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Authors: Geraldine Evans
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had minimized the extent to which the professional
failure had affected him. He knew that Stubbs's wife had died soon after the
move from Burleigh; from what he'd learned, she'd never been strong, and the
strain of coping with her husband's bitterness had taken its toll. They'd had
no children, and even though his colleagues had made an effort to keep in
touch, gradually Stubbs had cut off contact with all but one of them.
Rafferty found it easy to understand how, alone in this lonely little
grey box, the man's bitterness could fester till it became consuming. Once
again, he reminded himself, that, as an ex-copper, Stubbs had the contacts to
discover Smith's current whereabouts. Had he done so and brought about what he
must consider a belated justice?
In the force, Stubbs had been a thirty-year man, and Rafferty, over
twenty years on the force himself, desperately wanted to be able to scratch his
name off the suspect list. But this ambition, he now realized, might not be as
quickly accomplished as he had hoped. He was wondering how best to continue the
interview when Stubbs ended his self-imposed monosyllables with the gruff
comment:
'You said on the phone you wanted to speak to me about the Smith case. I
wish you'd get on with it and go.'
'Very well.' Rafferty paused, then asked, 'How do you feel about his
death?'
'How do I feel?' Stubbs's forehead wrinkled, then he admitted, 'I'd be a
liar if I said I wasn't glad. For his victims more than for me. Perhaps, now
the bastard's dead, they can finally put the past behind them and make
something of their lives.' The words, It's too late for me, were implied by
Stubbs's whole demeanour.
Rafferty nodded. 'You mentioned Smith's victims — I wanted to talk to
you about them and their families. You must have come to know them all well.' Rafferty
had explained over the phone the manner of Smith's death and what had followed,
and now he went on, 'Although the stab through the heart caused his death, his
stringing-up afterwards had all the hallmarks of a ritual execution, a
punishment. Would you say any one of them in particular would be capable of
such an act?'
Rafferty's prophecy that few people would be willing to help them catch
Smith's killer seemed to be borne out by Stubbs's reaction. He seemed
determined to assist them as little as possible, as his answer made clear.
'How should I know? Apart from Frank Massey, I haven't seen any of them
for ten years.'
'Ah, yes, Massey.' Rafferty paused. 'I understand you stood as a
character witness at his trial?'
Stubbs bristled. 'What of it? Least I could do for him. He wasn't a
violent man. I was surprised he had it in him to attack Smith; he was an
academic, a man who worked with his mind rather than his body.' Stubbs's face,
inclined to broadness, now took on an aspect like a pugnacious bulldog. 'Of
course it wasn't surprising that the court ruling at Smith's trial changed all
that. It ruined his previous rather naive belief in British justice. He seemed
bewildered at first, then that bewilderment turned to rage. For the first time
in his life he used his fists instead of his head and look where it got him. If
you think he's likely to have had another go at Smith I should forget it. He
had a terrible time in prison. He's not likely to want to repeat the
experience.'
'Not likely, I grant you,' Rafferty agreed. 'But he may still have
decided to risk it. After all, he had two wrongs to right not just one. And, as
you say, no one could claim he got justice from the courts.'
'" Revenge is a kind of wild justice ,"' Llewellyn quoted
softly, adding, 'at least, according to Francis Bacon. Perhaps Mr Massey still
feels wild justice is the only kind available to him.'
Stubbs stared at him for a moment and then retorted, 'That's as maybe,
but he'd had his try for revenge once. You're barking up the wrong tree if you
think he could gird himself up a second time. He's not the same man at all. He
wouldn't have it in him.'
'You thought that
failure had affected him. He knew that Stubbs's wife had died soon after the
move from Burleigh; from what he'd learned, she'd never been strong, and the
strain of coping with her husband's bitterness had taken its toll. They'd had
no children, and even though his colleagues had made an effort to keep in
touch, gradually Stubbs had cut off contact with all but one of them.
Rafferty found it easy to understand how, alone in this lonely little
grey box, the man's bitterness could fester till it became consuming. Once
again, he reminded himself, that, as an ex-copper, Stubbs had the contacts to
discover Smith's current whereabouts. Had he done so and brought about what he
must consider a belated justice?
In the force, Stubbs had been a thirty-year man, and Rafferty, over
twenty years on the force himself, desperately wanted to be able to scratch his
name off the suspect list. But this ambition, he now realized, might not be as
quickly accomplished as he had hoped. He was wondering how best to continue the
interview when Stubbs ended his self-imposed monosyllables with the gruff
comment:
'You said on the phone you wanted to speak to me about the Smith case. I
wish you'd get on with it and go.'
'Very well.' Rafferty paused, then asked, 'How do you feel about his
death?'
'How do I feel?' Stubbs's forehead wrinkled, then he admitted, 'I'd be a
liar if I said I wasn't glad. For his victims more than for me. Perhaps, now
the bastard's dead, they can finally put the past behind them and make
something of their lives.' The words, It's too late for me, were implied by
Stubbs's whole demeanour.
Rafferty nodded. 'You mentioned Smith's victims — I wanted to talk to
you about them and their families. You must have come to know them all well.' Rafferty
had explained over the phone the manner of Smith's death and what had followed,
and now he went on, 'Although the stab through the heart caused his death, his
stringing-up afterwards had all the hallmarks of a ritual execution, a
punishment. Would you say any one of them in particular would be capable of
such an act?'
Rafferty's prophecy that few people would be willing to help them catch
Smith's killer seemed to be borne out by Stubbs's reaction. He seemed
determined to assist them as little as possible, as his answer made clear.
'How should I know? Apart from Frank Massey, I haven't seen any of them
for ten years.'
'Ah, yes, Massey.' Rafferty paused. 'I understand you stood as a
character witness at his trial?'
Stubbs bristled. 'What of it? Least I could do for him. He wasn't a
violent man. I was surprised he had it in him to attack Smith; he was an
academic, a man who worked with his mind rather than his body.' Stubbs's face,
inclined to broadness, now took on an aspect like a pugnacious bulldog. 'Of
course it wasn't surprising that the court ruling at Smith's trial changed all
that. It ruined his previous rather naive belief in British justice. He seemed
bewildered at first, then that bewilderment turned to rage. For the first time
in his life he used his fists instead of his head and look where it got him. If
you think he's likely to have had another go at Smith I should forget it. He
had a terrible time in prison. He's not likely to want to repeat the
experience.'
'Not likely, I grant you,' Rafferty agreed. 'But he may still have
decided to risk it. After all, he had two wrongs to right not just one. And, as
you say, no one could claim he got justice from the courts.'
'" Revenge is a kind of wild justice ,"' Llewellyn quoted
softly, adding, 'at least, according to Francis Bacon. Perhaps Mr Massey still
feels wild justice is the only kind available to him.'
Stubbs stared at him for a moment and then retorted, 'That's as maybe,
but he'd had his try for revenge once. You're barking up the wrong tree if you
think he could gird himself up a second time. He's not the same man at all. He
wouldn't have it in him.'
'You thought that
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