Love Lies Bleeding (6 page)

In the end, he decided to keep it plain and simple. Time enough later, he thought, for fuller explanations. Now, he cleared his throat and told her as plainly as he could, ‘I'm afraid there's more bad new, Mrs Raine. Your daughter-in-law has confessed to murdering her husband.’

‘What?’ Stephanie Raine leapt to her feet, belying her invalid status. Her eyes seemed to spark with a malevolent fury at this news. ‘You're saying that that little bitch killed Ray? Yet you're letting her loll around in a hospital bed pretending shock as if she's a grief-stricken widow rather than a vicious murderer? I can't believe I'm hearing this. Why isn't she locked up in a cell where she belongs?’

Whatever reaction he had expected, it wasn't this loud demand for instant punishment that echoed round the large elegant drawing room. Stephanie Raine, the veins standing out on her neck, was now far from being the vision of beauty Rafferty had been deceived into seeing from the twenty-foot distance of the first-floor landing.

She hadn't paused to ask how Felicity had explained her deed, or even if she might have had cause to attack Raymond. Her first instinct had been to curse the younger woman.

‘Your daughter-in-law is confused and distraught, Mrs Raine,’ Rafferty began. ‘For all we know to the contrary at the moment, Mr Raine's death might just be a terrible accident and your daughter-in-law may have confessed from a sense of guilt. But until we're sure she knows what she's saying—’

Stephanie waved away his explanation. ‘How did she kill him? Where?’

‘Your son was found in the living room with a kitchen knife in his chest. It would have been a quick death,’ he added in an attempt at consolation, an attempt that clearly failed.

Stephanie spluttered with hysterical laughter and said, ‘It sounds an unlikely
accident
to me. What was she doing in the living room with a kitchen knife? God, but you men can be such fools. I suppose she used her well-practiced, doe-eyed innocent act to fool you? Wait till I get my hands on her.’ Stephanie Raine's scarlet-painted and astonishingly long fingernails curled as if in anticipation of tearing her daughter-in-law limb from limb.

From her words, Rafferty thought it unlikely he would need too many guesses as to her likely reaction should they manage to gain the mitigating proof that Raymond Raine had been a wife beater. But perhaps he was being unfair to her;
he
had never had a close family member killed in such a violent manner. Unsure how best to deal with this hate-filled outpouring, Rafferty attempted to apply reason.

‘Please, Mrs Raine. I know you've just had a bad shock, but try to calm yourself or—’

‘Calm myself?
Calm
myself?’ she repeated in a voice that rose to equal her apparent astonishment at what she was hearing. ‘You sit there being stoical in the face of someone else's grief, and tell me to calm myself? Are you mad? Or just stupid? Have you any idea what it's like having you tell me I now have to bury Ray when only fifteen months ago I danced at his wedding?’

She turned, snatched up a framed photograph that rested on a small side table nearby and thrust it under his nose. ‘Take a look. Such a happy day — or so everyone thought.’

Rafferty took the picture. Felicity really was the radiant bride, her face aglow with happiness, her blonde hair crowned with a ring of tiny white rosebuds that secured a little wisp of a veil beneath. Her dress was a floaty, calf-length creation with a demure, sweetheart neckline which revealed the glint of gold and diamond at her throat.

He was startled when the picture was plucked from his hand. Stephanie stared broodingly at the photo for several seconds, her expression unreadable, then, with a laugh as bitter as aloes, she turned it and slammed it face-down on the table with sufficient force to crack the glass.

‘Strange to think how smoothly everything went on the day; maybe it was an omen that the rest wouldn't be as smooth. No expense was spared. Ray insisted that Felicity must have the best of everything. He paid a fortune for his bridal gift — that gold and diamond necklace she wore on the day.’ Stephanie made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. ‘And yet, only a few weeks ago, when I asked her why she doesn't wear it any more, she told me she'd lost it. It seems she took as little care of Ray's gift as she did of Ray.’ Suddenly she slumped back into her chair, her face deathly pale, as if only now that she had vented her spleen against Felicity was she able to truly take in the enormity of her loss.

Rafferty turned and spoke to Michelle, who through this exchange had been seated open-mouthed, her gaze moving from one to the other as if she was an absorbed spectator at some international tennis tournament. Quietly, he suggested she call Stephanie Raine's doctor.

At this instruction, the
au pair
lost her English entirely.Her face fell, she turned to Stephanie and said,
‘Qu'est ce
que c`est est le nom de vôtre docteur, Stephanie? Je ne lui connais pas.’

Stephanie roused herself sufficiently to tell Michelle in a long-suffering voice, ‘For goodness’ sake, girl. He's in my phone book on the hall table. Under “doctor”. But I don't need — or want — a doctor,’ she shouted after the disappearing Michelle.

Rafferty, keen to pass Stephanie Raine over to another authority so he could get back to the crime scene, said quietly in Mary Carmody's ear, ‘Go with her and ring the doctor yourself. Just make sure he gets here, and quickly.’

Carmody nodded and followed Michelle out of the room.

Fortunately, Mrs Raine's doctor arrived shortly after. He evidently had greater skill — or maybe just greater practice — at calming hysteria, for within five minutes of his arrival he had persuaded Stephanie to take a sedative and go back to bed.

Unwilling to leave the scared
au pair
to cope with further hysteria once the doctor had departed and the sedative had worn off, Rafferty told Mary Carmody to remain behind until one of Mrs Raine's remaining family could be found and asked to stay with her. Quietly, he instructed her to question Michelle and learn what she could about the Raines’ marriage and what might have prompted Felicity to stab her husband. Although the husbandly violence that Elaine Enderby had suspected might well be the cause, it was possible that there was another reason for it entirely, one they as yet knew nothing about.

Shortly after, Rafferty headed back to the scene of the crime, anxious to see what the team had managed to discover during his absence. He found Llewellyn in Raymond Raine's study.

Expectantly, he asked, ‘What have you got, Dafyd?’

‘Remarkably little, unfortunately,’ Llewellyn revealed. ‘Though I have turned up a Mr Michael Raine from an address book I found in the desk drawer. I spoke with him by phone to confirm his identity and break the news. He told me he's the late Mr Raine's first cousin. He volunteered to formally identify Mr Raine. So, to save Mrs Raine Senior further distress, I agreed on your behalf and sent Lizzie Green and Hanks to accompany him to the mortuary.

‘Anyway, there's no doubt about the dead man being Raymond Raine. Michael Raine told me he and his late cousin ran their own fashion business, a family affair. Maybe you've heard of it?’

Although from the stylishly suited Llewellyn's tone Rafferty guessed his sergeant thought this unlikely, Rafferty
had
heard of the Raine fashion empire. It was simply that he hadn't made the connection to this case.

‘They were partners, I gather, though I got the distinct impression from the way Michael spoke that Raymond Raine was the boss, the one with the controlling interest. I also received the impression Mike Raine didn't like, to use the vernacular, to have to play second fiddle in this familial orchestra.’

Rafferty nodded. ‘Perhaps they were
killing
cousins rather than the kissing sort. But whatever sort they turn out to be, we'll need to see this Michael Raine urgently. As he presumably knew the Raines in both a personal and business capacity, he should be in a position to tell us a lot.’

He glanced around the expensively furnished room and said, ‘Raine was clearly a wealthy man; his money could well be a factor in his death. Have you managed to find the name of his solicitor yet?’

Llewellyn shook his head. ‘I asked his cousin, but he was unable to tell me. And for someone who seems to have been an important businessman, Mr Raine seems to have had a marked aversion to paperwork of a more personal nature.’

‘What do you mean?’

Llewellyn gestured at the two desks and the four-drawer filing cabinet against the wall. ‘I've looked through them all, and have found little but household accounts, nothing of a more intimate nature.

‘Perhaps he keeps such stuff at the business premises?’

‘Not according to the cousin. He told me Raymond always liked to keep private matters private.’

Given the lavish house and the apparently wealthy lifestyle of the dead man, Rafferty had already considered the possibility that inheritance might well have been a factor in his death. He was keen to discover as much as he could about the murdered man, yet, as Llewellyn continued his explanation that not only the study but also the rest of the house had been systematically searched for revealing paperwork and they had found little of importance, it seemed that learning more about the late Mr Raine might take longer than he had expected.

Certainly, as Llewellyn now confirmed, they had found no trace of the will that Rafferty had hoped the team would turn up. But that was no doubt stored at the solicitors whose identity they had still to discover. It was strange that a man of Raine's obvious wealth who must, surely, have retained the services of a solicitor to see to his affairs didn't keep such information in an easily accessible place. It was even more surprising that his cousin and business partner claimed not to know the solicitor's identity.

Rafferty wished he'd asked Stephanie Raine for this information when he had the chance. But it was too late for that now. Stephanie Raine, sedated by her doctor, was not, for the time being at least, in a position to advise him of anything.

‘What about Raine's wife? Surely Felicity Raine can tell us?’

‘She says not.’

Felicity Raine was still at the hospital. Rafferty had been told she would be released into police custody as soon as her temperature reduced.

‘When I spoke to her she said that Raymond had never confided in her about money or legal matters and she had no idea as to the identity of his solicitor as she had never thought to ask. Or so she said,’ Llewellyn added.

‘Damn the man,’ Rafferty muttered, an imprecation swiftly followed by the silent apology his conscience demanded for the sin of maligning the dead. But he had fully expected Llewellyn and the rest of the team to turn up more in the way of answers than they had so far managed. He had certainly expected to be in a position to speak to the late Mr Raine's solicitor and learn more about his financial situation. Yet Raine had, for reasons best known to himself, elected to turn what should have been a simple matter into one far from simple.

In spite of his doubts about Felicity Raine's guilt, even Rafferty had to agree with the implication in Llewellyn's last comment that Felicity's claim to knowing nothing about her husband's financial and legal affairs sounded disingenuous.

Given the quantity of expensive designer labels attached to the clothing that Llewellyn now told him he had found in her wardrobe, Felicity had obviously enjoyed her husband's money, the spending of it and the pleasure it could bring. Most women would also require some assurance that this enviable lifestyle would continue indefinitely and most certainly
would
ask about wills, insurance policies and the like. Though he acknowledged that that didn't mean all husbands were willing to share such information.

From the circumstantial evidence of his large, opulent home and all its expensive contents, it was clear that Raymond Raine had been a man of considerable means. This conclusion made Rafferty wonder who else — apart from his wife (which could, presumably, be taken as a given) — would profit from his death.

‘What about Felicity Raine's family?’ he now asked. ‘What have you managed to find out about them?’

‘Nothing. Felicity confirmed that Mrs Enderby was correct when she said she thought that the younger Mrs Raine had no close family. Certainly, Mrs Raine's own address book has few entries. And apart from Mrs Enderby's phone number, those of Mrs Raine Senior, the gardener Nick Miller and the Raine family business, most of the entries appear to be for hair and beauty salons and similar establishments.’

Fortunately for Rafferty's growing feelings of frustration, Llewellyn's logical mind came into its own before another half-hour had passed.

‘I've been wondering about this desk,’ he remarked.

The desk to which he referred was an attractive piece of furniture — a bureau rather than a desk. Rafferty guessed it was eighteenth century. It was certainly a beautiful thing; opulent. Its interior, he now saw as he raised the roll-top, was fitted with lots of little drawers, its exterior inlaid with exquisite, intricate marquetry made up of many different-coloured woods. The whole thing glowed like a multi-faceted jewel in the shaft of sunlight flooding through the window.

They had taken Mr Raine's keyring from his pocket before his body's removal to the mortuary and Llewellyn had had no problem gaining access to the two desks and the filing cabinet.

‘Wondering what, exactly?’ Rafferty asked.

‘Whether it might not have a secret drawer; many desks of the period incorporated such a feature.’

Intrigued, Rafferty joined him. Soon they were measuring and tap-tapping for all they were worth. Even so, it took thirty minutes of painstaking effort before the bureau's secret drawer was discovered. But when revealed it proved worth the time and trouble, because within they found the identity of the late Mr Raine's solicitor.

Rafferty was relieved. Now, perhaps, they would be able to move forward in the investigation.

‘Well done, Dafyd. Can you get this Jonas Singleton on the phone, tell him his client's dead and that we need to speak to him urgently?’