressed in sackcloth with ashes decorating my hair?’
‘You’re being ridiculous.' They'd already been through this conversation once and Rafferty had no desire to do so again. 'There’s no reason to be so aggressive. It’s my day, too, remember.’
‘I do remember. It’s just that you don’t seem very interested in anything to do with our wedding apart from keeping the costs to the bare minimum.’
‘That’s not true. But someone has to keep an eye on the money aspect. And you seem determined to make this the wedding of the decade. I saw you looking through brochures for wedding cars when I came in. So what are you thinking of booking? A vintage Rolls Royce? Or maybe you fancy a four-horse carriage?’ Rafferty was aware that he was beginning to sound as aggressive as Abra. He took a deep breath and said, ‘Look, sweetheart, I think doing everything is getting a bit on top of you. Why don’t you leave me to organise some of the wedding arrangements?’
‘Leave them to you? But you’ve got a murder to solve. As you keep telling me.’
‘Oh. That old thing. I’ve nearly got it sorted already.’ Rafferty rushed on before Abra thought to question this statement. ‘I meet all sorts of people in my job and have some useful contacts.’
‘Yes,’ Abra replied caustically. ‘Thieves and murderers mostly.’
‘Not all of them. You’d be surprised. I’ve even mixed with some titled people in my time.’
‘What do you want me to do? Curtsey? Don’t tell me you’re going to invite some Sir Big Wig to our wedding?’
‘No. The bigwigs I was thinking of have moved away. And I don’t know where they are.’ Well, that was true, anyway. Though Hell seemed the likeliest destination.
‘You’re not going to be inviting any of the brass from the job? I remember Superintendent Bradley was supposed to be going to Dafyd’s wedding, but he never showed.’
‘God, no. And that was Maureen’s mother getting delusions of grandeur. Not something Ma’s likely to suffer from. How about your mother? Fancy mingling with the brass, does she?’
‘She doesn’t know any of them.’
Neither did Ma and he was happy to keep it that way. God knew what knocked off piece of finery she might turn up in to their wedding. ‘No. Definitely no brass,’ Rafferty said firmly. ‘I know you said you’d had no luck in getting a firm booking from your favoured photographer, but we need to get it sorted. I know a great photographer. Regularly photographs the force big wigs.’
‘I don’t want a military looking wedding, Joe, with all brass and blanko.’
‘And you won’t get one, my sweet. He’s versatile, my man.’
‘Your man?’
‘Yes. He owes me a few favours.’ He didn’t, but it sounded good. Anything had to be better – and cheaper – than Abra’s choice of photographer. And he was likely to get a few quid off just because photographing a wedding would provide a bit of light relief from all those shiny buttons of the politically correct police elite. He might even get the opportunity to chat up a bridesmaid or two as a bonus.
Now he thought seriously about it, he had a few other contacts who might be persuaded to do things at cost or not much more. Yes, things were starting to look a bit brighter on the wedding front. He should save himself a pretty penny. He didn’t know why he hadn’t suggested taking over some of the arrangements before.
Neither did Abra. ‘I don’t know why you didn’t mention these great contacts of yours before. Especially with you being so keen to cut costs.’
‘What matter? I’m mentioning them now.’ One of these contacts was a manager at the swanky four-star Elmhurst Hotel. He might be persuaded to give over one of their ballrooms for the reception. After all, he had solved two murders on the Elmhurst’s premises. If that wasn’t good for a favour, he didn’t know what was.
Yes, if he played his cards right, he should be able to save himself a packet.
Briefly, he flirted with the idea of asking his Ma if she was still in contact with the tailor who specialised in high style suits at low, low prices. But then, when he remembered the trauma he’d gone through over a previous suit in the lead up to Llewellyn’s wedding, he decided against it. Better not try to trim the costs there. But the rest was still up for grabs. Maybe some of the lads at the station knew a florist who could do the bouquets and so on for a knockdown price. If he wasn’t to end up bankrupted by this wedding it was time to pull out all the stops. The predicaments of Forbes’s debtors provided the required prod if prod were needed.
What else was to be arranged? He was sure Llewellyn would be able to knock out something tasteful on his computer by way of invitations. He seemed to rememb
er him mentioning some new graphic software he’d bought. He’d become quite animated about it. A couple of hundred invitations shouldn’t be beyond his tame computer nerd. He’d probably be glad of the practise. Put like that, he was doing Dafyd a favour really, asking him.
He’d nip round to The Elmhurst Hotel in the morning and have a word with the manager. Their ballrooms were as stylish as any; Edwardian with all the grandeur Abra could wish for. He just hoped the present manager didn’t up sticks and move to another job between now and the wedding.
It was a far more contented Rafferty who settled down with Abra to enjoy the rest of their evening. Thankfully, at Rafferty’s suggestion of taking over some of the arrangements, she’d mellowed, no longer able to accuse him of taking no interest in their wedding. And as they turned the pages of the holiday brochures full of exotic honeymoon destinations, Rafferty began to rack his brains to think who amongst his acquaintances had a holiday home they might be willing to let them borrow in lieu of a wedding present.
Rafferty set off for The Elmhurst Hotel the following morning as soon as he’d read the latest reports and before Superintendent Bradley could collar him for an update on the murder investigation.
It was another bright sunny day and he was chirpy as he drove from the station, whistling as he made his way to The Elmhurst. He was pleased with life and his own initiative. Get the Elmhurst Hotel organised for the reception at cost or less and he’d be well in Abra’s good books. And if he could get the rest sorted, too, she’d think he was Mr Wonderful. He began singing “I’m H.A.P.P.Y, I’m H.A.P.P.Y, I know I am, I’m sure I am, I’m H.A.P.P.Y.”
The manager was in the middle of sorting out a minor crisis when he arrived, but Rafferty said he was willing to wait. He gazed around the plush reception and wondered which of the ballrooms the manager would be able to let him have. Say what you liked about the Edwardians, but they knew how to turn out elegant buildings and interiors.
Twenty minutes later, with the crisis resolved and the manager now all welcoming smiles, Rafferty was quick to remind him what a stalwart policeman he had been on the occasions of the two murders that had taken place at the hotel. They proceeded in mutual reminiscence about Rafferty’s cleverness and sensitivity for several minutes, then he steered the conversation from death to life and what each was doing now.
Death Dues Page 29
