Death Dues

By Geraldine Evans

'Geraldine Evans penned a wonderfully entertaining story.’

A Little Laughter. A Little Mayhem. A Little MURDER...

With his wife-to-be’s wedding budget spiralling out of control, and his Superintendent demanding a swift resolution to the series of muggings of a local loan shark's collectors, DI Joe Rafferty is expecting a long and trying week. And sure enough, he isn’t disappointed.

When one John ‘Jaws’ Harrison is found with his skull caved in, in an alleyway backing on to rundown Primrose Avenue while on his way to collect debt repayments from the residents, Rafferty and his intellectual partner, Sergeant Dafyd Llewellyn, imagine the case will be easily solved. Armed with a list of local debtors, they begin their investigations. But they hadn’t counted on the conspiracy of silence amongst the residents — most of whom had good reason to want Jaws dead.

With the Super breathing down his neck and fiancée Abra sending his blood pressure to boiling point, Rafferty is forced to make some unorthodox decisions and stretch his intuitive powers to breaking point.

But if his only way to solve the murder is to get a little creative - with the truth or anything else - it's better he does it than anyone else on the team, especially one or two who are a little TOO free thinking. It's really just a matter of getting away with it.

'Love this series.'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Geraldine Evans
• Release date: Oct 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005428310

Geraldine Evans

'Evans brings wit and insight to this tale of looking for love in all the wrong places.'KIRKUS STARRED REVIEW FOR DYING FOR YOU #6 in Rafferty series'Clever plotting and polished prose make for a cracking good British police procedural.' BOOKLISTON BLOOD ON THE BONES #9 in Rafferty seriesDEAD BEFORE MORNING #1 in her 15-strong Rafferty procedural series, is currently on FREE offer.'This often comic tale sharpens the appetite for more.' PUBLISHERS WEEKLY ON DEAD BEFORE MORNING'Evans' humour seriously added to my enjoyment of her book. The series has stand out central characters and clever plots.' AUNT AGATHA'S BOOKSHOP, ANN ARBOR US ON DEAD BEFORE MORNINGGeraldine Evans is the traditionally-published British author of eighteen novels and, since turning indie in 2010, she has also independently published more novels, including two new Rafferty & Llewellyn, and other novels, plus four non-fiction, as well as bringing out her backlist as ebooks.Her publishers include Macmillan, St Martin's Press (US), Worldwide (US pb), Isis Soundings (audio), Severn House (HB, PB AND LP, US and UK) and F A Thorpe (large print).Geraldine has been writing since her twenties and published since her thirties. She decided to turn indie after nearly twenty years as a traditionally-published author.Although originally a Londoner, Geraldine moved to a market town in Norfolk (UK) in 2000.Her interests include growing plants from cuttings and seeds, painting portraits, mostly of her unwilling 'volunteered', family, and learning keyboards with a very patient tutor.The author writes romance novels under the pen name Maria Meredith and New Age Non-Fiction under the pen name Gennifer Dooley-Hart.Website/Blog: https://geraldineevansbooks.comHere is a list of Geraldine Evans' published novels:RAFFERTY & LLEWELLYN BRITISH MYSTERY SERIESDead Before Morning #1Down Among the Dead Men #2Death Line #3The Hanging Tree #4Absolute Poison #5Dying For You #6Bad Blood #7Love Lies Bleeding #8Blood on the Bones #9A Thrust to the Vitals #10Death Dues #11All the Lonely People #12Dance #13Deadly Reunion #14Kith and Kill #15Asking For It #16The Spanish Connection #17Game of Bones #18CASEY & CATT BRITISH MYSTERY SERIESUp in Flames #1A Killing Karma #2StandalonesHISTORICAL BIOGRAPHICAL FICTIONReluctant Queen: historical novel about King Henry VIII's Little Sister, Mary Rose TudorROMANTIC SUSPENSEThe Egg Factory: contemporary women's fiction set in the infertility industryROMANCELand of Dreams, FIRST PUBLISHED NOVEL, print only, generally unavailableThe Wishing FountainStrangers on the ShoreHERE ARE SOME REVIEWS FOR GERALDINE'S BOOKS:DYING FOR YOU #6 RAFFERTY SERIES'Evans brings wit and insight to this tale of looking for love in all the wrong places.'KIRKUS STARRED REVIEW FOR DYING FOR YOU #6 in Rafferty series'It's bad enough being suspected of a double murder, worse still when it's your alter ego being pursued and it's the pits when you are the policeman in charge of supposedly catching yourself. I thoroughly enjoyed Dying For You, the sixth in the series. A lot of humour is injected in Rafferty's narrative. He's got himself in an impossible situation and one wonders what can go wrong next. I savoured this book and I'm keen to read the rest in the series asap.' EUROCRIME'A fun read for the mystery lover who enjoys tales with a twist. A cleverly plotted tale. Enjoy.' MURDER AND MAYHEM BOOKCLUBKITH AND KILL #15‘Wonderful series. Fantastic books. They have terrific characters and interesting plots.’ AUTHOR, GAIL FARRELLYDEADLY REUNION #14'This is another excellent entry in this marvellous series. The characters spring off the page. The dialogue is sparkling, great interplay between the two detectives, and the mystery is intriguing to the end.’ EUROCRIMEBLOOD ON THE BONES #9'Clever plotting and polished prose make for a cracking good British police procedural.' BOOKLISTABSOLUTE POISON #5‘Well, this was a real find. Geraldine Evans knows how to make a character leap off the pages at you.’ LIZZIE HAYES, MYSTERY PEOPLE‘An ingeniously constructed plot, deft dialogue, well-drawn characters, and a few humorous touches, make this an enjoyably intriguing read.’ EMILY MELTON, BOOKLISTDEAD BEFORE MORNING #1'This often comic tale sharpens the appetite for more.' PUBLISHERS WEEKLY'Evans' humour seriously added to my enjoyment of her book. The series has stand out central characters and clever plots.' AUNT AGATHA'S BOOKSHOP, ANN ARBOR USBAD BLOOD #7'A spirited mix of detection, family drama and social commentary.' KIRKUS REVIEWSLOVE LIES BLEEDING #8'This cleverly-plotted tale has plenty of humour. It's another page-turner from Geraldine Evans and is crime writing at its best. A must for all lovers of the genre.' MYSTERY PEOPLE

Book preview

DEATH DUES

A Rafferty & Llewellyn British Mystery

Geraldine Evans

#Copyright

DEATH DUES

Geraldine Evans

Published by Geraldine Evans at Smashwords

©Copyright 2013 Geraldine Evans

License Note: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Publisher’s Note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design by Bookbrush/G Evans

All Rights Reserved.

#BLURB AND REVIEWS

A Rafferty & Llewellyn British Mystery #11

With his wife-to-be’s wedding budget spiralling out of control, and his superintendent demanding the swift resolution to the series of muggings of local loan sharks, DI Joe Rafferty is anticipating a long and trying week. And sure, enough, he isn’t disappointed.

When one John ‘Jaws’ Harrison is found with his skull caved in, in an alleyway backing on to rundown Primrose Avenue while on his way to collect debt repayments from the residents, Rafferty and his intellectual partner, Sergeant Dafyd Llewellyn, imagine the case will be easily solved. Armed with a list of local debtors, they begin their investigations. But they hadn’t counted on the conspiracy of silence amongst the residents—most of whom had good reason to want Jaws dead.

With the Super breathing down his neck, and fiancée Abra sending his blood pressure to boiling point, Rafferty is forced to make some unorthodox decisions and stretch his intuitive powers to breaking point.

REVIEWS

‘Evans’ likable British cop duo, Rafferty and Llewellyn, are back in another realistic police procedural. A good choice for fans of the PBS Mystery! Series.’ Emily Melton, BOOKLIST

'With a healthy dose of British social and cultural observation that adds to a believable setting and plot. Lovely use of descriptive phrases bring to life the ambiance of the area and its residents. Dialogue is precise, but it's the background descriptions of settings and protagonists that shine. Lively and fun, with absorbing interplay between DI Joe Rafferty and sidekick Sgt Llewellyn. Replete with strong protagonists, infused with British atmosphere, and filled with intrigue and personal concerns alike, Death Dues is a fine detective saga.'

D DONOVAN, eBOOK REVIEWER,MIDWEST BOOK REVIEW’

‘Love this series.’ READER REVIEW

‘British cozy mystery at its best.’ READER REVIEW

‘I liked Ms Evans tortured detective, DI Rafferty from the first page.’ READER REVIEW

‘Jolly good mystery. This is the first book I've read in the Rafferty & Llewellyn cozy procedural series, but it certainly won't be the last.’ READER REVIEW

‘Death Dues is a gripping police procedural told with wit and intelligence.’ READER REVIEW

‘This is a good book, full of mystery and social studies. Lots of British words that are easy enough to figure out if you don't know them. i.e. "put the frighteners on. I thoroughly enjoyed this book.’ READER REVIEW

#Prologue

This novel is written in British English. If there is a word or phrase you don’t understand, there is a handy list in the back of the book.

DI Joe Rafferty riffled through the pages of quotations for caterers and photographers, florists and all the rest, and thought—why do weddings have to cost so much?

He muttered, ‘I can feel my credit cards wincing from here, and they’re all the way across the hall.’ And he hadn’t even looked at the honeymoon holiday brochures yet.

He’d proposed to Abra just before Christmas the previous year. Much to his astonishment, she’d said yes. Then, it had been all hearts and roses and romance. But now the cold reality of modern weddings and their expense hit him in the face with all the force of a frozen kipper. Why they had to go through all this rigmarole…

From the other side of the table, Abra, his fiancée, complained, ‘Don’t be such a tightwad, Joe. I don’t want a hole in the corner wedding. People will say we’ve something to hide.’

‘And if we fork out for what this lot are charging—’ He picked up a stack of quotations and let them drop back to the table amongst the breakfast dishes— ‘we will have something to hide. Ourselves. From the friendly, neighbourhood bailiffs.’

Abra tossed her long, chestnut hair and gave him a poke in the ribs as she said with a challenging air, ‘Aren’t I worth it, then?’

This, of course, put Rafferty in a cleft stick. Damned if he said yes and damned if he didn’t. ‘Of course, you’re worth it, my little peach melba. But you must remember I’m not Rockefeller. I’m just a humble cop still paying off for all the new stuff we bought for the flat.’

‘And that’s another thing. I think we ought to sell this place and buy a house.’

‘But we’ve only just decorated throughout,’ he protested. ‘Not to mention all the new furniture we’ve bought.’

‘Exactly. That’s the most sensible time to sell. When the flat’s looking its best.’

‘I’d rather like to enjoy it looking its best myself. Anyway, I thought we were meant to be discussing the wedding, not moving home. Surely getting married is enough of a big thing to be doing at one time?’ It’s certainly the most stressful, he thought, but was wise enough not to voice the thought.

‘Maybe. But the flat’s not mine and never will be. I’d like us to have a completely fresh start when we begin married life. With a place that’s ours.’

‘We still haven’t even settled on a date for the wedding,’ Rafferty pointed out. Never mind where, which was likely to be another bone of contention.

‘I thought next May.’

Rafferty nodded quickly. ‘Next May’s fine with me.’ He was just glad to have got one thing sorted.

On that happy note, he stood and grabbed his jacket. ‘And now I’ve got to get to work.’ And earn the money to pay for it all.

The wedding costs were getting seriously out of hand. Abra seemed to think she had to emulate the pomp of Lady Diana Spencer’s wedding. And look how that marriage had turned out. All his attempts to encourage her to be reasonable had fallen on ears that were seemingly stuffed with cotton wool. It was as if she was bewitched by some mischievous wedding sprit—and he didn’t have the formula to break the spell.

Abra shuffled the wedding quotes into a neat pile. ‘I’m off today so leave these to me. I’ll make a start whittling them down. Some of them are charging way over the odds,’ she conceded. ‘I’ll ring round and see if I can’t knock them down a bit.’

A lot would be better, Rafferty thought as he kissed Abra goodbye, shrugged into his jacket, and made for the door, picking up his raincoat on the way. But again it was a thought he kept to himself. It wouldn’t go down well and would only bring them back to Abra’s ‘Aren’t I worth it?’ argument, to which he knew he’d never find a winning response. ‘I just hope this marriage does better than my first,’ he muttered as he shut the front door behind him and made for the car.

#Chapter One

When Rafferty got outside, it was to discover that not only was it was raining as if Noah had pulled the plug on the Ark, but a fierce wind blew through his hair until it was wearing that ‘just got out of bed’, look, that was so fetching on Abra. It picked up the sides and hem of his raincoat till it danced a veritable Irish jig.

Rafferty wished he was feeling as lively as his raincoat. As he rushed through the rain for the car, trying to restrain the whirling-dervish antics of his mac, he just hoped nobody got themselves murdered today. He didn’t fancy hanging around street corners in a downpour, the idle moments filled with musings on the type of house Abra might fancy in place of the flat. The way things were going, Buckingham Palace wouldn’t be grand enough.

He hoped she hadn’t meant it and had only said it to wind him up. The last thing he needed along with all the wedding expenses was to have the cost of moving to contend with. It wasn’t as if the flat wasn’t big enough. With three bedrooms, it could easily house a family. If she was serious, he would have to dissuade her from it. He could only hope he had more luck with that than he was having with the spiralling wedding costs. She might be trying to emulate Princess Diana’s fairy-tail wedding, but he, no more than Prince Charles had been, was no Prince Charming. He also lacked the princely income.

He drove through the lashing rain from his home through the streets of Elmhurst, an attractive Essex market town — which even the grey day couldn’t make ugly — to the police station’s back entrance in Bacon Lane.

The car park was full; even the super had beaten him in he saw, as he took in the shining, top of the range, Lexus, parked in the bay nearest to the station’s rear entrance, a space sanctified as his by God and the superintendent. Rafferty had once or twice trespassed on its holy space and been roundly rebuked for his presumption.

He opened the door to the station’s rear entrance and dripped his way up the concrete stairs, depositing little slippery droplets to catch the unwary with each squelching step upward. He could only hope the sainted super had reason to come down again shortly and slip and injure his fat dignity on the Rafferty-dropped rainwater. At least it would be one satisfying result for the day.

He walked along the second floor corridor to his office, wringing out his hair and his raincoat as he went, and wishing, in spite of their differences over the wedding arrangements, that Abra would even now be in the midst of organising, that he was still at home and in bed with her, her let down hair and silky nightie. He quelled the thought of this appealing prospect as inappropriate to the beginning of another working day and opened the door to his office.

His sergeant, Dafyd Llewellyn, had beaten him in as usual. He was sitting at his corner desk, looking both industrious and bandbox smart, also as usual, with a workspace that was as neat as conscientious industry could make it.

After fighting his way through the wind and rain across the car park, Rafferty felt like something the cat had dragged in. He smiled to himself as he realised that, like Llewellyn, he, too, was a good match for his desk.

He smoothed his unruly auburn hair into some sort of order and sat down behind the towering piles of files and other impedimenta to a well-ordered day. ‘So what have we got, Dafyd?’ he asked. ‘Anything new come in?’

‘No,’ Llewellyn replied evenly. ‘Unless, of course, there are any further muggings, it looks as if we’ll have a quiet day.’

‘Less of the fate tempting if you please.’

‘Oh, and there’s still that report on your desk that Superintendent Bradley wants you to read and initial.’ Llewellyn’s voice had the slightest tinge of disapproval as he added, ‘It’s been there nearly a week.’

Rafferty, heard the disapproval, pulled a face, and said, ‘I suppose you’ve read it?’

Llewellyn nodded.

‘Give me the condensed version, then. You know how wordy these bloody reports are. Not the way for a man to start the day by ploughing through a load of bumf.’

Llewellyn proceeded to explain the report. But as he proved almost as wordy as the report itself, Rafferty stopped him when he got to Section 2 Subsection ivc. ‘That’s enough. Just nod if the powers that be are ordering yet another meeting on the subject to discuss their preliminary findings.’

Llewellyn nodded.

‘Thought so. Meetings, and yet more meetings. It’s a wonder we ever get time to solve any crimes at all. I’ll just initial it. They’ll still be meeting to discuss it come Doomsday. Anything else?’

‘Superintendent Bradley said for you to pop in to see him if you haven’t arranged a prior engagement.’

Rafferty groaned. ‘What does he want?’ Sarky, git, he thought. Trust the super to make it sound like he was given to making spurious appointments so as to avoid him. He’d only done it twice before. Or it might have been thrice. But even so… ‘Not to discuss this with me, I hope.’ He thumped the weighty report in disgust.

Llewellyn’s lips twitched slightly. ‘No. I think not. I understood him to say that he wishes to speak with you about the spate of muggings against the local moneylenders’ collectors.’

‘And he wants to know what I’m doing about it I suppose?’ Truth was, he wasn’t doing a lot. Some, if not most, of the local loan sharks’ collectors, were no more than thugs, adept at putting the frighteners on little old ladies who got behind with their payments. Mugging was too good for such people. ‘Put a few grand-sounding phrases together for me, Daff. You know I’m no good at that sort of thing. Something that’ll impress the super. You know the drill. Sentences with lots of long words and loads of Politically-Correct bollocks. He’ll like that.’

Llewellyn raised dark eyebrows that were as neat as the rest of him and said, ‘Something along the lines of: We’re proceeding with our enquiries and have a number of promising leads, you mean?’

‘That’ll do for starters.’ He threw a coin across the desk. ‘Get the teas in, will you? While you’re doing that, you can think up a few more bunches of bullshit. One of the muggers was thought to be Asian, so I’m sure you can work in something about ethnic sensitivities while you’re at it. A few such lines should keep him off my back for a while.’

‘Wouldn’t it be easier to investigate the muggings?’

‘Probably. Tell me when you run out of the right lines in PC speak to say to him and I’ll think about it. Oh,’ he shouted just before the door closed behind his sergeant. ‘Get me a hot cross bun while you’re at it.’

Llewellyn’s head reappeared. ‘I think you’ll find it should be called a hot lined bun, now. Religious symbolism also being on the veto list.’

‘Veto my arse. Not by me, it’s not.’ But Llewellyn had gone, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Rafferty sighed. Because no matter how many politically-correctly worded explanations for his lack of progress on the muggings Llewellyn came up with to appease the super, he supposed he’d have to do a little something about the case no matter how limited his taste for it. He pulled a thin file on the investigation towards him and began to read.

He was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. It was the superintendent.

'Ah. Rafferty. You're in, then?'

The intimation that he had been late wasn't lost on Rafferty. He crossed his fingers in protection against the fates as he uttered the white lie, 'Here, bright, shining and ready to go, Sir, after putting in a couple of hours’ working from home.'

This brought a stunned, disbelieving silence, then he was told, ‘Right. You can start by coming along to my office. I’m sure Llewellyn told you I wanted to see you first thing.’ Rafferty kept shtum. ‘I want to talk to you about these muggings.'

When he got to Superintendent Bradley’s office he found the super in lecturing mode.

'You'll have to do better than this you know, Rafferty.' The super waved a thin sheaf of papers in the air under Rafferty's nose. 'Your reports on this investigation are sparse, very sparse. You don't seem to have done a lot.'

Rafferty began his explanatory spiel, wishing the super had rung after Llewellyn had come back from the canteen and primed him with the correct verbiage. He did his best. But his best evidently wasn't good enough, because the super interrupted him before he'd got out more than a couple of excuses.

'It won't do, Rafferty. It won't do at all. I want you to apply yourself much harder to solving these cases. I've had the Deputy Chief Constable on my back about them. Turns out he’s a golfing buddy of one of the money-lenders whose collector was assaulted. You know how little I like to get on the wrong side of the brass. If I do, you'll get on the wrong side of me. Do I make myself clear?'

As crystal, thought Rafferty, as he nodded and made his escape. Just his luck that the loan shark boss had friends in high places. It meant that Bradley would stay tight on his tail till the investigation was solved. It was a bad start to a day that only got worse.

He'd barely got back to his office when the phone went again. It was Abra, full of the wedding—something he'd thought he'd postponed till this evening.

'Hi Joe. I've been ringing round a few of the venues. I can't get them to drop their prices. I wondered how much to spend.' She named a figure that made Rafferty's eyes water.

'How much?' he said. 'All that for a measly chicken salad with a fancy name?’ How anyone would have the gall to think the addition of a few olives entitled it to a swanky name and even swankier price, escaped him. He didn’t even like bloody olives. ‘What do they do in their spare time? Rob graves?'

'It's a normal quotation, Joe. You're behind the times. What did you have served at your first wedding? Sausage butties at the corner chippie?'

He didn't dignify that with a reply. 'Look, Abra. Can we talk about this tonight? I'm up to my eyes here.'

'You're always up to your eyes, according to you. I'd have thought planning our wedding would be as important to you as solving a few muggings. Muggings are ten a penny, but our wedding will only happen once.' Abra's tone was acerbic, and it was with some difficulty that he placated her and got off the phone. That was two people he'd upset and it wasn't even ten o'clock yet. So when the phone rang for the third time he braced himself.

It was uniformed Constable Timmy Smales reporting a suspected murder.

'Where?'

'In an alleyway adjacent to Primrose Avenue.'

'How was he killed?'

'Several blows to the back of his head.'

'Any idea of the victim's identity?'

'No, Sir. Not yet. His wallet's missing. Though Constable Lizzie Green thinks he's a man called John Jaws Harrison. Works as a collector for Malcolm Forbes, one of the local loan sharks.'

Oh great, thought Rafferty. He put the phone down, gulped his now lukewarm tea, and bit into his hot cross bun, all the while thinking that young Constable Timothy Smales was finally learning the art of brevity. Then he forgot about Smales and began to brood on the investigation and how to keep Superintendent Bradley off his back.

With the latest phone call, Rafferty knew he would have to do rather more than ‘a little something’ about the loan shark muggings. Especially now they’d escalated to murder.

#Chapter Two

In spite of the deceptively pretty name of Primrose Avenue, the road beside the alley where the murder had happened, contained nothing more decorative than weeds, of which there was a fine collection.

Not surprising really, given the torrential rain. Rafferty struggled to keep the umbrella aloft in the high wind as it was almost torn from his grasp. Primrose Avenue was in a run-down area of Elmhurst on the southern outskirts of the town, the houses mostly rented from the Council or from Buy-to-Let private landlords, with unofficial lodgers taken in to help pay the rent. Here lived Elmhurst’s low-end population: the single mothers, the unemployed and unemployable, people in their fifties unable to find work, pensioners, the chronically sick, and so on. The ‘deserving poor’, he supposed was how Llewellyn would describe them, if asked. But Rafferty had no intention of asking and inviting a lecture on this or any other subject.

The dead man had been attacked in the alleyway that ran behind the left-hand-side row of terraced houses. Both the alley and the houses ended in a high brick wall belonging to a canning factory, so were effectively cul-de-sacs.

Their cadaver had clearly been robbed, as Smales had confirmed there was no wallet or mobile phone on his body, nor any other means of easy identification. He lay, partially on his side. His face, from what Rafferty could see of it, bore a surprised look. He had been struck from behind, and then his attacker had continued to rain down blows on his head, though fortunately, they had mostly been to the back of his skull, so they should have less trouble identifying him than might otherwise have been the case.

Rafferty huddled into his thin raincoat and prayed for summer to arrive as he stared at the dead man’s face. He couldn’t but help think that this new investigation was somehow Llewellyn’s fault. If he hadn’t said that today looked likely to be quiet, maybe they wouldn’t be standing out in a howling gale with him doing a poor man’s rendition of Singing in the Rain. But without the singing. Or the dancing unless the jig of his raincoat counted. ‘You know,’ he said to Llewellyn, a smidgeon of blame in his voice that he knew was unfair, ‘Lizzie Green thought the victim was a John Harrison who works for Malcolm Forbes. I think she's right.’ It was the confirmation he had feared ever since Smales’s phone call.

Llewellyn nodded. ‘I thought that, too.'

Malcolm The Enforcer Forbes, was one of the local loan sharks, a business he ran from the back room of his pawnbroker’s shop. ‘The victim's nicknamed Jaws, if I remember rightly. And not only on account of his gnashers.’ The large,