Death Dance (14 page)

‘Only one,’ the Welshman replied. ‘And that’s to check all the CCTV footage along the most likely routes from our suspects’ homes to the Staveleys’ house to see if one of their cars shows up.’

Rafferty groaned. ‘That’ll take forever.’

‘We’ve little enough else to work on. And it’s not as if you have to do it yourself. At least we’d feel we were doing something constructive.’

‘I suppose so. All right, Dafyd. Get it arranged, will you? It will give me something to tell the super so he doesn’t think we’ve been completely idle.’

Llewellyn went out to do his bidding and Rafferty slumped back in his chair. He swung it round and gazed out of the window as though seeking inspiration in the mature sycamore trees opposite the station. It was a fine day: a glorious early summer day with blue skies and fluffy white clouds. Rafferty wished he were out in it instead of cooped up in his office, with thoughts of Abra’s possible complicity in their latest murder case to keep him company.

He hadn’t been able to avoid telling Llewellyn that her prints had been found at the scene — in fact, her prints had been numerous and found in every room of the house which indicated an unwelcome intimacy with either John Staveley or Adrienne. He wasn’t sure which one he would prefer it to be. If it was John Staveley it indicated an intimacy that Rafferty would rather not think about. Yet if it was Adrienne that Abra was intimate with it was even more worrying. He’d never heard Abra mention Adrienne’s name, which indicated that it was John Staveley who had entertained her in his bedroom. He was worried sick that his fiancée was having an affair. Their wedding was only a few weeks away, for God’s sake. How could he go through with it if she was cheating on him already? He felt sick and disenchanted, not remotely up to leading the team in the investigation.

Llewellyn had been sympathetic to his predicament, but had advised being honest with Abra. As usual with the Welshman, he had resorted to Latin:

‘”
Quid quid agas prudenter agas et respice finem
” Whatever you do, do with caution, and look to the end,’ was Llewellyn’s quick translation.

It hadn’t helped.

But, if, by some miracle, it was Adrienne rather than John Staveley that she knew, at least the rest of the team didn’t know that the Abra Anne Kearney who featured on the police computer was his fiancée. Those amongst the team who knew he was engaged thought his fiancée’s name was Abby as that was how he generally referred to her when speaking of her at work. Abra was Llewellyn’s cousin and he’d suggested tackling her head on about why she’d been at the Staveleys’ home, but Rafferty wasn’t keen on doing this. If she knew he had her listed as a possible murder suspect there was no knowing what she’d do. The same applied if he told her he suspected her of cheating on him. It wasn’t so long since she’d come back after she’d left him over what she regarded as his cheeseparing attitude to the wedding. He didn’t want to risk her flouncing out and back to her own flat again. It was a very delicate problem and no matter which way he looked at it he couldn’t find a ready answer as to how to tackle it.

The only good thing was that Llewellyn had agreed it would be wise to keep Abra’s presence in the murder house secret from the team. So in Rafferty’s briefing and handing out of duties, he made sure not to mention her name. He would have to question her himself sometime and somehow, only not yet.

He longed for a cigarette, but he’d given up smoking, so didn’t have any. To stop himself thinking about the Abra problem and his craving for a cigarette, he turned his mind back to the investigation. Not that that gave any comfort. Was there anything else they could do? He couldn’t think of anything; they’d already covered all the angles and then some. All he could hope for was that Llewellyn’s trawl through the CCTV footage brought a result. And not one that involved Abra visiting the house during the 4.00 to 6.00 pm murder timeline.

Rafferty breathed out on a sigh of relief. Nice to have some good luck for a change. In a remarkably short time. Llewellyn and the other officers he’d set to the task of checking saw Gary Oldfield’s car, rather than Abra’s, on the last CCTV camera leading out of town, yet he’d said he’d been at home all afternoon on the day of Adrienne Staveley’s murder. And so had his live-in girlfriend, Diana Rexton.

Rafferty was keen to learn what he’d have to say for himself, so he and Llewellyn got themselves over to Oldfield’s flat. He was glad of an excuse to get out in the sunshine. But neither Oldfield nor his girlfriend was in, so instead they headed for the used car lot where he was employed.

It was a short journey from Oldfield’s flat to his place of work. Rafferty parked up outside the lot and walked through the parked cars, all gleaming brightly in the sunshine. A young lad was busy polishing one of them. There were about thirty cars in the lot — all polished to a knock-your-eyes-out shimmer. Much like Gary Oldfield. It must be like painting the Forth Bridge was Rafferty’s thought. And he didn’t know which of the two would take longest to prettify up.

Oldfield was chatting to a customer, but Rafferty had no compunction about interrupting the conversation. As soon as he and Llewellyn flashed their IDs, the customer took off in a hurry. Must have a guilty conscience, Rafferty surmised. But he wasn’t interested in pursuing some petty crook today, so the customer escaped any questioning.

Oldfield scowled at their approach. ‘You’ve just lost me a sale,’ he complained.

‘Sorry about that, sir,’ said Rafferty, not at all sorry. He didn’t like Oldfield who he considered to be a smarmy git. ‘But murder has to take precedence.’ He paused, and then said, ‘We’ve unearthed some new evidence. You did say you were at home all afternoon and evening on the day of the murder didn’t you, sir?’

Oldfield’s gaze shifted uneasily between them before he said, ‘Yes. Yes I did. What of it?’

‘Only we’ve discovered that’s not true, sir.’ Rafferty pulled out a still photo taken from the CCTV. ‘That is your car, sir? You can see the registration clearly as well as the date and time. This particular camera is located on the way to the Staveleys’ house and the still shows a time of five o’clock. So why did you lie to us?’

Oldfield’s smooth face didn’t change colour at his lie being found out. In fact, he looked remarkably at ease for a man caught out in an untruth in a murder investigation. Instead of answering, he turned and made for the Portakabin. They followed him and watched as Oldfield opened the metal key cabinet and replaced a set of car keys. Carefully, he locked it again before he turned back to face them and answered, ‘I forgot. I went out to get a takeaway.’

‘But you must have passed half a dozen takeaways between your flat and the last CCTV camera. What was wrong with them?’

‘Like most people, I have my preferred takeaways. I just find the Chinese on the outskirts of town the best. They’ve had several good write ups in the local press by the restaurant critic. They’ve even been praised by one of the nationals.’

‘Is that so?’ Rafferty was peeved. He knew he couldn’t prove it either way. The CCTV footage showed Oldfield’s car returning some fifteen minutes later; time enough to reach the Staveleys’ house and kill Adrienne, though, equally, it would take about that amount of time, if he had had been in the Chinese takeaway, to select, order and wait for his food. Trouble was, there was no CCTV camera by the Staveley’s home, or the Chinese takeaway, so he couldn’t prove that Oldfield had gone to either place. ‘So what’s the name of the takeaway you used?’

‘I can’t remember its name, but it’s on the corner of All Saints’ Avenue.’

‘And how did you pay?’

Oldfield smiled. ‘By cash. Sorry. It means I can’t prove I was there.’

Rafferty silently cursed. It also meant that he couldn’t prove he wasn’t. ‘Okay, Mr Oldfield. That’ll be all for now.’

They went back to the car. Rafferty banged his fist on the steering wheel. ‘If only there was another CCTV camera close to the Staveleys’ house. As it is, we’ve still got nothing — less than nothing.’

‘I wouldn’t say that. We know Mr Oldfield is a liar. We also have several other strong suspects with no alibis; we’ve a teenage boy who’s run away; we’ve a husband of the dead woman who had a bad marriage; we’ve got boyfriends who can’t prove their whereabouts at the relevant time. I think we’ve got a lot. We just require a lucky break, that’s all.’

‘That’s all! Well, I wish this lucky break would hurry up because we need it and we need it now. I thought we had something positive when you found Oldfield’s car on the CCTV. It’s a big disappointment that it’s come to nothing.’ Superintendent Bradley didn’t like disappointments and tended to give a hard time to those of his officers who brought them to his door.

Disgruntled at their lack of progress, Rafferty drove back to the station, had Llewellyn type up his report of their interview with Gary Oldfield, organised an officer to check out the Chinese takeaway Oldfield said he had gone to – they might remember him if he was a regular customer – and then went home.

Abra was back from work. She gave him a hello kiss, and then she questioned him closely as to how the investigation was going as, with the wedding getting ever closer, she was becoming increasingly anxious about the ceremony and whether they would have to cancel.

‘How did you get on today?’ she asked. ‘Are you any closer to catching the killer?’

Was she asking if he was close to finding out her possible involvement in the murder? he wondered. Certainly, there was an edge of concern in her voice. But that could be due to her worry about cancelling the wedding and honeymoon.

Not yet ready to broach the worrying situation that confronted him and which seemed likely to blow up in his face when he did, he strove to keep his voice and manner pleasant and as normal as he could manage. ‘I wouldn’t say that exactly, sweetheart. But we’re working on several leads. Several very promising leads.’

Abra swept her long, chestnut plait over her shoulder. ‘So you’re saying you’re not getting anywhere?’

Was that relief he heard in her voice? ‘I wouldn’t exactly say that, either.’

‘Then what are you saying? Come on, Joe. This is important.’

‘I know that. I’m doing my best.’ Her badgering almost made him confront her after all. But he managed to bite back the words. ‘Something will turn up, you’ll see. As I said, I’ve several promising leads.’ He didn’t add that he had no evidence for any of them.

‘I hope so. I really hope so, as I’m becoming a nervous wreck with the uncertainty of it all.’

So was Rafferty. But he tried to buck up Abra by making more confident noises. He didn’t noticeably succeed in mollifying her and after dinner, she went to bed early, saying she had a headache, leaving Rafferty to sit and brood. Was her “headache” a sign of guilt? Or was it, as she said, only because she was concerned about the wedding? But these were unprofitable thoughts and he soon turned to contemplating the investigation and its progress. Or lack of it as Bradley had said.

Where was he going wrong? he wondered. There must be something else he could do in the investigation. If only Kyle Staveley would turn up, it would give them another line of investigation after the one on Gary Oldfield had come to nothing — the Chinese takeaway had confirmed that Oldfield had come in for a takeaway late on the afternoon of the murder. He had to accept that Llewellyn was right and there would be no time for him to go to the Staveleys’ house as well. But his thoughts and hopes were unprofitable and eventually he took himself to bed. Abra was already asleep. He was relieved as it meant he didn’t have to pretend that everything was normal between them. Keeping his distance from her prone body, he turned to face the wall

Their lucky break turned up the next day when Kyle Staveley was traced in London. Rafferty sent one of his officers to town to fetch him back to Elmhurst. On his arrival, he was put in an interview room to wait while Rafferty telephoned his father.

John Staveley must have broken the speed limit he took such a short time to reach the police station. Rafferty went down and met him in reception. ‘This way, Mr Staveley.’ Rafferty led him to interview room one and settled him down in a chair next to his son. Llewellyn was hard on their heels and sat down next to Rafferty. He started the tapes running and intoned the details of those present.

‘Right, Kyle,’ Rafferty began. ‘Perhaps you can start by telling us why you ran away.’

There was silence for a full ten seconds before Kyle answered, then he blurted out, ‘I was scared.’

‘Scared? Scared of what?’

‘Scared that you’d think I did it. That I killed Adrienne.’

‘And did you?’

‘No! No! I wasn’t even in the house when she died.’

‘We’ve only your word for that, Kyle.

‘I know I can’t prove I didn’t kill her, but I’m telling you I didn’t do it.’ He brushed his black hair out of his eyes. They were damp and he looked as if he were about to cry. Of course, he was sixteen, Rafferty reminded himself. Only a boy and a nervous, uncertain boy at that.

‘Where did you go in London? Where did you stay?’

‘I found a Bed and Breakfast place near Liverpool Street Station. I took some money out of my savings account to pay for it. Once I booked in, I stayed in my room, so there was no danger of me being found.’

‘But you left the room which is when one of the Metropolitan Police spotted you.’

‘Yes. I was hungry. I wanted a MacDonalds. The B and B only did breakfast.’

Kyle hadn’t planned his escape very well. You’d have thought that, at the least, he’d have bought himself a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese in preparation for his hermit’s existence. His lack of preparation had led to his capture, so they should be grateful. He’d been hauled back to Elmhurst with barely enough time to pack his belongings into his bag. His Great Escape hadn’t lasted very long at all.

Was he just a frightened kid? Or was he a murderer, haunted by guilt and desperately trying to protect himself?

Rafferty didn’t know, but with no evidence against Kyle he had no choice but to release him into the care of his father. He walked down the stairs with them and saw them off the premises. He watched as Kyle and John Staveley crossed the road, wondering if he’d just let a murderer go free.