Love Lies Bleeding Read Online Free Page A

design and several gables as well as the small-paned windows, Rafferty guessed it dated back to the sixteenth century. Sometime, long ago, before such things had to be passed by planning committees, a previous owner had built two side extensions off the main house which only added to its picture-book prettiness as they rambled off in a picturesque fashion, as if keen to demonstrate their independence from the main structure. The currently whitewashed walls even had the requisite strongly perfumed old-fashioned roses climbing up trelliswork either side of the stable door, which was currently propped open to ease the many comings and goings of the police team.
    After PC Smales noted their arrival on his clipboard, Rafferty and Llewellyn climbed into their protective gear, slipped under the crime-scene tape and entered the house.
    With the fragrant scents of the roses and meadowsweet still lingering in his nostrils Rafferty gasped as, in their place, an altogether stronger smell invaded his senses. The flower perfumes couldn't compete with the pungent, sickly-sweet aroma of three-day-old death. And after the beauty of the outside, the scene that met their eyes as they entered the living room was like a take from a horror movie. Although aware that this wasn't make-believe, part of Rafferty was still waiting for some invisible director to shout, ‘Cut!’
    As Llewellyn had said, Raymond Raine lay sprawled on his back on the now-bloodied dove-grey carpet. The knife sticking out of his chest looked like one commonly used in kitchens. It was large, with a black handle decorated with an ornate pattern in brass-work.
    The fact that he was lying on the floor some distance from either of the large settees caused Rafferty to shake his head as again he wondered that the petite Felicity Raine had managed to overpower such a well-built man. Now if he had been asleep on the settee … Unless she had drugged him first? But the post-mortem would tell them if that was the case.
    The room was tastefully furnished in a pleasing mix of modern and antique furniture. A beautifully carved chest that Rafferty guessed was Elizabethan stood under the casement window. The plain, white-painted walls of the room made the dark wood appear to glow even more darkly. Rafferty just had time to make these brief observations before Dr Sam Dally arrived.
    ‘God,’ he complained, as if offended that the daily grind should force such sights upon his delicate sensibilities, ‘the place looks like an abattoir.’ He sniffed. ‘Smells like it, too. And even if they
do
say the female is more deadly than the male, it's hard to believe that little slip of a thing did this.’
    ‘Not you too, Sam,’ Rafferty complained. Although as Abra had rightly suspected, part of him felt sorry for Felicity Raine, who seemed more confused than evil, he was coming round to the belief that she
had
murdered her husband. They had her confession and all the circumstantial evidence backed it up. It was seldom they had such a straightforward case and Rafferty was determined not to let his own pity or Llewellyn's and Dally's remarks influence him. Like most men, they would be susceptible to a pretty face.
    Besides, Rafferty reminded himself, you have the pretty face of Abra at home. He wanted to keep her sweet and, to encourage her to be sweeter than she was currently being, he had organised a special evening for them both, so was relieved not to have a difficult murder case to solve right now. He certainly wasn't about to look this particular confession gift horse in the mouth, or any other part of its anatomy.
    As Dally set about his examination of the dead man, Rafferty and Llewellyn, side by side and with an unspoken but obviously shared destination, left the living room and its bloody cadaver and went into the hall in search of the kitchen.
    As Rafferty had already observed, the Raines’ home was detached and spacious. It consisted of the roomy lounge they had already seen; as well