The Morals of a Murderer

by Roger Silverwood

  ‘Where is Yardley then?’ Boodle said brusquely, running his hands through his hair to flatten it.

  ‘He’s up there. Up an unmarked road, sir,’ Quadrille replied,

  ‘Thank God. Is there a way out?’

  Quadrille looked at Angel.

  ‘Not by road.’

  ‘Are the tracking devices working?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  ‘Thank God.’ Boodle sighed heavily. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes and mouth. ‘Yardley thinks he’s smart. Huh! As if we could be shaken off as easily as that!’

  ‘Michael knows the woman who lives up there,’ said Quadrille.

  Boodle brightened. ‘Is she known? Has she a record?’

  ‘No,’ Angel replied decisively. ‘There’s nothing known. She’s a widow, runs a small farm — on her own — as far as I know. Very respectable.’

  ‘How does she fit in with Yardley then?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Dunno. Seventy-five, or eighty or more.’

  ‘Mmm. What’s her name?’

  ‘Buller-Price.’

  A mobile phone rang out. Angel recognized the ring. He pulled a face and dived into his pocket.

  ‘I told them not to ring me unless it was urgent.’ He looked at the LCD window and pressed the button. ‘One of my sergeants.’ He put the phone to his ear. ‘Yes, Crisp. What is it, lad,’ he said irritably. ‘Have you nowt to do? I’m up to my eyes in it … Who? … Mrs Buller-Price?’ he bawled.

  He exchanged glances with Boodle and Quadrille.

  ‘What does she want? … Hmm. Yes? … Have you got her number, lad? … Right, got it. Thank you.’

  Angel’s jaw dropped. He stabbed some numbers into the mobile and looked across at Boodle. ‘You are not going to believe this. She has just phoned the station to ask to speak to me. She wants to see me urgently. Something about the security of the country.’

  In unison, Boodle and Quadrille said: ‘What?’ There was a click through the earpiece.

  ‘Mrs Buller-Price? Inspector Angel here,’ he said excessively gently.

  ‘Oh! Thank goodness, Inspector. Oh,’ she puffed, sounding immensely relieved. ‘Oh thank you for phoning. Oh dear! What a day I’ve had!’

  Angela eyes focused straight ahead; his heart pounded away.

  ‘What is it? Are you all right?’

  ‘A space rocket,’ she began, ‘like the one that crashed here last week has just passed overhead. I think the invasion has started. I was in the bathroom looking through my telescope. I think it landed and something got out.’

  Boodle gesticulated wildly for an explanation.

  ‘Just a moment, Mrs Buller-Price. Hold on, please. Just need to … er … close the door.’

  He covered the mobile with one hand.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Boodle said frantically waving his hands in the air. ‘What’s Yardley up to? Is the van there?’

  ‘I’m trying to find out,’ Angel said. He returned to the phone. ‘Hello there. Sorry about that, Mrs Buller-Price. Now I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. Are you all right? Are you there on your own?’

  ‘Oh no, Inspector, no,’ she replied firmly.

  He squeezed the mobile. ‘Oh? And who’s there with you?’ Boodle stared at him intensely.

  ‘Oh, I’m surrounded by … er … friends.’

  ‘Oh good,’ Angel replied. ‘Anybody I know?’

  ‘Why yes. There’s one here you know very well.’

  ‘Oh yes? Who’s that?’

  ‘Schwarzenegger.’

  ‘ Schwarznegger?’

  ‘You remember him, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  Boodle’s eyes shone like searchlights. ‘Who the hell is Schwarznegger?!’ he whispered loudly.

  Angel covered the mouthpiece. ‘It’s a dog.’

  Boodle looked blank. ‘A dog?’

  ‘Haven’t you got a visitor, Mrs Buller-Price? A stranger?’ he asked tentatively.

  ‘No. No,’ she replied vaguely.

  ‘I tell you what,’ Angel said in a confidential tone. ‘As it happens, I’m not far away. I’ll pop in and you can tell me what it is that’s troubling you.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. Could you? That is good of you. That would be absolutely super! I’ll put the kettle on.’

  ‘See you in five minutes then. Goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye, Inspector.’

  He cancelled the mobile and stuffed it into his pocket.

  ‘She says there’s nobody there. I’ll soon sort it out, face to face. I couldn’t ask her about the van.’

  ‘You can’t go in there,’ Boodle said. ‘He’s got one hostage. I don’t want him to have two. An old woman is one thing, a police inspector is quite another.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound as if she’s being held hostage.’

  ‘He’ll have a hammer at her head, or something. That’s why she was babbling nonsense,’ said Boodle, his eyes flitting nervously between the men.

  ‘She didn’t react as if anybody was there.’

  ‘He’s got to be there!’ Boodle shrieked.

  ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

  ‘Does that track lead anywhere else?’

  ‘There’s a television aerial mast at the top. That’s all.’

  ‘He could be there. He could be up there, right now. Digging out the gold,’ Boodle said, his eyes blinking irregularly. Angel shook his head.

  ‘Take the car up the track, drop me off at the farm. You proceed to the top and sus it out. If everything’s OK, wait there. I will phone you in five minutes exactly and let you know what Yardley’s up to. If anything goes wrong and you don't get my call, you can send in your team, the chopper, Kalashnikovs, the lot.’

  Boodle sniffed and ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

  Angel noticed that his left hand was shaking again.

  Boodle looked at Quadrille. Quadrille returned the look. ‘If Michael’s willing to go in … ’ he said, ‘we shouldn’t give Yardley any more time.’

  Boodle sniffed and nodded.

  ‘It’s risky.’

  Angel tapped Gawber on the shoulder. The engine purred into life.

  Quadrille switched on the mike. He began instructing the chopper and the ARVs to take up positions close to the farmhouse to prepare for an assault.

  The Mercedes took the slope easily and arrived at the lopsided sign to the farm in no time. Gawber pulled on the handbrake. Quadrille switched off the mike and turned to Angel.

  ‘In three minutes, the ARVs and the chopper will be in position. One minute after that and we can be feeling Yardley’s collar.’

  Boodle rubbed his chin roughly several times, looked at Angel and nodded. ‘Michael,’ he said.

  Angel opened the car door and looked at his watch.

  ‘Phone you in five minutes — exactly.’

  ‘Careful,’ Quadrille called out as the door slammed.

  The car continued up the hill.

  Chapter Twelve

  He saw the rear of the white van projecting out of the barn next to the house. He looked round; there were no signs of Yardley or anybody else. It was surprisingly quiet, just the musical whistle of the strong wind. He made his way softly to the farmhouse door.

  Suddenly a high-pitched bark followed by a multiplicity of other barks disturbed the quiet. Before he had the opportunity to knock the door opened and the big figure of Mrs Buller-Price appeared. Five dogs of various shapes, sizes and colours erupted from behind her, eager to investigate him.

  ‘Steady! Steady! Quiet gang! Quiet!’ she boomed. She looked up at Angel and smiled angelically. 'Hello, Inspector. You really are most kind. Come in. Come in.’

  Angel stared into her eyes for any giveaway sign that things were not as they seemed. She smiled at him normally, glanced down at the dogs to make sure they were not being too much of a nuisance, then quickly back at him, still smiling and nodding happily. He could detect
nothing wrong. He glanced back to see if anything untoward was happening. He did not want to be taken by surprise from behind. There was nothing there, only the cobbled yard, the barn with the white van sticking out and a bramble bush by the gate-post waving in the wind.

  The dogs formed a circle round him and wagged their tails excitedly. Schwarzenegger was the last to arrive; he quietly lumbered across, sniffed Angel’s shoes, then his hand, wagged his tail and returned to Mrs Buller-Price’s side.

  ‘Quiet gang! Quiet!’ she bawled and peace reigned except for the smallest, ugliest dog who persisted. She stared down at him. ‘Quiet, Bogart! Be quiet!’ The dog gave four more challenging yaps and then fell silent.

  ‘Got a new van, Mrs Buller-Price?’ said Angel, nodding towards the barn.

  The smile left her. She shook her head.

  ‘No. No. Come in, Inspector. Come along in, and I’ll tell you all about it. What a to-do!’

  She turned and went into the house, Angel followed, stooping slightly through the door. The dogs dashed in behind, piling on to each other in the scrum.

  ‘Sit down there, Inspector,’ she said indicating a big easy-chair facing the fireplace. ‘What a day! I’ll just mash the tea.’

  The dogs dropped down anywhere and instantly pretended to be asleep. Mrs Buller-Price went into the kitchen still talking.

  ‘I made some scones yesterday. You must give me your opinion of them.’ She reached out for a big round tin and noisily pulled off the lid.

  Angel looked anxiously into the kitchen as he passed the door. He half-expected Morris Yardley to pop up from behind the door-jamb with a gun in his hand. He took the big chair. He was not happy. Everything looked terrifyingly normal. He looked round the small sitting-room, comfortably furnished with a huge old sideboard heaped with newspapers, letters and magazines. He could see the Farmer's Weekly, the Pig Breeder's Gazette, and Jersey Milk, heaped untidily in front of six seven-pound glass sweetie jars labelled Millington's Winter Mixture, a pair of rubber gloves, bottle of black rum and a glass. An assortment of large easy-chairs, each loaded with two or three cushions of various shapes and sizes, faced the big fireplace, which had a small fire glowing in it. Ten dusty blue rosettes as big as dinner plates with 1st Prize printed in the middle of each, hung limply from the mantelpiece. The room was untidy, dusty and warm, and he could smell cut flowers, dogs and freshly baked bread.

  He listened out for any unusual noise. There was only the rattle of china from the kitchen and the howl of the wind down the chimney. He must keep his eye on the time.

  ‘It was good of you to answer my call so promptly, Inspector.’ Mrs Buller-Price called from the kitchen. ‘It’s been a perfectly dreadful day. And I’ve never stopped. I was up at five. I had to milk my Jerseys, and hump the churn up the lane.’

  She returned with a tray and put it on a table. Schwarzenegger followed her in from the kitchen. ‘There we are.’ she said and flopped into the chair next to Angel.

  ‘It was no trouble,’ Angel said trying to sound casual. ‘I was in the neighbourhood. You sounded troubled.’

  Schwarzenegger circled twice and then settled down on the red tiled floor beside her.

  Angel noticed that the dogs were relaxed and behaving perfectly naturally. He reasoned that if Yardley was still in the house they would be interested and unsettled, particularly the big Alsatian.

  ‘Ah. Yes, indeed, Inspector, I am. The invasion has started, you know. Men, or whatever they are, from Mars have landed. Only half an hour ago a space ship zoomed over my roof and dropped something or somebody down the valley.’

  Angel smiled. ‘That was a helicopter. It’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Are you sure? There was another one of those crashed up there last week. Helicopter? What is it doing round here?’

  ‘Probably army exercises.’

  ‘There you are. The army. And the government are not telling us. I knew it!’

  Angel knew he must find out about Yardley.

  ‘Tell me. What’s that van doing here? And where’s the driver.’

  ‘You might well ask. I’m the only driver round here, Inspector.’ She passed him a cup of tea. ‘Help yourself to sugar.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Ah yes. I’m very angry … and put out, I can tell you. Well, my car, my Bentley, has been requisitioned by the American Army. It was taken by Lee Marvin and I have been lumbered with that tinny van.’

  Angel’s jaw dropped. ‘Who is Lee Marvin?’

  She shook her head impatiently causing all four chins to wobble.

  ‘Oh, Inspector! Everybody knows Lee Marvin!’

  ‘Oh, where?’

  ‘At Lower Dalling.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘It’s in the dales.’

  ‘Oh? Do tell me about it.’

  ‘Ah yes. It’s incredible. Yes. Well, I was visiting my cousin in Friske. The one who is the climber … married to what’s his name … the naturalist … makes those television programmes with … er, never mind. Anyway, I was in the Bentley having seen her and taken my leave, and travelling from Friske to Lower Dalling and this van was stuck in the middle of the narrow road about ten or twelve miles from Friske. I couldn’t get past it. I pipped my horn several times to get it to move. It didn’t move. Eventually, I got out to see what was happening and then Lee Marvin came from behind some bushes and pushed his way into my Bentley. He said he was commandeering it. Naturally, I protested. He said I could have the van. He then turned my car round and drove off. I would have hit him but he was so quick. I wouldn’t have let him see that I was afraid of him. Bette Davis was never afraid of him and I’m not. But I didn’t want to be stranded out there.

  ‘So I took the van, turned it round and drove it back here. I phoned you at the police station as soon as I could. And I looked for a police car all the way back. Didn’t see one. You can never find a policeman when you want one, can you? So I kept my foot down. I just wanted to get home. I’ve been here about an hour. And I’m tired out. Will I ever see my lovely car again?’

  ‘I’m sure you will, Mrs Buller-Price. But where is this … er … Lee Marvin now?’

  ‘Oh, I really don’t know. He drove away and left me up there in Friske.’

  Angel shook his head. ‘Oh,’ he said and looked at his watch.

  ‘You’re not going are you? You haven’t had a scone.’

  He searched in his pocket for his mobile. ‘No. But I will make a phone call, if you will excuse me. We must start looking for your car.’

  She beamed and lifted the cup to her lips.

  He stabbed in Quadrille’s number.

  The phone was answered immediately. It was Boodle.

  ‘What’s happening?’ His voice was squeaking. ‘What is Yardley up to?’ he snapped.

  ‘He isn’t here.’

  'What?! He’d better be.’

  ‘He isn’t. He took Mrs Buller-Price’s car.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ screamed Boodle.

  ‘You know when he stopped, went in the bushes and you lost him? When he came back, he stole a car; he took Mrs Buller-Price’s car, and left her with the van. Well, she took the van and drove it here.’

  There was no reply. He knew Boodle would be livid as he adjusted to the news that his carefully worked out plan had gone haywire and that Yardley had absconded.

  ‘Are you there?’ Angel said.

  There was silence.

  ‘Hello,’ Angel called.

  Eventually Quadrille came on the line.

  ‘Er. It’s Oscar, Michael. We’re coming in.’

  Angel thought he sounded strange.

  ‘Right.’

  The line went dead.

  Angel cancelled the phone and slipped it back into his pocket. He blew out a long sigh.

  ‘I have some associates who’ve arrived outside in a car, Mrs Buller-Price, they’re coming in. I hope that’s all right?’ He put his cup on the tray and went over to the door.

 
She beamed. ‘Oh good, a tea-party.’ She struggled to her feet. ‘I’ll get some more cups. How many did you say?’

  Angel got up. ‘I’ll show them the way. Excuse me. Won’t be a minute,’ he said. He went to the front door, opened it and peered outside.

  Boodle and Quadrille were running along the track towards him. He put up an arm and strode out into the yard to greet them. Boodle had a face like thunder.

  ‘If Yardley isn’t here, then where the hell is he?’

  ‘The last we know, he was in Friske, sir,’ Angel said.

  ‘He could be anywhere by now!’ Boodle boomed.

  Angel knew that was true. Boodle saw the white van.

  ‘Have you searched it?’

  ‘No.’

  He nodded to Oscar to look in the van. Quadrille crossed to the barn.

  ‘Is it locked?’

  Boodle turned back to Angel. ‘Have you searched the house?’

  ‘He’s not here,’ Angel said patiently.

  Boodle’s face went scarlet. His eyes stood out. He thought he would burst a blood-vessel.

  A mobile phone rang. It was Boodle’s. He yanked it out of his pocket out and stabbed a button with a finger.

  ‘What is it now?’ he yelled. ‘What?!’ he screamed. ‘What? … Have you checked? … Stay there. Report to me if she comes back.’

  He cancelled the phone, stared angrily at Angel but called out: ‘Quadrille! Quadrille!’

  The young man came round from the side of the van. His eyes opened wide.

  ‘That was Simcox. Enchantra Davison has gone. She’s given them the slip. The flat’s empty. Her car is still outside the flat. She’s been missing more than six hours!’