‘And as we know that Raymond's widow hasn't gained anything — has, in fact, lost out big-time — it behoves us to look at other possibilities. You, for instance—’
He got no further before Stephanie Raine's coolly contemptuous expression was replaced by the white heat of anger.
‘You dare to try to lay Felicity's crime at my door?’ She stood up. This conversation is going no further. If you wish to question me again, it will be in the presence of my solicitor. Now, I'm asking you to leave — unless you choose to arrest me?’
This last was said with a challenging air, almost as if she wanted him to arrest her. But Rafferty wasn't about to make that mistake. Stephanie Raine clearly wasn't short of money and would — if he was so foolish as to allow her to goad him into carting her off to the station — soon line up an expensive array of defence briefs.
From her expression and the contained fury in her eyes, Rafferty guessed she was holding herself back only with difficulty. He suspected she longed to give into the impulse to give him a resounding slap across the face or mark him with her long, carmine talons.
Part of him wished she would give into the impulse — then he would have an excuse to arrest her and give her a taste of a night in the cells, like Felicity, whom she had been keen enough to have incarcerated. Instead, she resorted to the woman's eternal weapon, that of ridiculing the foolish male.
‘She has got you mesmerised, hasn't she?’ she taunted. ‘Clever Felicity. It might be amusing if it wasn't so tragic. Admit it, inspector: you'd do anything to get pretty little, fragile little Felicity out from under, no matter who you have to pin Raymond's murder on to do it.’
Rafferty, who knew he would be wise to say nothing further, failed the wisdom test and replied indignantly, ‘That's not true. It's—’
‘No? I suggest you examine your conscience, inspector. You are a Catholic, I presume, with a name like Rafferty?’
Unwillingly, Rafferty nodded.
‘Then try looking below the surface, below Felicity's pretty face, and you'll see something not nearly so pretty. You'll see poor Raymond's murderer.’
For Rafferty, it had been an uncomfortable interview. He and Llewellyn returned to the station and Rafferty sat at his desk staring into space.
Stephanie Raine had suggested he look beneath the surface and now he did just that. But it wasn't below the surface of Felicity's pretty face that he tried to peer, but that of Abra.
Once again he asked himself why she still hadn't been in contact with him. It was a question that had plagued him for several days now.
He looked across at Llewellyn as he industriously ploughed through the latest reports, and he opened his mouth. But then he closed it again without saying anything. What was the point in worrying Dafyd when he couldn't tell him anything? Abra had said that, whatever family problem it was that had taken her away, Llewellyn didn't know anything about it.
Rafferty frowned pensively down at the expenses claim he was meant to be filling in. Blasted things always left him out of pocket, as his receipts had a habit of disappearing -when, that was, he remembered to get them at all.
He sighed heavily. So heavily that Llewellyn raised his studious head from the paperwork and asked, ‘What's the matter? Don't tell me you've lost yet another twenty-pound receipt, but held on to the one for fifty pence?’
‘How well you know me.’
Llewellyn was right, of course. It was always the receipts for larger amounts that vanished. But this time, it wasn't the loss of another £20 expenses receipt that was troubling him, but the growing suspicion that he had lost far more. He was becoming convinced that he had carelessly lost his greatest treasure, Abra and her love. This line of thought immediately connected to another and he found himself asking, ‘How's your mum, Dafyd? It's ages since I've seen her. I really liked her when we met.’
Llewellyn looked surprised by this abrupt change of subject, but he answered readily enough. ‘She's in reasonable health, I suppose, considering her time of life. Keeping busy, you know.’
But Rafferty didn't know, that was the problem. The trouble was, how could he extract from Llewellyn information that he presumably didn't even possess?
He gave it his best shot; who knew what a fishing expedition might turn up?
‘A good-looking woman, your mum. I've always said so. Do you ever wonder whether she'll marry again?’
Llewellyn stared at him. ‘Marry again? No. She loved my father too much to ever consider such a thing.’ Llewellyn frowned and looked questioningly at Rafferty. ‘Why do you ask? Has my mother said anything to yours? I know our mothers have become quite close.’
‘No. Of course not,’ Rafferty told him quickly — a shade too quickly, to judge from Llewellyn's concerned expression. ‘I was just wondering, that's all,’ he finished lamely.
Nothing more was said after that. But ten minutes later, it was Llewellyn who was sighing and being distracted from his work and Rafferty realised that all he had achieved with his failed fishing expedition was to place a — probably unnecessary — anxiety in his sergeant's head to go with the one in his own.
That evening, as he sat in the flat that was still empty of Abra, Rafferty stared morosely into the glass of Jameson's whiskey; its warm alcohol reflected his anxious gaze back up at him. But tonight he was able to find no solace in drink.
Even the flat, which Abra had transformed from its previous spartan bachelor look, failed to improve his mood. She had taken the place in hand since their meeting; the first thing to go had been his gaudy picture of Southend by night. Now, instead of his tired and mismatched furniture and curtains, they had expensive cream leather settees which Rafferty lived in fear of spilling something on. The carpets from which his ma had tried and failed to remove the stains had been taken up and disposed of; instead, the solid-wood floor underneath had been sanded and a warm varnish applied, much to his ma's disgust.
‘It looks as if you can't afford a decent carpet,’ she had complained when she had first seen the transformation. In her youth — and Rafferty's — the lack of a carpet, or sizeable rug at least, in the living room had indeed signalled a shaming poverty.
But whatever his ma might say, the flat had never looked so good: the tired, multi-coloured curtains had gone, to be replaced by wooden blinds varnished the same shade as the floor, and several large lamps provided a far more subtle illumination for the glowing colours of the pictures Abra had bought than the harsh centre light would have done. She had even organised the removal of the old gas fire and the reinstatement of the chimney so they could have the occasional open fire.
Yes, the flat looked beautiful; even Nigel, his upwardly mobile estate-agent cousin, would be unable to find much to sneer at now. But without Abra in it, it felt empty, soulless and unhappy; much like me, thought Rafferty.
And as he recalled Stephanie Raine's taunts, he felt even more unhappy and slammed his glass down on the coffee table.
OK, he told himself, you have doubts that Felicity Raine did for her old man. Justifiable doubts, no matter what Llewellyn or the vengeful Stephaine Raine might have to say to the contrary. You're the man in charge, so you have to check them out, even if that means upsetting Abra, the applecart and whatever — whoever — else would be more than happy to see Felicity Raine conveniently tried and convicted.
It may well be that your brain — and other parts — are beguiled by her beauty. But even if they are and she's as guilty as hell, one of the first rules of a murder investigation is to find out about the victim. No matter what Stephanie Raine might have implied, it was still good police procedure to check out the victim and see if there might be anyone else — other than his wife — who might have had it in for Raymond Raine. And they had found others, several others, in fact, all with more than enough reason to wish him dead.
Apart from Michael and Stephanie Raine, who both stood to gain financially from Raymond's death, Llewellyn had also found another strong possibility in the cuckolded Peter Dunb
ar. And, for all they knew, there might be others whom Raymond Raine had treated badly. After all, not only had the Raines’ neighbour and Sandrine Agnew, Felicity's friend, told them they suspected he beat Felicity, but Raymond had also hung on to what his cousin, Mike Raine, undoubtedly regarded as his rightful equal share in the family business. Ray Raine's behaviour to these two most important people in his life — his wife and his business-partner cousin — gave rise to the possibility that there were others to whom he had acted with a less than generous heart.
Maybe he ought to set his Welsh bloodhound to sniffing out the existence of more cuckolded husbands, resentful business colleagues or frustrated, lust-filled women of mature years who might have yearned after Raymond, as he suspected Stephanie had done? If he did so, he might just uncover something that would either get Felicity Raine out from under altogether, or prove her guilt once and for all.
With that thought to sustain him, Rafferty headed for his empty bed. He had just climbed between the cold sheets when, from the living room of his flat, he heard his mobile ring out. His heart started hammering with expectation as he asked himself who would be likely to ring him at this hour, who but the station — or Abra?
The thought caused him to leap out of bed and race for the phone.
Chapter Eleven
Rafferty snatched up the mobile and said, ‘Hello,’ he felt flooded with a feeling of euphoria that Abra had at last remembered his existence. Just don't sound pathetic, he reminded himself as he spoke her name.
‘Abra, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘What's happening?’ In spite of his resolution of only seconds ago, he found himself demanding, plaintively, ‘Why haven't you rung me? I thought—’ He stopped abruptly.
‘Thought what?’ Abra immediately asked.
‘Nothing. It's not important. You've rung now and that's all that matters.’ He would rather Abra remained unaware of what he had thought … He was only too conscious how much she hated it when his insecurities surfaced.
‘I’m sorry I haven't managed to ring you before now, but you wouldn't believe the time I've had with Gloria. And I forgot to bring my mobile charger in the rush to get up here and Gloria's been in such a state that I didn't like to leave her to go into town to buy a replacement. Gloria doesn't have a phone in the house and she wouldn't let me ask the next-door neighbour if I could use hers. Anyway, it's taken me all this time, but I finally managed to persuade her that I really had to contact you and that in order to do so I needed to go shopping.’
It was on the tip of Rafferty's tongue to ask if she had never heard of public phone boxes, but he didn't want to start an argument, not now when she had finally rung him. Of course, Abra was younger than him, still in her twenties. He supposed it would never even occur to the mobile-besotted younger generation that such things as public phones were there to be used rather than just furnishing the street. The thought made him feel very old.
‘You've certainly been a woman of mystery lately,’ he remarked, striving for a lighter tone. ‘I was beginning to think I'd have to get the Welsh boyos in blue to track you down. So how's Gloria?’
‘Much the same. She's the reason I'm ringing, actually. Sorry it's so late. I hope I didn't wake you?’
‘No. I'd only just turned in. Another long day at the coalface.’ He again opted for the light tone, but this time it was the wrong choice as Abra immediately seized on his words.
‘You're still on the Felicity Raine case, I gather? I've been reading about it in the papers.’ She didn't wait for him to answer, but just added, ‘Then the late night figures.’
Rafferty recalled Abra's thoughtful expression as he had kissed her goodbye on the morning of the day she had left for Wales. Her feelings of antipathy towards Felicity Raine had grown overnight; he knew she thought his concern for the woman was bordering on the obsessive and he had been unable to convince her otherwise.
‘Funny that this Felicity Raine should turn out to be far from the innocent damsel in distress you imagined when you were gearing yourself up to be the valiant knight errant who freed her from captivity,’ she commented. ‘Tell me if I've got it wrong, Joe, only didn't she divorce her first husband and marry the second before the ink was dry on the divorce papers?’
Reluctantly, Rafferty confirmed it. T wouldn't believe everything you read in the papers, Abs. You know they always like to put the worst possible spin on things.’
‘Mm.’ She didn't sound convinced, he noticed. ‘And now she's charged with murdering the second husband.’
As Abra had, with some relish, pointed out, Felicity Raine was hardly the stuff that would-be knights errant would be likely to champion. Rafferty thought that was all the more reason for him to do so. But he had no desire to talk further about Felicity Raine, certainly not with Abra, and he hurried on before she could say anything else on the subject.
‘So, how are you? Have you managed to sort out your Aunt Gloria's little problem? When are you coming home?’
Abra laughed. But her laugh sounded strained to Rafferty's ears.
‘So many questions. The answers are: OK, no and I don't know, in that order.’
Her third answer caused Rafferty's previously hammering heart to receive what felt like a mortal blow. ‘You don't know? But—’
‘Let me explain, Joe. I promised Gloria I'd say nothing to you or Dafyd — or anyone else for that matter — but just before she went to bed tonight, she had a change of heart, about telling you, at least. The truth is Gloria's got a shoplifting charge hanging over her.’
‘What?’ Rafferty was too stunned by this revelation to say anything further for several seconds. Whatever else he might have been expecting — from Gloria signing up with a mature version of the Folies Bergères to Abra telling him it was over between them — he had never considered the possibility of the morally upright Dafyd Llewellyn's mother getting in trouble with the law.
Dafyd's widowed mother had married a Methodist minister and although she had been a dancer and a bit of a girl in her youth and was still an outgoing, people person, he had never thought her likely to cause her family any concerns of a criminal nature. That had always been his family's role …
‘So, what's she done, then?’ he asked. ‘Helped herself to some expensive jewellery?’
‘Hardly. She is a Methodist widow, remember? Though I can see it's a good job you're not going to be responsible for the case as it's clear you'd have her convicted before she could say, “It's a fit-up, Your Honour,’” Abra reproved him. ‘Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty? Or does that only apply to good-looking young women like Felicity Raine?
Before Rafferty could protest his own innocence, Abra went on. ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘at least she's yet to be charged, though I think it's only a matter of time before that happens.’
Rafferty was too shocked to say anything else for the moment, which was perhaps just as well. It gave him the chance to gather his wits before he tactlessly blurted out something else that he shouldn't. ‘So how is she?’ he finally asked. ‘Is she OK?’
‘What do you think?’ she asked. ‘When she's about to be charged with shoplifting and has my upright cousin Davy for a son? Of course she isn't OK.’ He heard her take a deep breath. ‘I'm sorry, Joe. I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just that I've been trying to cope with this on my own and it's been a bit of a strain. When I finally managed to replace my charger and Gloria put aside her scruples for long enough to borrow my recharged phone, I thought she was finally going to ring Dafyd, but not a bit of it. Instead, she rang your ma and had a long heart-to-heart with her about her arrest, though at that stage, she still refused to let me confide in anybody. But I finally managed to get her to agree that I could tell you. I think she's more upset and worried about Dafyd finding out about this than she is about the charge itself.’
‘Understandably.’ Worry about Dafyd finding out about criminal behaviour was something Rafferty could empathise with. ‘Poor Gloria. You've rung him now, though, surely?
It wouldn't be right to keep it from him. How did he take it?’
‘He hasn't taken it one way or the other,’ Abra revealed. ‘He still doesn't know. And never will, if Gloria has her way.’
‘But surely she realises he'll find out sooner or later?’
‘I suppose she must, deep inside. How can she not? But at the moment, she's intent on burying her head in the sand. She refuses to let me ring him.’
Abra's voice lowered conspiratorially. ‘She's in a bit of a state, to be honest, Joe. She's been going through The Change and having a bad time of it. I wonder if that's what caused her to take the stuff from the supermarket. She's told me she's been sleeping poorly for weeks. She's been having these night sweats that wake her half a dozen times a night. And although she insists she's innocent of this shoplifting charge, she's admitted that she's been getting a bit forgetful and muddle-headed through tiredness. And then there's the video footage.’
‘Video footage?’ Rafferty repeated.
‘Yes. She's bang to rights, Joe. I'm at my wits’ end to know what I can do. Unless a miracle happens, I don't think there's any doubt but that she'll be charged. And although Aunt Gloria insists she's technically innocent, that she didn't intend to steal, the police here seem to have no doubts. And Gloria keeping banging on that she's innocent isn't helping, to be honest. But in a way she's right. She is innocent. I'm convinced she's telling the truth when she says she didn't deliberately set out to take things without paying for them. She's just so tired with not sleeping. I don't think you could call it proper stealing. I don't know what to do, Joe. But I really can't come home yet. You do see that, don't you?’
Abra's voice wobbled and Rafferty, conscious of how badly he had let her down once already this year, and unwilling to do so again, put aside his personal anxieties and hurried to reassure her.
Love Lies Bleeding Page 13