RAFFERTY & LLEWELLYN BRITISH MYSTERIES
BOOKS 1 – 4
Geraldine Evans
Dead Before Morning #1
Down Among the Dead Men #2
Death Line #3
The Hanging Tree #4
Table of Contents
RAFFERTY & LLEWELLYN BRITISH MYSTERIES
Table of Contents
DEAD BEFORE MORNING
COPYRIGHT
BLURB Dead Before Morning
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN
COPYRIGHT
BLURB Down Among the Dead Men
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
DEATH LINE
COPYRIGHT
BLURB Death Line
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
THE HANGING TREE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
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OTHER BOOKS BY GERALDINE EVANS
BRITISH ENGLISH USAGE AND SPELLING
DEAD BEFORE MORNING
The Rafferty & Llewellyn Series British Mystery Series
Geraldine Evans
COPYRIGHT
Dead Before Morning
Geraldine Evans
©Copyright Geraldine Evans 1993
Discover other books by Geraldine Evans at https://geraldineevansbooks.com
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Publisher’s Note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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BLURB Dead Before Morning
'This often comic tale sharpens the appetite for more.' PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
FRESHLY-PROMOTED COP Joe Rafferty has one ambition. To prove to his new boss that he has the ability to lead an investigation.
BUT, RIGHT FROM THE start things go wrong. To say the case of ‘The Faceless Lady’ is a challenge is putting it mildly. Not only is his main suspect for the murder a man who brings out his prejudices to the full. He can’t even rely on his family for support—as usual, they bring their own challenges for a hard-pressed detective. And he discovers the adage that trouble comes in threes is all too true. Even his new partner is a high-moral-ground kind of guy; not the best match for Rafferty. Or his ne’er-do-well family.
WITH HIS BOSS AND THE media scrutinising his every move, Rafferty is under pressure. He’s in danger of the wheels coming off his inquiry, falling flat on his face, and proving his boss right about his competence. He desperately needs a break in the case.
SO WHEN HIS COUSIN seems to hold the key to the case, Rafferty clutches at it. But can he really believe the cousin who’s proved himself an idiot in the past? If he’s wrong, he not only lets a murderer escape justice, but he will get a black mark against his career that will follow him forever.
'DID NOT SEE THE END coming.' Amazon Reviewer
'Evans' humor seriously added to my enjoyment of her book. The series has stand out central characters and clever plots.' AUNT AGATHA'S BOOKSHOP, ANN ARBOR
Chapter One
This novel uses British English spellings and slang, so please be aware there are differences in language use. You will find a handy list of these at the back of these novels.
'IS IT YOURSELF?'
Detective Inspector Joseph Aloysius Rafferty winced as his mother's voice threatened to pierce his eardrum and, although briefly tempted to plead not guilty, he had to agree that yes, it was himself. Surely, he demanded of his reflection in the hall mirror, a hangover, a murder and his mother all in one morning were more than any man should be expected to cope with? Especially at six thirty and after less than four hours’ sleep. 'I can't stop, Ma. Sergeant Llewellyn will be picking me up any minute.'
'I won't keep you then, son, but I didn't know who else to turn to and what with the wedding and all...’
Rafferty frowned. News of the murder had already taken their toll on his hung-over wits, but the word "wedding" on his Ma's tongue was even more worrying and he struggled to get his brain into gear. 'What wedding?'
'I know Jack's only a distant cousin,' she remarked briskly, 'but surely you haven't forgotten that he's over from Dublin to marry my niece, Deirdre?'
That wedding. How could he have forgotten that Jailhouse Jack, the world's most incompetent criminal was preparing to plight his troth and pass his genes on to the next generation? What a wonderful addition to a policeman's close family the bridegroom would be. Thank God the happy couple would be going back to Ireland straight after the wedding, and surely even Jack could stay out of trouble for the few weeks he'd be—
'He's in a spot of bother, Joseph.' After shattering his hopes, his mother didn't pause for either of them to catch their breath but went on to explain that his troublesome cousin was being held at the Harcombe nick on suspicion of lifting a lorry load of whisky. 'I know what you're going to s
ay,' she continued before he could get a word in, 'but this time I'm convinced he didn't do it.'
That would be a first, Rafferty thought, thankful that between them, the Irish Sea and a three-times removed cousinship, usually kept Jack from embarrassing him.
'It would be a shame if he got put away right before the wedding. Can you go and see him and sort it out, son? I wouldn't ask, only I've had Deirdre here half the night crying her eyes out. She's scared she'll have to cancel the wedding.'
Rafferty snorted. Wasn't a murder enough, he wondered, without being expected to sort out Jack's little problem? Especially as he knew that as soon as he set foot in the Harcombe nick and revealed his mission of mercy, the shit would hit the fan.
His relatives were the limit, especially as some of them thought that if they must have a copper in the family, he might at least have the decency to be a bent one. He consoled himself with the thought that he hadn't made a firm date with the looming fates. Jack could cool his heels for a bit. After a lightbulb moment, he recalled the wedding was still two weeks off. He had plenty of time.
'It's not everyone that avoids matrimony like you, Joseph,' his mother told him tartly. About to break in before she got into her stride, she forestalled him with a touch of pathos. ‘I only want to see you settled.' Cunningly, she injected a dirge note. 'I'd like grandchildren before I die.'
'You've got eleven grandchildren already, Ma, and another on the way,' he reminded her. 'How many more do you want?'
'I may have a dozen,' she retorted briskly, imminent death evidently forgotten. 'But they're none of them Raffertys; they're all your sisters' children. I want one or two from my eldest son, my greatest pride. How else can the name get carried on?'
'I'm sure the fifty odd Raffertys in the phone book will do their best to continue the line,' he observed. 'Why don't you call and spur them on a little?'
He glanced out of the window of his Essex flat and shivered. The day was bleak, the mist off the North Sea was thick and he could barely see the shoreline. Unfortunately, he had no trouble making out the thinly-handsome outline of his sergeant's face as he turned the car on to the forecourt. Llewellyn consulted his watch, and then gazed up at Rafferty's window with a suffering-bravely-borne expression.
Rafferty scowled. It was going to be one of those days. But at least Llewellyn’s prompt appearance gave him reason to escape. 'I really must be off,' he told her firmly. 'Llewellyn's here.' He paused, wishing he didn't have to tell her, but he'd never hear the end of it if she had to find out from the papers. Taking a deep breath, he told her quickly, 'There's been a murder and—'
She gasped, and he went on briskly, 'Rather a nasty one. A young girl.' According to the desk sergeant, the girl had been brutally battered, her face left in such a state that it would have looked more at home on a butcher's slab. 'She was found at that private psychiatric hospital here in Elmhurst and—'
'It'll be one of them dangerous cyclepaths escaped. They're always doing it. The people in charge of these places should be locked up. You stay well away, son,' she advised firmly. 'Let that superintendent sort it out.'
'I am a policeman, Ma. And I'll be in charge of this one. They just promoted me, remember?’ Still smarting from his superior sergeant’s last correction of his own imperfect use of the English language, Rafferty said, ‘And it’s psychopath, not cyclepath. Not that he necessarily is one,’ he hastily added. ‘Besides, just because the girl was found in a psychiatric hospital, doesn't mean one of the patients did it, you know.'
'Doesn't mean to say they didn't, either,' she retorted. 'Very sly some of them. And they expect you to catch him?' She tutted worriedly. 'You watch your step my lad.'
He intended to. 'I've got to go.' No doubt the rest of the team would already be there working hard and calling him rude names in his absence. 'About Jack, Ma, stop worrying. I'll see to it.' He didn't have much choice.
To his relief, she kept any further anxieties to herself. 'Thanks son.' Now pride edged some of the worry out of her voice. 'I'll tell Deirdre that "My son, The Police Inspector's got it in hand, and Jack's as good as free".'
Rafferty wished he shared his Ma's confidence that springing the prospective bridegroom would be as easy as catching him usually was, but he made no comment.
'Well, I won't make you late for your murder. Look after yourself, Joseph, and don't take any nonsense from any of them high and mighty doctors at that hospital. Arrest the lot of them if you have to.'
'I'll bear it in mind, Ma,' he told her dryly. 'Good-bye.'
THE CONSTABLE BECKONED the car forward and as the heavy hospital gates thudded together behind them, Llewellyn's dark eyes took on a mystic light as he remarked ominously, 'There'll be trouble over this one. Mark my words.'
Having delivered this cheering prognostication, he said no more and Rafferty, determined that the Welshman's black prophecy wouldn't undermine his confidence, did his best to ignore him.
He was helped in this by his first sight of the house. He came from a long line of builders and house renovators, and its classical Georgian elegance – which the well-tended grounds framed so perfectly – brought Rafferty a few precious moments of delight in a day unlikely to contain many pleasures. The handsome, seven-bay house was built of pale Caen stone, a popular import in such a stone-impoverished part of the country. The projecting central section was crowned by a graceful pediment, and the ground floor, raised above the semi-basement, was reached by stone steps. Slender pillars flanked the canopied front door and they were flanked in turn by single windows with two more on either side of the recessed sections of the house. Perfection.
Just then, the sun came out from behind the early morning cloud, and he stared, as all thirteen of the large sash windows seemed to wink at him, like all-seeing eyes, as though mocking his ability to discover what they had witnessed in the night; a sight undoubtedly shared by the secretive, half-closed dormer eyes of the attic floor. The optical illusion fanned the flames of the superstition that Llewellyn had already successfully kindled and as they passed the house, he switched his gaze determinedly ahead of him as his Welsh prophet of doom drew up behind the earlier arrivals.
'Dr. Dally's here,' Llewellyn remarked unnecessarily with a sidelong glance at Rafferty. 'He must be nearly finished by now.'
'We all know quick and speedy doesn't always win the race, Sergeant,' Rafferty retorted, stung by the dig. 'Not that Sam Dally's either when it comes to letting us have some results.' Not for the first, nor the last time that day, he reflected that it was a pity the girl had chosen a mental hospital in which to get herself murdered; on his first serious case since his promotion too. Now he wondered uneasily if an unpropitious fate was about to enjoy some fun and games at his expense. It wouldn't be the first time.
As they walked round the shrouding screen, Dr. Dally raised a shaggy grey eyebrow teasingly. 'Late again, Rafferty?'
Dally's jocular greeting merely earned a scowl, but as Rafferty got his first view of the corpse, he had to swallow hard, again regretting his previous night’s celebratory alcohol intake.
The girl was lying on her back and someone had certainly made mincemeat of her. What might once have been a pretty face was now a soggy mess—her teeth were gone, her eyes were gone, her nose was gone—all smashed to a bloody pulp. It looked as if someone had taken a sledge-hammer to her. 'The press will have a field day with this one,' he remarked grimly.
Considering it was April, the previous night had been quite balmy, yet surely he was only imagining the sickly scent of corruption? Behind him, Llewellyn remarked in funereal tones, '"So will we all decay. The past is the only dead thing that smells sweet."'
Rafferty gave him a jaundiced look. 'Thank you, Dylan Thomas.'
'Edward Thomas, actually, sir,' Llewellyn corrected and launched into a mini lecture, apparently believing that it was his duty to lighten the darkness of his boss's ignorance. 'Killed in action in World War One. Then there's R.S. Thomas, the Welsh vicar. He—'
&
nbsp; 'All right, all right,' Rafferty broke in, irritated as usual by Llewellyn's display of erudition; sure he did it out of some deep, mischievous desire to get under his skin. 'This is neither the time nor the place to set about completing my education, Sergeant. I'll thank you to remember that.'
His puce complexion regained some of its usually fresh colour as he put Llewellyn in his place, but it drained away again as he gazed at the dead girl. Poor bitch, he thought. Whoever, whatever she was, she surely hadn't deserved such an end. Curiously, the naked body was unmarked and as his eyes travelled over the slim cadaver, he wondered at the unfathomable ways of women. Why would a natural blonde dye her hair black?
'The first priority is going to be to find out who she was,' he remarked to Llewellyn. 'Tell Fraser I want her prints run through the computer yesterday.' He hoped to God they were on file. If they weren’t, it could be a nightmare to attempt to identify her. He turned to the doctor. 'What can you tell me, Sam?'
'Little enough, Rafferty, little enough. Sam's plump body rocked back on its heels and, behind his spectacles, his eyes lit up with relish as he watched Rafferty's face. 'You look a bit green, my boy.' He dug his hand in his back pocket and pulled out a small silver flask. 'Have a medicinal nip. Doctor's orders,' he added firmly as Rafferty hesitated.
Forgetting his scruples, Rafferty reached gratefully for his medicine and took a swig. 'Should be on prescription.' He grinned as the alcohol hit the spot. 'Irish?'
Looking offended, Dally remarked, 'It's only the best that the Highlands can offer. I can see it's wasted on you.' Taking the flask back, he had a quick nip himself. 'Ah. That's better. Nothing like a hair of the dog for setting a man to rights. And I should know.'
Rafferty brightened, glad to know he had company in his suffering. Especially when that company was in the rotund shape of the tonic toting Dally. 'I gather you had a heavy night?'
RAFFERTY & LLEWELLYN BOXED SET: BOOKS 1 - 4 Page 1