The Diamond Rosary Murders

by Roger Silverwood

  Crisp’s eyes shone. ‘It’s him, sir,’ he said. ‘It’s him. Aged 32.’

  He held the laptop up for Angel to see.

  Angel looked at the screen. He agreed. ‘Right, lad. Now we know where we are.’

  Crisp turned away.

  Angel quickly made his way back to the other side of the burnt-out car where the SOCO team had removed the body of Lee Ellis from the car, laid it on a stretcher, and were transferring it to the mortuary van under the supervision of Dr Mac.

  Angel was watching them, when out of his eye corner he saw Taylor looking strangely animated on the steps of the SOCO van. He was wiping something small in his hand with a duster. Angel went round the burnt-out car towards him.

  ‘What you got, Don?’ he said.

  Taylor’s eyes were shining. ‘A key has turned up, sir,’ he said in a confidential tone. ‘I was just wiping it clean. See if there were any identification marks on it.’

  Angel blinked. His pulse rate surged. ‘And are there?’

  ‘No,’ he said and he briefly dangled a small key with the number 74 stamped on a round metal disc attached to it by a tiny split ring, and dropped it into Angel’s hand.

  Angel frowned. He took the key and examined it closely. ‘Where’s it come from?’

  Taylor said, ‘It was crudely sewn onto the inside of the victim’s jeans near the ankle … so that it wouldn’t be felt in a pad-down, I suppose. I felt it when I was helping to lift the body out. It was photographed and checked for prints while it was still sewn in. There weren’t any discernible marks, only smudges. Dr Mac cut it free from the jeans with a scalpel.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Angel said, rubbing his chin. His pulse rate had reached a steady high, and his chest was warm and buzzing with anticipation.

  ‘What do you think it’s for, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know. We need to find that out quickly. Very quickly.’

  He pursed his lips.

  He was thinking that Lee Ellis was murdered by the Chameleon for the Rosary, and that the killer had assumed that the victim had had the Rosary on him, and when he couldn’t find it, he had emptied Ellis’s pockets and taken everything away to search among his possessions for a clue to its whereabouts. But he had missed the key. He wouldn’t have expected Ellis to have deposited the Rosary in a safe deposit box or similar and then to have hidden the key by sewing it into his jeans.

  Angel therefore thought that there was still a good chance that he could recover the Rosary and arrest the Chameleon. It was becoming obvious that the Chameleon was so desperate to possess the jewel that he would kill anybody and everybody who was in his way, so Angel would have to be very careful, very careful indeed.

  Angel returned to the office still wondering what that key would fit. He took it out of his pocket and looked at one side and then the other. He pulled open the middle drawer in his desk, fished around and came out with an 8x loupe. He put the glass to his eye and gripped it in the loose skin, enabling him to take a better look at the key. He was convinced that whatever the key fitted would lead him to the Rosary and inevitably to the Chameleon. He must solve the mystery.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Angel wasn’t pleased. It was Ahmed. ‘What is it now, lad?’

  ‘Mark Rogers, that chauffeur you asked me to contact, sir …’

  ‘Yes, lad. What about him?’

  ‘He’s up in reception now, sir. He’s come in on spec that you could see him.’

  Angel screwed up his face then breathed out noisily.

  ‘I can put him off if you want me to,’ Ahmed said.

  Angel thought a moment. The time wasn’t ideal, but he was anxious to see him.

  ‘All right, Ahmed. That’s all right. Show him in.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ Ahmed said as he went out.

  Angel put the loupe back in the drawer, and the key into his pocket before Ahmed returned with the young man.

  ‘Please sit down, Mr Rogers,’ Angel said, pointing to the chair opposite the desk.

  ‘You wanted to see me, Mr Angel? I came straightaway. I want to clear up any queries you might have about my evidence.’

  ‘Thank you. Since then, I have discovered that Mr King employed an actor, Reuben Paschal, who looked very much like him.’

  ‘He was murdered as well, wasn’t he? It was in the papers. But he was a crook. He had been inside.’

  Angel nodded. ‘He was about the same age, the same height, same build, similar beard and hair. I think that this could only have been to impersonate him, or have people, or some particular person, believe that he was in one place when all the time he was in another. It would be particularly evident if the actor, Paschal, had been in a moving car. Now you didn’t tell me about this before. What can you tell me about it now?’

  Rogers’s eyes opened wide like a scared rabbit. ‘Nothing, Mr Angel. Nothing at all. Whenever I took Mr King out, it was Mr King. I swear it. Nobody could be quite like Mr King, even if he was the spittin’ image. I mean, he always spoke his instructions out sharply, not rudely, but like as if he meant it. And he never said anything that could be misunderstood. You never had to go back and ask him if he meant this, that or the other. And he never used big words or used ten words when three would be enough. I don’t think any actor could have fooled me. Nobody could possibly have impersonated Mr King. He might get to look exactly like him, even get the exact voice, but he could never have spoken in the direct way he did. No, Mr Angel, I never drove Reuben Paschal in Mr King’s car, I’m certain of it.’

  ‘You’re very quiet, Michael,’ Mary Angel said as she cleared away the plates from the supper table.

  He looked up, gave a little shrug, fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the key that had been cut away from Lee Ellis’s jeans and put it on the table.

  ‘Didn’t you enjoy the pie?’ she said from the kitchen worktop.

  ‘Yes, love. It was great, thank you.’

  She opened the fridge. ‘Fruit salad with ice cream coming up.’

  He nodded and smiled.

  ‘Don’t put that dirty key on the clean tablecloth, Michael,’ she said.

  He snatched it up.

  ‘Are you worrying about something?’ she said.

  He was thinking about the answer, when she said, ‘Is it the gas bill?’

  He frowned. ‘The gas bill?’ he said. ‘Why? Has it come?’

  Angel hated the gas bill. It was always a struggle to pay it and Christmas was an expensive time.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘There wasn’t any post for us today. How much ice cream do you want?’

  He was still thinking about the horror of the gas bill, when the dish of fruit and ice cream was put in front of him.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said and he reached out for the spoon and fork.

  Mary sat down. She looked at his dish and said, ‘All right?’

  ‘Fine, thank you,’ he said through a mouthful of pineapple pieces.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘aren’t you going to show me that key?’

  He put down the spoon, reached into his pocket and handed it across to her.

  She looked at it and said, ‘And you think that the Rosary is locked away somewhere. And that this is the key to finding it.’

  ‘Yes, love. I do. And it has to be somewhere safe. And somewhere local, convenient for him to pick up quickly.’

  ‘Mmm. What about a safe deposit box?’ Mary said.

  Angel pursed his lips. ‘But I don’t know of a bank or a security firm in Bromersley that offers that kind of service. Our high street banks offer to hold customers’ deed boxes securely for a fee, but this key isn’t the sort of key that would be used to lock up a small metal box, like a deed box. I think it has to be a key for somewhere else. Also there is a number stamped on the tag. Number 74.’

  ‘Could it be a key to a flat?’

  ‘I don’t know of a building in Bromersley that has 74 flats,’ he said. ‘Besides, the key is a bit small for the kind of locks they use on house or
flat doors.’

  Mary shrugged. ‘Well I don’t know where else, Michael. You will have to consider the man’s interests, his workplace, the sort of places he might visit …’

  Suddenly Angel beamed. His eyes shone. His pulse began to race again. ‘Lee Ellis is a fitness fanatic. It’s the key for a locker. Of course. It’s the key to a gym locker! He’s bound to belong to a gym, isn’t he? This is the key to his locker. Number 74. I bet that’s where the Rosary is hidden right now.’

  Mary stared at him her face muscles taut. ‘If I had known he was into physical fitness, I could have told you that straightaway. Huh!’

  FIFTEEN

  The following morning, Angel was in the office early and began phoning the fitness clubs in Bromersley. There were three. He had phoned two and was ringing the third and last.

  A man answered. ‘Joe Johnson,’ he said. ‘Johnson’s Sports Club.’

  ‘This is Detective Inspector Angel, Bromersley Police. I am making inquiries about—’

  The man cut in and said, ‘Heyup, did you say Inspector Angel?’

  Angel wasn’t pleased. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘You must be that famous one that’s in all the papers?’ the man said. ‘The one that always gets his man? My brother-in-law works for the Yorkshire Gazette, and he’s told me about you.’

  Angel winced. ‘I’m not sure about all that, Mr Johnson. I am making inquiries about a man called Lee Ellis. I want to know if he is a member of your club.’

  ‘Dunno. Lee Ellis, did you say? I’d have to look it up. It’ll take me a little while.’

  Angel lips tightened back against his teeth. ‘This is urgent,’ he said. ‘Important police business. Very urgent indeed.’

  ‘Oh. Well, what’s his membership number?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, when is his membership up for renewal?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t even know if he’s a member. That’s what I need to know urgently. Also I need to know if your locker system numbers as far as 74?’

  ‘Lee Ellis, wasn’t it? It’ll take me a few minutes. You’ve not given me much to go on. You’ll have to ring back. 74? Is that his locker? Yes. We’ve 182 lockers here, so his number could easily be 74. Lee Ellis, wasn’t it. Lee Ellis. You know, Inspector Angel, that name rings a bell. I’m sure I heard it on the news this morning. Was that the bloke found in a burning car?’

  Angel sighed. ‘I just need to know if he’s a member or not, Mr Johnson. That’s all.’

  ‘It’ll take me a while, Inspector Angel. Got to go through the membership book. And I’m on my own on reception until the staff come in at nine o’clock. I should ring back about 9.30. I should know then.’

  Angel gripped the phone so tight he almost crushed it. Through gritted teeth he said, ‘All right. Thank you.’

  He slammed the handset into its cradle. His pulse was beating so fast he had a pain in his chest. He had had it before. He would try to ignore it.

  He got up from the chair, sent it flying rearward with the back of his knees, pulled open the office door and crossed to the CID office.

  Ahmed was at his desk by the door looking studiously at his computer screen.

  When he saw Angel he stood up. ‘Did you want me, sir?’

  ‘Find DS Crisp. Tell him to ring me on my mobile, pronto. If he isn’t around tell DS Carter. I have to go out. Going to Johnson’s Sports Club.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  Angel returned to his office, reached out for his coat and began storming his way down the corridor towards the back door. At the end of the corridor he saw Crisp coming towards him.

  Crisp smiled and said, ‘Good morning, sir.’

  ‘Come with me. We are going down to Johnson’s Sports Club.’

  As Angel drove onto the gym car-park, he noticed the black Mercedes which had been following him the last few days parked near the Sports Club entrance. His face dropped and his pulse began to beat even faster. He drove the BMW into a parking space at the far side of the car-park. Then they got out of the car and locked it. Angel then turned to Crisp, quickly pointed across at the Mercedes, said something and gave him the key to his BMW. Crisp pressed the remote to open the boot and began looking for something.

  Angel had a quick look inside the Mercedes as he passed it, but saw nothing of interest. He rushed through the automatic door into the reception area of Johnson’s Sports Club..

  There were about a dozen men and women chattering among themselves who, from their dress, didn’t look like members of the gym. Some had reporter-style pads and pens in their hands, others were holding cameras. Angel realized they were newspaper men and women.

  As he approached the reception desk, one or two of them recognized him and pounced on him, asking questions about the Rosary, the recent murders, the Chameleon and what he was doing at the gym.

  They had obviously been waiting for him. It must have been Joe Johnson courting publicity for the gym.

  Angel wasn’t pleased. He fended the questions off the best way he knew how. Several lightbulbs flashed as he jostled his way to the reception desk.

  He caught the eye of a young lady from behind the counter.

  She said, ‘Can I help you?’

  The reporters crowded round him, as he showed her the locker key with the number tag hanging from it.

  He leaned over the counter and whispered, ‘Is this key one of yours?’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You must be that Police Inspector what phoned earlier.’

  Angel’s lips tightened back against his teeth. ‘Is this key from one of your lockers?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Could you direct me to this particular locker, number 74?’

  Before she could reply, there was a dull explosion. It came from the basement. The floor shook. A door flew open. The light fittings rattled. There were screams from various directions. A few voices cried out, ‘What’s that?’ There was a loud babble of alarm. Some people ran out of the building.

  Angel dashed down the steps towards the source of the blast. People in shorts and trainers charged past him towards the exits. He weaved his way through them against the flow down to the basement floor and along a long corridor. He saw smoke billowing out of a door halfway down. He went through the door into the smoke-filled room. There was the unpleasant smell of burned gelignite.

  ‘Anybody there? Anybody hurt?’ he called.

  There was no reply.

  The nitrate in the air caused him to cough.

  The smoke was clearing. He could see wooden lockers fitted on the walls all round the room. Numbers had been stencilled on the doors. There was a locker at the far end without a door. He ran up to it and looked inside. It was black with smoke burns and it was empty. On the floor nearby he saw the charred remains of the wooden locker door. Stencilled on it, he could just make out the number 74. He bit his lip as he sighed. He heard a door nearby banging. He looked round. It was an emergency fire door. It was swinging open and shut in the wind. He dashed through it. The air was clear and cool. It led outside and up some steps. It brought him outside facing the wall of a building. He ran along the side of the wall to the end and discovered that he was on the car-park. He was just in time to see the blonde, Marcia Moore, cigarette in mouth, reverse the black Mercedes out of its parking slot at high speed. He ran towards the car and saw the two men, Charles Domino and Joseph Memoré in the back seat. The diminutive figure, Memoré, glanced at Angel, eyes half-open and the corners of his mouth turned mockingly upwards. The car leaped forward into the traffic lane towards the exit.

  Angel stopped running. He couldn’t have caught them. He gritted his teeth, ran his hand through his hair and looked round for the BMW.

  Crisp ran up to him from behind. ‘Did they get it, sir?’

  ‘Yes. Let’s get after them.’

  ‘Your key, sir,’ Crisp said as he thrust the BMW key into his hand.

  They ran back towards Angel’s car. As they got near they saw
that the offside front tyre was flat.

  Angel’s jaw muscles tightened. He rubbed his chin. He glanced back in time to see the rear of the Mercedes bounce wildly over the last traffic-calming bump and disappear between the exit pillars.

  Crisp went round to the nearside of the car and said, ‘There’s another flat here, sir.’

  Angel’s lips tightened back against his teeth. He breathed in and out heavily as he reached down into his pocket for his mobile and tapped in a number.

  As it rang, he turned to Crisp and said, ‘I hope you got that tracer fixed all right.’

  ‘I got it under a wheel arch, sir,’ Crisp said. ‘It should be fine.’

  ‘Operations Room, Bromersley Police,’ said a voice from Angel’s mobile.

  He quickly reported the robbery of the Rosary from the gym, gave the model and colour of the Mercedes, the licence number and the descriptions of the three passengers. He instructed the duty sergeant to put out a call to all cars to look out for the car and its occupants, and to direct that any sightings of it be reported directly to him on his mobile. Also, he directed that officers were not to approach the vehicle as the passengers were armed and dangerous. He terminated that call and tapped in the direct number to the transport department. He asked for the urgent provision of an unmarked car for his use and mechanics to repair the punctures to his car tyres.

  After he closed the phone, he turned to Crisp and said, ‘We must look at the tracer screen and see if it is transmitting a signal.’

  Angel plugged the tracer monitor into the cigar lighter of the BMW and he and Crisp were soon watching a screen that showed a map of the local area and a flashing white light moving slowly on it. The light indicated that the car was travelling at high speed, much faster than the law permitted, heading on a road due south towards Sheffield.

  ‘Taking a risk keeping on the main road, sir?’ Crisp said.

  Angel nodded. ‘I hope they don’t stop and part with the Rosary.’

  Crisp frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Sell it. Pass it on. Hide it. If that light stops flashing – even for only a few seconds – we’ll need to note the exact point, got it?’