Death Line (5 page)

He turned to Astell. “And you, sir? What time did you last see Mr Moon?”

“About 5.30 p m. Jasper's 4.00 p m client had left about half an hour earlier. He'd have been alone once Mrs Hadleigh left at 7.00 p m. Although Jasper was healthy enough, he wasn't a particularly fit man, Inspector. He'd have been easy prey for any violent intruder.”

Rafferty sighed and glanced at Llewellyn. Edwin Astell seemed determined to believe that some anonymous intruder had killed Moon, as if convinced that repetition of this belief would incline the police to share it. Rafferty wished he could share it; he didn't relish the thought that one of Moon's well-known and probably litigious clients had killed him. If they had, and Rafferty failed to nail them thoroughly, he foresaw claims for wrongful arrest flying around his unprotected head. For he could be sure that Bradley would promptly disown him. Get a grip, Rafferty, he warned himself. Worry about making an arrest when you've got a firm suspect, not before. Still, that locked cash box was interesting. To lock up afterwards was the natural instinct of the security conscious owner, or conscientious employee, not of a thief. It was possible that the murder was an inside job and the window was broken and the money taken afterwards in order to deflect suspicion. However, he said nothing of this to Astell. “You went home straight after?” he asked.

“Yes. I bathed and changed into my dinner suit – as Mrs Moreno mentioned, my wife regarded these anniversary evenings as special, so I like to make an effort. My wife is a semi-invalid, Inspector, doesn't get out much and does very little socialising, so these evenings are that much more important to her.”

Rafferty nodded. “I didn't realise your wife was an invalid. It must be difficult for you.”

“Oh, she's not in a wheelchair, or anything like that, Inspector.” Astell frowned. “It might be better if she were. If she had a specific physical problem, then at least the doctors might be able to do something for her. As it is, beyond saying she's highly-strung, over-anxious and prone to the muscular aches and pains and exhaustion brought about by her anxiety syndrome, they are unable to tell me much.” He enlarged a little more about his wife's poor health, as though pleased to find a sympathetic audience, before he carried on with his explanation. “Anyway, we hold this little remembrance service every year for my late father-in-law, Alan Carstairs. Usually, we have more guests, but my wife hasn't felt up to the extra effort this year, so it was just the four of us.”

After a few more questions, Rafferty let Mrs Moreno go. “Can you accompany my sergeant so the fingerprint man can take your prints?” he asked. “Simply for purposes of elimination,” he explained before she could protest. Having expected her to make a fuss, he was surprised when she agreed with no difficulty. When she had gone with Llewellyn, Rafferty turned back to Astell. “I'm afraid you won't be able to use the premises until the forensic team have finished their work. Could be a day or two.”

Astell nodded. “Probably little point in opening, anyway, Inspector. With Jasper gone, the only people likely to want to make appointments will be the usual ghouls.”

From Astell's drawn features, Rafferty guessed that Moon's death would adversely affect the business. Moon – to a large extent – apparently was the business. “We'll do our best to keep the ghouls away, sir. I'll ask the forensic team to work as quickly as possible so you can get back to some kind of normality. One more thing. Which of your staff have keys to the premises?”

“All of them. Mrs Hadleigh, the cleaner, starts work before anyone else gets in. And, of course, the shop stays open till 6.00 p m to catch the returning office workers, so Mrs Moreno has a key. When Jasper is away on working trips abroad there would otherwise be no-one to lock up the shop.”

“But wouldn't yourself or Mrs Campbell still be working?”

“No. As I told you, both Mrs Campbell and myself concentrate more on the postal side, so work mainly office hours. Because of my wife's ill-health, I like to leave fairly promptly. She becomes upset if I'm not home when expected. Anyway, most people who require a personal consultation, naturally want to see Jasper. He's the one they've heard of, you see.”

“You don't mind?”

Astell shrugged. “We both had our niche. Some of the clients can get very emotional, very demanding. I'm better applying my skills at a distance, as it were. But Jasper is – was – splendid at dealing with such people. Besides, I still spent a large part of my time on the book-keeping, and so on.”

“I understand Mr Moon was a wealthy man?” Astell nodded. “Do you know if he made a Will?”

“I've no idea. But I can give you the name of his solicitors.” He did so as Llewellyn popped his head round the door. Rafferty said, “You won't forget to check that none of Mr Moon's client files are missing before you go, sir? I'll assign one of my officers to help you.”

Astell shook his head.

“Llewellyn, check that the SOCOs have finished with the filing cabinet and diary, will you, before you take Mr Astell for his prints?” He turned back to Astell as Llewellyn vanished. “There is one more thing before you go, sir. Could you let me know the name of Mr Moon's next of kin? Was he married?”

Again Astell shook his head.

“So, who would his next of kin be?”

“I don't know. His parents were both dead and he had no brothers or sisters. He never talked about having any close family.”

“He lived alone then?”

“Actually, Jasper didn't live alone. He, um, he lived with another man, by the name of Farley. Christian Farley.”

Rafferty stared at him for a moment, before what Astell had said sunk in. “I see. Have Moon and this Mr Farley lived together long?”

“About five years, I believe.”

Happily anticipating nothing more than the usual short duration of most homosexual romances, Rafferty felt a sinking sensation at this news. Moon and Farley's relationship had lasted longer than many modern marriages and his stomach tensed at the thought of the embarrassment and difficulties to come. No matter how hard he tried to act normally, homosexuals always made him feel awkward; it was something else for which he could thank the Catholic church. Although consciously he'd rejected their teachings on most things, some aspects had evidently taken subconscious root. Even now, he still felt a twinge of guilt whenever he used a condom; the Catholic church having long frowned on any sexual act that wasn't purely and simply for the procreation of children. And their views on homosexual unions were like something out of the Middle-Ages, full of fire and brimstone warnings that unnatural practises earned an eternity in a devilish barbeque pit where they never ran out of charcoal. Rafferty wondered how he would have coped after such indoctrination if he had found his sexual inclinations to be other than male-female? Back came the answer; badly. He supposed, with all the givens, he should be thankful that awkward was all he felt in their company. He cleared his throat. “Is, er, is Mr Moon's... Is this Mr Farley likely to be at home now, do you think?”

“I imagine so. He doesn't have any kind of employment. Hasn't had any for the last two years. I'd-I'd break the news gently, Inspector. Farley can be a little emotional. Of course, he's a Cancer sun with a Pisces Moon, so it's understandable. Two Water signs prominent in his chart, you see.”

Rafferty stared at him in dismay. Homosexual and emotional. He just hoped this Farley didn't fling himself round his neck and burst into tears. He couldn't be sure that his reaction would be as sympathetic as Farley's loss warranted and Llewellyn was unlikely to be much help. The Welshman had confided to Rafferty at the beginning of their very first case together, that as a boy, his minister father had insisted on him accompanying him to break news of death. His distaste for such tasks had increased with the years, and now, such occasions rendered him even more awkward than Rafferty among homosexuals. It was one of the intellectual Welshman's more human weaknesses and Rafferty liked him the better for it.

By the time Rafferty had checked a few more points, Llewellyn had returned, and he let Astell go. After ringing the station and organising the house-to-house team, he nominated several officers to make a start in listing Moon's client files as soon as Astell had confirmed there were none missing.

Virginia Campbell had still not turned up, though the officer assigned to check her address said a neighbour had confirmed she had been about that morning, so Rafferty ruled out the possibility of a flit. If she had reason to flit, last night would have been the time to do it. Maybe it was as Astell had said and Moon had given her a second day off without mentioning the fact. Hopefully she would return home at some point during the day, because he would need to get her statement. “Right', he turned to the hovering Llewellyn. 'Let's go and see Moon's boyfriend.” Rafferty told him what Astell had said, and as he had expected, Llewellyn's long face grew appreciably longer. “Farley has two Water signs prominent, according to Astell,” Rafferty told him. “So I reckon we can expect plenty of waterworks. Cheer up, Dafyd.” Rafferty couldn't resist the dig. “With such sensitive palms, you should have no trouble mopping him up. Let's get moving.”

On the
way out, Rafferty stopped to read the words painted in white Gothic script on the smoky glass of The Psychic Store.
Personal consultations in Tarot, Astrology, Palmistry by internationally renowned reader, Jasper Moon. Make the fates work for you, not against you.
Oh yeah? thought Rafferty Since when were the fates open to argument, however persuasive? Like self-employed plumbers, the fates followed their own idiosyncratic course.

Between the consultancy and the store, they seemed to offer something for everyone; the latest New Age books, charms, crystals, oils, incenses – even gemstone amulets in agate, chalcedony, jade and so on, which possessed the power to attract "beneficial influences" such as good luck, healing and protection.

“Seems friend Moon failed to take advantage of the beneficial influences,” Rafferty observed. “Maybe if he'd worn the jade, he wouldn't have ended up on his own consulting room floor with his head bashed in.” Llewellyn made no comment and Rafferty went on, musing more or less to himself for want of any input from the pensive Welshman. “He must have made someone madder than hell for them to just snatch up the victim's own crystal ball and brain him with it. No finesse, no cool planning, just angry emotion.” He mentioned his earlier thought that Moon might have used the information he acquired from his clients to further enrich himself. “It would certainly explain the type of murder and the panicked attempt to make it look like the work of a burglar. Of course, it still doesn't explain why the box was locked.” He glanced at the still quiet Llewellyn, and said, “Come on Dafyd, give your brains an airing. Think it's likely Jasper Moon was into blackmail?”

“I doubt it. Why would he put his lucrative professional career in jeopardy for the sake of a dangerous side-line?” Llewellyn's dark eyes were thoughtful. “Still, he catered for those likely to have more to hide that most – rock stars, actresses and so on. If he was into blackmail, the famous would be the obvious target.”

Contrarily, now that Llewellyn seemed to be taking his blackmail angle more seriously, Rafferty changed his mind. “I'm not so sure now I've thought about it. Let's face it, showbiz types tend to rattle their skeletons at the flash of a camera, on the principle that any publicity is good publicity. If you read a decent paper on a Sunday instead of those dreary highbrow ones, you'd know that. Every week sees them pouring their hearts out to the sex-obsessed Great British Sunday tabloids. Great stuff, it is. You don't know what you're missing.” Rafferty put on a falsetto voice. “"I long for my lost love child," cries sexy soap star; "I'm ashamed of my promiscuous past," confesses born again ex-porno queen, "Toy boys were my downfall" admits aging theatre dame.” He paused, lost the falsetto, and demanded, “How likely is it that people like that would leave much for Moon – or anyone else – to rake over?”

Llewellyn shrugged absently, said, “Not very, I suppose,” and lapsed into silence again.

Exasperated, Rafferty sighed, surprised to find he had been looking forward to thrashing out the pros and cons of the case with the intellectual Welshman. Not that he'd admit that to Llewellyn, of course. He confounded Rafferty's favourite theories enough now. God knew what heights of contradiction he'd achieve if encouraged. But Llewellyn's reluctance to enter into the spirit of the thing was frustrating. Rafferty knew what the trouble was, of course. The sooner they broke the bad news to Moon's boyfriend, the better. “No.” Rafferty was pensive. “I think we'll find this murder's an inside job. Have you ever known a burglar lock up a cashbox after helping himself to the stash? Even less to return the key to where he found it.” Llewellyn muttered something noncommittal. Rafferty gave up, turned and made for the car.

It was October. The weather wet and windy. Barely a month ago, they'd been roasting in a heat-wave, now, soggy leaves from the tree-lined High Street made the pavements treacherous. Rafferty leaned on the car roof, nodded back at The Psychic Store, and confided, “Ma's into all this, you know. Astrology, palmistry, tea leaves, you name it, she's into it.” He grinned. “I think she's hoping to see a tall, dark handsome wife for me.”

“I wouldn't have thought Mrs Rafferty would approve of such practises. Doesn't the Catholic Church frown on that sort of thing?”

Rafferty snorted. 'Course. They frown on most activities that don't involve kneeling and praying, making Catholic babies, or getting their hands on the dibs. But, on that sort of thing, Ma and the Pope have taken independent lines. And as she says, if Catholics didn't have some vices, the priests would have nothing to rant about from the pulpit. Doing them a favour really.