Deadly Reunion (10 page)

Kennedy after being chased off the lawn by Tom Harrison and his lawnmower, had retreated, with his cans of lager, to the Senior Common Room where he was once again stretched out on one of the settees at his ease. Fairweather was nowhere to be seen. And, apart from Kennedy, the room was empty.

‘Mr Kennedy.'

‘I thought we'd agreed that it's Sebastian, Inspector. Want a can?'

‘No thanks. I'm a bitter man. Can't stand lager.'

‘Sergeant? What about you?'

‘I don't drink, sir. Besides, I'm on duty.'

‘You're no fun, you two.' He stretched luxuriously. ‘What did you want, anyway?'

‘Just something we heard. You remember, in the pub, Simon Fairweather mentioned that Ainsley was a bully?'

‘Yeah. So what?'

‘I've discovered who he bullied. I gather you were one of his victims, sir.'

Kennedy scrunched up his can and dropped it on the floor. ‘Who says so?'

‘That's not important, but it was from more than one source.' That wasn't the strict truth, but a little white lie was no lie at all, in Rafferty's book.

‘So what are you saying? That I slipped hemlock into his soup because he used to beat me up?'

‘That's about the size of it, sir, yes.'

‘So where's your evidence? You have got some, I take it, or is this just a fishing expedition?'

‘Just call it checking out the possibilities, Mr Kennedy. But it certainly gives you reason to have a down on him.'

‘What? For something that happened half a lifetime ago?'

It was a valid defence. That was the trouble. Especially given that Kennedy was neither a warring civil servant nor a Sicilian with a vengeful gene that continued through the generations.

‘I'd say you were clutching at straws but our old English master used to abhor clichés. Who are you going after next? Sophie Diaz, because he dumped her? Or Gary Sadiq, our Anglo-Indian because he used to taunt him about having a touch of the tar brush? Or Alice Douglas because she was a charity case and Ainsley never let her forget it?'

It seemed Sebastian Kennedy was keen on spreading their suspicions as wide as possible. Softly, Rafferty said, ‘A charity case? What do you mean?'

‘She was here on a bursary. Her parents certainly couldn't have afforded to send her here otherwise. So you see, Inspector, you've got quite a good mix of motives to choose from. May I wish you joy of them.' So saying, Sebastian Kennedy lay back and reached for another can.

It was a dismissal. Rafferty couldn't see how he could dismiss the dismissal with any dignity, so he merely said, ‘No doubt I'll speak to you again,' to Kennedy and made for the door.

‘Let's find Simon Fairweather,' he said to Llewellyn once they were outside with the door closed. ‘We'll try the library.'

But the only people in the library were Victoria ‘Brains' Watson and Alice Douglas. Rafferty asked if they'd seen Fairweather and they both said no.

‘Perhaps he's in the pub again. Let's walk down to the village. It would be good to stretch our legs and it's a shame to waste the nice weather, cooped up inside.'

It was a pleasant walk, past ripening fields of corn and rape seed, the latter still seeming to Rafferty to be an improbably deep colour for the English countryside, which used to sport more mellow hues. A gentle breeze kept the day cool and ruffled his auburn hair into more than usual disorder. He felt like he was playing hookey and wished he were. But he had still to re-interview Simon Fairweather in light of this new evidence. And depending on whether he protested his innocence too much, he might yet well have a purple-faced Long-Pockets on his hands. But perhaps, if the Home Office man exuded guilt on being confronted with his victim status at Ainsley's hands, he could depute Llewellyn to break that particular piece of bad news to the superintendent? What else were sergeants for but the rough stuff? And he was so much more diplomatic. Just showed what an expensive education could do for a man.

Simon Fairweather wasn't in the pub, nor anywhere around the village, either, so they took a slow stroll back to the school. But although they wandered right round the school, its classrooms, playing fields and swimming pool, and asked everyone they met if they'd seen him, Fairweather wasn't anywhere to be found.

FIVE

‘
P
erhaps he's done a bunk?' Rafferty suggested. Of course, Llewellyn immediately punched a hole in the idea.

‘Hardly likely, I would have thought. Any case against him is extremely thin. He's an intelligent man; he must have worked that out for himself. And as you yourself pointed out, civil servants are a hardy breed. Not easily intimidated.'

‘Must have changed then, from when he was a boy, seeing as he was a victim of Ainsley's bullying. Could be he's the exception that proves the rule. Oh well. I'm not going to go chasing him all round the countryside. No doubt you're right, as usual, and he'll turn up. He'll wait. But my throat won't. All this walking's given me a thirst. Let's go back to the pub while we consider what we've learned.'

‘I really don't think we should be frequenting pubs with this regularity. Superintendent Bradley wouldn't like it.'

‘What difference does it make if we do our thinking in a fusty office or a pub beer garden? All that fresh air and oxygen must be good for the brain.'

‘I doubt the beer is.'

‘There speaks the teetotaller. What do you know about it, anyway?'

‘There have been various studies and—'

‘Oh. Studies. Each one contradicting the one before. I never take any notice of studies. You'd do well to ignore them as well.'

Llewellyn had made his point. He said nothing more till they reached the pub.

‘Orange juice or mineral water, Daff?'

Llewellyn thawed sufficiently to say, ‘Do you know, I think I'll have a coke.'

‘Why not? Let's push the boat out. I think I'll have a Jameson's.'

‘In the middle of the day?'

‘Don't start that again you killjoy. Anyway, as the song says, “it's five o'clock somewhere”.' Rafferty ordered the drinks and took them outside to the beer garden. They sat in silence for a while, Rafferty savouring his whiskey and Llewellyn staring at his coke as if he regretted ordering it. Five minutes went by in this fashion, and then, Rafferty said, ‘Drink up, Daff and I'll get you another one.'

‘I don't think so, thank you all the same. One is more than enough. I've seen what this stuff does to copper coins.'

‘So have I. You should have had the Water of Life, like me. Far healthier. Barley in it, not like that muck, which has God knows what ingredients.'

‘If you say so. Actually, I think I'll have a coffee.' Llewellyn stood up. ‘I'll go. Can I get you another?'

‘Go on, then. You've twisted my arm. You're driving, after all. And I need something with a kick to it to help me withstand my madhouse of a home at the moment.'

‘You've still got the religious gentleman staying with you?'

‘Yeah. And he's still trying to turn me on to God. He seems to consider my lapsed Catholic condition as something of a challenge. Maybe if I give in and let him think I've succumbed to his God-botherer blandishments, he'll stop trying so hard.'

‘Possibly. Or perhaps he'll start on Abra and then the fireworks will begin.'

‘They already have. You wouldn't believe the flak I'm getting. It's not as if it's my fault that Ma's foisted four far-flung family on us, though you'd never think so to listen to Abra.'

‘The female of the species was ever thus. Abra's never taken kindly to having someone tell her what she should believe.'

‘Nor me. I had enough of that when I was a kid.' Rafferty sighed and stared morosely at his whiskey. ‘And to think I've got over another week of this. Perhaps you ought to order some hemlock instead of the Jameson's?'

‘Oh dear. Are things really that bad, Joseph?'

‘Not far off.' Llewellyn's use of his forename made him think he was perhaps complaining too much; he rarely used it when they were working, in spite of Rafferty asking him to stop ‘sirring' him time after time. He sighed again and decided he might as well get sympathy from Llewellyn as there was none coming from any other quarter. ‘Of course, cousin Nigel managed to slime his way out of putting up anybody.' Nigel Blythe, aka Jerry Kelly, had the gift of tongues, like all estate agents, and had apparently got out of putting up any of the Rafferty and Kelly families' Empire-spread relations without raising a sweat. ‘I wouldn't mind, but he's got more room than anyone else with that whacking great swanky warehouse apartment of his. Ma let him get away with it as well. She never lets me get away with anything.'

‘She's a strong-minded woman, your mother.'

‘You can say that again. I hope she doesn't make these family reunions an annual event. I wouldn't put it past her. Trouble is, she's lonely. After having six kids, she's used to a houseful and feels it now she's on her own. She's always liked people to look after. When I go there she always stuffs me with food as if I'm one of those geese the French turn into pâté de fois gras.'

‘Perhaps you could encourage your mother to get a lodger? Someone whose path through life she can guide and whose stomach she can feed up. Students are always hungry. It could be a perfect match.'

‘Yeah. Someone young and gormless, who thinks Ma's a harmless old lady. Good idea. I'll put an ad on the notice board of the local college. Should get someone suitable. See how Ma likes getting dumped on.'

‘It might be advisable to ask her first if she wants a lodger.'

‘Why? Maybe I should just tell her she's going to have one, like she did me. Only I've got four of 'em. She'll be getting away lightly.'

Llewellyn must have thought it prudent to say no more, for he excused himself and went to get the drinks, leaving Rafferty to brood on his plight.

The next morning, Rafferty, having learned his lesson, got up at six and fetched Abra her tea himself.

‘Is that to madam's satisfaction?' he asked.

‘Mmm,' said Abra, taking a sip. ‘Though it's a bit dawn chorus, considering it's the weekend. I suppose you're going to be early into work and late back again? It's Saturday, so that means I'll have Cyrus and crew all day.'

‘I have got a murder on, sweetheart. It's what I do. Anyway, the weather seems set fair. They'll probably go out somewhere.'

‘Good. Just as long as they don't expect me to join them. Knowing churchy Cyrus he'll want to take a tour of all the area's praying holes, rather than the watering holes.'

‘He is one of my family, Abra. It's only right to be hospitable. I'd be the same if it was your family.'

‘I doubt it. And it's not what you said last night. You were as fed up with him as me.'

‘Yeah, well. I'm an indecisive Libran, Abs. You surely don't expect me to be of the same opinion twice in a row, do you?'

Abra just went ‘Hrmph', downed the rest of her tea and burrowed back under the duvet.

Rafferty took himself off to work. He stopped off at the stationer's on the way and bought a pack of plain postcards. He only wanted the one, but they didn't sell them singly. Back in his car, he found a pen in the glove compartment and began to write:
WANTED – Elmhurst. Two single lodgers. Reasonable terms. Inclusive of dinner, phone and utilities. Contact . . .

He put his mobile number, rather than his ma's landline; he wanted to get his ma's lodgers sorted out before he told her a word about it. He pulled up at the local college and saw the secretary, giving her the postcard and paying her for a month. He rubbed his hands together. ‘Now let's see how Ma likes it.'

Simon Fairweather had returned. Rafferty didn't know if he'd stayed out all night or if he'd returned after he and Llewellyn had gone home, but either way, it didn't matter. At least he was here now.

They took him into their office for privacy and asked him again how he had felt about Adam Ainsley. ‘In view of the fact that he was a bully and you were one of his victims,' Rafferty added.

‘What's this? Because Adam was nasty to me many moons ago you think I killed him? Maybe I should rethink my disinclination to complain to your superiors?'

‘That's your prerogative, sir,' said Rafferty stiffly.

‘Only joking, Inspector. Relax. You shouldn't be so sensitive.'

You'd be sensitive if you had a boss like mine, was Rafferty's thought. But it was true that Fairweather's face had puckered into that impish smile. Rafferty wished he could appreciate his sense of humour.

‘Please, Inspector, don't waste your time. I took Adam's punishment like a man, as did most of his other victims. Looking back, I think he was more to be pitied than anything else. Most bullies are unhappy souls. How could they be otherwise? Few people enjoy being actively hated, unless they've got a Stalin complex.'

‘That's very forgiving of you.'

‘I've never been one to harbour grudges. I've never seen the point. Besides, working in the civil service as I do, such a tendency could leave you seriously exhausted with no energy for anything else. You'd be surprised at all the little vendettas that are going on at any one time amongst the mandarins.'

‘I wouldn't be surprised at all, sir,' said Rafferty with feeling. ‘The Home Office has impinged on my working life much as it has yours.'

‘Just so.' Fairweather bowed his head and Rafferty let him go, feeling as if he'd been talked out of suspicion-mode by mandarin-speak, despite Fairweather's previous protestations that he didn't go in for bureaucratic doubletalk.