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    Game of Bones: Rafferty & Llewellyn British Mysteries, #18
    Game of Bones: Rafferty & Llewellyn British Mysteries, #18
    Game of Bones: Rafferty & Llewellyn British Mysteries, #18
    Ebook310 pages5 hours

    Game of Bones: Rafferty & Llewellyn British Mysteries, #18

    By Geraldine Evans

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    About this ebook

    SERIES REVIEWS

    'Darn good read.'

    'Thoroughly enjoyed the whole series. Great characters and storyline.'

    Sergeant Llewellyn's remark that, perhaps, 'Someone else' had made them a gift of Professor Babbington as the murderer, was just sour grapes, in Detective Joe Rafferty's opinion.

     

    But Llewellyn had planted a tiny doubt where none had existed before. Rafferty, convinced in his own mind that they had the right culprit for the murder of University Administrator, Rupert Hunter-York, forced himself to disregard Llewellyn, who was known to greatly admire Babbington. They had so much proof it was embarrassing: Babbington's fingerprints on the murder weapon; the victim's blood on his shirt; and his DNA on the dead man.

     

    So Rafferty couldn't believe it when his 'sure thing' slowly began to unravel. He refused to admit his growing doubts about Babbington's guilt to Llewellyn, who continued to champion the professor, and was as convinced of Babbington's innocence as Rafferty was of his culpability.

     

    But then they discovered surprising new evidence, and all Rafferty's certainty vanished into dust. He prepared himself to face the music when Superintendent Bradley came back from his expensive holiday, to find that the 'sure thing' he had left with Rafferty, had inexplicably become anything but.

     

    Unless Joe Rafferty could find some way to turn defeat into triumph…

     

    Rafferty & Llewellyn British Mystery series

    Dead Before Morning #1

    Down Among the Dead Men #2

    Death Line #3

    The Hanging Tree #4

    Absolute Poison #5

    Dying for You #6

    Bad Blood #7

    Love Lies Bleeding #8

    Blood on the Bones #9

    A Thrust to the Vitals #10

    Death Dues #11

    All the Lonely People #12

    Death Dance #13

    Deadly Reunion #14

    Kith and Kill #15

    Asking for It #16

    The Spanish Connection #17

    Game of Bones #18

     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGeraldine Evans
    Release dateFeb 5, 2018
    ISBN9781386704881
    Game of Bones: Rafferty & Llewellyn British Mysteries, #18
    Author

    Geraldine Evans

    A Little Laughter. A Little Mayhem. A Little MURDER... British mystery author Geraldine Evans is a traditionally published author (Macmillan, St Martin's Press, Hale, Severn House) who turned indie in 2010. Her mysteries include the soon-to-be 18-strong Rafferty & Llewellyn series of British Mysteries, whose protagonist, DI Joe Rafferty, comes from a family who think -- if he must be a copper -- he might at least have the decency to be a bent one. Her second is the 2-strong Casey & Catt British Mysteries, with protagonist DCI 'Will' Casey, whose drugged-up 'the Sixties never died', hippie parents, also pose the occasional little difficulty. She has also published The Egg Factory, a standalone mystery/thriller set in the infertility industry, Reluctant Queen, a biographical historical, about the little sister of Henry VIII, romance (under the pseudonym of Maria Meredith), and non-fiction (some under the pseudonym of Genniffer Dooley-Hart). Geraldine is a Londoner, who moved to a Norfolk (UK) market town in 2000. Her interests include photography, getting to grips with photo manipulation software, learning keyboards and painting portraits with a good likeness, but little else to recommend them. Why not sign up to her (irregular) newsletter for news of new releases, bargain buys and free offers? You can unsubscribe at any time and your email address will be kept private. Here's the newsletter link: http://eepurl.com/AKjSj WEBSITE: http://geraldineevansbooks.wordpress.com

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      Book preview

      Game of Bones - Geraldine Evans

      Game of Bones

      A Rafferty & Llewellyn British Mystery

      Geraldine Evans

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      Game of Bones

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      BLURB AND REVIEWS

      RAFFERTY & LLEWELLYN MYSTERY SERIES

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Chapter Twenty-Five

      APPLE BOOK PAGES:

      BOOKS IN THE RAFFERTY AND LLEWELLYN BRITISH MYSTERIES

      About the Author

      CONNECT WITH THE AUTHOR

      BRITISH ENGLISH USAGE AND SPELLING

      Copyright Page

      Game of Bones

      Geraldine Evans

      *

      ©Copyright Geraldine Evans 2018

      *

      Discover other books by Geraldine Evans at: https://geraldineevansbooks.com

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      Sign up for her irregular Newsletter:

      https://eepurl.com/beYGIP

      *

      This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual people, locations or events is coincidental or fictionalised

      *

      Except for text references by reviewers the reproduction of this work in any form is forbidden without permission from the author.

      *

      License Note: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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      Cover Design by Nicole of covershotcreations

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      The moral rights of the author have been asserted

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      All Rights Reserved

      BLURB AND REVIEWS

      SERIES REVIEWS

      ‘Darn good read.’

      'Thoroughly enjoyed the whole series. Great characters and storyline.'

      Sergeant Llewellyn's remark that, perhaps, 'Someone else’ had made them a gift of Professor Babbington as the murderer, was just sour grapes, in Detective Joe Rafferty's opinion.

      But Llewellyn had planted a tiny doubt where none had existed before. Rafferty, convinced in his own mind that they had the right culprit for the murder of University Administrator, Rupert Hunter-York, forced himself to disregard Llewellyn, who was known to greatly admire Babbington. They had so much proof it was embarrassing: Babbington's fingerprints on the murder weapon; the victim's blood on his shirt; and his DNA on the dead man.

      So Rafferty couldn't believe it when his 'sure thing' slowly began to unravel. He refused to admit his growing doubts about Babbington's guilt to Llewellyn, who continued to champion the professor, and was as convinced of Babbington's innocence as Rafferty was of his culpability.

      But then they discovered surprising new evidence, and all Rafferty’s certainty vanished into dust. He prepared himself to face the music when Superintendent Bradley came back from his expensive holiday, to find that the 'sure thing' he had left with Rafferty, had inexplicably become anything but.

      Unless Joe Rafferty could find some way to turn defeat into triumph...

      REVIEWS

      ‘Another winner for this author. She never fails to surprise her readers. It is has good plot, a lot of surprises and a clever twist ending. It kept me guessing as always and her humour raises the stakes a lot.....you never know what DI Joseph Rafferty is going to come up with next. She carries the reader along smoothly and her policemen as well as other characters are totally believable and entertaining. A must for readers who enjoy a good crime fiction novel.’ READER REVIEWER

      5.0 out of 5 stars

      Still Going Strong

      ‘Just wanted to once again recommend the Rafferty & Llewellyn series to readers. This is the 18th book in the series, and the plot (and the characters) seem as fresh as ever. Quite the nifty little twist in this one, which was appreciated. Looking forward to the 19th!’ READER REVIEWER

      5.0 out of 5 stars

      ‘Great book.’ READER REVIEWER

      4.0 out of 5 stars

      Oddball detective team scores again

      ‘I love Rafferty and Llewellyn! Their squabbling methods of crime solving make me laugh. I hope we can look forward to many more criminals being removed from the streets by this unlikely sleuthing combo.’ READER REVIEWER

      5.0 out of 5 stars

      ‘I love all of this series! Thank you for sharing your talent! I can't wait to read the next one!’

      READER REVIEWER

      4.0 out of 5 stars

      Great characters and an intricate plot!

      ‘If you love mysteries with great characters and intricate plots, this is the book for you! Follow Inspector Rafferty and his stalwart sergeant Llewellyn as they take opposite sides in the guilt of murder suspect, college professor Babbington. Is he a devious murderer or someone's patsy? They only have two weeks to unravel this puzzle while also solving a spate of knife muggings with no clear suspect! This one will keep you guessing until the end!’ READER REVIEWER

      ‘If you love mysteries with great characters and intricate plots, this is the book for you! Follow Inspector Rafferty and his stalwart sergeant Llewellyn as they take opposite sides in the guilt of murder suspect, college professor Babbington. Is he a devious murderer or someone's patsy? They only have two weeks to unravel this puzzle while also solving a spate of knife muggings with no clear suspect! This one will keep you guessing until the end!’ READER REVIEWER

      ’

      RAFFERTY & LLEWELLYN MYSTERY SERIES

      Dead Before Morning #1

      Down Among the Dead Men #2

      Death Line #3

      The Hanging Tree #4

      Absolute Poison #5

      Dying for You #6

      Bad Blood #7

      Love Lies Bleeding #8

      Blood on the Bones #9 

      Thrust to the Vitals #10

      Death Dues #11

      All the Lonely People #12

      Death Dance #13

      Deadly Reunion #14

      Kith and Kill #15

      Asking for It #16

      The Spanish Connection #17

      Game of Bones #18

      Chapter One

      This novel uses British spelling and slang, so if there is a word or expression you don’t understand, there is a handy list at the back of this book.

      ‘H e’s certainly made a gift of himself; it’s almost as if he wants to be caught.’ Rafferty didn’t know whether Professor Anthony Babbington was incredibly careless, or incredibly stupid, for all his fancy-dancy degrees. Either way, they’d bring him in, interview him, and charge him.

      At his most prim and proper, his back straight as if he had half a tree trunk stuffed up his jacksie, Llewellyn replied from his corner desk. ‘Mm. It’s certainly odd.’ His gaze fixed quizzically on Rafferty. ‘Did you ask yourself why such an educated man would make so many elementary mistakes?’ Loftily, he added. ‘It makes one wonder whether someone else has made us a gift of Professor Babbington.’

      Rafferty’s eyes narrowed. Trust Llewellyn to put a wasp in his beer. Of course, his educated sergeant spent a lot of time at the university. His wife, Maureen was a lecturer there, and the pair were often at some evening function or other. He’d got to know Babbington, and whether Babbington was drunk or sober, he greatly admired him.

      Rafferty fixed Llewellyn with a lofty look of his own, and demanded, ‘How can you say that, when we’ve got his fingerprints at the scene, when he was seen with the victim just a few short minutes before he was killed? We’ve even got his bloodstained shirt, and the murder weapon, also with his fingerprints on it. All it needed to clinch it was his DNA, and now we’ve got that. What more do you want?’

      Llewellyn was just narked because their murderer was a university man; a classics man, like Llewellyn himself. His intellectual sergeant had even gone back to university specially to study the subject. Rafferty, who had been glad to leave school at sixteen, and who had completed his education in the university of life, found his sergeant’s willingness to embrace half a decade or more of extra schooling incomprehensible. His face went stiff as, from deep in his belly, a bubble of resentment reformed, and whooshed upwards in the sound of disgust that burst from his lips. ‘Do you think that over-educated smart-arses like Professor Anthony Babbington aren’t capable of committing murder like the proles? I’m just grateful that he lacked even basic common sense – like so many intellectual types – and failed to cover any of his tracks.’

      Right at the start of the investigation, he’d requested that the staff, students, and anybody else who’d been at the university reception, provide fingerprints and a DNA sample, using the shame factor to encourage compliance. It had worked like a dream. Of course, none of the staff had wanted to look like they weren’t co-operating fully with the police to catch the killer of the Administrator.

      A few of the students had made difficulties, but even they had given their samples in the end. Not that they’d been necessary after all – owing to the cost factor, and the Bradley factor where costs were concerned – he’d had to wait awhile to reduce suspect numbers to single figures. But it quickly became apparent who was the guilty party, and he’d sent Babbington’s sample off with a priority request. The results of the DNA had come back this morning, and that had clinched it.

      Rafferty glanced out of their office window, surprised to discover that it was a lovely October day, and turned fully to enjoy the sun’s rays. He was relieved, both that the case had been a simple one, and that Babbington was such an easy man to dislike that he wouldn’t feel ambivalent about arresting him as was sometimes the case. With luck, he’d be home in time to see his six-month-old daughter, Neeve, have her bath. He smiled. She looked just like a little cherub when she was splashing about. Neeve loved her bath time, with her ducks. To hear her laugh was a tonic at the end of a case. It seemed a suitable finale.

      To say he was delighted was an understatement. Even Superintendent Bradley, not a man much given to praise, had shown his pleasure, before taking off for an autumn break in the Maldives. Of course, Bradley had no great liking for so-called intellectuals like Babbington, either. When he had been to report to him first thing that morning, he had looked at Rafferty like he had his approval for once. But Bradley had immediately spoilt any fellow-feeling.

      ‘But then, it was a simple enough investigation’, that brought with it the not-so-subtle inference that even a man of his low intellectual prowess could solve it.

      Rafferty had just shrugged off the snide comment. It was typical Bradley. He couldn’t expect anything else from the man. But it was after he had left the superintendent, via the canteen, for a solitary, celebratory, mug of tea, and returned to the office he shared with Sergeant Llewellyn, that his happiness bubble had been well and truly popped, in a way that only Llewellyn could, and he’d been niggling ever since. Rafferty would be glad to go home. At least there he’d be able to boast of his triumph to Abra.

      Llewellyn began to sniff, then thought better of it—Rafferty’s comment that sniffing was ‘common’ in a previous investigation, had proved pleasingly inhibiting. Instead, deflated, he turned to face his desks, and remarked, ‘I suppose you’re right. You usually are.’

      Rafferty smiled, and was about to say, ‘Thank you’, in his most sarcastic manner, when Llewellyn added a second wasp to his beer. ‘But an intelligent man would, I think, question—’

      ‘I have.’ Irritated at the second implied slur on his intelligence, his answer was sharp and to the point. ‘And came up with the glaringly obvious answer. Face it, man, your precious professor’s guilty as charged. The sooner you accept it, the quicker we can get out, apprehend our killer, and go home.’ And the sooner I can see my little girl.

      Rafferty felt like reminding him who out of the two of them always found the murderers. Well, almost all of the time. But when he looked at Llewellyn’s hang-dog expression he changed his mind. All along, which was unusual for Llewellyn, he’d been convinced of Albert Payne’s guilt. Admittedly, on the surface, he seemed guilty. He’d had a furious row with the murder victim on the day of the murder and had been suspended. Payne had spent the day propping up various pub bars, stoking his rage. By the time the evening came, he’d been good and stoked. But, in the meantime, Professor Babbington had come to their attention, and the subsequent forensic evidence had clinched it, till Payne was just a distant memory.

      Of course, Payne was one of the lesser mortals who hadn’t had a classical education. He was the maintenance man, and as chavvy as you like. Now that he’d found strange. Because Llewellyn was invariably a stick-to-the-rules man to a degree that got up Rafferty’s nose. He wouldn’t park on double yellow lines. He spoke of the superintendent with respect for his rank. He even kept to the speed limit, despite calls from Rafferty to ‘put your bloody foot down’. Normally, he was scrupulously fair in his attitude to suspects, and treated everyone with an irreproachable courtesy that made Rafferty feel like the Missing Link.

      He scowled again and sprang to his feet. ‘Come on, let’s get on with it. With so much evidence, we may even get a confession.’

      Llewellyn gave a reluctant nod and got into his jacket. But his feet dragged and were every bit as reluctant as his nod.

      PROFESSOR BABBINGTON rose to his feet, climbed the steps to the dais, and was just about to give his speech welcoming the new students to the faculty, when the audience became aware of Rafferty and Llewellyn’s entrance at the back of the hall, the uniformed officers following. An uneasy muttering began, grew louder as they made their way to the front. It caused Babbington to look up from his notes. All at once he seemed to sag, as if accepting the inevitable. He gave a sigh. With the microphone, it was clearly audible in the hall. He gestured to the side of the stage and exited with a surprising dignity. Even his walk lacked the usual stumbles, which was surprising given he was a known drunk.

      Rafferty pushed open one of the double doors to the left of the dais and walked through. Babbington met them out of sight of the audience, as had clearly been his intention. Drunk or not, he was a proud man, arrogant even, as Rafferty had found from the start of the investigation. He would want to be arrested out of sight and sound of the students.

      All Babbington said, more-or-less to himself, was, ‘They’ve succeeded, then? I thought they might.’ He even gave a pained half-smile, as if acknowledging the situation, and the part his colleagues had played in providing the evidence against him.

      Then, as though recalling to whom he was speaking, his manner changed, and his tone became peremptory, as though he was addressing a first-year student. It was a way of speaking to people that ensured he stayed an outsider at the university, a disliked outsider, who didn’t trouble to make himself pleasant. It had got up his colleagues’ noses. It certainly got up Rafferty’s. ‘There’ll be no need for handcuffs, Rafferty. I’m not going to flee. I intend to clear my name of these infamous accusations.’

      ‘You’re not under arrest, Sir.’ Not yet anyway. Rafferty went to take Babbington’s arm, but the man shook him off. Rafferty, aware there would be a press of faces against the windows of the hall to witness him being led away, let him win that round. He could allow Babbington to keep his dignity for the brief walk to the car.

      He led the professor out to the entrance where the police car waited. The uniformed officers saw him safely in, climbed in themselves, and drove away.

      Llewellyn looked sadly after him. One of his idols had fallen, and he looked as deflated as Babbington.

      Rafferty said nothing, just made his way to the car, and got into the driver’s side. He could have appeased his sergeant by letting him drive, but he knew Llewellyn would feel it was a sop to his feelings. Anyway, Rafferty was eager to get the interview process started, so wasn’t prepared to stomach Llewellyn’s ultra-cautious style of driving.

      Llewellyn climbed in beside him. He said nothing. Neither did Rafferty. He started the car, determined not to break the uncomfortable silence that Llewellyn had imposed. He made it as far as the main road, then he couldn’t hold it in any longer. ‘All right. Spit it out. You think I’m wrong, don’t you?’

      Llewellyn didn’t even look at him.

      ‘Fine.’ Rafferty’s lips tightened. ‘Be like that. But you’ll damn well talk at the interview. I’m not putting up with you sitting there, with a face like a smacked arse, and making sure Babbington knows you’re on his side. You’re supposed to be on our side—my side. You’ll play your part in laying out the evidence of his guilt to Babbington, whether you like it or not.’

      After that, Rafferty shut up, and concentrated on his driving. He felt he’d said what needing saying.

      Chapter Two

      Babbington had clearly got his mojo back during the short drive to the police station. The arrogance had staged a comeback as had the truculent stare.

      He fixed Rafferty with the latter as they sat either side of the scuffed table in Interview Room 2. He’d been advised of his rights but had insisted he didn’t need a solicitor. ‘An innocent man, such as I,’ he said grandly, ‘doesn’t need the protection of a wily lawyer. That’s what criminals and other undesirables shout for, whereas I have an unsullied name and reputation.’

      That’s not what I heard, Rafferty thought, as he nodded at Llewellyn to press record. He scrutinised his sergeant for any show of deference, but Llewellyn was careful to keep his expression even more Sphinx-like than usual. Only his eyes had betrayed his true feelings. They seemed to positively glitter with pleasure when Babbington had made his declaration of innocence.

      Rafferty pursed his lips but made no comment. He said his name, the date, time, and the name of their interviewee, for the tapes. Llewellyn followed suit.

      ‘Mr Babbington, you’re being interviewed in connection with the murder of Rupert Hunter-York. You’ve claimed you’re innocent, but we have proof—’

      ‘Professor.’

      Rafferty could only frown and say, ‘What?’

      ‘I’m Professor Babbington. I’m entitled to the courtesy of my title, so demand that you use it.’

      Rafferty simmered quietly, furious with himself that he’d allowed the man to wrong-foot him. He wouldn’t mind, but Babbington never extended the same courtesy to him; he was always Rafferty to the professor, as though he was some misbegotten hobbledehoy from the wrong side of the tracks.

      He counted to ten and started again. ‘Professor, as I said we have proof—’ He got no further before Babbington again interrupted him.

      ‘Proof? What proof can you possibly have?’ Babbington sat back, folded his arms, and fixed his piercing gaze on Rafferty as if he intended having a staring-out contest. Rafferty, with half a lifetime of such contests, easily won that round. But Babbington was clearly determined to deny his guilt even now, and Rafferty’s hopes of a quick confession and an early night faded.

      Rafferty’s face stiffened at Babbington’s obstinacy until he felt he must look almost as Sphinx-like as Llewellyn. He hoped he could keep it up.

      He laid out their forensic proofs, one by one. ‘Your fingerprints were found on the murder weapon, Mr Hunter-York’s paper knife.’ He laid the paper knife in its protective plastic before Babbington.

      Babbington unbent sufficiently to scoff. ‘That thing? It wouldn’t slice through butter.’

      ‘It has been sharpened. I think you’ll find that it would slice through butter now. It certainly sliced through Mr Hunter-York’s neck. He was almost decapitated.’ It was more robust that the average paper-knife. Hunter-York had apparently picked it up on one of his exotic holidays.

      The professor gave a moue of distaste, and said, ‘Must you be so appallingly graphic, Rafferty?’, as though he was way too sensitive to listen to such unpleasantness.

      Rafferty had to admire the man’s gall, if little else. But he was determined to make Babbington look the facts squarely in the face, so he said bluntly, ‘I don’t imagine Mr Hunter-York would have felt my description unpleasantly graphic. After all, it was his throat you cut, his life’s blood that spurted through his hands like a horror film victim. The least you can do is listen to the details.’

      Babbington stared at Rafferty, stared at the paperknife, then his gaze became unfocused, his voice softer with a touch of uncertainty, ‘it’s always been blunt, ever since I’ve been here. Who can possibly have sharpened it?’

      ‘Mr Hunter-York’s murderer, presumably. You, Mr Babbington.’ Rafferty cursed silently that he’d again failed to call the man ‘Professor’. He waited for Babbington’s correction. It wasn’t slow in coming.

      Strangely, he seemed more affronted by Rafferty’s lack of care for the dignity he felt that ‘Professor’ gave him than he was for the accusation he was a killer. Even now he clung to the title, in total rejection of that of ‘Murderer’. But no matter how strenuously he rejected it, he wouldn’t be able to do so for much longer. Even to himself.

      As

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