He looked round the kitchen. There was a tall fridge next to the kitchen sink. He called out to Taylor in the hall. ‘This the only fridge in the house?’
‘Yes, sir. Did you expect more than one?’
‘No. Mrs Fairclough said the fridge door was wide open when she came in. I wondered why.’
Taylor came into the kitchen, opened the fridge door, quickly looked inside, then closed it. ‘Is it significant, sir?’
Angel shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But it would be good to have an explanation, wouldn’t it?’
‘Someone wanted to get something out of it in a hurry?’ Taylor said.
‘Could be.’
Flora said, ‘Someone wanted to get something out of it in a hurry who didn’t care about the condition of the rest of the fridge’s contents.’
‘Absolutely,’ Angel said. ‘That’s likely to be the intruder or murderer rather than the victim.’
Taylor said, ‘But the murderer’s prints weren’t on the fridge door handle, only smudges.’
Angel said, ‘Mrs Fairclough told me she came into the house and found it wide open, so she closed it. It is unfortunate, but there we are. That’s what she says happened. So if it had had any fingerprints they would have been hers.’
‘So it doesn’t matter then, sir, does it?’ Taylor said.
Angel gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Of course it matters. The existence of Susan Fairclough’s clear fingerprints on the fridge door would have proven that she was telling the truth, even though it was in itself trivial and apparently inconsequential. You know, Don, that some witnesses sometimes lie. So it would have been nice, as an example, to have confirmation that this witness, in this instance, told the truth.’
Taylor gave a little shrug, then returned to the hall to carry on with the vacuum cleaner.
Angel, followed by Flora, went into the living room. It was neat and presentable. He saw a delicately decorated and chased three-piece silver tea set on the sideboard. He picked up the teapot, turned it over and looked for the silver marks. He saw a lion passant, a leopard’s head, a king’s head and the letter ‘b’. His eyebrows shot up. ‘Phew!’ he said as he replaced it. ‘Georgian. A couple of grand at least, and on open display.’
Flora said, ‘The murderer wasn’t a thief, then, sir?’
He scratched his head. ‘Well, certainly not this morning,’ he said.
‘Maybe he just didn’t notice it?’
‘Mebbe. Let’s just have a quick look upstairs.’
They passed Taylor in the hall and mounted the stairs.
Everything was well looked after, clean and tidy. The largest bedroom at the front had a conventional dressing table situated in front of the window. He saw a gilt metal box between a hairbrush and a hand mirror on a cut-glass tray. He opened the box and saw several rings and earrings. He picked up the largest ring, which had an impressive baguette-cut green stone in the middle and twelve old cut diamonds around it. He showed it to the sergeant.
‘If that’s a real emerald, Flora – and I think it probably is – there’s another couple of grand. Could be more.’
She looked at it and smiled. ‘I wouldn’t mind a ring like that, sir.’
‘Don’t marry a copper, then,’ he said.
She smiled at him.
He replaced the ring and closed the gilt box.
She said, ‘More evidence that the killer wasn’t a thief, sir?’
‘Well, I don’t know, Flora. He certainly didn’t seem to have stealing in mind while he was here this morning.’
They went downstairs. Taylor was still in the hall by the vacuum cleaner. ‘There are no fresh prints on it, sir,’ he said.
‘Right, Don,’ Angel said, wrinkling his nose. ‘Another dead end.’
There was suddenly a shout from the kitchen. It was Dr Mac. ‘I’ve found it, Michael. I’ve found it.’
Angel, Taylor and Flora dashed out of the hall to the kitchen.
Dr Mac pointed to the tile floor at a small, shiny brass bullet case. ‘I was just straightening him up before rigor mortis sets in, and I moved a leg and that rolled out from underneath his trews.’
‘Aaah!’ Angel said, patting Mac lightly on the back. ‘We are going to need that for Ballistics.’
Taylor crouched down and got hold of the bullet case by inserting his pen into it and then turning it upright.
‘What calibre is it, Don?’ Angel said.
‘Looks like a .32 ACP, sir,’ Taylor said. ‘I’ll just check it for prints.’ He rushed off to find his brush and tin of aluminium powder.
Flora Carter turned to Angel and said, ‘What’s ACP stand for, sir?’
‘Automatic Colt Pistol,’ Angel said. ‘It’s an old classification. Today it is usually used simply to describe a cartridge with straight sides as opposed to cartridges with tapering sides.’
She nodded.
‘Flora,’ he said, ‘will you go across the road and see if Mrs Fairclough is up to coming back here? I’d like to settle one or two things. Don’t push her if she’s not up to it.’
‘Right, sir,’ she said, and off she went.
Angel went back into the entrance hall. He was looking for Taylor. He saw him at the sitting-room window peering closely at the bullet case on the end of his pen. He was rotating it, looking for fingerprints with an 8x loupe in his eye.
‘Ah, Don,’ Angel said. ‘I was wondering how the murderer gained access to the house. Were there any signs of a break-in?’
‘No, sir,’ Taylor said. ‘The doors and windows were all sound.’
Angel nodded. He wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t pleased.
‘There are no prints on this bullet case, sir,’ Taylor said, taking it off his pen and wiping off the silver-coloured aluminium powder he had lightly dusted onto it.
Angel’s lips tightened. He shook his head. ‘Crooks are getting too smart these days.’
Taylor said, ‘There are lots of prints on the vacuum cleaner, but no recent ones.’
Angel wrinkled his nose again. He rubbed his chin. ‘I assume that it was sold or stolen from a retail business of some sort,’ he said. ‘An electrical shop, a warehouse or the like. If we could find out … Is there a price ticket or label on it that would give us an indication of where it came from?’
‘No, sir, nothing.’
‘Huh,’ he grunted. ‘There wouldn’t be. Right, Don, thank you.’
Then Angel turned away. He wasn’t pleased.
His muscles strained against the skin. His pulse pounded in his ears. He inhaled deeply through his nose then exhaled through his mouth.
Nothing was easy these days. However, it was when cases were difficult that he excelled. He had a record to maintain.
He dived into his pocket and pulled out his mobile. He scrolled down to a name and clicked on it. It was to DS Crisp. It was ringing out. After a while it went to voicemail. At that, Angel’s face went scarlet. His eyes stuck out like bilberries on stalks. ‘Ring me back,’ he said. ‘And it had better be soon!’ He closed the phone and stuffed it into his pocket.
He breathed deeply several times then looked around.
Two men came in with a stretcher on wheels. They went out a few minutes later with Ian Fairclough’s body on it under a white plastic sheet.
When they had gone, Doctor Mac appeared in the hall. He had discarded the whites and wellington boots. He was wearing his overcoat and carrying his bag.
‘Cheerio, Michael,’ he said. ‘I’ll send you the PM in a couple of days.’
Angel waved. He smiled and said, ‘Earlier if possible, Mac.’
The white-haired man’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head as he went out into the hall. He knew that a couple of days was a very quick turnaround for any pathologist in this situation. He had already told Angel the time and cause of death. He then realized that he was being teased. He quickly turned and said, ‘The impossible will take a week, Michael, and costs twice the price.’
Angel grinne
d.
The front door closed.
Taylor came up to him.
‘We’re done here, sir. We’ve just to pack up. I didn’t find anything useful on the body, nor the vacuum cleaner.’
Angel had already realized that. ‘If it isn’t there, it isn’t there.’
‘When I get back I’ll see Control and make sure the house is guarded overnight, if you like.’
‘Thank you, Don.’
Angel turned away to the front window. He took out the old envelope from his pocket, looked at his notes and checked down the list.
Taylor and his team began to take their packs and equipment out to the van via the front door.
Angel suddenly looked up and said, ‘Anybody seen a telephone directory?’
One of the constables of SOCO’s team came forward. ‘I’ve seen one in here,’ he said, indicating the sideboard drawer. He pulled it open and handed it to Angel.
‘Thank you, lad,’ Angel said, and he scrambled through the pages. He soon found the number he was looking for, and tapped it into his mobile.
A few seconds later a woman answered. ‘Wakefield Road Middle School.’
‘This is DI Angel of Bromersley Police. Can I speak to the headmaster or headmistress, please?’
‘I am the headmistress, Marjorie Thompson,’ she said. ‘Oh dear, I suppose it’s about poor Susan Fairclough.’
‘I’m afraid it is,’ he said. ‘I am the investigating officer looking into her husband’s death. Can you please tell me if she was at school this morning?’
‘Of course. She was in school all morning. She took her own class this morning until break and then she took 2B until lunchtime.’
‘What time do you call lunchtime, Mrs Thompson?’
‘We break for lunch at 12.30. May I say that Mrs Fairclough is a wonderful and most valuable teacher, much cared for by the staff here – and the pupils. And that her husband was a lovely man and that they were very close and highly respected. They lived only for each other.’
‘Thank you very much for that, Mrs Thompson. Goodbye.’
He cancelled the call and the mobile immediately began to ring.
He saw it was Crisp calling.
Angel breathed in quickly, his stomach clenched tight and his hand squeezed the phone. He put the phone to his ear and pressed the button.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ Crisp said.
Through clenched teeth, Angel said, ‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘I’ve been here in the station all afternoon, sir.’
‘Well, why couldn’t I get you ten minutes ago?’
‘I was in the middle of a ticklish interview, sir. You see there was this woman, who—’
Angel knew he shouldn’t have asked. He would have been given the most unlikely and torturous explanation as to why Crisp had done his good deed for the day.
‘I don’t want to know,’ Angel said. ‘I do not want to know. Put that woman down, and leave anything else you are doing and bring yourself to 33 Melvinia Crescent ASAP.’
‘Right, sir.’
Angel cancelled the call, closed the mobile and shoved it back in his pocket. He was still breathing heavily and waiting for the rock in his chest to leave him when Flora and Mrs Fairclough came into the sitting room.
NINE
SUSAN FAIRCLOUGH LOOKED round her sitting room uncertainly as if she was seeing it for the first time.
Angel looked up and said, ‘It was good of you to come, Mrs Fairclough.’
She looked up at him and forced a smile. She clung on to Flora, who steered her towards an easy chair. She looked at it strangely, then sat down. Flora sat next to her. Angel sat on the settee opposite them.
Don Taylor put his head through the door of the sitting room and said, ‘Excuse me, we’re off, sir.’
‘Right, Don,’ Angel said.
He went out and they heard the front door close.
Angel looked across at the trim figure of Susan Fairclough and said, ‘There are a few more questions it is necessary for me to ask, if you are up to it?’
She breathed in deeply, straightened her back and stuck out her chest. ‘Of course, I am up to it, Inspector.’
He nodded. ‘Good. Flora will take notes.’
He looked at her as she nodded and reached down for her bag.
Angel looked at Susan Fairclough. ‘Firstly,’ he said, ‘can you tell me what you did this morning?’
‘Yes, certainly,’ she said. ‘I got up at half past seven, had a shower, got dressed, came downstairs, had breakfast then left here for school at twenty to nine exactly.’
‘Did you leave by the front door?’
‘Yes. And I locked it. And the back door was already locked, having been locked all night.’
‘Thank you, Susan. Please continue.’
‘I had classes from nine until half past twelve, when I came home for my lunch.’
‘And was the front door locked?’
‘No. I wasn’t expecting Ian back until late Friday evening, so I had a bit of a shock. The first thing I saw in the hall was that green vacuum cleaner. Then I saw Ian’s raincoat on the newel post. I was so pleased. So I called out. Of course, there was no reply. From the hall I saw the fridge door in the kitchen was wide open, so I went in there and—’
She stopped. Her bottom lip quivered.
‘You closed it?’ Angel said.
She nodded, fished round in her cardigan pocket and pulled out a tissue. She dabbed her eyes.
Angel looked across at Flora. They waited.
‘Sorry about that,’ Susan Fairclough said.
‘That’s all right. You found your husband on the floor,’ Angel said. ‘Did you do anything else before you dialled 999?’
‘I cradled his head in my lap and felt for a pulse. I couldn’t find one, but I still held him and phoned for the police on my mobile. After a while – they seemed like ages coming – I realized that he had gone and that I couldn’t do anything, so I got up and wandered round the house, I think. Anyway, I went outside and was on the step when a police car came. Two officers. I couldn’t speak. I just pointed the way to the kitchen. One of them asked if I had any family or friendly neighbour nearby. The only one I could think of was Bella – that’s Mrs Beasley – at number 28. So, somehow, I arrived there. She’s been a darling.’
‘There was no sign of a break-in, Susan. Have you any thoughts on how Ian was murdered?’
She frowned, then said, ‘Oh. I have just thought of something. When I was wandering round the house, I tidied up this room. Come to think of it, it looked as if there had been a scuffle of some sort. Although Ian was not one to be involved in a fight. That dining chair was tipped over. That lamp had been knocked off the library table and was on the carpet; it wasn’t broken, though. Everything on the table was on the floor. This chair and the settee were pushed out of their usual places and some of the cushions on the settee were on the floor. I put everything back in its place.’
Angel rubbed his chin.
‘So your husband arrived here this morning sometime after 8.40, with or without the vacuum cleaner. He had a key to let himself in?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘His murderer was either waiting for him or … he could have knocked on the door. Your husband could have answered it. Say the man was invited in or forced his way in. But having gained access, what did he want?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You say that your husband is highly unlikely to have bought a vacuum cleaner, and that anyway, you don’t need one. The one you have works perfectly well. Well, why would a murderer bring a vacuum cleaner to a house and simply leave it there? Did he expect to make a mess and this was to clean it up afterwards, or what?’
Susan Fairclough looked at him and licked her bottom lip.
Angel ran his hand through his hair and said, ‘So now, your husband left Bromersley for London yesterday morning?’
‘Well, lunchtime, Inspector. His train left about noon.
’
‘And you found him this morning at what time?’
‘About twenty to one.’
‘That’s almost twenty-four hours. We need to know where he had been all that time.’
‘I have no idea,’ Susan Fairclough said.
‘Well, can you let me have the telephone number of the London office of where he works and the name of the man he was going to see there? Also do you have a recent head-and-shoulders photograph of Ian you could let us borrow to copy?’
‘Certainly. Remind me and I will see that you have both before you leave.’
Angel nodded, and said, ‘And will you have a look in the fridge and see if you can see what was taken or what was put in there?’
‘Of course,’ she said.
She stood up and went into the hall. She hesitated at the entrance to the kitchen, but took a deep breath, stepped forward boldly, not looking down but making straight for the fridge door handle. She pulled it wide open.
She was looking for some time before she said, ‘Well, there’s nothing been put in, Inspector. Of that, I am sure. I now see that a small pork pie is missing, which is very strange. Also a bottle of semi-skimmed milk.’
‘Could your husband have taken them?’
‘It doesn’t seem likely, Inspector. He’s not keen on pastry, particularly pork pie. That was for my lunch today.’
‘And the milk?’
‘He would have preferred tea.’
Angel rubbed his hand hard across his face. Then he looked down at his notes. ‘We have not determined why the murderer came to your house. It isn’t clear whether he came with the express purpose of murdering Ian, or whether he came for some other purpose …’
‘What other purpose?’ Susan Fairclough said.
‘I was hoping you could tell me. Was it to get something from him? It wasn’t to rob him. Your Georgian silver tea set on the sideboard is still there. Your antique emerald and diamond ring is still in your dressing-table drawer. Are any of your valuables missing? In fact, is anything missing? Would you have a look round and see?’
‘What, now?’
‘If you don’t mind …’ Angel said.
Susan Fairclough stood up. She seemed much more confident. She now reassumed the authority of being the householder. She boldly opened and shut a couple of drawers. Then went upstairs.
Angel and the Actress Page 9
