Death Dance (9 page)

So did Rafferty. ‘Yes, if I don’t I might have to cancel.’

‘Still, you’ll be insured and can go later in the year.’ She looked at him over her spectacles and asked, ‘You are insured, I take it.

The expression on his too open face must have given him away. ‘Not exactly, no.’

‘I suppose that means you’re not. Really, Joseph, that was careless of you.’

‘I know. It just completely left my head to do it. Don’t tell Abra. She doesn’t know.’

Luckily, his ma didn’t believe in the doctrine that couples shouldn’t have secrets from one another. She thought they probably should if they were to stay married. She’d certainly kept plenty of secrets from Rafferty’s dad, from what she’d paid for their clothes to what Christmas had cost her. The things his dad hadn’t known were legion; the refrain, ‘don’t tell your father,’ had often been on his ma’s lips. And they hadn’t told him. They’d learned to be good at keeping secrets, too. Except for him. His open face gave him away more often than not.

‘Another cup of tea, Joe?’

‘Please.’

His ma took his mug and disappeared into the kitchen. She was soon back, bearing his fresh mug of tea.

Mostly, Rafferty enjoyed visiting his ma, but occasionally, she gave him as good a tongue-lashing as she’d given his late father. He half-expected one as he casually asked her, ‘Bought anything from the market recently?’ But the expected sharp riposte didn’t come. His ma had a habit of buying questionable items from the local street market. He hadn’t been able to cure her of it. These knocked-off purchases had originated when she’d been widowed and money was tight and continued to this day. Sometimes, her iffy purchases had made him anxious for his police career, but, much as she loved him and wanted to do well by him, even that hadn’t stopped her. It was a continuing worry for him.

‘I bought Joey a warm coat for the winter. A real bargain. And a bike for his birthday. ‘

That was the trouble — his ma’s purchases usually were "bargains” and for a very good reason. Stolen goods were often a bargain simply because they’d been stolen.

‘Gemma will be pleased.’ He wished he were. ‘Thanks for the tea and sandwiches, Ma. I’d better be off now or Abra’ll think I’ve run away from home.’

‘Okay, son. See you next week. And stop worrying about your wedding speech. It’s sure I am that you’ll be fine.’

He kissed her and made for the door. The drive home was quick and uneventful. Luckily, Abra hadn’t made a start on dinner as his ma’s thick sandwiches had filled him up.

‘Your mother all right?’ she asked after he came into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

‘Yes. She’s in fine fettle. Looking forward to the wedding. I reckon I was lucky to escape a demonstration of her wedding finery. Thank God I’ve got three sisters for such duties.’

Abra laughed. ‘Come on, Ally, put the kettle on. You can make me a sandwich while you’re at it, as I’m feeling lazy.’

‘Yes Ma’am. Whatever you say, Ma’am.’ Rafferty gave a mocking bow and made the tea before opening the door of the fridge. ‘Cheese and tomato okay?’

Abra nodded.

The sandwiches didn’t take long to make and soon they repaired to the living room.

‘So how was your day?’ Abra asked as she peered at him over her mug.

Even though she hadn’t asked, he knew what she meant. It was— was he any nearer to solving the murder. He wasn’t, but was reluctant to admit it again. It was bad enough having to put up with Bradley’s brusque interrogations every day. ‘It was okay, sweetheart. Spoke to a lot of possible witnesses; read a lot of reports and statements. The usual stuff.’ He hurried to switch the conversation from his own day. ‘How about you?’

‘Oh, busy, as usual. The bosses want to freeze our pay for a year with this recession — so much for it being over. Everyone’s up in arms as you might imagine. God knows, they don’t pay us a lot now.’

‘So what are you going to do about it?’

‘We’re thinking of going on strike.’

‘Really? Won’t they bring in temporary staff? Strike breakers?’

‘Yes. That’s the trouble. And there aren’t enough of us to make an effective picket line. The talk about strike action is probably so much hot air. I think the bosses are looking for an excuse to cut staff and want to weed out troublemakers.’

‘Like you?’

Abra grinned. ‘Yes, like me. Not that I think I’m a troublemaker, as such. It’s just that I believe in sticking up for myself and they don’t like it. Remember the time I threatened them with a lawyer when they were less than complimentary about my attitude and team spirit in my yearly appraisal?’

Rafferty did. That one had gone to the wire, but the bosses had drawn back just before Abra made good her threat.

Abra worked as a secretary in a theatrical agency and was often full of tales of their more troublesome clients. Some of them were very demanding and sometimes caused scenes at the offices. They had some well-known and high-earning names on their books and the firm made a good income. That was why Rafferty was surprised to learn they wanted to impose a pay freeze. It was typical boss behaviour to Rafferty’s mind. He admired his fiancée for her previous bold stance, though he hoped she didn’t find reason to make it again: At least not this year. With the wedding and the new house they were hoping to buy they needed all the money they could lay their hands on, and Abra being either sacked or on strike was the last thing he wanted. It wasn’t as if she was in a union and would receive strike pay.

Abra finished her sandwiches and asked Rafferty if he minded if she put the TV on. ‘Only there’s a documentary I want to watch,’ she explained.

‘Feel free, sweetheart. I’m easy.’

‘Yes. I’d heard that,’ Abra joked. She turned the television on and they settled down for an evening’s viewing. Or at least Abra did.

Rafferty was pleased to sink into sloth. He was tired and was glad of the opportunity to catch forty winks while Abra watched her programme. Maybe he’d dream the answer to the murder.

Chapter Seven

Rafferty hadn’t got around to seeing Michael Peacock the previous evening, so he and Llewellyn went the next night after the routine jobs of the day were done. Peacock was, as they’d already discovered, a totally different proposition to Gary Oldfield. He lacked Oldfield’s cocky air. In fact he was rather diffident and dressed down, rather than up, like Oldfield. Rafferty was surprised he’d taken Adrienne’s fancy; he’d have thought the electrician — given that she’d gone for Gary Oldfield – far too casually dressed for her tastes, he’d have thought. When they went to question him he had obviously not long come in from work and was wearing scruffy jeans and a dirty T-shirt.

‘Must be her bit of rough,’ Rafferty muttered to Llewellyn as they followed Peacock along the hall to his living room.

When questioned and shown the diary extract, Peacock freely admitted that he had been having an affair with Adrienne Staveley.

‘I wasn’t proud of it,’ he said, as he brushed his thick fair hair back from his brow, with a hand that showed the marks of honest labour. ‘But there was just something about Adrienne. She made me feel alive, like no girlfriend I’ve had before. She was exciting.’

‘And what about her husband?’ Rafferty asked. ‘Did you ever meet him?’

‘No, thank God. I wouldn’t have known what to say to him. I felt bad about sleeping with his wife, but I just couldn’t help myself. She was like a drug to me. I couldn’t get enough of her.’

‘You realise this makes you a suspect, Mr Peacock?’

‘Does it? I hadn’t thought about it. I didn’t kill her. I would never have done that, she meant too much to me. She transformed my life, gave me a reason for living. My life was pretty humdrum before I met her. She introduced me to all sorts of things: the theatre, books, even ballet, though I’m not so keen on that.’

‘And how did you meet?’

‘I’m an electrician, as I told you last time you questioned me. She called me in to fix a faulty socket and it just progressed from there.’

‘What? You mean she slept with you that same day? The day she met you?’

‘Yes. I was shocked, but willing. As I said, she was an exciting lady. I couldn’t believe my luck. Me a humble electrician and her so much a cut above.’

Poor John Staveley; he had been well and truly cuckolded, first with Gary Oldfield and then with Peacock. Rafferty wondered when Adrienne fitted in the third, mystery man. He wouldn’t have blamed Staveley if he
had
killed his wife. He’d certainly had enough provocation.

Rafferty didn’t think the diffident, couldn’t believe his luck, Michael Peacock had killed Adrienne, but of course, he couldn’t yet be scratched from the list of suspects. For all he knew Peacock was a very good liar.

They took their leave and returned to the station — Llewellyn to type up his notes of the interview and Rafferty to collect his car and drive to see his cousin, Nigel. The estate agent’s was closed so he drove to Nigel’s swanky warehouse apartment.

Luckily, Nigel was in and for a change even seemed quite welcoming. Normally, he didn’t like members of his family turning up unannounced at his apartment.

‘So what can I do for you, coz,’ he asked once they were seated in his huge lounge.

‘It’s about the honeymoon,’ Rafferty began. ‘I’m still on this murder case and I wondered what chance I stand for a refund if I have to cancel.’

Nigel laughed. ‘No chance. No chance at all, my old son.’

‘That’s a bit harsh.’

‘I’d have thought you’d have noticed, what you being a policeman, and all, but it’s a harsh world out there.’

‘And in here.’

‘I’ve a living to make, Joseph, the same as you. It’s not as if you took out any insurance.’

‘You never mentioned insurance.’

‘Neither did you. Though you might check your household insurance; that could cover you.’

‘Really?’ Rafferty doubted it; he believed it was only for luggage that his home insurance would give cover. It was typical of Nigel to try to wriggle out from under any accountability by claiming Rafferty could get his money back from someone other than himself. But he couldn’t blame Nigel for this. It was his mistake, as his cousin had been quick to point out.

‘As I said, it might. You want to check your policy documents.’

‘I’ll do that.’ Though how he was supposed to do that with Abra there. She’d be bound to ask why he was checking them.

‘So — do you want me to cancel the honeymoon?’

‘No. Not yet. It might still be on. It all depends on this latest case.’

‘Well, don’t leave it too late. If I can offload the villa on to some other punter you might be able to get some of your money back, though I wouldn’t bet on finding another customer this late in the day.’

Disgruntled, Rafferty left his cousin’s apartment and headed home, hoping that Abra didn’t think again to question him about the insurance position.

But thankfully, when he got home it was to discover that something other than the insurance for their honeymoon was preoccupying her. It seemed that one of her three bridesmaids had gone down with glandular fever.

‘Does it matter?’ Rafferty asked. ‘Can’t you make do with two bridesmaids? I’ll only have the one best man.’

‘It’s not the same thing at all,’ Abra told him with some asperity: it was clear she’d had a fraught day over this. ‘Besides, the dresses cost a fortune. It’ll be a total waste if one of them doesn’t even get worn.’

‘How long does glandular fever last?’ he asked. ‘We’ve still over two weeks till the big day.’

‘I’ve spent a chunk of the day when I should have been working checking it out on the internet.’

Rafferty just managed to refrain from pointing out that this was something her employers might take exception to if they caught her. Abra sometimes courted dismissal, he suspected, just as he wasn’t totally averse from courting Superintendent Bradley’s umbrage.

‘And what did you find out?’

‘It could take several months for her to get well — though the consensus seems to be that that’s a worse case scenario. but it doesn’t seem likely that she’ll be well enough for our wedding. Apparently, glandular fever induces extreme fatigue amongst other symptoms. Usually it takes between two to four weeks to resolve itself.’

‘Well, it’s not the end of the world. It would be different if it had been you or me that had caught it.’

‘I knew you wouldn’t understand. It’ll ruin the pictures of me with the bridesmaids. I wanted the two little ones to stand in front, matched like two peas.’

Abra had chosen her younger sister and two little nieces as bridesmaids. If this was the result after losing one of the little ones, Rafferty could only hope the other one didn’t catch the virus.

Abra wasn’t to be consoled. He hadn’t seen any dinner preparations going on in the kitchen, so he suggested he go out for a take away.

‘Trust you to think of your stomach.’

‘Well, as I see it, we can do nothing about the bridesmaid problem unless you’ve got another niece or cousin who’s the same size as the one with the fever. But I
can
do something about dinner.’ He quickly shrugged back into his jacket, gave Abra a peck on the cheek and told her he wouldn’t be long.

He was glad to escape. Abra in this mood could be difficult to appease. She tended to take things to heart no matter how illogical, as evidenced by this bridesmaid sage. For the life of him, he couldn’t see what difference it made if Abra had three bridesmaids or two or none at all. That would have been better, in his opinion. It would certainly have cut down on some of the costs. But that was a point of view he now rarely allowed himself to indulge just in case he blurted it out; he’d been caught out once already trying to cut costs on this wedding and Abra had flounced off in a huff to her own flat. He didn’t want to risk her leaving him again. She might not return another time. Perhaps she’d feel better with some food inside her.

Thankfully, by the time he returned, half-an-hour later, she seemed less upset. He dished up the meal and quietly handed her a glass of Jameson’s. They ate the Indian in companionable silence, with just a CD compilation of Rafferty’s favourite Sixties’ music playing in the background.