Deadly Reunion (28 page)

‘Did you feel he was making a fool of you?'

Giles Harmsworth coloured up at this. He didn't answer immediately, but after a few seconds, he said, ‘There were always boys who liked to test authority, to buck against the system. Sebastian Kennedy was the same. Adam resented me, of course. He seemed to think he should have been Head Boy, given his superiority on the sports field, but I believe Mr Barmforth thought he had enough glory. Besides, he wasn't good at rules. He thought they didn't apply to him, only to lesser mortals. I had to disabuse him of that idea several times.'

This was getting them nowhere. He'd thrown all he had at Harmsworth and hadn't shaken anything from the man. It was time to head for the Home Office and Simon Fairweather.

FOURTEEN

S
imon Fairweather's office was on the first floor of the new architect-designed Home Office. The Department had moved from the brutal, old Sir Basil Spence monstrosity near St James's Park and was now situated in an ultra-modern building at Marsham Street. As they passed under the multi-coloured glass roof canopy designed, so Rafferty understood from Llewellyn, by a Turner Prize-winner, which said it all for Rafferty, he elected to use the stairs so as to stretch his legs.

Alerted by reception, Simon Fairweather was waiting for them. ‘Inspector.' He held out his hand and Rafferty shook it. ‘How can I help you this time?'

Rafferty waited until Fairweather had led them along the corridor to his own room and settled them in chairs facing his desk. There were as many pictures adorning the walls here as there had been in Sebastian Kennedy's apartment in Hampstead, but none of them featured naked ladies. Here was displayed original art borrowed from the London galleries. Most were boring landscapes featuring the usual munching cattle, sheep and sheepdogs that showed what a steady civil servant Fairweather was, but there was also a series of political cartoons that lightened the atmosphere and reminded Rafferty of the impish quality to Fairweather's mandarin-bland appearance.

‘I was hoping you might have remembered something more since I last spoke to you,' Rafferty told him.

‘I'm afraid not. I have been thinking about the lunchtime that Adam was poisoned and I really can't say that I noticed anything untoward. But I'm forgetting my manners. I'm sure you'd like something warming to drink after driving all the way here in such atrocious conditions. And to think the weathermen promised us a golden summer. That promise seems to have followed the examples of the promises of most of our political masters.'

Rafferty was surprised and pleased when instead of ringing his secretary and ordering tea, Fairweather pulled open the door of a cupboard behind his desk and revealed a well-stocked drinks cabinet.

‘I can offer you whisky, gin, brandy, vodka. I've even got some tequila somewhere.'

‘Whisky's fine.'

‘Sergeant?

‘Perhaps a mineral water.'

Fairweather served the drinks and Rafferty was glad to see that the Home Office man didn't believe in short measures. The heater on their car only worked when it wanted to and he was chilled, so he soon knocked the whisky back and Fairweather offered to top up his glass – an offer that Rafferty accepted with alacrity.

Fairweather seemed to have a relaxed attitude to drinking on duty, though Rafferty noted that the mandarin followed Llewellyn's example and opted for mineral water. Perhaps he had important meetings later for which he had to keep a clear head? Or perhaps it was this meeting that required clarity? As the Home Office man had claimed he had nothing new to tell them, Rafferty decided he would stir the waters and see what struggled to shore.

‘Did you know that Adam Ainsley was a closet homosexual?'

‘One did hear rumours. Nothing more. I wasn't importuned myself.'

‘Do you know the identity of those who were?' Although Rafferty had names from a number of sources, he was always pleased to add to them. He couldn't know which piece of information would lead him to the truth. Certainly, so far, not one of the suspects had been named as one of Ainsley's sexual conquests.

Fairweather offered a couple of names, but they were ones already in their possession, so they were no further forward.

Rafferty decided on another stir. ‘Were you aware that Jeremy Paxton's half nephew had a love affair with Ainsley and killed himself as a result?'

‘Paxton? Paxton? I'm afraid you'll have to refresh my memory.'

‘The new headmaster of Griffin School.'

‘Ah. Yes, of course. I'm afraid the only headmaster I think of in relation to Griffin is Mr Barmforth. He knew how to instil the fear of a God of retribution into us all. I'm sure Mr Paxton will be a very good headmaster and will grow into the role. But in these days of health and safety and “protect little children”, he won't have the opportunity to make such an impression on his pupils as old B did on us.' Fairweather took a sip of his mineral water. ‘And his half nephew killed himself, you say?'

Rafferty nodded.

‘Any grounds for suspecting Mr Paxton intended any harm to Adam?'

Rafferty shrugged. If this had been a normal interview, he would have said nothing further. But Fairweather was a Home Office mandarin, so he added, ‘It doesn't seem likely. He said he hardly knew the boy and his parents confirmed that that was so. No, I think we must look elsewhere for our culprit.'

‘I'm only sorry I can't be more help.' Fairweather finished the water in his crystal glass and stood up. It was a signal the interview was over. But, Rafferty said to himself,
I
decide when an interview's finished, whether the witness is a mandarin or a tea-leaf. ‘Have you always worked as a civil servant, sir?' he asked, going off on a tangent in the hope it would reveal something – anything – new.

‘Good Lord, no.' Fairweather glanced at his watch and sat down again. ‘I had a life, quite an interesting one, before I started here. I used to work as a chemist.'

Chemistry. Drugs. Poisons. The words reverberated around Rafferty's brain and he gave Fairweather a sharp glance. Didn't most drugs originate from plants?
Digitalis
from foxgloves, for instance, and datura from the Jimsonweed that was used to treat asthma at one time, and opium from poppies. Who better than a chemist to get his hands on the poison that killed Ainsley? Who better than a chemist to know where and how to get hold of it?

It seemed Rafferty's too open face had revealed the texture of his thoughts for Fairweather laughed and said, ‘Don't bother, Inspector, to think that my old career is pertinent to your investigation. I used to work in the petrochemical industry and even if I was in the right branch of the profession, it's a decade since I worked in the industry and things – and people – have moved on. I really don't know anyone in that sphere now. I wouldn't be able to get hold of the poison that killed Adam even if I wanted to.'

Maybe not, Rafferty thought. But, in spite of your protests to the contrary, I bet you'd know who would. You might even know, or be able to find out, where to look for the plant that hemlock comes from. You might even be able to recognize it or have the relevant reference books to help you find it, more easily, anyway, than the average layman. Or woman.

It seemed that just as he was about to accept that Simon Fairweather should no longer be numbered amongst the suspects, he suddenly rose to the top of the list.

Rafferty made to head back to the office. As he'd been about to get behind the wheel, Llewellyn reminded him he'd been drinking and he handed the keys to his sergeant. He wanted to ring Sam Dally and check something out, but rather than use his mobile, he wanted to be at his desk and easily able to make notes. The rain had eased off and he told Llewellyn to put his foot down. As expected, the Welshman ignored this instruction.

‘Why can't you be a hare rather than a tortoise for a change?' Rafferty asked. ‘Just once?'

‘If you remember the story, it was the tortoise that won the race in the end.' Llewellyn paused. ‘I was wondering whether it might not be a good idea to investigate the previous careers of our other suspects, given Mr Fairweather's admission of his past life as a chemist.'

Though as to Fairweather's mention of the bullying of which he had himself been a victim, Rafferty was now beginning to think he should be no hastier than the tortoise. Did such an admission really have any value? It would be a different thing if he'd tried to conceal his past as a chemist, but to be so up front about it rather took away some of his previous suspicion. Still, that notwithstanding, Llewellyn's suggestion was a good one and he told him so, thereby earning himself the reward of a tiny increase in the car's speed. It didn't last long.

In spite of the Welshman being behind the wheel, they made good time and the journey back to Elmhurst was done in half the time of the outward trip.

As soon as he reached his office, Rafferty had Sam on the phone. ‘What was the Latin name of the plant that hemlock comes from?' he asked immediately Sam came on the line. ‘And where does it grow?'

‘Good afternoon, Sam. How are you keeping? Got many corpses to cut up today?'

‘Sorry, Sam. You sound pretty chipper to me, so I'll take it as read that you're well. But good afternoon, anyway. Now, about that plant.'

‘
Conium Maculatum
. And how do I know where it grows? I'm not a botanist or a gardener. It's Alan Titchmarsh you want, not me.'

‘I don't know Alan Titchmarsh. Can you find out?'

‘You mean you want me to consult my tame plant expert?'

‘Yes please.'

‘He's not my favourite person, so it'll cost you. A large malt next time we meet up in a local hostelry.'

‘You're on.'

‘Leave it with me. I'll get back to you.'

Sam was as good as his word and came back to him at the gut-end of the afternoon, when Rafferty had about given up on him and was thinking about going home before Bradley caught him for another update.

‘You can find
Conium Maculatum
all over Europe,' said Sam. ‘It's a native plant to Britain. Every part is deadly, especially the fruits at flowering time. The root is pretty harmless in spring, but deadly at any other time.'

‘So if the killer knew where to find it and knew how to recognize it—'

‘Then he's presented with a marvellous murdering opportunity. Why? Got someone in mind?'

‘Could be. Thanks, Sam. Let's arrange for that drink very soon. I'll give you a ring.'

Rafferty turned thoughtfully to Llewellyn. ‘Can you find out – discreetly – if Simon Fairweather worked in another branch of chemistry before he joined the petrochemical industry?'

Llewellyn nodded. ‘I know someone in the Home Office who can check Fairweather's personnel record. It should reveal the names of the firms who employed him. I also know someone at the chemists' professional body who can check out his qualifications.'

Rafferty was reluctantly impressed. ‘Your Welsh Mafia seems to have its tentacles all over the place,' he observed. ‘You'll be checking up on me next.' He hoped not, because one good root around in his family history would reveal plenty.

‘It's not the Welsh Mafia,' Llewellyn protested, ‘Merely old friends from my Cambridge days.'

‘I wish I had a network of pals in high places,' Rafferty commented. ‘I might be able to get Bradley promoted out of my hair. Maybe you could try?'

‘I don't believe in promoting a person beyond their competence. There are enough people at the top already who are politicians rather than policemen.'

‘Ain't that the truth.'

‘Maybe if you placated Superintendent Bradley rather than deliberately antagonized him, you'd have a better relationship.'

It was what Nigel had suggested. The thought wasn't any more palatable from the Welshman's mouth. ‘I doubt it. We just rub one another up the wrong way. And seeing as I'm stuck with him, I might as well have the occasional bit of fun at his expense.'

‘Expenses. That's another area where you deliberately flout his wishes. You know what importance he places on keeping within the budget. Perhaps the rump steak you insisted on the other day wasn't such a good idea.'

‘OK, Dafyd, give it a rest. I'll try to be good and kiss arse in future.'

‘I don't think “kissing arse”, as you call it, is necessary. Just behave towards him as you would towards any other senior officer whom you respect.'

‘Ah. There's the rub. I don't respect him. He should never have risen beyond inspector.'

‘Well he has, and you have to deal with it.'

Rafferty nodded and sighed. ‘Go and check on your Taffy Maffy and leave me to practise puckering.'

But Llewellyn's investigation of Fairweather revealed that the mandarin had been telling the truth when he had said he had worked in the petrochemical industry.

Rafferty was disappointed, but, he reminded himself, Fairweather could still have the knowledge required to find out what he needed to know. He'd be one up on most people when it came to doing the appropriate research. So Under Secretary Simon Fairweather wasn't out of the woods yet, not by a long way. Although Llewellyn's research indicated that Fairweather had spent just under ten years working for British Petroleum as was, that only took him back to his mid-twenties or thereabouts. It was possible he had worked in – what would it be – organic chemistry? He wasn't sure. But Llewellyn's Home Office pal could certainly find out what aspects of chemistry Fairweather had studied for his degree and find out if he had worked in any other area before he joined BP and the Home Office. He just wished he'd hurry up. Although the Welshman was efficient and thorough, he could be painstakingly slow.