CHAPTER THIRTEEN
So the old man wanted results? Rafferty slammed his way into his office. It would serve Superintendent bloody Bradley right if he got ones he least wanted, gift wrapped.
As he had anticipated, retribution had been very swift. And he didn't need two guesses as to who had stirred the shit. Even though he'd been warned off treading too heavily on those particular corns, he, for one, would enjoy tying Melville-Briggs up in presentation red ribbon, even if he got reduced to the rank of sergeant for his trouble.
Disgruntled that Llewellyn seemed to number a knack for disappearing when the flak was flying among his other talents, Rafferty slumped dejectedly in his chair. The trouble was he had too many possible suspects. Sidney Wilks, for instance, was turning out to be a very interesting possibility, as he'd tried to explain to the superintendent, in an attempt to halt Bradley's Vesuvius-like eruption. It didn't help that Wilks had been the Welsh Wizard's preferred choice, rather than his own.
According to Tina, the absent Streatham flatmate, Sidney Wilks wasn't the solid citizen his privet hedge proclaimed, but had used his respectability as a shield for something far from seemly. Linda had confided that her father had regularly abused her sexually as a child. Was it true, though? And if so, had Daphne Wilks known?
Rafferty's nose twitched, once—an infallible guide and he nodded slowly. Wilks was capable of such an act. And Daphne Wilks? Wasn't it true that those who denied knowledge of such a dreadful act denied it most strongly to themselves?
He viewed the coming interview with distaste, but consoled himself with the unkind thought that Llewellyn would relish it even less than he did.