From her elegantly styled and now bloodied white hair, gathered in a French pleat at the back of her head, to the expensive cashmere jumper and dainty, pearls, in her ears, to the low-heeled leather shoes rather than the more common bedroom slippers of early-morning, Clara Mortimer appeared far from the usual run of sad and vulnerable elderly ladies they saw at scenes of violent death.
Rafferty stood up and turned to Llewellyn. ‘Let’s go and have a look round the rest of the apartment. Then I want a word with the warden, Mrs Atkins. She should be able to let us have details of Mrs Mortimer’s family.’ He tapped the list Llewellyn had given him. ‘The residents will all have to be questioned as a matter of priority.’
Clara Mortimer’s apartment had two spacious bedrooms off the lobby, both w
