Love Lies Bleeding Page 5

  He was startled when the picture was plucked from his hand. Stephanie stared broodingly at the photo for several seconds, her expression unreadable, then, with a laugh as bitter as aloes, she turned it and slammed it face-down on the table with sufficient force to crack the glass.

  ‘Strange to think how smoothly everything went on the day; maybe it was an omen that the rest wouldn't be as smooth. No expense was spared. Ray insisted that Felicity must have the best of everything. He paid a fortune for his bridal gift — that gold and diamond necklace she wore on the day.’ Stephanie made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. ‘And yet, only a few weeks ago, when I asked her why she doesn't wear it any more, she told me she'd lost it. It seems she took as little care of Ray's gift as she did of Ray.’ Suddenly she slumped back into her chair, her face deathly pale, as if only now that she had vented her spleen against Felicity was she able to truly take in the enormity of her loss.

  Rafferty turned and spoke to Michelle, who through this exchange had been seated open-mouthed, her gaze moving from one to the other as if she was an absorbed spectator at some international tennis tournament. Quietly, he suggested she call Stephanie Raine's doctor.

  At this instruction, the au pair lost her English entirely.Her face fell, she turned to Stephanie and said, ‘Qu'est ce que c`est est le nom de vôtre docteur, Stephanie? Je ne lui connais pas.’

  Stephanie roused herself sufficiently to tell Michelle in a long-suffering voice, ‘For goodness’ sake, girl. He's in my phone book on the hall table. Under “doctor”. But I don't need — or want — a doctor,’ she shouted after the disappearing Michelle.

  Rafferty, keen to pass Stephanie Raine over to another authority so he could get back to the crime scene, said quietly in Mary Carmody's ear, ‘Go with her and ring the doctor yourself. Just make sure he gets here, and quickly.’

  Carmody nodded and followed Michelle out of the room.

  Fortunately, Mrs Raine's doctor arrived shortly after. He evidently had greater skill — or maybe just greater practice — at calming hysteria, for within five minutes of his arrival he had persuaded Stephanie to take a sedative and go back to bed.

  Unwilling to leave the scared au pair to cope with further hysteria once the doctor had departed and the sedative had worn off, Rafferty told Mary Carmody to remain behind until one of Mrs Raine's remaining family could be found and asked to stay with her. Quietly, he instructed her to question Michelle and learn what she could about the Raines’ marriage and what might have prompted Felicity to stab her husband. Although the husbandly violence that Elaine Enderby had suspected might well be the cause, it was possible that there was another reason for it entirely, one they as yet knew nothing about.

  Shortly after, Rafferty headed back to the scene of the crime, anxious to see what the team had managed to discover during his absence. He found Llewellyn in Raymond Raine's study.

  Expectantly, he asked, ‘What have you got, Dafyd?’

  ‘Remarkably little, unfortunately,’ Llewellyn revealed. ‘Though I have turned up a Mr Michael Raine from an address book I found in the desk drawer. I spoke with him by phone to confirm his identity and break the news. He told me he's the late Mr Raine's first cousin. He volunteered to formally identify Mr Raine. So, to save Mrs Raine Senior further distress, I agreed on your behalf and sent Lizzie Green and Hanks to accompany him to the mortuary.

  ‘Anyway, there's no doubt about the dead man being Raymond Raine. Michael Raine told me he and his late cousin ran their own fashion business, a family affair. Maybe you've heard of it?’

  Although from the stylishly suited Llewellyn's tone Rafferty guessed his sergeant thought this unlikely, Rafferty had heard of the Raine fashion empire. It was simply that he hadn't made the connection to this case.

  ‘They were partners, I gather, though I got the distinct impression from the way Michael spoke that Raymond Raine was the boss, the one with the controlling interest. I also received the impression Mike Raine didn't like, to use the vernacular, to have to play second fiddle in this familial orchestra.’

  Rafferty nodded. ‘Perhaps they were killing cousins rather than the kissing sort. But whatever sort they turn out to be, we'll need to see this Michael Raine urgently. As he presumably knew the Raines in both a personal and business capacity, he should be in a position to tell us a lot.’

  He glanced around the expensively furnished room and said, ‘Raine was clearly a wealthy man; his money could well be a factor in his death. Have you managed to find the name of his solicitor yet?’

  Llewellyn shook his head. ‘I asked his cousin, but he was unable to tell me. And for someone who seems to have been an important businessman, Mr Raine seems to have had a marked aversion to paperwork of a more personal nature.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Llewellyn gestured at the two desks and the four-drawer filing cabinet against the wall. ‘I've looked through them all, and have found little but household accounts, nothing of a more intimate nature.

  ‘Perhaps he keeps such stuff at the business premises?’

  ‘Not according to the cousin. He told me Raymond always liked to keep private matters private.’

  Given the lavish house and the apparently wealthy lifestyle of the dead man, Rafferty had already considered the possibility that inheritance might well have been a factor in his death. He was keen to discover as much as he could about the murdered man, yet, as Llewellyn continued his explanation that not only the study but also the rest of the house had been systematically searched for revealing paperwork and they had found little of importance, it seemed that learning more about the late Mr Raine might take longer than he had expected.

  Certainly, as Llewellyn now confirmed, they had found no trace of the will that Rafferty had hoped the team would turn up. But that was no doubt stored at the solicitors whose identity they had still to discover. It was strange that a man of Raine's obvious wealth who must, surely, have retained the services of a solicitor to see to his affairs didn't keep such information in an easily accessible place. It was even more surprising that his cousin and business partner claimed not to know the solicitor's identity.

  Rafferty wished he'd asked Stephanie Raine for this information when he had the chance. But it was too late for that now. Stephanie Raine, sedated by her doctor, was not, for the time being at least, in a position to advise him of anything.

  ‘What about Raine's wife? Surely Felicity Raine can tell us?’

  ‘She says not.’

  Felicity Raine was still at the hospital. Rafferty had been told she would be released into police custody as soon as her temperature reduced.

  ‘When I spoke to her she said that Raymond had never confided in her about money or legal matters and she had no idea as to the identity of his solicitor as she had never thought to ask. Or so she said,’ Llewellyn added.

  ‘Damn the man,’ Rafferty muttered, an imprecation swiftly followed by the silent apology his conscience demanded for the sin of maligning the dead. But he had fully expected Llewellyn and the rest of the team to turn up more in the way of answers than they had so far managed. He had certainly expected to be in a position to speak to the late Mr Raine's solicitor and learn more about his financial situation. Yet Raine had, for reasons best known to himself, elected to turn what should have been a simple matter into one far from simple.

  In spite of his doubts about Felicity Raine's guilt, even Rafferty had to agree with the implication in Llewellyn's last comment that Felicity's claim to knowing nothing about her husband's financial and legal affairs sounded disingenuous.

  Given the quantity of expensive designer labels attached to the clothing that Llewellyn now told him he had found in her wardrobe, Felicity had obviously enjoyed her husband's money, the spending of it and the pleasure it could bring. Most women would also require some assurance that this enviable lifestyle would continue indefinitely and most certainly would ask about wills, insurance policies and the like. Though he acknowledged that that
didn't mean all husbands were willing to share such information.

  From the circumstantial evidence of his large, opulent home and all its expensive contents, it was clear that Raymond Raine had been a man of considerable means. This conclusion made Rafferty wonder who else — apart from his wife (which could, presumably, be taken as a given) — would profit from his death.

  ‘What about Felicity Raine's family?’ he now asked. ‘What have you managed to find out about them?’

  ‘Nothing. Felicity confirmed that Mrs Enderby was correct when she said she thought that the younger Mrs Raine had no close family. Certainly, Mrs Raine's own address book has few entries. And apart from Mrs Enderby's phone number, those of Mrs Raine Senior, the gardener Nick Miller and the Raine family business, most of the entries appear to be for hair and beauty salons and similar establishments.’

  Fortunately for Rafferty's growing feelings of frustration, Llewellyn's logical mind came into its own before another half-hour had passed.

  ‘I've been wondering about this desk,’ he remarked.

  The desk to which he referred was an attractive piece of furniture — a bureau rather than a desk. Rafferty guessed it was eighteenth century. It was certainly a beautiful thing; opulent. Its interior, he now saw as he raised the roll-top, was fitted with lots of little drawers, its exterior inlaid with exquisite, intricate marquetry made up of many different-coloured woods. The whole thing glowed like a multi-faceted jewel in the shaft of sunlight flooding through the window.

  They had taken Mr Raine's keyring from his pocket before his body's removal to the mortuary and Llewellyn had had no problem gaining access to the two desks and the filing cabinet.

  ‘Wondering what, exactly?’ Rafferty asked.

  ‘Whether it might not have a secret drawer; many desks of the period incorporated such a feature.’

  Intrigued, Rafferty joined him. Soon they were measuring and tap-tapping for all they were worth. Even so, it took thirty minutes of painstaking effort before the bureau's secret drawer was discovered. But when revealed it proved worth the time and trouble, because within they found the identity of the late Mr Raine's solicitor.

  Rafferty was relieved. Now, perhaps, they would be able to move forward in the investigation.

  ‘Well done, Dafyd. Can you get this Jonas Singleton on the phone, tell him his client's dead and that we need to speak to him urgently?’

  Llewellyn nodded and took out his mobile.

  Five minutes later, with the appointment with the solicitor arranged for that evening, Llewellyn said, ‘Wonder why the late Mr Raine felt it necessary to keep such information hidden so discreetly? It's not as though his solicitors would have revealed confidential information to anyone, much less potentially interested parties.’

  Rafferty too was intrigued as to why Raine should have felt it necessary to hide such information. But whatever Raine's reasons, Rafferty was pleased they would now be able to speak promptly with his solicitor. It was a relief they wouldn't have to waste precious time canvassing every firm of solicitors in Elmhurst and its immediate environs. Solicitors could be a testy, stuffy lot, who made endless complaints about the workload required whenever Rafferty or one of his colleagues made a simple enquiry. As Rafferty had felt like saying on more than one occasion, if the legal eagles were to apply as much time and energy to their filing arrangements as they did to their billing systems they would have no need to complain that assisting the police was demandingly labour-intensive.

  Rafferty was surprised to discover that a young man of thirty-two, as Llewellyn told him was Raymond Raine's age, should have used one of Elmhurst's more long-established firms of solicitor. He would have thought he would have preferred one of the younger, more thrusting practices which had sprung up in the town. But, as yet, he reminded himself, he knew very little about Raymond Raine — apart from the so far unproven suspicion that he abused his wife and that he was secretive. Clearly, delving into Raine's character and background was a priority. Rafferty hoped that between them the solicitor and Raine's cousin would be able to enlighten them on both counts.

  Eager to move on in a case that had started with such a bang but which had then limped for lack of information, Rafferty walked across the study to where Llewellyn, industrious as ever, sat further exploring Raine's desk, and tapped him on the arm.

  ‘Come on, Dafyd,’ he said. ‘We've found what we were looking for. We haven't got time for you to do your Antiques Roadshow impression. I want to speak to Raine's cousin before we see his solicitor.’

  Llewellyn had just finished locking the desks and filing cabinet when Rafferty became aware of a disturbance coming from the front of the house. He heard Timothy Smales's voice raised in protest and hurried back out to the open front door.

  ‘What the hell?’ he muttered as he saw Smales attempting to restrain a young man of muscular physique and determined countenance. As he took in the mud-spattered blue van abandoned in the drive and the macho, heavy-duty workman's toolkit strapped at a rakish angle to his waist, Rafferty recalled Elaine Enderby's description and guessed the young man must be Nicholas Miller, the gardener/handyman.

  ‘What's going on?’ Miller demanded of Rafferty as he wrenched his right arm from Smales's grasp, almost sending the younger and slighter-built Smales flying in the process.

  ‘Perhaps you could tell me who you are, sir?’ Rafferty enquired.

  ‘I'm Nick. Nick Miller. Mrs Raine's gardener. I don't know who your officer thought I was when he grabbed hold of me.’ Miller directed an unfriendly stare at the red-faced Smales.

  Given the macho, tight-T-shirted physique and the leather tool-belt that held the accoutrements of his trade and which he wore with more than a hint of swagger, Rafferty suspected that Timothy Smales had thought him someone got up for an audition for the gay band The Village People. However, he kept this suspicion to himself; somehow he thought it unlikely the macho Miller would appreciate the allusion -the gardener looked as if he took himself and his masculinity seriously and expected others to do the same.

  ‘I'm sorry about that, sir,’ Rafferty said. ‘But my officer has orders to stop anyone approaching the house. As you might have noticed from the police tape across the gate, this is a crime scene.’

  Miller hitched the belt of his low-slung toolkit higher and replied belligerently, ‘I came in the back way. I didn't see any police tape.’

  Rafferty frowned. His eye alighted on Smales's tomato-red countenance. Annoyed that his team had failed to discover and secure the second access point, Rafferty said to Smales, ‘I'm sure Sergeant Llewellyn here must have told you to check the boundaries for other access points.’

  Beside him, Llewellyn quietly confirmed it.

  After tartly commenting, ‘Better late than never, I suppose,’ Rafferty brusquely ordered, ‘Get off and put some tape up at the rear, before anyone else gains access to the scene. And while you're at it, find a spare body to guard it.’

  Smales scurried off, as if grateful to have escaped a worse scolding for his carelessness.

  Miller, obviously pleased to have his intrusion on a crime scene so easily vindicated, waved at the heavy police presence in the form of bodies and vehicles still littering the property, and demanded, ‘So, are you going to tell me what's happened? Is Felicity — Mrs Raine — OK?’

  That was a moot point, Rafferty mused, seeing as she was currently in the hospital nursing a fever and a guilty conscience and was shortly expected to be transferred from the hospital to Elmhurst's police cells.

  Rafferty, thinking it the speediest course if he wanted the gardener's co-operation, gave Miller a brief explanation of events.

  The young gardener's tanned and handsome face tightened at the news of Raine's death and Felicity's confession, but beyond that he betrayed little emotion. He didn't even ask any further questions, which might have been expected in the circumstances. And when asked to supply his address Miller gave it to them curtly, as if he resented having to reveal even that much
about himself. Certainly, some of his swagger had fallen away.

  ‘Today's Thursday,’ Rafferty commented. ‘I gather this is one of your normal days for doing the Raines’ garden?’

  Miller's eyebrows rose at this. ‘I see someone's been talking about me.’ His lips parted in a rueful grin as though this was something he had expected. And although no one likes having their name bandied about during a murder inquiry, Rafferty got the feeling that Miller wasn't particularly put out that someone had thought to mention him. Clearly he was of the school who believed it was better to be mentioned — in whatever connection — than to be ignored.

  ‘Obviously you won't be doing any work here today, or for the foreseeable future,’ Rafferty told him.

  ‘Yes. I have managed to work that out for myself,’ Miller told him sharply, as though suspecting and resenting that his trade should brand him as being earthy and dim. ‘But I—’ He broke off, and when he resumed Rafferty got the distinct impression that Miller's ‘I have a living to earn’ and ‘Have you any idea when Mrs Raine's likely to come home?’ were not what he originally intended to say.

  ‘Come home? You don't seem to have understood me. Mrs Raine has confessed to killing her husband. She won't be coming home.’

  ‘Not coming home?’ Miller shook his head in amazement. ‘Come on. You surely can't think she really killed him? The idea's insane.’

  Rafferty shrugged. ‘Insane or not, the facts are that Raymond Raine is dead, Mr Miller. Murdered. Somebody killed him and Mrs Raine says it was her.

  ‘But I really don't have the time to discuss the whys and wherefores now,’ Rafferty told him firmly. ‘We have your name and address and will be in contact shortly. Now, I must ask you to leave.’ Rafferty fixed Miller with a determined eye and added, ‘Unless there is something you can tell us that could help with the investigation?’

  ‘No.’ The gardener was quick to deny it. ‘Why would I know anything about it? I don't,’ Miller insisted.