'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?
‘They were walking through the town centre yesterday afternoon when they were set upon. Tell them,’ he insisted as the boys stayed quiet.
‘Where was this?’
‘On the High Street. Near the Town Hall. About six,’ Jake mumbled.
‘Should be CCTV footage of the attack then,’ Rafferty told him and watched as Jake’s face fell. ‘I’ll get one of my officers to check it out and get back to you.’
‘So I should hope,’ said Sterling Senior. ‘It’s coming to something when you can’t walk along the street without being attacked.’
Tell that to Izzy Barber, thought Rafferty.
Jake and Jason exchanged a furtive look, but said nothing more.
Rafferty smiled inwardly, sure that the story about being attacked that they had told their father wouldn’t be confirmed by the camera footage. By now, he was convinced they had been in Boadicea Drive mugging Izzy Barber. Shame there were no CCTV cameras there to help him prove it. But both youths, he noticed, had grazed their knuckles which only added to
his belief that their story was a tall one. It would be even more revealing if either Des Arnott or Tony Moran had suffered similar injuries.
He’d had the alley where Barber had been attacked sealed off and had ordered the SOCO team to check for evidence. The alley would have been muddy from the recent rain so they might get some useful footprints. He studied the boys’ Nike trainers more closely. The soles had mud deep in the thick soles and one of Jake’s had what looked like a spot of blood on the toe. Maybe this was one crime that would be quickly solved.
After assuring the three Sterlings that he thought an arrest could be imminent, which led the two youths to exchange another furtive glance, he left, Llewellyn behind him.
‘Clearly, they’d forgotten about the CCTV cameras when they told their father they’d been the victims of an assault on the High Street. Should have invented a different location for the attack as their tale puts us in with a chance of proving they’re liars.’
Llewellyn nodded. ‘Did you see the mud on their trainers? They’ve been somewhere with soil underfoot recently.’
‘Yeah. And last time I looked the High Street wasn’t ankle deep in mud. I’ve a feeling we’re about to get lucky on this one. Let’s hope they don’t have the nous to get rid of their trainers in the meantime.’
‘Don’t forget we’ve still to check what Arnott and Moran have to say.’
‘I haven’t forgotten. But first I want another word with Eric Lewis, the man who found Jaws Harrison’s body, seeing as we’re in the Avenue. I've been meaning to have another chat with him but haven't managed to get round to it. I'll be interested to see if he's come up with another reason why he left it so late after finding Harrison's body to ring it in.’
But when he and Llewellyn turned up at number four, it was to find that Eric Lewis still clung to his claim that shock alone had caused the delay.
He was in the family living room. It was a living room in every sense, with newspapers and magazines piled on the floor around Lewis's chair. Lewis himself appeared to be starting a cold and seemed pretty sorry for himself. Not wanting to catch his germs. Rafferty sat as far away from him as the furniture in the small living room allowed.
‘So why didn’t you get someone else to ring it in?’ asked Llewellyn reasonably once they were seated. ‘Your wife, perhaps, or one of the neighbours.’
‘I don’t know.’ Lewis waved the question away with a pudgy hand. ‘It’s all a bit vague now.’ He sneezed loudly several times. Groaning, he stretched out a hand to a box of tissues and pulled out a bunch. 'Should you be questioning me when I'm so unwell? I thought there was a law against it.'
'You've only got a cold, Mr Lewis. It's hardly the bubonic plague.'
'Feels like it. My head's thumping something awful. Pass me those painkillers, would you?' He pointed to the mantelpiece, which was decorated with assorted cold remedies.
Llewellyn got up and passed them to him. Lewis shook out three and threw them down his throat, followed by a tot of what looked like hot whisky.
‘Besides, it’s only been a matter of days,’ Rafferty pointed out. ‘I’d have thought such a horrifying discovery would tend to stick in the mind and concentrate one’s thoughts.’
‘Your mind, maybe, but not mine. Shock’s wiped the memory clean away. And this cold doesn't help. Brain feels all foggy. I'm going to go to bed when you've gone. I feel like death.’
Rafferty rather wished his own memory could be so obliging. But even though he pressed the man, Lewis refused to abandon shock as the cause of his memory blockage.
‘Bloody man must remember,’ Rafferty complained as he and Llewellyn left the house, slamming the door with unnecessary force behind them, Rafferty hoping it caused Lewis's head to thump even harder. ‘He’s being wilfully obstructive. I’ve a good mind to—’
‘And what good would that do?’ Llewellyn interposed quietly as he correctly guessed Rafferty’s thoughts. ‘Arresting the man is only likely to make him dig his heels in. He strikes me as the obstinate sort.’
‘I know. It’s just that sometimes I’d like to break a few rules, go against the restriction on our actions for once and deliver some creative retribution.’
‘Just not this evening.’
Rafferty sighed. ‘No, not this evening. Though I reckon his convenient memory lapse has been concocted for a reason. Wonder what he’s hiding? Come on. Let’s get round to Moran’s and Arnott’s. I wonder if all four concocted their tale together or whether we’re going to get a different version of events from these two.’
As they came out of Eric Lewis’s home, they saw Emily Parker leaning on her gate chatting to Jim Jenkins. The weather had improved in the short time since they had left the Sterlings’ and now, with the sun escaped from its heavy cloud shackles, it had turned quite warm. Mrs Parker, freed from the confines of her home by the brightening weather, looked like she was there for the duration.
Rafferty grinned at the expression of resignation Mr Jenkins wore; he’d been button-holed against his will by an expert and was getting the full flow of her rhetoric by the look of things. Jenkins was leaning heavily on his stick, the odd nod or shake of his head was his only contribution to the proceedings.
Rafferty hurried to the car and got in before Mrs Parker saw them and buttonholed them in place of the hapless Jim Jenkins.
As it turned out, the four youths had had the nous to agree their stories before they shared them, as both Des Arnott and Tony Moran told them the same tale as the Sterling boys. And while Arnott displayed an aggrieved aggression which hinted at impressive acting skills when explaining where and when they’d been ‘attacked’, Tony Moran seemed shamefaced and reticent, so much so that Rafferty gave him the opportunity to get what had really happened off his chest.
‘We have reason to believe your tale’s a cock and bull story, Tony,’ he told Moran after the youth had repeated the tale of himself and the other three being attacked in the High Street. ‘That’s not what happened at all, is it?’
‘I–I don’t know what you mean,’ Moran replied, his voice high pitched and nervous, but seemingly determined not to be the one who blew their alibi for the Izzy Barber assault.
‘I think you know very well,’ Rafferty told him. ‘You weren’t anywhere near the High Street, were you? You and your nasty little friends were several hundred yards away, in an alley off Boadicea Drive assaulting one of the debt collectors of a new rival to Forbes. Did Forbes put you up to it?’ Moran said nothing more, so Rafferty told him, ‘We’re currently getting some forensics from the scene of the Boadicea Drive assault as well as CCTV footage from the High Street where the attack on you and your friends is supposed to have taken place. I imagine the latter, at least, will be revealing.’
Moran shot him a worried look, then he burst out, ‘It wasn’t my idea. I just sort of tagged along with the others.’
‘They being?’ Rafferty was keen to be clear on his facts on this one. Although the recent spate of muggings had been carried out on similar low lifes to the perpetrators, they had been nasty and he would be delighted to see that the perps went down for them. More to the point, so would the superintendent. Things were becoming quite pressing from that quarter.
‘You know who,’ Moran muttered. ‘I can’t say. They’ll kill me if I do.’
‘Like they killed Jaws Harrison?’ Rafferty thought it worth a try to see if Moran admitted to the murder as well.
‘No,’ he replied sharply. ‘We didn’t do that one.’
‘But you must have a good idea who did. The four of you were there on the spot when Harrison was killed.’
‘We saw nothing. None of us had anything to do with that.’
‘You’re sure?’
Moran nodded.
Rafferty thought he was speaking the truth. ‘So tell me about the attack in Boadicea Drive.’
‘Jak— my friends,’ he hastily corrected himself, ‘have been trailing this big bloke for a week or so now. My friend had discovered he was a de
bt collector. I don’t know how, he wouldn’t tell me. My friends decided to target him and rob him of his takings. I tried to talk them out of it, but they didn’t listen to me. Just called me chicken. They took the piss out of me so much I felt I had to prove myself to them and go along with their plans.’
‘Go on. So you followed your victim. What then?’
‘Jak— one of my friends, said we had to wait till nearly the end of the man’s round before we struck so we could be sure of getting a decent haul.’
‘So how much did you get?’
‘I dunno. Jake – I mean one of my friends — took the money. I never saw it. I never even got a penny of it. They said it was my initiation, like and I had to help in the attack for no more reward than the doing of it.’
‘Did you personally assault the victim?’
Moran nodded dejectedly. ‘I had to put the boot in once or twice for appearances, like, though I didn’t kick him very hard.’
‘Somebody did,’ Rafferty told him. ‘The victim’s in Elmhurst General with cracked ribs and a broken jaw as well as internal injuries to his spleen.’
Moran looked even more hangdog at this than he did when Rafferty issued the formal caution. But he still refused to confirm the names of his accomplices.
The youth was more sad than bad in Rafferty’s opinion. It was his hard luck that he’d fallen in with the Sterlings and Des Arnott and hadn’t the gumption to extract himself from their evil influence. He just hoped Moran admitted the full names of the others involved in the attack for the record; he didn’t like to see Moran, a born patsy, going down while the real culprits got off scot free.
They drove the boy to the station, got his statement – as far as it went – and handed him over to the Custody Sergeant. And while Rafferty hoped that a stint in the cells would persuade Moran to come clean about his accomplices’ identities, he had more urgent matters to deal with than hanging about waiting for the lad to see sense.
Most of those on the latest list of debtors they’d obtained from Malcolm Forbes lived in Elmhurst or the surrounding villages. Forbes apparently liked to be a big fish in a small pond and hadn’t done much to extend his loan-sharking operation farther afield. He had a nice little earner locally, so why risk having to mix it with even bigger fish outside his usual area?
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