Marian Steadman turned to Rafferty. “I want you to be clear on one thing, Inspector, that whatever else Bertie did, he didn't kill Clive.”
“That's right,” Smith chimed in. “And you'll never prove otherwise. All I wanted to do was to remove him from his post and from my great-uncle's will, nothing more. I swear I intended nothing more.”
You would say that, wouldn't you, thought Rafferty, as the words of another time, another place, another scandal came into his mind. He hadn't yet explained that they already knew the name of the killer. Dorothy Flowers/Pearson was safe in the next world and unlikely to reveal the truth of the matter. He was tempted to let this explanation wait. Then he glanced at Marian Steadman's anguished expression and knew she didn't deserve such treatment.
“You weren't technically guilty of his death,” he admitted to Smith, “although some would disagree. But no one would argue that morally you don't bear a heavy responsibility. It was a nice little bonus, wasn't it, to have him out of the running forever? You're surely not still trying to pretend you didn't hear his shouts for help?”
Although he admitted nothing, Smith had the grace to flush and lower his eyes.
“If you'd answered his cries you might have saved his life. But you didn't want that, did you? You wanted him dead. Only you didn't have the guts to do it yourself.”
Pale before, now Smith went the colour of tallow. He wouldn't meet either of their eyes, even when his sister said pleadingly, “Bertie? Did you…?” And received her answer in his silence.
“There was one other thing you could help us with, Mr Smith,” Rafferty told him. “If you would be so kind. It was you who took Barstaple's lap-top and rationalization report, wasn't it?”
Smith's mouth tightened. And when he made no reply, his sister spoke for him. “Yes, he did. That much he did tell me.” Her voice lowered as if to plead with Rafferty to understand. “Clive was already dead and Bertie saw the report on the desk and took it. along with the computer. He did it for me. Thought it would help me. Though how…“ Her gaze flickered hopelessly over to her brother and then back to Rafferty. “He thought he was helping me,” she insisted.
Rafferty nodded, giving Smith the benefit of the doubt over that at least.
All at once, Rafferty tired of the man, of his deliberate deafness, his cowardice, the way he tried to hide behind his sister's skirts.
“Don't make any travel plans, Mr Smith,” he warned as he turned on his heel and made for the door. “We may wish to charge you with other offences; like attempted blackmail and obstruction. Like sending obscene materials through the post.” Not to mention lack of common humanity, he added silently to himself as he let himself out.
EPILOGUE
Llewellyn and Maureen's wedding day dawned clear, bright and sunny; a perfect spring day in fact, which, considering it was still only March, was a miracle. Doubly so, as not only autumn, but winter, too, had borne more than a passing resemblance to India's monsoon season.
Wryly, Rafferty shook his head as he pulled up outside the groom's flat and adjusted the buttonhole in his hastily-purchased new suit. Whoever had said that the sun shone on the righteous hadn't got it quite right, he thought. Now, if he'd said the sun shone on the self-righteous he'd have hit the bull dead centre.
He walked up Llewellyn's path and gave a fancy rat-tat-tat on his front door. When Llewellyn answered, Rafferty was surprised to see that his sergeant's face was a beautiful pea-green—thinking about his soon-to-be-mother-in-law, Rafferty surmised. The pea-green colouring didn't go with his elegant dove-grey wedding suit at all. But Rafferty had a remedy for that. He chivvied the bridegroom back inside and shut the door.
“What you want is a good strong coffee,” he decided, then paused, head on one side, hand reaching inside his jacket. “Unless I can tempt you to something more effective?”
Llewellyn shook his head.
“Come on, then. Let's get something other than bile into your stomach. Can't have you ruining the photographs. Have you eaten?”
“No. My stomach's too upset. I don't think I'll keep anything down.”
“Consider yourself lucky you're only likely to get married once then.” Rafferty wished post-mortems came round as infrequently. His stomach would be far happier, if so. He studied the bridegroom and prescribed some dry toast, holding up an admonishing finger as Llewellyn began to argue. “And before you start, remember I'm your best man and today there's no doubt that I'm in charge. For once, you'll do what you're told and like it.”
The toast and coffee were soon prepared and Rafferty carried them into Llewellyn's elegant minimalist living room. “Get that down you,” he ordered and watched as Llewellyn did what he was told.
While Llewellyn ate, Rafferty eyed him and the wedding suit speculatively. He had nearly managed to convince himself that if he could get through today without Superintendent Bradley finding out anything about the suit both their jobs would be safe. After all, he had more or less persuaded himself, Llewellyn would hardly wear such a quality suit for work.
This reassuring thought was immediately followed by another. Yes he would. He's not like you, Rafferty, with your Sunday best outfits that only get worn at weddings and funerals. Llewellyn liked to look like a bobby-dazzler every day. Leaving his best gear in the wardrobe for the greater part of the year wasn't his style at all.
Okay, Rafferty thought, so the iffy whistle was going to be given regular airings; he'd deal with that problem later. Meanwhile—as he forced himself to face the fact that not recognising a very sharp suit when he saw one wasn't Superintendant Bradley's style—he knew he had the here and now of today to sort out.
With the toast and coffee inside him, Llewellyn's pea-green colour faded. And, although he still seemed as tight as an overwound watch it somehow suited him. The drawn features looked as sharp as the iffy suit and Rafferty felt a twinge of regret.
But he had no choice. Like Alexander Smith, he knew his duty and would do it, come what may. He couldn't understand why it had taken him so long to come to such an obvious solution to his dilemma.
Briefly, Rafferty closed his eyes, then, pausing only to send a prayer for forgiveness up to St Michael, he staged a deliberate stumble over one of Llewellyn's expensive looking rugs and managed to throw the entire contents of his coffee mug over Llewellyn's iffy wedding suit.
There was a moment's stunned silence, broken only by the drip, drip, drip of tepid black coffee.
Before Llewellyn could say a word, Rafferty soaked him for a second time—with a torrent of apologies rather than coffee. In some ways, it was the hardest part of the whole business; he only hoped his non-existent actor's skills proved convincing.
After the first flood of apology, Rafferty rushed to the kitchen to get a cloth. Returning with a tea towel, he began dabbing ineffectually at the most soggy areas of the jacket. “God, I'm sorry,” he said again. “What a clumsy git I am. I don't know how it happened. And you wanted to look so smart what with Superintendent Bradley going to the wedding and all.”
Llewellyn gave him a furious look and muttered, “He's not coming. You know that perfectly well. I did tell you.”
Rafferty stopped his ineffectual dabbing and gaped at him. “Not coming? What do you mean, he's not coming? And for the record, you didn't tell me.” It was hardly something he'd be likely to forget.
Llewellyn snatched the tea towel and recommenced the dabbing. “Yes I did. I remember very well telling you he replied to the invitation immediately. Had the refusal delivered by hand. Maureen's mother was extremely put out.” His head was bent and he didn't notice Rafferty's expression as he added, “But you've seemed a bit preoccupied lately. You probably weren't listening.”
Rafferty's reply was a strangled, “No. I don't believe I was.”
About the Author
Geraldine Evans has been writing since her twenties, but never finished anything. It was only hitting the milestone age of thirty that concentrated her mind. She then wrote a book
a year for six years, only the last of which (Land of Dreams), was published. She has had books taken and published from slush piles twice: her first novel and her first mystery. As well as her popular Rafferty & Llewellyn crime series, she has a second crime series, Casey & Catt and has also had published, under her Hartnett name, an historical novel about Henry VIII’s little sister, a romance and articles on a variety of subjects, including Historical Biography, Writing, Astrology, Palmistry and other New Age subjects. She has also written a dramatization of Dead Before Morning, the first book in her Rafferty series and is searching hopefully for someone to put it on the telly.
She is a Londoner, but now lives in Norfolk England where she moved, with her husband George, in 2000.
Absolute Poison is the fifth in her 15-strong humorous Rafferty & Llewellyn mystery series. She is currently working on the next in the series. She also hopes to put out a sixth ebook later in 2011.
DEAD BEFORE MORNING
A Rafferty and Llewellyn mystery novel
By Geraldine Evans
Available from Kindle, Nook, Kobo, Android, iPad, iPhone, iBookstore, etc.
Debut crime and first in the fourteen-strong Rafferty & Llewellyn crime series.
Detective Inspector Joseph Rafferty is investigating his first murder since his promotion. What a shame the victim is a girl with no name and no face, found in a place she had no business being – a private psychiatric hospital. With everyone denying knowing anything about the victim, Rafferty has his work cut out, so he could do without his Ma setting him another little problem: that of getting his cousin ‘Jailhouse Jack’ out of the cells. Although he has no shortage of suspects, proof is not so plentiful. It is only when he remembers his forgotten promise to get his cousin out of the cells that Rafferty gets the first glimmer that leads to the solution to the case.
REVIEWS
‘Classic crime. I was definitely hooked into this story and needed to know who had committed the crime and why. It was very well written and flowed nicely from scene to scene..’
ALEXIS LENO, AUTHOR OF SHIFTING FATE, A FANTASY NOVEL
‘This often comic tale sharpens the appetite for more.’
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
‘Evans’ humour seriously added to my enjoyment of her book. This, her first, as well as the rest in the series, are well written with standout central characters and clever plots.’
AUNT AGATHA’S BOOKSHOP, ANN ARBOUR, USA
Links
Amazon.com http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004EYUHN8
Amazon.co.uk http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B004EYUHN8
* * *
DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN
A Rafferty and Llewellyn mystery novel
By Geraldine Evans
Available from Kindle, Nook, Kobo, Android, iPad, iPhone, iBookstore, etc.
Second novel in the fourteen-strong Rafferty & Llewellyn crime series.
When beautiful Barbara Longman is found dead in a meadow, uprooted wild flowers strewn about her and, in her hand, a single marigold, Inspector Joe Rafferty at first believes the murder may be the work of the serial killer over the county border in Suffolk. But then he meets the victim's family – and, after liaising with the Suffolk CID, he rapidly comes to believe that the killing is the work of a copycat… one much closer to home, someone among the descendants of the long-dead wealthy family patriarch, Maximillian Shore. Everyone, it seems, had a motive: Henry the grieving widower; the victim's brother-in-law, Charles Shore, the ruthless tycoon; Henry's first wife, the Bohemian Anne, who has lost the custody of Maxie, her teenage son, to the saintly Barbara. Even the long-dead patriarch, Maximillian Shore, seems, to Rafferty, to have some involvement in the murder, though how, or why, Rafferty doesn't understand until he finally grasps the truth behind the reasons for the killing. A truth sad and dreadful and which had been evident from the start, if only he had had the eyes to see.
REVIEWS
‘Need a good read? Then read on! The plot keeps you guessing till the end – an enjoyable read.’
MERTON MESSENGER
‘A name to watch.’
PETERBOROUGH EVENING TELEGRAPH
Links
Amazon.com http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0042P53NS
Amazon.co.uk http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0042P53NS
* * *
DEATH LINE
A Rafferty and Llewellyn mystery novel
By Geraldine Evans
Available from Kindle, Nook, Kobo, Android, iPad, iPhone, iBookstore, etc.
Third novel in the fourteen-strong Rafferty and Llewellyn mystery series
Jasper Moon, internationally renowned ‘Seer to the Stars’, had signally failed to foresee his own future. He is found dead on his consulting-room floor, his skull crushed with a crystal ball and, all, around him, his office in chaos.
Meanwhile, Ma Rafferty does some star-gazing of her own and is sure she can predict Detective Inspector Joe Rafferty's future – by the simple expedient of organizing it herself. She is still engaged on her crusade to get Rafferty married off to a good Catholic girl with child-bearing hips. But Rafferty has a cunning plan to sabotage her machinations. Only trouble is, he needs Sergeant Llewellyn's cooperation and he isn't sure he's going to get it.
During their murder investigations, Inspector Rafferty and Sergeant Llewellyn discover a highly incriminating video concealed in Moon's flat, a video which, if made public, could wreck more than one life. Was the famous astrologer really a vicious sexual predator? Gradually, connections begin to emerge between Moon and others in the small Essex town of Elmhurst. But how is Rafferty to solve the case when all of his suspects have seemingly unbreakable alibis?
REVIEWS
‘The detectives brilliantly complement and oppose each other. For those who love Sherlock Holmes-style mysteries, you'll likely adore Evans’ style, humor and method of detection. A wonderful cozy, rainy-night read rich with interesting characters that all appear guilty and innocent. At every turn you'll think you know who the killer is, but the true identity and motive won't come until the end. The reveal is not far-fetched or deceptive – it was there all along and it works perfectly.’
CHARLIE COURTLAND OF BITSY BLING BOOKS
http://bitsybling.blogspot.com/2011/03/death-line-curl-up-with-cozy-mystery
‘Ms Evans writes with a nice, tongue-in-cheek style and in her policemen has created an attractive pair of sleuths. Recommended.’
MICHAEL PAINTER, THE IRISH TIMES, ON DEATH LINE
‘One of the best crime plots for devotees is written in the stars in Geraldine Evans's DEATH LINE.’
PETERBOROUGH EVENING TELEGRAPH
Links
Amazon.com http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004T3FQR6
Amazon.co.uk http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B004T3FQR6
Absolute Poison Page 38
