Deadly Reunion (22 page)

‘You could be on to something, sir.'

Rafferty grinned. ‘I could, couldn't I?'

‘Or, rather, you could, if it wasn't for the means of death. The use of hemlock indicates premeditation, not the sudden upsurge of a hate originally felt nearly two decades ago.'

Rafferty, hot in pursuit of his latest theory, ignored him. ‘Joanna told me that she intended to obtain her birth certificate when she came of age. I imagine, in one of her teenage strops, she told her mother the same thing. We both know she would have found no information about her father there. Do you reckon she would have continued to try to find out her father's identity? Maybe she'd succeed? Joanna struck me as the tenacious sort. Maybe she would have turned her attention then to Griffin School and her mother's old schoolmates. Admittedly Paxton wouldn't have given her any information about them, but he might well have agreed to pass a letter on to each of them. Alice would know her own daughter, would know she wouldn't give up. Must have worried that one of her old school mates would remember something that would give the girl a lead. Maybe she and Adam weren't quite as discreet in their little romance as she'd thought.' He was on a roll now and said, ‘what if Sophie Diaz not only saw her slip the hemlock into Ainsley's lunch, but also knew about Alice's affair with him?'

Rafferty finished the rest of his tea in a hurry and said, ‘Come on. We'll speak to the rest of Alice's neighbours while we wait.'

‘While we wait for what?' Llewellyn asked as he finished his own tea.

‘While we wait for Alice to return home from work, of course.'

‘And do you think she's likely to admit that Mr Ainsley refused her eighteenth birthday party invitation? She's already told you the opposite once.'

‘I don't know, do I? But it can't hurt to ask. Even if it's just to see her reaction.'

They drove back to Alice Douglas's street and interviewed her other neighbours to no avail. By the time they'd spoken to the last one, it was gone five, so they elected to wait in the car for Alice to come home.

‘My daughter wouldn't find out the name of her father because none of my classmates know it.' Alice Douglas stared hard at him, as if daring him to refute her statement.

‘Are you sure about that?' Rafferty asked. ‘I wonder if Sophie Diaz guessed. Adam had just dumped her. Maybe she spied on him, looking for a way to get even? Maybe she even tackled you about it.'

He could see that he had hit a nerve and he pushed it – hard. ‘Is that why she had to die, too? Was she someone else who knew your secret? Someone else who knew your shame that you'd allowed yourself to be used by Adam? Did she see you put the hemlock in Adam's lunch and tell you that she'd seen you do it?'

Alice Douglas had gone deathly pale, but she spoke up spiritedly enough. ‘You're talking nonsense, Inspector. Sophie didn't see me doing anything murderous because I didn't kill Adam. And, for the record, Sophie didn't know that Adam was the father of my baby. Nobody knew.'

‘Except Adam himself?'

His accusation of murder had made her incautious. Now she said, ‘What makes you think he'd admit to paternity to our daughter even if someone put her on the right track? The thought of what he might lose if Joanna pursued him would be enough to have him running scared. He'd have admitted nothing and left Joanna to chase him through the courts if she had the money, which a few discreet checks would soon tell him she didn't have.'

‘Maybe not. But what a lot of unwelcome pressure that would put on you. You told me last time we spoke that Adam had agreed to attend your daughter's eighteenth birthday party, but, from what you say now, it seems you lied to me. Again.'

She didn't answer. Rafferty knew, from the way her face had closed up tight, that he would get no more out of her. He'd have charged her there and then, but for the fact that everything was still only circumstantial. He wanted more.

By the time they'd had more tea at the local working men's café and driven back to Elmhurst, it was gone seven. At least the nine-to-five Bradley should have long since gone home.

And so it proved, as they turned into the Bacon Lane car park, Rafferty saw that Bradley's Lexus wasn't in its bay. He felt quite light-hearted as he got out of the car and climbed the stairs to their second floor office.

‘Let's see if you can't beat your own record in getting these interviews typed up,' Rafferty said. ‘Then we can go home. It seems to have been a long day. While you do that, I'll get the tea.'

Rafferty sauntered along to the canteen and ordered up two brews, which he brought back to the office, even managing to retain most of the hot liquid rather than slopping it over the beige carpet in the corridor.

‘Here we are, Daff. Mother's helper rather than Mother's ruin.' He put Llewellyn's mug down beside the industrious Welshman and sat down behind his desk to sip his own tea. He returned to his latest theory.

‘Alice Douglas has already lied to us twice: once about having an abortion and again, when she denied that Ainsley was the father. Lying would seem to be something of a habit for her. It strikes me as only too likely that she'd have lied to us a third time, especially given her response when we questioned her about what was Adam's reaction when he discovered for the first time that he was a daddy.

‘Maybe what actually happened, was that he'd told her she could take her birthday invitation and shove it. This second rejection, something she must have already suspected would happen even before she attended the reunion, would answer the premeditation question,' he added quickly before Llewellyn could interrupt with more theory-quashing, ‘could well give Alice Douglas a motive for killing him. A planned killing for an expected second rebuff of her much-loved child.'

Rafferty, satisfied he'd successfully resolved his clever Welsh sergeant's previous objections to his theory, sat back and sipped his tea thoughtfully, well pleased with himself. ‘It'll be something to tell Bradley in the morning. He wanted a breakthrough. This could be it.'

ELEVEN

R
afferty, well chuffed, not only with his latest theory, but also the fact that Llewellyn had been unable to come up with any more arguments against it, was even able to welcome Cyrus's religious benediction when he got home. In fact he was overcome with benevolence and hail-fellow-well-metitis and he found himself saying:

‘And God bless you, too, Cy. What say you, me, and Louis take a stroll to the corner and the nearest pub? It's about time we had a boys' night out and gave the girls a break. They can download a slushy DVD and enjoy it without us yobboes criticising from the stalls. They serve bar meals in the evening.' He hadn't actually been in this particular pub before as they'd only moved house a month or so ago, but he'd seen the sign about all-day meals outside and had kept it in mind.

Cyrus broke into jowly beams at this invitation. ‘Why, Joe, that's a mighty fine idea.'

Whether it was the thought of a cold pint on a hot day or a whole new audience for his proselytizing, that brought the beaming smile, Rafferty didn't know. Nor did he care. If it was the beer, at least Cyrus would have something else other than words to occupy his gob and if it was the latter, Rafferty's ears would get a well-deserved rest. It promised to be a perfect evening.

After Rafferty had had a quick shower to remove the day's accumulated grime, they strolled the couple of hundred yards to the pub, the Horse and Groom. It was another sticky evening and they were all three in shirtsleeves, but apart from the heat, it was a pleasant stroll, through tree-lined streets with a preponderance of flower pots and hanging baskets. They'd moved a bit up-market now he and Abra had been able to pool their financial resources after the sale of their respective flats and Rafferty smiled to see the streets were free of the youths who had assembled outside his old flat. It was a much nicer area, with teenage sons who didn't get involved in gangs and teenage daughters who didn't fall pregnant as career alternatives. Still, whatever its advantages, he missed the close location to the centre of town that his old flat had had and its ease of access to the shops and other facilities. Now, unless he fancied a longish walk, he had to get the car out every time he needed to visit the centre.

There weren't many customers in the pub and Rafferty hoped that wasn't an indication that the landlord didn't pay his beer the attention it deserved. But then he spotted the Adnams sign on a beer pump and immediately brightened as he recognized a connoisseur. It was good to know that the only pub within easy walking distance sold his favourite beer. He turned to Cyrus and asked him what he'd like to drink.

‘I'll trust to your judgement, Joe and have what you're having.'

Louis said the same.

‘OK. That's three pints of Adnam's Bitter, please Miss,' Rafferty said to the barmaid. ‘Let's sit down,' he said when the barmaid had pulled three pints.

He took a long pull of his bitter, let out an even longer breath and sat back.

Louis wandered off to play the one-armed bandit. Cyrus watched him for a little while as if checking that he was settled there for a bit, then he said, ‘Ah'm glad to have this opportunity to talk to you, Joe.'

‘Oh?' Rafferty thought Cyrus had done way too much talking to him already.

‘Yes. Ah've been meaning to speak to you, but the raht tahm never seemed to present itself.'

‘It's here now. Say what's on your mind.' Rafferty thought he had half an idea already – Cyrus couldn't be said to be backward in coming forward – and so it proved.

Cyrus placed his bitter neatly on its beer mat and sat back against the upholstered bench. ‘Ah thought you and Abra didn't want me – us – in your home. And Ah'm sorry about that. Ah've heard that the British are reserved.'

Cyrus was being tactful. Unwelcoming, he meant and Rafferty knew he had a point. Guiltily, he asked, ‘what made you think that?'

‘The way Abra goes to bed most nights with a sick headache. The way you work till all hours or if you get home early, disappear upstairs to your room. Are we in the way, Joe? Would you like us to leave?' Before Rafferty could say anything or come up with a bunch of words that hung together as an explanation, Cyrus went on. ‘Ah can see that your mother probably foisted us on you.' He smiled. ‘Ah've known Kitty for many more years than you have, Joe – we keep in touch with regular letters – so Ah know how determined she can be. And she was dead set on this family reunion. Dead set on saving us money.

‘Most of us are seniors, without big bucks, so she said she'd arrange to put us up for nothing. It was mighty good of her. Mighty good of you and Abra. But we'll understand if you'd prefer to be on your own.'

Cyrus was speaking from the heart and Rafferty thought he deserved nothing less in return. ‘You're right. Ma did foist you on us. But you must remember that Abra and I are just back from our honeymoon. We're trying for a baby.' It was only a little white lie as they probably
would
be trying for a baby in the not too distant future. ‘That's why we keep disappearing.'

‘A baby! My, that's neat.' Cyrus's beam reappeared. It threatened to split his dentures. ‘Another generation of Raffertys? So that's why. And I thought we were unwelcome.'

‘Not at all, Cyrus. Tell you what, we'll put the trying for a baby on the back burner for the rest of your stay. How does that suit you?'

‘You don't have to do that, Joe. Not now Ah know. You can make as many babies as you like.'

‘One's enough. For now, anyway.'

‘Ah'm glad we've had this little chat. Wendy'll be relieved when Ah tell her.'

Still feeling guilty that he hadn't been more gracious about their unwanted lodgers, Rafferty changed the subject.‘How do you like the beer?'

‘It's different.' Cyrus tried another sip. ‘But it's growing on me.'

‘Adnams Brewery is an old-fashioned firm. Their beers are still handcrafted, not like the gassy stuff the big chains produce. They do a number of different seasonal beers you can try while you're here.'

Rafferty was amazed, but relieved, when Cyrus kept off the subject of religion for the rest of the evening – perhaps Wendy's promise to ‘have a word with him' had finally borne fruit? – and he just chatted about the sports teams he supported, which gave Rafferty the opportunity to speak about the recent football World Cup and how their two teams had fared. The United States and England had been paired for their first match and the States had got a lucky equalizer when the England goalkeeper had fluffed a catch. But although Cyrus listened patiently, it soon became clear that he didn't really follow football – or soccer, as he referred to it. It wasn't that big a sport in America. Cyrus followed baseball and was a keen fan of the Atlanta Braves and the team's pitchers Tommy Hanson and Dontrelle Willis.

‘Dontrelle's a black guy –' Rafferty caught a whiff of Southern prejudice – ‘but he's not bad, though Hanson's my favourite.'

Rafferty, who knew nothing about baseball and cared less, said, ‘Drink up, Cyrus and I'll get us another.'

‘It's ma turn. Put your cash back in your pocket.' Cyrus picked up the glasses. ‘What was that beer called again?'

Rafferty told him and watched as Cyrus walked up to the bar and attracted the barmaid's eye. For all his preaching, Rafferty guessed that Cyrus was something of a barfly; he certainly seemed to feel at home in the pub and with its rituals. Rafferty noticed he must have even told the barmaid to ‘have one yourself', because a radiant smile appeared on her rather sullen face.