Death Dance Extract A Rafferty & Llewellyn crime novel

Prologue

Detective Inspector Joseph Rafferty was only half-listening as Father Kelly led him and his fiancée, Abra,, through their wedding rehearsal. The warm sun of an early June evening shining through the stained-glass window was rendering him somnambulistic, and Father Kelly, verbose at the best of times, became even more put-you-to-sleep loquacious on occasions, as today, when he was master of ceremonies, breaking off from the rendition of the service to interject with other bits of information that he thought they needed. Their wedding was three weeks off and things were speeding up, with the days flashing by. It was suddenly becoming all too real and rather scary. Rafferty found himself dwelling more and more on the speech he would have to make on the day. It wasn’t something he was looking forward to. He’d made half a dozen attempts at writing a speech and scrapped all of them. His train of thought was briskly interrupted.

‘Is it wool-gathering you are, Joseph Rafferty?’ Father Kelly demanded in a carrying voice that it was impossible to ignore. ‘And amn’t I waiting for you to make your responses?’

Rafferty came to with a jerk. ‘Sorry, Father. Can you say it again?’

Father Kelly heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Sure and it’s simple enough. You know your own name, I take it? Say after me – I, Joseph Aloysius-‘

‘Aloysius?’ Beside him at the altar of St Boniface Catholic Church, Abra, his bride-to-be, smothered a giggle. ‘I never knew that was your second name.’

‘Don’t you think I made sure of it?’ he retorted. ‘I don’t know what my mother was thinking of to land me with such a moniker.’

‘It’s a good saint’s name as well as being my father’s name,’ his ma told him from the second pew. ‘And don’t be taking my name in vein. I’m right behind you and can hear you.’ She put in her two pennorth about his wandering attention. ‘You want to pay heed to Father Kelly when he’s talking to you, son. Or I’ll never get you married with my grandson on the way.’

‘Never mind about that,’ Father Kelly admonished. ‘Can we get on with it? I’ve got a Mass to prepare for so I don’t want to be coaching you two for the rest of the evening. .Now, repeat after me: I, Joseph Aloysius Rafferty take thee, Abra Anne Kearney, to be my lawful wedded wife.’

This time, Rafferty managed to dutifully repeat the words and got through the rest without any further mind wandering.

‘So I’ll be seeing you at church on Sunday, Joseph?’ Father Kelly asked as the rehearsal came to an end.

Rafferty nodded. With the wedding fast approaching, he’d felt obliged to attend Mass. But as a fully-fledged lapsed Catholic he intended to slide out of this obligation at the first opportunity. Father Kelly didn’t know this yet, though he probably suspected it. He felt a bit of a hypocrite to be getting married in the Catholic faith, but Father Kelly had more or less taken it for granted and he and his ma had railroaded him into it. Abra felt obliged to attend Mass as well, seeing as she was receiving instruction in the faith and had told Father Kelly that she was going to convert to Catholicism. Even Mickey, one of his two younger brothers, had attended today as a stand in for the best man who couldn’t attend the rehearsal.

He’d forgotten to turn his mobile off, so he was relieved it didn’t go off till the rehearsal was over and he and Abra were back out on the street. He could imagine what Father Kelly would have said if it had gone off in church.

The caller was Sergeant Dafyd Llewellyn, his missing best man. ‘I hope I didn’t interrupt your wedding rehearsal.’

‘No. It’s just finished. What’s the problem?’

‘The body of a woman has been found. It looks like strangulation. A Mrs Adrienne Staveley at a place called The White Farmhouse.’

‘Who called it in?’

‘Her husband. A Mr John Staveley.’

‘Okay. Where is it?’

‘Off St Mark’s Avenue – Lavender Avenue. You can’t miss it. I’ve already called the team out and Dr Dally’s on his way.’

‘Okay. I’ll see you there as soon as possible.’ Rafferty shut his mobile and turned to Abra. ‘Guess what? Some woman’s got herself murdered. I’ll have to go.’

‘What about me?’

‘I’ll drop you and Ma home first. I don’t know how late I’ll be.’

‘I suppose this is the shape of things to come.’ Abra tossed her long chestnut plait. ‘Just don’t do a disappearing act after our real wedding ceremony.’

‘No chance of that, my sweet.’ He kissed her. ‘I wouldn’t miss our honeymoon for anything’

‘You’d better not. Come on then. Take me and your mum home so you can get off.’

The journey back to the flat didn’t take long. His ma told him she’d walk from there to her own home as it was a nice evening. And after kissing them both goodbye, Rafferty quickly drove in the direction of The White Farmhouse. And yet another murder.