Death Dues

by Evans, Geraldine

  Rafferty told him he was in the middle of investigating another murder, ‘But that’s not why I called to see you. I’m getting married.’

  ‘Congratulations.’

  But even as the manager mouthed the word, Rafferty caught the wary expression and he realised that it should have occurred to him that a man with three ballrooms at his disposal must have a lot of favours called in from friends and family as well as mere acquaintances. No wonder he had looked wary at the mention of the wedding word. But surely, getting the manager out of the hole into which two violent deaths had thrust him must be worth more on the favour front than just being a second cousin twice removed?

  Apparently not. The manager tried to cover up his base, unspoken, ingratitude by prevaricating and asking when the wedding was to be held.

  Rafferty told him.

  ‘June! One of our busiest months. Of course our ballrooms are all booked for the next eighteen months. Everyone these days has to book everything well in advance if they want the venue of their choice. I’d have thought you’d know that Inspector.’

  It seemed the manager followed that old saw about the best form of defence being attack; he’d certainly got his defence in early.

  Dismayed that his brightly laid plans had fallen at the first hurdle, Rafferty said, ‘But you must have cancellations. Couldn’t—?’

  ‘Of course we have cancellations. And we’ve nearly as many bookings for those as we have for the wedding receptions. Weddings are big business nowadays, Inspector. Gone are the days when a couple could book up six months’ in advance and have their first choice. The statistics for those getting married may well be the lowest ever, but the requirements have risen. More and more people want a big wedding, the bigger the better, with no expense spared. Yes, we do very nicely out of the wedding market. It helps to keep us afloat during otherwise quiet times.’

  This was something Rafferty was beginning to realise. He slunk off a few minutes later, his tail doing its best to trip him up and with his prospective alternative career as a wedding organiser killed at birth. The job wasn’t as easy as he’d thought.

  But he wasn’t done yet. He still had high hopes over one or two of the other arrangements he had persuaded Abra to let him take over. Of course a swish hotel like The Elmhurst would be booked up months in advance. He should have realised that for himself as the manager had been quick to point out, the implication being that if Rafferty had been more astute and booking much further in advance of the wedding, of course he’d have been happy to do it at cost. What a pity he couldn’t, blah, blah, blah. Serve the ingrate right if he bungled any future investigations at his precious hotel.

  He was just thankful he hadn’t mentioned the possibility of booking the place to Abra. As it was, he’d already tried to pin down the usual brass photographer to a firm commitment to do the wedding, but he was playing fast and loose with him, complaining of the usual screaming brats he’d have to content with at a wedding. Rafferty had countered with the reply that at least children’s tantrums couldn’t be on a par with those of the brass in mid strop. But still the man wouldn’t commit himself and said he’d get back to him. With that he’d had to be content. But at least the wretch hadn’t said an outright no. As for the reception venue, he’d have to come up with somewhere else unless Abra agreed to postpone the wedding for another year. But as he couldn’t see that going down too well the possibility didn’t dwell with him for long.

  But even with the Elmhurst Hotel out of the window as a reception venue, he was still determined to wrest control of as much of the wedding arrangements as possible from an Abra who was proving unwarrantably extravagant. He was gung ho no longer. And Cousin Nigel was next on the agenda.

  Nigel Blythe was in the private office at the estate agency he owned. This was starkly modern with black leather and chrome, the seats uncomfortably low and difficult to get out of: All the better to keep potential buyers on the premises and open to persuasion. As always, Nigel looked Italian gigolo smart in a three-piece mauve suit and a silver-grey tie. No wonder Tony Moran had described him as a peacock. Rafferty was only surprised he’d felt such a small stir of recognition at Moran’s description.

  ‘Well, well,’ Nigel greeted their arrival as he leant back in his high-backed leather executive chair. ‘Look what the cat dragged in.’

  ‘Nice to see you, too, Jerry.’ Rafferty pulled up a chair and sat down.

  The smile vanished from Nigel’s face at Rafferty’s use of his true given name. Nigel Blythe, as he now chose to call himself, didn’t like reminders of his common name and lowly origins. But Jerry Kelly he would always remain to Rafferty and he thought Nigel shouldn’t be allowed to become too forgetful of their shared background. Nigel preferred to pretend he had sprung, fully formed, as a smartly dressed and suave estate agent.

  Even though Rafferty knew it was unwise to antagonise his cousin if he wanted his cooperation, he couldn’t help himself. His cousin’s pretensions tended to rub him up the wrong way. ‘I hear you’ve gone into the loan shark business,’ he said.

  ‘Then you hear wrong.’ Nigel’s handsome face that was superficially so like Rafferty’s, but so much better looking, scowled. ‘I run a respectable loan firm. Nothing wrong in that.’

  ‘I doubt if Malcolm Forbes would agree with you. I wonder if he’s learned of your little business yet? I hear your men and his have had a few little contretemps at least.’

  Nigel paled at the mention of Forbes’s name, but he quickly regained his confidence. ‘I’m sure Mr Forbes isn’t frightened of a little competition.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’

  ‘You haven’t told him, have you?’

  ‘Would I do that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past you. You’re a copper and would probably be pleased if Forbes set one of his goons on me.’

  ‘No. Not at all. You shouldn’t judge everyone by your own standards, Jerry. It might spoil that nice suit. Looks an expensive bit of shmutter.’

  ‘It is. Anyway, there’s room for all of us in the business given the high rate of personal debt in the country. Like death and taxes, it’s ever with us and the number of debtors increases every year. I’m just doing my bit to help those in need.’

  ‘What a veritable found of benevolence you are. I must put you forward for an award.’

  ‘You might sneer,’ said Nigel, ‘though I don’t know why you think yourself so superior. After all, debt is something your family is familiar with.’

  ‘And yours,’ Rafferty shot back, even as he said it, he was aware that he was being juvenile and unprofessional. But there was something about Nigel that tended to bring out the worst in him. For a moment, he thought Nigel was about to add some other taunt, but he clearly thought better of it for his lips clamped shut and he merely stared at Rafferty with dislike. At least he no longer leant back gazing at them with that infuriating condescension. ‘So where did you get the funding to get started?’

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  This looked like turning into a grudge match. Llewellyn stepped in to referee. ‘Mr Blythe, we’re here as part of our investigation into the death of a Mr John Harrison who worked as a collector for Malcolm Forbes. He was found dead after being brutally attacked in the alleyway that runs behind one of the rows of houses in Primrose Avenue. You told me on the phone that you saw him enter the alley and took pains that he didn’t see you. Did you see anyone or anything else?’

  Mollified at Llewellyn’s gentler tones, Nigel sat back again. ‘No. I saw nothing but what I’ve already told you. And yes, of course I took pains that he didn’t see me. I saw no point in antagonising him or his boss.’ He leaned back in his seat. ‘Now, if that’s all, I’d like to get on. I do have a business to run.’

  ‘Wanted to avoid another confrontation about whose turf it was? Very wise,’ Rafferty put in.

  ‘I’ve always found that a little discretion goes a long way to reducing any potential hostility.’


  ‘So you didn’t follow Harrison into the alley and bop him on the back of the head?’

  ‘Certainly not. I dislike alleys. They’re dreadfully muddy places usually and can ruin a decent pair of shoes.’

  Llewellyn once again intervened. ‘Did you see anything at all, Sir?’

  ‘A pretty lady is all. A Ms Tracey Stubbs. One of my clientele. Oh,’ he added. ‘And a few scruffy brats. There was a gang of youths hanging around the corner, too, when I arrived. I didn’t see anyone else. I was more concerned that one of the brats might scratch my car than with doing your job for you.’ This last was, of course, directed at Rafferty.

  Immediately, he shot back, ‘That’s a shame because you’re on our suspect list. You were in the right place at the right time. Maybe you decided to bump off one of your rival’s men.’

  ‘Who do you think I am? Al Capone?’ Nigel clearly didn’t deign this worthy of any other reply.

  Rafferty didn’t really believe that Nigel was the guilty party anyway. He couldn’t see his immaculately dressed cousin attacking the large outhouse that was Jaws Harrison. Certainly not in broad daylight and in a muddy alley. There’d be too much risk of getting mud on his pretty suit.

  This interview was turning out to be as much of a waste of time as his visit to The Elmhurst had been. It made him short tempered and he didn’t have any hesitation in taking it out on Nigel.

  ‘Coming the heavy yourself, aren’t you coz?’ Nigel drawled sarcastically. ‘Perhaps I should call my solicitor?’

  ‘Perhaps you should, coz. If you think you need him.’

  Nigel sat up straight and glared at Rafferty. ‘I’m beginning to think I might. You come in here, flinging accusations about and—’

  ‘No accusations, coz. I was merely doing the politeness of informing you of your position. No accusation in that.’ Rafferty’s voice became sharper. ‘Did you see anything? Anything at all?’

  ‘Only Tracey Stubbs, the kids, the back of Jaws Harrison’s head – not in close-up, whatever you might think – and the cool dude youths, as I told you.’

  ‘According to our information you were with Ms Stubbs for some time.’

  ‘She was trying to give me the run around.’

  ‘So what happened? Did you decide to take payment in kind? As I said, we heard you were in there some time.’

  ‘My dear Inspector, please. Payment in kind? From little Tracey? I hardly think so. Of course she might suit you. I, on the other hand, as you know, have more discerning tastes. I’d only to click my fingers and I could have a dozen Traceys. If I wanted them. Which I don’t. No. From her all I wanted was what was due and that was money.’

  ‘And did you get it? The money, I mean?’

  ‘Oh yes. Calm your fears, dear boy. I got my money.’

  Rafferty didn’t doubt it. Nigel never let more tender feelings come between himself and his first love. ‘Don’t forget to let me know if you hear anything,’ Rafferty reminded him as he got up.

  ‘Always glad to help the police.’

  Yeah, right, thought Rafferty as he walked through the modern chrome and black leather outer office and left Nigel to his empire building.

  By now they were well into the third day of the investigation. The case plodded its slow way on. More people were questioned and their answers checked, but they were no nearer to a solution. The murder weapon still hadn’t turned up. Rafferty was beginning to doubt they’d ever find it. There had certainly been no trace of it in Primrose Avenue or anywhere in the immediate vicinity. The search for this elusive item had now spread further afield.

  Time, he thought, to question the four youths again. They were the only ones on the spot both before and after the murder. The only ones able if not willing to tell them who else had entered the alley. Who were they protecting? The only thing he could think of was that the youths had some connection to Malcolm Forbes. He seemed just the sort of man who would make use of such youths for his own purposes. Had they seen one of Forbes’s other men follow Jaws with intent to extract retribution for some suspected felony? Had Jaws been helping himself to some of Forbes’s collection money?

  Rafferty didn’t know. And the only way they would have any possible hope of finding out was to question the four youths again. They only ones – apart from the murderer – unless he was one of them, able to tell them more.

  They found them in their usual haunt on the corner of Primrose Avenue. But, like Nigel, their memories didn’t improve with further questioning.

  'Come on lads,' Rafferty encouraged. 'You must have seen something else."

  'Well we didn't,' Jake Spalding told him truculently. 'Why do you keep picking on us? We haven't done nothing.'

  'So it follows that you must have done something,' Llewellyn said. ‘Double negative,’ he explained.

  'Don't you twist my words with your clever copper’s talk.' Jake came forward a few paces and stood practically nose to nose with Llewellyn. 'I told you we've done nothing. You can believe us or not. My old man knows the law. You can't charge us. You've no evidence.'

  Frustrated that they seemed to find murder a subject for aggression rather than horror, Rafferty said, 'Come on, Dafyd. It's clear we're going to get nothing of value from them.'

  He turned to the group of youngsters who were hanging around some yards from the youths. One of the kids even sported a leather jacket. Hoping to learn how to be hard and cool, too, thought Rafferty, noting down yet another probable future youth crime statistic.

  ‘Hey, copper,’ one of these youngsters, a stocky, ginger-haired lad of about ten, shouted. ‘Have you questioned that fatso, Forbes, yet?’

  Rafferty wondered whether to grace this mannerless question with a reply, but then he thought, why not? ‘And why would I want to question Mr Forbes? Apart from asking him what he knows about his dead employee?’

  ‘You wanna try asking him how he came to be dead,’ the boy scornfully replied. ‘Reckon he might know more about it than he’s told you.’

  ‘You do, do you? And why might that be?’

  ‘I saw him, didn’t I?’

  His friends tried to shush him. But it was clear that here was a Malcolm Forbes in miniature; fearless, pugnacious and sure of himself. He was big for his age and his cocky demeanour demanded he show both no fear and a knowledge greater than the rest.

  ‘You saw him you said? Where was this? And what time?’

  His sharp tone did nothing to discourage the boy. The massed freckles of the true redhead seemed to dance about across his nose and cheeks in his determined effort not to betray his excitement. ‘Yeah. I saw him. He came waddling along the street after he got out of that flash Merc he drives. It was around quarter past three. He headed down the alley straight after Jaws had gone down there. When he came out he had something in his hand.’

  ‘What? And where were you that you were able to see him?’

  ‘I was in my bedroom, wasn’t I? I live in one of the houses opposite the alley. I was playing a computer game.’

  ‘You didn’t say what he had in his hand.’

  The freckles seemed to dim with his disappointment as he said, ‘That’s ‘cos I couldn’t see it. He had it on the side away from me. Maybe he was hiding whatever it was?’ In a fortissimo whisper that betrayed his excitement, he added, ‘Maybe he sensed me watching him? Maybe it was the murder weapon?’

  And maybe you’re just making it all up in order to have a bit of fun at my expense, Rafferty thought as he asked, ‘Is your mother in?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. Your evidence could be important,’ he told the boy, who gave a gap-toothed grin. ‘I need to check it out.’

  The grin vanished. ‘Are you saying I’m a liar?’

  ‘No. Not at all. But it’s never wise for a policeman to take everything as gospel. For instance, how do you know Mr Forbes?’

  The boy gave as good a sneer as Jake Spalding, he of the cool leather jacket. ‘My mum spends e
nough time in his pawnshop trying to sweet talk old skinny who works there into giving her more money for her stuff. She always drags me and my brother with her. She only got my computer out of hock last week.’ He gave a hard done by sigh. ‘I suppose it’ll be going back next week when she can’t pay the rent.’

  ‘I see. What number do you live at, sonny?’

  ‘Don’t “Sonny” me. My name’s Bazza. And I live at number thirteen.’

  There was that number again. He shivered, then gave himself a shake. Superstitious rot. ‘I’ll see what your mum has to say and then I may want to speak to you again.’

  Bazza shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. But I know what I saw and what time I saw it an’ all.’

  If the boy’s evidence was true it could mean the case made a big push forward. He’d been very definite about the times too. ‘You said you saw the victim, Mr Harrison, a little before Mr Forbes?’

  Bazza nodded. ‘No more than a minute or so earlier.’

  ‘Did you see him come out of the alley as well?’ It didn’t seem likely that he had done so, seeing as Jaws had died there, but seeing as he had such a willing witness he might as well check.

  ‘Nah. I only saw him go in. I never saw him come out again, though I waited so I could warn my mum he’d be round. He always does Primrose Ave before he does our street. I knew she didn’t have the money to pay him. She’d been moaning about it earlier.’

  ‘OK Bazza. Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.’

  ‘Think he’s telling the truth?’ Llewellyn asked as they crossed the road to number thirteen in the street that formed the cross bar of the ‘T’ with Primrose Avenue.

  ‘God knows. If he copies the example of the big boys in the street, lying will be a way of life. Though why even a kid of his age should be so keen to get on the wrong side of Malcolm Forbes… But if his mum confirms he was in his bedroom and that he’d got a good view of the alley, we’ll have to take what he says seriously.’