Love Lies Bleeding (26 page)

‘In any case, it will surely be instructive to hear what he has to say for himself,’ Llewellyn added, in the manner of one teaching Granny to suck eggs.

But Llewellyn was wrong. Their conversation with Mike Raine wasn't instructive at all. Although Mike, unlike Stephanie, was perfectly polite, he simply backed up what she had said.

‘I have to say that your willingness to investigate the misheard evidence of the linguistically challenged Michelle indicates a certain desperation, inspector,’ was Mike's comment. T hope it doesn't mean that my cousin's killer will remain unconvicted for the foreseeable future.’

So did Rafferty.

Rafferty's
mobile rang ten minutes after their return to the station. He was thankful that Llewellyn, still in something of a huff, had taken himself off when he saw that the caller was Abra. Now what? he wondered as he snatched the mobile up.

‘Abra. How are things? What's the news on the Gloria front? I suppose she's been charged now?’

‘No. That's what's so weird. I don't know what that horrible DI Jones is waiting for, but he told me in very lofty tones that there had been a delay in charging her. This delay's obviously not down to him, as from what you said it sounded as if he couldn't wait to make sure Dafyd's mum had a criminal conviction.’

‘How is she?’ he asked.

He heard Abra sigh. ‘Not any better for this delay,’ she said. ‘I think she just wants it all to be over. And now, to go with the lack of sleep, she's hardly eating. Ironic that it should have been two tins of peaches the supermarket security staff found in her shopping bag.’

‘That's all she took? Two tins of peaches are what's caused all this upset and misery?’

‘That's all. And she doesn't even
like
bloody peaches, which shows how forgetful she's become. God, Joe, I feel so angry about it all. Anyone with an ounce of common sense and a smidgin of humanity would have seen that, rather than being a habitual thief, she's unwell. I feel like punching that sanctimonious DI Jones in the nose.’

‘The law can be an ass, Abra. God knows I see enough examples of mulish stupidity every working day to make me despair. But why not encourage her to do something to help herself while she's waiting for this business to be over? Getting her GP to put her on HRT might be a good place to start. Otherwise she might have this — or something very like it — to be gone through again.’

‘God forbid. Though she was on HRT before. She only came off it because of all these journalistic scaremongers spreading the gospel that HRT increases the risk of breast cancer and other health problems. Better, to my mind, to deal with the health problems you
have
got than start worrying about the ones you don't have and likely never will. If it wasn't for them, she'd still be the Gloria of old and not a soon-to-be convicted criminal.’

While Rafferty felt sorry for Gloria, whom he liked, he also wanted Abra home. He missed her terribly.

‘Persuade her back on the HRT, Abs. You'll never get home otherwise.’

Rafferty became conscious of an awkward silence on the other end.

‘Abra? Did you hear me?’

‘Yes. I just wish I could obey, oh my lord and master. Only Gloria's taking a bit of persuading. I'm sure I'll talk her round to returning to the medication before long. Only even if — when — I manage to persuade her of its benefits, it'll take a few weeks to kick in.’

Rafferty was dismayed. ‘A few
weeksl
But—’

‘Keep your hair on, Joe. It may not be as bad as that. Hopefully I'll be able to get home next week, as Mum and Dad should be back from their holiday in the Algarve. Joe? Are you OK with that?’

I'm going to have to be, he thought. But he was just being selfish. Abra was right: Gloria's need of her was, at the moment, greater than his own.

‘I'm fine, Abs. Just promise me you won't stay there a day longer than you can help?’

‘Scout's honour.’

‘And can you let me have the phone number of Gloria's neighbour so I can at least get in touch?’

‘I've bought a new charger for my mobile,’ Abra assured him. ‘I did tell you.’

‘I know. Even so, I'll feel happier if I have a back-up number. You know what you're like for forgetting to charge your phone up.’

‘Rather better than you are, if the truth be told.’

As this was undeniable, he said nothing further on the subject.

Nor did Abra. She simply provided the neighbour's number as he had requested and told him to cheer up.

‘After all,’ she added, with a hint of her normal mischief, ‘as we both know that it's pretty unlikely that Dafyd
won't
find out about Gloria's pending conviction one way or another, you can always look forward to being the first to rub his nose in the fact that his mum's a super-criminal. Just imagine how much fun you're going to have with that little titbit.’

‘I wouldn't dream of it,’ Rafferty protested.

But perhaps his protest was a bit too quick, a bit too vehement, for Abra teased, ‘Oh yeah? Come on, Joe. After all the times Davy's high moral principles have put you on the spot with regard to
your
mum. Not to mention most of the rest of your family.’

Rafferty decided a change of subject was way overdue.

‘Just you look after yourself,’ he ordered. ‘And tell Gloria I'm still working on getting in contact with Dai Jones. Love you,’ he added.

‘Ditto.’

But, he admitted to himself as he came off the phone, Abra was right about one thing. He
would
find it a temptation to just blurt out the truth to Llewellyn. Especially when he was being crabby, like now. And even though he felt genuinely sorry for Gloria, he suspected it
was
inevitable that Llewellyn would learn about her conviction from someone, and that probably sooner rather than later.

And as it was likely to be the only chance he would ever have to come over all superior with his high-moral-ground sergeant he wasn't sure he would be able to resist the temptation — especially the next time Llewellyn dissected one of his theories with that infuriating logic of his.It wasn't as if his record for resisting temptation was exactly up there with Jesus H. Hadn't he sworn only two cases ago that he would abandon wild theorising? He hadn't taken long to fall from grace and fail to resist that particular vice, after all …

But now, he thought, he'd better have another go at getting hold of the ex-DI Dai Jones. He'd come up with what he thought a very cunning plan to persuade one of his Welsh opposite numbers to give him the information: ringing the Welsh police station and pretending to be a Welshman, one of 'us', as opposed to one of ‘them’, the hated English.

He found the slip of paper that Abra had given him on which she had scribbled the police station's telephone number. And after five minutes spent practising his accent, his ‘boyos’ and his ‘isn't it?'s, he picked up the phone and tapped out the number.

He didn't recognise the voice at the other end. It certainly wasn't the cocky young copper who was so determinedly Welsh that he probably had a coal mine buried deep in his valley. It wasn't DI Jones either — not that he'd struck Rafferty as the sort to lower himself to answer the phone in reception.

No, this one sounded early-middle-aged and spoke politely to Rafferty — though that, of course, might just be the influence of the accent.

But, Welsh accent or no, he still didn't get anywhere. What was it about this Dai Jones that had everybody so keen to keep any information about him under wraps? he wondered.

He spun his chair round to face the desk and replace the receiver — and met Llewellyn's startled gaze.

Had he heard any of his conversation? Rafferty wondered uneasily. He certainly couldn't have heard the first bit when he'd mentioned Dai Jones's name as he'd been facing front at the time and knew Llewellyn was out of the room, so he decided to bluff it out.

‘I was just having a competition with a friend to see who could do the worst Welsh accent,’ he explained weakly.

‘0h yes?’ Llewellyn raised an eyebrow. ‘I think you won.’ He hadn't, though, Rafferty knew. He was still no further forward on the Dai Jones front. But at least Gloria still hadn't been charged. Rafferty couldn't understand why there was such a delay in what was a routine shoplifting charge. But he was too glad of it to ponder further on the whys and wherefores. It gave him a bit more time to try to help her out of the hole she was in.

While he might
not be making any advances in helping Gloria, Rafferty at least felt he was making progress in the Raine murder investigation. If only it didn't still contain that one fatal flaw, his latest theory would be nigh-on perfect.

He had just relented and decided to share his thoughts about this theory with Llewellyn when the office phone rang. He sat up straight, suddenly alert, when he recognised the voice of the governor of the prison where Felicity Raine was being held on remand.

He listened for a few seconds, asked some questions and then replaced the receiver. ‘That was Mrs Collins, the prison governor,’ he told Llewellyn. ‘Apparently Mrs Raine has collapsed. She's been rushed to hospital. The Accident & Emergency here in Elmhurst. We'd better get over there.’

As
he walked towards A&E reception, from the corner of his eye, Rafferty caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the crowded waiting room. He stopped. Then he saw that the familiar face of Sandrine Agnew was accompanied by Michelle Ginôt. What were they doing here? he wondered.

But then, as he got closer and saw they were wearing matching expressions of anxiety, it struck him that they must know about Felicity Raine's admission.

‘What are you doing here?’ Rafferty immediately demanded as he reached their seats. ‘I take it you've heard the news?’

‘About Felicity? Yes,’ Sandrine Agnew confirmed.

‘Who told you?’

Sandrine Agnew hesitated, then blurted out, ‘I'm a volunteer at the hospital and have a friend who works in A&E. She recognised Felicity, was aware of her present circumstances and that she's a friend of mine.’ Sandrine raised her plump chins in defiance of Rafferty's clear disapproval. ‘I hope I haven't got her in any trouble, but I thought Felicity might be glad of my support since she's unwell.’

Rafferty glanced around him. Suddenly he noticed they had a fascinated audience among the other waiting patients and he lowered his voice. ‘I'm sure. But I hope you understand that she's still a prisoner?’

Sandrine Agnew nodded. ‘But not for much longer now, I think, inspector.’

Rafferty raised his eyebrows at this. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘You have only to look at the other suspects this investigation has thrown up — each of whom has motives for wishing Raymond dead and far more to gain than has Felicity from his death. Michelle and I have already told you about her overhearing Stephanie and Michael colluding to make sure Felicity is convicted and—’

‘A collusion they both deny,’ Rafferty interrupted to tell her.

Sandrine shrugged this aside as if it was no more than she had expected. ‘To quote one of the parties in a previous court case — “They would say that, wouldn't they?” They have everything to gain and nothing to lose by making such a denial.’

She paused, then asked, ‘Inspector? May I see Felicity? I need to know for myself that she's all right. None of the other hospital staff will tell me anything and my friend's gone off shift now.

‘I'm not a relative, of course,’ she remarked with a trace of bitterness. ‘As if any of Felicity's relatives ever cared enough about her to even turn up here, as I—’ she hesitated, glanced at Michelle with a frown, as though unwilling to acknowledge her presence and shared concern for Felicity, and murmured, ‘and Michelle, have done.

‘Inspector?’ Sandrine prompted when Rafferty failed to respond. ‘You haven't said whether or not I can see Felicity,’ she reminded him.

Rafferty considered. Then he thought, Why not? It might turn out to be helpful. At least as far as he and the solution to this case were concerned.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘But first I must find out how she is myself. Then, as long as she is well enough and the A&E consultant, the prison guard and Mrs Raine herself agree to your visit, you can have a few minutes with her.’

‘Thank you, Inspector.’ Sandrine smiled. It made her plump face almost pretty.

After Rafferty had had a word with the consultant and he and Llewellyn were allowed to pass through to the curtained area to speak to Felicity Raine, he became aware of a feeling of
déjà vu
as he saw her lying on the trolley. Her clothing was bloody, as it had been the first time he had seen her, though this time the bloodstains were lower down the material and not nearly as plentiful as when she had walked into the police station and announced she had murdered her husband. Surely, he thought, as he stared at the bloody material of her dress, she wasn't about to report that she had murdered someone else? But all of a sudden, he knew what had happened. And as he realised that his theory no longer had a fatal flaw, he quietly asked Felicity, ‘Did you lose your baby?’

She looked warily up at him as if she suspected his motives for asking the question, but then she relaxed back against her pillows and shook her head. ‘No. They were able to save him. It's going to be all right.’

‘Him?’ he queried. ‘So you are far enough along in your pregnancy to have the scan tell you the sex?’

Felicity didn't respond. Instead, she laid her hand lightly on her stomach and smiled.

She might, in reality, be a murderess, as Rafferty now knew without a shadow of a doubt, but he very much feared she was a murderess who would not only get away with her crime but also secure her son's inheritance from the trustees.

He believed Llewellyn was right when he said that she had sufficiently muddied the waters and spread enough doubt about her guilt, while increasing the suspicion of other suspects, to encourage the Crown Prosecution Service to look again at the case against her and decide to drop all charges.

Felicity Raine had played her part — that of bewildered, horrified, guilty innocence — to perfection. As her own father had said, Felicity had had men falling adoringly at her feet because of her beauty since her early teens. She well knew how to use her looks and air of fragility to hook them in, use and manipulate them and then, when it suited her, discard them as she had Peter Dunbar when he lost his money and his business. She had done the same with the father who knew her too well and Raymond Raine also, whom she had manipulated out of this world so she could inherit his money in right of her child, without having either his husbandly demands or husbandly neglect to trouble her.