Death Line (10 page)

“Really Edwin, you might have told me she had come back,” Sarah Astell put in. “I needn't have-” She stopped and glanced at the two policeman. “I'm sorry. How rude of me.” She told her husband more quietly, “You shouldn't have entertained her in the kitchen; what must she have thought of us? You should have brought her in to me or made her comfortable in the drawing room. I hope you at least made her some coffee.”

Edwin Astell smiled. “Calm yourself, my dear. My reputation as a host isn't quite ruined. I made her coffee. I even offered to ring for another taxi, but she told me not to bother. Said she enjoys walking in a storm.” He turned back to Rafferty. “When she left, I joined my wife in here, before suggesting she had an early night. It's such an emotion-charged day for her, you see, and that, and the unaccustomed entertaining can leave her exhausted.” He lowered his voice and murmured, “She's not feeling too well today, actually, so, if you don't mind?” Without protest, and after making his goodbyes to Mrs Astell, Rafferty let himself be ushered out of the room.

“I'm sorry,” Astell apologised, as he opened the front door. Rafferty sucked in the cool air gratefully as Astell continued, “I'm afraid my wife won't always admit how easily she tires, and I know that this business with Jasper has upset her. She was quite fond of him. In many ways they were surprisingly alike.”

“Really?” Rafferty wouldn't have thought the flamboyant Moon and the sickly Sarah Astell had anything in common. He was astonished to discover that Astell should be unaware of his wife's true opinion of Jasper Moon. Most wives wouldn't hesitate to shout their opinion of their husband's colleagues and friends from the rooftops. It was interesting that she hadn't done so. But, perhaps it was just another symptom of the dutiful Stepford wife syndrome? thought Rafferty cynically. “I got the distinct impression that your wife didn't like Mr Moon, sir. In fact, I'd say she detested him.”

Astell looked taken-aback. But he recovered quickly. “You mustn't take everything my wife says at face value, Inspector. You must understand she's not well. It makes her behave irrationally at times. Admittedly, Jasper could sometimes be a little insensitive, a little pushy, but, for all that, they got on well enough.”

Rafferty wondered why Astell felt it necessary to pretend? His wife had seemed to know her own mind very well. Rafferty paused. “Was Mr Moon aware that Mrs Hadleigh would be working yesterday evening rather than in the morning, as usual?”

“I did mention it to him, but Jasper had a habit of nodding at you as if he was listening when he was actually wool-gathering, so I can't be sure.”

Rafferty realised he had nearly left without asking the main question. He hoped Llewellyn didn't realise it. “Did Mrs Hadleigh tell you that Mr Moon had a client with him when she left yesterday evening?”

“A client?” Astell's voice was sharply interrogative, his body stiff, as though determined not to voice resentment that Rafferty should continue to suspect the partnership's clientele. “No,” he said. “She didn't tell me. But I've seen very little of her since it happened. I've been shut in the study answering calls from Jasper's clients. As you can imagine, most of them are very shocked at the news. Did Mrs Hadleigh tell you this client's name?”

“She said his name was Henderson,” Rafferty told him, but it was apparent it meant nothing to Astell. “I've got an officer checking through Mr Moon's files now. Hopefully, he'll be quickly traced and exonerated.” He gave Astell Mrs Hadleigh's description of Henderson, but he didn't recognise him. “I understood Mr Moon rarely saw clients on Thursday evenings – could he be a special new client for whom Mr Moon made an exception?”

“No. Jasper was famous enough to do business on his own terms. He would only ever make an exception for long-established clients and this Henderson is certainly not in that category. Have you questioned the staff about him?”

“Not yet. I've still to speak to Mrs Campbell, and Mrs Moreno had left by the time we found out about him. One last thing. I know you told us you knew nothing about any Will that Mr Moon might have made, but I wondered if you'd had any thoughts on it? It seems likely a man as wealthy as Mr Moon would make one, yet, from our investigations so far, it appears that none of the local solicitors acted for him in the matter.”

Astell massaged his jaw thoughtfully. “The consultancy used to be based in London – Soho. Maybe he used a solicitor in that area?”

Rafferty nodded. It gave them another avenue to explore and Rafferty thanked him for the information.

“What about his bank? Have you tried them?” Rafferty nodded again. Astell paused, then asked curiously. “What happens if there is no Will?”

Rafferty wasn't entirely sure and glanced at Llewellyn. As expected, the Welshman was his usual fount of information. “The laws on Intestacy come into operation,” he told them. “If there is no family, I understand the estate goes to the Crown.” Llewellyn paused and asked quietly, “What about the business, sir? Presumably Mr Moon's half would go to his estate. That must be a worry for you.”

Astell's creased forehead confirmed it. “As far as the income is concerned, yes. With Jasper gone, most of the income goes too, as he invariably brought in three-quarters or more of the profits. And, of course, his estate will retain rights in Jasper's part of profits already earned.” He forced a smile, but it was a little ragged. “Though, at least I have full rights to the leases of the business premises, though what good that will do me with Jasper gone...” His voice faltered for a moment, then he explained, “When Jasper offered me a partnership, we agreed that, in the event of one of us dying, the business would become the sole property of the remaining partner.”

“You had a proper partnership agreement drawn up?”

“Yes. By the same solicitors who acted for us over the leases of the store and the offices above.”

“How was the profit divided?” Rafferty put in sharply.

Too sharply, it seemed for Astell, as his answer was stiff. “The agreement specified a fifty-fifty share of the profit, but it was drawn up before Jasper achieved any international fame and was hardly fair now. A few months ago, I insisted he take his rightful share. In return, he paid the bulk of the business outgoings.”

“And his other income, sir? From his books, TV appearances and magazine work?”

Astell frowned, as if he was just beginning to appreciate the purpose of these questions. His voice became even more stilted. “His income from that goes straight to his agent. It's never gone into the partnership account. Naturally, I'll be forwarding his share of the partnership income to the accountant as it comes in.”

“We'll need the name and address of this accountant, Mr Astell,” said Rafferty. “And that of the agent. I meant to ask you before, but it slipped my mind.”

Astell flushed. “I assure you I've never taken a penny from the business that wasn't rightfully mine. I resent your-”

Llewellyn broke in. “I'm sure the inspector didn't mean to imply that you had, Mr Astell,” he began.

Astell chose to ignore his assurances. “Very well. Speak to the agent and the accountant if you must.” He named a local firm of accountants. The agent had an office in London. “Check the books too. You'll find everything in order. As I told you, I never even took the full share of profit to which our agreement entitled me. I certainly never helped myself to anything more.” He inclined his head. “I'll say good day to you, gentlemen.”

Rafferty braced himself for the slamming door, but it closed quietly behind him. As they walked to the car, he commented ruefully, “And I thought Librans were meant to be natural diplomats? At least according to ma.” He sighed. “Another talent that's passed me by.”

Back at
the station, Rafferty threw off his coat and shouted for tea, commenting, “Though, diplomat or not, you must admit that Astell rather got on his high horse when I asked him for those names,” With a ragged grin, he added, “For a moment there, I sensed Bradley's PIMPmobile on my heels. Still, if Astell goes scurrying off to Bradley to complain, you'll be able to confirm that I was politeness itself. I even threw in plenty of "sirs". He had no call to get quite so sniffy.”

“Even an honest man is prone to anger when his honesty's questioned.”

Rafferty nodded absently. Probably Llewellyn was right and they'd find that Astell had been the soul of scrupulousness. But, he reflected, if he'd had his hands in the till up to his armpits, he was hardly likely to admit to it. And even if Moon's other income didn't go into the partnership account, there would still be healthy enough amounts coming in to arouse temptation. Presumably, the clients made their cheques out to the business name rather than to either individual partner. It would have been easy enough for a man like Astell to help himself to parts of Moon's income and cover his tracks from any but the most rigorous scrutiny. But why would he? Rafferty reasoned. If what Astell had told them was true, he was entitled to a fifty per cent share of the profits anyway, yet didn't take it. Of course, Mrs Astell was reputed to be wealthy, so he could presumably afford it.

Still, Rafferty reminded himself, as he again acted as Devil's Advocate, that wasn't quite the same thing as being wealthy yourself. It was possible Astell was too stiff-necked to be happy living on his wife's money and had only pretended to take less than his share to deflect Moon's suspicion. If this was what happened and Moon had caught him out, it could be a motive for murder. But, Rafferty frowned, as he realised the flaw in his theory, not for this murder. Even if Astell was helping himself to more of the profits than he was legally entitled to, he still couldn't picture him killing Moon so impetuously. It wasn't his style. Besides, he had been tied up most of that evening. Mrs Moreno hadn't finally left till shortly before 9.00 p m, and then he had joined his wife. Though, he reminded himself, she probably extended her’ little womn’ syndrome to include lying for hubby. Anyway, he decided, he could at least check up on the money angle. Flipping open the local phone book, he found the number of the accountants, picked up the handset and began to dial. He got the engaged tone, pressed the rest and tried again; and again. “Come on, come on,” he growled. “Get off the bloody phone.”

“Why don't you use the redial button?” Llewellyn asked mildly, as he pressed it. “Then you can put the phone down.”

Rafferty replaced the receiver. “Why didn't I think of that?” he asked disingenuously. He'd often wondered what that particular button was for. He'd pressed it once or twice, out of curiosity, but as nothing much seemed to happen he hadn't bothered again. Of course, the explanatory booklet had long since vanished – not that he'd got very far with it before his brain had given up, in any case. But as this was the age of technological tyranny, he would never be fool enough to admit his ignorance.

For some reason, Llewellyn had decided to connive in this concealment, passing on appropriate tips discreetly. Rafferty had never been sure whether compassion or condescension prompted him, but even though he half-resented the help, he didn't refuse it. Modern policing demanded a wide range of skills, and if Bradley ever realised just how limited was his technological grasp, he'd take great pleasure in writing it large in his record.

“Actually.” Llewellyn cleared his throat and Rafferty glanced up. “Astell's wife interested me.”

“Wouldn't have thought she was your type,” Rafferty joked. “Promise I won't tell Maureen.”

Llewellyn took a long-suffering breath. “I meant that it struck me as odd that Astell should have popped in twice to check on her. Didn't you notice her prompt him? He looked puzzled for a second, before he agreed. Why was she so keen to mention the visits at all?”

“Now you mention it, twice does seem a bit excessive. Still, people are always anxious to cover themselves in such circumstances. I don't suppose it means anything. Even if she was totally alone from just after 8.00 p m to 8.50 p m, I can't see her creeping out on such a night to kill Moon. She might have disliked the man, but that's hardly strong enough reason for murdering him. Besides, by the look of her, I'd have thought beating Moon around the head with his own crystal ball hard enough to kill him would be physically beyond her.”

Rafferty guessed what was about to come out of Llewellyn's open mouth and forestalled him. “I know, I know. An open mind is a policeman's friend and conclusion jumping his enemy. I haven't forgotten.” Not likely to get the chance, Rafferty added to himself, with you around. And even if I am guilty of jumping to conclusions, he mused, I still can't see her doing it.

After staring at the still silent phone with a frown, he said, “I want you to get onto Moon's London agent. Check that Astell was telling the truth when he said he had nothing to do with Moon's profitable side-lines. Not that it's likely to make much difference one way or the other,” he muttered half to himself. “It doesn't look as if he would have had the opportunity to kill him. But we'd better get it checked out.”

While Llewellyn busied himself with that, Rafferty glanced through the growing pile of reports, abandoning them with relief when Llewellyn put the phone down and told him that Moon's agent had confirmed that Astell had told them the truth.

Rafferty nodded. He had expected as much.

Half an hour later, the accountant still hadn't got back to him. So much for the benefits of modern technology, Rafferty thought. At least when you dialled a number yourself, you had the satisfaction of slamming the receiver down when it was continually engaged. “I reckon the bloody phone's redirected my call to a public phone box in the Outer Hebrides,” he complained to Llewellyn.