Kith and Kill (19 page)

‘Have you any family you could stay with, sir?’ Rafferty asked.

Freddie shook his head. ‘Call me Freddie. Please. No. We never had children. We were enough for one another.’

‘Clearly, you can't stay here. Will they give you a room up at the big house?’

‘Suppose so. Are you sure I couldn't stay in the flat? I could doss down in here?’

‘No, Freddie. I'm afraid not. This is a crime scene.’

Freddie had his head in his hands. Through his fingers, Rafferty heard him say, ‘To think she was lying beside me for God knows how long, with her head bashed in like that. I don't understand why I never heard anything. I'm a heavy sleeper, I know, but even so. Why didn't I wake?’ he asked plaintively, as he raised his head.

‘The blows struck don't look to have been that hard, Freddie. The cuts aren't deep, never mind all the blood. Head wounds tend to bleed copiously. Perhaps the blows to Dahlia's head were only done to prevent her shouting out or struggling? From my brief look, it appears that your wife was suffocated.’

‘Suffocated? Are you sure?’

‘As sure as I can be without Dr Dally and the post mortem to give confirmation.’ But Freddie had hit on something that had struck him, too. Had Dahlia's killer, as he had told Freddie, just used a couple of blows to the head to render her unconscious, scared that more would wake Freddie? Why had she been killed? It wasn't as if she could have seen any suspicious behaviour on the night of Sophia's death. Dahlia had retired to her flat half an hour before Sophia had gone to bed and had remained in her flat for the remainder of the evening as Freddie and their friend had attested. Neither had gone to bed until after midnight as they had been watching a late film. And the friend hadn't gone home until the film had ended. They had even been able to tell him the plot and parts of the dialogue that they had remembered. Unless Freddie had some so far undiscovered reason for wanting to do away with his wife and it had nothing to do with the first murder at all? But the man looked lost, bewildered. Unless he'd been on the stage earlier in life like his wife, Rafferty couldn't believe he could be that good an actor. Besides, how likely was it that two killings in the same place could be the work of anything other than a single killer? What now for the plans to retire to Spain? As if he'd heard Rafferty's thoughts, Freddie said, ‘How can I retire to Spain now? How can I retire at all? I wouldn't begin to know how to fill the endless days without my Dahlia. She was the one who was full of plans. She was the one who had taught herself the basics of the language and had started evening classes in conversational Spanish. I can barely say hello in the lingo.’

‘Perhaps you could sell your Spanish villa?’

‘And how'd I go about doing that? Dahlia always saw to the managing of things. I've never had any dealings with planning or paperwork. I don't even know if we've got any deeds or even if the Spanish have deeds to their homes. But what am I saying? What does it matter with my Dahlia lying dead in the next room?’ He put his head back in his hands and began to weep.

Seeing the old gardener, in his patched pyjamas, crying for his dead wife made for painful viewing and Rafferty was glad to turn away when there came a knock at the front door. He heard Llewellyn answer it, heard Sam Dally's hushed tones. Heard them go into the bedroom. Freddie must have heard them, too, because he raised his head again, wiped his eyes and blew his nose, then asked.

‘Is that the doctor?’

Rafferty nodded.

‘The one who'll…who'll be cutting her up?’

Again,
Rafferty nodded.

‘Why does he need to do that for? When it was her head that was messed with? When you say she was suffocated after being beaten about the head?’

‘I'm sorry, Freddie, but it's the law. Has to be done, I'm afraid.’

‘All them people looking at her with no clothes on… It's not right. My Dahlia was a very modest woman about her body, even though she used to be an actress. She never took her clothes off on stage. Never even accepted roles that called for more than a brief kiss. Wouldn't do it. Very moral woman, in many ways, my Dahlia. Strictly brought up. She told me there were ructions when she announced to her family that she was going on the stage. Parents more or less disowned her.’ Freddie let out a huge sigh. ‘I think I'd like that tea, now, if that's all right.’

‘I'll get you one.’ He could hear more sounds from the hall as the rest of the team arrived. More hushed voices. He left Freddie and went out. He briefly told the team what had happened, had a quick word with Sam Dally and went to make Freddie his tea.

It
was several hours later. Rafferty had got Freddie settled in a small bedroom in the main house, transferring enough of his stuff for a brief stay. He had got rather a frosty reception from the Egerton family. Whether or not he was guilty of his wife's murder, they seemed to blame him for it. Blame him, too, for the fact that they'd have to get their own breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner until they organized a new housekeeper. After all those years, was that all Dahlia Sullivan was to them? A convenience? No wonder she'd wanted to retire.

That reminded him – he had transferred Freddie Sullivan to one of the interview rooms from his temporary lodgings at the Egerton's home. He had to question him, though he felt a certain reluctance to do so. If the man hadn't killed his wife; and he felt pretty certain that he hadn't, it was insensitive to subject him to a questioning that suggested the opposite. But it had to be done and he pushed himself to his feet.

The Egerton's doorbell rang as he crossed the black and white tiled hall and he opened the door and came face to face with his cousin, Nigel. He was so surprised that he took a step back and blundered into Llewellyn. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing here?’

Nigel's elegantly plucked eyebrows rose. ‘I might ask you the same thing. The lady of the house invited me. Who invited you?’

‘A murderer.’ Or two. ‘You're a bit early for the house-clearance if there's going to be one.’ The tree of Nigel's estate agency empire had recently branched out even further. Nigel, whose original, ‘too low-class, dear boy’ name, had been Jerry Kelly, was now involved in house-clearance of the homes of the recently deceased. Rafferty supposed there must be a decent profit in it. Nigel wasn't one for chasing after fool's gold.

‘I'm not here for that, dear boy,’ Nigel drawled. ‘Though it's interesting that you say there's been a death. Perhaps this job will bring even more profit than I thought. I wonder how I missed the death announcement?’

Given that Nigel scanned the death notices in the local paper like they were Holy Writ and black-penned profit and loss sheets combined, it was a wonder to Rafferty, too. Nigel always liked to be first with his foot in the door. Though he never read the rest of the paper, which is why he hadn't known that this was a murder house.

‘So what are you here for?’ Though Rafferty found it wasn't hard to guess.

‘A Mrs Chambers rang me, dear boy. Wants me to do a valuation of the house.’ Nigel swept an assessing glance over the frontage. He would have whistled if it wasn't a chav thing to do. ‘Worth a tidy sum. Do you know if she's got any other agents sniffing round?’

‘I've no idea. I didn't know she'd given
you
a sniff.’ Rafferty thought Penelope Chambers had been a bit swift in contacting Nigel. He doubted she'd even applied for probate yet. ‘’You'll have a wait for any money,’ he told his flash cousin with satisfaction. He explained about the murders and the probate situation with pleasure. He took even more pleasure explaining about the slow progress of the murder investigation and how it was likely to affect the disposal of Sophia Egerton's assets.

Nigel's sharply-handsome face fell. ‘There's always a catch,’ he complained. He glowered at Rafferty as if it was his fault. ‘God help us with you in charge. Eternity will come to an end before you catch the culprit.’

‘Then it'll be an eternity before you get any money out of the house sale. If there
is
a house sale. If she doesn't take it off the market or give it to another agent to sell.’

Nigel's bright blue gaze narrowed. Theirs had always been a love-hate relationship. It looked like remaining so for the foreseeable.

‘Now, cuz, if you'll excuse me, I must get along and apply my plodding brain to the solution of this crime if you're to get your money.’ He winked. ‘As you said, it's likely to take a while. And I'm sure you don't want me dragging my heels over it.’

Nigel's lip curled as if he suspected that was just what Rafferty would do, out of spite. He always thought that everyone acted from similar motives to himself. He pulled himself up to his full height – which was an inch more than Rafferty – and said, in the withering tones of a duchess, ‘Perhaps you'll tell Mrs Chambers that I'm here?’

‘Llewellyn, tell Mrs Chambers that Mr Blythe is here, please.’

Nigel pushed past Rafferty and entered the hall. Rafferty could feel his cousin's gaze on his back as he walked the half dozen steps to the car and he smiled to himself. It was always a treat to put the wind up his nattily dressed cousin. God knew that Nigel had reciprocated before the fact to him more than once.

Once Nigel and his measuring gadget were introduced to Penelope Chambers, Rafferty and Llewellyn made for the station.

Rafferty
went and got himself and Freddie some tea from the canteen, leaving Llewellyn to keep the widower company in the interview room. He was soon back. He sat down beside Llewellyn and put the just purchased mugs of tea on the table. He announced his presence for the tape, noted the presence of Llewellyn and Freddie Sullivan and also noted the date and time. The formalities observed, he said, ‘So, Freddie. What can you tell me about last night's events?’

Freddie stared at him as if he was an imbecile and cupped his shaking hands around his hot mug. ‘Nothing. I told you. I was asleep. Didn't hear nothing.’ A sudden burst of rage engulfed him. ‘But if I could be certain which of them did this… I'd kill ‘em, even if I went to jail for it.’

‘Your wife's gone, Freddie. No point in ruining the rest of your life. She wouldn't want you to.’

‘How do you know what my Dahlia would have wanted? Brought up God-fearing, she was. In “an eye for an eye” way, she were. Believed in it, too. Great one for right and wrong’ His tea slopped over the table as Freddie leapt to his feet, sending his chair clattering to the floor. ‘She'd have wanted me to find out who did this to her and–’

‘That's our job, Freddie. And we're doing it.’ Trying to, anyway. ‘Sit down, please. Can I get you anything? A sandwich? You haven't eaten.’

Freddie shook his head. ‘No. Tea's all I can cope with right now.’

‘Drink it then. I put extra sugar in it. For the shock,’ he explained. ‘So tell me, how it was this morning. What time did you wake up?’

‘Six. I always set the alarm for six. Like to get an early start.’

‘And did you notice that your wife was dead immediately?’

‘No. No. It was still dark. I never turn a light on when I get up in the dark so as not to wake Dahlia. I just put my slippers on and went for a wash and a shave before I made tea. I only discovered that Dahlia was dead when I brought her her tea at half-six.’

‘Does anyone else have a key to your flat?’

Freddie frowned. ‘Don't know. Dahlia would kno–‘ His voice petered out when he realized that Dahlia wouldn‘t know anything ever again. Was never again to be there to sort out paperwork or anything else.

‘Why didn't you ring us immediately once you found her?’

‘Assumed you'd think I'd done it. Don't you always suspect the husband? Thought I'd be blamed for the other one as well. Wouldn't that suit the family? And besides, I wanted some time alone with her. Knew that when you lot arrived I'd be shoved out.’

‘So what were you doing in the interim?’

‘Just sitting with Dahlia. Talking to her. But eventually I saw that I'd have to do something. That's when I rang the cops. Sorry. That's when I rang.’

‘Okay. Now, assuming you didn't kill her – who do you think might have? Was there any bad feeling between her and one of the family?’

‘She never mentioned it if there was. And she would have done. Mentioned it, I mean.’ He frowned. ‘But thinking about it, she'd been a bit quiet since the other one went. Sophia, I mean. Asked me if I thought God would ensure justice. I told her I doubted it. You've only got to look at the tragedies in the world to know he leaves justice, aid and the like up to us humans.’ He put his mug down and looked Rafferty squarely in the eyes. ‘So, anyway, I suppose it's back to me as the main suspect, hey? Isn't it always the husband?’

‘Not necessarily. My team has yet to find the weapon that was used to hit your wife. So, unless you left the flat and disposed of it…?’

‘I didn't. I told you. I didn't leave my Dahlia's side until I rang you lot.’

‘Okay. Well that would seem to be our first priority. To find the weapon.’

‘What do you think it was?’

‘Don't know yet. Hope to learn more after the post mortem.’

Freddie shuddered. ‘That again.’

‘I know. But if it helps us to learn more about her death and who killed her, it's not all bad.’

Freddie sipped his tea, scalding hot as it was, and then asked, ‘So, you gonna question them others? The family?’