Death Dues (23 page)

Margaret Jones, when they had her in the station for questioning, was very vague and still inclined to be weepy about the death of her lodger.

‘Why are you asking me all these questions?’ she demanded at one point. ‘I’ve already answered most of them once.’

‘You know why, Mrs Jones. Did your husband or Peter Allbright murder Jaws Harrison? Did you dispose of the weapon?’

‘Me? Of course not. According to what I’ve heard, it was a hammer that was used to kill him. Ours isn’t the only hammer on the street. Besides, it was still in the shed when Mr Harrison’s body was found.’

‘That’s as may be, but very few people left the vicinity of Primrose Avenue after the murder and had the opportunity to dispose of the weapon before uniformed police arrived. You’re one of them.’

‘Our hammer’s not even missing,’ she insisted again. ‘You know that. You had your officers check through Harry’s toolbox and the shed.’

Rafferty nodded, acknowledging her point. But then, with the lack of security on the neighbourhood’s sheds, anyone could have helped themselves from any of the Avenue’s shed contents. The fact that the Joneses’ hammer was still on their premises proved nothing.

‘Why are you so sure it was a hammer anyway? If you can’t find the weapon you surely can’t be certain what it was that caused Mr Harrison’s injuries.’

It was a valid point. One Rafferty hadn’t expect from Margaret Jones. Sam Dally had simply said the weapon had either been a hammer or something like a hammer. Something with a metal end anyway.

‘Can I go now? Mrs Jones asked plaintively.

She might as well, Rafferty thought as he gave her the nod. She’d told him nothing useful. In fact the only witnesses to tell him anything at all helpful had been Tony Moran and Bazza Lomond and the information from the tall-tale telling Bazza couldn’t be relied upon

There was nothing for it but to have Tony Moran in again and put the fear of God into him. He’d been nearer to the end of the alley than Bazza. Maybe Moran would finally be persuaded to admit to seeing Forbes and had seen what the loan shark had been carrying. Rafferty just hoped the youth was more afraid of him than he was of Forbes or his three thuggish mates.

But before he spoke to Moran again he had someone else he had to see as a matter of urgency.

‘Hold the fort for me,’ he instructed Llewellyn as he shrugged into his jacket and raincoat. ‘I’ve got to go out. One of my sources rang up while you were collecting Margaret Jones from reception. Claims he’s got some info for me.’

Rafferty’s snout, Stinky Harold, to judge by the smell of him, must spend most of his time on the council’s rubbish dump. He met him on the stairwell of the grey, dank and entirely uninviting top floor of the multi-storey. Making sure to stand well downwind of his snout, Rafferty said, ‘So what have you got for me, Stinky?’

‘Something worth ten of your Earth pounds,’ Stinky replied.

This was something of a running gag between them as Stinky was so other-worldly he might as well be an alien. He was a small man who wore numerous layers, each succeeding layer a little cleaner and less torn than the preceding one. Like Rafferty, he was originally from London. His voice was pure ‘Sarf’ London.

‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ Rafferty told him. ‘So, come on, out with it. What have you got?’

‘It’s to do with The Enforcer, Malcolm Forbes. Word on the manor is that he’s had his blokes questioning the people on Primrose Avenue.’

Rafferty had hoped for something more than information that his Ma had already supplied for nothing. ‘Is that it?’ he asked. ‘Where did you hear this anyway?’

Stinky tapped his nose. ‘Can’t reveal my sources, Gov. But it’s kosher. God’s troof.’

‘Has he been threatening them or simply trying to extract information on any possible murderer so he can obtain his own revenge and show himself as the hard man?’

‘I don’t know. But any visit from them blokes seems like a threat to those on the receiving end. Reckon he killed that bastard, Jaws, for reasons best known to himself and wants to make sure any evidence is silenced at birth?’

‘As to that, we’ll have to see.’ Rafferty pulled a ten pound note out of his wallet and handed it over, careful to hold on to just the corner so he didn’t accidentally touch Stinky’s grimy hand.

The tenner quickly disappeared into one of the folds in Stinky’s multi-layered clothing. He immediately slunk away, leaving only a pungent odour behind him.

Disgruntled, feeling he’d wasted a tenner and time he couldn’t spare, Rafferty headed for his car and the station.

When he got back to the station and told Llewellyn that his Ma’s story had been backed up by his snout, he said, ‘I reckon we should speak to the residents again. Surely one of them will let slip whether they were warned off or merely questioned? We need to know, one way or the other.’

Llewellyn nodded.

‘After that, I think that long-delayed other visit to Forbes is called for.’

But just before they left the office, the phone rang. Llewellyn returned to his desk to answer it.

'An anonymous phone call has come into the Incident Room,' Llewellyn told him as he put the phone down.

'What did it say?'

'That Les Sterling had a big argument with John Harrison a week before he died.'

'Strange that none of his neighbours reported it. They might well have thought it a good way to put someone else firmly in the frame.'

'Mmm. I wondered that. I also wondered whether the anonymous call mightn't have been made by someone with a grudge against Mr Sterling. He's not the most personable of men. He also has two loutish sons who regularly make nuisances of themselves in the neighbourhood.'

'Only one way to find out: let's go and have a word with the very non-personable Mr Sterling and see if he denies having this argument. If he starts blustering there might just be something in it.'

Chapter Fifteen

Les Sterling was out when they called at his home, but his wife was in. Mrs Sterling was a small, thin woman who wore a harassed expression. But then, with the shiftless Les for a husband and two unruly sons, she had a lot to look harassed about.

'Where is your husband, Mrs Sterling?' Rafferty asked as she held on to the door as if for support.

'He's gone up the bookies.'

'Do you mind if we come in and wait for him? It's important.'

She let go of the supportive door frame with a defeated air and stood back. She was more hospitable than her husband and offered them tea while they waited.

Rafferty nodded and smiled his thanks. At least the tea would help the time pass till Les Sterling deigned to put in an appearance.

It was clear Mrs Sterling was a browbeaten woman with little to say for herself. After she brought the tea in, she sat down on the edge of an armchair and kept darting anxious little glances at them.

Rafferty took it upon himself to break the ice. 'You make a lovely cup of tea, Mrs Sterling.'

She gave him a quick, nervous smile, but said nothing.

'Tell me. Did you know the victim, Mr Harrison at all?'

‘Yes, but not very well. Occasionally I’d give him our weekly payments if my husband was out. It was Les who got in touch with his firm to arrange the loan.'

'Did he consult you about taking out this loan?'

Her thin face seemed to become thinner. 'No. He never consults me about anything. He always says that if a man can't be boss in his own house it's a poor do. I was horrified when I found the paperwork for the loan. Such a lot of money. How we're to repay it, I don't know.' She looked as if she might cry. 'I wish he hadn't done it. We'd be able to manage on my wage if he didn't drink, smoke and gamble. I'll have to put in for some more overtime if we're ever to clear it.'

She looked thin as a lath now, thought Rafferty. What would she look like after she spent months’ putting in even more overtime than she must currently be doing? She'd wear away to nothing. But it was unlikely her husband would bestir himself and get a job when his wife made such a doormat of herself.

Just then, the front door slammed and seconds later, the unkempt figure of Les Sterling appeared in the doorway.

Immediately he saw them his face turned thunderous and he began to berate his wife. 'What the hell do you think you're doing, you stupid cow, letting coppers in the house when I'm not here?' He strode into the room and stood menacingly in front of his wife, who cowered back in her chair, spilling her tea in her lap and staring up at her husband in fear. 'What have you told them?'

'I—I haven't told them anything, Les.'

'You better not have.' He raised his hand threateningly. 'Or—'

'Why don't you sit down, Mr Sterling, instead of threatening your wife in front of witnesses?'

Sterling scowled at him. 'Don't you tell me what to do in my own home, copper. I do what I like.'

'So it would seem. Like having a flaming row with the dead man?'

Sterling stared stupidly at him for a moment. 'What?'

'We've a witness who swears they saw you having a stand up row with Jaws Harrison. Are you telling me you didn't?'

'Yeah. That's exactly what I'm telling you. Bleeding cheek. You come into my home with your lies, frightening my wife and—'

'It seems to me, Mr Sterling, that the only person frightening your wife is you. Why don't you sit down and calm down?'

'Cos I don't choose to, that's why.' He marched to the door. 'I want you out of my house.' He yanked the living room door open. 'Now. You come here, making insinuations and—'

'No insinuations, Mr Sterling. I merely asked you a question as part of a wider murder investigation. You said you didn't have a row with the deceased. Fine. That's all I wanted to ask you. If you say you didn't have a row with Mr Harrison, I have to believe you. For the moment, anyway. Of course, I'll be making further enquiries in the neighbourhood to try to find out if you're telling me the truth.' Rafferty stood up. 'We'll see ourselves out.'

They heard Sterling lambasting his wife as they shut the front door behind them.

'Poor bitch,' said Rafferty. 'She must lead a dog's life with him and their two charming sons.'

Llewellyn nodded. 'And now they have a large debt to exacerbate their problems.'

'If the woman had any sense, she'd leave him and his large debt to stew, but I don't suppose she will. The years of browbeating and bullying have clearly taken their toll.'

'We each make our own troubles in this life,' was Llewellyn's philosophical response. 'Do you think Mr Sterling was telling the truth?'

'No. Do you?'

Llewellyn shook his head.

'That being the case, why don't we make a start on questioning his neighbours again? The ones either side of him seem favourite to me.'

So saying, Rafferty opened the gate of the Sterlings' next door neighbour, walked up the path and knocked on the front door.

His knock was answered by a woman with a flowery pinny and floury hands.

'Yes?'

'Good afternoon. Mrs Palmer, isn't it?'

'That's right. You're the policemen investigating the murder, aren't you?'

Rafferty nodded. 'I wonder if we could come in for a few minutes? There's something I'd like you talk to you about.'

'Yes, of course. Come in. I'll just wash my hands.' She led them into the living room. 'Sit yourselves down. I won't be a moment.'

She was soon back. 'Now,’ she asked, as she sat down. 'How can I help you?'

`We've received information that your neighbour, Mr Sterling Senior, had a big argument with the man who's murder we're investigating. I wondered if you'd heard this row?'

She shook her head. 'I don't think so. When is it supposed to have happened?'

'The Friday before the murder.'

'Oh. I remember now. My husband did mention something. I didn't take a lot of notice. Les Sterling's the sort of man who’s always having rows. We must have had half-a-dozen rows with him since we moved in a year ago. Usually about those sons of his. I feel sorry for his wife. Nora seems really cowed. I've had her in here in tears before now.'

'You said your husband heard Mr Sterling arguing with someone. Are you sure it was the Friday before the murder?'

'Yes. Because it was our day for fish and chips. We always have fish and chips on a Friday. My husband works shifts and he was on early shift that day so we had a late lunch. But I don't know who Les was arguing with. My husband never said. And I wasn't that interested. Les Sterling could get in an argument with the mirror. And probably punch it when it argued back.'

'We'd like to speak to your husband. If we return this evening is he likely to be at home?'

'Yes. We've no plans to go out.'

They had to leave it there. They thanked her and left.

'Let's try the neighbours on the other side,' Rafferty said. 'We might strike even more lucky.'

But the neighbours on the Sterlings' other side were unable to help. Neither of them had been in on the Friday before the murder so had heard nothing.

'Oh, well,' said Rafferty as they got in the car to drive back to the station. 'One out of two isn’t bad. We'll just have to bear our souls in patience and wait till this evening.'

Les Sterling was standing in his doorway, watching them. Probably wanted to make sure they left, was Rafferty’s thought. Sterlings’ sullen face wore a hard-done-by expression that would have been funny if it wasn't for the fact that the way he went inside and slammed the door behind him boded ill for his unfortunate wife.

When they returned to Primrose Avenue that evening to speak to Mr Palmer, they were waylaid at the gate by a hangdog-looking Les Sterling. He must have been looking out for them because they’d barely climbed from the car before he rushed out of his front door.

'You'd better come in,’ he muttered. ‘I don't want that bastard, Palmer, next door badmouthing me before I have a chance to put my side of the story.'

Rafferty was tempted to remark that he’d had every opportunity to unburden himself. But he said nothing in case the suddenly confiding Sterling changed his mind. It was always good to get evidence from the horse’s mouth rather than just a possibly vindictive neighbour.