Death Dues Read online

  ‘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 himself. 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.

  N
either 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 remember 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.

  Rafferty told him he was in the middle of investigating another murder, ‘But that’s not why I called to see you. I’m getting married.’

  ‘Congratulations.’

  But even as the manager mouthed the word, Rafferty caught the wary expression and he realised that it should have occurred to him that a man with three ballrooms at his disposal must have a lot of favours called in from friends and family as well as mere acquaintances. No wonder he had looked wary at the mention of the wedding word. But surely, getting the manager out of the hole into which two violent deaths had thrust him must be worth more on the favour front than just being a second cousin twice removed?

  Apparently not. The manager tried to cover up his base, unspoken, ingratitude by prevaricating and asking when the wedding was to be held.

  Rafferty told him.

  ‘June! One of our busiest months. Of course our ballrooms are all booked for the next eighteen months. Everyone these days has to book everything well in advance if they want the venue of their choice. I’d have thought you’d know that Inspector.’

  It seemed the manager followed that old saw about the best form of defence being attack; he’d certainly got his defence in early.

  Dismayed that his brightly laid plans had fallen at the first hurdle, Rafferty said, ‘But you must have cancellations. Couldn’t—?’

  ‘Of course we have cancellations. And we’ve nearly as many bookings for those as we have for the wedding receptions. Weddings are big business nowadays, Inspector. Gone are the days when a couple could book up six months’ in advance and have their first choice. The statistics for those getting married may well be the lowest ever, but the requirements have risen. More and more people want a big wedding, the bigger the better, with no expense spared. Yes, we do very nicely out of the wedding market. It helps to keep us afloat during otherwise quiet times.’

  This was something Rafferty was beginning to realise. He slunk off a few minutes later, his tail doing its best to trip him up and with his prospective alternative career as a wedding organiser killed at birth. The job wasn’t as easy as he’d thought.

  But he wasn’t done yet. He still had high hopes over one or two of the other arrangements he had persuaded Abra to let him take over. Of course a swish hotel like The Elmhurst would be booked up months in advance. He should have realised that for himself as the manager had been quick to point out, the implication being that if Rafferty had been more astute and booking much further in advance of the wedding, of course he’d have been happy to do it at cost. What a pity he couldn’t, blah, blah, blah. Serve the ingrate right if he bungled any future investigations at his precious hotel.

  He was just thankful he hadn’t mentioned the possibility of booking the place to Abra. As it was, he’d already tried to pin down the usual brass photographer to a firm commitment to do the wedding, but he was playing fast and loose with him, complaining of the usual screaming brats he’d have to content with at a wedding. Rafferty had countered with the reply that at least children’s tantrums couldn’t be on a par with those of the brass in mid strop. But still the man wouldn’t commit himself and said he’d get back to him. With that he’d had to be content. But at least the wretch hadn’t said an outright no. As for the reception venue, he’d have to come up with somewhere else unless Abra agreed to postpone the wedding for another year. But as he couldn’t see that going down too well the possibility didn’t dwell with him for long.

  But even with the Elmhurst Hotel out of the window as a reception venue, he was still determined to wrest control of as much of the wedding arrangements as possible from an Abra who was proving unwarrantably extravagant. He was gung ho no longer. And Cousin Nigel was next on the agenda.

  Nigel Blythe was in the private office at the estate agency he owned. This was starkly modern with black leather and chrome, the seats uncomfortably low and difficult to get out of: All the better to keep potential buyers on the premises and open to persuasion. As always, Nigel looked Italian gigolo smart in a three-piece mauve suit and a silver-grey tie. No wonder Tony Moran had described him as a peacock. Rafferty was only surprised he’d felt such a small stir of recognition at Moran’s description.

  ‘Well, well,’ Nigel greeted their arrival as he leant back in his high-backed leather executive chair. ‘Look what the cat dragged in.’

  ‘Nice to see you, too, Jerry.�
� Rafferty pulled up a chair and sat down.

  The smile vanished from Nigel’s face at Rafferty’s use of his true given name. Nigel Blythe, as he now chose to call himself, didn’t like reminders of his common name and lowly origins. But Jerry Kelly he would always remain to Rafferty and he thought Nigel shouldn’t be allowed to become too forgetful of their shared background. Nigel preferred to pretend he had sprung, fully formed, as a smartly dressed and suave estate agent.

  Even though Rafferty knew it was unwise to antagonise his cousin if he wanted his cooperation, he couldn’t help himself. His cousin’s pretensions tended to rub him up the wrong way. ‘I hear you’ve gone into the loan shark business,’ he said.

  ‘Then you hear wrong.’ Nigel’s handsome face that was superficially so like Rafferty’s, but so much better looking, scowled. ‘I run a respectable loan firm. Nothing wrong in that.’

  ‘I doubt if Malcolm Forbes would agree with you. I wonder if he’s learned of your little business yet? I hear your men and his have had a few little contretemps at least.’

  Nigel paled at the mention of Forbes’s name, but he quickly regained his confidence. ‘I’m sure Mr Forbes isn’t frightened of a little competition.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’

  ‘You haven’t told him, have you?’

  ‘Would I do that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past you. You’re a copper and would probably be pleased if Forbes set one of his goons on me.’

  ‘No. Not at all. You shouldn’t judge everyone by your own standards, Jerry. It might spoil that nice suit. Looks an expensive bit of shmutter.’

  ‘It is. Anyway, there’s room for all of us in the business given the high rate of personal debt in the country. Like death and taxes, it’s ever with us and the number of debtors increases every year. I’m just doing my bit to help those in need.’