Kith and Kill (15 page)

Abra had already chosen the paint. It was stored in the box-room. So, once dinner was over, he donned some old overalls and got to work. The small bedroom was to be done out in a neutral lemon, Abra had decreed. So lemon it was. Give her her due, she didn't just leave him to it, but joined him at the paint tray, roller in hand and still in her work clothes.

‘Hadn't you better get changed? You'll ruin that outfit.’

‘I'll be careful. I'm not as slapdash as you.’

‘Sez you. We'll find out, won't we? Right, do you want to start at that end? And I'll start at the other.’

‘But we've only got one paint tray.’

‘Here.’ Rafferty shoved it into the middle of the floor with the toe of his slipper. ‘Now we can share. It's not as if it's such an enormous room that we can't easily reach it.’

They both set to with a will and managed to get the first coat of emulsion on by ten o'clock, when Rafferty called a halt. He stood back to admire the results of their industry. ‘Looks good. Nice and fresh.’

‘It'll look even better when we get the white gloss on the woodwork. Should be able to do that the day after tomorrow.’

‘Mmm.’ Rafferty didn't commit himself to a decorating date. The urge might have gone off him by then. Besides, he never knew whether his murder investigations were going to be feast or famine. If it was the former, he'd have more than enough work to keep him busy and Abra would be doing the decorating on her own. Though he didn't tell her that. ‘I need a shower, I don't know about you. And if you don't, your skirt does. Look at the paint you've got on it.’

‘I never liked it anyway. Now I can buy new. About that shower. Beat you to it?’

‘Hey.’ He chased after her out of the room. Ripping open his overalls as he did so. ‘Come here, you baggage.’ He reached out a hand to grab her chestnut pigtail, but just missed it and found the bathroom door slammed in his face with the bolt rammed home.

‘Oh, come on, Abs. Let me in. I've been mired in murder all day.’

‘Ah. So one old lady dies, fairly peacefully, and you think that gives you showering privileges?’

‘Can't we share? The shower's big enough for two.’ It was one of the reasons they'd bought the house.

He heard the bolt click back and smiled. He hurriedly dragged the overalls down, kicked off his shoes and stormed the bathroom. Abra was already in the shower. Socks, shirt, tie, trousers and boxers were tossed speedily to one side and Rafferty joined her.

‘That's good,’ he said, as the hot water hit his fatigue-aching neck. He put his arms round her and squeezed. ‘That's even better. We didn't have any pud. Are you dessert?’

Abra gave a theatrical sigh – well she did work for a theatrical agency so had plenty of role models – and said, ‘go on, then. I suppose so. I'm sweet enough for it, anyway.’

‘You are that.’ He gave her a long, lingering kiss before grabbing the soap. ‘Now, my lady. What part should I do first?’

Rafferty
walked out to the car with a spring in his step the next morning. The sun was shining, the birds who hadn't sensibly flown off south for the winter, were singing and all was right with his world. If it wasn't for the murder, he'd be joining the birds in a burst of less melodic chirping.

But the murder was a fact. One he had to get to grips with. So he headed for the office and Llewellyn, who would undoubtedly be there before him and practising his
Eeyore
utterances. Today they were to interview Sophia Egerton's old friends, those who had known her for years, from the time she was first married to Thomas Egerton. He had high hopes of learning a lot more about Sophia's family from these old friends. They might well spotlight the killer.

Josephine Taylor, the first of Sophia's old friends on their list, lived in London's Earls Court. They left the car at the station and took the train to Liverpool Street, then the Central Line to Notting Hill Gate and the District Line to Earls Court.

‘You'll be the cops,’ was how she greeted them after they had knocked on the door of her garden flat. ‘I've been expecting you. Come in.’ She didn't wait to see their warrant cards, but whizzed her electric wheelchair round with an expertize doubtless born of long practise and led the way down the hall to a bright room to the left of the front door.

Llewellyn chastised her for her lack of ‘elf and Safety. ‘You know Ms Taylor, you really shouldn't let strangers into your flat without checking they're who they claim to be. It's not safe. We could have been anyone.’

She cocked her head at him and grinned, revealing a set of large white dentures. ‘But you're not, though, are you? I think I can recognise a villain by now. God knows I married enough of them. You're the cops, right? Come to speak to me about Sophia.’

Llewellyn admitted that they were.

‘Ha. Told you so. Now sit you down and I'll make some tea.’

‘Please allow me,’ said Llewellyn compounding his folly. ‘If you'll tell me how to find the kitchen.’

Josephine Taylor fixed him with a stern look which seemed to sit at odds with the many laughter lines. ‘I'm not a helpless invalid, young man. I do all my own shopping, cooking and cleaning. I even manage to dress myself and still shop frivolously for clothes I don't need. A cup of tea is simple.’ So saying, she essayed a U-turn and zipped out of the room.

Rafferty grinned. ‘Feisty lady. That's what you get for stereotyping, Dafyd,’ said Rafferty, who was usually the one guilty of this. ‘She might be in a wheelchair, but she seems to show a grand disregard for her disability. Better remember it before you make any more gaffes.’

Five minutes later and Josephine Taylor was back, with a tray of tea things precariously balanced across the arms of her chair. ‘Seeing as you're so determined to help this little old lady, you can take the tray,’ she told Llewellyn. He hastened to do her bidding. ‘Help yourselves, gentlemen. There's no cake. I ate it all.’

Once they had taken their tea and sat down, she said, ‘You're here about Sophia. What do you want? A character assassination or the censored version?’

‘Perhaps we could aim somewhere between the two. Ms Taylor?’ Rafferty suggested.

Josephine nodded. ‘And don't call me Ms. Ridiculous name. Makes me sound like a busy bee. Which I am, of course. Call me Josephine. That was my stage name.’

‘Josephine. So you were in the theatre with Mrs Egerton?’

‘Yes. I always got the character parts and Sophia got the starring roles. That's because she couldn't act. She tried hard, I'll give her that, but she just didn't have the ability to lose her own personality and take on that of her character. Still, she was pretty enough for the men, so she continued to get roles. All that was required of her was that she look stunning. And she always did.’

‘Did you like her?’

‘We were friends, weren't we? Oh Sophia gave herself airs. Funny when you think she was a Barnardo's girl. She took on even more airs when she married Thomas Egerton and lived in that lovely house. But she also knew how to let her hair down. We had some laughs down the years. But I haven't seen much of her lately. She's been too tied up in that fashion firm of hers to have time to spare for an old friend.’ She grinned and gave the arm of her wheelchair a hefty clout. ‘This is fairly new. I don't think she thought my wheelchair stylish enough to be seen with. Always valued style, did Sophia. Far more than I did. I'm more of a Slapdash Annie.’

‘Did you know any of her family?’

‘Oh yes. Knew them all. I was a regular visitor to the house until I had my accident’. Seeing their enquiring looks, she explained, ‘Skiing in Val d’Isere. So annoying. Especially as I was always more into the
après ski
than the ‘ski’ itself, yet I never fell over when I was over the eight.’

‘And what did you think of her family? I'm asking because it seems it was probably one of them that killed her.’

‘Poor Sophia. Always did like the dramatic roles, though even she would consider that of murder victim to be taking it a little bit too far. Her family, now. Her daughter I found a boring housewife, able to talk about nothing but the price of fish. No go in her. Caroline, the granddaughter, was more like Sophia, though a paler version. As for the twins, I've always found them nice enough, though Eric's a bit colourless and Adam's too feckless for my liking. Always getting into scrapes as a boy, he was. Stupid ones. That's expected up to a certain age, but one should learn from one's mistakes as one matures. He hadn't changed, according to Sophia.’

‘Do you consider any of them capable of murder?’

‘Aren't we all capable of murder given the right circumstances? That's what they say. I could certainly murder British Telecom for failing to sort out my email problem. But as for one of the family murdering her…Hmm. I think I'd plump for Adam. He was always impulsive. Never thought his actions through. How did she die, Sophia?’

‘I'd rather not say at this time.’

‘Want to keep it under your hat? Very wise. Not that I'm likely to tell anyone, stuck her on my own as I am for most of the time.’

On a sudden impulse of his own, Rafferty told her. ‘She was smothered.’

‘Smothered, was it? There you are then. That would be Adam all over. No planning required. Just instant action on an impulse.’ Josephine tutted, then said, ‘Going to arrest him, are you?’

‘There's the little matter of evidence, first,’ Rafferty said.

‘Oh, that old thing. If Adam did do it, he'll have made some idiotic
faux pas
, darling. Always got caught when he was a lad when he was up to no good. Got any forensics?’

Rafferty shook his head.

‘Watch CSI all the time. And other cop programmes. Miss The Bill. Don't know why they took it off, though I preferred it when the older characters took the top roles – far more interesting than those half-cooked youngsters. They don't serve their time these days, just go straight into television. It shows. But you're not drinking your tea. What's wrong with it?’

‘Nothing. Sorry Ms – Josephine. I forgot about it.’

‘My fault. Probably rabbiting on. Drink it up, now, there's a good chap. You too,’ she said to Llewellyn. ‘I suppose you're the sergeant sidekick?’

Llewellyn confirmed that he was. He picked up his mug and drank before he asked, ‘Is there anything else you can tell us about the family?’

‘Not the family, no. But I think that Freddie Sullivan had been a bit of a boyo in his youth. Still is, in some ways. Always flirted with me when I saw him, in spite of this.’ Again, she banged the arm of her wheelchair as though she'd like to do it a serious injury. ‘Sophia told me she'd remembered him and Dahlia in her will. Is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘With the proviso that they had to be still working for her at the time of her death, I bet?’

‘Yes,’ said Rafferty. ‘How did you know?’

Josephine laughed and revealed the outsize dentures again. ‘Just a lucky guess. Or perhaps I should say an
educated
one. That would be Sophia all over. Always wanted things on her terms. Is there anything else you want to know? Only I'm going out. Got my best bib and tucker on.’ Josephine was wearing an eye-jarring combination of scarlet leggings and what looked like an orange and yellow sari, though as the material had all been gathered in an untidy heap and squashed at the side of the chair, it was difficult to be sure. ‘Going to a matinée at The Shaftesbury Theatre.’

‘Then don't let us keep you.’ Rafferty stood up. ‘We've nothing else to ask you.’

‘Really? You don't want to ask me if I'm up for a date?’

Llewellyn looked a little shocked at this, but Rafferty laughed. ‘You're just my kind of girl,’ he told her. He held up his ring finger. ‘But I'm taken.’

‘Damn. All the best ones are. What about you, Sergeant? Fancy an evening out on the town tonight? I can show you a good time. Know everyone who's anyone. I have a regular billet at The Ivy, so if you're into celebrity-gazing, I'm the gal for it.’

Llewellyn, who still hadn't lost his flirting cherry, blushed and said he was married, too.

‘Ha! And glad of it, too, by the look of you. Never mind. Worth a try. Plenty more gentlemen escorts out there. Thinking of going online and getting myself a permanent man. I miss having one in my life. Having someone regular rather than a hired pretty boy to escort me to the theatre and dinner.’

‘You be careful, Josephine,’ Rafferty warned. ‘There are a lot of rogues out there.’

‘I know. I should. I married three of ‘em. But charming and fun to be with, all of them. I'm not likely to attract a fortune hunter, not with my bank balance. Finished your tea?’

They both nodded.

‘Then I'll see you out.’ The doorbell rang as they entered the hall.

‘Ah. That'll be my escort for the afternoon. Handsome chap. Used his services several times. But I still want a man of my own.’

‘I don't doubt you'll find one, Josephine. But make him a Toy Boy as I can't imagine a man of your own age could keep up with you.’

‘Ha! That they can't.’ She opened the door. ‘Rafe. Darling. These are the cops. Here about poor Sophia.’

Rafe nodded to the two men and kissed her – on the lips rather than the cheek and Josephine kissed him back with enthusiasm.

‘I'll just get my wrap and then I'm ready’ Josephine executed another of her Grand Prix U-turns and was back within seconds. As she closed her front door, she turned in her chair and said, ‘Bye bye Mr Policemen. Call again any time.’ Then she whizzed off down the path, saying over her shoulder, ‘Now then, Rafe, where are you taking me for our pre-show lunch?’