The Morals of a Murderer

by Roger Silverwood

  Angel released a silent sigh.

  ‘What is also putting him out is that he says you have persistently refused to tell him how you came to know Yardley … and where and when you actually met.’

  There was another pause. The super ground his teeth again for an encore. Eventually he said: ‘Well?’

  ‘I don’t know where to start, sir.’

  The super groaned impatiently.

  Angel began: ‘I didn’t refuse to tell the commander how Yardley knows about me or says he knows me. We have never met, as far as I know.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Harker sounded unconvinced.

  ‘Also, sir, the commander did not tell me that he had any agenda other than recovering the gold. I was briefed to listen to any proposition from Yardley and make a deal that would lead to its recovery.’

  The superintendent’s face went scarlet; he turned his cinder-like eyes on to Angel.

  ‘Yes, but you didn’t do that!’ he roared.

  Angel’s pulse banged in his ears.

  ‘Well, I thought the proposition of handing over half the haul for his immediate release would not be acceptable.’

  ‘Of course it’s not bloody acceptable!’ Harker bellowed. ‘It’s outrageous, but you should still have agreed to it.’

  Angel’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘I find it difficult giving my word on something that I know could not be honoured.’

  ‘The man’s a crook. What he’s offering isn’t his to offer. It isn’t his gold. And there are national security implications in all this. The commander told you, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, what’s the matter with you, Michael? Have you gone soft in the head? Yardley killed a man!’

  ‘It seems to have been an accident.’

  Harker’s eyes shot out like balls on elastic.

  ‘Well he would say that, wouldn’t he.’ There was another pause, then he gave a long sniff and pushed himself back in his chair. He looked across at Angel. ‘Well, the commander wants you to see Yardley again — tomorrow. But this time, he wants you wired up, and he wants you to do as you are told. He wants that gold returned to Agara so that the PM can get back authority for the RAF to get an unimpeded flight path across the Mitsoshopi Desert any time it likes. These are not tourist routes for fun. They are to help police the Middle East and keep the world safe from terrorists! Now if this is a problem for you, Michael, you’d better pack the job in!’

  *

  ‘Ah, Michael, there you are,’ Boodle said, showing a big smile and holding out a sweaty hand. ‘Come on in. Hope you had a pleasant journey We’re all ready for you.’

  Angel had expected the meeting with the commander to be very sticky after last Friday’s fiasco, but Boodle was over him like treacle on a ginger pudding.

  ‘You remember Oscar, of course?’

  DI Quadrille in the smart dark suit looked up from his suitcase of switches, wires and flashing lights. He forced a smile across the table.

  Angel shook his hand and nodded.

  Boodle put his arm on Angel’s shoulder and edged him towards a corner of the room. He rubbed his chin. His fingers were shaking.

  ‘I’m glad you agreed to go through with this again, Michael, and wear a wire,’ he said. ‘I can tell you that Yardley is quite desperate to see you, so I think that this time we may very well be able to pull it off.’

  The door at the far side opened noisily and a man in uniform strode through balancing a tray of tea. It was Senior Prison Officer Jubb. He turned back to the door and with a big flourish of the keys locked it.

  ‘Ah, Mr Jubb,’ said Boodle. ‘Is everything all set up down there?’

  ‘Everything’s ready, sir. Same room as before.’Jubb looked at Angel and gave a knowing chuckle. ‘Oooh. Good morning, sir.’

  ‘Morning, Mr Jubb,’ Angel said, evenly.

  Boodle steered Angel away from Jubb to a quiet corner of the room.

  ‘The thing is,’ Boodle continued in a hoarse whisper, ‘The commissioner has had a flag from the Joint Chief of Staff of an upcoming insurgence of the Bhajis. Now we have five hundred and forty men on standby at Lyneham, and he still hasn’t clearance for a flight path across the Mitsoshopi Desert. So we simply have to get on the right side of the king and return his gold. Keep the old dear sweet, you understand?’ Angel was not much into this political intrigue. He thought he’d better try and say something intelligent.

  ‘So this is a bit of an emergency?’

  ‘Absolutely. It’s a national crisis. The security of the UK is at stake. We don’t want a nine eleven here, do we.’

  ‘And so you want me to agree to anything, anything at all, that will lead us to recovering the gold.’

  ‘We are on our backs, Michael. On our backs. Her Majesty’s government offers all its facilities: men of every skill, weapons of any kind, unbounded technology, unlimited budget, all at our disposal. We can do anything, and I mean absolutely anything, to recover the gold, but we need to know exactly where it is!’

  ‘But we won’t be able to keep our side of any deal I make?’ Boodle demurred. His left eye twitched.

  ‘We take the gold first and then see how things are.’ Angel’s face dropped.

  Boodle jumped back quickly. He put up a hand.

  ‘Well, we might. We might. It would depend on what he wants, Michael. Look, don’t corner me on this.’

  ‘He wants his freedom and half the gold.’

  ‘Maybe. No. I don’t know,’ Boodle said, his eye twitching again. ‘Just find out where it is,’ he said impatiently, and then, gently, he added: ‘Leave the consequences to providence, old chap. As I said, it would depend upon all the circumstances at the time … must remain flexible.’

  He turned away quickly and moved to the window. He wanted to dodge any further questions on that tack.

  Jubb came forward with a mug of tea and chuckled knowingly as Angel took it.

  ‘One sugar.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Boodle came back up to Angel. ‘By the way, have you remembered where you met him … Yardley?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Boodle shook his head and crossed to the table. He looked at Quadrille and said: ‘You’d better get him wired, Oscar.’

  Angel quickly turned to the table and took off his jacket, tie and shirt.

  Quadrille dug into his case, and pulled out the wire connecting the microphone, transmitter and batteries.

  Angel noticed that Boodle’s hand was still shaking as he reached out for his tea; he watched him as he meandered over to the window and looked out through the bars. Jubb faffed around, neatly rolling down the top of the sugar-bag and wiping the spoon on the piece of kitchen-roll on the tea tray. Quadrille busied himself cutting strips of pink sticky tape and fitting the wire across Angel’s chest.

  Angel was feeling quite chipper in himself. He had the occasional fluttering in the belly and, in quiet moments, heard his pulse drumming in his ears. The pressure was on him, but he felt tolerably calm about it all. His conscience was almost squared; as it was a matter of national security, he could live with betraying a crook like Yardley, for the security of the lives of British troops. All he had to do was agree any deal that would of necessity reveal where the gold was hidden and let Boodle do the rest. Put like that, he could live with it.

  ‘There we are, Michael,’ Quadrille said, pressing home the tape nearest the microphone head. ‘I think that’ll be fine.’ He returned to the table and put on the headphones.

  Angel pushed his fist into the shirt-sleeve. Boodle came over to him.

  ‘Oh yes, now, Michael, if he discovers the wire, or it goes faulty or we can’t hear you for any reason, we’ll come in and pull you out … for your own safety, you understand?’

  Angel smiled to himself. He didn’t understand anything of the sort, but he nodded and continued buttoning up the shirt.

  Boodle sighed and looked at Quadrille.

  ‘Is everything OK?�
�

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is Yardley ready, Mr Jubb?’

  ‘He’s in reception room fourteen, sir. Under guard. He’s been searched. And he’s ready and waiting, sir.’

  ‘Good. Good. Ready when you are, Michael. There’s no rush.’

  Angel smiled to himself. There certainly was a rush. He pulled up his tie, and Jubb helped him on with his jacket. ‘Thank you.'

  ‘Follow me, sir.’

  ‘When you get in there, speak up and stay close to him,’ Boodle called.

  Angel nodded.

  ‘Good luck.’

  Jubb rattled the keys and unlocked the door. He marched the ten yards down the corridor to reception room fourteen as if he was on the square at Aldershot. Angel walked quietly behind.

  He unlocked the door, peered in, and bawled at the guard.

  ‘Right, lad. Off you go.’

  The guard came out and Angel went in. The door closed.

  There was a rattle of keys. There were just the two of them.

  Yardley was sitting at the table smoking, just as Angel had seen him four days earlier.

  Angel took the chair opposite.

  Yardley looked up at him, and nodded slightly. He was the first to speak. He pointed to Angel’s chest.

  ‘Well, are you going to take it off?’

  Angel felt his pulse race. He managed a smile.

  ‘I’m not wired,’ he lied. He went to undo his shirt buttons. ‘Do you want to see?’

  ‘Nah.’

  Angel resumed even breathing again. He took in the thickness of those tattooed arms. He would rather have Yardley for a friend than an enemy. Lying to him wasn’t as difficult as he had expected, but he wasn’t anxious to get found out. He dug in his pocket and produced two packs of Player’s full strength and put them on the table.

  Yardley’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Angel forced a smile.

  ‘If you think these might compromise our relationship, I can always chuck them out of the window.’

  Yardley smirked. ‘That’s better, Michael.’ He reached out for them and stuffed them into the pocket of his jeans. ‘I can see I’m getting you trained right.’

  Angel thought everything was looking good. He went straight for it.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be pleased, Morris, to know that I have the authority to agree a deal with you on the basis we discussed last Friday.’

  ‘Oh?’ Yardley sniffed. ‘That’s what you said last time, but you didn’t, did you. You had to go snivelling back to Boodle for his say-so.’

  ‘I didn’t have the authority last time. And I didn’t say I had,’ Angel said, looking Yardley right in the eye. ‘Today, I have that authority. But I’m not a pushover, Morris. I want top money for what I’ve got!’

  ‘That’s tough talk, Michael. You’re in no position to bargain. I’m the one with the gold.’

  Angel leaned back in the chair, forced a smile and ran his tongue round his mouth.

  ‘When I leave here today, Morris, whatever the outcome, I’ll be going home to my little bungalow. And tonight, I’ll be sleeping in my little bed … with my little wife. You’ll be returning to your little cell, and tonight, you’ll be cuddling up under a scratchy blanket with an old copy of The Sun and forty Player’s full strength!’

  Yardley pulled a sour face. His lips tightened. He scowled at Angel, then suddenly he smiled and said:

  ‘Let’s get down to business.’

  Nothing would suit Angel more. He nodded.

  ‘The deal is that you set me free with an irrevocable pardon from a high court judge, effective immediately and I take Boodle to the gold and give him half of it.’

  ‘No,’ Angel said bluntly.

  Yardley’s eyes flashed. ‘What?’ he snarled through tight lips.

  Angel became aware of a frog inside his ribcage.

  ‘You get your pardon on receipt of the gold,’ he managed to say confidently. He even fooled himself.

  There was a pause.

  ‘All right,’ Yardley said. ‘And there’ll be no guns, no arms, no wires, no bugs, no tracers, no telephones, no tricks, or it’s off.’

  ‘OK.’

  Yardley leaned back in the chair, sniffed loudly and breathed out a long sigh.

  Angel noticed the sudden change in him; he looked brighter and more relaxed.

  ‘Right. Now there are some things I want,’ Yardley said boldly. ‘I’ve made a list in my head. I couldn’t get any paper. Write it down; I want it just like this.’

  Angel pulled out his leather-bound notebook and clicked his pen.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I want a three ton white van, filled with petrol and without any bloody tracing bleepers on it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Angel said, writing.

  ‘I want fifty thousand pounds in unmarked used notes, twenties and tens.’

  Angel frowned. ‘That’s a lot of money. I don’t know about that.’

  Yardley pulled a face. ‘Take an extra gold bar out of my half. Each bar is worth about eighty-one thou. There are eight hundred and twenty. I take four hundred and nine. Boodle gets four hundred and eleven.’

  ‘All right. Is that it?’

  ‘Is it hell. I want a posh Savile Row suit, made to measure, dark grey or black, with a charcoal-grey stripe about every about half inch. I shall want to choose from a pattern book. And I want three white silk shirts with my initials, MY, embroidered in maroon on the pocket. A tie, maybe a paisley pattern. A pair of eighteen-carat gold cuff-links engraved with my initials, a pair of broad-fitting black all-leather Gucci shoes size nine, a pair of silk pyjamas, leather slippers, and a dressing-gown, all to fit me … not a bloody dwarf! And I want a proper light-fawn trench-coat, and a pair of black leather driving-gloves. Have you got that? And you can put that lot in a nice real leather suitcase.’

  Angel was writing as fast as he could. He shook his head.

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yeah. Two hundred Capstan full strength and a bottle of Imperial gin.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘No. But it’ll start me off. The rest I can get on the road.’ Yardley took a satisfied drag from the cigarette. ‘Yes, there is something else. My ruddy pardon!’

  Angel looked at the list, added the last bit, crossed a few ‘t’s and shook his head.

  ‘It’s a fair list.’

  ‘It’s peanuts! Now, when you’ve got that lot together — I reckon it’ll take you about a week — put it in the van and bring it here. I’ll check it over. If it’s OK, I will drive Boodle straight to the gold, take my half, less one bar, and drive off.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  Yardley blew out a long sigh. ‘I think so,’ he said. And then, after a few seconds, very positively, he said: ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right,’ Angel said quietly. ‘You’re on.’

  Yardley beamed, stretched out his arms, stood up, then punched the air with a fist and yelled: ‘Geronimo!’

  Angel sat there, watched him, felt a little sad and felt fifty frogs jigging around his stomach.

  *

  Angel walked sadly up the corridor, followed by Jubb. Boodle was waiting in the doorway of reception room 11, wearing a smile wider than the M25. As Angel reached the door, the commander took hold of his right hand, squeezed it and pulled him into the room.

  ‘Well done, Michael,’ he said in an excited whisper. ‘Well done. I couldn’t have done it better myself.’

  Quadrille whipped off the headphones and dashed across from his box of tricks. He shook his hand warmly.

  ‘That was great, Michael.’

  Jubb followed Angel into the room and locked the door.

  ‘Congratulations are in order, I see, sir,’ he beamed.

  Angel didn’t say anything. He smiled weakly. There was a distinct buzz in the air. It was electric. His pulse rate must have been over a hundred. He loosened his tie and began undoing his shirt-buttons.

  ‘Let’s get that wire off, Michael,’ Quadrille said eagerly, put
ting Angel’s hands on his collar from behind to assist him to remove the jacket.

  Boodle moved across to the window. He clasped his hands behind his back, and strode quickly up and down the room, his head bent forward.

  ‘Oscar, I want you to get a copy of that tape off to Doctor Dubrovski. Yes. Today. She’s one of the top psychologists in the country, Michael. She’ll be able to tell us what Yardley is thinking today, what he thought last year and what he’ll be thinking tomorrow. She’s so damned smart! She doesn’t only work on what people say, but what they don't say, and their choice of words, their vocabulary, the priority and structure of their sentences, the emphasis, intonation, the length of pauses between phrases, and between question and answer. She’ll read him like a book. Fantastic, isn’t it?’

  Angel said, ‘Yes,’ but he thought no.

  He peeled off the wire and handed it to Quadrille.

  ‘Dubrovski will need his personal and career details, Oscar. She’ll want a transcript of the trial, details of his behaviour and conduct while in custody and the police psychologist’s report at the time of his conviction. Got that?’

  ‘Yes, Perry.’

  Boodle went on, ‘And Oscar, I want a twenty-four-hour surveillance put on Enchantra Davison. I want to know every move she makes out of that flat, on foot or in a car. I want to know about every phone call — both in and out, every letter vetted and x-rayed, and I want a personal verbal report direct to me. Put Willy Simcox on to it. And I want that twice daily until we’ve got the gold and Yardley’s safely back in a cage. Got that?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I don’t want any surprises.’

  ‘No, Perry.’

  ‘And Oscar, contact CPS and get them to dummy up some release papers, a pardon. Make it look good. And get them to spell his name right, for God’s sake.’

  Chapter Ten

  Angel was glad to get back to Bromersley, into his own office, doing his own thing. The next two days were spent trying to get back to grips with the murder that had been at the forefront of his mind before Boodle had appeared and this mad hunt for gold had started. He made further enquiries into the possible reason why fibres of sisal and the smell of menthol should have been found in Leitch’s office, but no positive progress was made. It was later that week, on Friday afternoon, when Gawber knocked on Angel’s door. ‘Come in.’