Kith and Kill (6 page)

‘You're right.’ Rafferty got in the car. ‘I know I shouldn't run ahead with my theories. It's just my dancing, Irish imagination. It does a jig on the slightest pretext.’

‘Maybe a stately waltz would be more appropriate. At least until we have further evidence.’

‘You're right again. Don't you ever get fed up of it?’

‘Of what?’

‘Of being right all the time.’

Llewellyn strapped his seatbelt on with a snap and tightened it. ‘I work to logical surmises. Such a basis is more likely to give a higher percentage of accurate guesses than your more intuitive leaps.’

‘Mmm. You're right again, you bugger.’ Rafferty started the engine and made it growl. ‘But I'd say I win out in the end when it comes to solving the cases we get. So intuitive leaps win out every time over pedantic logic. Your serve.’

The
family were waiting for them back at the house and – judging from their expressions - not in the best of tempers at being kept waiting so long. Father Kelly was ensconced among then, next to the warm Aga, with a large mug of tea in one hand and Alice Pickford's less than dainty paw in the other. He patted her hand every so often in an absent-minded manner as he sipped his tea. He glanced up at Rafferty's eruption into the kitchen. ‘Ah, so you're back, young Rafferty. I was just talking about you. I was telling this dear lady’ – Alice Pickford's hand got another, more solid pat – ‘that you're smarter than you look. So don't be making a liar out of me.’

‘No, Father,’ Rafferty said obediently. He was always obedient to Father Kelly's strictures. He found it saved time. Though he could do without running the case with the priest peering over his shoulder like some disapproving, earthy, St Peter.

‘Why have you kept us imprisoned in this uncomfortable kitchen for hours and even had us accompanied on trips to the bathroom?’ Adam Chambers demanded. Or it could have been Eric. Rafferty had yet to learn to tell them apart. ‘There's Dahlia Sullivan lording it in the drawing room according to your young constable, when she should be getting our lunch and–’

Rafferty held up his hands. ‘I'm sorry, sir. But we had urgent things to do. We're back now and can make a proper start.’

‘What ‘important things’ have you had to do that are more important than finding out who killed my poor mother?’ asked Penelope Chambers, her previous submissive air quite gone for the moment.

Rafferty saw no reason not to tell them. ‘I've been speaking with the family solicitor, Mr Selby. I wanted to find out who benefitted from Mrs Egerton's death.’

That silenced them. They sat around the kitchen table as still as if they were playing the childhood game of statues, scared to move in case they were noticed, though Mr Sullivan no longer leaned against the back door. He must have returned to his duties in the grounds.

The silence didn't last long. Again, it was Adam – or Eric–who took up the cudgels. ‘And what did Mr Selby tell you?’

‘As to that, I'm afraid you'll have to wait till Mr Selby arrives. He said something about coming along later this afternoon to read the will.’

‘The old duffer should be here now.’ Adam again. Or–

‘I imagine he thought you'd had enough shocks for one day, sir.’

Adam stared suspiciously at him. ‘Shocks? You mean Grannie really did leave her money to the Cats’ Home, as she threatened?’

‘Is that what she said?’ Whichever twin it was, scowled at his unwise revelation. ‘Oh, no, sir. You can rest easy on that score. There was no mention of moggies of any sort.’

The other twin intervened. ‘Selby should have told us the contents of the will before he told you. After all, we are The Family.’

From the way he said it, he made it sound as if they were minor royalty with an over-estimation of their own importance in the pecking order, rather than mere dressmakers.

‘Murder takes precedence over everything, sir. Which means that
I
do.’ Before Eric could find something else to complain about, Rafferty said, ‘Now, I believe you were anxious to get these interviews over with? So maybe we ought to make a start.’ His gaze settled on Adam. ‘Perhaps we could begin with you, sir, as you're so anxious to be freed from your ‘imprisonment?’

Strangely, Adam's expressed desire seemed to wane and he settled himself more firmly in his chair. ‘Surely, you should do this in order of seniority? That would mean you need to speak to my great-aunt first.’

‘Oh no, sir,’ said Rafferty, ‘I told you all earlier that I don't have any prejudicial preferences. Not allowed in the modern day police service.’ And he'd been to enough race-relations and multicultural and lesbian and gay awareness weeks, to state this with confidence. ‘So, if you'd like to come with me to the study?’

Adam – or Eric – must have seen it was useless to make any other objections, for he rose from his chair and came towards Rafferty with the air of a man going to his doom.

Adam
– it
was
Adam – Rafferty checked, seemed astonished when Rafferty told him that his grandmother had bequeathed her majority shareholding in the family fashion firm to him. But then theatrics did run in the family, Who was to know whether his grandmother had already told him and he was acting the innocent?

Still, Rafferty questioned him about it. ‘You seem surprised, sir. Didn't you expect your grandmother to leave you such a responsibility?’

‘No. Not really. I suppose she left the bulk of the business to me because I'm her favourite.’

‘I understood that Mrs Egerton was quite an astute businesswoman. Would she let favouritism rule over pragmatism? Did she believe you were capable of taking on such a burden?’

‘Grannie knew my capabilities all right.’ Adam's voice was cool. ‘She must have thought she could trust me. After all, as you said, she was an astute woman, even taking her great age into account.’

‘You brother will be disappointed. And your mother. Did Mrs Chambers have no interest in the business?’

‘Mother? Not really. Oh, she dabbled a bit when grandmother cracked the whip. But you might have noticed that fashion isn't really mum's thing. Not like grannie. There was a woman who knew how to dress.’ For the first time enthusiasm entered Adam's voice. ‘I've seen pictures of her from when she was young. I must show you them. Evening dresses to die for and–’

Adam stopped abruptly and just added. ‘Grannie had style and knew what suited her. Not many women share such traits. When I see some of the clothing combinations walking down the High Street…’ A gentle shudder went through him.

Rafferty was amused that a man should be so sensitive to the vagaries of women's attire. But then, he did work for a fashion company. He supposed it must make a difference. Unless he was queer, of course. That would also explain it. Rafferty found himself wondering what Sophia Egerton would have thought of that. She had been brought up in the age when homosexuality was a criminal offence. There again, the theatre was awash with effeminate types, so maybe she wouldn't have batted an eyelid at the discovery of her favourite grandson's sexual preferences. It would certainly explain why he had reached the age of thirty without ever marrying. Rafferty wondered if that had been a bone of contention with grannie. He decided to explore this possibility, and asked mildly, ‘You never married?’

‘No.’

The answer was so short as not to invite further questioning. But that had never deterred Rafferty. ‘Never met the right girl?’

Adam parried. ‘More a case of being married to my work.’

‘Did that not disappoint your grandmother?’

‘No. Not much, anyway, Both my brother and my sister, Caroline have married. Both got divorced a short time after. I thought it more wise to wait rather than make a mistake.’

‘Are there any great-grandchildren in the family yet?’

‘No.’

Another short answer. ‘Your grandmother must have been disappointed at that. Most old ladies like someone to dandle on their knee.’

‘Grannie was always more interested in the business. I suppose she would have liked great-grandchildren, but she didn't make a thing of it.’

No giving much away there. Maybe the rest of the family would be more forthcoming.

‘Now, about your grandmother's death. What time did you see her last?’

‘I've been thinking about that. It must have been around ten o'clock. I was in the dining room finishing the last of the prawn canapés and I saw her go upstairs. I went out into the hall to say good night.’

‘And were the rest of the family still there?’

‘Oh yes. All of them were there, looking glum. Really, it wasn't much of a party. Grannie's lost it a bit in the last few years. She really used to know how to throw a party.’ Like a petulant child, he pulled a face, then, as if remembering he was an adult, added, ‘Of course, she didn't organize this one. Didn't even want me and Eric to organize it nor to invite any of her friends, though, of course, they're all past it as well. So, Inspector, we're still all in the frame, as you policemen say. I wish you joy in proving which of us killed grannie. But I can assure you it wasn't me and I defy you to prove it was.’

‘Smug
little git,’ was Rafferty's comment as soon as the study door has closed behind Adam.

‘He's right, though.’

‘Another one who's right. Lord save me.’ Rafferty sighed. ‘Of course, he knows damn well there's likely to be precious little proof one way or the other if the family stick together.’ Rafferty, feeling rebellious and out of sorts, said, ‘Reckon he is queer?’

‘That's a forbidden word, I think you'll find. Political correctness deems–’

‘Queer. Gay. Homo. What difference is there? They all mean the same thing.’

Llewellyn gave a little moue of distaste. ‘It wouldn't be advisable to let the superintendent hear you use such terms.’

‘Oh, he was as likely to call a spade a bloody shovel as me, before these political correct johnnies got so much power. It'll be compulsory to be queer next and then where will the human race be? I for one intend to do my share of procreating, as the bible says.’

‘I thought you had let your membership of the Catholic faith lapse, sir?’

‘Back to the “sirring”, now, are we? And yes, to answer your question, I have let my Catholicism lapse. Doesn't mean to say I can't adhere to its tenets. One of them, anyway.’

‘Mmm. Might I say that, like Mr Adam Chambers, you're taking rather a long time about it?’

Rafferty laughed. He had just had the first of those the wrong side of forty birthdays. ‘I know. Why do you think me and Abra are at it like rabbits? Oops. Is talking about rabbits as if they're shamefully promiscuous also
verboten
now?’

‘As for me, no. Though you might have the Animal Rights people after you.’

‘I'll risk it. Right. I suppose we'd better have the next one in.’

‘Who would you like?’

‘Oh, I don't know. Take your pick. Do eeny, meany, miny mo, if you like. Oh, I forgot. That's
verboten, too
l. I'm doing well. I haven't uttered words offensive to the aged, the physically handicapped or wimmin yet. Must be losing my touch. I won't be able to open my mouth at all soon.’

‘Perhaps a little thinking prior to the opening…?’

‘I'll think about it.’

Rafferty sat back after Llewellyn left the room. He wasn't against gays, or blacks or anyone, really. He just liked to wind Llewellyn up. It gave a bit of light relief to the day. And, after all, a policeman's lot was not a happy one. Certainly not in his case. Not with his family. He wondered what particular questionable purchase his ma was buying today. He wondered which of his many cousins was doing something they shouldn't. He uttered the daily prayer that, whatever they were up to, it didn't impinge on his career or its prospects. Such as they were, with Long Pockets Bradley for a superintendent.

Llewellyn,
in spite of the warning against prejudices that he had just given Rafferty, and like the perfect gentleman that he was, ushered the most senior member of the family in next. Miss Alice Pickford might be Sophia Egerton's younger sister, but she didn't look it. She was plain and dumpy, with short, straggly grey hair and a weather-beaten complexion in which it was impossible to separate the wrinkles. She dressed in dowdy comfort in baggy greys and browns, on her feet a pair of well-worn slippers with a pink fluffy edging. She walked slowly across the room as if to emphasis her great age – eighty-seven – and to inspire in Rafferty the desire to go gently with her. Llewellyn, following on behind in her doddery wake, settled her in a chair.

Rafferty smiled at her. ‘I'm sorry for your loss, Miss Pickford. Sorry your sister wasn't allowed to live out her life's span.’

‘Oh, she'd lived long enough, Inspector. Ninety's a great age. Shame she missed the telegram from the Queen for her hundredth, though. She'd have liked that.’

‘I understand you were at home all last evening with your sister and the rest of the family?’

‘Yes. Seldom go out in the evenings now. Too many ruffians about. They'd rob an old lady like me soon as not. Never take much money out with me just to spite them.’

‘Did Mrs Egerton tell you she was leaving you some money in her will?’

‘Of course she did. She knew it doesn't do to be made to wait for things at my age. As she's discovered, one can't count on tomorrow. Told me how much it would be, too. Eighty thousand pounds. Should see me out. I'm to live here, too. She promised me that. Wouldn't see me thrown out on the street, wouldn't Sophia, I'll give her that.’