‘Yes, sir.’
‘You’ll have heard about this robbery out at Hemmsfield?’ Angel said. ‘I want you to take one of these pickaxes and call on all the hardware shops, garden shops, garden centres, builders’ supplies merchants … the sort of outlets that might have sold them. Ask the sales staff if they can recall selling three of these to the same customer during the past few days. That has got to be unusual. They might even have CCTV of the customer if we are lucky. Anyway, try to get a description of the person who bought them. All right?’
‘Right, sir,’ Scrivens said. He stood up.
The phone began to ring.
Angel looked at it, handed Scrivens a pickaxe, then one of the photographs. ‘Here. Take one of these. It’s a photograph of all three pickaxes.’
The phone seemed insistent.
‘I’d better answer it,’ Angel said. ‘Hang on a minute.’
‘Right, sir.’
He picked up the phone. ‘Angel,’ he said.
It was Superintendent Harker. ‘There you are,’ he said with a sniff. ‘Just had a triple nine. A woman has returned to her house and found her husband dead on the floor of the kitchen. Her name is Fairclough, address, 33 Melvinia Crescent. I’ve advised SOCO.’
Angel’s pulse raced. ‘Right, sir,’ he said, ‘I’ll get straight onto—’
But Harker had gone.
Angel replaced the phone, looked up and saw Scrivens. ‘Right, Ted. Erm … if you manage to strike lucky, ring me on my mobile.’
‘Right, sir,’ Scrivens said, and he made for the door.
‘Oh, Ted,’ Angel said. ‘Tell Ahmed I want him.’
‘Right, sir,’ he said, and he went out.
Angel reached out for the phone again. He tapped in an internal number.
It was soon answered. ‘Control Room. Sergeant Clifton.’
There was a knock at the door. It was Ahmed. Angel waved him in.
‘Bernie,’ Angel said into the phone. ‘I need two PCs to attend at 33 Melvinia Crescent.’
‘Right, sir, I’ll see to it.’
‘Thank you.’ He replaced the phone. He looked up at Ahmed and said, ‘Got to go to 33 Melvinia Crescent. Find Flora Carter and ask her to meet me there ASAP.’
‘Right, sir,’ Ahmed said, and he went out.
Angel reached out for his coat and hat.
Angel reached 33 Melvinia Crescent in a few minutes. It was one of around forty red-brick semi-detached houses built in the thirties in a leafy part of Bromersley, where hedgehogs and squirrels could still occasionally be seen. Up the short concrete drive was SOCO’s white van.
He parked the BMW in the road, got out, went up to the front door and banged hard on it. At the same moment, he heard footsteps running up behind him. He turned to see that it was DS Carter. She arrived slightly out of breath. She smiled at him.
‘Made it,’ she said. ‘Just got back from seeing Mrs Sellars, sir … getting that list of the contents of her handbag.’
‘Oh yes. I’ll see to that later,’ he said. ‘This is reported as a murder case.’
She bit her bottom lip and said, ‘Yes, sir. Ahmed told me.’
A detective constable in a white disposable suit opened the door.
‘Is DS Taylor there?’ Angel said.
‘I’ll get him, sir,’ the man said, and he turned away.
Taylor must have heard his name because he came forward.
‘Ah, Don,’ Angel said. ‘We can’t come in. We’re not kitted out.’
‘I’ll come out, sir,’ Taylor said. He stepped out onto the step and closed the door.
‘What you got, then?’ Angel said.
Taylor ran a hand across his face. ‘Man about forty, understand he lived here with his wife. Found, by her, in a pool of blood, on the kitchen floor. Shot in the head. He’s called Ian Fairclough. Hasn’t been dead long.’
‘How long?’
‘The body is not really cold and there are no signs of rigor mortis, sir.’
Angel knew that as a general rule, rigor mortis doesn’t set in for the first three hours after death unless the person had beforehand been engaged in excessive physical exertion. Therefore, it seemed that as it was 1 p.m. now, the victim had died sometime after 10 a.m. that morning.
Angel nodded. ‘You said his wife found him?’ he said.
‘Yes, sir. She had been out at work, came in today at about half past twelve. She said she promptly dialled 999.’
Angel frowned. ‘Any sign of the murder weapon?’
‘No, sir.’
‘What about the wife?’
‘Naturally, very distraught. She said that she didn’t see anybody, and that she knows nothing. She says that this is a complete mystery to her.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘Being comforted by a neighbour at number 28.’ He pointed to a house across the road behind Angel. ‘That one, sir.’
‘Right. Have you informed Dr Mac?’
‘He’s on his way, sir.’
‘How long will it take you to clear the scene of crime?’
‘About an hour, I should think.’
Angel looked at his watch. ‘See you then, Don.’
Taylor went inside and closed the door.
Angel turned right round and looked at all the houses he could see. It was practically the entire estate, because the road curved round. Then he turned to Carter and said, ‘Look how many windows we can see from this point, Flora. Must be several hundred. If we can see them, they can see us. I want to know if anybody saw a visitor to this house this morning. You take the odd numbers and I’ll take the even numbers. Call on every house that can see this path and this front door.’
‘Right, sir,’ she said.
‘Meet me at number 28,’ he said. He clenched his jaw and added, ‘I shall have to interview the murdered man’s wife. I’ll be there when I have done.’
He went down to the BMW, unlocked it and took out a clipboard holding a paper pad and set off to the house furthest away on his side. It was number 12. There was no reply there nor at some of the other houses and he assumed they were out at work. He kept a note of those who didn’t respond. The householders that he did manage to speak to said that they hadn’t noticed anybody strange on the crescent that morning. Having called on all the other even-numbered houses, he took a deep breath and knocked on the door of number 28. A woman opened it.
‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I’m DI Angel from Bromersley Police. Here’s my ID.’
‘That’s all right, dear. We’ve been expecting you. You’ll be wanting to see Susan. Come on in. She’s resting in the front room.’
Angel went inside and closed the door. He was in the kitchen. He glanced round. It was spotless.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘May I have your name?’
She smiled at him. ‘Isabel. But everybody calls me Belle. What’s your name again, dear?’
‘Inspector Angel, miss.’
She gave him another big smile.
She was far from pretty, but a dimple appeared in her cheek when she smiled.
‘It’s Mrs, actually,’ she said. ‘Mrs Beasley. There hasn’t been a Mr Beasley for twelve years now.’
Angel said, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’
‘I’m not,’ she said with a grin. ‘Leaving me was the only good thing he ever did for me. This way.’ She turned to go.
Angel rubbed his chin. ‘Just a minute, Mrs Beasley.’
She turned back.
He said, ‘Did you see anybody across at Mrs Fairclough’s anytime this morning?’
‘No, Inspector, I would have told you. We don’t like strangers on Melvinia Crescent. Do you want to see Susan Fairclough?’
He nodded. ‘I just wanted to be sure.’
She opened the door and Angel followed her into a plain but comfortable little room with a three-piece suite, coffee table and a gas fire.
A small, slim woman of around forty was relaxing on the settee. When Angel appeared she stood up, holdin
g one arm by the elbow. She glanced at him, then looked down at the floor, then looked up at him again, then at Mrs Beasley, then at the door.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Fairclough. I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
‘That’s all right,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I can’t lounge about here all the time.’
Mrs Beasley beamed and in a loud voice said, ‘You can stay here as long as you like, Susan. You know that.’
Mrs Fairclough looked across at her and smiled weakly.
‘I’m DI Angel,’ he said. ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions.’
‘Yes. Of course. I suppose you want a statement?’
‘No. No. Nothing formal at this stage,’ he said.
He turned back, looked at Mrs Beasley and nodded.
She blinked, wriggled both of her shoulders and then said, ‘I’d better get on with my work. I’ve the washing to do.’ She turned towards the door.
Angel said, ‘Mrs Beasley, I’m expecting my sergeant. Send her in when she arrives, would you?’
‘Righto,’ she said as she closed the door.
He turned back to Susan Fairclough. ‘Now then, why don’t you sit down?’ he said.
She turned, adjusted a cushion and sat on the edge of the settee.
‘Is that better?’ he said. ‘Why not sit further back?’
She shuffled a little.
Angel rubbed his chin. ‘Now then, Mrs Fairclough, have you any idea who would want to harm your husband?’
‘None whatsoever,’ she said. ‘He was a perfectly lovely man.’
‘Was he in employment?’
‘Oh yes. He worked for the Indemnity and Life Insurance Company of London. It’s a big firm. He’d been there all his working life.’
‘What exactly did he do?’
‘He helped people with their insurance claims and sold them policies.’
‘And was he happy doing that?’
‘Very. I’ve met the chairman of the company. He seemed to think the world of him.
‘Insurance is all Ian knows anything about. We haven’t any close friends and we don’t go out much. We’re not interested in socializing. I can’t believe what’s happened. It doesn’t make any sense.’
He nodded.
‘Besides all that, Inspector,’ she said, ‘several other strange things happened at my house today.’
Angel blinked. ‘Oh? Like what?’ he said.
The room door suddenly opened.
His fists clenched as he turned round to see what was happening.
Mrs Beasley put her head round the door. ‘’Scuse me,’ she said, ‘but your sergeant is here, Inspector.’
The door opened wider and Flora Carter came in.
‘Thank you, Mrs Beasley,’ Angel said.
She closed the door.
Flora looked round as she unbuttoned her coat.
Angel was pleased to see her. He was eager to know if any of the householders she had called on had seen a stranger anywhere near number 33 that morning. Her eyes met his. He looked at her and raised his eyebrows.
She shook her head.
The muscles round his mouth tightened and he frowned. Then he brought Flora up to scratch with what he had already learned and asked her to keep a note of what was said. Flora then settled in the other easy chair with her notebook and pen at the ready.
Angel said, ‘Now, Mrs Fairclough, sorry about that … you were saying that several strange things happened at your house today.’
‘Yes. Firstly my dear husband should have been in London today. He left by train for London yesterday and was supposed to be returning late on Friday. It was to do with his work. He had these sales meetings about twice a year.’
‘So today he should have been at the head office of the Indemnity and Life Insurance Company in London?’
‘Yes,’ Mrs Fairclough said. ‘And if there had been a change of plan, I am surprised that he didn’t phone me.’
Angel nodded. He glanced at Flora Carter to see that she was writing this down. Then he looked back at Mrs Fairclough and said, ‘What else struck you as strange?’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘in the entrance hall of my house is an olive-green vacuum cleaner. It was the first thing I saw when I came in at lunchtime. I think it is brand new. Still has some wrappings on it. Now, I don’t know whose it is. It’s certainly not ours. I wouldn’t have chosen that colour anyway. We don’t need it. We don’t want it. I’m certain Ian wouldn’t have bought it. It would be right out of character. He doesn’t concern himself with things like vacuum cleaners. If we had needed one, we would have talked about it, budgeted for it and he would have probably left it to me to decide on the colour, the model and the price and so on. I hope I’m not going to get a bill for it from somebody.’
Angel rubbed his chin lightly. ‘What else was strange?’ he said.
‘Well, the fridge door was left wide open. Everybody knows not to leave a fridge door open, don’t they? Ian would not have left it open like that. The murderer must have done that, but why?’
‘Is there anything missing from there?’
‘I really don’t know. I didn’t … I couldn’t … I just closed it.’
‘Is there anything missing from the house? Have you been robbed of anything?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t bother to …’ Her voice trailed away.
‘I understand. That’s all right, Mrs Fairclough. We’ve nearly finished for now. Where were you this morning? Were you out?’
‘I am a schoolteacher. Full-time. I teach at the school at the end of this road, Wakefield Road Middle School. I usually come home at lunchtime and sometimes have a quick, light lunch with Ian, if he isn’t travelling far away. I should have phoned the headmistress and told her why I’m not there. Oh dear.’
‘My sergeant here will do that for you. Won’t you, Flora?’
‘Of course,’ she said, producing her mobile.
Mrs Fairclough shook her head. ‘No. No. Thank you,’ she said. ‘I must do it myself. You said we were almost finished.’
‘And so we are, for now, Mrs Fairclough,’ Angel said. ‘There’s just one matter I’d like you to clear up, if you can. You said that your husband left yesterday for London by train: well, where did he spend last night?’
She closed her eyes a few seconds to think about the answer, then she said, ‘The arrangements were that he was going to London by train on Tuesday – yesterday – and would be returning late Thursday about half past nine. I don’t know where he was staying in London, he didn’t say. But I could always get in touch with him on his mobile. I don’t know where he stayed last night, nor do I know why he came home early.’
‘Never mind, Mrs Fairclough. We will try and find the answers. Thank you very much, for now.’
EIGHT
IT WAS AFTER 2 p.m. when Angel and Flora Carter made their way across the road to 33 Melvinia Crescent.
DS Taylor opened the door to them. ‘Good timing, sir,’ he said. ‘We’ve about finished here.’
They went inside the entrance hall and closed the door. Angel noticed the green vacuum cleaner. It was as Susan Fairclough had said; it was still partly wrapped in polythene. It was obviously unused and new.
‘It seems that it was brought to the house and left here by the murderer, Don, although I don’t know why,’ Angel said. ‘You’d better check it first of all for explosives.’
Taylor blinked. His face straightened. ‘Explosives, sir?’ he said.
Angel’s shoulders went up, he held out his hands palms upwards and said, ‘Or hidden transmitter. I can’t think of any sensible reason for it to be here. But I also want you to see if there are any prints or any other forensics that may lead to indicating who has handled it in the last twenty-four hours or so.’
Taylor nodded.
‘Now, where’s the body?’ Angel said.
‘In the kitchen, sir. Through there. Dr Mac’s still working on it.’
The little Glaswegian heard them and said, �
�Nay. I’ve finished here, noo, Michael. I just want the nod from ye.’ He had closed his bag and was getting to his feet.
‘I’ll just have a look, Mac … and then you can have it.’
Angel squatted down and looked closely at the dead man. Flora blinked rapidly several times. She had her bottom lip between her teeth as she leaned forward. In her own mind, she was not certain how much of the body and the crime scene she wanted to see.
The body was lying on the white and black kitchen floor tiles. It was of a clean-shaven, fresh-faced man in a dark-grey suit, with collar, tie and polished black leather shoes. The eyes were open and seemed to stare at the kitchen wall. The head had a black hole at the temple and there was dried blood over the cheek and on the floor tiles.
After a few moments, Angel stood up.
Flora shook her head, put a hand on her chest and swallowed uncomfortably. ‘Why didn’t somebody close his eyes?’ she muttered.
Dr Mac looked at Angel and said, ‘The fair citizens of Bromersley are keeping you busy, I see.’
‘Too busy, I’d say,’ Angel said. ‘What have you got, then, Mac?’
The doctor wrinkled his nose and said, ‘Male, about forty years. Shot once in the temple at close range. Died instantly, sometime between 9.30 and 11.30 this morning.’
Angel rubbed the back of his neck and said, ‘Hmmm. Thank you, Mac. You can take him as soon as you like.’
‘Right,’ he said. He turned away and dug into his pocket for his mobile.
Angel went out into the hall looking for Taylor. He was taking prints off the vacuum cleaner.
Taylor looked up at him and said, ‘There aren’t any explosives present in this cleaner, sir. And there isn’t a bug that I recognize planted on it.’
Angel nodded and said, ‘Well, what is the point of the damned thing?’
Taylor grinned. ‘Who knows?’
‘Who knows indeed,’ Angel said. ‘Where is the bullet case, Don?’
‘Haven’t come across it, sir.’
Angel’s eyes flashed. ‘Well, there’s bound to be one. Unless we have an intellectual murderer who took it with him to confuse us. And if he did, it’ll be the first time I’ve ever known it happen. They’re usually in an understandable hurry to get as far away from the scene of the crime as possible.’
Angel and the Actress Page 8
