Love Lies Bleeding (18 page)

Abra blew several kisses and, in spite of her professed tiredness, they made a lingering farewell.

With the depressing thought that it could be several days yet before Abra was able to return home, Rafferty poured another large one and re-crossed the hall to his bedroom, only to be hit again by how much he was missing her. The flat felt like a shell of a home without her presence, the bedroom just a place to sleep. Maybe, he thought, when she returned, they'd have another go at making babies together …

Though, after their last experience in that direction, which had caused his entry into Abra's bad books, he didn't dwell on how Abra might take the suggestion.

Rafferty
rang his mother first thing the next morning to say he was coming over before work for a chat about Gloria's little problem.

‘I'll look forward to it,’ she said. ‘I'll have the kettle on ready, son. And I've got a nice bit of back bacon and some free-range eggs. They should set you up nicely,’ she said before he said he had to go and broke the connection.

Set me up for what? Rafferty wondered after he put the phone down. But he forgot the question as he showered and prepared for the day and the murder investigation that was still awaiting resolution.

Ma
said little until Rafferty had got himself outside the enormous breakfast she had cooked for him and which consisted not only of well-buttered toast on the side and the already promised back bacon and eggs, but mushrooms, black pudding, tomatoes, baked beans and sausages.

Once he'd eaten his fill, she sat back, poured a third large mug of strong, well-sugared tea and observed, ‘I thought you and Dafyd were friends.’

Rafferty did a double-take. ‘Why do you say that, Ma? We are. You know we are.’ More or less, anyway. Most of the time, he silently amended, until Dafyd starts coming over all superior.

‘Only it's wondering I've been why it is you aren't rushing up to Wales yourself to sort Gloria's little problem out.’

‘Me? But I'm in the middle of a murder investigation.’

His ma pulled a face. ‘As if they aren't ten a penny -greedy people killing one another for money, as likely as not. Friends and family are more important. There'll always be another murderer awaiting your attention. And since Dafyd Llewellyn married your cousin, his mother Gloria is friend and family both.’

‘Well yes, exactly. I know that. It's why I suggested to Abra that
you
would be a big help up there.’

‘Me? Sure and what use would I be? I could comfort Gloria, obviously. But poor Gloria needs something a bit more substantial than
comforting
right now. She needs someone to sort this out for her and make sure she's
not
charged. It's not as if I'd have any
official
standing. Unlike you. No, it would make far more sense for you to go up there and use some influence.’

Bemused, stuffed from the filling breakfast that had left his thought processes sluggish, Rafferty wondered what influence his ma thought he could possibly bring to bear amongst the Welsh force dealing with Gloria's case. It wasn't as if he knew anyone up there. ‘But—’ he began.

‘The Lord knows that it doesn't seem to have sunk in with poor Gloria that once charged and up in court the local press will probably report the case, unless something big happens that throws small events like Gloria's off the news pages.’

‘I know,’ Rafferty agreed. ‘And there's not much chance of that unless someone sets off stink bombs in that expensive new hot-air factory they've got for that Welsh Assembly or whatever they call themselves. I'd do it myself,’ he joked half-heartedly, while taking the opportunity to remind her that he was a trifle busy at the moment, ‘only, as I said, I'm a bit tied up right now with this murder case.’

Ma waved aside his murder case and his stink bombs and carried on as if he hadn't said anything.

‘That's why it's essential to make sure there
is
no court case. And you're the only one who can do that. If you set off as soon as you've finished your breakfast, you could have it all sorted out by teatime.'

Rafferty wished he shared his ma's conviction about his skills of persuasion. He'd thought he'd have little problem in persuading
her
to go to Wales, but he hadn't managed that too well …‘Anyway,’ he said, as he slurped the last of his tea, ready to head for the station and its different demands, ‘I've got to get to work. As I told you,’ he reminded her for the third time, ‘I've got this murder case and the Super, as ever, is snapping at my heels for a result. Let's just hope that if Gloria
is
featured in the local rag up there, some kind soul doesn't take the trouble to send the cutting to Dafyd.’

‘Don't say such things, Joseph. You're tempting the fates. I'm trying not to think about that possibility. Gloria's in enough of a state as it is.

‘No.’ Ma stood up, swept his empty plate and mug from under his nose and said, ‘As I told you, there's nothing for it but for you to go up there and sort it out. I'd come up with you, but the bedroom arrangements in Gloria's house being what they are, there wouldn't be room for me as well.’

Rafferty frowned. What was his ma on about now? he wondered. He knew very well that Gloria's home had three bedrooms and could accommodate his ma, himself and Abra, so why—?

His mother broke into his musing. Her next words revealed she had grudgingly permitted him a few hours' grace to get on with solving the murder.

‘All right, son. I can see this morning's no good for you. That being the case, I'll tell Gloria you'll drive up there tonight, after work. They'll be expecting you.’

‘But—’

But his ma had sailed off to the kitchen with his breakfast dishes, leaving his protest trailing in her wake.

Rafferty
tried to telephone Abra or Gloria before his mother contacted them, to tell them it was impossible for him to travel to the other side of the country just now. But he could raise neither of them. He could only hope his ma was having similar luck …

But half an hour after he reached his office, he realised when he lifted the ringing phone and found Abra at the other end that his ma must have called on all the Catholic saints to aid her. For Abra was bubbling over with relief and Rafferty knew his ma had well and truly dropped him in it. He had been set up — done up like a kipper.

‘Your ma said you're coming up,’ Abra explained, delight and relief filling her every word. ‘Oh, Joe, it's such a weight off my mind, I can't tell you.’

Put on the spot, Rafferty couldn't find it in him to disappoint her, especially when her attempted laugh turned into a relieved sob.

‘It will make all the difference your coming up here and having a professional word with the officer in charge of Gloria's case. He's called Detective Inspector Jones. I haven't managed to see him yet, but I remember Dafyd saying some time ago that there was a DI Jones at the local station here that he was great friends with. It must be the guy in charge of the case. Only, of course, Gloria refuses to say she's Dafyd's mum in case he insists on calling Dafyd. But if you were to speak to this DI Jones, face to face …’

Abra's voice faltered again at that point. After all the strain she had suffered during the previous few days, Rafferty suspected tears wouldn't be far behind. And he knew that, whatever else he did, he couldn't fail her a second time, not after he'd failed her so miserably over their lost baby earlier in the year.

‘Sweetheart. Don't cry,’ he begged. ‘As Ma told you, I'm coming up.’

God help me, he thought, because I don't know how I'm going to manage it — or square it with Llewellyn without revealing the real reason for this sudden trip.

‘Only it won't be till tonight as I'll have to organise a few things on the murder front. And it'll have to be a flying visit,’ he warned her.

‘That's OK. Hopefully, a flying visit will be all that's needed.’ Her voice lowered, lovingly. ‘Thanks for this, Joe. I know it's difficult for you. You're a darling, you know that?’

Rafferty agreed that he was a darling.

‘Gloria will be so relieved and delighted when I tell her.’

After chatting a while more Abra said she supposed she had better let him get on with the murder case he was about to temporarily abandon.

‘OK, love. Anyway, I expect to get there sometime in the wee small hours.’

’I'll leave the key under the flower tub to the left of the front door,’ Abra told him before they made a second lingering goodbye.

Rafferty was left with the conundrum of wondering what Llewellyn was going to say when he explained that although they were in the middle of a murder inquiry, he had to make a little overnight visit on a private, family matter. Somehow, Rafferty doubted that his sergeant was likely to echo Abra's cries of delight …

‘The late Mr
Raine seems to have gone in for some unorthodox practices,’ Llewellyn reported later that morning while a bemused Rafferty was still trying to figure out not only how he'd been bamboozled into making a flying trip to Wales, but also how he was going to explain his absence to Llewellyn. He just hoped Superintendent Bradley didn't get to hear of it …

Llewellyn had been out, on Rafferty's instructions, to look more deeply into Raymond Raine's character and doings. Rafferty roused himself from thinking about Abra, Gloria, his ma's organising capabilities and the best route from one side of the country to the other when there was no direct motorway route, to pay attention. ‘Go on,’ he encouraged.

‘And the unorthodox behaviour he went in for wasn't solely confined to the world of business.’

‘So, what are we talking about here? More cuckolds like Peter Dunbar?’

Llewellyn nodded. ‘I'm certain of several. It seems the late Mr Raine felt it his duty to cut a Casanova swathe through his firm's female workforce. At the last count, as I understand it, he'd paid for three abortions and two discreet transfers of cash.’

Rafferty whistled.

‘Though, in fairness to him, these events seem to have transpired before he married Felicity.’

‘That's all right, then. So how did you manage to unearth these titbits? You haven't taken to getting all dragged up and listening to gossip in Raines's ladies' loo, by any chance?’

Llewellyn raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that your usual procedure, sir?’ he quietly enquired. ‘I suppose, unlike your Catholic upbringing, my Methodist childhood didn't equip me for high-camp apparel, though even I have to agree the male priests in the Catholic Church do wear some fabulous frocks. Quite where the embrace of poverty enters the plot, however, has always eluded me.’

‘Me and all,’ Rafferty muttered.

‘That aside, I simply used good detective work to acquire my answers.’

‘OK, Dafyd. You've done well. He certainly sounds to have been a bit of a lad, our late Raymondo.’

‘A bit of a
beast
would be more accurate in my book.’ A glimmer of — something — shimmered in Llewellyn's eye. ‘He really did seem the kind of man to use other people as commodities.’

‘Makes you understand why Felicity topped him. If top him she did.’

‘No,’ Llewellyn immediately contradicted. ‘I wouldn't go that far. If she objected to his behaviour, she had the option of divorcing him as she had her first husband. Although divorce is not something—’ Llewellyn stopped himself mid-sentence and finished simply, ‘There's never an excuse for murder.’

‘Never’ was too strong a word in Rafferty's lexicon. He could think of one or two people who — from his point of view, at least — would be greatly improved if they were held coffin-fast for all eternity. The Super for inst—

He cut the thought short. He had no time for indulging in private fantasies right now. ‘Anyway, as I said, you've done well, Dafyd. You'll have done even better if you've managed to put names to the numbers of not-to-be mothers and the other ladies he paid off.’

‘I got those, certainly. I have never subscribed to the view that doing half a job is sufficient.’

There was something about Llewellyn's body language as he handed over his list of names and addresses that convinced Rafferty that what he next confided wouldn't be to his liking.

He was right, as he learned after Llewellyn responded to his invitation to ‘Go on, then. I can see you've got some other juicy morsel you're just dying to tell me all about. So let's have it.’ He guessed it would be something about Felicity Raine. I'm such a good guesser, I should go on one of those game shows on the telly and win a fortune, Rafferty thought less than a minute later, after Llewellyn quietly acknowledged there
was
something else and proceeded to share it.

‘It seems to be common knowledge — at least amongst the more senior members of staff at Raines — that Mr Raine hadn't acted entirely honourably when he persuaded Felicity to leave her first husband for him.’

‘Is there ever anything honourable about running away with another man's wife?’ Rafferty enquired.

‘No. Obviously not. But it wasn't that aspect to which I was referring.’

‘Well, go on, then. Spit it out. What did he do? Organise some white slavers to kidnap her from her husband's bed? If that's what's doing the gossip rounds amongst the Raines’ old family retainers, it's not how Felicity tells it. She admits she was at fault.’

Rafferty's Welsh retainer began to get uppity. ‘Do you wish to hear what I've learned, or not? Sir?’

‘Oh, don't go all stiff-necked on me, Dafyd. If the wind remains in this direction, you'll stay like it. Just tell me.’

‘Very well. But you'll have to understand that nothing was said outright. It was all hints and subtlety.’

‘I'm sure you can translate for those of us who don't do subtle.’

Llewellyn's lips thinned at this, but apart from sighing faintly, he gave no other indication that his DI was getting seriously up his nose.

‘As I said, it seems that Mrs Raine married her late husband without being made privy to the fact that Mr Raine didn't actually
own
shares in the family firm. As we know, Jonas Singleton told us that Raymond Raine would only inherit his — admittedly major share — if — when — he produced issue So if one of the male principals named under the trust terms, the two cousins Raymond and Mike Raine, failed to have children, the family firm would revert to the cousin who
did
perform his familial duty. And as the late Mr Raine is—’