Chapter Nine
'SEEMS EDWIN ASTELL hasn't had his hand in the till,' Rafferty told Llewellyn when he returned to the station. 'So that's one of my theories gone the way of the dodo.' Gloomily, he wondered how many more would have a similar fate before he finally found Moon's murderer.
His hours at the accountants, and the resultant fog in his brain, had tired Rafferty out, and he decided to call it a day. Llewellyn was going to some late art gallery showing with Maureen. Rafferty was again invited, but this time he declined. He had had enough of playing gooseberry, and art galleries weren't exactly his thing. Besides, he recalled with a grimace. Tonight he had a date. To escort his Ma to Madam Crystal's.
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