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

that's what was so surprising. They even left the video and the TV. Jasper's study desk and both our bedrooms had been gone through, but, apart from some jewellery, nothing else of value was taken. What was taken from Jasper's office?”
    “A sum of money.”
    Farley's gaze narrowed. His green eyes accentuated by the daylight that streamed in at the windows looked more snakelike than ever, as he asked, “How much?”
    “Mr Moon's business partner says £1000.”
    Farley digested the information silently for a few seconds. “But, surely...?”
    “Yes, sir,” Rafferty encouraged. “You were saying?”
    “Nothing.” Farley glanced quickly at him before shaking his head. “It doesn't matter.” He lapsed into silence, but he couldn't seem to help himself, and burst out, “It's just that it seems – odd. If Jasper was-was working, the lights would be on. At least-” He broke off again, before asking hesitantly, “Were they on?” Rafferty nodded, and Farley sat back, his eyes calculating. “Would a burglar break in under such circumstances?”
    Unwilling to share his suspicions concerning the burglary with Farley, Rafferty gave him the line he had prepared earlier. “I'm afraid the modern criminal often doesn't care if premises are occupied, sir. Could be a drug addict, desperate enough for money not to bother with the usual precautions. But, at this stage, I'm keeping an open mind.” As he said this, he became conscious of Llewellyn. He was standing, his gaze now fixed on the floor, but Rafferty sensed the thought waves emanating from him. Keeping an open mind? they commented ironically. That must be a first.
    After projecting a few strongly-worded thought waves of his own in return, Rafferty concentrated his attention on Farley. “You said you wondered if someone bore Mr Moon a grudge. Do you know if he had any enemies? Someone who had threatened him, perhaps?”
    Farley shook his head. “None that I know of. But Jasper was very successful and success always breeds envy, particularly in this country. I'm afraid the British have always found failure a more attractive trait.”
    Rafferty had thought he had detected a slight accent. “I take it you're not British, Mr Farley?”
    “No. I'm from South Africa. The Cape. But I've lived here for more than twenty years.”
    “I understand you've known Mr Moon for five years?”
    Farley gave a twisted smile, as though he found Rafferty's biblical phraseology amusing. “Yes, it would have been five years on the 18th of next month. Our Wooden Anniversary. I was going to get Jasper a small carved sculpture of our sun signs, intertwined. Like a lovers' knot, you know?” The thought clearly upset him, for now his eyes held the hint of moisture that thus far had been missing. Turning away, he blew his nose with a feminine neatness.
    Rafferty shifted uncomfortably, as the thought struck him that, in Farley's eyes, if not society's, he had been widowed; widowed, moreover, without any of the support a legal widow might expect. He opened his mouth to say something sympathetic, but, realising that anything he said would sound, to Farley, either patronising, trite or insincere, he gave up and waited for Farley to get control of himself, then gently resumed the questioning. “I gather you and Mr Moon lived here together?” Farley nodded. “You must have been concerned when he didn't come home last night.”
    “I wasn't here.” He seemed to feel he had to defend himself. “I was visiting a-a friend for a day or two. I only got back this morning. Naturally, I assumed Jasper had gone to work. Of course, if I'd looked in his bedroom, I'd have seen his bed hadn't been slept in.”
    So, they slept apart. Rafferty wondered if that was usual in their circumstances? Or whether, like ordinary married couples who chose to sleep separately, it hinted that their relationship had cooled? Had they had an argument? Was that why Farley had gone to see this friend? he wondered, and why the