Dying For You (21 page)

Caroline became more defensive as the interview progressed as if the latter was indeed what she feared. She veiled her deceit with excuses. ‘You must appreciate I have a business to run. At least I did, before–’ She faltered for a moment and leaned toward the fire as if suddenly needing the solace of its heat to warm away the fear her business might never recover from the double blow it had received.

Although Rafferty sympathised, it wasn't as if she would be destitute should her business collapse. She had a wealthy husband who was well able to support her. And although Caroline might not have checked her members out, Rafferty had. They had failed to find any convicted violent criminals, though that might be because, if there were such criminals among the agency's members, like Rafferty, they had signed up under names other than their own. But at least the suspects still in the running, although not Persil-white, were mostly without a significant stain on their characters if minor drug busts and occasional drunken violence were discounted. Ralph Dryden had sailed stormy pecuniary waters several times, but always managed to reach the safe harbour of financial probity, though not without the Fraud Squad investigating his business methods. And Lance Bliss, like any successful doctor dealing with rich or neurotic females, had had several complaints of sexual malpractice lodged against him, none of which had held up.

Rory Gifford, though, was more interesting. He seemed to prefer diving in murkier streams. Though he was now the owner of a successful independent production company he had delved deeply in more seamy waters a few years earlier and still liked to make violent porn videos which dealt in images as violent as those captured by the police photographer. The moody, deep, bohemian image he cultivated wasn't merely a thing of surface show; he was deep and dark underneath as well. It made Rafferty wonder whether his taciturn behaviour had been for a very good reason, the very best reason of all; he had something to hide.

As if aware she had betrayed some culpability earlier, Caroline straightened and went back to defending her position. ‘Potential clients won't wait for weeks for us to receive an answer as to their suitability. Besides,’ she told them, ‘we always warn our members to take sensible precautions. One of the reasons we hold our ‘Getting-To-Know-You’ parties mostly in our own home is so we can watch over our newer members.’

Although Rafferty didn't remind her that such ‘watching-over’ had done little to protect Jenny or Estelle, Caroline caught herself up and glanced at Guy as if seeking his support.

Guy supplied it readily enough. ‘Caroline's right, Inspector. We really do as much as we can to protect our members. Our parties are always held in an enclosed setting, either here or somewhere with good security, like the annexe at The Elmhurst. I don't know what more we can do. We even give new members a list of sensible rules to follow.’

This was certainly the truth, as Rafferty's ‘Nigel’ had received a set of rules along with the map and invitations.

‘But as my wife said, our members are all adults, successful, capable adults at that, rather than gullible teenagers. Educated professionals can be expected to have the sense to safeguard themselves, don't you think?’

Again, Rafferty forbore from the reminder that Jenny and Estelle had both failed in this regard. Instead, he pointed out, ‘But even educated professionals can be vulnerable through loneliness.’ And as Rafferty reminded himself, even though he was a trained copper his state of mind had enabled the killer to make of him yet another victim. ‘For committed psychopaths, there is no protection you can put in place that is going to be one hundred per cent effective. These people will always find their victims. That's the reason I requested access to all your members’ details.’

He had put a faint stress on the all, but if Caroline had kept some details back she didn't betray herself. Instead, surprisingly, she looked a little mollified as if she thought his admission that no protection could be totally effective had given her a get out clause.

Having abandoned caution, Rafferty decided he might as well pose another question. ‘Who decided the cars should be parked to the side of the house rather than in front of it?’

Caroline shrugged. ‘Oh that's down to Guy, isn't it darling?’

Guy broke in with a smile of rueful charm. ‘I'm no doubt guilty of the deadly sin of pride, but I love this house, and when Caroline asked if some of the parties might be held here I insisted the guests park to the side. My wife may not love this house as I do, but I've always considered the front of the house imposing and dislike an array of cars breaking it up. Once through the hedge and parked up, they can't be seen from the drive.’

Convenient for the murderer; thought Rafferty. He would know exactly where to find Jenny when she went to drive home.

‘Our friends are expected to obey the rule, too.’ Caroline gave a tinkling laugh. ‘Of course, they all know Guy's little idiosyncrasy.’

Her laugh made her seem less like Miss Robson, Rafferty's severe old religious teacher and made her rather plain face almost pretty. For the first time, he was able to understand what the urbane Guy Cranston had seen in her. Rafferty asked, ‘Is it only getting-to-know-you parties that are held here?’

‘No,’ Caroline told him. ‘We hold more intimate parties also for our long-standing members, many of whom have become friends. Though some, like most of our newer members, are sensitive about the fact they make use of our services and don't want it becoming widely known.’

Rafferty nodded again. It was a sensitivity he shared. Anxiety that his shame would be discovered had been another reason to sign up under a name other than his own. The world at large – and Rafferty himself, he admitted – felt that only the sad and desperate signed up with dating agencies. The wags at the station would never let him forget it if it got out.

‘My sergeant phoned the manager of The Elmhurst after Mr Farnell told us there had been a mix-up about the venue of the first party and he confirmed the mix-up. I gather you and Mr Farnell were both late arriving at the first party?’

Caroline nodded. ‘One of Isobel's muddles, I'm afraid. I was annoyed at the time, though I blame myself for not checking. It looks so unprofessional to arrive late. When I spoke to her about it afterwards Isobel made no attempt to apologise and continued to deny the error had been her fault.’ Caroline sighed. ‘If only such muddles were her only drawback, but the way she dresses at the parties is another problem and gives totally the wrong impression.’ She turned to her husband, ‘Really, Guy, I know you took her on as a favour to her mother, but I think Isobel's going to have to go.’

Guy replied blandly, ‘If you think so, darling. I'll have a word with her.’

Guy seemed to capitulate all too easily. But when Rafferty remembered Lance Bliss's comments about Isobel's pursuit of Guy, it was less surprising; like many men Guy seemed happy for his wife to ease him out of a difficult situation.

‘It was only by chance that I didn't head off for The Elmhurst myself,’ Guy told them. ‘I would have done, but Miss Warburton arrived just before I set out, so saved me a needless trip into town. Though, as Caroline says, by now we should all be aware of Isobel's little foibles and take the trouble to check the venue as she has something of a track record in that area.’

‘Still, it must have been awkward supplying drinks and so on for such a throng with no warning?’

‘That's not a problem,’ Guy said. ‘We hold so many parties here that we're always well-stocked. We buy the stuff by the vanload. I have a sub-office in Calais and drive there a lot for business. I'll park the van up, and get taxis to and from my various business meetings. Then I stock up with lots of lovely cheap booze at the hypermarket. We have three of those enormous American fridges in the garage absolutely full of the stuff. And as we only serve nibbles at these affairs it's simply a matter of opening packets and emptying them into bowls.’

Rafferty remembered thinking it a pity so much booze was supplied but only nibbles were provided to soak it up. But perhaps that was done intentionally to loosen-up shy, newer members? It had certainly worked a treat for him at the second party.

Caroline and Guy Cranston were amongst those whose alibis hadn't been substantiated by a third party. Rafferty questioned them about it.

Caroline told them she and her husband had been together at the relevant times, having retreated to their study at the first party and to the room they kept on a permanent booking at The Elmhurst's annexe during the second.

‘With Guy away so frequently I'm forced to snatch opportunities to update him on agency business. It never takes much more than half-an-hour, but for obvious reasons, when the updating occurs during party nights we have to wait till the party's got going as we can hardly be seen to abandon our clients to look after themselves early in the proceedings. You'd be surprised how much encouragement some of them need, for all they're meant to be confident professionals.’ She frowned. ‘But you already know all this.’

As if sensing that Caroline might be about to lose her temper at being forced to repeat herself, Guy volunteered some information. ‘I spend so much of my time away on business that when I am here I prefer to be able to stay home. That's one reason why I agreed to the agency parties being held here.’

Guy smiled briefly. It was a smile of singular charm and Rafferty found himself warming to the man.

Caroline said, ‘Guy hasn't time to take much part in the day-to-day running of the agency. He's more of a sleeping partner, so it's good of him to allow his home to be invaded by the agency members when our evenings together are so precious. In fact, it was our wedding anniversary the night of The Elmhurst party. I baked a cake.’

Rafferty remembered it. The cake had been sliced and handed round with some ceremony, like a talisman to marital love. It had been good PR. Shame the cake had been too rich for his taste, though it had provided a much-needed lining to his stomach.

‘I'm a lucky man, Inspector.’ Guy put his arm round Caroline and smiled down at her. ‘Most wives expect to be taken out on their anniversary; but not Caro. She knows how many evenings I have to eat restaurant or hotel meals entertaining clients so a home baked cake is a rare treat, even if it does have to be eaten at the annexe of yet another expensive hotel,’ he added with a laugh.

‘I have so few opportunities to spoil my husband.’ Caroline confided, ‘so it's a rare privilege when I'm able to.’

After learning of the semi-detached nature of their marriage Rafferty didn't doubt it. In spite or perhaps because of his lovelorn state, Rafferty found this marital mutual appreciation society no more to his taste that the anniversary cake. To conceal this, he asked Guy about his work.

‘I'm an importer, Inspector, mostly from the Middle East, Africa, India; carpets, carved idols, all sorts of exotic merchandise. It's interesting work, but the travelling can be wearisome. Of course, I make use of agents in the countries I import from and the internet is a Godsend, but I still like to check out new lines personally. It gives a good living so I mustn't complain.’

‘There's just one more question before we leave you in peace.’ Rafferty rose. ‘I understand that neither yourselves nor either of the full-time staff recall signing Jenny Warburton up as a member.’

‘That's right,’ Caroline told them. ‘As I said to your sergeant, the computer entry was made by Emma Hartley, our part-time member of staff.’

‘We can find no trace of Miss Warburton actually paying the joining fee. Have you any idea how that might have happened?’

Caroline said, ‘Emma was in rather a bad mood on the day the computer shows Miss Warburton signing up. My fault, I'm afraid. It was Isobel's afternoon off and I'd asked Emma to work a little later than she normally would. She got in a bit of a temper about it. I imagine she overlooked the payment in her rush to get the paperwork done so she could go away on holiday.’

‘I would like to see the relevant paperwork. I understand each new member has to fill out a form listing their personal details?’

‘That's right. I imagine the original is locked in Emma's desk. I asked her son to hunt for his mother's office keys, but he was unable to find them. I suppose you could force it open, though it would be a pity as it was an expensive desk.’

‘I doubt that will be necessary. I'll arrange for a locksmith to call in.’ He paused. ‘I understand this part-timer, Mrs Hartley is not presently contactable?’

‘I'm afraid not. She and her husband are touring the continent, staying wherever the fancy takes them. I did try to get in touch with her, but when I rang her home her son said she had left in such a rush she forgot to take her mobile.’

‘If you could let me have Mrs Hartley's home number,’ Rafferty said. ‘I'll speak to her son myself. Hopefully, he'll have some sort of itinerary for her, no matter how rough. I would like to speak to her as soon as possible.’

After Caroline searched in her briefcase, found her address book and gave them the details Rafferty made for the door. ‘Oh and you will check that you've let us have all your members’ details, won't you?’

This time, the faint suggestion that she might have been remiss about this made Caroline's lips thin. But her, ‘Of course,’ made him think he might have been wrong to suspect any such concealment. He thanked them and said as he opened the drawing room door, ‘That's all for now.’

As Guy stood up to see them out, Rafferty recalled the cleaning lady who had cycled through the Cranstons’ entrance gates as he arrived at the first party. If she regularly worked so late she must have encountered some of the party guests. By now, all too conscious that such a Nigel-knowledge question must be worded circumspectly, he said, ‘This is a big house. Do you employ staff of any sort?’