Dying For You Read Free

he suggested, ‘you'd better borrow one of mine while you're at it. We're about the same size and if you're going to sign up with this top-notch dating agency using my name I don't want you letting the side down. Only you'd better treat it with more care than you treat your own.’
    ‘I will,’ Rafferty swore. ‘The slightest speck and I'll take it to the dry cleaner's and make it disappear.’
    ‘You'd better. I'll drop it, the keys to my apartment and my documents in tonight before I set off for York.’
    Rafferty's scuffed black shoes earned an additional comment. ‘And for God's sake invest in some decent footwear while you're at it.’
    Rafferty nodded. Now he'd got his way, he was prepared to agree to anything. They soon settled the details. And that evening, Nigel dropped everything off as promised. He had even produced another mobile phone for him.
    ‘I thought it better if you supplied that agency with a different mobile number from your usual one. Save any complications, you being a pi–‘ Jerry broke off before he completed the word pig, and went smoothly on. ‘I've taped the number on the back. It's one of my old mobiles, but you needn't worry about giving it back. Nobody uses this type any more.’
    Rafferty did, but as there was only so much sneering a man could take he kept quiet about that. And as he caught the phone that Jerry threw to him, scrutinized it and realized it was exactly the same as his own, he slipped it in his pocket without another word. Nigel, of course, had an all-singing, all dancing mobile that was so tiny Rafferty would have worried about it disappearing through the hole in his pocket lining. It even took pictures and could probably launch a moon-rocket if asked.
    ‘Just don't drag it out when there are people about,’ Nigel instructed. ‘I've got an image to maintain. And if you're going to borrow my name you're going to have to make an effort to keep up appearances.’
    Rafferty, the proud possessor of new Italian suit, shoes, silk shirt, plus a new identity, sat in his flat after Jerry had left and dialled the Made In Heaven dating agency on Jerry's old mobile and made an appointment.
    The shock of Bill Beard's revelation about Estelle's murder had taken a few minutes to fully sink in. The worst horror was that Estelle, who had been so full of life and hopes for the future should now be lying in the morgue, her delightful monkey face and sinuous body badly hacked about by some sadist. A sadist, moreover, as the increasingly self-pitying Rafferty told himself, who might as well have personally selected him as the fall-guy; with his false identity he fitted the frame as if it had been tailor-made
    Reluctant to admit to paranoia along with his other troubles, Rafferty saw – through the grief he felt for Estelle and the anxiety he felt for himself – that he had to get a grip. It was essential he cover his tracks, not only for his own sake, but for his cousin's sake also; after all, it was his name that was being bandied about as being that of a suspected murderer.
    The reminder caused Rafferty to suffer a moment's breathless horror at his cousin's likely reaction to this news, before he thrust the worry aside. Another one soon replaced it. For all he knew Jerry would be unable to supply a solid alibi. If that turned out to be the case, he'd have no choice but to ‘fess up. Even if his own conscience didn't make sure he did so, Jerry certainly would.
    All these thoughts as they followed one another at break-neck pace through his mind were important enough, but even more important than these considerations was the one that Estelle was entitled to justice and Rafferty, in his Nigel Blythe persona, had pre-murder knowledge of both the victim and the other members of the Made In Heaven dating agency. Maybe he had subconsciously learned more about them all than even he was aware. Certainly more than they would be willing to reveal to the poorly Harry Simpson, the officer assigned