Death Line Read Free

badly from eczema on my hands and I find clients don't like my touching them.” Rafferty had already noticed that Astell wore thin cotton gloves. He could see some greasy ointment already beginning to seep through. “Jasper, of course, loved the more personal aspect of private consultations. He said if he was to help his clients he needed to meet them, see what made them tick. He liked people, you see.”
    Rafferty pounced. He couldn't help it. Taken with his other vices, from what Astell had said, Moon sounded like a prime victim. “You're saying he was inquisitive?” he asked sharply. “In fact a bit of a nos-” Rafferty stopped abruptly as he saw Llewellyn wince. In his eagerness, he had forgotten that Superintendent Bradley's latest baby was a PR number entitled
Politeness in Interaction with Members of the Public
– PIMP for short, though luckily Bradley had yet to tumble to that aspect. Rafferty was rather pleased with the title. After all, he
had
suggested it. At least it was the most accurately named in a long line of Bradley's schemes. And like pimps the world over, Bradley got the benefits and the team – his public relations officers as he had taken to calling them, or PRO's for short got – well, they got what PRO's usually got. The jargon phrase for this little programme was, 'Politeness Costs Nothing'.
    Convinced that, as long as you failed them with olde-worlde politeness, the public were ready to forgive your failure and even thank you for bothering at all, cost-cutting, "Long Pockets" Bradley had exhorted them all to mind their p's and q's and indulge in as much forelock-tugging as their hair would stand, and then some, and 'woe betide' the officer who offended against this regime.
    As Rafferty, as a matter of principle, had offended against several of Bradley's previous arse-licking exercises aimed at winning for himself even more friends at Region, PIMP wasn't something he could lightly ignore. Not that he had anything against being polite to the public, far from it. It was just that the superintendent's man-management methods tended to pettiness, deviousness and, when these didn't work, outright bullying. His favourite pastime was reducing the younger WPC's to tears.
    Thankfully, Edwin Astell wasn't aware of the Super's newly-tender approach to public relations, and although his nostrils pinched slightly, he didn't contradict Rafferty's description of Jasper Moon's character.
    “I wouldn't have put it quite like that, Inspector, but yes, I suppose he was inquisitive. Though, a competent, experienced palmist could discover much about a person without them saying a word. I'm merely a knowledgeable amateur as far as hand analysis is concerned, but even I needed only to study a person's hands for a short time to discover if they were generous or mean, passionate or placid, creative or practical. Jasper, as a professional, was, of course, far more skilled.”
    Perhaps he'd caught the look of scepticism on Rafferty's face, for Astell went on, “If I might be permitted to provide you with an example?” Rafferty nodded. “Although I've just met him and we've exchanged no more than a few words, I'd say your sergeant's a highly intelligent, analytical person, with refined tastes and a certain sensitivity. Of course,” self-deprecatingly, he added, “this is just a cursory appraisal.” He turned to Llewellyn with an apologetic smile. “You must forgive my using you as a guinea-pig, Sergeant. I hope I haven't offended you?” Not surprisingly, after such a glowing character reference, Llewellyn seemed more than happy to reassure him on the point.
    Rafferty was shaken that his prejudices had been challenged and trumped with such ease. Although unwilling to second Astell's appraisal of his sergeant's virtues, he found himself admitting, “You're right. That's Llewellyn to a 'T'. How on earth did you do it?” Next he'd be telling him, a la Sherlock Holmes, that Llewellyn was contemplating marriage and