Death Line by Geraldine Evans, Kimberly Hitchens, Rickhardt Capidamonte Page A

receded, leaving two stark pink blotches high up on his cheeks. Surprisingly elegant fingers clutched at each other as he exclaimed, “Oh, God, something's happened to Jasper, hasn't it?” Anxiety had made his voice curiously high-pitched, and now it became even higher. “Tell me, tell me, for the love of God. Has something happened to Jasper?”
    Rafferty, mindful of Astell's warning, suggested again, more firmly, “If we could just come in?”
    Farley remained planted in the doorway, his expression uncertain, then he stood back to let them in, carefully shutting the door behind them before he clutched Rafferty's arm. “Tell me. Please. What's happened?”
    Resisting the impulse to throw off the clinging hand, Rafferty steered him towards what he hoped was the living room. It was a spacious flat, as colourful as Moon's office had been, but without the solar system decor. “I think you should sit down, Mr Farley.” He waited till Farley had perched on the edge of a stark black leather settee before he sat down in the armchair opposite. “I'm afraid Mr Moon is dead. He...”
    Christian Farley's hands flew to his face and he stared at them over his fingers, shaking his head all the while. His shock seemed genuine, Rafferty noted. What he could see of his fair-skinned face was pasty. Small fists now pressed against his mouth, Farley moaned, rocking to and fro on the leather settee. It creaked protestingly with each movement.
    Rafferty glanced at Llewellyn for moral support. As expected, the Welshman avoided his eye and stared determinedly over Farley's head. Rafferty struggled on, silently cursing Llewellyn and wishing he'd brought a WPC with him. “I'm afraid it's true, sir. He was found dead in his office this morning by his business partner.” He paused to gather strength and then said quickly, “I have to tell you that he was murdered.”
    Farley's hands came away from his face. His mouth fell open, and silently, he repeated Rafferty's last word, before he recommenced his rocking, his movements accompanied by the off-key complaints of the settee. Rafferty, at a loss, instinctively followed his ma's usual response in a crisis, and ordered Llewellyn to find the kitchen and make tea. With an alacrity to obey his orders that – under other circumstances, would have been gratifying – Llewellyn went. He was gone some time, and if Rafferty hadn't known better, he would have suspected he was hunting for a bottle of Dutch courage.
    By the time Llewellyn returned with the tea Farley had quietened. He sat huddled in the middle of the big settee, looking lost, making no response to Rafferty's awkward sympathetic overtures. Llewellyn gave Farley's shoulder a tentative pat, put the tea on the table in front of him and retreated to the far side of the room. Rafferty, who had confidently predicted tears, noted that Farley's eyes were dry. They appeared puzzled, his forehead faintly creased, as if he was thinking through what he had learned. He turned questioning eyes to Rafferty. “You said Jasper was murdered. Have you any idea who by?”
    Rafferty shook his head. “Not yet. It's possible Mr Moon disturbed a burglar, as his office was broken into.”
    Farley exclaimed, “Not again!”
    “I'm sorry?”
    “We were burgled here earlier this year. While we were on one of Jas, Jasper's regular trips to The States. And now you say Jasper's office was broken into and Jasper murdered.” He worried at his bottom lip. “And I thought...” He broke off. “It's almost as if someone has a grudge against us.” The possibility, not unnaturally, seemed to unnerve him. As he picked up his tea, the cup, rattled against the saucer, betraying his agitation.
    Rafferty had never liked coincidences. And although there had been a spate of burglaries in the town in recent months, he felt that this coincidence might be of more significance than most. “What was taken from the flat, sir?”
    Farley glanced up with a start. “Very little,