Astell broke in. “You're talking utter nonsense, Inspector. I didn't kill Jasper. And as for Sarah being Jasper's daughter, the idea's preposterous. We all know he was-”
“I know you killed Jasper Moon, Mr Astell.” He even thought he would be able to prove it. “I admit you might easily have got away with it.” Rafferty put his hand in his pocket, and, as his fingers encountered the sugalite stone that Mercedes Moreno had given him earlier in the investigation, he added, “Only the luck was running my way. As I say, you might have got away with it, but for the weather that prompted your wife to change out of the dress you had persuaded her to buy – but of course you didn't know she had changed, did you? – you'd already left to kill Moon and plant the threads from her dress in Moon's office; but for the fact we discovered Jasper Moon always sent your birthday card late; but for the fact you only had one new evening suit when you should have had two.”
The first glimmering of fear passed over Astell's face then, and Rafferty knew he'd got him. 'You see, Mr Astell, we know you bought two off-the-peg dinner suits recently, in separate branches of the same chain of tailors; one in Elmhurst when you were with your wife, and one in Mannleigh when you were alone. Suits identical in every way, I imagine. One you wore to kill Moon, which was likely to provide valuable forensic evidence, not to mention having mud splatters around the ankles. And the second, clean as a whistle, which you changed into in the garage, along with a second lot of new accessories. You charged one suit to your card and paid cash for the other. But you were seen purchasing the second suit. The person who saw you is an ex-copper. Hawkeye, we used to call him. He works as a security guard now at the tailors in Mannleigh. He'd been shopping with his wife and had just started work. He was watching the video camera. What you might call a very candid camera, sir, as your purchase was caught on tape for posterity. '
Behind his knee, Rafferty crossed his fingers at the lie. No doubt the tape had been wiped clean several times over by now. Somehow he didn't think Astell was in the right frame of mind to appreciate the fact. “No man would destroy a brand new suit unless he had a very good reason. So unless you can produce that second new suit...?”
Rafferty took a few moments to savour his triumph before he went on. “You might be interested to know that your wife told us you'd given her a little potion to calm her after all the recent stress she's endured. Her stomach's been pumped and the contents are being analysed now. Strange that she should forget writing that suicide note. Of course, she's been through a terrible ordeal. And she's already tried to kill herself once. It's only to be expected that the poor woman's mind should become unbalanced. Is that what you hoped we'd think when her body was found? It would be bound to iron out any little quibbles, wouldn't it? Like the fact that she didn't kill Moon at all, never saw that old video of Carstairs and Kingston. Didn't even realise he was her father, let alone that his Will left her a very rich woman.”
Astell said nothing further, but Rafferty cautioned him anyway, before leading him to the car and driving him to the station. Rafferty left Llewellyn to deposit him with the custody sergeant. He felt too weary, sickened, and ashamed of the humanity of which he was part to want to have anything more to do with the man just yet. Astell had set up his own wife to take a murder rap. It was a wicked thing to do, given her already fragile state of health. And he had almost got away with it. But for those few threads of cashmere, a man named Hawkeye and the fact that it had been a chilly night, he might have succeeded.
It was several hours later when Rafferty came out of Superintendent Bradley's office. He shut the door in a suitably deferential manner before grinning broadly and uncrossing the fingers that had protected him from his lies. Rafferty, you're a silver-tongued devil, his conscience began. I know, he told it. And don't think I'm not grateful.
After congratulating Rafferty on solving the case, Bradley had, of course, brought up the subject closest to his heart. He had huffed, puffed, and finally roared his accusation. After listening in silence for a few minutes, Rafferty had adjusted his voice to a tone of injured innocence as he defended himself against the PIMP accusation. “But sir,” he had protested. “Surely you don't think I did it deliberately...? Can you really believe I've even heard of these, whatdidyoucallems – acronyms? I couldn't spell it, never mind understand what it meant. You, of all people, should know that, sir.” He did, of course. Bradley also knew that Llewellyn, who had heard of acronyms and could undoubtedly spell the word, would never have supplied Rafferty with the damaging ammunition.
That had been the clincher. As he explained to Llewellyn when he reached the sanctuary of his office, Bradley had complained often enough in the past about his reports and their poor use of English. He could hardly turn round now and accuse him of having hid his erudite light under a bushel for years. Not when he knew damn well he possessed neither light not bushel. Not even Bradley could have it both ways.
“"Radix omnium mabrum est cupiditas",” Llewellyn quoted as he returned to Rafferty's office bearing two celebratory mugs of tea.
“And what does that mean when it's at home?” Rafferty asked.
“The love of money is the root of all evil.” Llewellyn dug out a mat from under a pile of papers and carefully placed the mug dead centre on Rafferty's desk “You never explained why Astell should bother to lie to Moon about his star sign. Why tell Moon he was a Gemini when he was actually a Taurus?”
“Ginnie Campbell had the answer. Remember she told us that Moon was superstitious?” Llewellyn nodded. “I called her while you were booking Astell in. She told me that Moon believed that Air signs were lucky for him and much preferred to work with them. Astell's a thorough man; he'd have read up on Moon when Moon's job offer came out of the blue. There was a series of articles about Moon in one of the magazines he wrote for around that time, according to the editor. It mentioned this superstition of his. I think Astell simply decided to provide Moon with a star sign that would meet his requirements. So he became a Gemini. Gemini to Moon's Aquarius – two compatible Air signs, you see. Of course, he needn't have bothered. Because Moon had already determined to employ him.”
Rafferty cradled his tea and sipped contentedly. 'I can't believe a man like Moon would take a cold fish like Astell on without a very good reason. But, of course, he had a reason. The best of reasons. He wanted to get close to his daughter. That's why he made him an offer he couldn't refuse. As we know, Henry, the landlord at The Troubadour, took the place over five years ago, which was when he hung his parents' star photos on the bar walls. And that was just before Moon offered Astell a job with him – an extremely well-paid job that he would have been mad to refuse.
'It's obvious, as I mentioned before, that Moon must have done a bit of arithmetic when he saw the photo of Carstairs, his wife and daughter at the 21st birthday bash in Jubilee Year and made it his business to check the dates out a bit more thoroughly. He could have discovered without much difficulty that Sarah was born in October – nine months after his affair with Mrs Carstairs.
'No wonder he went out of his way to offer Astell a job. Taking him into the business was the only way he could get to know his daughter. I suppose his interest in her must have roused Astell's curiosity enough to check Moon out.
“Astell tired of Moon's extravagance with what he came to regard as his own inheritance. Jasper Moon was too generous for his own good.” His expression wry, he held up his right foot in its emerald green wool casing. 'I should have known a man who shared my excellent taste in socks was a good guy. But I had to get over my own prejudices before I could see the truth – that, with Moon, what you saw was what you got. But Astell – he was into pretending he was something he wasn't in a big way. I imagine that's why he always wore those gloves. His wife didn't believe he had ever suffered from eczema, but given her medical history, she was hardly likely to call him a liar over it. But how else could he conceal his hands from an experienced hand analyst like Moon?
“I imagine Astell depended upon
us having the stereotypical police attitude to gay men,” Llewellyn remarked softly. “That they're vengeful and malicious, and that Moon, being both gay and theatrical, would possess such traits in abundance.”
“He nearly succeeded. It was hard luck on him that Moon's charitable streak and his open-handed way with money painted a rather different picture. You could say Moon's character both brought about his death and enabled us to catch his murderer. He was generous to a fault. He collected stray dogs – Terry Hadleigh, Ginnie Campbell, Mrs Moreno. He–”
“Talking of stray dogs,” Llewellyn interrupted. “I understood Taureans like Astell were supposed to be faithful types.”
“But Astell was faithful. Faithful unto death. Faithful, certainly to his first and only love – money. His every act was designed to bring him and his love together; his marriage, his scheming and finally, Moon's murder. Astell wasn't shocked by what those newspaper cuttings revealed about Moon. Sarah Astell said he just tried to persuade her not to contact Moon and he obviously didn't even try too hard to do that. Yet, if Astell was as upright and moral as he pretends, he'd surely have been appalled? So what does that tell us?”
“That he must already have known about Moon's past.”
'Exactly. Because he was the one who sent those cuttings to his wife. He didn't try too hard to stop his wife ringing Moon because that was precisely what he wanted her to do. It was all part of his plan to set his wife up to take the rap for Moon's murder. He married for money, not love, knowing Sarah Carstairs came from a wealthy family. What he didn't know and could hardly ask about was that her money – what there was of it and there wasn't as much as he thought – was tied up. And then, when Lloyds losses ate up all of it, his wife lost her only appeal – her wealth and he decided to make use of the knowledge he had gained about the Carstairs family. He must have suspected for some time that his wife was Moon's daughter, and presumably his only child and wondered how he could turn the fact to his advantage. When the Lloyds losses took what money she had, it was time to find out if Moon's Will acknowledged the relationship.
'So he stole Moon's key and broke into his apartment – Ginnie Campbell said Moon was terribly careless with his keys. Anyway, he discovered the Will, confirmed that his wife was not only Moon's natural daughter, but the main beneficiary of a large sum. Moon's fate was sealed from that moment. So was Sarah Astell's. It was just a matter of how to fix it so his wife was pushed into suicide before she could be found guilty of murder. Then he found that old film of Carstairs and Kingston, and knew, with a bit of help from him, it would be enough to convince us she had a motive.
'I imagine he was worried that Christian Farley would destroy the Will once Moon was dead, so he took it and then concocted his plan to get his hands on the loot. To that end, he fostered a dislike for Moon in his wife, spreading tales that were sure to get back to her. Then he set her up as patsy for Moon's murder. He sent her the newspaper clippings; of course, he knew all about her feelings where homosexuals were concerned. I imagine she'd taken in the prejudice with her mother's milk. After she'd been led by the nose into making that abusive phone call to Moon, he used that homosexual film of his father-in-law to convince us that Moon had died at her hands after he had broken the news about Carstairs. All he had to do then was set up the second, faked suicide.
“No wonder she collapsed when we showed her that video and told her we knew Moon was her father; it was the first the poor woman had known of either. He was one cool customer, all right.”
“Must have been. Everyone we've spoken to has said the same – that Moon was a very gifted palmist/astrologer, yet even he didn't realise how very dangerous Astell was.”
Rafferty shook his head. “I think he did. But his prime concern was his daughter. I think he disregarded any danger to himself in the same way he disregarded Mrs Moreno's Tarot reading – if that ever happened. Emotion affected his judgement. He judged wrongly – and died.”
“All right, I'll accept that. But Edwin Astell couldn't have known Ellen Hadleigh would take ill and leave early that evening. I suppose he arranged things that way?”
“Of course he did. He would have known she didn't drink and drugged her sherry, just to get rid of her. He couldn't risk her staying late in the kitchen. But at the same time, he didn't want to make any suspicious changes to their normal anniversary routine and she always helped out, presumably staying till the kitchen was tidy. Of course, he knew all about Ellen Hadleigh and her son – she'd worked for the Astells for years – and would have realised that by sending her home, he risked having her charged with Moon's murder. That wouldn't have suited him at all, so he phoned her, thereby providing her with an alibi. He couldn't phone her from Moon's office, of course. He would have known the calls from that office would be checked routinely. It's my guess he rang her from the call box near the office.”
Llewellyn mused, “I wonder what made Mercedes Moreno hang around after she'd returned to pick up her gloves that night?”
'I'm sure she'll tell us that – and the rest if we ask her nicely. Especially if we tell her that the alternative is a stretch in jail. We know from Sarah Astell that Mrs Moreno didn't knock at the front door. She must have gone round the back – through the garage/conservatory, where she'd have found Astell's change of clothes laid out ready for his return. I'm sure it occurred to her that it was a strange place to leave an entire set of clothes. She must have wondered what he was up to then, and decided to hang about to find out. Once he realised she could give him away, he must have appealed to her greed. He'd worked with her for months – I imagine he recognised a soul mate. He must have known that she would be open to offers. She wouldn't have been slow to see the advantages to herself. She was a widow and I think she foresaw benefits – money, a partnership, maybe even marriage. That must be when they concocted their little alibi'
“Marriage? To Astell? I think you're reaching ahead of the evidence,” Llewellyn told him. “I wonder why he didn't just kill her and be done with it?”
“ Because he was a man who relied on planning. He wouldn't risk killing her on the spur of the moment. Later, maybe, when her usefulness was at an end, but not then. He couldn't be sure that someone hadn't seen her return to his house and she would be careful not to enlighten him either way. Of course, later, she would have been smart enough to take suitable precautions to protect herself – like writing a letter telling the truth which was to be opened in the event of her disappearance or sudden death. I'm sure, unlike Sarah Astell, she would know just how to safeguard herself. Talking of marriage,” Rafferty changed the subject with startling rapidity, “when are you going to make an honest woman of my cousin?”
Llewellyn gazed at Rafferty with an air of mild reproach. “Did your mother never teach you it was rude to ask personal questions?”
“Ma?” Rafferty grinned. “Don't be daft. It was her who told me to ask.”
Llewellyn sighed. “Of course. Silly of me.” He drained his mug and then it was his turn to change the subject. “You never did tell me how your mother got on at the clairvoyant's. Did she manage to get the information she wanted from your father?”
“Course not. I told you the old man never volunteered anything when he was alive. He's not likely to start now he's dead. It was just another of my ma's ploys. You know she makes her own opportunities to poke her nose into my love-life.”
“And mine,” Llewellyn muttered sotto voce.
“Talking of which, you might as well tell me if you and Maureen are planning to get hitched. Ma'll worm it out of you, anyway.”
Llewellyn relented; he even managed a faint smile. “When – if – we decide to marry, you'll be the first to know – after Mrs Rafferty, of course.” He sauntered towards the door. Before he reached it, he turned back, his expression enigmatic. He didn't seem to realise that his final admonishment gave the game away. “Just as long as it's firmly understood that – if you agree to be my best man – I shall write your speech.” That said, he walked b
riskly away, leaving Rafferty with a pleased and rather idiotic grin spreading over his face. It faded abruptly as he realised that once his ma had steered Llewellyn and Maureen into wedded bliss, she would undoubtedly turn her attention back to him. Weddings always had such an unfortunate effect on her. Rafferty put his head in his hands and groaned.
About the Author
Geraldine Evans has been writing since her twenties, but she never finished anything. It took till her mid-thirties to actually get published. As well as her popular Rafferty & Llewellyn crime series, she has a second crime series, Casey & Catt, also an historical novel, a romance and articles on varying subjects, from Historical Biography to Writing, Palmistry and other New Age topics. She has written the dramatization of Dead Before Morning, the first novel in her Rafferty series.
Geraldine Evans is a Londoner, but since 2000 she has lived in Norfolk England with her husband, George.
Death Line is the third in her Rafferty & Llewellyn series. She is currently working on the fifteenth.
Trailer: www.youtube.com/watch?v=mo-BPA8GByM
DEAD BEFORE MORNING
A Rafferty and Llewellyn mystery novel
By Geraldine Evans
Available from Kindle, Nook, Kobo, Android, iPad, iPhone, iBookstore, etc.
Debut crime and first in the fourteen-strong Rafferty & Llewellyn crime series.
Detective Inspector Joseph Rafferty is investigating his first murder since his promotion. What a shame the victim is a girl with no name and no face, found in a place she had no business being – a private psychiatric hospital. With everyone denying knowing anything about the victim, Rafferty has his work cut out, so he could do without his Ma setting him another little problem: that of getting his cousin ‘Jailhouse Jack’ out of the cells. Although he has no shortage of suspects, proof is not so plentiful. It is only when he remembers his forgotten promise to get his cousin out of the cells that Rafferty gets the first glimmer that leads to the solution to the case.
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