Kith and Kill (16 page)

It was a bright autumnal day, so Rafferty and Llewellyn elected to walk one Tube stop down before they blanketed themselves in the heat and claustrophobia of the Underground. ‘She reminds me of Abra,’ said Rafferty, as they strolled down Kensington High Street dodging the foreign tourists as they went. They seemed to visit London all year round now rather than just in the warmer months. The crowding on the pavements made Rafferty thankful he no longer lived in the capital. ‘Am I going to be able to cope with her if she gets more like Josephine in her Senior years?’

‘Abra always was a handful, even as a girl. She was the despair of her mother.’ Llewellyn was Abra's cousin, so knew all about the days of her youth. Unfortunately for Rafferty, the Welshman was discretion personified and never spilled any of Abra's more disreputable beans.

‘So who do you want to see next?’ Llewellyn asked as they approached High Street Kensington tube station.

‘Jack Nicholls. Lives at a place called Little Melton to the west of Norwich, so we can get the train back there from Liverpool Street and pick up a cab to his place. Then we can get a later train back to Elmhurst to see Cecily Barber and Ellen Everett.’

They were lucky with the train times and just managed to catch the 12.16 from Liverpool Street. They settled back and bought plastic cups of tea that weren't a patch on Josephine's. Rafferty had picked up a newspaper at Liverpool Street, while Llewellyn, who had celebrated his birthday in September, pulled a Kindle from his pocket.’

Rafferty eyed it. ‘I see you took my advice. They as good as they say?’

‘Better. They store large numbers of books, newspapers and magazines. I can have several open without cluttering up the lounge. You should get one.’

‘Maybe I'll get Abra to buy me one for Christmas.’

The journey was uneventful and they alighted at Norwich some two hours later and caught a cab to Jack Nicholls‘ home in Little Melton. But when they knocked at the door, it was his daughter who answered and she directed them to a grannie extension in the back garden.

Jack Nichols was a straight-backed man with a thick mop of pepper and salt hair. He was handsome in a leathery kind of way and charm personified. He shook their hands with both of his as if they were dear friends he hadn't seen in a while.

Rafferty thought he recognized him from somewhere and mentioned it.

Nicholls laughed. ‘You'll have seen an ad I'm in for Smoothy Margarine’ He launched into singing a jingle that Rafferty instantly recognized.

‘It's won an industry award,’ he told them. ‘Not least down to yours truly, I like to think. I get a lot of telly ads nowadays and voice-overs. A lot less effort than theatre six nights a week and then matinees. And the pay's better. But my dear chaps, do come in. I mustn't keep you standing on the doorstep.’

He led them into an immaculate front room with everything tidied away, military fashion. The expression “a place for everything and everything in its place” could have be invented for him.

‘I'm sorry about the mess,’ he said as they all sat down. ‘I was going to hoover through last evening, but then an old friend called round and we got to reminiscing. He didn't leave till after one this morning and I had to go out early today for an appointment in Soho. I've only just got back, as it happens.’

Rafferty couldn't help asking, ‘Were you a military man, sir? Only I thought everywhere looked as neat as a short back and sides.’

‘Good Lord, no. I did my National Service, of course. Had a comfortable billet in Colchester and never saw foreign service. No, I was a stage actor. It was the touring that made me tidy. It was necessary to travel light, I found, nothing superfluous. Still live like it today. Mostly retired now, though if they want an old git for a role, they sometimes think of me. Nice to be remembered. But I'm sure you're not here to listen to me talk about myself. It was Sophia you wanted to talk about, yes?’

Rafferty confirmed it.

‘Tragic business.’ He got up. ‘But you must have a drink. What would you like? Gin? Whisky? Beer?’

Rafferty, who would have preferred a whiskey, forced himself to opt for beer and Llewellyn had a Perrier. Once they had been served, Nicholls sat down again and took up where he had left off. ‘What a sad end. I always admired Sophia, you know. Might even say I was sweet on her. But it was no go. Sophia wouldn't have looked at a penniless actor as I was in those days. She was set on marrying money. I think that's why she went into the theatre. It certainly wasn't either for the pay or because of her acting talent.’ He smiled. ‘But I'm being bitchy. May God forgive me.’

‘Did you work with Mrs Egerton in the theatre, sir?’ Llewellyn asked.

‘Indeed, yes. Many were the times we were cast in the same play. I even played Romeo to her Juliet in our youth and thought my chances might have improved at the end of the run, but not a bit of it. That time it was yet another Stage-Door Johnnie who got to take her home. Oh well. Wasn't meant to be. Sorry, here's me rambling on and there's you with a murder to solve and limited time to do it in, I imagine.’

‘That's all right, sir,’ Rafferty told him. ‘It helps to get the fuller picture. Tell me, did you know her family at all?’

‘I'm afraid not. As I said, Sophia kept me at arms’ length. I was never invited to visit her home. We'd sometimes go out together in a crowd from the theatre, but we were never a pair, alas, so I'm afraid I'm unable to help you catch your man, Inspector.’

Rafferty had expected it: Jack Nicholls had said as much on the phone. But he had decided on the visit in case the putting of Sophia in Nicholls's mind might bring back other, more useful memories. But it was not to be, it seemed and Rafferty had resigned himself to it when, five minutes later, Jack Nicholls said, ‘there was one thing. I wasn't sure I should even mention it.’

‘Please do, Sir. We never know what information might prove useful.’

‘Very well. I don't suppose it's of any significance. It's just that Sophia always said she'd die by a relative's hand.’

‘What?’ Rafferty stared. ‘You mean – you mean she knew the identity of her killer?’

Jack Nicholls
stared at Rafferty for a second and then gave a loud guffaw. ‘Oh no. No. I don't mean anything like that. Wouldn't that be great from your point of view? Sorry to disappoint you, Inspector. No. It's just that she knew very well she was a demanding woman. Not everyone can take it, particularly not when receiving your inheritance depends upon you toeing the line. Sophia could be a difficult woman. Such a perfectionist always. She was aware of it, of course; Sophia always had great self-awareness. You know she was dumped on Dr Barnardo's doorstep when she was three and her sister Alice a baby in a cradle?’

Rafferty nodded.

‘The experience seems to have taken the sister in a very different way from what Sophia said, but it certainly seemed to inspire the great in Sophia. Although I can't say she was much of an actress, she hadn't found her true
metier.
But once she married Tom Egerton and began to work in his business, she really pulled it round. She was a very astute woman, so I'm not surprised that she should think that her life could be in danger from one of her own family. It's a problem for the wealthy – they're always getting bumped off. I remember several cases where people's own children have killed them for their inheritance. It must represent a permanent temptation for those who think their name's in the pot, especially when funds are low and creditors are pressing. And I know whereof I speak, my dears.’ He grinned. ‘Might have been tempted that way myself if I had any rich relatives.’

It was something that Rafferty had already considered in relation to their current investigation. Monetary gain always made for a strong motive. Though it wasn't something that he was ever likely to have to worry about.

They'd got all they were going to get from Jack Nicholls. Rafferty thanked him, took out his mobile and ordered a taxi to get them back to Norwich station. and made leaving noises. But for all his show of going, he was happy to accept another beer while they waited for the cab to arrive. Unfortunately for the beer-loving Rafferty, the taxi was prompt and he ended up glugging down the beer in double-quick time, almost choking on the last mouthful, much to Nicholls's mirth and Llewellyn's head-shaking disapproval.

They made their goodbyes and clambered into the cab. With the taxi arriving so much earlier than expected, they were in good time for their train back to Elmhurst and Rafferty thought they might as well use the waiting time to grab some lunch. For once, he decided to give the pub a miss, and at the first fast-food joint they came to he opted for a burger and chips. Llewellyn, of course, had the healthier scrambled egg option.

They found seats by the window – Rafferty liked to watch the world go by. But he had barely sat down than he realized he had two beers he needed to get rid of and in very short order. Before he sat down again, Rafferty rubbed his hands together in anticipation and said, ‘Looks good.’

Llewellyn's nose turned up a fraction at this. Anyone else would have missed this silent but telling riposte to Rafferty's remark, but he was used to Llewellyn's ways, and had waited for just this response. ‘It would do you good to get your fangs into some decent meat instead of that baby's pap you're eating.’

‘I'm as fond of decent meat as the next man,’ Llewellyn responded. He eyed Rafferty's partially-burnt burger with distaste. ‘But that's not it. Most of it's probably not even meat. And what is meat has probably been pumped up with water and an assortment of chemicals.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Rafferty forked up half-a-dozen chips and a chunk of burger, then asked, ‘Do you really think Sophia suspected that one of her family would kill her? ’just before he jammed the forkful into his mouth.

‘Mr Nicholls struck me as an honest man. Besides, why would he lie? I can't see he gains anything by it. It's not as if he's a suspect.’

Rafferty forked up a particularly fat chip and put it in his mouth. ‘Mmm. This is going down a treat. Don't know how you can eat that muck.’

‘I like to eat healthily, when possible.’

‘You mean when I give you the chance and aren't dragging you into the pub or some fast food place, I suppose.’

‘Just so. Though even they have improved immeasurably and have more healthy options available now.’

Fifteen minutes later and they'd finished their meals. Rafferty wiped his greasy chin with a paper napkin, then finished his coffee and said, ‘right, let's get back to the station.’

They'd managed to time it just right and the train pulled out only a few minutes after they found seats together. The journey seemed to fly by and seemingly, in no time at all, they were back in Elmhurst.

‘Okay,’ said Rafferty. ‘Let's get along and see the other old friends on our list. Who was the next one?’

The efficient Llewellyn didn't need to consult his notebook. ‘Mrs Ellen Everett. She lives in Elmhurst Lodge Care Home on Cymbeline Way.’

‘Not far then. We might as well walk.’

Mrs Everett, like the other old friends on their list, was Sophia's age, but, unlike the others, was very thin and looked frail, though her mind seemed sharp enough, to judge from the few words she spoke after they were taken along to her small, institutionalized bedroom by a nurse and introduced to her.

‘Ellen's not been well,’ said the nurse,’ who couldn't have been much more than eighteen. ‘Try not to tire her.’

Rafferty nodded. Ellen Everett's face was almost as white as her hair and Rafferty reminded himself to go gently with her. He took a seat by the bed, put a hand on the guard rail and smiled. ‘You and Sophia Egerton were friends, I gather, Mrs Everett?’

Her eyes were sunken, with mauve shadows under them, but they still sparked with intelligence for all that. ‘Competitors rather than friends I would say, Inspector.’ Her speech was slow, but perfectly lucid. ‘We always went for the same roles. It was mostly Sophia who got them. Not a sound basis for friendship.’

‘Still, whatever you were to each other, you knew her well.’

‘Very well. Well enough to pick out a rich husband for her who I believed would suit. And Thomas Egerton did suit. Well enough for them to have been married for over fifty years. But then Sophia was always one to know which side her bread was buttered. Not that I'm blaming her for getting the most she could out of life after the start she had.’

‘Did you know any of her family at all?’

‘Knew her daughter. And the son, of course, but he died quite young. Her nanny often used to bring Penelope and Simon along to matinees. Didn't know the grandchildren so well. We rather drifted apart after they were born. My health deteriorated and I didn't get out much and Sophia was always one to prefer fun outings rather than sick visiting.’

‘So you are unable to help by giving me some tips on each of the family's characters?’

Mrs Everett smiled. For all the sunken, mauve-shadowed eyes and sickly pallor, she had a dimpled smile that lit up her face ‘Who's most likely to have killed her, you mean,’ she said faintly. In spite of the smile, it seemed she was rapidly tiring as he voice wavered uncertainly.

Rafferty fearing the nurse would come back and throw them out, hurried on. ‘Something like that. Can you help?’

‘Perhaps. I think you can discount Penelope. By the time she'd have made her mind up to kill her mother it would be morning again and too late with Dahlia bustling in with her tea.’