Deadly Reunion

by Geraldine Evans

  ‘I really don’t think we should be frequenting pubs with this regularity. Superintendent Bradley wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘What difference does it make if we do our thinking in a fusty office or a pub beer garden? All that fresh air and oxygen must be good for the brain.’

  ‘I doubt the beer is.’

  ‘There speaks the teetotaller. What do you know about it, anyway?’

  ‘There have been various studies and—’

  ‘Oh. Studies. Each one contradicting the one before. I never take any notice of studies. You’d do well to ignore them as well.’

  Llewellyn had made his point. He said nothing more till they reached the pub.

  ‘Orange juice or mineral water, Daff?’

  Llewellyn thawed sufficiently to say, ‘Do you know, I think I’ll have a coke.’

  ‘Why not? Let’s push the boat out. I think I’ll have a Jameson’s.’

  ‘In the middle of the day?’

  ‘Don’t start that again you killjoy. Anyway, as the song says, “it’s five o’clock somewhere”.’ Rafferty ordered the drinks and took them outside to the beer garden. They sat in silence for a while, Rafferty savouring his whiskey and Llewellyn staring at his coke as if he regretted ordering it. Five minutes went by in this fashion, and then, Rafferty said, ‘Drink up, Daff and I’ll get you another one.’

  ‘I don’t think so, thank you all the same. One is more than enough. I’ve seen what this stuff does to copper coins.’

  ‘So have I. You should have had the Water of Life, like me. Far healthier. Barley in it, not like that muck, which has God knows what ingredients.’

  ‘If you say so. Actually, I think I’ll have a coffee.’ Llewellyn stood up. ‘I’ll go. Can I get you another?’

  ‘Go on, then. You’ve twisted my arm. You’re driving, after all. And I need something with a kick to it to help me withstand my madhouse of a home at the moment.’

  ‘You’ve still got the religious gentleman staying with you?’

  ‘Yeah. And he’s still trying to turn me on to God. He seems to consider my lapsed Catholic condition as something of a challenge. Maybe if I give in and let him think I’ve succumbed to his God-botherer blandishments, he’ll stop trying so hard.’

  ‘Possibly. Or perhaps he’ll start on Abra and then the fireworks will begin.’

  ‘They already have. You wouldn’t believe the flak I’m getting. It’s not as if it’s my fault that Ma’s foisted four far-flung family on us, though you’d never think so to listen to Abra.’

  ‘The female of the species was ever thus. Abra’s never taken kindly to having someone tell her what she should believe.’

  ‘Nor me. I had enough of that when I was a kid.’ Rafferty sighed and stared morosely at his whiskey. ‘And to think I’ve got over another week of this. Perhaps you ought to order some hemlock instead of the Jameson’s?’

  ‘Oh dear. Are things really that bad, Joseph?’

  ‘Not far off.’ Llewellyn’s use of his forename made him think he was perhaps complaining too much; he rarely used it when they were working, in spite of Rafferty asking him to stop ‘sirring’ him time after time. He sighed again and decided he might as well get sympathy from Llewellyn as there was none coming from any other quarter. ‘Of course, cousin Nigel managed to slime his way out of putting up anybody.’ Nigel Blythe, aka Jerry Kelly, had the gift of tongues, like all estate agents, and had apparently got out of putting up any of the Rafferty and Kelly families’ Empire-spread relations without raising a sweat. ‘I wouldn’t mind, but he’s got more room than anyone else with that whacking great swanky warehouse apartment of his. Ma let him get away with it as well. She never lets me get away with anything.’

  ‘She’s a strong-minded woman, your mother.’

  ‘You can say that again. I hope she doesn’t make these family reunions an annual event. I wouldn’t put it past her. Trouble is, she’s lonely. After having six kids, she’s used to a houseful and feels it now she’s on her own. She’s always liked people to look after. When I go there she always stuffs me with food as if I’m one of those geese the French turn into pâté de fois gras.’

  ‘Perhaps you could encourage your mother to get a lodger? Someone whose path through life she can guide and whose stomach she can feed up. Students are always hungry. It could be a perfect match.’

  ‘Yeah. Someone young and gormless, who thinks Ma’s a harmless old lady. Good idea. I’ll put an ad on the notice board of the local college. Should get someone suitable. See how Ma likes getting dumped on.’

  ‘It might be advisable to ask her first if she wants a lodger.’

  ‘Why? Maybe I should just tell her she’s going to have one, like she did me. Only I’ve got four of ’em. She’ll be getting away lightly.’

  Llewellyn must have thought it prudent to say no more, for he excused himself and went to get the drinks, leaving Rafferty to brood on his plight.

  The next morning, Rafferty, having learned his lesson, got up at six and fetched Abra her tea himself.

  ‘Is that to madam’s satisfaction?’ he asked.

  ‘Mmm,’ said Abra, taking a sip. ‘Though it’s a bit dawn chorus, considering it’s the weekend. I suppose you’re going to be early into work and late back again? It’s Saturday, so that means I’ll have Cyrus and crew all day.’

  ‘I have got a murder on, sweetheart. It’s what I do. Anyway, the weather seems set fair. They’ll probably go out somewhere.’

  ‘Good. Just as long as they don’t expect me to join them. Knowing churchy Cyrus he’ll want to take a tour of all the area’s praying holes, rather than the watering holes.’

  ‘He is one of my family, Abra. It’s only right to be hospitable. I’d be the same if it was your family.’

  ‘I doubt it. And it’s not what you said last night. You were as fed up with him as me.’

  ‘Yeah, well. I’m an indecisive Libran, Abs. You surely don’t expect me to be of the same opinion twice in a row, do you?’

  Abra just went ‘Hrmph’, downed the rest of her tea and burrowed back under the duvet.

  Rafferty took himself off to work. He stopped off at the stationer’s on the way and bought a pack of plain postcards. He only wanted the one, but they didn’t sell them singly. Back in his car, he found a pen in the glove compartment and began to write: WANTED – Elmhurst. Two single lodgers. Reasonable terms. Inclusive of dinner, phone and utilities. Contact . . .

  He put his mobile number, rather than his ma’s landline; he wanted to get his ma’s lodgers sorted out before he told her a word about it. He pulled up at the local college and saw the secretary, giving her the postcard and paying her for a month. He rubbed his hands together. ‘Now let’s see how Ma likes it.’

  Simon Fairweather had returned. Rafferty didn’t know if he’d stayed out all night or if he’d returned after he and Llewellyn had gone home, but either way, it didn’t matter. At least he was here now.

  They took him into their office for privacy and asked him again how he had felt about Adam Ainsley. ‘In view of the fact that he was a bully and you were one of his victims,’ Rafferty added.

  ‘What’s this? Because Adam was nasty to me many moons ago you think I killed him? Maybe I should rethink my disinclination to complain to your superiors?’

  ‘That’s your prerogative, sir,’ said Rafferty stiffly.

  ‘Only joking, Inspector. Relax. You shouldn’t be so sensitive.’

  You’d be sensitive if you had a boss like mine, was Rafferty’s thought. But it was true that Fairweather’s face had puckered into that impish smile. Rafferty wished he could appreciate his sense of humour.

  ‘Please, Inspector, don’t waste your time. I took Adam’s punishment like a man, as did most of his other victims. Looking back, I think he was more to be pitied than anything else. Most bullies are unhappy souls. How could they be otherwise? Few people enjoy being actively hated, unless they’ve got a Stalin complex.’

  ‘That’s very forgiving
of you.’

  ‘I’ve never been one to harbour grudges. I’ve never seen the point. Besides, working in the civil service as I do, such a tendency could leave you seriously exhausted with no energy for anything else. You’d be surprised at all the little vendettas that are going on at any one time amongst the mandarins.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised at all, sir,’ said Rafferty with feeling. ‘The Home Office has impinged on my working life much as it has yours.’

  ‘Just so.’ Fairweather bowed his head and Rafferty let him go, feeling as if he’d been talked out of suspicion-mode by mandarin-speak, despite Fairweather’s previous protestations that he didn’t go in for bureaucratic doubletalk.

  Cyrus Rafferty didn’t go in for doubletalk, either. When Rafferty got home that evening, he could hear him holding forth in Christian brethren mode as soon as he opened the front door. He found him leaning on the dining-room table as if it was a pulpit. He suspected Abra had come in here, which wasn’t a room they’d used much, since they moved in at the beginning of July, to get away from Cyrus and had been followed in.

  ‘Ah. Joe. Ah was just telling Abra here something about ma early days as a lay preacher. Ah took ma first examples from two outstanding evangelical preachers from the 1700s – Jonathan Edwards and the Rev George Whitfield. Fine preachers, both of them. Men of steel, too, as preaching in those days wasn’t a profession for the faint-hearted. As itinerants, even occasional ones, not only had to travel miles in all weathers, they also had to deal with drunken rowdies. And then, of course, there’s the redoubtable Billy Graham from our own times. How many sinners that man must have saved from the eternal flame. My usual text is from Acts of the Apostles. You can find enough examples in there to touch the heart of the most determined backslider and—’

  He was interrupted in his oratory by Wendy, his wife. ‘Oh, there you are, Cy. You’re not preaching at poor Abra again, are you, honey? Do give it a rest. You’re a guest in their home, not an invited speaker.’ Wendy turned to Rafferty. ‘I’m sorry, Joe, Abra. Once he gets going it’s hard to stop him.’

  As if he didn’t know. He’d had plenty of examples of Cyrus’s oratory already.

  ‘Ah’m preaching the word of the Lord, Wendy, as is ma duty. After these good folks’ hospitality, Ah couldn’t live with myself if Ah didn’t reciprocate by snatching their souls from the snares of Lucifer.’

  ‘Their souls are their own responsibility, Cyrus. They’re adults, not children in your Sunday School class and can make their own decisions. Come on now and come out for a walk with me. You don’t want poor Abra going to bed with a sick headache again, do you?’

  ‘Ah was just a trahin’ to do ma duty. And—’ Cyrus’s Southern twang was getting more pronounced, Rafferty noticed.

  ‘Yes. We know, sugar. But you know what the doctor said about your throat. He told you to rest your voice, didn’t he?’

  ‘Well. Yes. Ah guess he did. But Lord, Wendy, it’s hard when Ah see folks in need of ma ministry.’

  ‘I guess they’re just not so into preachers in England, sugar. I’ve not seen a single televangelist on TV.’

  ‘No. And that’s another thing—’

  ‘Cyrus.’ Wendy’s voice was firm. She gave Rafferty and Abra an apologetic smile as she led Cyrus from the room. ‘We’ll be no more than an hour. What say we bring a takeaway back with us?’

  ‘Would you?’ said Abra, brightening at the idea she would be relieved of kitchen duties for the evening. ‘That would be great.’

  ‘Sure, honey. You work all week. You shouldn’t have to cook of a weekend. We’ll see y’all later.’

  When they heard the front door slam, Rafferty took Abra by the hand and led her back into the living room. ‘Sit. I know what you need.’

  ‘And it isn’t being preached at.’

  ‘No.’ Rafferty poured a large Jameson’s out and then another for himself. He passed Abra hers. ‘Ah. Peace,’ he murmured as he slumped on the settee. ‘How little we appreciated it. Where are Angel and Louis?’

  Angel and Louis Kelly were more cousins, on his mother’s side this time. They were New Yorkers, a surprisingly quiet couple and, given Cyrus’s domination of the conversation, Rafferty had hardly got to know anything about them. They’d quickly taken Cyrus’s measure and had proclaimed themselves born-again converts – who presumably didn’t require preaching at – and went out every morning loudly expressing their intention to find a ‘cute little church’ on their travels that would meet all their religious needs for the day.

  ‘They said they’d be out till late. They were going to town to do the London Dungeon, Madame Tussauds and Buck House. Then I think they were going to take in the Tower of London. They said they’d stay in town for dinner and maybe take in a show if they could get tickets.’

  ‘I admire their energy. Sounds like a recipe for exhaustion, to me. They were able to tell you all that? Without being interrupted? Did Cyrus take himself out for another walk?’

  ‘Funnily enough, yes. Angel’s sweet. God, the things she told me while Cyrus was out. I had her life history this morning. She and Louis were High School sweethearts and have been married for forty years coming up. It’ll be their anniversary while they’re over here. I thought we might take them out for a celebratory meal.’

  ‘Good idea. Thanks, sweetheart. I know how much you hate having your home invaded by strangers.’

  ‘They’re strangers to you, too, for all they’re your family. I’m sorry if I’ve given you a hard time over this, Joe. Have I been a perfect bitch?’

  ‘You know everything you do is done perfectly, my sweet.’

  ‘Ooh, you!’ But she laughed and downed half her whiskey. ‘Promise I’ll try harder. But if you could just pray Cyrus gets laryngitis . . .’

  Rafferty stayed long enough to eat the Chinese takeaway that Wendy and Cyrus brought back and then he returned to the office for an hour. It was as well that he did, for, unusually, Bradley showed his face. It wasn’t like him to put in an appearance at a weekend and Rafferty guessed he’d turned up specially to berate him. It seemed Simon Fairweather’s status as a suspect really had got him seriously rattled.

  The investigation wasn’t progressing well. It wasn’t progressing at all, in Bradley’s opinion, as he told Rafferty with all the force of a Cyrus led revival meeting.

  But Rafferty couldn’t find fault with his super’s logic. Much as he’d like to. All of the suspects had managed to refute any suspicion of guilt by the simple expedient of saying that their previous relationship with Ainsley was such old history that it had cobwebs. Not only that, it was also true that any time over the previous seventeen years one of them intent on revenge could have found the high-profile Adam Ainsley with little difficulty. A simple study of his movements and habits, which the media were happy to supply, would presumably have provided the opportunity for murder if such was their inclination. They wouldn’t have needed to wait for the next reunion and the slim possibility that Ainsley would attend when he never had before.

  There must be something else. Something he didn’t know about. ‘I think we’ll have to do a bit more digging, Dafyd. Maybe Ainsley had some juicy knowledge about one of them and tried a spot of blackmail. His parents don’t live too fancy and being a school sports instructor can’t bring in much money. Maybe he had an expensive gambling habit. It’s all the rage amongst sportsmen; they’d bet on which of two raindrops would reach the bottom of the window first, some of them. Only being over-confident, Ainsley would likely favour the front-on approach to extracting money.’

  ‘It’s certainly a theory.’

  ‘Just not one to your taste? Oh well, I’m sure to come up with another one. Theories are something I’ve never been short of. There’s always the chance that his alcohol troubles had run up debts. Let’s get over to that school where Ainsley worked as a sports master and see if we can’t find out something scandalous. There might be someone there even though it’s the holidays. But perhaps you’d better
give them a ring first to save us a wasted journey.’

  Stainforth College was ten miles the other side of Chelmsford. It was a large Victorian edifice with grounds as extensive as Griffin’s. He’d got Llewellyn to phone ahead to check whether anyone would be there and had managed to speak to the Deputy Head, who had come in to organize the new term’s timetables. She had proved amenable to speaking to him even after he had told her the reason he needed to find out more about Adam Ainsley.

  Mrs Hall was a casually dressed forty-something. She’d unlocked the main door for them and given them directions to her office. They’d found her with no trouble and once they were seated in front of her desk that was piled high with papers and files, Rafferty soon brought her to the point of discussing Ainsley.

  ‘I gather he studied for a career as a Sports Instructor after his professional rugby career finished, which is how he ended up here?’

  ‘That’s right, Inspector. He came to us straight from college. He was very keen and really threw himself into his new role.’

  ‘Do I detect a but?’

  Mrs Hall smiled. ‘How sensitive of you.’ Beside him, Llewellyn managed to maintain a straight face at Rafferty’s unabashed receipt of such an unusual compliment. ‘Yes, there is a but. I’m afraid Adam’s enthusiasm for teaching students palled after the first year. I think he really began to miss being part of a team, rather than being the instructor. He missed the camaraderie and the triumphs. Of course he had a few of those as we’re quite a sporty establishment, but it wasn’t the same for him. The triumphs weren’t so triumphant and the failures failed to bring forth the supportive team spirit. Of course, it was part of Adam’s job to raise the spirits of the team, but he had difficulty raising his own. He’d been used to being a star and found the transition difficult. I was against the appointment, but the Head’s a keen rugby man and he over-ruled me.’

  ‘What was he like with the students?’ Rafferty asked. ‘We’ve been speaking to some of his old schoolmates and it seems Mr Ainsley was inclined to be heavy-handed.’