A Thrust to the Vitals (11 page)

That didn’t make either possibility
im
possible, though. Like Mickey, Bradley had a temper; unlike Mickey, the super had an ego to match.

OK, the fact that Bradley had been ignored by his host was, even for the egocentric super, insufficient reason for chisel-plunging. But what if, in spite of Bradley’s denials that he had known the dead man, they
had
shared a history? One that Bradley felt was deserving of the ultimate retribution?

According to a number of the guests, Seward had goatish tendencies where women were concerned and Bradley’s wife was an attractive woman. What if the attractive blonde whom Bradley claimed to have seen disappearing into Seward’s bedroom wasn’t a tart takeaway at all, as he had surmised, but Bradley’s wife? No. Rafferty shook his head. Why even mention it, if so?

But the thought was an intriguing one and Rafferty found it was not so easily dismissed.

Because, if Bradley had reason to suspect sexual congress had happened before then the possibility of him indulging in some chisel-plunging moved up several notches. Bradley was a man who took himself, his ego and his pride very seriously. His wife, as an extension of himself, would be similarly regarded. If Seward had compounded his earlier rudeness by cuckolding Bradley, the Yorkshireman’s temper might well descend into the red mist zone.

And, even if Bradley hadn’t murdered Seward, he would hate his detecting credentials to be called into question because of his failure to notice anything untoward at the scene. Which gave Rafferty another idea. Of course, he had to investigate the possibility that his boss was the murderer — it was his duty as a police officer — but, even if Bradley wasn’t guilty of murder, his presence at the scene might yet still provide protection for Mickey in his current plight.

At the moment, the only people who were apparently aware of Bradley’s identity and his presence at the reception were himself, DS Mary Carmody, Llewellyn, whom she had told, and Idris Khan, the guest who had first informed Carmody about it.

Neither of his sergeants were gossips, but he’d have a quiet word with both of them, just in case. Perhaps, too, if he had a quiet word with the mayor, Idris Khan, they might be able to agree to some mutual discretion – Rafferty about what he suspected might be the unfortunate cocaine habit of the mayor’s wife, and Khan about Bradley’s presence that evening…

That left the other six well-sodden last-dreg party guests, as well as Marcus Canthorpe, the Farraday twins, the party help and the two security guards.

And as, according to Bradley, the sodden guests hadn’t troubled to invite reciprocal introductions and clearly hadn’t met the super before and the help had described Bradley as ‘some pompous fat bloke’, nameless and unrecognised — that left the security guards. How likely was it that the two ex-paras, as they had described themselves, would, by the time Bradley and his wife arrived, have bothered to take more than the briefest glance at the invitation?

According to Mickey, they had given his invitation only the most cursory of inspections. Which was a stroke of luck. They certainly hadn’t troubled to mark his name off on any list of invitees.

Chances were they hadn’t bothered to check their list when it came to Bradley and his wife, either. By the time these late guests had arrived the security men must have both been bored out of their minds and, after the briefest glance at the invitation, would have waved the couple through on the nod. With a bit of luck, no one else amongst the guests had recognised Bradley in the short time he was there. And even if they had, the ones most likely to have been acquainted, like Ivor Bignall, the businessman and local councillor, must have suffered from a booze-bleary recall that would make them less likely to remember that Bradley had even been present.

Even Bradley, much as he usually loved self-publicity, would, given the unfortunate circumstances, be sure to keep his ugly mug off the TV screen and out of the newspaper for fear someone would recognise him.

No, Rafferty thought, if I can wangle that discreet little agreement with the mayor, I might just have a useful lever to use with Bradley on Mickey’s behalf. A lever of the ‘you keep a lid on any revelation of Bradley’s presence there that night,’ to Idris Khan, ‘and I’ll do the same for your wife’s cocaine habit’, variety. With plenty of luck, and if Bradley’s pride provided sufficient motivation for him to agree to play ball, that would place Bradley in his debt.

Of course, such a tactic wouldn’t endear him to Bradley should it become necessary, for Mickey’s sake, to make use of his insider knowledge, but then nothing was likely to do that. And Rafferty had never much fancied being clasped to the super’s manly bosom, anyway.

But anything that kept Mickey’s name out of the frame and gained Rafferty more time to check out the identity of the real murderer was OK in his book, even if it meant Mickey wheezing his lungs out in a damp caravan for the duration. But between their Ma’s goose-grease poultices, hot water bottles, well-laced flasks of tea and chunky casseroles, Mickey was likely to live better than he had since he’d left home. He could put up with a little damp. It had to be better than sharing an over-heated prison cell with some big, rough, bottom-bothering bruiser…

Rafferty still wondered if Superintendent Bradley might have reason to suspect Rufus Seward of playing him for a cuckold at the party or even before; his wife might find even a man like Seward light relief after years of being married to Bradley.

Even if that idea turned out to be a non-starter, there might be another reason for Bradley to be nursing a grudge. Why wouldn’t he, when half the rest of the guests at the party seemed to? Just because he claimed never to have met Seward before didn’t make it true. And even if it was true, it was possible that any grudge might have been earned at one remove.

Rafferty had heard no whispers, but then Bradley was a big man and knew how to use his bulk to intimidate. If he wanted something hushed up, hushed up it would be.

But, Rafferty thought, there was one, infallible way of finding out…

Rafferty breezed into the station reception with a deceptively casual air and hailed Constable Bill Beard, who was propped behind the counter. Beard was something of an institution at the station. He had been there longer than anyone else on the strength. Luckily, he was an inveterate gossip. If anyone knew anything that Bradley would rather remain covered up, it was Bill.

‘How’s the crossword coming on?’ Rafferty asked as he nodded towards the
Daily Mirror
that he knew would be hidden beneath the counter.

Beard raised his eyebrows. ‘Since when were you interested in my intellectual pursuits?’

Wrong move. Beard had a natural antenna for sniffing out ulterior motives. Rafferty tried another tack. ‘No reason. Just looking for a bit of light relief from this murder inquiry. It’s turning out to be the very devil. The murder victim, Rufus Seward, seems to have made enemies going back to the Flood and beyond.’

Beard nodded. ‘So I heard. Isn’t it your oppo Llewellyn who’s fond of saying that the past is the only dead thing that smells sweet?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, tell me about it. His bloody quotations get on my nerves. And he knows it. But he and his dreary homilies couldn’t be more wrong when it comes to Seward’s past. It has the stench of the sewer about it.’ So did his recent present, come to that. ‘With three ex-wives and various girlfriends, Seward didn’t stint himself in the bed-hopping department any more than he did so in his booze consumption or the making of mucho moolah. And to my mind, no one who didn’t inherit money, yet managed to get his mitts on as much of the stuff as Seward was reputed to have, didn’t do so without a few dodgy deals along the way.’

Rafferty certainly felt it unlikely that Seward’s recent ennoblement had made of him a shiny bright knight fit for King Arthur’s fabled round table.

Beard, clearly unable to resist the urge to show off his gossipy knowledge, leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘This Seward had a major run-in with the super once,’ he confided. ‘Did you know?’

‘I did hear something,’ Rafferty untruthfully avowed, hoping such claimed knowledge would further loosen Bill’s tongue. ‘But I never knew the entire tale,’ he confided encouragingly.

For once, the busy station reception was quiet and free of demanding customers. Rafferty doubted it would last, so he was eager for Beard to divulge all before they were interrupted. He gave a start as, briefly, he heard a few boisterous shouts on the stairs. But the voices faded and he guessed that, rather than coming through the reception area, the owners of the voices were heading towards the rear exit and the car park. He waited, gripped by the fear they would barge into reception instead and put Bill off his gossip-sharing, until he heard the clatter of the rear door slamming shut. Then he relaxed and gazed enquiringly at Beard.

With the departure of the boisterous brigade, and with peace once again restored, Beard propped his bulk even further forward and confided in a stage whisper, ‘Bradley came close to having to resign. Of course, this was years ago, before he rose so high. He’s long since put it behind him.’

Had he, though? Rafferty wondered as he settled to hear the rest of the tale. Or had he brooded about it ever since?

Beard adjusted his stout body even more comfortably on the counter, His stage whisper became stagier. ‘It was all to do with an arrest Bradley made when he was a lowly inspector like you.’

Not so much of the ‘lowly, Rafferty thought indignantly. But for the greater good, he let it pass and urged Bill to continue.

‘He pursued the suspect like a rat up a drainpipe, even after the brass warned him off. My, but he must have had the bit between the teeth on that one because Bradley was never one to cross the bosses. He wasn’t deterred, not even when the evidence went missing — deliberately missing, some said, including Bradley himself. There was a right carry on over it; shouting matches and all sorts, when Bradley refused to drop it.

‘Anyway, this bloke that Bradley arrested — I forget his name — was a pal of this Seward who has just got himself murdered.’

Careful not to make plain that it was all news to him, by now, Rafferty’s own antenna was all aquiver. ‘As I said,’ he airily confessed, ‘I forget the details. Refresh my memory.’

Beard smiled a superior, knowing smile, but obliged Rafferty’s request. ‘Seward owned a big newspaper group. He used his editorials to kick up a right stink about this case involving his pal. This was before the brass got properly involved. It certainly concentrated their minds when Bradley’s name and that of the Essex force were dragged through the editorial mud.

‘Anyway, as I said, the brass ordered Bradley to drop the case, or else. He got close to choosing the “or else” option, but came to his senses in time. Of course Seward was well in with the brass glitterati, even then. Men like that go in for all this networking malarkey. His contacts meant he was able to fix it for his pal. Bradley was hauled before the brass and told to drop the case before they suspended him. He finally backed off and saw sense when the either or was put to him so bluntly. Even so, he came close to getting his card marked over it. It doesn’t do to go against the big boys. They have ways of getting their own back, as we know, when one of their own are threatened. Probably explains why, ever since, Bradley’s been such an arse-licker.’

‘Must be a bad memory for him,’ Rafferty thoughtfully commented.

Beard nodded his grey head sagely. ‘Especially as the rumour was that he was in the right of it and Seward had not only arranged for the evidence against his friend to go missing, but also passed a sizeable backhander to the then superintendent to make sure the case died.’

Beard stared steadily at him. ‘Rather a pity for you that the super wasn’t one of the guests at that shindig where Seward was killed.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Rafferty agreed. The fact that he and Bradley weren’t bosom buddies was well-known. Still it was good to know that word of Bradley’s attendance hadn’t got out, not even to the usually all-knowing Beard. That information could well turn out to be Mickey’s salvation. It would be foolhardy to squander it as a quid pro quo, even to the obligingly indiscreet Bill Beard.

‘Certainly couldn’t claim to lack a motive, the super, given his and Seward’s mutual past. And it’s not as if he’s a man to forget a grudge. As I said, it’s lucky for him he wasn’t there as a guest, given his rank and his love of expensive shindigs. Though, given their past, I can’t see him being willing to attend Seward’s party. Most likely, he’d have sent someone else in his place.’

Rafferty nodded. That thought had occurred to him, too. So why hadn’t he? he wondered. ‘You’ve kept this business pretty close to your chest,’ Rafferty observed, just managing to avoid turning it into an accusation.

‘Have I?’ Beard asked, clearly trying for the ingenuous and missing by a country mile. Then he smiled. ‘What is it they say?’

Rafferty shrugged. ‘God knows - I don’t. But I suppose you can tell me that as well?’

Beard beamed at him cherubically. But this Essex cherub then tapped his nose knowingly. ‘Why, Lord love you, course I can. They say that knowledge is power, my old dear.’ He gazed straight-faced over the counter at Rafferty as he levered his bulk off the counter. Then he winked. ‘Just use it wisely, that’s all. I want no unnecessary fallout. And,’ Beard added, if anyone asks – you didn’t get any of this stuff from me.’

Rafferty mulled over what he had just learned as he made his way back to his office. office. As Beard had said, Seward had owned several chains of regional newspapers, including the Elmhurst Echo. He still owned them and more, at the time of his death. No wonder his civic honour had received such extensive and fulsome coverage.

It was clear that Bradley had undergone several very unpleasant weeks at the time of the war of attrition from Seward and his pals amongst the brass. It seemed likely that he still nursed a hefty grudge that his desired upward thrust in his police career might have been damaged because of it.