'Not proof as such,' Rafferty admitted. 'Not yet. But I've got the next best thing. I did a bit of arithmetic, and, for once, my sums added up. Was it just coincidence, do you think, that the young Moon worked for the Carstairs' nine months before Sarah was born? Mrs Carstairs must often have felt lonely. Not only did her husband spend most of his time careering round the world, but she must have suspected he had only married her as a cover for his real inclinations. And then there was Moon—a young Moon, fearful of his own homosexuality. What more natural than that two unhappy people should comfort one another? She was lonely; Moon was young and desperately trying to deny his real inclinations.'
'Surely, if Mrs Carstairs knew that Moon was Sarah's father, she would have told her, not left her in ignorance for years?'
'I doubt it. But until I have some more solid evidence, I don't want to ask Sarah's mother about it and give my hand away. Look at it this way; Sarah Astell adored the man she had thought of as her father—how could her mother tell her the truth? It would have become more difficult, not less, as time passed. Besides, there are a few other things that point to me being right. For instance, although Carstairs died a wealthy man, he didn't leave Sarah anything in his Will, but left the bulk of his money to a cousin. Admittedly, it might have been that he thought she didn't need it as she had inherited from her maternal grandfather, but still, you'd think he would have left her more than his old journals and films. My theory would explain why he didn't.
'And then there's Moon's inexplicable behaviour. I know he was supposed to be sentimental—but that was over people he had actually known. He had never known Sarah as a baby—he’d left Carstairs' employ months before she was born. Had probably never suspected that Mrs Carstairs had been pregnant until years later. It's my guess he only realised Sarah must be his child when he saw that picture of her at her twenty-first birthday party in Jubilee Year, asked Henry at the pub a few questions, and worked out the dates. Remember it was around that time that he offered Astell a job. It was probably an attempt to get close to Sarah. He must have helped himself to that photo of her as a baby on one of the rare occasions he managed to get his foot over the door. Why would any normal person feel anything but dislike for someone who treated them as badly as Sarah Astell treated Moon? They'd hardly carry their photo around, unless it was to stick pins in it. No, I'm convinced she was his natural child.'
Llewellyn still looked sceptical, until Rafferty produced his trump. 'According to Sam, Moon was 'AB' blood group. So is Sarah Astell.'
Llewellyn raised his eyebrows. 'How did you come by that information? Medical records are—'
'One of the easiest things in the world to gain access to. I know, I know. It's unethical. But I've got a murder to solve, Dafyd. I can't be doing with pettifogging rules and regulations. I got Sam to make a few discreet enquiries at the local hospital. Luckily, Carstairs and Sarah have both been treated there. As I told you, Sarah Astell is AB group. Carstairs was 'O' blood group. And according to Sam, it's impossible for an 'O' blood group parent to have an 'AB' child, no matter what the blood group of the other parent.'
Llewellyn digested this latest information. 'Very well. I agree, that means Carstairs couldn't have fathered her. But it still doesn't prove that Moon did.'
'True, but, it's certainly a coincidence that both Moon and Mrs Astell were 'AB' group, especially as only about 3% of the population come from that particular group.'
Llewellyn pointed out that 3% of 60 million people was still quite a large number.
'But how many of them had the run of the house at the appropriate time, as Moon had?' Rafferty demanded. 'You must admit it explains Moon's interest in Mrs Astell. It also explains why he carried that baby photo of her round with him. Ginnie Campbell said he stuffed his wallet with photos of friends, clients and relations. And as she certainly wasn't numbered amongst the first two, she must be one of his kith and kin.'
'Suppose you're right. What difference does it make?'
'It means that I'll feel a whole lot better about arresting her, for one thing,' Rafferty told him.
IF HE WAS RIGHT IN his conclusions, there was one other thing that Rafferty now expected to happen. And the very next morning, it did.
Moon's solicitor rang him with some interesting news. As Rafferty had anticipated, Jasper Moon's last will and testament had finally turned up. The solicitor assumed that it had got delayed in the mail for some reason.
Rafferty doubted it, but he didn't bother to contradict him. 'Who's the beneficiary?' he asked. The solicitor told him, and Rafferty nodded. It was as he had expected. Even Soames, a man of discretion, couldn't hide his astonishment that Moon should have called Sarah Astell, "my beloved daughter", and Rafferty smiled his satisfaction. 'There are no doubts about its legality?'
'None. I recognise Mr Moon's writing. For an amateur's effort, it's more than adequate. I imagine you'll want the beneficiary's address? It's—'
'It's okay. I know the address. 'Could I have a copy of the will?'
'It's rather unethical. It hasn't even been read yet.'
Rafferty managed to persuade the solicitor to forget his ethics.
'OF COURSE, WE STILL have no confirmation other than the chain of coincidences, his inexplicable affection for her, and that will, that Moon was Sarah Astell's father,' Rafferty admitted to Llewellyn. 'But what a motive that will gives her.'
Llewellyn was still playing hard to get. 'We can't be sure she even knew about it.
'Oh, come on, Dafyd,' Rafferty protested. 'I imagine that was part of the reason Moon wanted to see her. If I'm right, and I'm sure I am, he must often have longed to tell her the truth. She was his only child, for God's sake. The only one he was ever likely to have. I reckon he must have decided it was time she knew the truth. I'm sure his motives were mixed, confused. And he must have been anxious to demote Carstairs from his pedestal. That film put him and Moon on a par, if you like. It was a start. I doubt he would have expected much at that stage. But he must have fantasised about it so often that it would be easy to substitute her real reaction with his imagined one. There are times when we all see what we want to see. Even professional seers, like Moon, aren't immune.
'He would have told her about the will then, in a misguided attempt to make her accept him. He knew she risked losing her beloved childhood home. He must have thought he could use that as a lever. I doubt it crossed his mind that she would attack him. As I said, once he told her she was his beneficiary, that would give her even more reason to kill him. About five hundred grand's worth of reasons. I checked with Moon's publishers; his last book's selling very well, and not just in this country. Its worldwide sales so far put it in the best-seller class.
'We know that Mrs Astell lost a pile at Lloyds. They'd already mortgaged their house. But, as the debts grew she risked losing the childhood home that meant so much to her. She said herself that she was scared she would lose everything. Don't you think she would be prepared to do anything – anything at all – rather than risk losing that? Then she discovered she was Moon's daughter, his sole beneficiary, and in a moment's unthinking anger, greed, call it what you will, she killed him. Patricide, Llewellyn; a truly appalling crime. I imagine it was only later that she came to appreciate the enormity of what she had done. No wonder she couldn't bear to live.'
Rafferty snatched up the phone. 'I'm going to ring Appleby, and put us all out of our misery. He must have the results of those fibre tests by now.'
Chapter Sixteen
APPLEBY HAD COME UP trumps. The fibres taken from the desk were an exact match with those of the dress that Rafferty had obtained from Chez Sophie, identical in every way to the one which Mrs Astell had worn on the night of Moon's murder. Even the umbrella found in the gutter the morning after his death had been identified as hers. The net was closing in, and now Rafferty felt he had enough proof of her guilt to charge her. She was out of hospital, and was presumably physically well enough to face arrest. Even if, as seemed probable, her mental
state was less than healthy, at least, in custody, she was unlikely to be able to attempt a second suicide in order to escape justice, if such was her intention.
Now that he had the evidence of Moon's will, Rafferty tried to contact Sarah's mother to get her to admit the truth of her daughter's paternity. Unfortunately, she was uncontactable, being, at that moment, on the shuttle flying to be with her overwrought daughter.
Rafferty got Llewellyn to organise the search warrant. Of course, it was unlikely they would still find the dress. She would surely have destroyed it by now. But, she had paid for Chez Sophie's frock by credit card, so the purchase could be easily proved.
A little while later Rafferty nosed the car out of the police car park, and turned it in the direction of the Astells' house, accompanied in the car by Llewellyn and two other officers. Lizzie Green and Hanks followed in another vehicle.
Astell answered the door. He didn't seem surprised to see them. 'Inspector.' With a frown, he took in the other officers, before returning his gaze to Rafferty. 'What's going on?'
'I think you know, sir. Is your wife at home?'
'My wife? Yes, of course. She only came out of hospital yesterday. But why do you want to see her? She's hardly up to receiving visitors at present. I really can't allow—'
'I'm afraid you have no choice, sir.' It was the sort of situation Rafferty hated, and he forced his voice to sound firmer. There was no doubt that Sarah Astell was a sick woman, maybe not even totally responsible for her actions, but, if so, that was for others to decide. His job was to take her into custody. For himself, he believed her actions had been at least half prompted by greed, and this conviction firmed his voice still further, as he added, 'I really must insist.'
For a few seconds more, Astell barred their way and then, as if recognising the futility of his delaying actions, he stood aside and, with a defeated air, told them, 'She's in her sitting room.'
Rafferty, by now familiar with the layout of the ground floor, led the way. After knocking firmly on the door, he thrust it open. Sarah Astell was reclining on the chaise longue, just as she had been on the occasion of their first visit to the house.
'Inspector?' She sat up straight, and looked at him, her expression curiously blank. 'My goodness. So many police officers. Whatever do they want, Edwin?'
'I think you know,' Rafferty told her. He paused for a moment, to gain strength for the inevitable hysterics, before he cautioned her. She simply stared dumbly at him, as if unable to believe what was happening, and it was left to Edwin to make the denial.
He did so swiftly, stepping forward protectively in front of his wife. 'You can't suspect my wife of murdering Jasper. The idea's preposterous. She was here all that evening.'
'I don't think so,' Rafferty told him. 'In fact, we have evidence to the contrary. And a warrant to search this house.'
'But you can't just come in here and arrest my wife,' Astell protested. 'What about your other suspects? Ellen Hadleigh, for instance. After what my wife discovered about Moon and her son, I would have thought she had a particularly strong motive. What about her?' Even now, Astell's olde-worlde manners didn't desert him. 'You must excuse me, Inspector, but when you turn up here to arrest my wife – my wife of all people – I must question your competence and your judgement.'
Rafferty flushed. But before he could make some possibly unwise reply, Llewellyn interposed himself between them.
'I think the Inspector will permit me to tell you that your own evidence exonerates Mrs Hadleigh.'
'My evidence? What do you mean, Sergeant?'
Rafferty, unwilling to admit he was as bewildered by Llewellyn's claim as Edwin Astell, waited, intrigued to discover what he had missed.
'You told us yourself that, as well as trying and failing to speak to Mr Moon on the telephone that night, you also telephoned Mrs Hadleigh.'
Light seemed to be dawning behind Astell's eyes. After a worried glance at his wife, who had collapsed back onto the settee, he admitted it.
'Would you mind telling us what time you spoke to her?'
Astell hesitated. Rafferty broke in quickly. He now understood that Llewellyn was playing a game of double-bluff and he was scared the Welshman, not being a gambling man, might overplay his hand. 'Please think very carefully before you answer, Mr Astell. It wouldn't be a good idea to lie to protect your wife. It can easily be checked.' But as Llewellyn had guessed, it seemed probable the call had been made around the same time as the one to Moon; either just before, or just after.
Thirty seconds passed before Astell, his voice dull, defeated, told them, 'I rang her just before 8.25 p m.'
'In other words, after you had tried and failed to ring Mr Moon, whom we, as you know, have reason to believe was dead by then. You must see that your evidence clears Ellen Hadleigh. We know she didn't take another taxi to or from Moon's office—I had that checked out. She couldn't have walked from her home to Moon's office, killed him, and then returned home in time to take your call.' Rafferty cleared his throat. It sounded unnaturally loud in the now tense silence. 'But, while your evidence clears the person you yourself considered the main suspect, it points the finger even more firmly at your wife.'
Astell sank down on the nearest chair and, briefly, put his head in his hands. Rafferty turned to Sarah Astell, who had remained silent throughout. She seemed bewildered by the turn of events, and shrank back in her chair as Rafferty gestured for Lizzie Green and Hanks to come forward.
'These two officers will accompany you to the station, Mrs Astell. I'll be along shortly.' Even though it wasn't strictly necessary for him to be present, Rafferty was anxious to begin the search for the incriminating dress. He wanted to find out if it was still in the house before he began interviewing her.
'No!' Sarah Astell gripped the wooden surround of her chair as the officers approached. 'Go away! Edwin: stop them. Make them understand I didn't do it.'
Astell's only answer was to put his head in his hands again, as if to shield himself from the sight and sound of his distraught wife. But her next imploring wailing of his name brought him to his feet, white-faced now, and he pulled her up. 'I think you'll have to be brave, Sarah. At least for a little while.' She swayed in his arms, and he told her in a tone intended to encourage, 'Come along, my dear. You'll have to go with them. It'll only be for a short while, I promise. Try not to worry. I can't believe they have a case against you. They'll soon find out their mistake. Anyway, I understand they can only hold you for a limited time before they must either let you go or charge you, and I doubt they'll be able to do that.'
At the word “charge”, she clutched at him, and let out a frightened cry. 'They can't arrest me, Edwin, they can't. You mustn't let them. You know I'm not well...'
Somehow Astell managed to calm her. 'I can't stop them taking you, but you'll be back home very soon, I'll make sure of it. Just promise me you'll say nothing until I can contact our solicitor and get him to the police station. Promise me?' His long, gloved fingers cradled her head on either side while he gazed at her, his expression that of an anxious parent trying to imbue a weak and easily-swayed child with some of his own strength.
His voice, with its sensible advice and measured tones seemed to calm her, for, after gazing uncertainly back at him, she nodded, the action sending the tears in her eyes cascading over their rims. 'I promise.'
'Good girl.' After helping his trembling wife into a warm coat, he had more words of comfort for her. 'I'll get straight onto Courtney, and then follow you on to the police station. We'll be with you very soon.'
'But what if he can't come, Edwin? What if he—?'
He shushed her. 'He'll come. I don't care what it costs, or how inconvenient he finds it to do so. I want you home here with me, not locked up in a police station. And the sooner the better.'
In spite of her distress, a creeping flush of pleasure stole into Sarah Astell's pale cheeks. She reached out a trembling hand and touched his face, gazing searchingly at him, murmuring his name s
oftly before he released her.
Chapter Seventeen
AS SOON AS MRS ASTELL had been driven off to the station, Rafferty wasted no time. He called the station for more officers, and when they arrived five minutes later, he led the way upstairs. Once in the Astells' bedroom, he instructed them to begin searching. They started with the wardrobes; Astell's wardrobe was half-empty, but Mrs Astell's was full to bursting. Rafferty watched impatiently, as the clothes in each were checked. To his surprise, Mrs Astell hadn't destroyed the dress she had worn on the evening Moon died. It was foolish of her, but also understandable. It had been expensive. Even if it was likely to incriminate them, not many women would be able to bring themselves to throw away such a beautiful gown. After he examined the hem, and discovered it did have several pulled threads, he had it carefully bagged up and labelled.
Moon, father and daughter, both seemed to favour the same hiding places for their secrets. Because, hidden at the back of Mrs Astell's wardrobe, they found the twin of the Memory Lane DVD they had found concealed in Jasper Moon's wardrobe. After killing Moon, she would have taken and destroyed the DVD Moon played in his office, but she would have realised he would have another copy hidden away. In desperation, she had ransacked his office. Unfortunately for her, Moon had taken the precaution of hiding it at his flat.
Rafferty frowned, he was missing something—what was it? But it hardly mattered. They had the dress and the DVD; with the rest of the case against her, they had more than enough for a conviction. Now he had the evidence, Rafferty was content to leave the other officers to continue their search. With a nod to Llewellyn, he led the way downstairs, and into the sitting room. There was one more thing he needed. He thumbed along the spines of Carstairs' journals till he found the one he wanted. Quickly, he hunted through the first quarter of the journal for 1956. It was as he had thought—Carstairs had been continuously abroad throughout that period. It was just another piece in the jigsaw, because they already knew he couldn't have fathered Sarah.
RAFFERTY & LLEWELLYN BOXED SET: BOOKS 1 - 4 Page 64