A Thrust to the Vitals (27 page)

‘Shit!’ he said. ‘Turn that light out. I think I can hear a car. Who on earth…?

Rafferty peered with narrowed eyes through a gap at the edge of the not quite wide enough curtains. ‘Damn. It is a car.’ He peered harder and his entire body went stiff. ‘Double shit! Mickey, come over here and tell me that car doesn’t look the exact double of bloody Nigel’s bird-pulling Porsche.’

Mickey, still apparently dejected in spite of Rafferty’s determined pep talk, was taking no interest in proceedings. He hadn’t even bothered to turn the light out, as Rafferty discovered as he pulled his head back from examining the world outside the caravan.

It was too late now, he realised. Nigel would have spotted the light for sure.

‘What the hell’s he doing here?’ Rafferty asked of no one in particular. ‘I’ve never taken him for a likely caravan-buyer. Swanky apartments are more in his line.’

‘Probably managed to get a look at that photo-fit picture you’ve been praying he wouldn’t see,’ Mickey told him listlessly from his slouched position on the torn banquette. He held out his wrists. ‘You might as well put the cuffs on now.’

Rafferty ignored this suggestion.

Mickey shrugged and dropped his hands back in his lap. ‘He’ll have recognised me straight away, if he’s seen the photo-fit, and guessed you’ll have stashed me somewhere out of the way. All he had to do was wait his chance, then follow you.’

‘Elementary, my dear Watson,’ Nigel said from the open doorway. He climbed the steps and entered. He took in the scene at a glance and grinned. ‘What a veritable Fagin’s den we have here, to be sure.’ He paused, but only to direct a sarcastic comment at the dejected Mickey.

‘Remarkable that one of your intellect should recognise the keenness of my Holmesian deductions, but you’re right, Mickey. When I saw the photo-fit of you, which I don’t doubt Joseph tried to delay in getting to the media, I recognised you immediately. And as I knew my other dear cousin was in charge of the investigation into Seward’s death, it didn’t take one of my wit and perspicacity long to deduce that he’d stashed his brother, the chief suspect, somewhere out of the way. And lo and behold — how right I was, because here you are, you pair of miscreants, up to yet more skulduggery. I heard you while I was outside. I thought I might as well listen to your conspiracy to see if I could learn anything else to my advantage.’

Rafferty’s too-fast consumed Indian takeaway threatened mutiny and he swallowed hard. He supposed it had only been a matter of time before someone sussed them. And perhaps he’d become a little careless when the days had passed and no one had come forward to identify Mickey. He’d certainly paid for his carelessness now. But why did it have to be bloody Nigel, of all people? That really was a mean trick, he silently informed the Almighty. You’ll get yours, one day, God. What goes around, comes around. Maybe Lucifer will manage to stage a successful coup next time. Rafferty surely hoped so. For the Almighty’s latest bit of fun in arranging Nigel’s arrival could only mean their number was well and truly up. Nigel would at last be in a position to extract the revenge to which his sufferings on a previous case made him feel entitled. It was a revenge which he undoubtedly felt Rafferty thoroughly deserved. Nigel had waited a long time for this moment and all he would be doing was his public duty.

In the light thrown up from the floor, Nigel’s face positively glowed with the unaccustomed self-righteousness of good citizenship.

Chapter Nineteen 

But Rafferty was wrong about Nigel’s intentions, as, much to his surprise, he discovered shortly afterwards. Because Nigel had another agenda entirely, as he was quick to reveal.

Nigel, it seemed, was keen to use his knowledge of Mickey’s whereabouts and Rafferty’s complicity in his disappearance to do a deal. He would, he told them, trade discretion on his part for a similar favour from his Auntie Kitty. Ma’s knowledge of Nigel’s more underhand doings had got Rafferty out of another problem earlier in the year when she had been able to threaten Nigel should he fail to keep his mouth shut about Rafferty’s invidious position as chief suspect during the Made in Heaven murder investigation (Dying For You #6)

Rafferty knew he should be thankful that his cousin was only too ready to keep his and Mickey’s secret. It was a quid pro quo situation, as even Ma, with two of her sons to protect, would agree, when he had time to consult her on the matter. Doubtless she would soon manage to ferret out more of Nigel’s indiscretions should they have need of them to replace the one that had got away.

Nigel had a bottle of the finest malt — what else? — in his car. After they had struck the deal, he retrieved it and they all took several swigs. Although Mickey, who was still nursing more than fond fancies for a warm police cell, wore an expression of rueful regret rather than relief that he was destined to remain in his damp caravan for a while longer. Fortunately this preoccupation meant the “kept in the dark” Mickey failed to question Rafferty about his own time as chief suspect. The fewer people who knew about that, the better.

It was some while later when Rafferty backed his car out of the caravan park and edged on to the road, followed by Nigel in his Porsche.

Nigel didn’t hang about. With a flash of his lights in the park entrance, he gave Rafferty a triumphant salute, put his foot down and zoomed past.

Rather more slowly, pondering what excuse he could come up with for his lateness this time, Rafferty drove home to Abra.

He suspected he was going to have to tell her the truth. He had been reluctant to do so before because with every increase in those who knew about Mickey and where he was hidden, the likelihood that the information would get out increased too. As if it wasn’t bad enough that all his family and now Nigel knew his guilty secret…

Rafferty acknowledged that it would have been wiser for him to have told Abra about Mickey from the start. To be the last in the know would gall any woman. He would have lied about Nigel poking his nose in, too, but he’d never been any good at lying and to add yet another to the collection would probably be a lie too far. The upsetting advent of Nigel entering the equation now made him reluctant to keep her out of the loop any longer. Besides, he knew he was no longer capable of maintaining this deceit at home as well as at work.

So, it was with a hangdog demeanour that Rafferty let himself into their flat.

Abra was still up. It was an ominous sign. It was clear she’d stayed up deliberately in order to have a serious go at him about his many disappearing acts. In the living room, arms folded, expression grim, she reminded him of Ma at her most determined. Not a good sign. It was probably just as well that he had finally decided to tell all because if he hadn’t, he thought it likely she’d have got it out of him anyway. He collapsed, exhausted, into an armchair and waited for the inquisition to start. He didn’t have long to wait.

‘Joseph Rafferty, you’re making me think I’m about to shackle myself to the village idiot,’ she told him when he finally shuffled out part of the back story.

Rafferty gave a sad little nod. ‘You may be right. Can I use it as a plea in mitigation, Your Honour?’

‘No.’

But he’d known the answer before she had said it. He held his hands up. ‘OK, Abra — I wouldn’t lie to you if I didn’t have a family like mine. And it’s not even as if I
have
lied to you.’

‘Just been “economical with the truth” in best parliamentarian tradition? Is that what you’re saying?’

He gave a begrudging nod before he launched into his defence. ‘Have you any idea what it’s like? Any idea how many scrapes I’ve barely got out of because of my family? If it’s not Ma and her “bargains”, it’s some three-times removed eejit of a cousin from across the water. If it’s not them it’s “dear” Nigel. And now—’

‘And now, I gather, from what you said last time we had this conversation, it’s your equally eejit brother?’ Abra encouraged.

Rafferty sighed and gave another nod. ‘As you say, and now it’s my eejit little brother, Mickey.’

To his relief, Abra failed to remind him of his own folly during the Made in Heaven case. This had been before he had met her and, feeling lonely, he had signed up with the dating agency borrowing Nigel’s name so that neither his colleagues nor his matchmaking Ma found out. The ensuing murders had made his life very difficult for a time.

Abra’s expression turned conciliatory. Or perhaps he was just imagining the softening. He brightened when she patted her lap and said, as Rafferty laid his weary head down, ‘So, come on, let’s have the rest. What’s he done, exactly? I want the Full Monty.’

Rafferty nestled into a warm place, took a deep breath, and told her. ‘He’s only managed to get himself at the top of the suspect list for Sir Rufus bloody Seward’s murder. Dozy git.’

‘Must run in the family. No wonder I thought that photo-fit of Seward’s suspected murderer looked familiar. That’s because he was.’

Rafferty nodded into her lap. Hoping for sympathy and thinking he might be in with a chance of getting some, he added on a plaintive note intended to encourage confirmation, ‘Still sure you want to become a Rafferty?’

‘Don’t tempt me. And don’t play the little boy lost card, Joe. I’m not your mother. This is serious. Surely I don’t have to tell you that?’ She shuffled his head off her lap and forced him to sit up. ‘I want to hear the rest. So how — exactly — did he manage to become chief suspect?’

Reluctantly, Rafferty did as he was bidden. But, afterwards, not totally obedient, he pulled Abra on to his lap. ‘I can explain why I didn’t tell you,’ he began.

‘You always can.’

Rafferty sighed quietly to himself — he didn’t want to encourage more disparaging comments from his fiancée — if she still was his fiancée that was. He felt sorry for himself even if Abra didn’t. Why wasn’t I born into a nice, respectable, middle-class family? he asked himself. I might be Chief Constable by now. He took a deep breath. ‘I said I can explain and I will. Only reach for that bottle on the coffee table. I feel the need for some soothing balm hitting the cockles.’

Abra reached, poured, crossed her arms again and said, ‘Well?’

Rafferty took his medication in one swallow. Then he began. He didn’t stop till he’d got to the end. He told her the lot; right back to Seward’s and Mickey’s schooldays and up to the present, only leaving out exactly what it was that Seward had put Mickey through.

Abra was quiet for some time. Then, either accidentally or intentionally, giving some pain to Rafferty’s nether regions, she elbowed herself up from his lap and observed, ‘Seward, the old goat, seems to have quite a history, quite a past, of making enemies.’

‘Mmm. Thankfully, the numbers of those in a position to have killed him are pretty limited.’

‘And your brother’s managed to put himself at the head of that number,’ Abra unkindly reminded him before she reached for the Jameson’s whiskey and poured him a second healthy slug as well as one for herself. ‘So tell me about these other enemies and how they could have hit on your brother as the fall guy.’

Once he’d laid out the details of the other suspects and their possible involvement, he was relieved that Abra chose to show some sympathy at last.

‘Poor Joe. It’s clear to see that the worry about your brother has distracted you from this case.’ She picked up her glass and sipped, her expression thoughtful. ‘Go through with me what each of the suspects has said to you, what others have said about them, and what conclusions you’ve drawn. I feel between all these you’re just not seeing something obvious.’

Rafferty, a bit put out it had to be said at this slight, put away his wounded pride sufficiently to do as she had asked.

His humility was rewarded, which was more — far more, than he had expected, because Abra’s rigorous examination of the facts helped him see what he had simply taken for granted about one aspect of the case. And it was such an obvious aspect now she had pointed it out. How could he not have realised it for himself before now?

Pouring out his confession to Abra had done wonders to concentrate Rafferty’s mind; he knew he wouldn’t have managed to shake loose some ideas about the murder, and who might have committed it, without Abra’s help. She had encouraged him to think in a more rounded fashion about every aspect of the case. He’d been bogged down and distracted as she had said — mostly by Mickey’s involvement it was true, but also in the early days, by the sheer quantity of potential suspects.

Her comment as to how — why — the murderer had hit on Mickey as the patsy was a significant one. One he should have given greater thought to much earlier. As was her later comment about the type of murder it was: committed in the bedroom of a suite still populated with guests, it showed a certain arrogance on the part of the murderer. Even the clearly deliberate and successful attempt to brand Mickey as the guilty party indicated the ability to plan and scheme with a degree of ruthlessness. Given the number of ruthless business types who had been present at the party, that alone hadn’t been enough to provide a lead.

But now, with the whittling down done and with the suspects still in the frame matched with those who could have known about Mickey and his grudge against the dead man lined up in a row, the list was whittled down even further. To one, in fact. Ironically, this one even managed to encompass Superintendent Bradley’s phantom blonde woman.

There were still several possibilities, of course, none of which he could afford to ignore in case his conclusions on the case were not as sound as he believed them to be. And over the following days, Rafferty examined them all with eyes made clearer by Abra’s critical comments until he finally felt able to discount the others and settle on the prime suspect.

Because now, with the rest of the suspects exonerated, it made sense. Everything made sense. How had he not seen it before? he wondered again. He even thought he knew how it had been done. And why it had been done. It was a pity that proving it was likely to be the stickler…