‘Oh yes, sir. Just press the red button and it will walk forward … and probably start jabbering.’
Angel clicked the red button and the robot began making a low buzzing noise. It began a rocking side to side movement which progressed it towards them, at the same time, in a hollow voice, it said, ‘What do you want me to do now?’
Angel pressed the green button and it stopped. He pressed the green button again twice quickly and it walked backwards. At the same time, it said, ‘I do not understand your instruction. Would you repeat it, please?’
Angel pressed the other buttons in turn and discovered that the robot could turn right and left, turn around, and move its arm, wrist, hand and fingers on demand. The performance was firm and positive but much slower than a human.
He took out the Walther and fitted it in the robot’s hand.
Carter looked on.
Using the remote control, Angel raised the robot’s arm to the approximate position it would have needed to have been in, to have shot the first bullet at Charles Razzle while the man was standing in front of the desk.
‘What do you want me to do now?’ the robot said.
Angel noticed that DS Carter’s mouth was open and that she had put her hands up to her face. The horror of the murder was in her mind.
‘The gun’s not loaded, Flora,’ he said, to remind her.
She knew it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t.
She nodded and quickly lowered her hands. ‘No, sir.’
The robot said, ‘I do not understand your instruction. Would you repeat it, please?’
Angel glared at the robot, pulled an impatient face and said, ‘Oh, shut up.’
The robot said, ‘The automatic voice recognition control unit is closing down. From now on, I will only respond to signals sent by the remote control. To restart voice control, please say “Robot speak to me”. Thank you.’
Angel’s eyebrows shot up. He looked at the robot’s head, blinked and grunted with satisfaction.
Carter smiled and said, ‘That’s how you do it, sir?’
‘Aye. Apparently. It’s a pity you can’t as easily switch off all people you don’t want to hear.’
‘Can I do anything to help, sir?’
‘What? Yes, you can. In a minute, I want you to measure the length of time it takes for the robot to discharge the three rounds, from the sound of the first click to the sound of the third. We know the robot couldn’t have killed him, but we ought to know how long it would have taken, in case we have to answer a question from a particularly reflective member of a jury, or even a judge.’
‘Got it, sir.’
Angel pressed the button to operate the robot’s forefinger. He could see the blue plastic digit tightening inside the trigger guard. Eventually, there was a click, the first click. Angel then quickly found the button on the remote control to reverse the action. Then he quickly lowered the angle of the robot’s arm, to be in the position to shoot the victim through the heart on the floor. When in position, he pressed the button to pull the trigger again. He had again to wait for the click. Then he quickly repeated a similar operation for the third and last time, and aimed again at the floor. After the third click, he looked up at Carter, eyebrows raised.
‘That’s one minute and ten seconds, sir,’ she said.
‘Mmm. That precisely confirms the fact that there was simply not enough time for Razzle or anybody else to redirect the robot to aim and fire any rounds after the first one. That bullet entered the brain and he would have been dead instantly or certainly within a second or two. It also therefore proves positively that he was murdered.’
She followed the reasoning through and nodded.
Angel released the Walther from the robot and put it in his pocket.
Ahmed suddenly appeared through the door. He was still holding the CCTV tapes and looked puzzled.
Angel looked up at him and blinked.
‘I can’t find the cameras, sir,’ Ahmed said. ‘You said there were two.’
Angel turned to Carter. ‘Do you know where they are, Flora?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘I’ll show him. Come on, Ahmed.’
They went out, leaving Angel alone in the workshop.
It was very quiet.
Angel withdrew the Walther from his jacket pocket. He loaded the three bullets into the magazine and dropped it back into his pocket. He turned to the heavy workshop security door and gave it a long look. He rubbed his chin.
After a few moments, Carter returned. ‘The cameras were not easy to see,’ she said.
Angel nodded, then said, ‘Do you think Razzle would have worked down here with this door open or closed?’
‘He would know the house was locked up, sir,’ she said. ‘I would have thought open. I know I would.’
‘Mmmm. The low roof and the lack of windows … in here all day, he might have felt just a little closed in or claustrophobic. I agree.’
Angel went to the door and took it by the handle. ‘However, the murderer would have closed it to muffle the sound of the shots, wouldn’t he?’ He frowned and said, ‘I shall have to reset the combination.’
‘Six numbers, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I must think of an appropriate figure.’
‘You could put your birthday.’
‘I could, but it might be too obvious.’
‘Your wife’s birthday.’
‘No. A good thief would think of that. And my wedding anniversary. No, I’ll think of something.’
‘The day you first started work?’ she said.
‘No,’ he said, then his face brightened.
‘Got to be something you will easily remember, sir,’ she said.
‘Indeed. I will remember this. Never forget it,’ he said and he went out of the workshop to the control box on the door.
Carter followed him and stood at his elbow.
He recalled the directions of the security man … ‘The door must be in the open position. You hold down the set button and tap in a six-digit number, that’s all.’
He approached the number pad cautiously and carefully held down the set button as he tapped in the number 130864. At the end, the LCD lit up displaying the new number briefly, then it went out. Angel nodded approvingly. It was done.
Carter saw the number and said, ‘130864? That’s the thirteenth of August 1964? What date was that then, sir? What does it represent, sir?’ Carter said.
‘It’s a date I’ll not forget.’
‘The date of a war?’
‘I am not telling you, Flora.’
‘Why, sir. Is it a secret?’
There was noise behind them.
He turned to see Ahmed reaching up to the cunningly concealed CCTV camera, which was painted white and fastened to the waterpipe in the corner of the basement. He saw him slot the tape into the camera and check that the red warning light was on and that the spools were rotating.
‘Have you finished?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I hope both cameras are rolling.’
‘They are, sir. I checked them particularly.’
‘Good lad. Come into the workshop then.’
When they were all three inside Angel said, ‘Charles Razzle was probably standing, with his back to the safe, facing the robot. Now, I am going to take the part of the murderer in this reconstruction. For safety’s sake I shall discharge all three rounds into the sandbags where they are, on the floor. Apart from that, I believe the rest of the reconstruction will be pretty accurate. You both stay here, until I have tapped the combination in the door and opened it to get out of here, then come out with me, so that you can see what’s happening. All right?’
They nodded.
Angel looked at Carter and said, ‘Have you Charles Razzle’s bunch of keys?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said. She felt inside her suit jacket pocket and handed them over to him.
He went over to the sandbags, leaned over, tucked th
e bunch under the edge of one of the sandbags and said, ‘There. They are supposed to be in his pocket.’
He stepped back, then pushed the door into the half-open position.
‘Charles Razzle may have had the remote control in his hand when the murderer entered,’ he said. ‘He may have been checking its response to his vocal commands, who knows?’
He glanced round the workshop.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘The reconstruction will start in a couple of minutes. I just have a couple of things to see to out of here.’
He stared at the robot and said, ‘Robot, speak to me.’
The lights in the robot’s head did a short dance then the voice said, ‘What do you want me to do now?’
Angel looked at Carter.
She smiled.
Carter and Ahmed glanced at each other, then at Angel.
Angel shook his head, went out of the workshop, dashed up the basement steps along the hall to the front door. He went out of the house to his car, parked on the drive behind Carter’s. He opened the BMW’s boot and took out a slim white packet and tore off the top. Inside was a pair of skin-tight rubber gloves. He pulled them on, snapping them tight. Then he took out a plastic shopping bag. He peered in it to check that the items he wanted were there. Then he went back to the house and stood on the front step for a moment, thinking out what he had to do and the sequence he had to do it in. He let himself into the house, closed the door quietly, dashed through the hall into the kitchen, and down the basement steps. He silently put the plastic shopping bag on the floor of the basement, withdrew the gun from his pocket and entered the workshop.
DS Carter and PC Ahmed watched him with eyes like well-sucked gob-stoppers.
He closed the security door behind him, crossed to the robot, stood in front of it with his back to it, and carefully pointed, then fired, three rounds into the sandbags.
The noise was deafening in such a confined space and there was a strong smell of cordite.
The robot said, ‘What do you want me to do now?’
Everybody ignored it.
Angel carefully took the remote from the desk and used it to set into position the Walther in the robot’s right hand, its forefinger touching the trigger. Then he placed the remote on the floor where it had been when Razzle’s body was found. He reached down to the sandbags, retrieved the bunch of keys he had placed there earlier. Then he stepped over the sandbags, unlocked the safe, and reached in as if to take something out.
‘I am taking the booty,’ he said, ‘whatever it was.’ He then closed the safe, locked it, put the bunch of keys back under the sandbag, crossed to the door, tapped the combination on the pad, opened it, stood back to let Carter and Ahmed out of the workshop ahead of him. He then pulled the heavy door until it was closed, and checked the handle to make sure it was locked.
He picked up the plastic shopping bag he had placed on the basement floor earlier and took out a videotape. He reached up and changed it for the one Ahmed had set in the CCTV opposite the workshop door only a few minutes earlier.
Ahmed watched him open-mouthed.
Then, taking the plastic bag containing another new videotape, Angel went down the hall followed by Flora Carter and Ahmed. He opened the front door, silently ushered them outside, then he changed over the videotape in the CCTV camera there and closed the door.
When all three were standing on the front step, he said, ‘And that’s how I think it was done.’
There was a pause, then Carter smiled up at him and said, ‘It certainly explains why the murderer doesn’t appear anywhere on the tape, sir.’
Angel said, ‘And we can prove exactly what time they were changed by calculating how long the tapes had been running when SOCO took them out of the cameras. We know from Mac that the approximate time of Charles Razzle’s death was 9 p.m. on Monday night. So the murderer would have changed the tapes three or four minutes or five minutes after that. If that checks out, this will be proved.’ He turned to Ahmed and said, ‘You can do that as soon as you get back to the station, can’t you?’
‘Oh yes, sir,’ Ahmed said with a grin.
Carter said: ‘But how did the murderer get into the house, sir? There are no signs of a break-in?’
‘That bit I don’t yet know. He must have had a key.’
Carter frowned. ‘And how did the murderer know the combination to the workshop?’
‘He didn’t, but it didn’t matter. He reset the combination before he shot him. As I did.’
‘Could he really do that, sir?’
‘As long as he’d got a loaded Walther in his hand, he could pretty well do anything he damn well wanted, couldn’t he?’
The logic was sound. Flora Carter had to agree.
Angel said, ‘Well, tidy up here. Lock up the house. I’m off to see Rosemary Razzle … see if she can throw any more light on the matter.’
‘What was that number again, sir, to get back into the workshop?’ Carter said. ‘130864? That’s the thirteenth of August 1964. Was that the date you were born, sir?’
‘No it wasn’t. Don’t be so nosy. I’ll tell you what it represents later. You should know. It’s to do with the history of crime.’
She frowned.
‘I’m off,’ he said.
She smiled as she watched him dash down the steps.
Angel got into the BMW, started it up and pointed the bonnet through The Manor House gates. He turned left and drove up to the traffic lights then right on to Park Road and up the hill towards the town. It was a straight road and there was little traffic … his mind naturally wandered back to recent events. He was pleased that he had been able to demonstrate how Charles Razzle had been murdered, and that it had not been in a locked room by a robot; also, that he had worked out an explanation as to how the safe came to be empty. That morning’s work, so far, had been satisfactory. He could see that progress had been made.
Halfway up the hill, he found that he was driving towards slow moving traffic in both lanes. He had to slow down and then stop the BMW in a stationary line of traffic. It didn’t move for a couple of minutes. He put his head out of the window and peered out. There was no traffic coming in the opposite direction either. He banged the heel of his hands on the steering wheel and got out of the car. There was now a long line of traffic behind him. He began walking up the hill to find out the cause of the stoppage. Ahead he could see a crowd of people swarming over the road outside a large new retail furniture shop that used to be Woolworth’s. Motor traffic was stationary in every direction. He stood on the pavement and looked at the sight in amazement.
A big uniformed policeman in the midst of the throng saw him and battled his way through. It was PC John Weightman.
‘What’s happening?’ Angel said.
‘Another furniture shop opening, sir,’ Weightman said. ‘It’s unbelievable. I can’t do anything with them on my own. I’ve phoned through for back-up. They’re sending two patrol cars.’
Angel nodded.
‘It’s being opened by that Sincerée La More, sir. She’ll be driving off any second. She’s in a white stretch limo.’
Angel frowned. ‘Sincerée La More? Who is she?’
‘That leggy lass from that new film. An English royal duke from way back made a gold statue of her, his mistress. Supposed to be the most beautiful body in the world.’
Angel remembered. ‘Dorothea Jordan. Had ten kids to the Duke of Clarence before he became King William IV,’ he said.
‘That’s the one, sir.’
Angel sniffed. ‘Hmm.’
There was the whine of sirens. Police patrol cars were arriving.
‘Get me out of this, John, asap,’ Angel said. ‘I’m down there and I want to go straight on to The Feathers.’
‘Yes, sir. Right away.’
Angel eventually arrived at the Feathers Hotel car-park and made his way up to suite 1 on the first floor. He knocked on the door.
As he stood there waiting, out of the corner of his eye
he saw the door of the room adjacent silently open only the thickness of a truncheon. The chandelier on the landing caught the reflection of somebody’s eye peering out at him.
Angel sucked in air as the muscles of his hands tightened instinctively, preparing himself for an attack of some sort. The door then suddenly opened much wider and a very familiar face smiled at him. It was DS Crisp.
Angel gave a little sigh, acknowledged him with a nod and, with a small gesture, indicated to him to go back into the room. He didn’t want Crisp risking blowing his cover.
The door facing Angel was suddenly whisked open.
Mrs Razzle, who was in a fluffy housecoat, glared at Angel with eyes like needles. He thought that her hair in a dishevelled state in no way detracted from her attractiveness, made her seem even more overpoweringly desirable but also very dangerous. The more he saw of her the more he worried about her.
‘Oh it’s you,’ she said.
‘Good morning, Mrs Razzle,’ Angel said.
The corners of her mouth turned downwards. She held on to the door with one hand and stared at him without replying.
‘I need to ask you a couple of questions,’ he said.
‘Like what?’ she said.
He could see over her head into the sitting room behind her. There were clothes everywhere … dresses and coats and underwear draped over the chairs and in boxes, some on the floor.
‘What are you looking at?’ she said.
‘We can talk better inside, Mrs Razzle,’ he said, applying his weight to the door.
She resisted at first, but he pressed his advantage.
She released her grip on it, turned away, took in a very deep breath, put her hands on her hips and turned back to face him.
Angel pushed the door open and came into the room.
‘Are you allowed to force your way in, like that, Inspector?’
‘No. Not really,’ he said turning back from closing the door. ‘But then again, I could prosecute you for obstructing a policeman in the course of his duty. Particularly as these inquiries are into a case of murder.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘Murder!’ she said.
He looked round at the mass of clothes everywhere. ‘What’s all this?’ he said. ‘Going away somewhere?’
The Snuffbox Murders Page 9
