Love Lies Bleeding (16 page)

‘Inspector?’

Rafferty roused himself from his internal debate. ‘Sorry?’

‘You said I could go if I satisfied your curiosity. Have I satisfied it?’

Not really, he felt like saying. But after staring at her for several seconds, his gaze locked with hers, he nodded and gave his unwilling consent for her departure.

Rafferty watched as, with a forlorn slump to her shoulders, Felicity Raine walked to the door and waited for the warden to unlock it and take her back to her cell.

He sat for several minutes after she had left, then, with a sigh of regret for he knew not what, he pushed back his chair and said, ‘Come on’ to Llewellyn. ‘Let's get back. Maybe Jonathon Lilley's managed to unearth something from his email search.

‘Even if he hasn't, at least now I can free you up to take some of the load off him. But before we see what Lilley's managed to unearth from the bowels of assorted computers, I think it's time we had another chat with Stephanie Raine. Like Michael, the victim's cousin, they both now stand in line for much improved inheritances. And, like him, she's another one who hasn't been totally honest with us.’

Michelle Ginôt answered
the door as before. And as Rafferty glanced at the subdued
au pair,
he caught the glint of gold at her throat. It was a piece of jewellery that looked familiar. But before he could recollect why this particular bauble should strike a chord, she had adjusted the delicate scarf at her neck, turned away and invited them into the drawing room, where she left them while she went to find Stephanie.

Did Michelle have a rich lover? Rafferty wondered as they waited for Stephanie to put in an appearance. She must have, he thought. Even though his glimpse of it had been brief, he thought the necklet had looked a costly piece; and, as they had discovered on checking Michelle's background, her family were not wealthy enough to buy her such a gift; and as an
au pair,
Michelle would scarcely have sufficient income to treat herself to jewellery.

Rafferty's gaze was drawn to the place where Ray and Felicity's wedding photograph had taken pride of place. The photo was no longer there, and now Rafferty found himself wondering what Felicity had looked like as Dunbar's bride. They hadn't found any photographs of her first wedding at their home; perhaps she'd tactfully discarded the photographic reminders so as not to offend Raymond if he should come across them?

Whatever the true depth of her grief for her murdered stepson, as soon as Stephanie appeared in the doorway, she wasted no time in polite conversation, but in a sharp voice immediately demanded what they wanted.

Rafferty took great delight in telling her. And after he had asked her why she had thus far signally failed to clarify her true relationship with Raymond or mention that his death would increase her income from the trust substantially, it quickly became clear that wounded innocence was her best ally.

‘Really, inspector,’ she protested, ‘surely you understand that it never occurred to me to mention it? I was upset, naturally. You had just told me that Ray was dead — murdered by his own wi—’

Stephanie Raine's lips tightened on the bitten-off word ‘wife’, as if she couldn't bring herself to accord Felicity the status of Raymond's spouse. She sat down, without inviting them to do likewise, and stared up at them with a hint of defiance.

'I was in shock, naturally, as I'm sure my doctor would confirm. Besides, apart from anything else, I have always loved Raymond as if he was my own. He might have been almost a man grown when I first met him, but that's how I've always thought of him — as
my
boy. I suppose that's because, right from the first, we hit it off so well. It simply didn't occur to me to mention that he wasn't a blood relative.

‘And even if it had occurred to me, for all I knew the police investigating his death would instantly seize on the wicked stepmother stereotype once they knew I would be financially better off after his death. Which is exactly what you're doing.’

Her carmine lips thinned. ‘Of course, it was a possibility that played on my mind. Step-parents invariably seem to be cast in the worst possible light. How many times have we all watched as one or another step-parent of a murder victim appears at press conferences to appeal for the public's help, only to end up being charged with the murder? Besides, you must acknowledge that being told a member of one's own family has been murdered is not the sort of information one has broken to one every day. That is something you have to experience yourself to understand how deep the effect goes. It certainly doesn't increase one's clarity of thought.’

‘Obviously not,’ Rafferty agreed. Though I would have thought the fact that days have now passed since I broke the news of Mr Raine's death might have brought a little more clarity. And then, of course, you also failed to mention that your income from the trust your late husband and his brother set up increased substantially on Raymond's death.’

Stephanie bridled. ‘I'm not sure I like your tone, inspector. Maybe we should be having this conversation in the presence of my solicitor?’

Before Rafferty could say anything, Llewellyn broke in.

‘That's your choice, of course, Mrs Raine. But I think I can speak for Inspector Rafferty as well as myself when I say that we've found that most people with nothing to hide prefer to clear any confusion up as quickly as possible. Particularly in view of your stated fondness for the late Mr Raine.’

She looked a bit discomfited at Llewellyn's statement of the obvious and proceeded to backtrack.

‘Well, of course I want to do that. But it seems to me you would be better advised in speaking to Felicity about
her
confusion.
I'm
not the one who confessed to murdering Ray in cold blood —
she
is. And Raymond is undoubtedly dead, yet here you are questioning
me
about our relationship and my possible motives for murdering him. Why are you trying to find a scapegoat when she's already admitted she did it?’

She turned back to Rafferty. ‘Has she mesmerised you with her pretty face as she mesmerised Raymond and—’ She bit off whatever else she had been going to add.

Rafferty suspected it would have been something along the lines of ‘and the foolish, gullible first husband whom she was glad enough to leave as soon as the money ran out’.

Clearly, she had known about Felicity's first marriage, but, like her own true relationship with Raymond and her increased inheritance, had chosen not to mention it.

He thought he could guess why — so Felicity's embittered ex-husband wouldn't distract them from what she obviously considered Felicity's certain guilt.

‘I don't think, in fairness, that it is quite that simple any more, Mrs Raine,’ Rafferty quietly observed.

‘Do you not?’ Stephanie Raine's lips twisted in a contemptuous smile. ‘It seems you really
are
as gullible as I suspected.’

As this was something that Llewellyn and Abra had also implied during the course of this investigation, albeit more subtly, Rafferty, unwilling to allow Stephanie to goad him into losing it, nevertheless found himself struggling to control his temper.

‘Nor do I think this case is quite as clear-cut as you seem to think it. It's usual, in a murder investigation, for the investigating officer to ask some basic questions — such as who benefits from the victim's death.’

Even as he voiced the words, he felt shame edge into his conscience that he should find a malicious satisfaction in making clear to Stephanie that she could certainly begin to number herself amongst the suspects. But he didn't allow his overactive Catholic conscience to prevent him from making the next observation.

‘And as we know that Raymond's widow hasn't gained anything — has, in fact, lost out big-time — it behoves us to look at other possibilities. You, for instance—’

He got no further before Stephanie Raine's coolly contemptuous expression was replaced by the white heat of anger.

‘You dare to try to lay Felicity's crime at
my
door?’ She stood up. This conversation is going no further. If you wish to question me again, it will be in the presence of my solicitor. Now, I'm asking you to leave — unless you choose to arrest me?’

This last was said with a challenging air, almost as if she
wanted
him to arrest her. But Rafferty wasn't about to make that mistake. Stephanie Raine clearly wasn't short of money and would — if he was so foolish as to allow her to goad him into carting her off to the station — soon line up an expensive array of defence briefs.

From her expression and the contained fury in her eyes, Rafferty guessed she was holding herself back only with difficulty. He suspected she longed to give into the impulse to give him a resounding slap across the face or mark him with her long, carmine talons.

Part of him wished she would give into the impulse — then he
would
have an excuse to arrest her and give her a taste of a night in the cells, like Felicity, whom she had been keen enough to have incarcerated. Instead, she resorted to the woman's eternal weapon, that of ridiculing the foolish male.

‘She
has
got you mesmerised, hasn't she?’ she taunted. ‘Clever Felicity. It might be amusing if it wasn't so tragic. Admit it, inspector: you'd do anything to get pretty little, fragile little Felicity out from under, no matter who you have to pin Raymond's murder on to do it.’

Rafferty, who knew he would be wise to say nothing further, failed the wisdom test and replied indignantly, ‘That's not true. It's—’

‘No? I suggest you examine your conscience, inspector. You
are
a Catholic, I presume, with a name like Rafferty?’

Unwillingly, Rafferty nodded.

‘Then try looking below the surface, below Felicity's pretty face, and you'll see something not nearly so pretty. You'll see poor Raymond's murderer.’

For
Rafferty, it had been an uncomfortable interview. He and Llewellyn returned to the station and Rafferty sat at his desk staring into space.

Stephanie Raine had suggested he look beneath the surface and now he did just that. But it wasn't below the surface of Felicity's pretty face that he tried to peer, but that of Abra.

Once again he asked himself why she still hadn't been in contact with him. It was a question that had plagued him for several days now.

He looked across at Llewellyn as he industriously ploughed through the latest reports, and he opened his mouth. But then he closed it again without saying anything. What was the point in worrying Dafyd when he couldn't tell him anything? Abra had said that, whatever family problem it was that had taken her away, Llewellyn didn't know anything about it.

Rafferty frowned pensively down at the expenses claim he was meant to be filling in. Blasted things always left him out of pocket, as his receipts had a habit of disappearing -when, that was, he remembered to get them at all.

He sighed heavily. So heavily that Llewellyn raised his studious head from the paperwork and asked, ‘What's the matter? Don't tell me you've lost yet another twenty-pound receipt, but held on to the one for fifty pence?’

‘How well you know me.’

Llewellyn was right, of course. It
was
always the receipts for larger amounts that vanished. But this time, it wasn't the loss of another £20 expenses receipt that was troubling him, but the growing suspicion that he had lost far more. He was becoming convinced that he had carelessly lost his greatest treasure, Abra and her love. This line of thought immediately connected to another and he found himself asking, ‘How's your mum, Dafyd? It's ages since I've seen her. I really liked her when we met.’

Llewellyn looked surprised by this abrupt change of subject, but he answered readily enough. ‘She's in reasonable health, I suppose, considering her time of life. Keeping busy, you know.’

But Rafferty
didn't
know, that was the problem. The trouble was, how could he extract from Llewellyn information that he presumably didn't even possess?

He gave it his best shot; who knew what a fishing expedition might turn up?

‘A good-looking woman, your mum. I've always said so. Do you ever wonder whether she'll marry again?’

Llewellyn stared at him. ‘Marry again? No. She loved my father too much to ever consider such a thing.’ Llewellyn frowned and looked questioningly at Rafferty. ‘Why do you ask? Has my mother said anything to yours? I know our mothers have become quite close.’

‘No. Of course not,’ Rafferty told him quickly — a shade
too
quickly, to judge from Llewellyn's concerned expression. ‘I was just wondering, that's all,’ he finished lamely.

Nothing more was said after that. But ten minutes later, it was Llewellyn who was sighing and being distracted from his work and Rafferty realised that all he had achieved with his failed fishing expedition was to place a — probably unnecessary — anxiety in his sergeant's head to go with the one in his own.

That
evening, as he sat in the flat that was still empty of Abra, Rafferty stared morosely into the glass of Jameson's whiskey; its warm alcohol reflected his anxious gaze back up at him. But tonight he was able to find no solace in drink.

Even the flat, which Abra had transformed from its previous spartan bachelor look, failed to improve his mood. She had taken the place in hand since their meeting; the first thing to go had been his gaudy picture of Southend by night. Now, instead of his tired and mismatched furniture and curtains, they had expensive cream leather settees which Rafferty lived in fear of spilling something on. The carpets from which his ma had tried and failed to remove the stains had been taken up and disposed of; instead, the solid-wood floor underneath had been sanded and a warm varnish applied, much to his ma's disgust.

‘It looks as if you can't afford a decent carpet,’ she had complained when she had first seen the transformation. In her youth — and Rafferty's — the lack of a carpet, or sizeable rug at least, in the living room had indeed signalled a shaming poverty.

But whatever his ma might say, the flat had never looked so good: the tired, multi-coloured curtains had gone, to be replaced by wooden blinds varnished the same shade as the floor, and several large lamps provided a far more subtle illumination for the glowing colours of the pictures Abra had bought than the harsh centre light would have done. She had even organised the removal of the old gas fire and the reinstatement of the chimney so they could have the occasional open fire.