Free Dying For You by Geraldine Evans

statement, as it'll be a large one. And cancel the card.’
    At this reminder of the additional trouble to which he'd be put, Jerry cursed Rafferty. ‘This is the last time I do you a favour,’ he hissed down the phone. ‘As if it's not enough that I'm now the chief suspect in a murder enquiry I'm going to have the grief of replacing my passport as well. Not to mention having hassle with the credit card company. They're sure to think I'm pulling a fast one to get out of paying their huge bill.’
    Rafferty tried to inject a little humour. ‘I thought you said not to mention that?’ Unsurprisingly, it didn't go down too well.
    ‘Don't get funny with me, you bastard.’ By now, Jerry had totally lost the smooth estate-agent-speak and reverted to his normal voice. It was thin with spite. ‘I've a good mind to drop you in it.’
    Alarmed, Rafferty soothed him. Luckily, he had remembered in time to call his cousin by his adopted name. ‘Don't do that, Nigel. You might be the family's first estate agent, but surely you don't want to be its first grass, as well? Please. Trust me. I've sorted it.’
    ‘You'd better have,’ Jerry told him. ‘I trusted you before and look where it's got me? I'm going upstairs to pack now while I wait for Terry's call. Your ‘sorting’ had better have cleared me by the time I get home.’
    Rafferty had thought it prudent not to mention to his cousin when he had rang him on Monday that his expensive designer suit would also have to be disposed of. Being too-easily identified as the one Rafferty had borrowed, it would also have to form part of the ‘burglar's’ haul along with his passport and credit card. He sighed as the thought hit him again that it was something else for which he would be expected to pay. Unfortunately, after his self-administered pep talk, Rafferty had gone shopping on the Sunday after he had met Estelle and his purchases of new suits, shirts, etc, had put a serious dent in his credit card limit. He had invested in three new suits, six new shirts and another pair of Italian loafers. They were currently sitting in his wardrobe and taunted him every time he opened the door. So much for his ‘investment’. God knew when he might next have an opportunity to wear them.
    Uneasily, he wondered what Jerry would say – and do – when he discovered the ante had now been upped to two murders... He didn't even dare to ponder how much it would cost him to buy his cousin's silence a second time.
    Rafferty was beginning to think fondly of his trouble-free days as a sad, lonely, unloved git. He was still all those things of course, but now he had other worries. Joining the dating agency had brought more than its share of grief; so much for positive thinking, look where it had landed him.
    But as he thought of Jenny and Estelle and their poor, slashed and battered bodies, he reminded himself that he still had his life. And where there was life there was hope. He must remember to tell that to Jerry/Nigel.
    It was later that week when Rafferty learned the one piece of good news to come his way since Bill Beard had broken his happiness bubble. And it came courtesy of Superintendent Bradley of all people. Although Rafferty felt sorry for Harry Simpson, he was relieved to learn that the fates should have played into his hands so swiftly.
    ‘So, with Harry Simpson gone off on long-term sick leave, the Lonely Hearts case is now your baby.’ Brusque as only a true Yorkshire-man can be, Bradley dumped a pile of files about the murders on Rafferty's desk. ‘Familiarise yourself. Go and see Simpson and pick his brains, see what he's been keeping to himself. When's Llewellyn back from honeymoon?’
    ‘Monday.’
    ‘You can have him on the team.’ Bradley gave what for him passed for a smile. ‘Posh lot at that dating agency,’ he commented. ‘All double-barrels and how-now-brown-cow accents, likely. You'll need Llewellyn's dainty touch. Not to mention his intellect.’ Bradley added