Death Dues by Geraldine Evans Read Free Book Online Page B

you remembered anyone else you saw leaving the street, other than the three women you’ve already told us about?’
    ‘I dunno.’
    ‘Think about it. For instance, did you see Mr Eric Lewis enter the alley with a hedge trimmer?’
    ‘I saw some old bloke. I don’t know his name. He had some gadget or other with him.’
    ‘And what time was this?’
    ‘I dunno. I don’t wear a watch.’
    Time mused Rafferty. Keeping track of it was such an inessential to so many modern youths. He often wished it wasn’t such an imperative in his own life. ‘Just roughly.’
    Moran’s forehead puckered in thought. ‘It must have been sometime around three-ish, I suppose, or a bit later. Perhaps it was half past.’
    ‘Do you recall seeing anyone else?’
    Moran’s forehead did some more puckering. Rafferty, while he was waiting, amused himself by changing one of the vowels in the youth’s name on his notepad till he had a surname that was singularly appropriate. Unkind, Rafferty, smote his strict Catholic conscience. But it was clear that deep or even not so deep, thought, wasn’t one of Tony Moran’s strong suits.
    ‘I dunno,’ he eventually volunteered.
    Rafferty swallowed a sigh.
    ‘There were some kids out when I arrived. Playing like.’
    Somehow, Rafferty doubted young kids were responsible for Jaws Harrison’s murder. But such were the times they lived in, he couldn’t totally discount the possibility. ‘Do you know their names?’
    Perhaps himself feeling his previous responses had lacked variety, this time Moran just shook his head.
    To Rafferty’s surprise, Tony Moran then volunteered something. ‘Now that I think about it, I remember seeing another bloke on the street this afternoon. I know the faces of everyone in the street.’
    He should, thought Rafferty, when he spent most of his time hanging around its corner watching his bolder mates causing trouble.
    ‘But this man was a stranger. I’d never seen him before. He carried a briefcase and knocked at number nine.’
    Number nine was Tracey Stubbs’s home. ‘Was he let in?’
    Moran nodded. ‘Eventually. He was there quite a while.’ He grinned. ‘According to the lads, that Tracey’s a bit of a goer. I wondered if they might be having it off.’
    No one else had mentioned seeing this man. Strange that it should be “I dunno” Moran who supplied the information.
    ‘What did he look like?’ Rafferty asked, expecting another “I dunno” answer. But Moran surprised him again.
    ‘My mum would call him very smart. Suited and booted. But he was actually a bit flash. I noticed the wind didn’t ruffle his hair. It stayed put as if it had been glued to his head. And his suit had a peacock blue lining. I saw it when the wind blew his jacket open. Flash git, I thought.’
    A brief memory stirred in Rafferty’s head, but was as swiftly gone. ‘Anything else you recall about this man?’
    Tony Moran’s mother seemed to be something of a walking reference book for her son because he again called on her opinion. ‘I suppose my mum would have called him a looker. He certainly seemed to fancy himself as he fairly strutted up the street like a cock of the walk. Reckon Tracey must have fancied him as well as he was in her place for ages.’
    Eventually, by dint of further tortuous questioning, between them, he and Llewellyn had extracted several pieces of information. Rafferty was as interested in the identities of those who had left the street as in those who had remained. The team had yet to find the murder weapon, so, unless it turned up during the remaining hours of searching, someone had disposed of it. And although Moran was shaky on names and times, he had been able to give them rough descriptions of the women — all of those who had left the street that afternoon had been women – so they had made some progress.
    He told the youth and the tapes that the interview was suspended and added the time.
    Rafferty, reluctant to let such a cooperative