Death Dance (12 page)

‘She can’t have. How?’

Rafferty explained that one of Diana’s friends had seen him with Adrienne Staveley.

Oldfield scowled. ‘Some nosy old biddy, I expect. With nothing better to do.’ His next words showed that he was keen to implicate someone other than himself. ‘If you think me a suspect, you should check out Adrienne’s brother-in-law. He had the hots for her and visited her a couple of times a week, but she wasn’t interested.’

‘And how do you know he had the hots for her, as you call it?’

‘Because Adrienne told me. She thought it was funny and was considering encouraging him in order to cock a snook at Helen, her sister-in-law.’

‘Why would she want to do that?’

’Helen Ayling thinks herself a cut above and looks down on Adrienne. That woman thinks the sun shines out of her husband’s backside and is mad jealous whenever another woman flirts with him. Adrienne thought it would be a giggle to let her know the sun in her old man’s arse had dimmed a bit.’

‘I see. Well thank you for that information, sir. We’ll check it out.’

‘Do that. I know you think Diana is lying for me, but she isn’t. I didn’t kill Adrienne. I didn’t leave the flat from the time I came home from work to the time I went to bed.’

‘So you say, Sir. But I’m not sure I believe you. And then there’s the matter of Adrienne pushing you to live with her. That must have caused some friction. Weren’t you worried that Adrienne would make it her business to tell your girlfriend what you and she were up to as a lever to get what she wanted from you?’

‘No way. Adrienne wouldn’t do that.’

‘Again, we’ve only got your word for that. I get the impression that Adrienne Staveley was a woman who liked her own way. I don’t believe she would have taken your refusal with any understanding. In fact, I don’t find it hard to imagine her losing her temper about it.’

‘Well, she didn’t. She didn’t really want us to set up home together. Apart from anything else, she’s got a terrific home. What would she get with me but a miserable, poky flat much like the one I share with Diana?’

‘Maybe she thought you were worth the sacrifice, Sir,’ Rafferty mischievously suggested as he headed for the door.

‘Well, ain’t that just dandy?’ Rafferty commented once he and Llewellyn were back in the car. ‘Now, in Adrienne’s sister and brother-in-law, we have two more suspects to add to the list. More of the same, we don’t need.’ Rafferty decided to see David Ayling in his office immediately. He was anxious to discover if Ayling could supply an alibi and get himself deleted from the list almost as soon as he had appeared on it.

The efficient Llewellyn had a note of the Aylings’ telephone numbers, of course, and Rafferty got him to give Ayling’s wife, Helen, a ring to find out Ayling’s office number.

David Ayling’s office was in the centre of Elmhurst in a medieval building that looked unsuitable for twenty-first century technology.

Ayling greeted them nicely enough, but when Rafferty broached the reason for their visit he clammed up and was only reluctantly persuaded to open up a little.

‘It’s true, I got on with Adrienne very well,’ he admitted immediately Rafferty started to question him.

‘I’ve been told you liked her more than was wise for a married man.’

David Ayling, who seemed a shy, retiring man, blushed. ‘I liked Adrienne. She was an exciting woman and as you said; I’m an old married man, with all marital excitement long spent.’

‘Were you in love with her?’ Rafferty asked.

‘Love? What’s that? I fancied her. I don’t know if that would be considered being in love.’

‘I understand you were in the habit of visiting Mrs Staveley at her home after work.’

Ayling blushed again, but defended himself. ‘We’re family. Why wouldn’t I visit her? ‘I liked to see her. She welcomed my visits.’

‘And did your wife know about them?’

‘I don’t believe so. I saw no reason to mention them.’

I bet you didn’t, was Rafferty’s thought.

Ayling ran his hand over his balding head. He was tall, skinny and had a middle-aged paunch. Rafferty found it hard to believe that Adrienne Staveley would have been attracted to him. Had she laughed in his face and angered him? That could be enough to get her murdered, even by a mild-seeming man like Ayling. Perhaps especially by a mild-seeming man like Ayling…

‘You said Mrs Staveley welcomed your visits. How did this welcome manifest itself?’

Ayling began to get a bit huffy. He sat down behind his desk, as if he felt the need of a barrier between them. ‘In the usual ways. She invited me into her living room and offered me drinks.’

‘Did she flirt with you?’

‘I suppose so. I was flattered. She was an attractive woman. I’d have stayed there all evening if I could, but John Staveley always came home around six, six-thirty. I left before then, as he wouldn’t have liked to find me there.’

‘’Why not? As you said. You’re family.’

‘John didn’t like Adrienne having men friends.’

‘Even if the man concerned was her brother-in-law?’

‘Even then. They didn’t socialise with us. If John wanted to see Helen, he’d arrange to meet her in town. I scarcely saw anything of him.’

‘Tell me, Mr Ayling. How often did you drop in on Mrs Staveley?’

’A couple of times a week.’

‘That often?’

Ayling said nothing. He just sat glowering at them, his neck red and his chest out; the very epitome of a little Bantam Cock.

‘What did you tell your wife when you were late home?’

‘I didn’t tell her anything. I imagine she just assumed I was working late. I often do.’

‘I see. And did you see Adrienne on the day she was murdered?’

‘No.’ Ayling was quick to deny it.

‘So where were you between four and six on that day?’

‘I was here. I really was working late.’

‘And can anyone confirm that?’

‘No. Not after five-thirty. I was here alone then.’

Time enough for him to drive to Adrienne’s home, try to kiss her, be rebuffed and strangle her. Those twice-weekly visits struck Rafferty as a bit excessive. Had Ayling been obsessed by the dead woman to the point of madness and red mists? Some might call him a stalker, and there had been enough cases of stalkers killing the object of their obsession to make the man of interest.

But yet again, they could have all the suspicions they liked, but without proof…

Frustrated, Rafferty told him abruptly, ‘Thanks for your time, Sir. We’ll leave you to get on with your work.’

Once in the car, Rafferty and Llewellyn discussed the interview.

‘Think he did it?’ Rafferty asked.

‘It’s possible. The psychology—‘

‘Can we leave the psycho-babble out of this?’

Llewellyn’s steady brown gaze regarded him steadily. ‘As you wish. It comes to the same thing, whatever term one uses. He may have been aware that Mrs Staveley laughed at him. Her manner towards him might have shown her true opinion of him. She strikes me as a woman who was careless of the feelings of others.’

‘Mmm. And no man likes being laughed at, particularly little Bantam Cocks like Ayling. Particularly by a woman they find sexually attractive. So, we’ve got yet another suspect. Bugger it.’ Rafferty thumped the dashboard. ‘I was hoping to have whittled them down a bit by now, rather than add to them.’

‘Another suspect and another possibility,’ Llewellyn commented as he turned the key in the ignition.

‘Who are you? Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm?’ Rafferty scoffed. But he admitted to himself that his partner might have a point. ‘Then there’s Helen Ayling. I suppose we’re going to have to add her to the list as well, if, as Gary Oldfield says, she’s the jealous type. And if she learned of her husband’s visits to Adrienne. God, but I’m sick of all these if’s and maybe’s. If only we could get something certain about any of them.’

As for Adrienne’s second lover, Peacock, Rafferty didn’t think the clearly besotted Peacock in the same league for capability to kill. He had clearly adored Adrienne Staveley. Of course, Helen Ayling’s husband, David, had been as besotted as Peacock – there was certainly enough passion there for violence – and it seemed a much hotter passion than Peacock’s, too, whose adoration seemed – in spite of their sexual relationship – more that of a poet admiring the object of his love from afar. Had Adrienne encouraged David Ayling when he had tried to take her flirting further? Rafferty could imagine Ayling killing her in the white heat of rage if she rejected him after toying with his affections. And he had no alibi. But then neither did John Staveley or his son. Or Peacock, either, for that matter.

Rafferty realised he’d come full circle, but had advanced the investigation not one jot. He sighed. ‘Oh well, Bradley, for one, will be pleased at another possibility. And at least it means I’ve got something to tell him for once. Come on,’ he said, ‘put your foot down and let’s get back to the station. I’m sure Bradley’s hopping up and down waiting for me to put in an appearance so he can give me another bollocking. I’d hate to disappoint him.’

Chapter Nine

To complete the circle of suspects, the next morning the mystery, third man in Adrienne Staveley’s life turned up at the station. Rafferty was surprised when Bill Beard on reception rang through to tell him of Richard Simpson’s arrival. Simpson had certainly taken his time in coming forward. He wondered what had prompted him to do so now.

Simpson was in his early thirties and when Rafferty collected him from reception and brought him back to his office, he categorically denied that he had been Adrienne’s lover.

‘We were just friends’ he insisted. ‘I only met her a few weeks ago. There wasn’t time for the relationship to develop beyond friendship.’

Time enough for most people, Rafferty thought, in this modern age. And given that Adrienne had bedded Michael Peacock on the day she had met him… ‘Did you go to her house?’ he asked.

‘Yes. A couple of times. Just to pick her up for lunch. There was no hanky panky.’

‘When did you last see her?’

‘A week before she died. I took her to lunch and dropped her home after. I didn’t go in.’

‘Have you ever been in her kitchen? I’m thinking about fingerprints.’

‘No. The only rooms I’ve been in are the hall and the lounge and I didn’t spend much time in either – just long enough for Adrienne to put on her jacket and pick up her handbag.’

‘We’ll need to take your prints just to be sure. I’ll arrange for an officer to take them, after we’ve finished, if that’s convenient.’

Simpson nodded assent

‘Tell me, Mr Simpson, where were you on the afternoon and early evening on the day of the murder?’

‘You want an alibi I take it?’

Rafferty nodded. ‘If you’d be so good.’

‘Let me see. I was in Chelmsford all morning for a meeting. I had lunch there. Then I drove back and reached my office here in Elmhurst about two o’clock. I was there for the rest of the day till about five o’clock.’

So he’d still have had time to murder Adrienne supposing she died at the latter stage of Dally’s estimate. Of course, Simpson might have left his office and killed her earlier in the afternoon.

‘And where did you go after you left work?’

‘I went home.’

‘And your address is?’

Simpson told him and Llewellyn made a note of it. He broke in to get Simpson’s telephone numbers and made notes of them also.

‘Is there anyone at home who can vouch for you after five?’

‘I’m afraid not. Not unless my neighbour saw me arrive or heard me shut my front door.’

‘We’ll need your business address and numbers also sir.’

Llewellyn made a note of them as well.

Still curious as to why Simpson had chosen to come forward now, he questioned the man about it.

Simpson fiddled with his gold earring and admitted ‘I nearly didn’t. But, from the description in the paper, I assumed I was the mystery third man in her life that the local newspaper referred to and I finally concluded that it would be better for me to admit to being that third man than have you track me down. If I hadn’t come forward it would have made me all the more suspect.’

‘I see. Well, thank you for coming into the station, Mr Simpson. I appreciate that and your frankness.’ Rafferty then told him he could go as soon as Llewellyn had escorted him to have his prints taken.

‘We’ll need to check out what he says’ said Rafferty fifteen minutes later, on Llewellyn’s return. ‘Let’s get over to his office and make sure he was there when he said he was. Then we’ll try his neighbours and see if any of them saw him arrive home.’

Simpson’s office alibi checked out, at least at first glance. But a second glance revealed a fire escape leading down from his office and a secretary who had been absent from the office from four-thirty on the afternoon of the murder to attend a dental appointment. He had no alibi to confirm what time he reached home, either. None of his neighbours had seen his car drive up and park and his closest neighbour hadn’t heard his front door shut, so Simpson was yet another possible suspect. Rafferty couldn’t help but wonder when the wretched list would stop growing.

Rafferty said as much as he and Llewellyn made their way back to the car after checking out Simpson’s neighbours.

‘But possibly a less likely suspect given that he’s only known the victim for a few weeks.’

‘So he says. We’ve no way of proving it one way or the other. Besides Adrienne Staveley seems to have been the sort of woman to attract violent emotions. Maybe just a few weeks would be long enough to make someone want to throttle her.’

‘We know she didn’t get on with her husband, his family or her stepson, but she seems to have got on well enough with the other men in her life.’

‘Unless she had a falling out with one of them.’ Rafferty ran his hand through his already disordered auburn hair. ‘And it strikes me as unlikely that her relationship with Richard Simpson would remain at a mere friendship level. The other two men in her life that we know about both became her lovers, one of them on the day of meeting – why would she wait to make Simpson the third – or thirty-third for all we know?’