Bad Blood (10 page)

After they had confirmation that he had been away from home at the time of Clara Mortimer's death and could give them no information, once he had supplied them with an alibi, they left.

'Rum character,' Rafferty commented as they walked down the stairs and stood chatting at the entrance. 'Did you notice he didn't seem as shocked as might be expected when we told him what had happened to Mrs Mortimer?'

Llewellyn nodded. 'Though Mr Oliver's appearance gives the impression he's knocked around the world a bit and is pretty much inured to shock.'

'He certainly seems to have lived a full life and seen the world. His photo collection makes Amelia Frobisher's look that of a lonely stay-at-home for all her determination to convince visitors to the contrary. Anyway,' he said as he reached his car. 'Let's get back to the factory, We still have the rest of the reports to read before we can pack it in for the evening. Tomorrow, I shall want to speak to Clara Mortimer's old neighbour, Mary Soames and see what she can tell us about Mrs Mortimer's family.

'I'll also want to speak to all the residents myself as soon as possible. They may recall something after a night's sleep. Not forgetting Mrs Mortimer's loving daughter and her boyfriend. I want to learn more about the recent row he had with the victim. If the row was about money, as seems possible to judge from the pair's circumstances, it's not difficult to suspect Jane Ogilvie might have been encouraged to ensure she got her inheritance early. Although she denied that she had keys to her mother's home, I noticed a set of keys hanging on a hook in their hall. The keys to the entrance door and to the individual apartments are very distinctive. I wonder why she should choose to lie about it?’

‘Could be nothing - simply that she guessed we would learn of the argument Jesmond had with her mother and thought it better to err on the side of caution. Though when I asked Bill Beard to run Mrs Ogilvie's and Mr Jesmond's names through the computer, he discovered that both have criminal records for drug abuse and assault. It's possible she suspects her boyfriend's involved in her mother's death and decided to protect him.'

Rafferty nodded thoughtfully. 'That's something I shall certainly question her about tomorrow.'

Llewellyn's checks had also revealed that Jesmond's latest fine had been for a drunk and disorderly conviction, the latest of several, during which he had assaulted Jane. Their records indicated that both had ready tempers and were prone to violence.

'But before we question the pair again, we'll see this Mary Soames; she might provide us with some valuable leverage, especially as she seems to have known the victim for some years.’

With the hopeful thought that the morrow might bring the case to an-all-too squalid and predictable conclusion, Rafferty got in his car and returned to the station, with Llewellyn, in his own car, falling in behind.

It was an hour-and-half later before they had got abreast of the remaining reports. Rafferty bid Llewellyn good night and headed for the hospital to offer his niece the belated congratulations or condolences the intrusion of that morning's murder had delayed.

He knew his new love, Abra, would be there. He hoped she would be in a more reasonable frame of mind than she had been on the previous evening when she had told Rafferty her news.

Even now, Rafferty felt shocked that Abra could have brought the possibility of turmoil into both their lives with such banal words. He hadn't even understood what she was saying at first…

‘Joe.
What do you feel about getting two for the price of one?’

Rafferty, immersed in the newspaper, finally relaxing after the demands of work, had raised his eyes from the newsprint. ‘What's that, light of my life? Some special offer at the supermarket?’

‘Not quite, no. I'm not talking about buying a packet of cornflakes and getting a second one free. I'm talking about you and me and a possible addition to our numbers.’

Rafferty had blanched as her meaning had sunk in. His fingers developed a death grip on his newspaper. It was now June; they'd only met in April. Rafferty had never thought that Abra might be the sort of girl to become obsessed by babies. What was it she had said when they had first met? When he had remarked that Llewellyn, her cousin, had told him that her name meant ‘Mother of Multitudes’ and asked her if she thought she might be, her reply had been ‘Not bloody likely!”

Now, he was so astonished to discover she had done a complete about turn that he could find nothing to say. The seconds lengthened, became a strained half minute. Then Abra broke the silence.

‘Your enthusiasm overwhelms me.’

Her words didn't auger well for the pleasant, relaxed evening Rafferty had promised himself.

Abra's face became as set as a jelly at his continuing shocked silence. But it freed up sufficiently for her to observe, ‘So, I guess I can take it that you don't want our child.’

Belatedly becoming aware that the ice beneath his feet was thin and that he was in imminent danger of sinking up to his neck in previously unchartered waters, Rafferty quickly riposted, ‘I didn't say that.’

Like most bombshells, Abra's had come without warning. Was she pregnant? Or only telling him that she'd like to be? He relaxed a bit when he realised she couldn't be pregnant. Hadn't they always used contraception?

Tentatively, he asked, 'Can we just backtrack a little and establish some facts? Are you pregnant?'

Abra frowned. Said, 'Yes…no…maybe,’ before she burst into tears.

This alarmed Rafferty even more. After experiencing the various pregnancies of three younger sisters and recently that of his niece, Gemma, he recognised the signs of upside-down hormones only too well.

Instinctively, while he frantically sought for soothing words, he dropped his newspaper and gathered Abra in his arms. After a little, when her tears had subsided to hiccups and sniffs, he said, ‘I thought you were on the pill? So how…?'

‘I was. But you remember that gastric upset I had around six weeks ago?’

Above her head, Rafferty gave a wary nod.

‘It must have happened just after, when we celebrated my recovery. I never gave it a thought at the time, but I must have sicked-up the contraceptive pill each time I heaved. I heaved quite a lot if you remember?’

Rafferty did remember. Abra's gastric upset had been worryingly violent. That was why their celebration of her recovery had been so joyous and abandoned.

His mind in turmoil, he said, ‘Pregnancy's pretty unlikely, though, isn't it? We only celebrated the once, after all.’

Abra sniffed again. ‘Didn't they teach you any biology at that repressive Catholic school you went to? Believe me, once is enough.’

He knew that. Of course he did. Only he felt it shouldn't be enough. It seemed such a cheap trick of the Almighty after one thoughtless act, to land them with the prospect of night shrieks, nappies and a twenty-year, hundred-grand plus bill. But cheap tricks from the Almighty were something of a feature in Rafferty's life.

He took heart from what Abra had said earlier. ‘You don't sound too sure whether you're pregnant or not. If it was me I'd want to know for certain if I was about to become a parent.’

All too belatedly, when Abra's only response was more tears, Rafferty tried to provide some solace. ‘Well, I suppose it's not the end of the world if you are pregnant.’ Even to his own ears his reassurance sounded desperately hollow. So he wasn't surprised when Abra wrenched herself out of his arms and rounded on him.

‘You're saying you don't want to be a parent, aren't you? At least tell me the truth. I think I'm entitled to that much.’

Rafferty prevaricated. ‘Well, it's true that I hadn't thought of becoming a father so soon in our relationship. But if you are pregnant, I'm sure I'll get used to the idea. So, tell me – are you?’

Abra sniffed again. She snatched a tissue from a box on the coffee table and blew her nose so vehemently that its little tip turned pink. ‘I told you. I don't know. And with you being so negative about it, I'm not sure I want to. Maybe it's better if we both have time to adjust to the possibility before we find out for certain.’

‘Ignorance isn't necessarily bliss, Abs,’ he said. ‘I know,’ he suggested with a jolly, encouraging air that reminded him of Amelia Frobisher talking of the residents’ outings she organised, ‘why don't we go to the late night chemist and buy a pregnancy testing kit?’

She must have sensed his fear at the possibility of looming parental responsibility for she reacted to his sensible idea as if he was patronising her and immediately turned mulish.

‘No. I said I don't want to know and now I'm sure of it. You don't want our baby – if we're having one – do you? Admit it.’

Rafferty opened his mouth then closed it again. And though after a few tense moments, he found words and courage enough to try to discuss it again, he discovered he was too late. Abra refused to say any more on the subject.

It was their first row. If this simmering brew of questions with no answers could even properly be called a row. Whether it was or not, it was also the first night they went to bed and clung determinedly to opposite edges of the double divan. An uncomfortable night was had by the two – or possibly the three – of them.

When
Rafferty got to the hospital, he found Abra already there.

Gemma, his niece, looked red-eyed and tearful. No doubt she was quailing at the prospect of being responsible for a new baby. Although it was a long time since he had been sixteen, it was a feeling Rafferty could empathise with; he was quailing at the possibility himself.

He kissed them both, but Abra determinedly averted her lips, presented her cheek for a peck and immediately drew back, so Rafferty knew he was still in the dog-house.

He wondered whether Abra had been discussing him with Gemma because although they'd been chatting readily enough when he walked through the door to the small ward, their conversation had quickly faded after his arrival.

He tried his uncle's duty of jollying Gemma along with the lie, ‘You look better than you did this morning, sweetheart. Your mum said they'll let you out tomorrow, you and your little bundle.’

He was nonplussed when his innocent comment prompted Gemma to burst into tears.

‘Honestly, Joseph.’ Stiff-necked, Abra reproved him. ‘If you can't say anything helpful, don't you think it would be better to say nothing at all?’

Through her sobs as Abra tried to comfort her and make up for her clumsy uncle, Gemma said, ‘You make it sound like I'm being let out of prison – only…only it's a prison I'm going to and for the rest of my life. It's all right for you, Uncle Joe, you haven't got to face the prospect of having the next twenty-odd years of your life all laid out, like I have.’

I wouldn't bet on it, kiddo, was Rafferty's thought as he glanced at Abra's set face.

Faced with the twin tasks of trying to console Gemma and convey to Abra that he was sure he'd love the idea of parenthood once he got use to it, Rafferty remarked, ‘Oh, I don't know, sweet-pea. These things naturally take time to adjust to. I don't think you'll find it as difficult as you fear. I bet you'll feel differently in a week when you've got the little tyke home and settled in and he's given you his first burpy smile.’

For some reason, his words of comfort brought a further gush of tears from Gemma.

Now what have I said? he asked himself. Once again, he didn't have to remain in ignorance for long.

Abra gave him a withering look and told him in a whispered aside, ‘Gemma's having trouble breast-feeding.’

‘It's so gross,’ Gemma wailed. ‘And it hurts. Why did no one tell me it would hurt when they were so busy explaining how good it would be for him? What about me? What about what's best for me?’

Rafferty, about to light-heartedly remark that he didn't think breast-feeding had yet become compulsory, thought better of it.

Thankfully, just then, the Rafferty family matriarch, his ma, Kitty, arrived with his sister, Maggie and he was able to retreat to his natural role among this Sisterhood – that of the villainous male, one of the species who had brought about Gemma's trouble in the first place.

Even his ma scolded him when Abra explained the reason for Gemma's freshly tear-streaked face.

‘Now, Joseph, you're not to go upsetting the poor girl any more.’ Kitty Rafferty's laser-gaze took a swift inventory of the gifts of flowers and tiny garments displayed on the bedside table next to Gemma each with the gift tag of the giver still attached. ‘I see you didn't even think to bring your niece and your great-nephew a little gift.’

Rafferty, guilty as charged and forced to admit to yet another failing, could only watch in shamed silence as his ma proceeded to empty her own selection of ‘little gifts’ on to the bed.

Soon, the soiled lemon duvet cover was buried beneath romper suits in modern, multi-coloured hues, enough baby-gros to indicate Mothercare might be a good future investment and sufficient rattles to equip the loudest of Manchester United's many supporters. She had even thought to buy the new mother something to cheer her up; tickets for some boy band's concert for the following week. This last brought a miraculous stemming to Gemma's tears. All at once she looked what she was: a teenager in the first flush of infatuation.

It gave Rafferty an inkling of how he could redeem himself with Abra, Gemma and the rest of the females in his life. He snatched a glance at the date on the concert tickets and resolved to offer to baby-sit. It wouldn't be easy. Not only was he just at the beginning of another murder case, but he reckoned he would have to arm-wrestle his ma, Mrs Newson, Gemma's mum Maggie and his other sisters and nieces for the privilege.