Kith and Kill (25 page)

‘Mmm. Another drain on Adam's slim resources.’

‘There's something else as well. He confirms that Adam used to sneak him in for an overnighter at his gran's house when he was visiting. Thought it was a great laugh. He seems to have Adam Chambers where he wants him. Nasty piece of work. Out for what he can get, if you ask me.’

‘The Chambers, mother and son, seem to attract such people. Did he claim to be with Adam on the night of the murder?’

‘He had trouble making his mind up on that one. I could see it was a difficult question. On the one hand he didn't want to put himself forward as a suspect by admitting he'd been in the house and on the other he wanted to alibi his milch cow.’

‘Which side did he plump for?’

‘He didn't. Claimed to have a memory shortfall. Even admitted to being a regular drug user to account for the memory lapse.’

‘Probably just wants time to consult with Adam and see which way he wants him to jump. Not that we could believe him, whatever he says, by the sound of it. Oh well. Let me know what, if anything, you get out of Chambers’ other friends as soon as you get it.’

‘Will do. Bye sir.’

Rafferty closed his phone, ordered the drinks and gazed into space. Well, well, he thought. So, with our Adam, we have another one who only felt able to follow his heart after the old lady's death. It was yet another mark against him. Yet another reason to suspect him of her murder.

He took the drinks and returned to his seat. He told Llewellyn the gist of his conversation with Carmody.

‘The Chambers family certainly seem to be unwise in their love lives. Perhaps we'll find Adam's brother and sister were equally unwise.’

‘Perhaps. Though I haven't heard a whisper about any love interest in either of their lives. Eric seems to be wedded to his work and Caroline just doesn't seem interested. Perhaps their parents’ divorce put them off?’

‘Indeed.’ Llewellyn finished his meal and replaced his cutlery dead centre with the precision of an engineer. He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip.

‘So, what now?’ Rafferty mused to himself. He ripped a paper napkin into shreds and dropped them on the table. He didn't even notice he was doing it.

‘You're littering, sir.’

‘What? Oh. Yeah.’ He tidied the mess into a neat little pile and scooped it on to his plate. ‘There. Happy now?’

Llewellyn made no further comment. He just sipped his coffee. Rafferty grabbed Llewellyn's discarded napkin and proceeded to fold it concertina-style. He fanned himself with it, hoping the breeze would provide his brain with extra oxygen.

Five minutes later and he was impatient to get back to the station. ‘You finished?’ Llewellyn nodded ‘Good. Come on. I've got an idea.’

Rafferty roared
into the station yard. The car juddered to a standstill. So did Llewellyn.

‘Do you have to do that?’

‘Do what?’

‘Drive like a lunatic. There are laws against that sort of thing you know. You were lucky we didn't pass a patrol car. As it is, I wouldn't be surprised if you were caught on a speed camera.’

‘Cheap at half the price if I'm right. Besides, I know where they all are. Most drivers do.’ Rafferty undid his seatbelt and climbed from the car. Pleased with his latest idea, he drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly while Llewellyn droned on in reproachful mode as soon as he was out of the car..

‘It's not you who will have to pay the fine. I'm sure Superintendent Bradley would have something to say about it if we get one.’ He paused. ‘But you still haven't told me what your big idea is.’

Rafferty grinned. ‘No. I haven't, have I? Call me a tease, if you like.’ He opened the door to the car park and fairly ran up the two flights to his office – something he wouldn't have been able to do when he smoked, he reflected. ‘Get the Chambers’ brief on the phone and I'll tell you. The family brief that is, the tea man, Selby, not bloody Ballantyne.’

Llewellyn checked the number and dialled. After a few, brief words, he passed the phone to Rafferty.

‘Mr Selby? Great. Listen. Could you let me have an actual copy of Sophia Egerton's will? I'll give you the fax number.’

There were some mutterings and mumbles over the line. Evidently Rafferty had intruded into Mr Selby's afternoon tea break. But eventually, the solicitor promised he'd have his secretary see to it once he'd finished his tea and biscuits.

‘So. You were going to tell me what this is all about,’ Llewellyn said. ‘We know of what the bequests consist. The solicitor told us when we went to see him.’

‘In tedious detail. I know. I think I might have nodded off and missed some of it. But there's something there. It's been nagging at me. One of the smaller bequests, I think. I wasn't really listening to those. I was too keen to get to the rich pickings.’.

‘Which one in particular interests you?’

‘I don't know, do I? That's why I want to see the will. I'll know it when I see it.’

He was reduced to drumming his fingers and asking Llewellyn to check the fax machine was working, while he waited for Mr Selby to finish his precious tea break. But eventually, the machine whirred into life and began churning out screeds of paper. Rafferty got up and stood impatiently beside the machine while he waited for it to finish its churning. It finally ground to a halt and Rafferty ripped the pages off the tray and returned to his seat. His finger followed the lines of print down each page as he speed-read the bequests.

‘Ah. Here it is.’

A minute passed in silence, then Llewellyn said, plaintively, ‘Are you going to share, sir?’

‘Sorry.’ Rafferty handed the page over. ‘It's halfway down the page. The bequest to her sister, Alice Pickford. Doesn't it strike you as a bit odd?’

Llewellyn frowned. ‘It's a couple of pieces of jewellery. Rings. It might be more usual to pass them to her daughter or granddaughter, but I don't see why she shouldn't will them to her only sister..’

‘Yes. But don't you see. The rings concerned are a wedding and engagement ring. Sophia's own rings. The will says so quite specifically. Definitely more usual, as you said, to pass them
down
the family line to a daughter or granddaughter, not sideways to a sister she doesn't even seem to have liked much. And then, there's the
choice
of rings. Why a wedding and engagement ring? You've seen the contents of her jewellery boxes; she had plenty of other pieces of jewellery she could have bequeathed to Alice.’

‘I'm not sure I understand your point.’

‘The point
being
that I think she was having a dig at her spinster sister. The same way she had a dig at Dahlia Sullivan by leaving her a bunch of old theatrical costumes. She wanted to rub it in that Alice Pickford was eighty-seven and never been married. The implication being that the only way Alice would get such rings – unless she bought them herself – was if someone bequeathed them to her.’

Llewellyn wrinkled his nose. ‘Why do I get the feeling that you're concocting another theory?’

Rafferty shrugged noncommittally.

‘Because if you are and it includes the scenario that Alice Pickford murdered her sister because Mrs Egerton had let her know she was bequeathing her the rings and that Miss Pickford saw it as a slight on her unmarried state, I feel it's a little tenuous. Would
you
murder over such a trifle?’

‘No. But then I'm a pretty reasonable human being. Alice Pickford strikes me as an embittered woman, who feels she's had a raw deal from life. Maybe the bequest of these rings was the straw that broke etc. Maybe she wanted rid of her sister and to live under the more easy regime of Penelope? Maybe she wanted to have a few years’ sun on her bones before she died? Maybe it was a combination of these things and, as I said, the bequest of the rings was just the last straw in a life filled with slights and the feeling of being second-best to her beautiful, fortunate, wealthy sister?’

‘Mmm. It's possible, I suppose. But we don't even know that she was aware of the bequest.’

‘We could always try asking her. Or Selby, the solicitor. Or both.’

‘Very well.’ Llewellyn rose. ‘I'll get on to it.’

‘You go to the Egertons’ and speak to Alice. I'll contact Selby then meet you at the Egerton house.’

Rafferty picked up the phone as Llewellyn went out. Selby was with a client and couldn't be disturbed, he was informed by the secretary.

After a few choice words that explained the importance of a murder investigation over adding a codicil to a will, Rafferty was put through.

To his surprise, Selby was all sweetness and light at the interruption so it couldn't still be tea-break time.

‘Inspector Rafferty? I'm popular this afternoon. How can I help you?

Rafferty explained.

‘Ah. Yes. I do believe my client mentioned the bequest to her sister. Miss Pickford had apparently always admired my client's engagement ring, so it was my client's wish that that ring and the matching wedding band should be left to her with the proviso that they were, in turn, left to Mrs Egerton's daughter.’

‘And did Miss Pickford know of the bequest?’

‘I believe so, yes.’

‘You didn't feel there was anything spiteful about the bequest.’

‘My dear Inspector, what can you mean?’ The solicitor muttered something under his breath. ‘I really can't discuss this now. I'm with a client. You'll have to come to see me. I'll be free in an hour

‘Okay. Thanks. See you then.’ He grabbed his jacket and – now he was armed with the knowledge that she
had
known about the jewellery bequest – headed for the car park and another meeting with Alice Pickford.

Alice
Pickford could have given her great-nephew lessons in the art of silence. She had again summoned Father Kelly and he was vociferous in defence of his parishioner. Rafferty had kept digging and probing and making what were clearly unwelcome remarks about her sister's beauty and wealth and her other attributes, Alice Pickford had decided to adopt an imperious stance and barely deigned to say anything, but Father Kelly more than made up for it.

‘You're not to be adopting the bully-boy tactics, young Rafferty,’ the priest told him. ‘Whatever Miss Pickford has or has not done, she's not to be subjected to any haranguing. Sure and she's a God-fearing woman and will tell her Maker of her doings. There's no need–’

Alice Pickford cut across Father Kelly without compunction, gratitude for his sturdy defence or consideration for his priestly status. ‘Bah!’ she complained to Rafferty. ‘You keep on about my sister's beauty as if it was something she had
achieved,
something she had worked and strived for rather than had given her on a plate. And as for her precious acting talent – she'd still have been a lowly assistant stage manager, but for her looks. And her supposed business skills were propped up by her husband's nepotism. When did I ever get similar chances? Similar nepotism?’ Alice's face was tight as her bitterness came pouring out. ‘She was a spoiled woman, spoiled all her life, got the best of everything all her life. What did I get? A plain face and a plain future with no Thomas Egerton to rescue me from the gutter.’

‘Your sister gave you a home, Miss Pickford.’

‘And why wouldn't she? When I was in a position to embarrass her in the press? Businesswoman of the year and her lovely, spacious, Georgian home – wouldn't have looked good alongside pictures of her poverty-stricken sister living in a bedsit, would it?’

‘Is that what you threatened to do in order to persuade your sister to give you houseroom?’

Alice just glared at him but said nothing. Her mouth was zipped tighter than the Pope's crotch and it was clear she had decided to say nothing more.

Not so Father Kelly. He clearly saw it as his duty to vent some spleen on his parishioner's behalf for he launched into a tirade strong enough to blow Rafferty back out the door as eagerly as he had come in.

‘The
bequest wasn't a dig on Sophia's part towards her unmarried sister?’ Rafferty was back in the solicitor's office. He wanted some answers and he wanted them quickly before another one of Selby's blasted tea-breaks came round.

There was a pause, then Mr Selby said, ‘Dear, dear. Now that you mention it, I did feel there was a slight
frisson
of something less than sisterly when my client mentioned the bequest.’

‘What made you think that?’

‘It was something my client said. Now, what was it?’ There was another pause. ‘Something about her sister not appreciating that she had given her a very comfortable roof over her head for twenty years and all without paying a penny of rent or any money towards her keep. And that Miss Pickford might think herself better than my client, but she hadn't even managed to snare herself a man, never mind a successful career. I got the distinct impression that my client wanted to rub these facts in. Not very kind, perhaps. But you must understand that Miss Pickford could be a difficult woman and often attempted to usurp my client's role as chatelaine of the house.’

‘The business, too, from what I hear.’

‘Just so. I believe my client nipped that in the bud.’

‘Why didn't Sophia just turf her out?’