‘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?'
There was a sigh from the other end of the line. 'Oh, go on then. Mrs Parker told me that Malcolm Forbes had sent his men around her street questioning the residents and—'
'Questioning them?'
'That's what she said.'
'What were they asking?'
'What they'd seen and heard. If they had any suspicions of anyone in particular.'
'They didn't issue any threats?'
'She didn't say so. Though I suppose they might have done as they were a couple of big bruisers from what she said. Though I don't suppose they suspected Emily Parker of attacking Jaws Harrison, so they would hardly need to threaten her.'
'Thanks, Ma. That's interesting. Could be useful.'
'That's what I was thinking. Anyway, son, I'll let you get on. I just thought I'd tell you the latest.'
'I appreciate it, Ma. Thanks again. Bye for now.'
He replaced the receiver as Llewellyn returned and asked, ‘What did you think of what Harry Jones had to say?’
Rafferty gave a wry grin. ‘For what it’s worth, I don’t think he’s our killer. Do you?’
Llewellyn, never one to breezily brush aside a piece of evidence, said, ‘I don’t know. I think I’d prefer to reserve judgement on that one.’
Rafferty sighed again. ‘I suppose you’re right. His wife is certainly one of the few suspects who could have disposed of the murder weapon.’
‘Maybe we should have her in?’
‘Maybe we should.’
He was at a loss as to what else they could do. They’d interviewed all the suspects several times, caught a numb
er of them out in lies, but were still no closer to making an arrest. The checking out of Forbes’s and Nigel Blythe’s debtor lists were on-going and would be for some time, though, truth to tell, he’d no great hopes from that avenue and considered it more a straw-clutching exercise than anything else.
To take his mind off the frustration the investigation was causing, he changed the subject and said to Llewellyn, ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you how your studies are going for your inspector’s exams.’
‘I’m taking my studies slowly and getting one element thoroughly learned before I embark on the next. I’m in no hurry. Better to pass first time than fail and have it all to do again.’
Rafferty nodded. It was so like Llewellyn’s approach to everything: slow, thorough and painstaking. So different from his own erratic and occasionally inspired efforts. Llewellyn had begun studying around the time he’d met and married Mo, his intellectual, bluestocking wife, who was also a cousin of Rafferty. He was often amazed at the different results brought about by the same family gene pool. He had no doubt that Llewellyn would pass his inspector’s exams at the first attempt. He was methodical in his application, his cool logical approach sometimes drove Rafferty to distraction. Strangely, in view of their markedly different personalities, they worked well together, each supplying what the other lacked, with Rafferty’s impulsiveness curbed by Llewellyn’s stern logic and Llewellyn encouraged to approach things from one of Rafferty’s often off-beat angles. So far in their investigations the combination had stood them in good stead. Rafferty was hopeful it would do so again on this one.
‘By the way, I forgot to tell you in all the excitement about the blackmail. I heard from Ma that Forbes has sent around a couple of his minions to question the residents of Primrose Avenue. Must have decided to conduct his own investigation – unless he’s the guilty party and is putting the frighteners on any potential witnesses.’
‘Maybe we should warn him off? If he’s intimidating witnesses—’
‘On what evidence? Ma’s say so? Anyone who knows anything will clam up from fear of what he might do if they let anything slip. If they know anything. God knows they haven’t exactly been founts of knowledge over this murder so far. Though I suppose we could put tails on Forbes’s men for a few days, if the budget will stand it and see if they pay a return visit to the Avenue. Put the frighteners on them for a change.’
‘Is there any point in that?’ Llewellyn questioned. ‘I would have thought any possible damage has already been done. If anyone did remember something they’d be certain to have forgotten it after a visit from Malcolm Forbes’s thugs.’
‘I suppose you’re right. OK. Let’s put the frighteners on Forbes himself. Threaten to do our best to get his licence revoked.’
‘Again – on what evidence? That of Bazza Lomond, that reputed teller of tall tales?’
‘Let’s try anyway. What harm can it do?’
‘Plenty, I would think. His solicitor might start a harassment suit. I can imagine what Superintendent Bradley would say to that.’
So could Rafferty. He scowled as he was reminded of Forbes’s legal bogeyman. Stymied from action on the Forbes’ front by Llewellyn’s irrefutable logic, Rafferty admitted a temporary defeat. If his witnesses had been got at, as Llewellyn said, it was too late to do anything about it now. But that was no reason not to go and see Forbes and let him know that they were aware of his interference in the case. Rafferty felt he was entitled to some jollies for a change.
Margaret Jones, when they had her in the station for questioning, was very vague and still inclined to be weepy about the death of her lodger.
‘Why are you asking me all these questions?’ she demanded at one point. ‘I’ve already answered most of them once.’
‘You know why, Mrs Jones. Did your husband or Peter Allbright murder Jaws Harrison? Did you dispose of the weapon?’
‘Me? Of course not. According to what I’ve heard, it was a hammer that was used to kill him. Ours isn’t the only hammer on the street. Besides, it was still in the shed when Mr Harrison’s body was found.’
‘That’s as may be, but very few people left the vicinity of Primrose Avenue after the murder and had the opportunity to dispose of the weapon before uniformed police arrived. You’re one of them.’
‘Our hammer’s not even missing,’ she insisted again. ‘You know that. You had your officers check through Harry’s toolbox and the shed.’
Rafferty nodded, acknowledging her point. But then, with the lack of security on the neighbourhood’s sheds, anyone could have helped themselves from any of the Avenue’s shed contents. The fact that the Joneses’ hammer was still on their premises proved nothing.
‘Why are you so sure it was a hammer anyway? If you can’t find the weapon you surely can’t be certain what it was that caused Mr Harrison’s injuries.’
It was a valid point. One Rafferty hadn’t expect from Margaret Jones. Sam Dally had simply said the weapon had either been a hammer or something like a hammer. Something with a metal end anyway.
‘Can I go now? Mrs Jones asked plaintively.
She might as well, Rafferty thought as he gave her the nod. She’d told him nothing useful. In fact the only witnesses to tell him anything at all helpful had been Tony Moran and Bazza Lomond and the information from the tall-tale telling Bazza couldn’t be relied upon
There was nothing for it but to have Tony Moran in again and put the fear of God into him. He’d been nearer to the end of the alley than Bazza. Maybe Moran would finally be persuaded to admit to seeing Forbes and had seen what the loan shark had been carrying. Rafferty just hoped the youth was more afraid of him than he was of Forbes or his three thuggish mates.
But before he spoke to Moran again he had someone else he had to see as a matter of urgency.
‘Hold the fort for me,’ he instructed Llewellyn as he shrugged into his jacket and raincoat. ‘I’ve got to go out. One of my sources rang up while you were collecting Margaret Jones from reception. Claims he’s got some info for me.’
Rafferty’s snout, Stinky Harold, to judge by the smell of him, must spend most of his time on the council’s rubbish dump. He met him on the stairwell of the grey, dank and entirely uninviting top floor of the multi-storey. Making sure to stand well downwind of his snout, Rafferty said, ‘So what have you got for me, Stinky?’
‘Something worth ten of your Earth pounds,’ Stinky replied.
This was something of a running gag between them as Stinky was so other-worldly he might as well be an alien. He was a small man who wore numerous layers, each succeeding layer a little cleaner and less torn than the preceding one. Like Rafferty, he was originally from London. His voice was pure ‘Sarf’ London.
‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ Rafferty told him. ‘So, come on, out with it. What have you got?’
‘It’s to do with The Enforcer, Malcolm Forbes. Word on the manor is that he’s had his blokes questioning the people on Primrose Avenue.’
Rafferty had hoped for something more than information that his Ma had already supplied for nothing. ‘Is that it?’ he asked. ‘Where did you hear this anyway?’
Stinky tapped his nose. ‘Can’t reveal my sources, Gov. But it’s kosher. God’s troof.’
‘Has he been threatening them or simply trying to extract information on any possible murderer so he can obtain his own revenge and show himself as the hard man?’
‘I don’t know. But any visit from them blokes seems like a threat to those on the receiving end. Reckon he killed that bastard, Jaws, for reasons best known to himself and wants to make sure any evidence is silenced at birth?’
‘As to that, we’ll have to see.’ Rafferty pulled a ten pound note out of his wallet and handed it over, careful to hold on to just the corner so he didn’t accidentally touch Stinky’s grimy hand.
The tenner quickly disappeared into one of the folds in Stinky’s multi-layered clothing. He immediately slunk away, leaving only a pungent odour behind him.
When he got back to the station and told Llewellyn that his Ma’s story had been backed up by his snout, he said, ‘I reckon we should speak to the residents again. Surely one of them will let slip whether they were warned off or merely questioned? We need to know, one way or the other.’
Llewellyn nodded.
‘After that, I think that long-delayed other visit to Forbes is called for.’
But just before they left the office, the phone rang. Llewellyn returned to his desk to answer it.
'An anonymous phone call has come into the Incident Room,' Llewellyn told him as he put the phone down.
'What did it say?'
'That Les Sterling had a big argument with John Harrison a week before he died.'
'Strange that none of his neighbours reported it. They might well have thought it a good way to put someone else firmly in the frame.'
'Mmm. I wondered that. I also wondered whether the anonymous call mightn't have been made by someone with a grudge against Mr Sterling. He's not the most personable of men. He also has two loutish sons who regularly make nuisances of themselves in the neighbourhood.'
'Only one way to find out: let's go and have a word with the very non-personable Mr Sterling and see if he denies having this argument. If he starts blustering there might just be something in it.'
Chapter Fifteen
Les Sterling was out when they called at his home, but his wife was in. Mrs Sterling was a small, thin woman who wore a harassed expression. But then, with the shiftless Les for a husband and two unruly sons, she had a lot to look harassed about.
'Where is your husband, Mrs Sterling?' Rafferty asked as she held on to the door as if for support.
Death Dues Page 39
