The Hanging Tree (9 page)

'We've also got another angle.' He told her about the 'outing' letter
Smith had been sent. 'Probably from a bunch of local feminists, but we've yet
to look into that.'

Her interest was piqued when he told her that. Thankfully, she offered
no more taunts, intended or otherwise, answering the rest of his questions
without another clash. But, as he had expected, he learned nothing new and he
stood up to go. 'If you remember anything else that might help, anything at
all, we'd be grateful.'

'Of course.' Her gaze was steady, unblinking, but Rafferty felt he could
read a message in the grey depths. It was the same as the one that Mrs
ffinch-Robinson had less-subtly passed — you'll need all the help you can get. With
a brief nod, he made ungraciously for the door, leaving Llewellyn to observe
the civilities.

As Llewellyn climbed into the car beside him, he placed a couple of
tickets in Rafferty's lap. 'Ms Probyn gave me these for a performance of The
Scottish play she's been acting in for the last week, but I think your need is
greater than mine. It might help you to see another side of her.'

'I've seen more than enough sides of her already, thanks.' Still, he
took the tickets and stuffed them in his pocket. 'Took the wind out of her
sails this time, at least. You could see she hated being questioned about the
Smith case. I wonder how she really feels about it?'

He gave a cautious glance at Llewellyn before venturing a further
comment. 'I know she could be said to have less reason to hold a grudge than
Stubbs, Thompson or the victims and their families, but it did come right at
the beginning of her career.' Ignoring Llewellyn's sceptical silence, he added,
'Maybe a person's first case, like the first love, stays in the memory.'

Llewellyn threw him a pitying look and Rafferty admitted, 'All right,
maybe I'm indulging in a bout of wishful thinking. I agree the Smith case
taught her a valuable lesson and could be said to have acted as a springboard
to success, but—'

'Quite.'

 'But,' Rafferty repeated determinedly, ignoring Llewellyn's tart
rejoinder, 'You must admit she seemed pretty ill-at-ease to be discussing the
matter.'

'I did notice. But then,' Llewellyn dryly added, 'so would I be in her
position, if you were the one doing the questioning. You really must be the
proverbial red rag to a bull as far as Ms Probyn's concerned.' He started the
car. 'Lucky for you she's tethered by such admirable self-control.'

Rafferty subsided, muttering, 'Leave a bloke his fantasies, at least. They're
all that keeps me warm these cold nights.' Especially the one where he banged
her up in a cell for the night with a couple of the more downmarket toms for
company. He bet that would make her lose that cool, legal manner that got up
his nose so much.

As though determined to make Rafferty admit that there was another side
to Elizabeth Probyn, as he waited in the driveway for a break in the traffic –
always a long-winded business with Llewellyn — the Welshman commented, 'Did you
notice that wonderful piano?'

Rafferty refused to be drawn. 'You mean that big polished brown thing by
the window? No. Can't say I did.'

'It was a Steinway, that's all. Beautiful thing. The Rolls Royce of
pianos.'

'Only the best for Ms Probyn. What did you expect her to have? An out of
tune, second-hand job, with yellow keys and wonky pedals?'

 The image put him in mind of his own youth and, softer-voiced, he added,
'Funny, you rarely see one now, but everyone used to have a piano when I was a
kid. We even had one. God knows why, as none of us could play it, though my old
man used to do a bit of a turn on his fiddle when he was merry.' He sighed. 'Happy
days. Simpler, kinder too, in many ways. We all used to play out till all
hours, especially in the summer holidays. Who would let their kids do that now?
Everyone used to be able to leave their front door-key hanging from a length of
string behind the letterbox. Try doing that now. You'd think prosecutors like
Elizabeth Probyn would have a bit more sympathy with the public's anxieties.'

Wisely, Llewellyn said nothing and, now that the road was clear for well
over a hundred yards in either direction, he pulled out and turned in the
direction of the refuge and Mrs Nye.

Fortunately Mrs Nye was a woman unlikely to set Rafferty's teeth on edge.
He had always found her sympathetic, understanding and willing to help. He
hoped this occasion wouldn't prove an exception. She was a widow, well-set up
financially, with time on her hands, and she used her money and her time in a
variety of benevolent works.

She welcomed them in her usual friendly manner and led them to her
office. 'How can I help you, Inspector?' she asked as they all sat down.

As the women he thought the most likely senders of the 'outing' letter
were colleagues of Mrs Nye, Rafferty eased gradually around to the reason for
their visit. 'We're investigating the murder of Maurice Smith,' he told her. 'I
imagine you've read about the case?'

She nodded and clasped her hands firmly together, resting them on the
cheap deal table she used as a desk. 'Forgive me for being blunt, but I don't
see how I can help you. The women who come here are victims of violence not its
perpetrators.'

Rafferty paused before he answered. He admired Mrs Nye, respected her. He
didn't want to antagonise her. He hadn't wanted to antagonise Elizabeth Probyn,
either, he wryly reflected, but he had still managed it. He reminded himself
that Mrs Nye was not Elizabeth Probyn. Often, in the past, her persuasion had
convinced a rape victim to make a statement, submit to a medical examination,
and thus help the police get a conviction. He wanted her on his side. She was
educated, fair-minded and most of all, she believed in justice. He appealed to
that last trait now.

'It wasn't actually the women of the refuge we wanted to speak to you
about.' She raised an enquiring eyebrow and he continued with the point she had
herself raised. 'You know, in many ways I think it's fair to say that Maurice
Smith was also a victim – of his upbringing. Apart from being physically
unprepossessing, he came from a broken home, had an inadequate mother, a
bullying step-father, little love of any description according to his police
record. Is it any wonder he became what he did?'

Rafferty had expressed his views on criminal matters often enough to
feel like a hypocrite as he voiced their opposite. But it was true that Maurice
Smith had had little enough going for him. One of the 'underclass' politicians
had taken to spouting about in recent years, Smith had undoubtedly been a
victim of sorts. Thankfully, Mrs Nye was too polite to point out his
volte-face. She pointed out something else, instead.

'But he still had a choice, Inspector. To rape — or not to rape. Oh, I
know the case was thrown out of court, but even his own family – if the papers
are to be believed – were quick to disown him as if they, too, believed he was
guilty. I'm not condoning his murder. Like you, I believe in the rule of law.'

Rafferty shifted guiltily in his chair and wished his own belief in the
law was as firm now as it had been twenty, even fifteen years earlier.

'If there's any way I can help you catch his killer, I'll do it gladly.'

Rafferty was relieved she had made the offer. It made it easier for him
to broach the subject. 'As you know, there have recently been a spate of rapist
or suspected rapist ‘outing' cases in various areas of the country.' She
nodded. 'We've had one or two locally. Maurice Smith was a victim.' He watched
her. She didn't seem surprised at the news.

'”Outing” a rapist is a long way from killing him, Inspector.'

Rafferty nodded. He dug in his pocket and laid a photo-copy of the
letter Smith had received on the table. 'You said you wanted to help us catch
Smith's killer. Quite possibly the people who sent him this had nothing to do
with his murder, but I'm sure you appreciate that they need to be questioned. If
you suspect any of your Rape Support Group members might have anything to do
with 'outing' threats, I hope you'd tell us.'

Mrs Nye's expression was unhappy. 'Even if this,' she tapped a
fingernail on the letter, 'has any connection with my members, it's a long way
from murder,' she repeated. '”Outing”, as I understand it, is to alert
residents to potential dangers, to deter the rapist himself from further rape
and hopefully, encourage him to seek help.'

'And is it not also to terrorise him a little?' Rafferty added softly. 'To
give him a taste of what it feels to be a victim?'

'I'm sure the motives are mixed.' She handed back the photo-copy. 'The
people who carry out such acts are misguided, of course, but understandably so
in view of the many lenient sentences handed out by the courts. I don't agree
with such actions, but many people do.'

Rafferty felt she was getting away from him, was losing her sympathy and
was about to insist she give him some names, some indication if she suspected
the involvement of any of her members, when from beside him, Llewellyn intoned
softly, '"For evil to triumph, all it takes is for good men to do
nothing".'

There was a long pause, then Mrs Nye said, 'Point taken, Sergeant.' Firmly,
she added, 'Firstly, I have to say that I don't know anything – not for
certain, but I'll tell you who I suspect.' She paused again. 'Three members
broke away from my group several weeks ago, and I'm ashamed to say that these
three did push for an official 'outing' policy. I believe they had gained the
secret support and confidence of several disgruntled policemen in the area, so
they had no difficulty in learning of the whereabouts of such men as Smith. They
left to form their own group when I told them that, with or without the
connivance of maverick policemen, I couldn't condone them breaking the law.'

Mrs Nye must have noticed their quickly exchanged glances at this, for
before Rafferty could ask her, she added dryly, 'Oh, I don't know the names of
the officers concerned. If I did, I'd give them to you. I approve of policemen
taking the law into their own hands even less than I do of anyone else doing
so.'

Because policemen usually had the necessary knowledge to get away with
it, Rafferty guessed she meant.             That was another area of concern
for him in this case; the possibility that Smith had been murdered by a copper
gone wrong. Because, if a professional, experienced copper like Stubbs had
killed Smith, he stood a good chance of getting away with it. It was
disconcerting that the thought didn't trouble him more.

Although one half of his troublesome Libran personality pulled him
towards the underdog, which was undoubtedly what Smith was, the other half had
an even stronger pull towards natural justice – in whatever guise it appeared. Between
the two viewpoints, the policeman element came a poor third. God help him and
his career, if Superintendent Bradley ever suspected it, for Bradley's zeal for
convictions was nearly as strong as his interest in policing on the cheap.

Unfortunately, the information Mrs Nye gave them was not conclusive. Although
she had confirmed that her ex-colleagues had pushed for an official
"outing" policy, she had no proof that they had actually gone ahead
with it on their own. But she had given him their names, and at least Rafferty
now had evidence of intention with which to confront them.

Their leading light was one Sinead Fay. 'Let's get round to her house,'
he said. 'Mrs Nye seemed to think she'd be at home. I'll be interested to
discover what cars Ms Fay and her friends drive and whether we can get them to
let anything slip over this “outing” business. I'm more and more convinced
they're involved.'

They got in the car and Llewellyn consulted his street atlas before
pulling away from the kerb.

'When we've seen Ms Fay and her friends, we'd better make a start on
interviewing Smith's victims and their families,' Rafferty told him. 'The
sooner we do that the sooner we should be able to remove a few names from the
list.'

 'What about Stubbs and Thompson?' Llewellyn asked.

'Don't worry. I haven't forgotten them. Actually,' Rafferty glanced
across, 'I'd like you to check out their movements.'

As far as he could tell from Llewellyn's poker-face, the Welshman
welcomed this difficult task. 'I'll have to drive up to London to speak to
Frank Massey, his daughter and ex-wife as soon as I can fit it in; maybe you
could check out the policeman angle then?' Llewellyn nodded. 'Only try to find
out what we need to know by roundabout means if you can. I doubt Archie Stubbs
would bother to thank me for it, but I feel we owe him and Thompson a bit of
discretion. If they're innocent and word got out that they had been suspects in
a murder case it could cause Thompson, as a serving copper, problems. We all
know mud sticks and coppers are even more vulnerable to such taints.'

There was an alleyway giving access to residents' parking running behind
Sinead Fay's house. Rafferty stopped Llewellyn before he made for the gate,
reminded him of their interesting discoveries at the rear of Smith's flat, and
said, 'Let's take a look round the back. We may just learn something to our
advantage.'

Rafferty wasn't totally surprised to find a Zephyr, the same car that
Lilley had described as being seen parked near Smith's flat on the night he had
been reported missing. How many of these old cars could still be running? he
wondered and made a mental note to check it out. He doubted there would be more
than a dozen in the whole area.

He was surprised an educated feminist like Sinead Fay – if she had been
involved in Smith's death – should be so careless, should have so little idea
how to protect herself. Of course, leaving aside the matter of the “outing”
letter for the moment, it might indicate her innocence of Smith's murder. Equally,
she might simply be displaying her contempt for males, in particular males in
positions of authority, like policemen.

Another possibility occurred to him. Did she subconsciously want to get
caught? Using such an old and easily recognisable car when she was involved in
dubious enterprises was certainly one way of drawing police attention and media
publicity to your activities.

He quickly noted the registration number before peering in the driver's
window. However, there was nothing to see and it was unlikely he'd been able to
persuade a magistrate to issue a search warrant when their evidence was merely
circumstantial. He tried the boot, but it was locked. Had Smith's body been
transported in this? he wondered. Like a fox scenting a rabbit, he felt his
pulse quicken and the adrenalin start to flow.