The Hanging Tree

CHAPTER ONE-3

After Mrs ffinch-Robinson left, Rafferty checked Smith's history. A colleague at Burleigh, as long on the job as himself, was able to confirm all that Mrs ffinch-Robinson had said and more, and it was a pensive Rafferty who called Llewellyn in on his return, and explained what had happened in his absence.

'You believe her?' Llewellyn asked.

With a wry smile, Rafferty nodded. 'I think we can take it that Mrs ffinch-Robinson wasn't hallucinating. She's a magistrate, no less, and the type to take Harrods trips, not LSD ones.'

'No chance it might be a suicide? After the shock of finding a body, even magistrates can get their facts wrong. It was dark, remember.'

'No chance at all I should think,' Rafferty told him. ‘And she had a torch.’ Of course, Llewellyn hadn't met Mrs ffinch-Robinson, he reminded himself. 'According to the witness, the body not only had that hood over his head, but his hands were also bound behind his back. No, I'm convinced she was telling the plain, unvarnished truth.'

He wished he could say otherwise. Mrs ffinch-Robinson would make a wonderful showing in the witness box—confident, firm, and not to be swayed by the defence counsel's tricks. But first, as she had mentioned, they had not only to find the body, they had also to catch the murderer—without him, their star turn would remain off-stage, probably giving the producer hell from the wings.

After speaking to his Burleigh colleague, Rafferty had done some more digging, and now he filled Llewellyn in on the rest. 'Smith moved from Burleigh to Rawston after the aborted rape trial. From there, after a new neighbour recognised him, he moved here, where, I gather, he's lived for two years. If this missing cadaver does turn out to be Maurice Smith, I very much fear someone's been acting as judge, jury and Albert Pierrepoint, the old hangman.'

Was there anything more worrying to a policeman than the public taking the law into its own hands? Yet, at the same time, he was aware of a degree of sympathy with such action. Particularly in cases like Smith's, where justice was not only not done, but seen not to be done.

Becoming aware of Llewellyn's expectant gaze, he straightened his shoulders, firmed up his spine, and said, 'First, we'd better check that he is missing. Send Smales round to his home, Dafyd. Here's the address. And for God's sake, tell him to be discreet. Smith's living under the name of Martin Smithson. Tell Smales to make sure he asks for him under that name. When you've done that, I want you to contact Smith's family. Find out when they last saw him or heard from him. I'm sure I don't need to tell you to be discreet. As for me and Lilley, we're going to Dedman Wood to take a look at the scene.'

Llewellyn nodded and departed. Rafferty opened his door and shouted for Lilley, and when the young officer appeared, told him, 'We're going out to Dedman Woods. I want to have a look for myself.'

It was now getting on for 11 o'clock, and Rafferty, cheated of his early night, was in just the right mood for issuing Mrs ffinch-Robinson's advised rebuke. After he had shrugged into his coat, he said tersely, 'And next time an obviously sober citizen like Mrs ffinch-Robinson reports finding a body, please try not to get their back up. Apart from anything else, it offends against Superintendent Bradley's favourite pet project: “Politeness in Interaction with Members of the Public.”' Rafferty always made sure to mention it whenever one of the younger officers offended against the programme. He felt he had to do his bit to keep it alive, especially as the super had tried to smother it after finally sussing the PIMP acronym that Rafferty had gladly suggested for the programme. 'You know how fond of it he is. You wouldn't like him to get to hear of your doings, I'm sure.'

Lilley's blond complexion went a little paler, and he shook his head. It was well known that Bradley threw himself into a towering rage whenever anyone breached his Politeness Programme, though few realised the reason why.

As, by now, Lilley was staring at his boots, he didn't notice Rafferty's lips twitch. 'Sorry, sir. Won't happen again, sir.'

'See that it doesn't. Admittedly, you're not likely to have too many truly disappearing cadavers in your career. But if you treat important witnesses like Mrs ffinch-Robinson in such a cavalier fashion, your career's likely to be short. Remember that.'

Rebuke over, Rafferty shut his door behind them. And with Lilley’s back safely towards him, he allowed himself a full-scale grin. Even at the end of a long day that promised to wipe the smile off his face, the PIMP episode had the power to amuse. Several months ago, he had got away with supplying the apt acronym for "Long-Pockets" Bradley's latest attempt to enhance his status at Region with the immoral, penny-pinching, 'Politeness costs nothing' scam. When Bradley had finally woken up to it, Rafferty had succeeded in convincing him that, not only had his suggestion been made in all innocence, but that Region would be less than impressed if he dropped his wool-over-the-public's-eyes wheeze when he had spent so much time and money on its promotion. So Bradley had been stuck with it.

Warmed by the memory, Rafferty’s step, as he followed Lilley out to the car park, was jauntier than it had any right to be.

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