Sham

by Roger Silverwood

  Angel nodded understanding^ and took the opportunity to glance at the back of the man’s left hand for the tattoo of a skull and crossbones, but the hand was clean.

  ‘A few questions. Won’t take long. I want to see everybody who was in the building at the time of the murder.’

  ‘There was only Walter the chef, Louis the waiter and me.’

  Angel made a note of the names in his book. He raised his eyebrows and said: ‘Nobody else, other members, customers?’

  ‘We’ve been tremendously busy over the festive season, Inspector, and we’ll be very busy tonight. There’s a limit to how much enjoyment our members can tolerate,’ he said wryly. ‘But we are not usually busy in the daytime, however, a lot of members working and so on. Some Fridays and at weekends, it will be very busy for lunches and so on then.’

  Tickell picked up a printed card A6 size and glanced at it. ‘This is the membership card of Richard Schumaker. I looked this out. He hasn’t been a member long. Applied to join in October. He was accepted on the nod by the committee at the early November meeting, as nobody knew anything about him. He gave his address as The Brambles, Harrogate Road, Clarendon, Bromersley. It’s only a cockstride out of our front gate. He didn’t fill in the employment box. I’ve no idea what he did for a living. He gave his age at 25.’

  ‘Right. Well, tell me all that you can about him and his young lady, Eloise Macdonald and, in particular, what happened today.’

  ‘There’s little to tell,’ Martin Tickell replied. ‘He applied in person, I recall, to be a member. Polite, well-spoken young man. Nothing remarkable about that. I believe he has been here for lunch once before with a guest.’

  ‘The young lady, he brought with him today?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  Angel wrinkled his nose. ‘Could be important.’

  ‘I don’t remember. So many people, you know.’

  Angel sighed. ‘What do you remember about him?’

  ‘Nothing. Sorry.’

  ‘Did he speak to any other members or the staff, or anybody?’

  ‘Didn’t notice, Inspector. There are a lot of comings and goings, over six hundred members, you know. Louis might know or some of the other staff.’

  ‘Mmm. Did he make a reservation in advance for today?’

  ‘He phoned in. On Friday, I think. Simply asked to book a table for two, himself and a guest. I said it was fine and he duly arrived with the young lady. He signed the book; they left their coats in the cloakroom and went into the bar. I didn’t see any more of them until I was passing the conservatory door at about two-thirty or so, looked in and saw a figure on the floor and the young woman apparently in a faint or something, slumped on the sofa.’

  Tickell’s forehead became moist. He took out a handkerchief and began to pat it. He licked his lips.

  ‘I went into the room. There was a pool of blood … it was dreadful, Inspector, I can tell you, and the young woman, Eloise Macdonald was … her eyes were closed. I took her by the shoulders and was going to shake her. Her eyes opened. She looked at me, then at the floor at … and began to cry. I asked her what had happened; she just looked at member Schumaker and cried. My first thought was an ambulance, so I dashed back here and dialled 999. The lady on the phone suggested that the police should be informed. I agreed. Then I ran back down to the conservatory. The young woman was where I had left her, I suggested we move out. I helped her into the Reading Room and stayed with her until your men arrived … and — that’s about it.’

  Angel pursed his lips.

  ‘Thanks very much. That’ll do for now. I need to see Walter the chef, and Louis the waiter. Will you organise that for me? Can I see them here? One at a time, privately.’

  ‘Of course. Yes,’ he said most courteously and reached out for the phone.

  A young man, about 25, kitted out in whites and a chef’s hat came into the office. ‘You wanted to see me? I heard about the dead man in the conservatory. I suppose it’s murder.’

  Angel nodded and closed the door.

  ‘Please sit down. I am Inspector Angel. Won’t keep you long. What is your name?’

  ‘Walter Flagg.’

  ‘Worked here long, Mr Flagg?’

  ‘Two years now. Shortly after I finished training.’

  Angel glanced down to the back of the man’s left hand. He wasn’t surprised to note that there was no tattoo of a skull and cross-bones.

  ‘Did you know the dead man, the new member, Richard Schumaker?’

  ‘No, Inspector. I work in the kitchens, rarely get out into club rooms. Maybe I get a peep into the restaurant once in a while. I am very much a backroom boy.’

  ‘You cooked the meal he and the young lady with him ate at lunchtime today. Notice anything unusual about them or the meal?’

  ‘No. They were the only customers today for lunch. It’s not usually so slack, but it’s just after the holidays. Christmas, New Year, everybody is just sick of food, aren’t they? Busy tonight, though.’

  ‘Did you see anything of a tall young man, wearing a mask, with a tattoo on the back of his hand, carrying a knife, this afternoon or anytime today?’

  Flagg frowned, shook his head and said, ‘No, Inspector.’

  ‘Didn’t come taking a short cut through the kitchen?’

  ‘No. Definitely not.’

  ‘You saw nothing of a stranger like that, or a man you didn’t know wearing other clothes?’

  ‘No, Inspector. There’s been nobody in the kitchen today apart from Mr Tickell earlier and then Louis, who was waiting on the member and his guest … sorry.’

  Angel sniffed.

  ‘You’re not missing a knife, are you?’

  ‘A knife?’

  Walter Flagg frowned, then his jaw dropped. He shook his head thoughtfully.

  ‘You mean the weapon that … I don’t know, Inspector. There are lots of knives in the kitchen. If one was missing, I wouldn’t know. I’m sorry.’

  Angel nodded.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Flagg.’

  *

  ‘I am Louis Dingle. You wanted to see me, sir?’

  Angel nodded, pulled out his notebook and made a note of the young man’s name.

  ‘Yes. Please come in. Sit down.’

  The handsome young man dressed immaculately in tails, starched shirt-front and dickie bow came in, closed the door and sat down.

  Angel pursed his lips and glanced down at the back of the man’s hand for a tattoo, but it was as plain and pink as a policeman’s expense chitty.

  ‘Nice people,’ Dingle said. ‘I don’t know what could have happened in there in the conservatory. They were all right when I saw them out of the restaurant.’

  ‘No problems, nothing unusual over lunch, Mr Dingle?’

  ‘No. They had booked a table for 12 noon. They were on time. Went straight in the bar. Had a couple of drinks and then ordered a la carte. I left them chatting until their starter was ready. Then I showed them through into the restaurant. They took their time over the meal. Seemed to enjoy it. They didn’t have coffee. They said they might have it later in the conservatory. They left; I held the door open. We weren’t busy so I took the dirty pots through to the kitchen and had a cup of tea with Walter — he’s the duty chef. I went back to the restaurant, and tidied round. Then I went into the bar, rinsed the glasses. Returned to the restaurant, began to set the rest of the tables for this evening. Then two men in police uniforms and dayglo coats came into the bar. They asked me where the dead man was. I didn’t know what they were talking about. I was curious. They went out. I followed them across the hall to the conservatory. The door was open. I could see the member on the floor.’

  ‘You didn’t go in?’

  ‘No. No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I didn’t want to. I went straight down to the chef, Walter, and told him. We were both very shocked.’

  ‘Have you noticed if there is a knife missing? The man was stabbed ...’

  ‘No. Not from the dining-room,’
he said quickly. ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘Did you happen to overhear any of the conversation between them?’

  ‘No. They were both quietly spoken, almost in whispers. I expect they were a courting couple, looked at each other a lot. He was over the top with courtesy and generosity; if she had wanted champagne, I reckon he would have bought her a vineyard!’

  ‘Did you see anything of another man, or anybody else for that matter, in the dining room or the bar or the hall, or anywhere at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The man I am looking for was wearing a mask. He had a tattoo on the back of his hand, carrying a knife. Did you see anybody at all this afternoon or anytime today?’

  ‘I didn’t see anybody at all, Inspector, except Mr Tickell, Walter Flagg and the two customers, until the police arrived.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘I was in the kitchen. The bell went in the reading room. I answered it. It was Mr Tickell wanting some tea for the young lady. I made it quickly and took it in. She was in a state.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Dingle.’

  *

  Angel came out of Tickell’s office and closed the door just as a clock chimed. He looked round. It was the big grandfather in the hall by the reception desk. It said 6.15. He must remember to ring his wife Mary, as soon as he could. She would be wondering where he was. His tea would be spoiling. He made his way determinedly along the panelled corridor, past the snooker-room door to the reading room.

  Eloise Macdonald was still in there, in the same chair, now appearing to be alert and composed. WPC Leisha Baverstock had arrived and was sitting opposite her. She was looking at her, appropriately attentive.

  She stood up when Angel entered.

  He was pleased to see her there. He waved her to sit down and said, ‘You’re on overtime.’

  She smiled slightly.

  ‘That’s all right, sir.’

  He nodded.

  Eloise Macdonald said, ‘I must go home, inspector.’ She looked at her hands and opened them to expose the palms. ‘And clean up. Look at me. And my mother will wonder where I am.’

  Angel sat down in the chair between the two young women. He looked at Eloise and leaned forward. ‘Feeling better?’

  She nodded and smiled wanly.

  ‘Good. Good. Just a couple of questions.

  Won’t keep you long. How long did you know Richard Schumaker?’

  ‘Oh? A week or so,’ she said hesitating. ‘This was our first date. But I had noticed him before, many times. He comes in … came into the place where I work. Every week. I am the cashier at Cheapos supermarket. I have seen him at checkouts many a time, when I have been going down the tills. He used to look at me and smile, friendly like, and whistle. He was absolutely wonderful. I hardly knew him at all. We got chatting over a coffee in the cafe, last Friday. He asked me when I got my day off. This week it was Monday, so he said would I like to come out for lunch. I agreed, so he sent a car for me, and met me here.’

  Angel frowned.

  ‘Sent a car for you? Where does he work? What does he do?’

  Eloise’s mouth dropped open. She looked first at Leisha Baverstock and then at Angel.

  ‘I … er. I thought you would know him. He’s sort of … in your line of work.’

  Angel shook his head.

  ‘He works undercover. He liaises between Interpol and the police,’ she said. Suddenly, her expression changed to one of puzzlement. ‘He said he knew all the local police, from the chief constable downwards, and they knew him! But that you were instructed not to acknowledge each other in public. In fact the car he sent to pick me up was a police car camouflaged to look like a taxi.’

  Angel frowned. He pursed his lips. There were lots of new channels of communication affecting domestic and overseas security these days between the UK police, MI5, MI6, Special Branch, Scotland Yard, the Home Office and Interpol, that were above Angel’s head, but a young man allocated a police car, and a driver, camouflaged to look like a taxi cab and directed to collect a girlfriend on a social trip? No.

  ‘I believe he was … pulling your leg, Eloise.’

  Her mouth opened wide.

  ‘Certainly not,’ she said strongly. ‘He swore me to secrecy, Inspector.’

  Angel noticed a change in her expression. Her eyes moved thoughtfully from side to side. She was clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

  ‘I’d better not say any more,’ she said firmly.

  Angel’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘We’ve got to find who murdered him, Eloise. Whatever information you might have may be vital. Anything that may provide a lead to his killer must come before any promise you might have made to him when he was alive.’

  She shook her head firmly.

  ‘No,’ she said stubbornly. ‘I must go home.’

  Angel licked his lips. He looked into her eyes.

  ‘It is absolutely imperative that—’

  ‘No,’ she interrupted. ‘I must go home.’ She closed her handbag, grabbed the strap and stood up. ‘I must go home. I have nothing more to say, and I refuse to be held here any longer against my will.’

  Angel’s eyebrows shot up.

  ‘You’re not being held against your will. In fact, you can leave whenever you want. WPC Baverstock will take you home, won’t you?’

  The policewoman stood up.

  Eloise made for the door.

  Leisha Baverstock looked back at Angel, her eyebrows raised.

  He nodded approvingly and waved an encouraging hand.

  ‘Goodnight, Eloise,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  She looked back, her face looked very troubled; she was about to say something, changed her mind and went out. Leisha Baverstock followed and closed the door.

  Angel leaned back in the chair, blew out a long sigh and rubbed his chin.

  5.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘There’s Mrs Buller-Price here again,’ Ahmed said. ‘She’s very anxious to see you, sir. She’s in reception. And DS Gawber’s here.’

  Angel looked up at the door and saw the sergeant with a file of papers standing patiently next to the cadet.

  ‘Come in, Ron.’

  ‘Good morning, sir.’

  ‘Aye, good morning. Sit down. Wait a couple of minutes, Ahmed, and then show her in here.’

  The cadet nodded and closed the door.

  Gawber took the seat by Angel’s desk.

  ‘Yes, Ron?’

  ‘Nothing suspicious in the club itself, sir,’ Gawber said. ‘With Mr Tickell’s help, I recovered Schumaker’s overcoat from the cloakroom and passed it on to SOCO, but there doesn’t seem to be anything unusual about it.’

  ‘No. Right. Anything else?’

  ‘I’ve got six men still combing the grounds. Nothing turned up as yet.’

  ‘Hmmm. I interviewed the manager, a cook and a waiter cum bartender. They each say they saw nothing, and none had a tattoo on the back of his hand. Surprisingly, those were the only people in the club apart from the victim and Eloise Macdonald.’

  ‘Hmmm. Have another go at that manager, Tickell. See if anything apparently unrelated but unusual occurred yesterday. Anything stolen, misplaced, missing; you know what I mean.’

  Gawber rubbed his chin.

  ‘There was one thing, sir. I don’t suppose it’s relevant: while I was with Mr Tickell, a man came in with an overcoat, a member, said he’d taken it by mistake the night previously, full of apologies, didn’t realize until he got home that it wasn’t his. Mr Tickell told him that another member had earlier complained that his coat had gone missing also, and that he had had to go home without a coat. It was freezing too. They had obviously taken each other’s by mistake. Tickell said it happened all the time. It usually sorted itself out the following day. However the man went to the cloakroom while I was there, said he couldn’t find his own coat.’

  Angel frowned.

  ‘Ah. So the man’s coat had not been
brought back.’

  ‘That’s right, sir.’

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ Angel called.

  It was Ahmed.

  ‘Just a moment,’ Angel said, and turned back to Gawber. ‘Ron, you’d better nip back to the club straight away, follow up that missing coat. Get a full description of it. It might be important.’

  Gawber nodded and left quickly.

  Angel then turned to Ahmed.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Show her in.’

  Mrs Buller-Price bustled into the office.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said to Ahmed, who smiled politely and left, quietly closing the door.

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs Buller-Price.’

  ‘Ah, now there you are, inspector. I came yesterday but was told you were out. I can see that you are busy,’ she said. ‘I am so sorry to add to your burden. Oh dear!’

  Angel smiled.

  ‘Do sit down, and tell me how can I help you?’

  ‘Dear Inspector Angel. Thank you,’ she said panting. She flopped in the leather chair by his desk, put her heavy walking stick on the floor on one side, dragged the big leather bag on to her ample knees, dug around inside it, pulled out a brown envelope, lowered the bag to the floor, adjusted her waterproof hat, which had gone askew in the business of settling down, and then turned to face him. She pursed her lips, then holding the envelope firmly, she put on a cherubic smile and began.

  ‘Well, Inspector, it’s like this, and I do hope you can help me. Oh dear. Early yesterday morning, I had a strange telephone call from a man. He said, as near as I can remember, that a car had come up in the night, that it had been put in the barn for me, that I was to try it out for a month or two and that it was mine to use and that I would be under no obligation. Well, I was astonished at this, of course, but before I could tell him that I couldn’t possibly afford to buy a new car, and that he’d better take it back straightaway, he’d put the receiver down.’

  Angel looked at her and smiled. He had to concede this was somewhat unusual.

  ‘Well now,’ she continued. ‘There were some keys pushed through the letterbox, so I took them out to the barn and discovered the most beautiful new car you have ever seen. Now, Inspector, I have not shown any interest in purchasing a new car from anybody. I have not even made an enquiry about a car by post or telephone or in any other way. This car has come completely out of the blue. Although it is true that my Bentley is temporarily out of commission, I am not in the market for a car and I certainly could not afford one in this price range. It must be returned. The question is, to whom? Anyway, on the driver’s seat was this envelope.’