Free Death Dance by Geraldine Evans Page A

fifty-something spinster who had always struck Rafferty as being repressed. Poor cow, he thought, she deserves a bit of a vicarious thrill, having to put up the Superintendent Bradley.
    ‘At least we have it confirmed that Gary Oldfield and Michael Peacock were her lovers,’ Llewellyn commented.
    ‘Yes. Although Peacock didn’t lie to us, Oldfield did. Just good friends, he said, or words to that effect. We’ll have to question the pair again now that we’re armed with this new information. I know Diana Rexton alibied Oldfield, but, given that he lied to us about the nature of his relationship with Adrienne Staveley, he’s now become worthy of a second interview bout.’
    Rafferty read through the rest of the transcript. It seemed that Adrienne’s relationship with Oldfield was more serious than the one with Peacock. She appeared to have been pushing him to set up home with her, but Oldfield was proving reluctant. ‘I wonder if John Staveley suspected any of this,’ he commented after he read out the relevant part of the diary to Llewellyn.
    ‘What is it they say? That it’s always the husband who’s the last to know.’
    ‘Still, going on under his nose in his own house and I presume in his own bed — it makes you think. I can’t wait to read the rest of the transcripts. We might learn the identity of the mysterious third man she was seen with.’
    ‘I doubt it.’ Llewellyn poured cold water on his hopes. ‘So far, she’s only used first names.’
    ‘Well, we might get lucky. Let’s go and see Oldfield and Peacock and find out if we can’t get them to admit they were her lovers. Faced with this transcript I don’t see how they can deny it.’
    One precautionary look out the window told Rafferty that the day had turned even more wet and blustery, so he threw on his raincoat before they went to see Gary Oldfield.
    They found him at the used car lot where he worked. He was sharply dressed as he had been the last time they had seen him; today sported a pair of flashy cufflinks — gold with silver detail and a raised red pattern of what looked like a Bentley.
    When Rafferty told him that they knew from Adrienne Staveley’s diary that he had been her lover, his previous line of ready chat dried up and he became far more reticent. Luckily for him, his girlfriend had confirmed that’s Oldfield had been with her during the two-hour period covering the time when Sam Dally had said Adrienne Staveley had been murdered.
    Still he had failed to tell them something that might turn out to be relevant to the inquiry and Rafferty waved the relevant page of the transcript under his nose. ‘It’s all in here,’ he said. ‘Apparently, Mrs Staveley admired your sexual technique.’
    This brought a grin to Oldfield’s face. ‘Nice to be appreciated.’
    ‘I also understand she was pushing you to move your relationship up a notch: she wanted you to set up home together.’
    ‘That was never going to happen, she knew that. I’d made it clear enough. Adrienne was good for a fling, but that was as far as it went. She knows I’m with Diana and that, in spite of her parents’ opposition, we hope to marry.’
    His girlfriend, Diana Rexton, had come as a surprise to Rafferty: very plain and homely, with what he considered a shapeless figure, her love for Oldfield had shone out of her plain face. Rafferty would have suspected her of lying about Oldfield’s whereabouts at the time of the murder, but she was so transparently honest that he had believed her when she had agreed that he had been with her. He wished he hadn’t. Still she might be mistaken. She could have fallen asleep, enabling him to slip out for half-an-hour. He hadn’t asked her if that was a possibility. Maybe he should. It was quite likely that she wouldn’t attempt to lie to him and even if she did, her natural honesty wouldn’t allow her to do so convincingly. But that was for another time. Right now it was Oldfield he was questioning.
    ‘So you