Death Line Read Online Free PDF

door open. “What the hell's going on?” he demanded.
    A woman of about thirty stood at the head of the stairs. Looking sheepish and flustered, PC Smales stammered his apologies. “She sidled past me when I was looking the other way, sir.”
    Rafferty guessed she was the Latin American woman, Mercedes Moreno, that Astell had mentioned. Dressed completely in black, a long flowing creation, covered by straight midnight dark hair, her skin was very pale, unnaturally so, he thought, as if she was ill or had deliberately powdered it that way for effect. She looked like an extremely exotic witch.
    Smales, putting as much authority into his voice as his twenty years could muster, said, “Come along now, Miss. You've no right to be here.” His colour deepened when the woman ignored him. There was an air of suppressed excitement about her, and although she was doing her best to conceal it, the fluttering muscle in her cheek gave the lie to her efforts. She had still said nothing. Her silence only disconcerted the young officer even more. He gripped her arm, but she shook him off as if he were no more than a minor irritation and he stood irresolute and uncertain until Rafferty took pity on him and dismissed him.
    The woman fixed her great dark eyes on Rafferty. “Jaspair is dead, is he not?”
    “You are Mrs Mercedes Moreno, I take it?”
    “Of course. Who else would I be?”
    Who else, indeed? Rafferty asked himself. “Would you mind telling me how you knew Mr Moon was dead?” Dispensing with Superintendent Bradley's preferred brand of crawling civility, he demanded sharply of Astell as, in response to the noise, he came out of his office, “Did you contact her and tell her of Moon's death while you were waiting for us to arrive?”
    Astell denied it.
    “Edwin has told me nothing.” Her expression haughty, as if she considered the answering of police questions to be beneath her, she added, “I read the Tarot for Jaspair yesterday during my lunch break. Each card told of sudden happenings and great changes. First, he drew the Death card.” Showing a gift for timing the late Olivier might have envied, she paused dramatically, waiting for a reaction. When even Rafferty failed to oblige, she went on, “Admittedly, this card indicates the end of a natural cycle rather than death itself, but even so... Next, it was the Ten of Swords which warns of trials and tribulations, and The Tower, which represents the defeat of false philosophies, and finally, the Page of Swords, which warns of a deceitful person.” She paused once more and gazed from face to face, before telling them with a proud toss of her head, “I am vidente – fey, I think you call it. But, even without the warnings from the cards, I sensed danger for Jaspair, negative auras surrounded him and I warned him to take care.” Solemnly, she added, “It is a pity he did not listen to me.”
    At a loss, Rafferty was careful to avoid Llewellyn's eye. He was still fumbling around for an appropriate response when a prolonged bout of wheezy coughing from Astell saved him the trouble.
    “Sorry.” Astell apologised, and explained, “Bronchitis. Suffered from it for years.”
    “You should live in a warmer climate, Edwin,” Mercedes told him with a silky concern that, in Rafferty's jaundiced view, sounded overly effusive. “Have I not told you this before? Always you will have this problem until you do.”
    “A sensible suggestion, if lacking in practicality,” was Astell's terse comment. “My life, my wife, my work are here.”
    “None of them are of any use to you if you are dead,” she told him prosaically. “And I thought you were so much improved yesterday.” She felt his forehead and he backed away in irritation. “You are very hot. You should go home and go to bed.”
    If anyone could blow their nose in a manner that said clearly – mind your own business – Astell did so. He put his handkerchief away. “How can I, with-with Jasper dead? Someone's