Death Line by Geraldine Evans, Kimberly Hitchens, Rickhardt Capidamonte

“Washed, dried and put away. Mr Astell's always very firm about the place looking clean and tidy.” She shivered, as a cold wind whistled along the High Street. It lifted the previous night's litter and whirled it in a fitful dance about their ankles. Someone had discarded a blue and red striped umbrella in the gutter. The material fluttered in the wind as though trying to rise – its spine broken if not its spirit, thought Rafferty whimsically as he watched it – only to sink back again after each abortive effort. Then, the wind dropped, the umbrella accepted its fate and lay still. Rafferty made a mental note to tell the SOCOs to pick it up, just in case it had any connection with the case.
    Mrs Hadleigh shivered again and Rafferty took her arm. “It's too chilly here to chat. Could you come to the station and help our Photo-fit expert construct a picture of this client? What you've told us is very important. Apart from the murderer, this Mr Henderson may have been the last person to see Mr Moon alive.”
    She hesitated again, and then gave an anxious little nod. Rafferty guessed she was concerned about being late for the next cleaning job of the morning and he reassured her. “I'm sure it won't take long.” He helped her up and led her over to the car. “I'll arrange for a car to take you home – or wherever else you need to go – afterwards. Llewellyn.” He tossed the car keys to the Welshman. “You can drive.” Rafferty only hoped it would help take his mind off their next appointment.
    As soon as they had deposited Mrs Hadleigh with the Photo-fit man, and Rafferty had uttered further assurances, they left them to it. There was too much work ahead of them to spare any of it holding a witness's hand. “Right,” he said. “Let's get on with it. I want you to send WPC Green along to the local Astrological Society. Astell said he and Moon were both members. I also want her to go to the TV Studios where Moon did his morning show. Tell her to ask around and see what she can find out. About Moon, Astell, the rest of the staff and the set up there.” Liz Green was good with people, Rafferty knew. Had a way of drawing them out – just like Moon. “Get someone to contact the editors of the magazines he supplied with astrological forecasts. He'd worked for several of them for some time – might learn something interesting.” He paused, thinking. “Oh, and get Moon's phone checked out. I want to know what numbers were called on it. Come back when you've got all that organised and we'll go and see the boyfriend.”
    Rafferty could almost believe that the wind, which had seemed to quieten while they were in the station, had waited for them to re-emerge onto the street, before reasserting itself. Its icy breath was bitter and shrieked painfully in his ears. He tugged his coat collar as high over his ears as it would reach, and put up with it. It was only a short walk to Moon's home in Quaker Street, not worth a car ride. Moon's flat was in the old Dutch quarter of town, a chic, expensive area, which confirmed that star gazing was a profitable line.
    The man who opened the door to their knock was fat, fair and fiftyish. Rafferty was surprised. He had expected a much younger man; the equivalent of the bimbo that successful heterosexual males liked to hang from their arm. “Mr Farley?” Rafferty queried.
    He nodded and gave them a hesitant, questioning smile that didn't reach his eyes, which were a flat green colour and reminded Rafferty of those of a snake. They slid rapidly from Rafferty to Llewellyn and back again before he asked politely, “What can I do for you?”
    Farley's voice was well-modulated, though Rafferty got the impression it was practised rather than natural. Rafferty showed him his warrant card and introduced himself and Llewellyn. “Perhaps we might come in?” Rafferty suggested. “I'm afraid we have some bad news for you.”
    Farley stared at him. His skin flushed and then the colour