Death Line (25 page)

Rafferty watched as she toddled up the drive. The nanny or whatever she was got up from the bench where she had been waiting and joined her. What a serious little girl, he thought. But that was hardly surprising, he realised. With a mother permanently ailing, she wouldn't have a lot of amusing company, and, perhaps, with the self-sufficient Astell for a father, she didn't need it. There certainly seemed to be a lot of him in her; she even shared his eczema. Rafferty had noticed just a little bit on her hands.

“Right.” He opened the car door. “The next priority, now we've had the business of the cuttings confirmed, is to see Ellen Hadleigh again. See if she's prepared to tell us the whole truth now.”

“What
is it this time?” Ellen Hadleigh sank into her worn armchair after she had let them in.

“We know that you lied to us, Mrs Hadleigh,” said Rafferty. “You might as well admit it. You knew who Moon was the day before he was murdered.” He took the borrowed clippings out of his pocket and laid them in her lap. “I believe you've already seen these. Do you want to tell me about it?”

She drew in a ragged, breath and stared at the yellowing clippings as if she had never seen them before, but she didn't attempt to deny the truth of what Rafferty had told her. “I thought...” she began and then stopped.

“You thought Mrs Astell wouldn't say anything?”

She nodded. “I'd been up in the attic that morning, sorting out a load of old films that had belonged to her father. They were that dusty, so I came down to her sitting room where I'd left my rags and polish. That's when I found those cuttings. I was so shocked, I cried out and Mrs Astell came running in. She was almost as upset as me when she realised the cuttings were about my boy. She made me a cup of tea. Even gave me one of her fancy embroidered handkerchiefs.” A faint smile momentarily lightened her heavy features. “Mind, it was a silly little thing. About as much use as a tissue to a hippo with a head cold. Still, she was very kind. That's what made me think...” The smile faded. “Silly of me to have just assumed it would be our secret, that she wouldn't tell anyone.”

“I don't think she would have done,” Rafferty said gently. “Only I found out about them from someone else and asked her.” He noted that she didn't ask who had told them. Perhaps she guessed? “I'm surprised Mr Moon didn't speak to you about the court case,” he said. “He must have recognised your name.”

She shook her head. “I doubt he ever knew it. I doubt he even knew I was working there, as the previous cleaner left while he was in America. It wouldn't have occurred to Mr Astell to mention it and introduce us. He can be a bit of a snob, you know. I don't think Moon even saw me that evening, as he went out right after the Moreno woman left and I was in the kitchen when I heard him return. I left a few minutes later.” Rafferty nodded, but resolved to check the point with Astell.

Ellen Hadleigh stared, bleak-eyed at the cuttings, her expression puzzled. “You know, it's odd, but under her sympathy, I got the impression she was pleased to discover something really bad about Moon, yet, since his death, she seems to have gone to pieces. Mr Astell's had to call the doctor out to her several times.” She raised her head, her forehead puckered. Then she looked down at the cuttings again and her expression hardened, her voice filled with a surprising vigour, as she added, “Sarah Astell doesn't know her own mind. But I won't be wailing over his coffin. I'm glad he's dead. Very glad.” The strength of her emotion seemed to sap her remaining strength. For, seconds later, she was struggling for breath. Alarmed by her colour, Rafferty told Llewellyn to fetch her a glass of water.

She recovered surprisingly quickly, and sat quietly sipping her water, rallying enough to give them a tiny smile. “Don't worry, Inspector. I've had these attacks before. I'm not going to die on you. It'll take more than this to see me off.”

She still looked drained, in spite of her brave words, and slumped back into the chair. Her skin looked grey, her lips bloodless, but, somehow, she had rediscovered her air of defiance. She might be poor, her expression suggested, but she still had a few shreds of pride. Moon had started her son's descent into corruption, condemned both of them to the cruel sniggers of neighbours and the forced move to this high rise slum. Individually, pride or revenge were good enough reasons for murder, Rafferty realised suddenly. But together...?

He stood up. Her skin still had a pale and clammy look and he was worried about leaving her on her own. “Is there anyone who can stay with you?”

She shook her head. “I'll be all right.” She stared at him from eyes that were stubbornly independent. “Just leave my boy alone. He's not your murderer. He doesn't have it in him.” She closed her eyes again.

Rafferty knew he should bring her down to the station and question her further. Somehow, he couldn't do it. He suspected that, in spite of her defiant air, she was very near the end of her strength and the stress might be too much for her. He was only a policeman, not some form of heavenly avenger and he didn't want her death on his conscience. Besides, he didn't think she'd be going very far. He told her he would send a WPC out to stay with her. She just nodded, without opening her eyes. Perhaps by the time the WPC arrived, she would have decided to talk some more.

“Maybe
Moon's last message did mean something after all,” Rafferty commented as they walked down the stairs to the car. “That sign could have been a roughly scrawled 'H” for Hadleigh, rather than a “T” or an “I or the sign for Gemini'. Moon was dying, suppose he made two attempts at writing the cross stroke and missed with both of them?”

Slowly, Llewellyn nodded.

Gratified that the Welshman agreed with him for once, Rafferty, carefully forgetting that Llewellyn had already mentioned the matter, added, “After all, if it meant nothing, why should anybody bother washing it off the wall?”

“Why indeed?” Llewellyn murmured
sotto voce
as they got in the car and headed back to the station. However, he didn't bother to remind Rafferty that he had already made that very point right at the beginning of the case.

Hanks
had been quick. As they walked through the door, he called after them and told them the results of his digging into Mrs Hadleigh's alleged attack on Moon. After praising his efficiency, Rafferty dismissed him and led the way up to his office. “So Terry Hadleigh was telling the truth about that as well,” said Rafferty as he settled behind his desk. “Interesting that although he must had known Moon's true identity for some time, his mother had only learned of it the day before. Especially now we know that although Terry Hadleigh might never have shown a tendency to violence, his mother had.”

Hanks had spoken to the brief who had represented Moon at the time of the case. He had confirmed that Ellen Hadleigh had attacked Moon after the court case and that he had taken an umbrella with a stout wooden handle away from her; but not before she had cracked a bone in his wrist, which was why he remembered the incident so well. Fortunately, for her, not only had no reporters got hold of the story – which explained why the cuttings had made no mention of it – but Moon, surprisingly, had refused to press charges, even though he had suffered concussion. Moon had been lucky. But for the speedy intervention of his brief, it might have been a lot worse, especially given his thin skull. Instead, he had gone on to live another twenty-eight years, only to meet his end in a very similar way.

The two attacks on Moon showed a worrying similarity and Rafferty asked himself if that similarity was merely a coincidence, or an indication of something more? Ellen Hadleigh had been a much younger and fitter woman then, but even though she was now aged and crippled, the intervening years had done nothing to diminish her hatred. Such hatred could fuel even the weakest body to acts of violence.

“We assumed she was covering up for her son when she made up this Henderson character, and she may well have been,” Rafferty commented. “But she could just as easily have been covering up for herself. Perhaps it's time we investigated Ellen Hadleigh's movements a little more closely?”

“What about the other suspects? Ginnie Campbell, for instance and Farley and...”

Rafferty smiled. “Me – I've not got many psychological theories, but the one I do hold firm to is that emotional types are their own worst enemies. If we leave them to stew for a little longer, we'll get more out of them – if there's more to be got. For now, let's just concentrate on Ellen Hadleigh. Check what time the taxi dropped her off home that evening,” Rafferty instructed. “I want the times narrowed down as much as possible.”

When Llewellyn had gone, Rafferty simply sat for a few moments, staring blindly at the reports that were still piling up. Ellen Hadleigh had suffered badly at the hands of men all her life; father, husband, son, all in their various ways had caused her anguish. It would be too ironic if, in a moment's deviation from a painfully honest life, she had killed the one man who had never done her any harm.

“I checked
with the taxi firm,” Llewellyn told Rafferty. “They confirm they dropped Ellen Hadleigh at her flats at about 8.05 p m on the night of the murder. They were delayed for a few minutes at the level crossing,” he explained briefly. “I've asked Lilley to ring every taxi firm in a ten mile radius to check that she didn't order another taxi to take her to Moon's, when she paid off the original one. He's getting on with it now, but he'll be some little while, I imagine.”

Rafferty nodded approval. “Good work, Dafyd, it's a point worth checking. But, even if she didn't get another cab, she should still be in the running. Her flat is no distance from the High Street. There are two entrances to those flats. She could have walked through the internal corridor towards the lifts as if she intended going up to her flat and left by the pedestrian entrance. It would have saved her five minutes. Moon's phone was off the hook at 8.20 p m and back on five minutes later – which indicates he died around then. He was certainly dead at 8.30 p m or a little earlier if we accept that Terry Hadleigh spent five minutes trying to get an answer. Admittedly, she's not too good on her legs, but she could have walked it in ten minutes, killed Moon, and been home again by just after half past eight. The times are tight, but not impossibly so. How long does it take to bash someone's head in, after all?”

“You paint a convincing picture,” Llewellyn commented, then spoilt his remark with the reminder, “but it's still just supposition. We have no more proof that she murdered him than we have that any of the other suspects did so. Besides, why go back later to tackle him? He was alone earlier, she could have spoken to him then.”

“Yes, but she had another job to go on to and not much time. Ellen Hadleigh took her responsibilities seriously. She'd waited nearly thirty years for her revenge; another few hours wouldn't make so much difference. And I know we've still got no proof, but surely, you of all people, have thought more on the psychological angle? How likely is it?” Rafferty asked, “that a woman with the gumption to physically attack him years ago was now so changed in character that she hadn't even verbally assaulted Moon that evening? It explains why she felt unwell at the Astells' and had to leave early. Her mind and stomach must have been churning after learning Moon's real identity the day before.”

Llewellyn went to break in, but Rafferty was carried away on a wave of his own rhetoric and wasn't about to allow any interruption. 'Her son hadn't told her the truth about the assault, but supposing, when she returned and bearded Moon in his office, he had made her listen while he told her what had really happened all those years ago? That her son had lied to her, lied to the police, lied to the courts, lied to everyone about what had happened between him and Moon. What mother would be likely to believe him? And, if there is something in your psychological theory, what mother would be
willing
to believe him?

‘It strikes me that the more he tried to convince her, the angrier she would become. It would be the work of moments to pick up the ball when Moon's head was turned away and to express the extent of her fury by bringing it crashing down on his skull.'

Satisfied that, not only was he on the right track at last, but that he had laid out his case with sufficient logic for even Llewellyn's tastes, he added decisively, “Get the squad to ask around and find out what Ellen Hadleigh was wearing that night, Dafyd. If she killed Moon, it's possible there are traces of blood on her clothes and as there are no open fires in those flats, she couldn't get rid of the evidence easily. She'd have had to dump her clothing somewhere.” He frowned. “Find out when the refuse collections are made at the flats, she might have thrown them down the rubbish chute.” He hoped not. He could just imagine what Bradley would say when he asked for a large team to search the council dump.

Llewellyn hadn't been gone any more than five minutes when a visitor arrived to see Rafferty. A most surprising visitor, as Ginnie Campbell hadn't impressed him thus far with her eagerness to talk to the police.

“Mrs Campbell?” Rafferty opened the door to the front office and beckoned her over. “What can I do for you?”

“It's more a case of what I can do for you, Inspector,” she told him. “Perhaps we should go to your office?”

Intrigued, Rafferty held the door for her to walk through and led her up to his office. “Now,” he said, when they were both seated. “What's this about?”

“Just something that I overheard that I thought you should know. I-forgot about it till now.” She stared at him, daring him to call her a liar. “It must have been the shock of finding Jasper dead. It knocked everything else from my mind.”