‘No. I’ve organized the MO to have a look at her. And phoned her solicitor. And Leisha — WPC Baverstock — has just taken her a cup of tea.’
Angel nodded and sniffed. ‘Right. Have the doc check her thoroughly for needle marks. She couldn’t have stuck knives into people without being hyped up with something. Or she’s a much harder bitch than she looks. She would have had to get the stuff from either a bent doctor, a drug dealer or a booze shop. There’s no evidence she takes drugs or drinks to excess! And where did she dump the empties or the syringes? I’ve had Scrivens go through her bins secretly the past few nights and there was nothing!’
‘Her clothes would have been stained. Where did she dump the dresses? And she wore gloves, didn’t she? Where are those?’
‘We’ve got to find them, but what’s more important is finding that diamond.’
Gawber blinked. ‘Where do we start?’ Angel rubbed his chin. ‘Where she left off. Sit down a minute,’ he said pointing to the chair. ‘The last time the diamond was seen was the day Lord Archie died, and that was last June. It was in a brown pouch in his dressing-gown pocket, when Geoffrey Sanson, Kate Cumberland, Alison Drabble and Dr Sinclair were trotting in and out of the drawing room at Ogmore Hall for different reasons. It went missing from that room just before, or just after, his death. One has to assume that somebody stole it, or took it. But who? Or, in his dying moments, did his lordship give it to one of them for some reason for safe-keeping? If he did, why didn’t he give it to his wife? Clearly he didn’t or we wouldn’t have had all this mayhem. We need to recover the diamond to complete the case against her. After all, that was the motive. She was left with a mountain of bills; the diamond, which was legally hers, would have removed all her money problems.’
‘Will the case against her hold together if we don’t find the diamond, sir?’
‘That’s the problem, Ron. I haven’t any actual hard evidence. Just circumstantial clues. But I had to get her arrested as soon as I knew it was her, before she took it into her mind to murder somebody else. But I haven’t got everything sewn up, far from it. It was only after I discovered glass on her lawn … up to twenty feet away from the window, that I suddenly considered the possibility that she might have faked the break-in at her own bungalow. I experimented breaking the bungalow window from the outside, and the glass, of course, fell on to the path or went into the bedroom. That convinced me that the window had been smashed from the inside. It could only have been her. And then all sorts of possibilities became options. Matters I hadn’t considered before, because I had thought she was a potential victim herself, came to mind and all the little discrepancies in her words and actions took on an ominous significance.’
‘Such as what, sir?’
‘Well, for example, Mrs Sinclair’s body was slumped close to the French windows where the murderer left the house. At first, I thought it would have to be somebody strong to push against the weight of the dead body to get out. It takes a lot of effort to shift a corpse slumped on the floor like that. But then I realized it wouldn’t have to be moved at all if the murderer was really slim, and nobody’s slimmer than Lady Emerald!’
Gawber smiled grimly.
‘She lied about the whereabouts of the diamond,’ Angel continued. ‘She said her father-in-law had disposed of it in his lifetime. But it was shown with her and her late husband in a photograph on the wall of her bungalow taken at a jewellery fair in 2000, which was the year after the old lord, Lord Lionel Ogmore, had died! There were other photographs on the wall that caught my attention. One was of her appearing as Juliet in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, where she might have got the idea that it was easy to slip a dagger between somebody’s ribs to kill them. And there was also her outstanding ability as an actress. She had had professional training and there was one photo that showed she had won a nomination for some big national acting award. She certainly played the real-life part of the sweet, harmless young widow struggling to keep up appearances, with aplomb. Also, when I visited Kate Cumberland’s house, I saw an envelope postmarked 3 May from her that indicated she knew exactly where Kate was living, when only the day previously, the day she had posted the letter, she had told me that she had no idea where Kate lived. I now realize she deliberately concealed the address from me, so that she could break into the house and search for the diamond, before I could get there.’
Gawber shook his head. ‘I never noticed any of these things.’
Angel smiled. ‘You would if you were in my shoes. Anyway, lastly, the four stilettos used in the murders were presumed to be part of a presentation set of six. I recognized the design engraved on the handles, a sword and a snake topped by a lion’s head, the same as that on the plaques over Victoria Falls, which were, of course, representations of the Ogmore coat of arms. And that discovery gave me a clue to the source of the stilettos. I still need confirmation. I think the tea set that Mrs Buller-Price bought at the auction from the Ogmore estate may be decorated with the same design and I need to check that out. I am going up there next week. Dear Mrs Buller-Price has been inviting me to tea for ages.’
‘Mmmm. So where do we go from here, sir?’
‘Well, I suppose Lady Ogmore was in the best position to know where the diamond was likely to be, and she thought it was in the possession of one of the four who visited her husband in the drawing room the morning he died. We’ll simply have to go back over Sanson’s, Drabble’s, Kate Cumberland’s and Sinclair’s homes and start taking up the floorboards. It’s got to be found, Ron. Wherever it is.’
There was a knock at the door.
‘Come in,’ Angel snapped.
The door opened. It was Ahmed. He glanced at the sergeant and then at the inspector and his jaw dropped. ‘Oh,’ he stammered.
‘What is it, lad?’ Angel growled.
‘I thought you were on your own, sir,’ he said, licking his lips nervously.
‘What do you want? We are all ears,’ he snapped.
‘Well, sir, Leisha Baverstock said that Mr Mountjoy — the blind man — read a piece in the briefing room from one of those books on Police Rules and Regulations. And that that resulted in an admission of guilt by Lady Ogmore, and that she’s been charged with the serial murders.’
‘Yes lad, that’s right.’
‘Well, sir,’ he said, looking down at his feet. ‘I just wanted to ask you, how was it possible that Mr Mountjoy could do that? I mean, he’s blind!’
Angel sighed. ‘Oh is that all? Well, I can’t be bothered with that now, lad. You work it out. And meanwhile I want you to find the whereabouts of Elspeth Sagar.’
15
It was Saturday: normally a day of relaxation and restoration for Michael Angel. The day he might have been in his old corduroys, cutting the lawn, weeding the borders, dead-heading the roses or repointing the patio. He might even have been helping Mary choose groceries and pushing a trolley round Tesco’s, but this Saturday was different. He was in his best suit, collar and tie tootling round the side streets of Bromersley in his car.
Reaching one particular street, he put his foot on the brake and looked up at the sign on the corner of a house. It was Bartholomew Street. That was the one! He nodded approvingly. He let in the clutch and edged the car along until he saw the number eleven made up of chromium figures screwed on to a gate. That was the last known address he had for Mrs Sagar, Cyril Sagar’s widow, and their daughter, Elspeth. He drove slowly past the house to the end of the short street, turned the corner and parked. Then he walked purposefully back to number eleven, went through the gate to the front door, pressed the illuminated bell push and waited. He didn’t quite know what to expect. It was soon answered by a middle-aged toothy lady wearing a bright apron over an ill-fitting dress.
‘Ye-eeess,’ she said, her eyes looking decidedly suspicious and scanning him from his polished shoes to his smartly brushed hair.
Angel put on his best Roger Moore smile and said, ‘Good morning. I’m from Imperial Television. I have some very go
od news for you. If your name begins with S, and you can give me the answer to the question posed on Channel 600, you have won the ten-thousand pound prize!’
The wariness left her. Her eyes shone with curiosity and interest. She came out on to the step, wiped her hands down her apron and said, ‘What’s this?’
Angel smiled at her. ‘Does your name begin with the letter S, madam?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘And do you have the answer to the question?’
‘What is the question?’ she asked shrewdly.
‘You need to be watching Channel 600, madam. That’s the whole point of the game,’ Angel said.
‘Oh. Sorry. I haven’t heard anything about it.’
Angel pulled out his notebook. ‘Well, I’m sorry too. Because it means you haven’t won the star prize. However, because you answered the door, you go into the draw for a consolation prize.’
‘Oh?’ she said, smiling eagerly.
He pulled out a notebook and pen. ‘What is your name?’
‘Stevens. Mrs Helen Stevens,’ she said, her eyes twinkling with anticipation.
He wrote it down carefully. ‘And this address is 11 Bartholomew Street. Hmmm. Now according to the information on our prize headquarter computer, there should be somebody living here called Sagar. If you can direct me to him or her, you may be eligible for our special super ‘finders’ conditional prize which, if you win, will entitle you to a weekend for two with Champagne and chocolates.’
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘No. A Mrs Sagar did live here but she died last year and we bought the house from her daughter. Do you think that would count?’
‘According to the rules, the daughter would be eligible to enter the contest but, of course, she would need to answer the question correctly. You only have to be able to direct me to the daughter and your name and address would go into the draw for a ‘finders’ star prize!’
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘A star prize.’
‘Does the lady’s name begin with the letter E?’
‘My husband’s does,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘It’s Eric. E for Eric.’
‘I’m sorry. That doesn’t count. But remember, you are already going into the draw for the weekend with Champagne and chocolates. Now, does the daughter of the lady who lived here before you have a name beginning with E?’
‘Oh. I don’t know. Why, yes. I think it was Elspeth. Yes.’
Angel smiled. ‘If I can locate her, you’ve won the ‘finders’ prize. Now what is her full name and address?’
‘Oh what have I won?’
‘It’s a three-star prize. I don’t know exactly. Imperial Television will be contacting you. What is the lady’s name and address?’
‘It’s Elspeth Gorman. I don’t know the address, but it’s one of those big, lumbering houses on the main road down to the Middlemass supermarket, somewhere opposite the wine shop. Have you any idea when they’ll deliver it?’
The name ‘Gorman’ hit him between the eyes. That was Elspeth Sagar’s married name. Where had he heard that name before?
… Quite recently, he was sure. The old photographer! Of course. He knew the houses she referred to. He turned away from the door.
She called after him. ‘Will they deliver it soon?’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I’m sure they’ll contact you first,’ he added, edging away from her. ‘Thank you very much. I should go back to the television now, Mrs Stevens. Keep watching the channel. There’ll be more prizes!’
‘Oh yes,’ she whooped and closed the door.
Angel was soon on the main road into town and looking up at the big, lumbering houses as he drove slowly past them. There were four. It was a question of elimination. Each had its own dozen or so steps leading from a gate near the pavement up to the front door. A window at 90 degrees at the top of the steps meant that visitors could be observed and approved by the occupier before opening the door. That didn’t aid Angel’s situation. He needed to know which house was Elspeth Gorman’s without her realizing she was being clocked. Driving past the houses to the roundabout, he made a 360-degrees turn and came back up the road, past them again, drove on another 100 yards and then parked. When he got out of the car he noticed he had parked outside a small branch of the Bromersley Building Society. He slipped into the office. At a ledge screwed to the wall desk, where you might sign a cheque or make out a deposit slip, were little boxes stuffed with leaflets offering different rates of investments and banking services. He dived into the nearest, picked up a handful and came out. Then he walked briskly down the street to the nearest of the four houses and ran up the steps. There was no sign of life. He glanced through the window by the door but saw nothing of interest. Pushing one of the leaflets through the letterbox, he came down to the pavement and repeated the action for the next two houses without success. At the fourth house, when he arrived at the top of the steps and glanced quickly through the window, he saw something that made his pulse race. Hanging in the window was a bright pink fluffy animal. It was an elephant or a pony, just as described by Mrs Buller-Price. There was no wonder she recalled it. The colour was so bright and bizarre it could only have originated from a far eastern country. That house was undoubtedly the home of Mrs Elspeth Gorman.
If Angel had had a tail, it would have been wagging.
*
It was 8.28 a.m. on Monday, 16 May, when Angel walked into his office. His phone was already ringing. He glared at it, reached over the desk and picked it up.
‘Angel.’
It was Superintendent Harker. ‘Ah, there you are,’ he bawled. ‘I want you down here, now!’
There was a deafening click before the line went dead.
Angel’s eyebrows shot up. He replaced the phone and sighed. He wondered why Harker sounded more uncivilized than usual. Why did he have to make first thing on a Monday morning more miserable than it already was? He went straight out of the office down the green corridor and knocked on his door.
‘Come in. What’s all this about Lady Ogmore?’ he bawled, his eyebrows bouncing up and down the front of his turnip-shaped head. ‘I was away all weekend. This is the first I’ve heard of it,’ he shouted.
‘She’s charged with murder, sir. She’s on remand at Wakefield.’
‘Murder?’ he squawked. ‘Murder! I hope you know what you’re doing, lad. Whose murder?’
‘Sanson, Drabble and the two Sinclairs, sir.’
‘Ridiculous! A nice young woman like that! Married into the leading family in the town. Her in-laws have given us Jubilee Park, the public library, Victoria Falls and I don’t know what else. I hope you’ve got your facts right, lad. What’s the motive, then?’
‘The Ogmore diamond.’
‘The Ogmore diamond? I thought that had been sold years back.’ He shook his head and ground his teeth. ‘Well, it belongs to her anyway, doesn’t it? She’d inherited it.’
Angel stood there. There wasn’t much point in saying anything. Whatever he said would be wrong.
‘Well, what have you done with it? Supposed to be worth millions, isn’t it? Put it somewhere safe, I hope. The bank would be the best place. We don’t want it here. This station is full of bloody thieves!’
‘We haven’t actually got it yet, sir.’
‘What!!’ he exploded. ‘Well, where is it?’
‘I don’t know.’
The superintendent’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. ‘How have you managed to construct a case, then?’
‘It was difficult, sir. I do need to find it. I am about to instigate a thorough search, and demolition if needs be, of the victims’ homes and Kate Cumberland’s cottage and Lady Ogmore’s bungalow, if necessary. I’ll have to start on Geoffrey Sanson’s house —’
‘You can’t do that! You’re talking about more than a million pounds. It’s not coming out of our budget and the Home office would never cover it.’ He shook his head and continued grinding his teeth. Sniffing he said, ‘Have you got any witnesses? Have
you got anyone who actually saw Lady Ogmore stick the stiletto into one of the victims?’
‘Not exactly, sir. No.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘I’ve got a witness who was outside the scene of the crime at the critical time.’
‘Oh good. Who was that?’
‘I told you about him, sir. Mr Mountjoy.’
‘Mountjoy? Mountjoy? It rings a bell,’ he said thoughtfully. Then his mouth opened and his jaw dropped. ‘Not the blind man!?’ he bellowed.
‘Well, yes sir …’
The superintendent looked as if he was about to throw up. ‘I think you’ve gone absolutely off your trolley, lad. I really do! A blind man as an eye witness? We’ll be the laughing stock of all forty-three forces.’
The phone rang. The super reached out for it.
‘Harker … Yes sir … Rightaway, sir.’ He replaced the phone.
‘I’ve got to go. I’ll be away all day with the chief. You’d better think this all out again. I only hope to god you can make the case stick!’
Angel came out of the office. He was glad to leave. It was going to be a great week! He charged up to his own office, went in and closed the door. Dropping into the swivel chair he gazed up at the ceiling. There was no point in changing tack now. The case against Lady Ogmore had depended partly on her confession and partly on the proof of her motive. The CPS barrister had said that. So it would still hold together provided that he could produce the diamond …
There was a knock at the door.
‘Come in.’
It was Ahmed with an armful of papers.
‘I’ve got Dr Mac’s report on Sinclair’s house and your post, sir.’
Angel nodded towards the desk and Ahmed put the pile down.
The inspector felt in his coat pocket and pulled out a used envelope.
‘I’ve got this address. It’s the address of Elspeth Gorman. I want you to go to the town hall and discreetly look at the electoral roll, and find out who lives there with her, all right?’
‘Right, sir,’ Ahmed said as he took the envelope.
The Auction Murders Page 17
