Love Lies Bleeding

by Evans, Geraldine

  The phrase ‘dead men's shoes’ ran through Rafferty's mind as they followed Mike into the plush office with its own private bathroom and settled in the informal seating area rather than around the desk. Was this an attempt to disarm them? Rafferty wondered as he again mused on what explanation Mike Raine would come up with for lying to them. For all his boyish looks and seeming openness, the lie had exposed Raine as a man ready to deceive. It made Rafferty wonder just what treachery might be concealed beneath that youthful exterior.

  Mike Raine interrupted his thoughts. ‘Your sergeant didn't say exactly why you needed to speak to me again, inspector.’

  ‘Did he not? I'm sorry. It was a simple matter really. I would like you to explain something to me.’

  Mike Raine shrugged. ‘If I can.’

  Rafferty thought it was likely to be more a case of whether he would and whether his explanation would be the truth. ‘It's a perfectly simple matter,’ he said, ‘though one that has intrigued both Sergeant Llewellyn here and myself since we discovered it. We would like to know why you lied to us.’

  Mike blinked. ‘Lied to you? I don't understand. Lied about what, exactly?’

  ‘You told my sergeant when he telephoned you that you didn't know the name of your cousin's solicitor.’

  Mike Raine stared at him. ‘Is that all?’ — as though he had feared Rafferty was going to refer to something else entirely. Then he recollected himself and asked, ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yes, you did. I'd like an explanation.’

  Mike stared at him. Then he began a rapid blinking while his eyes darted all around the room. For a moment, Rafferty thought the man was going to make a bolt for the door. But then he got a grip and visibly calmed himself.

  ‘I can't imagine why I would do such a thing.’

  Rafferty could – if Mike had murdered his cousin, he might have welcomed the delay such a lie would cause while he thought his actions through further. Yet Rafferty had to admit that the delay — given his ready admission to having no alibi, which, fortunately for him, had been readily contradicted by his secretary — had gained him little. The receptionist-cum-fill-in-secretary was clearly a far from disinterested party. Rafferty had the feeling she would have sworn the moon was made of green cheese if it would get Mike Raine out from under.

  ‘I'm sorry,’ Mike said. ‘I really don't know why I said such a thing. I don't even remember doing so, but I accept that I must have.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Raine. You did. We have, of course, since learned that you and your late cousin shared the same solicitor.’

  Mike Raine shrugged. ‘Well, yes. Of course we do. I can't have been thinking straight, inspector, or even listening straight for that matter, after the shocking news your sergeant gave me. Besides’ — he smiled his disarming boyish smile -‘what difference can all this make now? You have Felicity's confession that she killed Raymond. Poor Felicity.’ He looked at them with an expression of bewilderment. ‘Who'd have thought little Fliss would do such a thing? It's hard to make sense of it. I don't know what to think any more. I simply don't know what to make of it.’

  ‘Snap,’ Rafferty felt like saying. Only pride and professional prudence required that he keep his tongue discreet. It wouldn't do for any of the suspects to know how far at sea he felt, nor that, rather than swimming for the shore, he felt increasingly as if some powerful undertow was at work which was sending him further towards deep water with each movement he made.

  Fortunately, Mike seemed oblivious to Rafferty's inner turmoil.

  ‘And although I feel dreadfully sorry for her if she was so unhappy that she resorted to murder, I don't understand why you're continuing the investigation. Unless — unless—?’ Mike paused, then the rest came out in a rush. ‘Unless you think she had an accomplice?’

  As Rafferty didn't choose to satisfy his curiosity on the matter, Mike's gaze swivelled searchingly between him and Llewellyn. And although the office was cool, sweat broke out on his forehead. Then his gaze slid away from them and fixed on a point beyond them. For a few brief seconds, Mike looked as if he might burst into tears. Was he imagining losing what had taken him so long to acquire?

  If he was, he chose to follow Rafferty's example. With a smile, he said, ‘I admit the thought of being Felicity's partner in anything is a very attractive one, but I'm afraid I must disappoint. Unfortunately, the divine Felicity never put such a proposition before me.’

  The recovery had been swift. Rafferty wondered if he had imagined that moment's blind panic that had frozen Mike Raine's mobile face. Had he really just clutched at the opportunity to delay their investigation, as Rafferty believed? And was he now using his shock at the news of Raymond's murder as an excuse for his earlier information failure?

  If he felt he had need of such a delay it could indicate that Mike had had some involvement in his cousin's murder. And if he one day had a child, he stood to benefit from Raymond's death more than anyone. Certainly more than Felicity — who had lost everything, even her home and her freedom. Yet why had she made that confession?

  Rafferty was beginning to feel that both he and the case were going round in circles of the ever-decreasing sort. If he wasn't careful, he'd disappear up his own fundament.

  Although Mike had freely confessed to having no alibi, he seemed untroubled by this, or that the one belatedly supplied for him wasn't entirely unprejudiced and still left him placed in an invidious position. Rafferty decided that troubling Mike Raine might be a good idea. It might help him get to the truth.

  ‘By the way …’ He wondered what Mike's reaction would be when he told him that Felicity had retracted her confession. He thought it might startle Mike into some unwise revelation and he studied his face closely as he said, ‘Were you aware that Mrs Felicity Raine has retracted her confession?’

  Clearly, he hadn't known. For a fleeting moment, before the shutters came down, Rafferty had caught the sudden fear in Mike Raine's eyes. Though whether the fear was brought about by guilt, or by anxiety that his convenient alibi would make him of more interest to the police than he might have hoped to be before the retraction, wasn't clear.

  ‘So you see, the investigation is now wide open. We shall, of course, need to look deeper into all the alibis given to us and consider all the possible motives, of which yours, you must admit, looks pretty strong — financial gain and increased power are two of the prime motivations for murder. And you possess both of them.’

  Maybe, if, as Rafferty suspected, Mike had also lusted after Raymond's wife, they would have the grand slam of motives in the one suspect. Though, against that, was the knowledge that Felicity had failed to confide in Mike about either her confession or its retraction. He couldn't help but wonder why this was.

  ‘There's one other matter that I wanted to speak to you about.’ Rafferty turned the screw. ‘Since we last spoke to you we've learned that you felt your cousin had unfairly deprived you of your full share in the business. That would be enough to make any man angry and want to do something about it. Was that the effect it had on you, Mr Raine?’

  For a moment, Mike said nothing. Then he conceded that his ill-luck had angered him.

  ‘Of course it did. Naturally, I wanted what should have been mine — what would have been mine but for my late father's last illness and the sudden and unexpected death of my uncle. Wouldn't any man? That's why I came in early on the morning he died. I thought if I forced Raymond to at least acknowledge my industry and that I was an asset to the firm he might relent and agree to let me have back what in the normal course of events would have been mine by right — the ten per cent of the business which would have brought me up to a full fifty per cent share.’

  Rafferty found Mike's explanation less than convincing. From what he had so far learned of Raymond Raine, giving others what they considered their due didn't immediately strike him as being in character. He was, if what Elaine Enderby and Sandrine Agnew said were true, not simply a jealous wife beater but a secretive man who kept things clos
e to his chest and who didn't voluntarily give up the things he considered his possessions. The late Raymond Raine struck Rafferty as likely to possess a ruthless streak that he doubted the younger Mike could have matched, especially when it came to an ego contest about who made the greater contribution to the family firm.

  In fact, he felt Mike's determination to take the confrontational approach would, with Raymond, have been the worst possible way to go about getting his ‘rights'. And Mike must surely have realised that? He had presumably known the older man all his life and must have had regular exposure to his cousin's determined personality. So what, he wondered, had been different about that particular morning that he believed he would be in with a chance of persuading his cousin to do the ‘right’ thing?

  He asked Mike the question, but Mike simply smiled that winning smile of his again, the peevish look that had made a fleeting appearance now gone, and replied that he had no particular reason — apart from natural justice and the proper rewarding of those who increased the firm's profits — for thinking that Raymond would see things his way.

  ‘Anyway,’ Mike continued, ‘you seemed interested to know if I was the one who murdered him. In my defence, as you must also know, I'd worked with Raymond for several years and managed to resist any temptation you seem to think I might have had to kill him. Why would I have chosen to kill him now? Nothing had changed.’

  ‘I don't know, Mr Raine,’ Rafferty told him. ‘But if you did, I'll not rest till I find out the whys and wherefores.’ He stood up. ‘We'll see ourselves out.’

  As Rafferty returned to the car park with Llewellyn, he asked, ‘Still no theories you'd like to share with me?’ Llewellyn, never one to rush in with an unconsidered comment, pondered for several seconds before he remarked, ‘Only the one. Cherchez la femme.`

  ‘Not still harping on that theory? It seems to me there are far too many femmes in this case already, without looking for any more.’

  As they drove back to the station in their separate cars, Rafferty mentally reviewed the means, motives and opportunities of each of the suspects in the investigation. And as he did so, for the first time he began to see a pattern emerging.

  But then he was brought up short at the realisation that the pattern he thought he saw lacked one vital factor. Without that one element, the pattern collapsed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The following morning, when Rafferty, with Llewellyn hard on his heels, entered the police-station reception, it was to learn from Bill Beard on the desk that he had visitors.

  Beard pointed to the two women sitting at the far end of the reception waiting area.

  Rafferty recognised Stephanie's French au pair, Michelle Ginôt, and Felicity's plump champion, Sandrine Agnew. They hadn't noticed him enter and with their heads close together, whispering, they had a distinctly conspiratorial air.

  As he studied them, he recalled Llewellyn's ``Cherchez la femme` comment and wondered whether his sergeant might not have the right idea, but the wrong target.

  He walked over to the two women. ‘Mademoiselle Ginôt. Ms Agnew. I believe you wish to see me?’

  They both nodded.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked.

  ‘I am troubled, inspector,’ Michelle told him. ‘I liked the pauvre petite Felicity. I would not wish for her to remain in the prison when the others they are plotting against her.’

  ‘Plotting? Who precisely is plotting? And what are they plotting?’ he asked. From the look of these two as he had entered reception, they might well have been doing some plotting of their own.

  Rafferty noticed that Michelle had used the past tense when she spoke of Felicity Raine; he wondered if she was being prophetic or if her less than perfect English was to blame. Either way, she made it sound as if Felicity had not simply lost her freedom, but her life. Which, he supposed, she, effectively, had.

  ‘Perhaps we should go up to my office?’ he suggested. He nodded at Llewellyn to accompany him; the women's air of being about to confide something explosive made him want a witness.

  Michelle nodded and she and Sandrine Agnew followed Rafferty and Llewellyn up the stairs.

  Sandrine Agnew spoke up once they were seated. She was again dressed in a very mannish way, he noted: tailored trousers, practical lace-up shoes and yet another tweedy jacket.

  She explained that as she was a good friend of Felicity's, Michelle had asked her to accompany her to the police station to help her explain something she had overheard.

  Rafferty, looking at the almost masculine Sandrine Agnew, couldn't help but wonder what the pretty, feminine and totally French Michelle thought of the young woman at her side. But Michelle's manner betrayed her feelings for the plain, large-boned and plump Sandrine and her masculine attire. Beneath the surface gratitude that Sandrine had agreed to accompany her to the police station, Rafferty detected a measure of — what? Pity? Contempt?

  After shushing Michelle, who had once again started on about la pauvre Felicity, Sandrine Agnew said, ‘Let me explain why we've come to see you, inspector. Michelle told me that she's worried Felicity is being set up. Frankly, so am I.’

  ‘Go on,’ Rafferty invited.

  ‘Michelle came to see me this morning — she knows that Felicity and I are friends — and confided that she had overheard Stephanie on the phone late last night. She didn't know to whom Stephanie was talking, but from what she says, I suspect it must have been Mike Raine. Anyway, Michelle told me she hadn't been able to sleep. I think she finds Stephanie's house a little frightening at night,’ she added as an aside. ‘It's large, fairly isolated and very quiet. Far from what she's used to as she comes from a big Parisian family. I gather she's taken to raiding Stephanie's drinks cabinet as a cure for her insomnia.

  ‘Anyway, I digress. She was just rounding the bottom of the stairs when she heard Stephanie's voice.’

  Rafferty nodded. ‘And what did she hear, exactly?’

  ‘Michelle thought herself quite alone as she crept down the stairs in search of her nightcap. But then she heard Stephanie's laugh. And when she rounded the bottom of the stairs she saw the light in the drawing room. She heard Stephanie quite clearly, she assures me.’

  Rafferty sighed quietly to himself as he waited impatiently for this rigmarole to reach some conclusion. He just hoped this revelation of a late-night conversation hadn't been made up by Michelle as a way of getting back at Stephanie for telling her she had been an embarrassment at the barbecue, though, hopefully, the phone records would be able to prove that the conversation had at least taken place. Though how they'd prove that the conversation Michelle was going to quote had done so, particularly if Stephanie and Mike contradicted her, he did not know.

  Perhaps Sandrine Agnew heard the sigh, for her plain face reddened and she drew her short, square-built body together, sat further forward on her well-fleshed buttocks and said, ‘I gather Stephanie sounded pleased with herself. As if she'd pulled off some tremendous coup, and with Felicity as the obligatory sacrificial lamb.’

  Sandrine's cheeks reddened some more, but this time Rafferty felt the cause was anger that anyone — especially Felicity's stepmother-in-law — should fail to be consumed by grief at Felicity's plight.

  Rafferty already suspected that the plain and mannish-looking Sandrine Agnew held something of a torch for Felicity Raine. A love certain to be unrequited, he thought with a fleeting pity. Though clearly Sandrine Agnew wasn't one to lightly give up on a cause, even when it appeared hopeless.

  ‘Anyway, Stephanie sounded very hyper. Michelle told me she heard her say quite clearly, “Let Felicity take the blame.” Then she laughed and said, “It's not as if, being childless, she's now got anything to lose, unlike us. With Raymond dead, I feel I must grab whatever else I can. Besides, it's plain the police would be glad to have the case cleared up quickly.’”

  Rafferty winced. He was sufficiently put out to see that Sandrine Agnew saw no reason to argue with Stephanie Raine's assumption that he felt t
he necessity to defend himself.

  ‘Catching the killer is always going to be near the top of the wish list of every policeman investigating a violent, non-accidental death,’ he agreed in a firm voice. ‘But most of us place the capture and conviction of the right person in the top spot. We don't get any satisfaction from jailing the innocent.’ He paused. ‘Was that all Stephanie Raine said?’ It didn't seem to amount to much, he thought.

  But Sandrine Agnew shook her head. ‘No.’

  She pulled a sheet of paper from the pocket of her tweed jacket and held it up close to read. ‘Hang on.’ Her face cleared. ‘Here we are — I made notes so I didn't miss anything. Stephanie went on to say, “And they do have her confession. And while she may have retracted it, I'm sure, between us, we can concoct something to encourage them to push on with the murder charge. And then you and I will both be home and dry.’”

  Sandrine Agnew sat back and fixed Rafferty with small, near-sighted brown eyes. ‘It's clear to me that Stephanie at least has been plotting to make sure Felicity takes the blame for Raymond's death. Although,’ she was honest enough to admit, ‘from her responses to Mike's replies it seems he's not anything like as keen to plot against Felicity as Stephanie is. Anyway, what are you going to do about it, inspector?’

  Rafferty studied her anxious but determined expression and wondered how Sandrine had managed to convince herself that Michelle, with her poor grasp of English, should have understood what Stephanie Raine had said at all, never mind be word-perfect when she recounted its contents to her.

  Anxious not to antagonise her and reinforce her belief that the police, once they had charged someone, wouldn't be over-interested in their guilt or otherwise as long as they got a conviction, he explained patiently, ‘First, I want to be sure that Mademoiselle Ginôt is certain about what she heard. Her English—’

  ‘Her understanding is better than her spoken English,’ Sandrine was quick to reassure him.