The Fruit Gum Murders

by Roger Silverwood

  ‘I can’t help you there, Inspector,’ she said. ‘Mr Novak had been a tenant of mine for twelve years and in all that time I never heard him speak about any relative, nor did he correspond – as far as I know – with any. I took in his post when he was at work.’

  Angel frowned. ‘I understand that he was a bit of a photographer?’

  ‘I believe so. In his early days here, he frequently got parcels and correspondence from firms that supply photographers. But not so much lately.’

  ‘What did he photograph?’

  ‘Do you know, Inspector Angel, I don’t think I ever saw anything he photographed.’

  ‘DS Crisp will have told you that we are from Bromersley police force because he died on our patch. Can you tell me what he was doing in Bromersley?’

  ‘I have never known him make such a trip. It was unusual for him. He owed me three months’ rent. That’s all I know. He said that he’d soon be able to pay it back, but he had to be away for a few days to settle up a bit of business.’

  Angel rubbed a hand across his cheek and jaw. ‘But he didn’t say with whom?’

  ‘No. I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Do you know where he banked?’

  ‘I don’t think he used a bank. He once told me he couldn’t trust them. Whenever he paid the rent, it was always in cash.’

  ‘Did he have a mobile phone?’

  ‘I never saw him with one. He seemed to favour the public phone box on Coalsden Road.’

  ‘Was he in regular employment?’

  ‘Well, Inspector, there’s an unusual thing. He was a porter at Coalsden Cottage Hospital. He had been there for years, then one day it seemed he left and retired … last year, October time. I personally didn’t think he was old enough to be drawing his old-age pension. I thought he was only in his fifties. But ever since then, I’ve had difficulty getting him to pay his rent on time.’

  ‘Didn’t he try to get another job?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I suppose so. He didn’t confide in me, Inspector. He didn’t confide in anyone, as far as I know.’ She shook her head. ‘He was an odd man,’ she added.

  ‘Where’s this Cottage Hospital, Mrs Rimmington-Jones?’

  ‘It’s only two miles away, just off the Norwich Road. At the end of Duck Lane.’

  TWELVE

  After passing two farms and a duck pond, and driving though a ford, a high stone wall with large, black-painted iron gates in the open position came into view. On one of the gates was a signpost.

  Angel saw it coming and said, ‘Slow down, Trevor, and let’s read what it says.’

  Crisp put his foot on the brake.

  The sign read: ‘Private. Coalsden Cottage Hospital. Patients may be visited by prior arrangement only. Quiet aids recovery. Use of car horns prohibited. Maximum speed 10 mph. Please use designated car parks. All enquiries to Marjorie Underbank, Bursar.’

  ‘Right,’ Angel said. ‘This must be it.’

  Crisp shoved the gear stick into first and let in the clutch. As they went through the gates, they found themselves on a long drive up to a large Georgian building resembling a stately home.

  ‘Looks a bit grand for a cottage hospital,’ Angel said. ‘Drive up to the entrance, Trevor. Drop me off, park up and join me.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  Angel made his way to reception. He showed his ID to a young woman and said, ‘I want to see Miss Marjorie Underbank, the bursar, urgently, please.’

  ‘Certainly,’ she said. ‘I’ll see if she’s in.’

  He waited five minutes and a woman came out to him. He saw from a badge pinned to her jacket that her name was Trudi Templeton, and that she was the assistant bursar. ‘We don’t often have a visit from the police,’ she said. ‘What can I do for you, Inspector?’

  ‘Miss Templeton, I understand that you had an employee, Patrick Novak, working here as a porter?’

  Her face changed. The corners of her mouth turned downwards and her eyelids lowered. ‘Oh, I see. For all inquiries about employees, Inspector, you will need our HR department.’

  Angel said, ‘Well, would you kindly direct me to the person in charge of the HR department, then?’

  ‘Certainly. It’s down this corridor and the first door on the left.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said and set off determinedly along the corridor. He found the entrance to the HR office. It was a big white door with a glass panel in it.

  He tried the door and discovered it was locked. He was surprised. There was some small writing painted in the corner of the pane of glass, which read: ‘Human Resources office. Open Monday to Thursday 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.; Friday 9 a.m. to 4.30 p.m. Closed Saturday and Sunday.’

  He looked at his watch. It said ten to five. He clenched his fists, breathed out heavily and returned to the reception desk.

  ‘Your Miss Templeton said that I needed to see the director of your HR department. I have just been down there and the office is closed.’

  ‘Ah yes, sir. Well, you see, it is Friday and the HR office closes at 4.30 on a—’

  The muscles on Angel’s face tightened. ‘I know that now, miss,’ he said. ‘Can I see Miss Marjorie Underbank urgently? She is the bursar, isn’t she?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir. I’ll see if she’s in. Please take a seat.’

  He hesitated. ‘Tell her the matter is urgent,’ he said.

  He then left the desk and sat down in the end one of a row of chairs along the wall of the entrance hall.

  Crisp came into the hall. He looked around, saw Angel and sat in the seat next to his. ‘Have you seen her, sir?’

  Angel looked at him, his lips taut, and said, ‘I haven’t seen anybody helpful up to now.’

  A few minutes later, Trudi Templeton appeared. She looked troubled. She came across to them.

  Angel and Crisp stood up. She looked at Crisp and then at Angel.

  ‘He is with me,’ Angel said. ‘This is my sergeant, DS Crisp.’

  She nodded quickly, then said, ‘Ah. All the hospital administration offices will be closing in the next few minutes, gentlemen. We finish at five o’clock. And, as it’s Friday, you will have to come back when we reopen on Monday morning.’

  Angel ran his hand through his hair, drew in a big breath and said, ‘I cannot possibly wait until Monday morning, Miss Templeton. I have travelled a hundred miles as quickly as I could from a crime scene to make inquiries into the murder of one of your ex-employees.’

  ‘Murder?’ she said. Her hands went to her face. ‘Patrick Novak?’

  ‘It is extremely important that I get some information about him now,’ Angel said. ‘Monday morning may well be too late. The murderer has the opportunity to commit a dozen or more murders in that time. If I don’t get some serious attention to my inquiries instantly, I will subpoena the entire management of this hospital, prosecute any recalcitrant for obstructing the police in the execution of their duty, and get a court order to close this hospital down and have all the patients transferred.’

  ‘Oh. Oh!’ Trudi Templeton said, and she ran off towards her office, then she stopped, came back and breathlessly said, ‘Excuse me, gentlemen. I won’t be a minute.’

  Angel nodded. ‘Thank you. We will wait here.’

  She raced off.

  Crisp looked from her to Angel and said, ‘You can’t really do all that, sir, can you?’

  ‘No,’ Angel said. ‘But she doesn’t know that, and we have to move on quickly with our inquiries. From the moment a crime has been committed, evidence is being contaminated, some intentionally, some through ignorance and some through natural progression. The only way we can counter the situation is by moving rapidly ourselves. But you know all about that. That’s the sort of elementary stuff they taught you at Hendon.’

  Crisp said, ‘Yes, sir. It’s a pity we can’t freeze the scene of crime and the
relationship between the victim and the villain to the moment just before the murder is committed. That would make detection a lot easier.’

  ‘That’s a bit fanciful, I think, Trevor. If we could extend that moment even more, maybe we’d be able to stop the crime being committed in the first place?’

  It was at that moment that Trudi Templeton rushed back up to them and said, ‘Ah, Inspector, Mrs Underbank would like to see you. Will you follow me?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Angel said, and the two men stood up and followed her.

  They were shown into a comfortable-looking room with a large desk and several chairs in front of it. Sitting behind the desk was a portly, middle-aged woman with a face like thunder. She was holding a pair of spectacles.

  As they came in, she stood up, looked at them, nodded and held out her hand, ‘Good afternoon, Inspector, please sit down.’ They shook hands. ‘And you must be the sergeant. Good afternoon. Please sit down.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Angel said.

  ‘I’m sorry that we didn’t get off to a very good start, Inspector. The truth is partly because we are somewhat embarrassed that Patrick Novak was ever employed here. But Trudi tells me that he has been murdered?’

  ‘That’s right, Mrs Underbank. And I have the unenviable task of finding out who murdered him. There are some questions I would like to ask about him.’

  At that point, Angel took a miniaturized tape recorder out of his pocket and said, ‘Have you any objection to recording our conversation? It will avoid taking notes and save time.’

  She shook her head and made a gesture to place the machine wherever he wanted on her desk.

  ‘Thank you,’ Angel said. ‘Now, Mrs Underbank, Patrick Novak worked here for some years, didn’t he?’

  ‘Must have been around fifteen years, Inspector. I was the one who interviewed him and recommended his appointment as a porter/handyman to the board. That was one of my bad decisions. But he was very good at his job. Reliable. Good timekeeper. Although most of his time was spent wheeling patients round the hospital, he was very handy at small electrical and carpentry jobs, and painting and decorating. We never had any complaints about him. Some patients even told us what little services and shopping he’d done for them. We only had good reports about him. That was until last October.’

  ‘Well, please tell me, what happened last October?’

  ‘Before I go there, Inspector, let me say something about this hospital. Coalsden Hospital is a private hospital, and private surgery and nursing is expensive. It is specialized and labour-intensive, so we tend to get moneyed patients, including some minor royalty, titled and business people, politicians and pop stars. And people both in the public eye and out of the public eye would rather have their hernias and haemorrhoids confidentially treated here than have every surgical procedure and operation reported in detail in the newspapers. Some come here to have their unwanted babies, which is very sad. They also come here for cosmetic surgery. So you can understand that confidentiality is very important.’

  Angel nodded. ‘Yes, indeed, but please tell me about last October.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I received an anonymous letter saying that Patrick Novak had been selling to newspapers photographs of patients which had obviously been taken without their knowledge. We knew that some of this had been happening, but we had no idea of the culprit. We thought it must have been a visitor. Anyway, I had Novak in here and confronted him with it. He didn’t deny it. He boasted that it was him and that he had being doing it for some time. I had no choice but to dismiss him. He responded by rattling off a list of long-standing grievances he had against me in particular and the hospital in general and stormed out. And that, I thought, was the end of it.’

  ‘Until today,’ Angel said. He briefly explained the circumstances of Novak’s death, then took out the small photograph he had found in the man’s wallet and passed it to her.

  ‘Was this photograph taken in this hospital?’

  She put on her glasses and peered closely at it. ‘Well, Inspector, possibly. The truth is, it could have been taken in just about any hospital … anywhere.’

  ‘Is the date on the back of the photograph significant?’

  She turned the photograph over. ‘May 2nd 2002,’ she said. ‘Means nothing to me.’

  She pushed the photograph back along the desk towards him.

  ‘I am assuming it is the date the photograph was taken. Do your records go back as far as 2002?’

  ‘Well, some do. I’m not sure all the medical records will, but certainly the accounts do, all the way back to when I came in 1999. The information is all on two memory sticks.’

  ‘So you would know who was a patient in the hospital on that date?’

  She frowned and pulled off her glasses. ‘Not quite, Inspector,’ she said. ‘But we do have a record of every person, insurance company, institution or organization that actually paid a bill for treatment, since 1999. Also we have a copy of every hospital invoice. In some cases, the payee did not have the same name as the patient. However, against each payee is an invoice number that can be cross-referenced to a copy which gives the patient’s name, ward number, surgeon and other details.’

  Angel leaned back in the chair and smiled.

  ‘Are you looking for any particular name, Inspector?’ she said.

  He shook his head. ‘I wish I had a name. I am looking for a person who held a grudge against Patrick Novak and another man, Norman Robinson, so much so that they poisoned them with a ghastly home-made poison. Someone who also, for some inexplicable reason, left a fruit gum by each body.’

  Mrs Underbank frowned. ‘A fruit gum, Inspector?’ she said.

  ‘Peculiar, isn’t it?’

  She nodded and exchanged glances with Trudi Templeton.

  ‘We are hoping that the photograph in Novak’s possession,’ Angel said, ‘has some direct bearing on this murder and that a familiar name will be forthcoming. I believe it is somebody local to us in Bromersley, probably somebody we know and perhaps have even interviewed in the last few days.’

  A mobile phone rang out. It was Angel’s. He pulled a face. He stood up. ‘Sorry about this,’ he said. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen. He hoped it was not Mary again, bothering him about Mrs Mackenzie and the dance at Muick Castle. It wasn’t. It was much worse. It was the superintendent. Angel went into a corner of the office … the furthest he could get away from Mrs Underbank and Trudi Templeton. He pressed the button and said, ‘Yes, sir. Angel here.’

  ‘Where the hell are you?’ Harker said.

  ‘Norfolk, sir. On this Novak case. I’m with a witness. Can I ring you back?’

  ‘Norfolk? Five o’clock on a Friday afternoon and you’re messing about in Norfolk? It’s ridiculous. No, you can’t ring me back. And you’ll have to come back here double-quick, Angel. I’ve just had a triple nine about a serious fire – possibly arson – at a greengrocer’s shop on the corner of Station Road and Main Street.’

  ‘Truelove’s, sir?’

  ‘That’s the one. There was a dead body on the premises, a man, possibly an intruder.’

  The corners of Angel’s mouth turned downwards.

  ‘Could be murder,’ Harker said. ‘You should be there. I’ve a dinner tonight in Leeds with the committee of the northern police billiards team. I’ve to get home and get ready for it, and I’m late now!’

  Angel’s heart began to pump harder. ‘I’ll catch the next train, sir.’

  ‘Right. I’m leaving that with you, then.’

  Harker ended the call.

  Angel turned round. He ran his hand through his hair.

  Mrs Underbank, Trudi Templeton and Crisp looked at him.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I’ve been ordered back.’ Then he tapped a number in his mobile. ‘Excuse me. I must just see to this.’ />
  Ahmed soon answered. ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Ah. I know it’s five past five, Ahmed, but will you see if you can catch Flora Carter for me and get her to ring me on my mobile? It’s very urgent.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ Ahmed said.

  Angel then closed his mobile and turned back to Mrs Underbank. ‘Sorry about all this, but it’s another possible murder. Can my sergeant here look through those records we were talking about? He knows what to do, don’t you Trevor?’

  Crisp said, ‘Oh yes, sir. Record and follow through any familiar name.’

  Mrs Underbank said: ‘He can make copies of the two memory sticks provided that I can have his and your assurance that the information contained is only to be used in connection with the finding of the murderer of Patrick Novak.’

  ‘Certainly,’ Angel said. He turned to Crisp and said, ‘We can honestly give that undertaking to Mrs Underbank, can’t we, Trevor?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Crisp said.

  ‘Take me straight back to Norwich railway station,’ Angel said as soon as he had closed the car door.

  Crisp started the engine and the car glided down the hospital drive.

  As the car passed through the big iron gates, Angel’s mobile rang out. He dived into his pocket and opened the phone. It was DS Carter.

  He explained that he was in Norfolk and that the superintendent had advised him about a fire at Truelove’s greengrocer’s shop. ‘I want you to go there and take charge of the investigation,’ he said. ‘Advise Don Taylor and get a SOCO team on site. You know what to do. Ring me if you’re stuck with anything. I’m coming back by the next train.’

  Angel closed his phone. He rubbed his chin. He hoped that there wasn’t another murder to be investigated.

  Crisp carefully drove the car through the ford on his way to the main Norwich city road.

  Angel was rubbing his chin. He had returned to thinking about Novak. There was something he couldn’t get out of his head. Nobody could have that much photographic kit without having the end product – photographs – somewhere round about. He made a decision.