The Auction Murders

by Roger Silverwood

  ‘Yes sir. He’s here with his blind dog.’ He stopped again. ‘I don’t mean his dog is blind, sir. Mr Mountjoy is blind. The dog can see, but —’

  ‘Oh, give it a rest, Ahmed,’ Angel said impatiently. ‘Show him in … and his dog.’

  Three minutes later, Ahmed knocked at the door and there stood Mr Mountjoy, a well-dressed man in his fifties, dark brown moustache, wearing sunglasses, a light-coloured raincoat and trilby hat and carrying a white-painted wooden walking stick. He was accompanied by a cream-coloured Labrador dog strapped in an aluminium and plastic yellow dayglo harness.

  Angel stood up. ‘Come in, Mr Mountjoy.’

  ‘Good morning, you must be Inspector Angel,’ the man said holding a hand out into space.

  Angel found it and gave him a warm handshake. The dog wagged its tail and he reached down and rubbed its head.

  Ahmed helped the man to the chair nearest the desk and the dog settled on the floor.

  ‘Thank you for coming in, Mr Mountjoy. I was coming to see you. We are so busy; it was just a matter of time.’

  ‘Now that’s what I’ve got plenty of, inspector,’ he said with a smile.

  Angel understood, and nodded sympathetically. ‘Yes, well now, tell me about last Tuesday.’

  ‘Yes. I was passing the front of the flats where that poor woman, Mrs Drabble, was murdered. I go to my sister-in-law’s for lunch every day. My brother and his wife live at the other side of the estate and it’s a good walk for my dog. I had passed the flats and crossed the road to go into the recreation ground. When I was through the gates, a car roared up to me from the car park. I thought it was going to hit me. The driver angrily pipped the horn and —’

  ‘How do you know he pipped the horn angrily?’

  ‘Because of the pattern: three short pips and a long blast, followed by another long blast. Even-tempered people seeing my white stick and dog would have stopped, not pipped their horn at all, and waited until I had gotten out of the way.’

  Angel nodded. ‘What happened then?’

  ‘The car reversed, revving unnecessarily high, another indication of the disposition of the driver, and then pulled forward and away with a slight squeal of the tyres.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘It was a three-litre petrol-driven engine.’

  Angel’s eyebrows went up. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because of the sound of the acceleration from the static position. And petrol exhaust is more smoky and sweeter than diesel.’

  ‘Mmm. And what makes you think it might have been the murderer in the car?’

  ‘My brother said that it was the most likely place to choose to park a car if you didn’t want it to be seen outside the flats. And, according to the newspaper, the time fits exactly. It was about two o’clock, wasn’t it?’

  Angel smiled. ‘Your brother should be a policeman. My sergeant says you would be able to recognize the car if you heard it again.’

  ‘If I heard the car engine from the static position worked through the gears, yes, I would.’

  ‘One last thing, Mr Mountjoy. Do you think the driver of that car realized that you are blind?’

  He smiled. ‘I’ve never met anyone outside the house who saw me and thought I could see, inspector,’ he said firmly.

  Angel nodded in agreement. ‘Thanks very much, Mr Mountjoy.’

  ‘I hope my evidence will be helpful in catching the murderer. You can call me as a witness, if you think I can help.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Angel frowned. ‘Now, how are you going to get back home?’

  ‘My brother brought me. He’ll take me back.’

  Angel summoned Ahmed and instructed him to escort Mr Mountjoy and his dog back to reception.

  As the door closed, Angel rubbed his chin and smiled. It wasn’t often a blind man came forward and offered to be a witness! He was about to apply himself to the morning’s post when the phone rang. He grunted and reached out for it. ‘Angel.’

  It was the superintendent. ‘Come down here.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ Angel replied. It didn’t sound like a friendly call. They never were these days. He sighed and reached out for the crutches.

  He was outside the superintendent’s door in a minute.

  ‘Aye. Come in,’ Harker growled. ‘Sit down.’ He continued grinding his teeth as he watched Angel manoeuvring the crutches round the door and then closing it. ‘Still on them things?’ he said with a sniff.

  ‘I’ll probably manage without them next week. I’m due at the hospital on Tuesday for a check-up. They might take the dressing off. It depends whether the cartilage has —’

  The super interrupted. ‘It’s taking an awful long time, lad,’ he said with another sniff.

  ‘Now regarding last night … it was Harry Youel who ambushed you?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘Did he rough you up? What did he want?’

  ‘No, not really, sir. He wanted to put me on his payroll and make a contribution to my pension fund.’

  Harker did a bit more grinding. ‘Hmm. How much?’

  ‘Ten thousand pounds.’

  The thick ginger eyebrows shot up. ‘Hell fire! His rates have gone up more than inflation!’ He ground a bit more and then sniffed. ‘Were they armed?’

  ‘Didn’t see anything, but I suspect they were. He had two heavies with him. Both bruisers. A man called Joshua and an Irishman he called Poodle. And there was a young lad who called himself Smith. He just drove a car, I think.’

  ‘You were damned lucky to get away from him in one piece,’ the superintendent bawled and then ground some more corn. ‘Now we’ve got the niceties out of the way, I want to know what you’re doing about these Sanson-Drabble murders. Are you anywhere near making an arrest? Or is it beyond you … with those crutches and so on? Do you want me to hand it over to Pogle?’

  Angel involuntarily sucked in a quick short breath. His fists tightened as his fingernails cut into the palms of his hands. He didn’t think much of Desmond Pogle at the best of times, and he certainly wasn’t agreeable to have him take over the case. The idea filled him with horror. ‘I can handle it, sir,’ he said firmly. ‘Anyway, I thought Pogle was busy up a tree out at that school in Littlecombe?’

  The superintendent raised his bushy eyebrows again and gawped at him for a second in surprise, but he didn’t respond to the comment. ‘Well, just review the case for me. Tell me what you are doing? Who your suspects are? What’s your strategy?’

  Angel had to confess he hadn’t any suspects and there wasn’t any strategy. He licked his lips. ‘The essence of the case, sir, is that somebody appears to be looking for something … something to do with the Ogmores or Ogmore Hall.’

  ‘What do you mean? A letter, a testament, a will, deeds to the Hall, what you talking about?’

  ‘Don’t know, sir … Sanson was the butler, Mrs Drabble the housekeeper … and they’ve both had their personal possessions searched through. Lady Emerald’s house has also been turned over. Sanson and Drabble were murdered, presumably because they were obstructing the murderer’s search. The murderer has left no prints, no DNA, nothing. Both murders were committed by the insertion of stilettos straight into the heart. The stilettos were left in the victims and are identical weapons. In the case of Sanson only, there was some recent bruising to the stomach. Mac says that was the result of being punched several times by clenched fists. The only lead I have is a witness of the car that was probably used by the murderer of Mrs Drabble, but —’

  The superintendent suddenly stopped grinding his teeth and looked up. ‘What’s this? I don’t know about this. This is new. It’s a valuable lead, lad. What have you done about it?’

  ‘Well, nothing yet, sir. You see the witness is blind.’

  The superintendent pulled a face longer than a stick of rhubarb. ‘Blind!’ he bawled. ‘Blind! What the hell is the use of a blind witness?’

  Angel knew he was on weak ground. ‘I don’t know. That’s why I haven’t mentione
d it.’

  ‘I should think you haven’t. Is that your only clue?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I think you’re losing your marbles, lad. I can see you are desperate, but that’s ridiculous!’

  Angel stood there looking as if his fly was undone. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

  The superintendent wrinkled his nose and then said, ‘Well, who are your suspects then?’

  ‘I haven’t got any. I won’t have until I know what the murderer is looking for.’

  The super shook his head. ‘What the hell are you doing all day then? Gazing into your crystal ball?’

  ‘Legwork, sir. Traditional police work. Interviewing witnesses. Gathering information.’

  ‘You mean hoping for the best!’

  ‘No! I’m awaiting Dr Mac’s PMs on Sanson and Drabble, also to see if there is any forensic. And I’m awaiting reports from Gawber, Crisp and Scrivens regarding their interviews with people present at the auctioneer’s at the time of Sanson’s murder. When I have the manpower, I intend to look into the background of the two murdered people. I am looking for other employees of the Ogmores, particularly Kate Cumberland, secretary to the late Lord Ogmore. I fear she may possibly be in grave danger.’

  The superintendent looked as if his haemorrhoids were being examined with a knife and fork. ‘Right. Well you’d better get back to it then. All this blather is just wasting time.’

  Angel let him have the last word. He rocked his way angrily back up to his office and was met at the door by Ahmed who followed him into his office.

  ‘Now lad, what is it?’ he said as he lowered himself into the chair.

  ‘I’ve got some good news and some bad news, sir.’

  Angel glared at him. ‘It’s not time for parlour games, lad. Give us the bad news first, then at least I know I’ve got summat good to look forward to.’

  ‘Well sir, you wanted me to find a woman called Sagar aged between sixty-six and seventy-eight? Well, I haven’t been able to. I’ve been through the phone book and cross-checked it with the electoral roll. There are eleven Sagars listed, but they are all much younger. There’s one in Welham Crescent, who is fifty. She’d be the nearest.’

  He shook his head. ‘She’s no good; the age doesn’t fit. The woman I am looking for is Cyril Sagar’s widow. She’s got to be about seventy now.’ He sniffed. ‘She may have remarried, in which case her name wouldn’t be Sagar.’ Angel sighed. ‘Hmm. Looks like we’ll have to do it the hard way. Go back to the records and find Sagar’s last address.’

  Ahmed nodded.

  ‘And there’s something else. I want you to go down to the Bromersley Chronicle office. If you ask them nicely, they might let you look at past issues dated around August 1962. A copper taking his own life would be bound to be well covered … probably on the front page … See if you can get any info about his widow … her name … where she worked, if she worked. Something to act on. And keep it stum, lad. Understand?’

  Ahmed nodded knowingly. It sounded as if it might be interesting, and proper detective work … out of the office.

  ‘Now what’s the good news?’

  ‘Kate Cumberland has turned up, sir.’

  Angel’s mouth opened. His face brightened. ‘Kate Cumberland? Mmm.’ Then he asked quickly, ‘Is she alive?’

  ‘Alive and well.’

  Angel smiled, then he frowned and shook his head. He rubbed the lobe of his ear between his thumb and forefinger while looking closely at Ahmed. ‘Her place has been turned over?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He nodded. ‘I’d better get there, right away. I’ll want transport. Get me Ron Gawber. And pass me those crutches. What’s the address?’

  Twenty minutes later, Gawber and Angel were on their way out of Bromersley. They went on Huddersfield Road, down the hill and round the Victoria Falls roundabout with its fountain of water tumbling elegantly down the marble steps. Up the hill, they went past the Ogmore Hall gates, past Littlecombe school on their left. About two miles after that, they pulled into a short unmade lane in the middle of nowhere, off the main Huddersfield Road. There were four terraced houses standing 90 degrees to the main thoroughfare. An unmarked police car was parked outside the farthest one. Gawber drove down the lane and pulled up beside it.

  Angel swung his way on the crutches up to the snicket gate. Gawber opened it and they made their way to the little front door and knocked on it.

  DC Todd opened the door. ‘Oh, it’s you, sir.’

  They exchanged nods.

  The young man pulled the door open wide. ‘Been expecting you. SOCOs have been and gone. It’s all yours. DI Pogle said I was to stay here until you arrived.’

  ‘Of course, he’s very busy on a job,’ Angel said slyly.

  Todd licked his lips. ‘I believe he is, sir,’ he replied, careful not to be specific.

  Angel smiled. Then he glanced round; the room was a mess, a sight that was becoming depressingly repetitive. His face changed to gloom. The floor was covered with furnishings, ornaments and domestic clutter of every sort, savagely strewn from cupboards, drawers, table and the mantelpiece. What was the need for it? he asked himself.

  ‘Did SOCOs find anything useful, lad?’

  ‘Don’t think so, sir. They didn’t indicate any great find. They said the intruder wore gloves.’

  Angel nodded. ‘Anything taken?’

  ‘The owners didn’t seem to think so.’

  ‘Where are they? Who are they?’

  ‘A young couple: Kate Cumberland and Nicholas Magson. They’re both teachers at the local school. They’ve been up and then gone back. It’s only a small school. The children couldn’t be left. They’ll be back again at dinnertime.’

  ‘Right.’ Angel turned to Gawber. ‘Same MO.’

  Gawber nodded. ‘Looks like it.’

  He turned back to Todd. ‘Any idea when the break-in occurred?’

  ‘Between a quarter to nine and ten o’clock, sir. They left for school together about eight forty-five. The next-door neighbour reported it at 1010 hours. Saw a window at the back broken. Didn’t see anybody though.’

  ‘They never do. Have a look round, Ron, and have a word next door,’ he said leaning forward on the crutches.

  Gawber picked his way over the papers and stuff on the floor of the tiny living-room to the only door, which led to the staircase and the rest of the house.

  Todd said, ‘If you don’t want me, sir, I’ll be off. DI Pogle is expecting me.’

  ‘Aye, get off, lad. Where’s the key?’

  ‘Just drop the latch, sir.’

  ‘Right.’

  Todd went out and closed the door. He came back a few moments later. ‘I met the post lady; she gave me these, sir.’ He pushed some letters into Angel’s hand. ‘You won’t mind passing them on, sir?’

  He closed the door.

  Angel looked through the envelopes. One had a bold strapline above the address that read, ‘You’ve won £10,000’. Another offered ‘35% off a wheelchair of your choice’. There was a brown envelope that looked like a gas bill, and also one elegant, handwritten, thick cream envelope. He peered with interest at the latter. It was addressed to Miss Kate Cumberland and postmarked 3 May. At the top of the envelope in small gilt lettering was printed: ‘From Ogmore Hall, Bromersley, South Yorkshire.’ Holding the letters, he pursed his lips and looked thoughtfully through the cottage window at nothing in particular. The sound of footsteps disturbed his thoughts; he turned to see Gawber, picking his way through the rubble.

  ‘Nothing new. Nothing different, sir. It’s like the others. It’s a tip upstairs. Whatever they were looking for, they certainly made a thoroughly bad job of looking for it.’ He sighed. ‘Had a word with the lady next door. She saw nothing and heard nothing. She came out to hang some washing on the line and noticed she was walking on glass.’

  Angel sniffed. He placed the envelopes in the middle of the bare dining table.

  ‘It’s gone twelve. Take me
back to the station. You can come back here and have a word with Kate Cumberland and Nicholas Magson later.’

  They dropped the latch and returned to the car.

  Gawber drove the car down the bumpy lane and rejoined the main road to Bromersley. They were only two miles from Littlecombe school. The road was busy: there were a few livestock vehicles, some delivery vans and several cars in convoy travelling towards town. As they approached Littlecombe, Angel noticed a small red car coming towards them. It suddenly turned left and drove through the stone gates of the school and disappeared out of sight. It was there and gone in two seconds; but in that time, Angel had managed to see that there were three people in it, and that the man in the front passenger seat was wearing a hat and a scarf covering the lower half of his face. He gasped as he realized it was Harry Youel and his two heavies, Joshua and Poodle. His eyes lit up. They had driven straight into Pogle’s trap! A shiver of excitement ran down his spine.

  ‘Did you see that, Ron?’ he gasped elatedly.

  ‘What, sir?’

  ‘That car. Turned into Littlemore school.’

  ‘I saw a blue van, way back …’

  ‘No. No. A red car. A little red car.’

  ‘No sir.’

  ‘That was Harry Youel and his troupe of performing seals,’ he said. ‘They’ve walked straight into Pogle’s trap!’ He smiled. His mind raced. What a coup. Youel off the streets after all these years. The super would be delighted. It was about time something went right. ‘It should only take about twenty minutes for the FSU to get there,’ he said to Gawber nodding with pleasure.

  ‘It’s a big, big collar for DI Pogle,’ Gawber replied. ‘Should we go back and give him a hand?’

  ‘No. If we were seen, it might blow the gaff. No. Let’s not take any risks. Let him have his day of glory.’ He sniffed and added smugly, ‘He’s due for one.’

  Gawber smiled.

  They arrived at the station a few minutes later. Angel scrambled out of the car and made for the steps up to the front door. Gawber reversed into the station yard to turn round and make his way back to Kate Cumberland’s cottage.

  Angel rocked his way through reception and down the corridor.