Death Dues

by Evans, Geraldine

  A brief memory stirred in Rafferty’s head, but was as swiftly gone. ‘Anything else you recall about this man?’

  Tony Moran’s mother seemed to be something of a walking reference book for her son because he again called on her opinion. ‘I suppose my mum would have called him a looker. He certainly seemed to fancy himself as he fairly strutted up the street like a cock of the walk. Reckon Tracey must have fancied him as well as he was in her place for ages.’

  Eventually, by dint of further tortuous questioning, between them, he and Llewellyn had extracted several pieces of information. Rafferty was as interested in the identities of those who had left the street as in those who had remained. The team had yet to find the murder weapon, so, unless it turned up during the remaining hours of searching, someone had disposed of it. And although Moran was shaky on names and times, he had been able to give them rough descriptions of the women — all of those who had left the street that afternoon had been women – so they had made some progress.

  He told the youth and the tapes that the interview was suspended and added the time.

  Rafferty, reluctant to let such a cooperative witness go before they had squeezed him dry of information, glanced at Llewellyn with raised eyebrows. Any more questions? the gesture asked.

  Llewellyn nodded. ‘Did either you or the other members of your gang enter the alley, before or after the body was found?’

  ‘No.’ Moran’s answer this time was sharper.

  ‘Did you hear anything? Any cries or arguments, for instance?’

  ‘No. I heard nothing. We were larking about, like. I didn’t see or hear nothin’. Neither did the others. They’d have said, like.’

  As to whether any of the gang of four had entered the alley, either to follow Harrison with robbery in mind or later, on hearing him cry out, neither Moran nor any of the other three would be likely to admit it. Even Moran wasn’t so stupid as to say so if one of them had. Though, unless Jaws’ killer had taken the wallet, it seemed the likeliest possibility. Unless Eric Lewis, seeing the dead body, had decided to help himself, concluding that Forbes’s collector would have no more use for it or its contents.

  It didn’t seem they would get anything further from their witness. According to him, no one other than the victim and Eric Lewis had entered the alley. Lewis had gone in some five or ten minutes after Jaws Harrison, so although well placed to commit murder, he hadn’t left the street with the purpose of getting rid of the weapon.

  By now, it was eight-thirty. In spite of Primrose Avenue, the alley and the surrounding streets and gardens being thoroughly searched, the murder weapon still hadn’t turned up. The team had found a number of hammers in the sheds and toolboxes of the street, but although they would all be subject to forensic tests, none, so far, showed evidence of having been used in any way other than that which their manufacturers had intended.

  Rafferty suggested they call it a night.

  On his way home, Rafferty stopped off at his Ma’s house. She welcomed him with as much hot sweet tea as he could drink. Settled comfortably in her over furnished living room, he made swift inroads into the ham sandwiches she also provided. Ma loved to feed people. Now she lived alone she had only herself to cater for; her other five children, like Rafferty himself, were all in relationships and had homes of their own.

  Ma settled her rounded body back in her own well-worn tweed-effect armchair and, the requirements of hospitality over, she said, ‘I heard you’ve got a murder a couple of streets away. The whole neighbourhood’s agog.’

  ‘Thought it might be.’ Rafferty paused, then asked, ‘So who’s the favourite for the murder suspect?’ He didn’t usually go by local gossip in murder investigations, but sometimes the view on the street could be helpful and at least he’d get the low-down on most of the residents of Primrose Avenue.

  ‘Jake and Jason Sterling seem top of the list. Closely followed by their father, though I’d have thought him too idle to bestir himself to commit murder.’

  It was an interesting point of view, particularly as the two youths and their friends had been best placed to spot Jaws Harrison’s arrival.

  ‘What do you know about the family?’

  ‘Bunch of wasters.’ Ma was always forthright in her views. ‘The boys haven’t had a job since they left school, but they’ve had plenty of those ASBO things. They’ve been tagged and been in youth prison — you must know that as it was your lot who arrested them, but nothing makes any difference. Should have had a short, sharp shock from the start when they began to go off the rails. It might have done some good then. It’s all too little too late now.’

  ‘What about the rest of the residents? I’m particularly interested in those on the odd-numbered side of the street. I imagine you know most of the women from your visits to the local shops. Let’s start with the lodger at number one, Samantha Dicker.’

  ‘She’s a student, studying one of those ologies that old telly advert used to go on about. A nice girl on the whole. Up to her eyes in debt, of course, like most students nowadays, though the Smiths are good to her. Treat her like one of the family. They’re away in Spain at present, though I suppose you know that?’

  Rafferty nodded. ‘What about Josie McBride at number three? I gather her and Anthony Clifford are getting married?’

  ‘Yes. Saving like mad according to Josie’s mother. She wants a big wedding. I hear it’s going to cost over seventeen thousand pounds at the last count.’ Ma tutted at such extravagance. ‘Stupid lot of nonsense. We didn’t spend such ridiculous sums in my day. Didn’t have the money, of course. Not that we’d have been so daft as to waste such sums on just one day even if we did have it. It’s what comes after that counts. It’s my experience that the more money spent on a wedding the shorter the marriage.’

  Rafferty nodded. It was his experience, too. Perhaps he could get his Ma to put that point of view to Abra?

  ‘Talking of weddings—’ his Ma began.

  ‘Not now, Ma. Later.’ If we must. Get Ma on the subject of weddings, particularly his, and they’d be here till midnight with him no further forward in getting a deeper knowledge of his suspects. ‘Let’s move on to Mr and Mrs Jones at number five and their lodger, Peter Allbright.’

  Ma sniffed at being fobbed off from her current favourite topic of conversation, but, for once, she obeyed his stricture.

  ‘Harry Jones was made redundant. Must be two years ago now. Hasn’t been able to get a job since. Suffers from depression. He’s on medication. If it wasn’t for the money their youngest boy brings in I don’t know how they’d manage.’

  ‘I gather Mrs Jones doesn’t work, either?’

  ‘Never has to my knowledge. One of those obsessive housewives and with a husband, the lodger and one of her boys at home all day making a mess, she’s got her work cut out. I like a clean house myself, but I don’t make myself a martyr to it.’

  ‘But decent people, would you say?’

  ‘They’re all right. Not my sort. She always says hello when we meet in the street, though he’s got a bit distant lately. It’s the depression, I suppose. It’s not easy getting another job at his age and it’s not as if he’s got the skills to go self-employed. No trade, you see. He was only a line worker at one of the factories on the industrial estate.’

  ‘What about the lodger, Peter Allbright?’

  ‘He used to work at the same factory as Harry. That’s how he came to lodge with them. Lost his job at the same time as Harry. He’s on Jobseeker’s Allowance. So was Harry, but I think he’s on Incapacity Benefit now.’

  ‘Nice enough bloke, the lodger?’

  Ma shrugged. ‘Keeps himself to himself. Spends most of his time in his room according to Maggie Jones. No trouble though. He still manages to pay his rent anyway. So that’s one blessing. Can’t have anything left to live on after that, though. Must be a miserable existence for the lad. He’s only around twenty-five or so.’

  ‘And Mrs Parker and Mr Jenkins, at numbers thirteen an
d eleven?’ These were the two pensioners. Their frailty alone lessened the likelihood of either being strong suspects. But, as he had told Timothy Smales, appearances could be deceptive, so, as they were both at home at the time of the murder, though only Mrs Parker had a loan with Malcolm Forbes, either had had the opportunity to kill John “Jaws” Harrison.

  ‘I know Emily Parker from bingo. Nosey sort.’ And Ma should know. Like recognising like and all that. ‘I’m surprised she hasn’t solved your murder for you. She’s always in and out of the neighbour’s houses and is the first to know what’s going on in the street.’ Rafferty had heard this complaint about Emily Parker from his Ma before, he recalled. ‘Though she wasn’t so quick off the mark with this news,’ Ma said with satisfaction.

  Rafferty smiled to himself. Ma had always seemed of the opinion that knowing everybody’s business was her job. Clearly, she had a strong challenger in Emily Parker.

  ‘I think the men get fed up with her always in and out. Some of the women, too. And as for Jim Jenkins, he’s a bit reserved and not inclined to chat, though I suppose the pain of his arthritis would make anyone miserable. I don’t suppose it helps that he lives next door to Tracey Stubbs and her unruly brood. Always kicking footballs into his garden and damaging his vegetables. Rarely stops for a chat, Mr Jenkins. I suppose it makes his legs ache, though he always acknowledged you by doffing his hat. Don’t see much of that nowadays.’

  ‘Tracey Stubbs at number nine. What do you know about her?’

  Ma gave her second sniff of the evening. ‘She’s got three kids under ten and another due imminently. All from different fathers. Must do nicely on the Child Allowance, though not enough to keep them in those fancy trainers she manages to kit them out in.’

  ‘I take it she doesn’t work?’

  ‘She’s got a little part-time job. But most of the work that Tracey does is done on her back.’

  ‘Are you saying she’s some sort of prostitute to be able to afford the expensive trainers?’

  His Ma pursed her lips, then told him tartly, ‘I’m saying nothing of the sort. That’d be slander. You’re meant to be the policeman of the family — why don’t you ask her? All I’m saying is that the girl should learn to keep her legs together. Always had poor taste in men, right from a youngster. She was forever hanging round the streets, flirting with the boys.

  ‘Could see where she was heading even then, even though she was quite bright. Didn’t apply herself. Her mum lives around the corner. Nice a woman as you’d find. Tracey’s been a trial to her. Too soft with the girl. I mean, look how Tracey turned out. Though to give the girl her due, she does work part time and the children are always well turned out. Does an evening job at the supermarket. Her mother looks after the kids.’

  Rafferty, recalling his own deprived youth and his widowed Ma’s endless struggles to make ends meet, thought he’d ask her what she knew about Malcolm ‘The Enforcer’ Forbes.

  ‘Did you ever borrow money from him, Ma? Or from his father before him?’

  His Ma shook her head. ‘No. But sometimes I was so desperate that I was tempted. But I’d heard how violent Forbes, father and son and his collectors could be if you couldn’t pay. We did without instead. Better, I thought, to do that than live in fear of the knock on the door.’

  Though there had been a fair amount of that, too, as Rafferty remembered. Plenty of times they’d had to keep quiet and hide out of sight of the windows when the tally man called round for his money. Rafferty had always expected Dave, the tallyman, to slip his fingers through the letterbox, pull out the door key that was suspended on string behind the door and let himself in to catch them all hiding behind the furniture, but he never did.

  ‘The old man’s retired now. His son has the complete running of the business. He’s a real chip off the old block. Or so I hear.’

  Ma made some more tea and said as she sat down again, ‘And now that I’ve sorted out your suspects for you, tell me your own news. Have you and Abra settled on a wedding date yet?’

  ‘We thought of May.’

  ‘May? You can’t get married in May. It’s the unluckiest month of the year to wed. “Marry in May and you’ll rue the day”. Surely you know that?’

  Bemused, Rafferty shook his head. It was the first he’d heard of such a saying. Keen to transfer blame, he said, ‘It was Abra’s idea.’

  Ma tutted. ‘What does she know at her age? June’s much the better month. You tell her from me. You want to talk her out of May, son. No point in starting married life with the fates against you. Asking for trouble.’

  As Rafferty had already had one taste of what tempting the fates could do that day, he wasn’t inclined to argue. Disgruntled that the one thing they’d managed to agree on — the month of their wedding — now looked kicked into touch, Rafferty, after he left his Ma’s house, drove to the Chinese takeaway to pick up the food he’d rang through an order for earlier, his Ma’s colourful and highly prejudiced descriptions of most of the main suspects chasing each other round in his head. Wait till he told Llewellyn.

  There again, it was probably better if he kept shtoom about his source of all the scandal. Llewellyn was a by-the-book sort of man. He’d be sure to consider consulting his Ma, the neighbourhood Oracle on all things to do with people, as very unprofessional.

  Chapter Five

  It was gone ten by the time Rafferty left his Ma’s house. He popped into his local Chinese takeaway.

  As he waited for his order, he ruminated on the day’s developments. Was Ma’s description of the suspects they so far had, accurate? Ma wasn’t beyond exaggeration to improve a tale. Had Jaws Harrison gone into the alley for the reason he had surmised — that of gaining access to the homes of the debtors who left front door knocks unanswered? Or had he had another reason for sneaking around the back alley?

  The weather was still cold and damp and though the rain had eased off markedly, the wind had turned even more blustery with evening. Rafferty was glad to get back in the car and head home to Abra.

  When he reached the flat, he took off his still damp raincoat and hung it in the hall above the radiator, hoping it would be dry by morning. He paused for a few seconds to admire the newly-decorated hallway; he’d done a good job, even if he said so himself. Taupe walls with white woodwork. It still looked smart, though, he supposed, if Abra was still keen on buying a house as she’d said that morning, it would be back to square one on the decorating front. He breathed in on a sigh, opened the living room door and said hello to Abra.

  He found her once again deep in her piles of Bride and Wedding magazines. What extravagance was she planning now? he wondered as he took in her bent head. The Philharmonic Orchestra for the reception? A vintage Rolls Royce to ferry her to the ceremony? He wished he knew how to get her down off her rose pink cloud of romance. It seemed to be taking her over.

  Abra looked up briefly from her study of diamond-studded tiaras. ‘Hi Joe,’ she said. ‘You're late. Had a good day?’

  'Not so's you'd notice. I've a murder case to solve on top of the muggings. Bloke called Jaws Harrison was killed. A collector for a local loan shark.'

  Abra's lips turned down. 'I suppose that means you're going to be late every night for weeks. When are we supposed to be getting on with planning our wedding?'

  Oh God, thought Rafferty. Not that again. Can't I have some peace? 'It's my job, sweetheart,' he said peaceably. 'I've no choice. And my income will help pay for the wedding you've set your heart on.'

  'Will it, though? When you never seem to have time to discuss it. I seem to be the only one interested in our wedding.'

  'Now that's not true. You know it's not. Please don't start. Not tonight. I'm bushed. I'll go and dish up.'

  Abra followed him into the kitchen, seemingly determined to carry on the wedding conversation. He told her what his Ma had said about a May wedding, thinking to get all of the bad news out of the way in one go; that way, maybe he could spend what remained of the evening in peace.
‘She didn’t think much of the idea, sweetheart. Said something about marrying in May and rueing the day.’

  ‘Superstitious nonsense,’ was Abra’s forthright response. She seemed to be on a roll with her dissatisfaction with the Rafferty family. ‘I seem to recall something similar about marrying on a Saturday, though that doesn’t stop thousands getting married on that day every year.’

  ‘Maybe. Though it would go a long way to explaining the divorce statistics.’

  ‘Not necessarily. People have been getting married on a Saturday for generations. The only thing that goes a long way to explaining the divorce statistics is the fact that so many people nowadays don’t stick at their marriages.’ She smiled suddenly and Rafferty knew he’d been let off the May hook. ‘But this is the only one I want.’

  ‘It’s the only one I want, too,’ Rafferty said. It was true enough. He certainly hadn’t wanted his first marriage to Angie, but an unexpected pregnancy had rather hastened things along on the marital front with that one. Just his luck she’d lost the baby after the wedding rather than before. Angie was dead now, leaving him with a burden of guilt at her passing.

  But he’d been a widower long enough, as Ma kept reminding him. And this time he was marrying for the right reasons; he knew that, in spite of all this silliness they were currently going through over the wedding arrangements. ‘Let’s make it June, Abra, for the sake of peace. You know Ma will have plenty to say at the merest hint of a squabble between us if we stick to a May wedding. She’ll tell us we tempted the fates.’

  ‘Go on then. May, June. What does it matter?' she said crossly. 'I just want to get the important things settled, so I’ll bow to your Ma’s superstitious beliefs on that one. June it is. But you needn’t think your mother is going to influence all our decisions about the wedding. It’s our day, not hers.’