Free Bad Blood by Geraldine Evans Page A

acerbically, ‘Well, if the recently-bereaved Mrs Ogilvie doesn't require our services, I'm sure we're all got plenty to be getting on with.’
    Acknowledging the dismissal, WPC Allen shot a rueful glance at Mary Carmody and made for her car.
    After a moment's hesitation, Mary Carmody did likewise, leaving Rafferty to bring up the rear. And as he climbed in the passenger seat having concluded that his walk to Mercer's Lane had given him enough exercise for one day, he couldn't help but reflect that after being in Jane Ogilvie's company for the best part of an hour, it would be a relief to get back to the murder scene.
    As Carmody pulled away from the kerb, Rafferty gazed thoughtfully out the window. It was clear that Clara Mortimer's daughter had an enormous chip on her shoulder. Was it justified, he wondered? Or was she truly the grown woman who refused to grow up that she appeared to be? Couldn't she see that the person most damaged by her rebellious behaviour had been herself?
    But, as Rafferty turned and stared back at the peeling front door of Jane Ogilvie's flat, he was filled with a profound sadness for Clara Mortimer that her immediate family had shed barely a tear at her passing.

Chapter Four
     
    On arrival back at the police station, Rafferty hurried to his office. He was anxious to read the preliminary reports from the house-to-house teams.
    But as he discovered, these early reports added up to very little, which wasn't altogether surprising as Sam Dally had said Clara Mortimer had died around 7.00 a m: a time when most people would either have been still in bed or just getting up and preparing themselves for another day.
    Disappointed, he headed back to the scene, hoping Llewellyn's interviews of the other residents might have unearthed something more interesting.
    He found Llewellyn outside the Priory Way apartment block organising yet another team. When he saw Rafferty, he dismissed the officers, made a brief note on the sheaf of papers he held on the clipboard he kept handy in his car, and walked towards him.
    As Llewellyn explained what had so far been accomplished Rafferty nodded his approval. Llewellyn had done well in his absence. Not only had the teams he'd organised nearly finished the house-to-house in the streets in the immediate vicinity, they had also discovered the identities of the early-morning dog-walkers in the park opposite the block and had already spoken to several of these as well as the apartments' gardeners and interviewed almost all of the rest of the residents of the sheltered apartments.
    ‘Anything of any consequence come out yet?’ Rafferty asked hopefully as he sat on the low York stone wall that encircled the block and gazed across to the park.
    Llewellyn sat beside him. ‘We've made one or two interesting discoveries from the other residents. The only residents we haven't yet been able to interview are a Mr Hal Oliver, who only moved into a small, third-floor apartment a couple of weeks ago and a Mr Toombes. Mr Oliver's away from home at present, but I understand he's expected back later today.
    'As for Mr Toombes, according to his wife, he went out fishing first thing this morning and has not yet returned. By the way, I've had confirmation from another resident that Mrs Mortimer's daughter's boyfriend, Darryl Jesmond, had a row with the victim around a week ago.'
    'Touché,' said Rafferty. 'I've had confirmation from a third source; no less than the victim's daughter herself. Darryl Jesmond didn't look very happy about it. For a moment there I thought there might be another murder done.'
    Llewellyn looked thoughtful for a moment, then he asked, 'Did he strike you as a man who would be foolish enough, only one week later, to kill a person with whom he had a very public argument?’
    ‘Mr Jesmond struck me as cocky and over-confident, so it's possible. There again, as he managed to acquire a nice tan with no job and presumably, given the way he and Jane Ogilvie live, no private