Free Dying For You by Geraldine Evans Page B

commendations were piled in another corner, though on the floor this time and more carelessly than the newspapers. But then Harry Simpson had never thought much of his so-called superiors or their commendations. Invariably, as he had confided to Rafferty, they had been given at the wrong time and for the wrong reasons.
    The gas fire was full on and churning out such a blast of heat that as soon as Rafferty entered the living room he began to sweat. Harry, though, looked to have no sweat in him. Bone-dry and brittle-looking, he appeared skeletal. The effort of answering the intercom in response to Rafferty's ring had clearly exhausted him. He lay collapsed in an old armchair that sagged nearly as much as Harry, breathing from an oxygen bottle.
    Strange, thought Rafferty, that during all the weeks Harry had gritted his teeth and dragged himself into work, he had managed to stave off the exhaustion. It was clear he could stave it off no longer. The acceptance that he was unfit for work had finally allowed him to give in to his body's weariness; his body had taken advantage of such weakness to get its own back
    When he could get his breath, Harry gasped out, ‘I know. I look like death. Just don't say it.’
    Even Rafferty wasn't that tactless. He offered to make tea, his ma's cure-all, but Harry, long past such cures, shook his head. ‘Can't stomach it. Make some for yourself. There's no milk.’
    More to give him time to compose some non-incriminating questions about the case and for Harry to get his remaining breath back, Rafferty walked the few steps through to the tiny kitchenette, filled the electric kettle, plugged it in and began to assemble the makings of tea.
    After a while, Harry asked, ‘You said on the phone you've been assigned to the Lonely Hearts’ case.’
    Rafferty came to the doorway and nodded.
    ‘Thought you would be.’ He sighed, adding as if Rafferty was entitled to an explanation for his presumed lack of grit. ‘I knew, when the second girl was found and I realized we might well be in for the long haul of catching a serial killer, that I wasn't up to it.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘You should have heard the Super when I told him I wanted to be taken off the case. You'd think I got this bloody disease deliberately just to spite him.’
    Rafferty could imagine. ‘So you won't be expecting him to come sick visiting bearing a bunch of grapes and a bottle of Lucozade?’
    ‘Every cloud has a silver lining.’ Typically, Harry didn't waste time on self-pity. ‘You've read the files?’
    ‘Made a start, anyway,’ Rafferty admitted cautiously.
    Harry grinned. ‘You and paperwork were never soul-mates, were you? Suppose you want to pick my brains?’
    ‘That's the general idea. Bradley seemed to think you might have kept something back from the reports.’
    ‘Into casting aspersions as well now, is he?’
    ‘And – have you?’ Rafferty forced himself to ask.
    He might as well not have bothered because Harry just said, ‘All in good time,’ and posed a question of his own. ‘The first victim – the presumed Jenny Warburton – the one found behind the rubbish bins at the Cranstons’ home – you managed to get a confirmed ID yet?’
    Rafferty nodded. ‘After you established that red hatchback left at the side of the Cranstons’ house was hers it was always going to be unlikely that the body wasn't also. You said in your report that the Made In Heaven staff you'd managed to question denied that any Ms Warburton was at the party, which is a bit suspicious, as I know-’ Abruptly, Rafferty broke off. He had been about to add that he knew that Jenny had been at the party as not only had Guy Cranston introduced them, Rafferty himself had chatted to her for a sizeable part of the evening. His name, or rather, Nigel's had been marked off on Caroline Durward's clipboard; surely Jenny's had been also? Of course, his had been marked off while he had been at the bar collecting refills, but hidden in the