'Seeing as you've spurned the first of my clues,' Appleby broke in. 'How about taking a look at the second? You'll like this one,' he promised. 'There are several nice bloody fingerprints on the outside of the window sill. Definitely not the dead man's. Fraser's taken an impression of them.'
Rafferty waved another olive branch at Llewellyn's poker-face. 'That sounds more like it, hey, Dafyd? Something to get your teeth into.'
'If you say so, sir,' Llewellyn replied woodenly.
Irritated all over again, Rafferty opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, a sudden commotion from the stairway stopped him.
A voice yelling, 'Come back! You can't go up there,' was followed by the pounding of heavy copper's feet on the stairs.
Rafferty strode across the room and flung the door open. 'What the hell's going on?' he demanded.
A woman of about thirty stood at the head of the stairs. Looking sheepish and flustered, PC Smales stammered his apologies. 'She sidled past me when I was looking the other way, sir.'
Rafferty guessed she was the Latin American woman, Mercedes Moreno, that Astell had mentioned. Dressed completely in black, a long flowing creation, covered by straight midnight dark hair, her skin was very pale, unnaturally so, he thought, as if she was ill or had deliberately powdered it that way for effect. She looked like an extremely exotic witch.
Smales, putting as much authority into his voice as his twenty years could muster, said, 'Come along now, Miss. You've no right to be here.' His colour deepened when the woman ignored him. There was an air of suppressed excitement about her, and although she was doing her best to conceal it, the fluttering muscle in her cheek gave the lie to her efforts. She had still said nothing. Her silence only disconcerted the young officer even more. He gripped her arm, but she shook him off as if he were no more than a minor irritation and he stood irresolute and uncertain until Rafferty took pity on him and dismissed him.
The woman fixed her great dark eyes on Rafferty. 'Jaspair is dead, is he not?'
'You are Mrs Mercedes Moreno I take it?'
'Of course. Who else would I be?'
Who else, indeed? 'Would you mind telling me how you knew Mr Moon was dead?' Dispensing with Superintendent Bradley's preferred brand of crawling civility, he demanded sharply of Astell as, in response to the noise, he came out of his office, 'Did you contact her and tell her of Moon's death while you were waiting for us to arrive?'
Astell denied it.
'Edwin has told me nothing.' Her expression haughty, as if she considered the answering of police questions to be beneath her, she added, 'I read the Tarot for Jaspair yesterday during my lunch break. Each card told of sudden happenings and great changes. First, he drew the Death card.' Showing a gift for timing the late Olivier might have envied, she paused dramatically, waiting for a reaction. When even Rafferty failed to oblige, she went on, 'Admittedly, this card indicates the end of a natural cycle rather than death itself, but even so... Next, it was the Ten of Swords which warns of trials and tribulations, and The Tower, which represents the defeat of false philosophies, and finally, the Page of Swords, which warns of a deceitful person.' She paused once more and gazed from face to face, before telling them with a proud toss of her head, 'I am vidente—fey, I think you call it. But, even without the warnings from the cards, I sensed danger for Jaspair, negative auras surrounded him and I warned him to take care.' Solemnly, she added, 'It is a pity he did not listen to me.'
At a loss, Rafferty was careful to avoid Llewellyn's eye. He was still fumbling around for an appropriate response when a prolonged bout of wheezy coughing from Astell saved him the trouble.
'Sorry.' Astell apologised, and explained, 'Bronchitis. Suffered from it for years.'
'You should live in a warmer climate, Edwin,' Mercedes told him with a silky concern that, in Rafferty's jaundiced view, sounded overly effusive. 'Have I not told you this before? Always you will have this problem until you do.'
'A sensible suggestion, if lacking in practicality,' was Astell's terse comment. 'My life, my wife, my work is here.'
'None of them are of any use to you if you are dead,' she told him prosaically. 'And I thought you were so much improved yesterday.' She felt his forehead and he backed away in irritation. 'You are very hot. You should go home and go to bed.'
If anyone could blow their nose in a manner that said clearly – mind your own business – Astell did so. He put his handkerchief away. 'How can I, with-with Jasper dead? Someone's got to keep the business afloat. Or are you suggesting I leave you in charge?'
Mercedes Moreno's eyes glittered angrily at the rebuke, but she said no more. After a few moments uncomfortable silence, Rafferty asked, 'and how did Mr Moon take your, er, your warning, Mrs Moreno?'
Disdainfully, she told him, 'He accused me of, how you say, fixing the pack. He never take me seriously. As if I would do such a thing. I was upset that he should think I might. He thought I made practical joke.' Her voice was shrill with outrage, though whether at Moon's accusation, Astell's rebuke, or his own scepticism, Rafferty couldn't say. 'I nevair joke.'
Rafferty could believe it. She reminded him of sombre, history-book portraits of long-dead and fanatically devout Spaniards at the time of the Inquisition. As a lapsed Catholic, such obsessive intensity always gave him a shiver of dread.
Nostrils flaring, she declared, 'El Senor Moon and La Senora Campbell seemed to think that because I have none of their pieces of paper that my skills are the second rate sort, fit only for selling trinkets in the shop. Is not true. In my own country I was highly thought of, but here—’ she made a noise of disgust.
Half expecting her to stamp her foot and burst into a flood of incomprehensible Spanish, Rafferty wondered why she hadn't stayed in her own country if they had thought so highly of her. She had made no comment about Astell's opinion of her skills, but it was clear he didn't rate them very highly. If he had, he wouldn't have been so sharp with her.
She was clearly a highly-excitable woman, fond of dramatizing herself. It was unlikely they'd ever get to the bottom of her outlandish claims, and Rafferty, refusing to let her wrong-foot him, ushered them all into Astell's office and shut the door.
'Perhaps you would both like to tell me when you last saw Mr Moon?' he suggested. 'You first, Mrs Moreno.'
'I left at 6.10 p m, a little later than usual as I had first to get changed. I went upstairs to say good night to Jaspair. He was in his office.'
'Was he alone?'
'Yes. But the cleaner, she was in the kitchen. Jaspair tease me again about my warning. I was upset that he made mock of me and told him so. I went straight from work to Senor and Senora Astell. Senora Astell had invited me over. Yesterday was the anniversary of her beloved father's death,' she explained. 'She wanted to mark it properly. English people, I find, have little feeling for such rituals, but not Senora Astell. She has the proper respect for her family, and although she is not Catholic, she knew that in my religion, we show the dead due reverence; we pray for them, light candles for them to lessen the time they must spend in Purgatory. She has a little shrine to her father and she asked me to come to share the evening with her, her husband, and an elderly lady friend of her father's. It was an honour to be asked.'
'What time did this, er, occasion start and finish?' Rafferty asked Astell.
'It started about 6.30 p m and ended quite early, about 8.00 p m. Clara Davies, my father-in-law's old friend is quite elderly now, and doesn't enjoy late nights, not that these affairs have ever gone on very late.' Suddenly, as if sorry about his earlier sharpness, he smiled at the Peruvian woman. 'Mrs Moreno was concerned that my wife would be anxious and came a little early. She knew my wife planned to serve a light buffet afterwards, and wanted to help.'
'Is the least I could do,' she told him softly. 'I am very fond of Senora Astell and it was an important occasion for her. I offered to help clear up before I left the first time, but Mr Astell would not hear of it.' She smiled a smug smile. 'But I got my w
ay in the end. That is why I leave the gloves,' she explained. 'So I have an excuse to return. The cleaner had gone home sick and is not right that Mr Astell should have to do women's work.'
Astell seemed to find her out-dated attitude embarrassing. 'I only had to load up the dishwasher,' he explained. 'Not such an arduous task after all.'
'Even so,' she began. Rafferty, tiring of this dish-talk, interrupted her to ask, 'I gather you finally left a little before 9.00 p m?' She nodded.
He turned to Astell. 'And you, sir? What time did you last see Mr Moon?'
'About 5.30 p m. Jasper's 4.00 p m client had left about half an hour earlier. He'd have been alone once Mrs Hadleigh left at 7.00 p m. Although Jasper was healthy enough, he wasn't a particularly fit man, Inspector. He'd have been easy prey for any violent intruder.'
Rafferty sighed and glanced at Llewellyn. Edwin Astell seemed determined to believe that some anonymous intruder had killed Moon, as if convinced that repetition of this belief would incline the police to share it. Rafferty wished he could share it; he didn't relish the thought that one of Moon's well-known and probably litigious clients had killed him. If they had, and Rafferty failed to nail them thoroughly, he foresaw claims for wrongful arrest flying around his unprotected head. For he could be sure that Bradley would promptly disown him.
Get a grip, Rafferty. Worry about making an arrest when you've got a firm suspect, not before. Still, that locked cash box was interesting. To lock up afterwards was the natural instinct of the security conscious owner, or conscientious employee, not of a thief. It was possible that the murder was an inside job and the window was broken and the money taken afterwards in order to deflect suspicion. However, he said nothing of this to Astell. 'You went home straight after?' he asked.
'Yes. I bathed and changed into my dinner suit—as Mrs Moreno mentioned, my wife regarded these anniversary evenings as special, so I like to make an effort. My wife is a semi-invalid, Inspector, doesn't get out much and does very little socialising, so these evenings are that much more important to her.'
Rafferty nodded. 'I didn't realise your wife was an invalid. It must be difficult for you.'
'Oh, she's not in a wheelchair or anything like that, Inspector.' Astell frowned. 'It might be better if she were. If she had a specific physical problem, then at least the doctors might be able to do something for her. As it is, beyond saying she's highly-strung, over-anxious and prone to the muscular aches and pains and exhaustion brought about by her anxiety syndrome, they are unable to tell me much.' He enlarged a little more about his wife's poor health, as though pleased to find a sympathetic audience, before he carried on with his explanation. 'Anyway, we hold this little remembrance service every year for my late father-in-law, Alan Carstairs. Usually, we have more guests, but my wife hasn't felt up to the extra effort this year, so it was just the four of us.'
After a few more questions, Rafferty let Mrs Moreno go. 'Can you accompany my sergeant so the fingerprint man can take your prints?' he asked. 'Simply for purposes of elimination,' he explained before she could protest. Having expected her to make a fuss, he was surprised when she agreed with no difficulty. When she had gone with Llewellyn, Rafferty turned back to Astell. 'I'm afraid you won't be able to use the premises until the forensic team have finished their work. Could be a day or two.'
Astell nodded. 'Probably little point in opening, anyway, Inspector. With Jasper gone, the only people likely to want to make appointments will be the usual ghouls.'
From Astell's drawn features, Rafferty guessed that Moon's death would adversely affect the business. Moon – to a large extent – apparently was the business. 'We'll do our best to keep the ghouls away, sir. I'll ask the forensic team to work as quickly as possible so you can get back to some kind of normality. One more thing. Which of your staff have keys to the premises?'
'All of them. Mrs Hadleigh, the cleaner, starts work before anyone else gets in. And, of course, the shop stays open till 6.00 p m to catch the returning office workers, so Mrs Moreno has a key. When Jasper is away on working trips abroad there would otherwise be no-one to lock up the shop.'
'But wouldn't you or Mrs Campbell still be working?'
'No. As I told you, both Mrs Campbell and I concentrate more on the postal side, so work mainly office hours. Because of my wife's ill-health, I like to leave fairly promptly. She becomes upset if I'm not home when expected. Anyway, most people who require a personal consultation naturally want to see Jasper. He's the one they've heard of, you see.'
'You don't mind?'
Astell shrugged. 'We both had our niche. Some of the clients can get very emotional, very demanding. I'm better applying my skills at a distance, as it were. But Jasper is – was – splendid at dealing with such people. Besides, I still spent a large part of my time on the book-keeping, and so on.'
'I understand Mr Moon was a wealthy man?' Astell nodded. 'Do you know if he made a Will?'
'I've no idea. But I can give you the name of his solicitors.' He did so as Llewellyn popped his head round the door. Rafferty said, 'You won't forget to check that none of Mr Moon's client files are missing before you go, sir?’ Astell shook his head. ‘I'll assign one of my officers to help you.'
'Llewellyn, check that the SOCOs have finished with the filing cabinet and diary, will you, before you take Mr Astell for his prints?' He turned back to Astell as Llewellyn vanished. 'There is one more thing before you go, sir. Could you let me know the name of Mr Moon's next of kin? Was he married?'
Again Astell shook his head.
'So, who would his next of kin be?'
'I don't know. His parents were both dead and he had no brothers or sisters. He never talked about having any close family.'
'He lived alone then?'
'Actually, Jasper didn't live alone. He, um, he lived with another man, by the name of Farley. Christian Farley.'
Rafferty stared at him for a moment, before what Astell had said sunk in. 'I see. Have Moon and this Mr Farley lived together long?'
'About five years, I believe.'
Happily anticipating nothing more than the usual short duration of most homosexual romances, Rafferty felt a sinking sensation at this news. Moon and Farley's relationship had lasted longer than many modern marriages and his stomach tensed at the thought of the embarrassment and difficulties to come. No matter how hard he tried to act normally, homosexuals always made him feel awkward; it was something else for which he could thank the Catholic Church. Although consciously he'd rejected their teachings on most things, some aspects had evidently taken subconscious root. Even now, he still felt a twinge of guilt whenever he used a condom; the Catholic Church having long frowned on any sexual act that wasn't purely and simply for the procreation of children. And their views on homosexual unions were like something out of the Middle-Ages, full of fire and brimstone warnings that unnatural practises earned an eternity in a devilish barbeque pit where they never ran out of charcoal.
Rafferty wondered how he would have coped after such indoctrination if he had found his sexual inclinations to be other than male-female. Back came the answer: badly. He supposed, with all the givens, he should be thankful that awkward was all he felt in their company. He cleared his throat. 'Is, er, is Mr Moon's... Is this Mr Farley likely to be at home now, do you think?'
'I imagine so. He doesn't have any kind of employment. Hasn't had any for the last two years. I'd-I'd break the news gently, Inspector. Farley can be a little emotional. Of course, he's a Cancer sun with a Pisces Moon, so it's understandable. Two Water signs prominent in his chart, you see.'
Rafferty stared at him in dismay. Homosexual and emotional. He just hoped this Farley didn't fling himself round his neck and burst into tears. He couldn't be sure that his reaction would be as sympathetic as Farley's loss warranted and Llewellyn was unlikely to be much help. The Welshman had confided to Rafferty at the beginning of their very first case together, that as a boy, his minister father had insisted on him accompanying him to break news
of death. His distaste for such tasks had increased with the years, and now, such occasions rendered him even more awkward than Rafferty among homosexuals. It was one of the intellectual Welshman's more human weaknesses and Rafferty liked him the better for it.
By the time Rafferty had checked a few more points, Llewellyn had returned, and he let Astell go. After ringing the station and organising the house-to-house team, he nominated several officers to make a start in listing Moon's client files as soon as Astell had confirmed there were none missing.
Virginia Campbell had still not turned up, though the officer assigned to check her address said a neighbour had confirmed she had been about that morning, so Rafferty ruled out the possibility of a flit. If she had reason to flit, last night would have been the time to do it. Maybe it was as Astell had said and Moon had given her a second day off without mentioning the fact. Hopefully she would return home at some point during the day, because he would need to get her statement.
'Right.’ He turned to the hovering Llewellyn. 'Let's go and see Moon's boyfriend.' Rafferty told him what Astell had said, and as he had expected, Llewellyn's long face grew appreciably longer. 'Farley has two Water signs prominent, according to Astell,' Rafferty told him. 'So I reckon we can expect plenty of waterworks. Cheer up, Dafyd.' Rafferty couldn't resist the dig. 'With such sensitive palms, you should have no trouble mopping him up. Let's get moving.'
Chapter Three
ON THE WAY OUT, RAFFERTY stopped to read the words painted in white Gothic script on the smoky glass of The Psychic Store. "Personal consultations in Tarot, Astrology, Palmistry by internationally renowned reader, Jasper Moon. Make the fates work for you, not against you." Oh yeah? Was his automatic response. Since when were the fates open to argument, however persuasive? Like self-employed plumbers, the fates followed their own idiosyncratic course.
RAFFERTY & LLEWELLYN BOXED SET: BOOKS 1 - 4 Page 45