‘You're sure?’
Miller clearly believed his previous vehemence should be diluted. ‘No. Of course I'm not sure. How can I be? Only all this’ — again he waved an arm to encompass the scene -‘has knocked my thought processes askew.’
Rafferty nodded. Maybe later when he'd had time to think he would be able to tell them something helpful. Or maybe not, Rafferty thought as he caught Miller sweep an assessing glance over the house and grounds.Did the handsome young Miller of the tanned and taut torso fancy his chances of sharing Felicity Raine's inheritance, he wondered? And if so, had he thought it prudent to keep quiet about whatever he might know about the Raines’ marriage and Raymond's death, in the hope of stepping into Raymond's empty shoes as far as the beautiful Felicity was concerned? Or was he simply hoping for some easy money in the form of blackmail for his continued silence, assuming Felicity did retract her confession and force them to put together a case against her? Certainly, Miller's determinedly low profile and failure to ask the usual rash of questions was curious.
Rafferty watched with narrowed eyes as Nick Miller climbed into his dirty van with the easy grace of his enviable physique, backed in the turning circle and motored slowly up the drive. He didn't look back until he had put what he presumably deemed sufficient distance between himself and the police. Then, as he waited for the police tape to be removed to allow his exit, he permitted himself one more slow sweeping glance of the Raines’ extensive home before he held up one hand in what Rafferty felt was a mocking salute and drove off.
Chapter Four
The business premises of the Raines’ family fashion firm looked sleek and decidedly upmarket, their jaunty yellow umbrella logo prominent on the facade.
Rafferty parked in the small forecourt and he and Llewellyn entered the understated but undoubtedly expensive reception area.
Of course, the family business was fashion design so they would require premises that reflected the appropriate image: mahogany and other old-fashioned Victoriana would have no more place here than stuffed eagles or tiger-skin rugs. With its decor of black, grey and silver, with accents of white and rich scarlet, and seating in black leather and chrome; it looked coolly elegant, as did the young woman seated behind the high, curved reception desk, who was clothed in similar hues to the reception area itself.
Rafferty wondered if it was a uniform or if, as the very visible front to the family fashion business, she was required to model their latest lines as part of her duties. Her trim figure and erect posture showed off the Raines’ fashion wares to advantage. It was a shame that her welcome, smiling and warm at first, should become a cool match for her surroundings as soon as Rafferty flipped open his warrant card, introduced himself and Llewellyn, and revealed the reason for their visit and that they had an appointment with Michael Raine.
‘Please take a seat,’ she requested as her smile turned from cool to distinctly frosty, ‘and I'll tell Mr Raine you're here.’
From Rafferty's point of view, this rumour-mongering and side-taking often proved, if not always helpful, at least illuminating as to the state of relationships. The receptionist's blatant hostility struck him as potentially mirroring that of Mike Raine, Raymond's cousin, the man they had come to see.
But he mustn't prejudge a man he had yet to meet, he warned himself. And it was true that a murder in the family made people react warily when the police came calling. He was dragged from his thoughts by the still-cool voice of the receptionist.
‘Mr Raine is free now,’ she told them. ‘You may go up and he will meet you at the lift on the sixth floor.’
Rafferty smiled his thanks. It brought no answering smile from the receptionist.
The lift was as sleek and elegant as the reception area and its female attendant; it even had a little black padded seat running round the three walled sides, with matching, but presumably thinner, black, grey and white marble slabs like those that floored the reception on the floor and the walls of the lift under the seat. Above it, some of the most flattering mirrors Rafferty had ever seen rose on three sides to the ceiling. He took the opportunity to smooth his untidy hair and straighten his tie.
The lift was subtly perfumed, soft music issued from invisible speakers — soulful jazz of some sort, Rafferty thought, though not being a jazz fan he didn't recognise the tune. Altogether it was such a comfortable mode of upward locomotion that he was rather sorry when the lift's engineering revealed itself as being at least as expensive as the lift's interior and the doors opened, seemingly just seconds after they had closed, to reveal a man who could only be Mike Raine.
It was possible to trace the features of Raymond in those of his cousin. But although the cousins shared a finely chiseled nose and full lips, where Raymond had been well built, with a powerful physique and firmly chiseled jaw, Mike must have felt destined while Raymond was alive to remain in his cousin's shadow.
Slim to an extent that looked unhealthy, Michael Raine was still a good-looking man, though compared to his cousin his good looks would, in a previous generation, have been the wanly handsome looks of the consumptive; a pale shadow indeed.
As they shook hands, Rafferty was surprised to find how firm — challenging even — was Mike Raine's handshake. It was as if he was determined to show by the force of his grip that although conscious of the ‘pale-imitation’ tag, he was determined to kill it — as he had killed his cousin? Rafferty pondered the thought that entered his mind as it struck him again just how much wealth was at stake here.
But time would tell if it had been Mike Raine, rather than Felicity, who was guilty of murder. For the moment, as behind his back he surreptitiously flexed his squashed fingers, he resolved to avoid any more such painful encounters.
Mike Raine led them into his office. The room was defiantly at odds with the decor in what Rafferty had seen of the rest of the building, where presumably the late Raymond Raine's taste had held sway.
Here, there was colour in plenty. And although the floor matched the scheme of the building in its black, white and grey marbling, the rest of the room's exuberant embrace of rainbow colours seemed designed to cock a snook at such knowingly superior sophistication. Strangely, the mad colour mix didn't jar the senses. The sheer exuberance of the room seemed more to encourage a childish joy at such richness, though Rafferty, who was partial to bright colours himself, wondered if that wasn't just him.
Along with the bright colour scheme, Mike Raine also favoured modern primitif art in bright primaries. Rafferty wondered if their interviewee had deliberately set out to annoy his cousin. But whether he had or not, to them Mike Raine displayed a disarming openness. Rafferty watched him covertly as the young man picked up the phone and ordered coffee. His face had a boyish quality that — to judge from the dead man's photographs at least — seemed to have been entirely missing from Raymond's. It was attractive, certainly, but in a different way to the more strongly masculine-looking Raymond.
Mike Raine interrupted his thoughts as he replaced the receiver. ‘You haven't said exactly why you need to speak to me, inspector. Though if you require an alibi from me’ -he gave a rueful smile that showed off his boyish good looks to advantage — ‘I'm afraid I am unable to provide one.’
Rafferty, always suspicious of such frank and ready admissions during a murder case, said nothing as Mike Raine's secretary entered with the coffee, set it on the desk and poured. Then he suggested with a smile, ‘Perhaps you can at least tell us where you were around seven to seven thirty on Monday morning, when your cousin died?’
‘Certainly. Normally I'd have been at home. But on that particular morning, I was already at work at seven.’
‘And no one can verify that, you said?’
‘Actually,’ Raine's secretary interrupted, ‘Jane on reception said to me earlier that she saw you arrive on Monday morning.’
Convenient, was Rafferty's thought. He asked, ‘Was there some breakfast meeting on the premises that required such early attendance from the receptionist?’
> ‘No,’ the secretary replied. ‘But I was on holiday that day and Jane, who often fills in for me and who lives opposite the firm, assumed Mike had forgotten to mention that he was having an early start and she rushed to get ready in case he wanted her to do some typing for him.’
‘I see.’ Rafferty gave a slow nod, smiled, thought again, How convenient, and turned back to Mr Raine: ‘And what were you working on that morning that was so special, sir, that it required such an early start?’
Mike Raine frowned, and a peevish expression replaced the boyish look. ‘I'd been preparing a report on the amount of business I'd brought to the firm in the last six months. I came in that morning specially to finish it. I wanted to have it ready so that I could present it to Ray.’
‘To what purpose, exactly?’
‘To what purpose?’ Mike sat back in his black-leather executive chair and whirled it until he was facing Rafferty square on. ‘I'm afraid Ray tended to belittle my contribution. I thought if I could prove how much my efforts have increased the profits — prove it in pages of the facts and figures he relished so much — he might start to appreciate me.’
Rafferty nodded, but he suspected there might be more to Mike's desire to prove himself to his cousin than he had admitted to; maybe they would learn what it was when they saw the solicitor.
He wondered if Mike had been relieved to learn of Felicity's ready confession. Certainly, he now asked how she was coping, with every appearance of concern for her. He even asked if they believed she had killed Raymond.
‘Do you?’ Rafferty countered.
Mike shrugged. ‘I really don't know. At first, when your officers told me what had happened, I thought it unlikely. But now I've had time to think about it, I have to say that I don't understand why she — or anyone — would confess to murder unless prompted by a guilty conscience.’ He gave a long-drawn-out sigh. ‘Poor Felicity.’ After a moment's pause, he added, ‘Poor Raymond, too, of course. I don't think they were particularly happy together. I've always been fond of Felicity. I'll do anything I can to help her. I presume she's got a solicitor to advise her?’
Rafferty nodded. The very same solicitor who had contacted him only five minutes earlier as they drove to the Raines’ business premises, to tell him his client had retracted her confession. And although he'd been expecting it from the start, the disappearance of his nice, easy case was a blow.
But it was something he chose, for now, to keep from Mike Raine. If Felicity or her solicitor didn't confide in him themselves Rafferty thought it might provide him with a useful leverage later in the case. Though given the fact that Felicity hadn't been in a rush to consult or confide in Mike, he found himself pondering the reason why.
Before they left, they got Mike to show them Raymond's office. It was a corner office, twice the size of Mike's and very plush. Modern art lined the walls. It shared the space with photographs of models strutting their stuff on the catwalk wearing what Rafferty presumed were Raine designs, and others of glittering celebrity parties. He spotted Raymond in one of them, glass in hand, head back, laughing and looking supremely confident of his place in the world.
‘I'll need to take Mr Raine's contacts book and diary,’ he told Mike.
‘You can't, I'm afraid. Ray always kept such details on the computer. But I can get his secretary to print them out for you.’ He opened the adjoining door and went through.
Rafferty followed him,just in case Mike tried to tell Ray's secretary to delete some telling detail, and was surprised to discover that Raymond Raine's secretary was not some short-skirted dolly bird but a middle-aged woman with neat grey hair and an awe-inspiring typing speed.
But, in spite of the still-efficient typing, it was clear the woman had been crying. Her tears, for Rafferty, only served to point up the lack of tears from Raymond's cousin. As Raymond's secretary printed out the diary and contacts list, Rafferty questioned her about her boss.
‘What was the late Mr Raine like to work for?’
‘I always found him a good boss. He believed in rewarding loyalty and hard work. And although he could be demanding — expecting you to do overtime at a moment's notice and get work completed yesterday that you didn't receive till today — I didn't mind. I know — knew — how hard he worked himself. No one worked harder than he did. He was a dynamic man. I'll miss him.’
On an impulse, Rafferty turned to Mike and asked, ‘And you, Mr Raine? Will you miss your cousin?’
For a few seconds Mike Raine's face took on as many hues as his office walls, then he gathered his dignity about him and quietly confirmed, ‘Of course I'll miss him. Raymond's always been there. It'll be strange to go on without him.’
Was that a trace of sheer delight he caught in Mike's voice? Rafferty asked himself. Or was he imagining it?
As Rafferty returned to the car with Llewellyn, he asked, ‘Well, what did you make of the cousin? Not exactly grief-stricken, was he? For all his claim that he would miss Raymond.’
Llewellyn, never one to rush in with an unconsidered comment, pondered for several seconds before he observed, ‘Grief-stricken or not, he didn't seem overly concerned that we might consider him a suspect — strange when one considers that, not only will he now be able to step into Raymond's shoes, but also his alibi might well be more a belated concoction of Jane the receptionist than the unvarnished truth.’
‘Perhaps it's just that the thought of all that power and the corner office — supposing he does take over from Raymond — has knocked every other consideration out of his head? But I suppose once his brain starts working again and he discovers what Felicity has clearly not told him — that she's retracted her confession — he'll realise we'll consider him a serious suspect. I suppose we can shortly expect him to start screaming for his brief.
‘And talking about that retraction, Daff, I don't know about you, but I thought it odd that Felicity Raine clearly chose not to confide in him about either her confession or its retraction. Seeing as she doesn't appear to have any family of her own, you'd think turning to the cousin by marriage who claims to be fond of her would be the natural thing to do.
‘And then there's that receptionist of Mike's and her suspect alibi. Does she really think we'll believe she's telling the truth about that when it's clear she'd as soon kill anyone who threatened his inheritance? The second she discovered who we were and why we wanted to see him she produced enough frost to make me feel like a brass monkey in the trouser department.’
‘Mm. She was certainly not as subtle as the decor. Do you think she and Mike might be—’
‘Lovers?’ Rafferty finished for him, aware of Llewellyn's reluctance to openly refer to things he felt should be private. ‘Could be. And why not? Everyone else in the country seems to be at it like knives, if the papers are to be believed. Sodom and Gomorrah, Ma calls it. She'll be predicting the Second Coming next.
‘But to get back to the receptionist and Mike Raine, for all we know they're both free agents, able and willing to lie for one another like any other loving couple. She was certainly protective of him. Makes you wonder if she didn't have a hand in Raymond's death, on the principle that she might have believed that removing his cousin from Mike's path and lying for him might serve to encourage his commitment. And even if she had nothing to do with it, it seems that whoever gets to inherit the filthy lucre might well turn out to have the biggest motive for his murder. That being the case, it's fortunate we managed to trace Raine's solicitor. Because I think the sooner we speak to him and see how the inheritance land lies, the better. And given that Mrs Enderby suspected Raymond abused Felicity we have to wonder if he was abusive to anyone else. If he was, he may well have stoked the need for revenge in people other than his wife.’
‘Yes, but if he was this aggressive bully Mrs Enderby's portrait of him implies, doesn't it strike you as odd that he should have been killed so violently? In my experience, it's usually the case that such large, aggressive males are dispatched by subtler, more safe means
for the perpetrator. Even given the possibility that he was drugged — could a lay person be sure how much of the drug to administer?’
Rafferty shrugged and got in the car. ‘I suppose the lay person can read up on dosage amounts required, the same as the professionals. Ma's got one of those little books at home which she uses to check up on what the doctor's prescribed for her so she can challenge him if she doesn't like the sound of it or its potential side-effects. Then there's the internet, which provides the interested with more facts than they really want to know.’
Or so he understood — his screen mostly seemed to fill up with stuff totally unrelated to his original query. ‘Half of the world are medical experts, now, Dafyd, or can be if they choose.’
‘Or have need so to be.’
‘That too.’
‘Pure speculation, of course.’
‘Of course. But that's what I do best, after all. Why waste such a talent?’
But speculation was not, as Rafferty admitted to himself, getting them any further forward. ‘You haven't yet put forward any possible theories.’ Rafferty tried to tease a response from the generally non-theorising Welshman. ‘Who do you think did it, now that Felicity Raine has decided to widen the list of possible suspects?’
But as Llewellyn wasn't to be drawn, Rafferty checked his watch. It was nearly seven. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘If we don't get a move on we'll be late for our appointment with the solicitor, and seeing as Jonas Singleton has been sufficiently obliging as to remain late in his office just for us, we don't want to get his back up.’
As Llewellyn drove away from the forecourt, Rafferty thought again about Raymond Raine's secretive nature. He was curious to discover what his solicitor could tell them about him and the rest of the family. Not to mention who exactly stood to inherit the dead man's wealth.
Chapter Five
Rafferty was relieved to find that Jonas Singleton was a relatively young man. The firm of Wilkinson, Warburton, Walker & Blenkinsop was old-established and, certainly on the surface, old-fashioned in its ways. An older member of the firm — given Raymond Raine's sudden and violent death — might be more likely to shillyshally when it came to telling them what he knew of the dead man and his affairs, particularly if it pointed the finger at another member of the family.
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