Death Dues (17 page)

With his trust backed up by the collectors who could turn menacing at the drop of an excuse. But at least now they had some of the truth from Forbes. Time would tell if he’d told them the whole truth. Meanwhile, they would pay a visit to the accountant and check the payments for Friday. Then they could check out the names on the latest list of debtors that Forbes had agreed to supply, for which Rafferty assigned uniform to collect straight away.

But once Forbes and his brief had left and before they could do anything else, news came over the squawk box that another loan shark’s collector had been attacked and was lying badly injured in Elmhurst General.

Chapter Eleven

The injured man, a broken-nosed bruiser by the name of Izzy or Ignatious Barber, was at first reluctant to tell them anything, even his name. Though as the nursing staff of Elmhurst General had gone through his pockets after his admission and found a letter with his name and address on, he was forced to acknowledge his identity. But he wasn’t in a fit state to withstand their questioning and it wasn’t long before he admitted to working for Nigel Blythe. And not long after that he told them he had been on his usual collecting round when he’d been attacked. He seemed even more bruised by the fact that someone had had him over than he did by his bodily injuries. But eventually they drew the rest of the story out of him.

‘They took me by surprise, didn’t they? Otherwise I wouldn’t be lying here now, I can tell you. Bundled me into an alley out by Boadicea Drive. Four of them there were, wearing ski masks. Came up on me from behind. Didn’t hear a thing. They beat the shit out of me before they took my wallet and the money I’d collected. ‘

‘Have you any idea who they were, Mr Barber?’ Llewellyn asked.

‘No. None. Could have been any of the scrotes that live on the manor.’

‘I know you didn’t see their faces because of the masks they wore, but you must have got a glimpse of their clothing or footwear. Do you remember anything about that?’ Rafferty asked.

Iggy screwed up his bruiser’s face for a few moments. Then his  frown cleared. ‘Yeah, now you mention it. Three of them had short leather jackets and all four of them wore trainers. Nikes. Not that that’s likely to lead you to them. All the little scrotes wear trainers these days. Just as well for me. If they’d worn heavy boots to give me a kicking I might not be here now.’

It was interesting that Izzy Barber had been attacked no more than a couple of streets away from where John Harrison had died. Was it possible their murder was simply a case of muggers going too far and not a pre-meditated crime at all? If so, given that Izzy Barber had mentioned that four men had attacked him, the possibility that it had been Jake Sterling and his merry band who had made the assault occurred to Rafferty. They’d certainly been on the spot when Harrison had been attacked and three of them invariably sported their trade mark bum freezer leather jackets. Maybe they didn’t spend all their time hanging around the end of Primrose Avenue waiting for something to happen, but went and got the action going themselves.

Izzy Barber had been able to furnish little else in the way of descriptions of the four males who had attacked him as they had approached from behind. But he said he had managed to get one or two of his flailing fists to connect with faces, so if Jake Sterling’s little gang had been guilty of the latest attack at least one of them would have the bruises to show for it.

Rafferty, not forgetting the possibility that Barber had been attacked as part of a turf war between the local loan sharks, put the possibility to him.

His eyes immediately looked shifty and he denied it. 'Nothing like that. All the local moneylenders get along just fine.'

'Just one big happy family, hmm?' Rafferty queried cynically.

Barber tried a grin but when it proved too painful he abandoned the attempt. 'Yeah,' he agreed.

'And what family would that be? The Mafia?'

'No. Of course not. We don't kill one another.'

'Somebody killed Jaws Harrison.'

'That? Just a mugging that went wrong. Nothing else.'

Barber pretended to doze after that. He even started snoring to add verisimilitude.

They left Barber to nurse his bruises and his damaged dignity.

Rafferty said as they left the Accident and Emergency Department, ‘Let’s get over to Forbes’s accountant and have a look at Harrison’s payments records. We might be able to shed some light on whether he visited one or more of the Avenue’s residents before he got topped, which should remove a few names from our suspect list. Then I think we should see Nigel Blythe again, seeing as it was one of his collectors that just got mugged. If he’s got involved in a turf war with Forbes or one of the other loan sharks I want to know about it.

‘And when we’ve done that,' he added as they got in the car, ‘you can get the team started on checking out the entire list of Forbes's debtors. It should have been collected by now and be at the station. Maybe we’ll unearth one or two of Forbes’s other debtors with family related to one of our current crop of suspects. We might unearth a kissing cousin or two who turned into a killing cousin.’

Adrian Stoner, Forbes’s accountant, was a slim, sharp-eyed man in his early thirties. At first, he was brusque and unhelpful. He insisted on checking with Forbes before he handed over Jaws Harrison’s payments records, but once Forbes had given his OK, he made no further demur.

A quick glance at the payments records told them that the only debtors who hadn’t lied to them about not seeing Harrison on the afternoon of his murder was Emily Parker and Les Sterling. A check through the previous pages showed them that Jaws had visited neither as a non-payment was entered as such in his records. There was no such entry against either name.

It made sense. Jaws Harrison had got as far as Emily Parker’s back gate before he was attacked.

Having got the accountant to photocopy the relevant records pages and satisfied that they now had some facts to match against the lies they’d been told, Rafferty was keen to tackle Mr and Mrs Jones and their lodger as well as Josie McBride and Samantha Dicker who had all claimed not to have seen Harrison. And as for Peter Allbright, no wonder the introverted lodger had been so keen to bury himself in his bedroom and away from their questioning. Presumably, he wasn’t a very good liar and had sought refuge in silent nods and shakes of the head to indicate affirmative or negative responses.

They would interview all five again tomorrow. Rafferty didn’t particularly look forward to hounding the five. But one or more, in collusion, might well have viciously killed a man and he couldn’t afford to let the soft sentiment of fellow feeling with other debtors get in the way of his job. Especially when, by their own too ready lies, they’d levered themselves further up the suspect list.

Rafferty would have been glad to call it a night and get home if he didn’t know that he faced more indebtedness of his own over his and Abra’s wedding plans.

It was at times like this that he felt like chucking in the towel as a copper. Who was it who said that money was the root of all evil? He couldn’t remember, but Llewellyn would. He would doubtless also tell him that, as usual, he’d got the quotation wrong.

They went to see Nigel Blythe again after speaking to Izzy Barber and Malcolm Forbes’s accountant. Nigel’s mood turned truculent after they told him of the attack on his collector.

‘This attack on my man is down to Forbes. I know it is.’

‘How do you know that?’ Rafferty demanded. ‘Do you have proof?’

‘No, of course I don’t have proof. Don’t be more stupid than you can help. You know as well as I do that you don’t get proof where Forbes is concerned. He makes sure that if there is any that it goes away. But I just know in my guts. His men have been intimidating mine for several weeks, though they won’t tell you that.’

‘Deal with it themselves, will they? Is that what you’re telling me?’

‘I’m telling you nothing. I can’t tell you what they mean to do. You’ll need to speak to them.’

‘I intend to. I’ll want a list of their details.’

Sulkily, Nigel supplied it.

‘I’ll also want a list of your debtors. Just in case one of them hit on Izzy Barber.’

Surprisingly, Nigel made no objection to this. In fact, he seemed rather amused as if he knew something Rafferty didn’t.

Rafferty discovered what that something was when he had got back in the car and scanned the list. There, large as life, was the name Mrs Kitty Rafferty. What was Ma doing borrowing money from slimy Nigel?

‘Sure and didn’t I need it for your wedding present?’ his Ma told him after he had gone to her home directly from Nigel’s office, leaving Llewellyn to wait in the car. ‘There was a special offer and I needed to buy it before they sold out.’

Rafferty would rather not know about Ma’s ‘special offers’. They were usually the sort that had sneaked out of the back of a lorry in the dark of night.

‘You didn’t need to borrow money for that Ma. You only needed to buy us a token present.’

‘And me the mother of the groom? What would people say if I bought you a set of cheap saucepans as a wedding gift?’

‘Who cares what they’d say? Besides, we’ve already got a perfectly good set of saucepans. In fact, we’ve got an entire flat full of stuff. We don’t need anything.’

‘That’s not what Abra says. She’s got a list as long as your arm.'

This was news to Rafferty. But then, nowadays, most things to do with the wedding seemed to be that.

'Besides, I needed to buy something decent. Something that would take pride of place in the gift display at the wedding breakfast.’

‘How much did you borrow, Ma?’

‘It’s not telling you I am.’ His Ma’s lips firmed.

‘Come on, Ma. How much? I can always ask Nigel, you know.’

Reluctantly, Ma admitted she’d borrowed five hundred pounds. ‘It was only keeping it in the family, I was.’

‘Better than going to Malcolm Forbes, I suppose, but still unnecessary. It’s you that Abra and I want at our wedding, not some fancy overpriced present that puts you in hock.’

Ma looked pleased at this, although still a bit shamefaced that she’d been found out in her borrowing. She was still subdued as Rafferty left, which was something he hadn’t seen in many a long year.

Rafferty marched into Nigel’s office and slapped a cheque down on his desk. ‘I think you’ll find that covers Ma’s debt.’

Nigel quirked an eyebrow. ‘What about the interest?’

‘Don’t push it.’

‘I’d prefer cash.’

‘I bet you would.’

‘There’s an extra charge for early settlement,’ Nigel told him, seemingly determined to get the upper hand somehow.

‘How much?’

‘Fifty should cover it. Seeing as you and Mrs R are family.’

‘Don’t be doing us any favours, Nigel.’

‘OK. Make it a round hundred.’

Bank account unnecessarily further depleted by his own intransigence, Rafferty pulled his cheque book out and wrote another cheque, which he ripped out of the book and laid beside the first one. ‘And don’t lend money to Ma again or you’ll have me to answer to.’

‘I thought I was doing her a favour.’

‘I told you – we can do without favours from you. Is that clear?’

‘As crystal. I suppose that applies to the rest of the Rafferty side of the family?’

‘Got it in one.’

The list of people to be checked out seemed to be growing longer by the day. Now, along with Malcolm Forbes’s staff and debtors, Rafferty had those of Nigel to contend with.

Just to improve his worsening mood, Superintendent Bradley collared him just as he breasted the top step on the first floor.

'Ah, Rafferty. The very man. I presume you were coming to see me for an update?'

'Yes, sir. Of course.' Rafferty cursed. He should have gone home.

'Come along then.' Bradley's plump behind led the way. Reluctantly Rafferty followed, mentally rehearsing his excuses

'Sit down. Sit down,' Bradley invited as he manoeuvred his stout figure behind his desk. 'So. What's been happening?'

'Another loan shark, Name of Blythe, has had one of his collectors assaulted. He's in hospital.'

'Another one? How many more are we going to have before you catch the culprits?'

'I'm doing the best I can with limited resources, Sir.’ Rafferty was quick to get in the jibe about the restricted overtime and manpower. It sailed over Bradley’s head .

‘We all have to manage with those, Rafferty,’ Bradley told him blithely. ‘Get on with it. I want evidence that you’re doing your job, not excuses.’

Rafferty’s lips thinned. He directed his gaze over Bradley’s left shoulder and said woodenly, ‘There's also been a development with the debtors down Primrose Avenue. It seems some of them lied about not seeing Harrison the day of his murder. We have proof of that.'

'Glad to hear you've proof of something, but. Are you any nearer catching a culprit or two? That's what I want to know. What those at Region want to know.'

That was typical Bradley-speak. He always wanted to shine brightly for the brass.

'It's a slow process, sir, not helped by not having enough men on the ground.’ It didn’t hurt to repeat a legitimate complaint. Not that it did him any good. ‘We need to check everything, often several times. But I'm confident we're getting there.'

Bradley harrumphed and muttered something that to Rafferty sounded like, 'I wish I was'.

Like a drowning man coming up for the third time, Rafferty again tried asking Superintendent Bradley for more officers and came away from the encounter with his ears ringing to the sound of “precious resources” and “limited budgets” and “intelligent usage”, the implication being that he applied intelligence to neither. It was exactly what he’d expected, of course. Bradley had always been one for keeping his officers short of funds for their investigations, the better for his money-management skills to earn him a pat on the head from region. Solving crimes came a very poor second with that lot unless their egos were scorched by media criticism.