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

Llewellyn's first objection satisfactorily disposed of, Rafferty went back to his counting. “Three, if the burglar didn't attack him, if he left Moon still alive, why didn't Moon report the break-in? And four, if the break-in happened after the murder, why on earth would any self-respecting burglar break in at all and risk getting involved in what was obviously a violent death? Moon was slumped directly in front of the window.”
    “Don't forget, the blinds were drawn. Any burglar might only have seen the body when he had actually climbed in.”
    “Okay, that's a fair point. But once he had, it strikes me he'd have climbed right out again, not gone rummaging through Moon's pockets and the desk for the key to the cashbox. If our burglar was that cool and hard-headed, he'd have gone for a more profitable line of work – armed bank robbery, for instance, rather than burgling an office on the off-chance of finding cash. No, I reckon we've got two separate people involved here. Two very different types.”
    Rafferty twirled in his chair and gazed out at the rain. It was gusting sideways, as wind-whipped as the scurrying, forwards-leaning pedestrians. Depressed, he twirled back. “I wondered if Moon might have invited a pick-up back for the evening. They could have had a lovers' tiff. It would explain the murder and the trashing of the office. A possible pick-up could have been hoping to throw us off the scent.”
    “But why should he invite a boyfriend back to the office at all? He had a perfectly comfortable home. Farley was away, so he would have the flat to himself. Besides, even though Lilley said he had found no file for this Henderson, it doesn't mean he wasn't a new client. Moon may have made an exception. And don't forget that Mrs Hadleigh said that Moon had called Henderson a client.”
    “Moon wouldn't be likely to flaunt any sexual dalliances in front of his cleaner. What would be the point? And even if Farley was spending a few nights away, Moon couldn't be certain he wouldn't return unexpectedly. Besides,” Rafferty, keen to test their new understanding, suggested with a grin, “perhaps Moon liked his spare rumpy-pumpy under the stars? And with its star-spangled ceiling, that office of his would be perfect.” The summer heat wave endured with such reluctant stoicism by Rafferty who liked his weather comfortable, was now becoming quite a fond memory, and he commented, “You must admit, it's a bit parky for outside sexual shenanigans now.”
    Llewellyn's light nod accepted both the argument and its presentation, and Rafferty was satisfied that Llewellyn was beginning to accept his black-tinged ways with humour. He didn't for a moment assume they had broken the back of their differing approaches, but at least they had made a start, and now, he tapped the photo-fit picture that Mrs Hadleigh had worked on with their expert. “Mind you, this Henderson bloke doesn't exactly look the ideal candidate for a bit of on the side naughties. A man as successful as Moon couldn't have been short of offers in that direction, so why settle for a down-at-heel near wrinkly?”
    “I believe chronologically-challenged is the term currently in vogue, sir,” Llewellyn murmured.
    Rafferty, who'd had enough of having his prejudices criticised for one day, responded sharply. “Don't start quoting the collected thoughts of the politically correct brigade at me, boyo. Your ancient Greeks are enough. Unlike the PC brigade, at least they understood that preaching at people is more likely to get their backs up than change their attitudes.”
    “A little joke, sir, that's all,” said Llewellyn, his expression bland.
    “Mm.” Rafferty, half-suspecting that Llewellyn was now teasing him, deemed it wiser to say nothing more on the subject. “Let's get this picture circulated. I want Henderson's likeness on the streets by this evening. I also want Moon's photographs circulated at the same time. It might throw something up. Send Hanks