THE CHESHIRE CAT MURDERS an enthralling crime mystery full of twists (Yorkshire Murder Mysteries Book 18)

by Roger Silverwood

  * * *

  Angel returned immediately to the station and, as he made his way down the corridor to his office, he heard his phone ringing. He dashed through the door and snatched up the receiver.

  ‘Angel,’ he said.

  Nobody replied, but there was the sound of a loud wheezy cough and a splutter. Angel pulled the phone away from his ear. He knew the caller was his superior, Superintendent Horace Harker. There was nobody who could cough and splutter like he did. There was another cough and a splutter, and that was again repeated.

  Eventually Harker spoke. ‘Angel, are you there?’ he said, breathily.

  ‘Yes, I’m here, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Aye, well, come up here, smartish,’ he said, then he banged the receiver hard down into its cradle. It clicked noisily in Angel’s ear. Angel’s jaw muscles tightened. He replaced his receiver, then blew out a yard of breath. He went up the corridor to the last door, where there was a sign screwed to it that read: DETECTIVE SUPERINTENDENT HORACE HARKER.

  He knocked on the door and went in.

  Harker was at his desk. There were two piles of papers and files standing up to eye level, and the rest of the desk was littered with letters, reports, a bottle of lemonade, a coffee cup, jar of Vick, bottle of paracetamol tablets, box of tissues and a transistor radio.

  The superintendent was holding a white plastic inhaler up a nostril and taking a long hard sniff while blocking off the other nostril with the forefinger of his other hand. His eyes followed Angel as he came into the office. He looked and nodded at the chair opposite.

  Angel sat down, looked across at the superintendent and wondered what was coming next.

  Eventually, Harker withdrew the inhaler, put the cap on it, placed it on the desk, and sniffed.

  ‘You wanted me, sir?’ Angel said.

  ‘Aye,’ Harker began. ‘You’re spending too much time on this Hobbs case, lad. I know his death is unusual, but don’t you realize that your time, supported by the specialist services, forensic, research, security and legal, costs the force a hundred and sixty-six pounds an hour? Not a day, lad, an hour. And that’s only for you. It doesn’t include the other members in your team. They are separately costed at figures proportionate to their rank and qualifications.’

  Angel ran the end of his tongue along his bottom lip. ‘I don’t think I get your point, sir.’

  Harker’s red, shiny eyes looked as if they might burst out of their sockets.

  ‘Your reports clearly show that Hobbs was killed by an animal. We can’t arrest it, can we? We can’t charge it with murder, even if you could find it and prove that it was that particular creature. This case needs to be handed to the coroner’s office without delay. In turn, I expect the court would pass a verdict of ‘accidental death’. End of story, until someone with a rifle — hopefully somebody from this force — sees the blasted animal and kills it. In the meantime, you should move onto something else. There is a case you have in hand . . . the stealing of dangerous substances from that hospital. Now that is urgent.’

  Angel pursed his lips. ‘The thing is, sir, I haven’t had the post-mortem report from Dr Mac yet. Hobbs has only been dead about forty hours, I felt that it was too early to —’

  Harker said, ‘But in this case, the cause of the man’s death is obvious. He has bite marks in places, and pawmarks all round the body. What more evidence do you think a coroner will need? You can’t simply hang onto a case, Angel, for whatever purist reasons you may have. Our budget simply won’t stretch to it. I know that you get very possessive about your cases, and that you are a bloody perfectionist. But this case is different. Although there is obviously a victim, there isn’t a criminal as such. The party responsible is an animal who is only seeking food, or maybe the victim alarmed it, or it felt threatened by him, but whatever the motive, it doesn’t matter as far as the law is concerned. We don’t try animals in a court of law. Now I know you’re a bit of a celebrity and some people think you are something special, but you don’t have to play the part all the time. There’s no justification in trying to make this slightly unusual case seem more important than it really is. It certainly attracts the newspapers, but the verdict will still be accidental death, and you will look such a fool. So give the facts to the coroner’s office now . . . oh, look at the time . . . it’s ten to five . . . I have to go.’ He stood up.

  ‘But, sir —’ Angel said.

  ‘I know. You obviously can’t do it today,’ Harker said, as he reached into the green steel wardrobe behind his chair and took out his overcoat and hat. ‘But do it in the morning, then get on with that theft from the hospital. All right?’

  But it was not all right. Angel stood up. His lips pulled tight back against his teeth. There was a lot he wanted to say.

  ‘I knew you’d see reason if I explained it to you carefully,’ Harker said as he passed behind him on his way to the door. ‘Now, I really do have to go,’ he added as he put on the hat, aimed an arm into a sleeve of the overcoat and grabbed hold of the door handle. ‘I’ve an appointment at five for drinks with the chief constable, the mayor and aldermen at the Town Hall,’ he added as he rushed out of the office.

  Angel followed him to the door and glared down the corridor after him.

  * * *

  He looked across the kitchen table at Mary and said, ‘And then, would you believe it, the super dashed off saying that he was having drinks at the Town Hall.’

  ‘Never mind, darling,’ Mary said. ‘Have another piece of chocolate cake?’

  ‘No thank you,’ Angel said. ‘But it is delicious.’

  She smiled.

  ‘Just coffee,’ he said pushing away from the table.

  ‘Go in there,’ she said, with a nod towards the sitting-room door. ‘I’ll bring the coffee through in a minute.’

  Angel went into the sitting room, switched on the table lamp, slumped into his favourite easy chair, leaned back onto the cushion and closed his eyes.

  A few minutes later Mary came in with the two cups of coffee and put them on the library table.

  ‘Thank you, love,’ he said as he reached out for the cup. He stirred the coffee a few moments and then said, ‘I definitely think that there is a human involved in the death of young Hobbs. I haven’t much to go on, but, if I am right, the investigation becomes a murder inquiry. But you see if I hand the case over to the coroner’s office tomorrow morning, the crime might never be uncovered and the murderer might get away with it. And all the blame for his death would be attributed to a wild cat.’

  ‘You worry too much.’

  ‘Listen to this, Mary. If only an animal is the killer, it killed the man in a place we have not yet found and devoured some of the poor man’s body there. Then, some time later, we don’t know how much later, the animal supposedly dragged the body to the place where it was discovered by the stream, where more of it was eaten. But the strange thing is that there were no drag marks anywhere near the place, nor were the body’s clothes muddied or wet, which they certainly would have been.’

  ‘So how was the body moved?’

  ‘That is the question precisely. Also, the body was found outside not wearing a topcoat. This is late October. It is almost certain that he would have been wearing an overcoat and we have not found it. And I haven’t met a cat yet that could, or would bother to, take the coat off a man.’

  ‘The victim could have taken the coat off . . . beforehand, voluntarily.’

  ‘Of course he could, but why would he do want to do that when he was out of doors, on a cold night?’

  ‘Well, Michael, what’s your explanation then?’

  ‘Simple,’ Angel said, ‘I believe that he was murdered indoors.’

  Mary frowned. She picked up her coffee, took a sip then said, ‘It’s not much to go on, love.’

  ‘It’s enough,’ Angel said. Then he added, ‘Now you can see that I must find the human partner in the murder, and why I can’t pass the case on to the coroner’s office.’


  ‘Never mind, sweetheart,’ Mary said. ‘You’ll solve it. You always do.’

  Angel looked down at the carpet, shook his head and rubbed his chin. ‘I dunno, love,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to solve it before I get into the office tomorrow morning.’

  Mary suddenly sat upright in the chair. She breathed in and then out loudly. ‘Now look here, Michael,’ she said. ‘I’ve had enough of work, and enough of Superintendent Harker. If he orders you to pass the inquiry to the coroner’s office, that’s what you’ll have to do, isn’t it?’

  He shrugged.

  Mary looked straight at him. ‘Isn’t it?’ she repeated.

  Eventually he said, ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Well, let’s leave it until tomorrow morning then.’

  He considered the matter for a moment then he nodded. He had to agree, it was the most sensible thing to do.

  They both sipped coffee for a moment then she assumed a brightness she didn’t feel and said, ‘Now what have you done about the safe?’

  Angel’s mind didn’t change direction as quickly as his wife’s. His jaw dropped. ‘What safe?’ he said, then he raised his head quickly and added, ‘Oh Uncle Willy’s safe.’ He returned the coffee cup to the table. ‘I phoned Williams, the house removals firm, and they said they would need specialist lifting tackle for a safe that big, so they declined to quote. Then I phoned Smith’s the safe furniture retailers in Leeds, for a quote. They wanted two hundred and twenty-five pounds. I thought that was a bit steep. I didn’t have the time to make any other inquiries.’

  Mary’s face dropped. She couldn’t hide her disappointment. And she did want to know what was in that safe. ‘Doreen Goodman wants it out of the house so that she can sell it you know.’

  ‘A safe stuck in the corner of a room won’t stop her from selling the house,’ he said. ‘And look at the cost it’s going to be to move it.’

  ‘I think as Uncle Willy has left you the safe, the least you can do is get a move on and take delivery of it. It will look to Doreen as if you don’t want it.’

  ‘Well, I don’t. We’ve nothing to put in it, have we? And it makes us potential targets for villains who might think it’s stuffed full of money or diamonds and pearls or whatever.’

  Mary’s eyes shone as she considered what he had said. ‘But, Michael, we don’t know what’s in it. Doreen said she hadn’t seen it open for more than ten years. It might really be full of all sorts of fabulous antiques.’

  Angel blinked several times then rubbed his chin. He thought about the gas bill and the mortgage. ‘Shall we get Smith’s to transport it here, then?’

  ‘As soon as they can,’ she said. ‘Then we will have to find a way of opening it.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I must give that some thought.’

  Mary nodded quickly several times.

  7

  ‘Good morning, sir.’

  ‘Yes, Ahmed. Come in. There’s something I need you to do.’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘I want you to ring round Sergeants Carter and Crisp, and DC Scrivens, and tell them that the Hobbs case is to be handed over to the coroner, and therefore I do not require them to pursue their inquiries into the women with whom the victim had had a relationship. All right?’

  Ahmed blinked. ‘Does that mean that poor Mr Hobbs was killed by a wild cat after all, sir?’ he said.

  ‘No, lad, it doesn’t,’ Angel said, ‘It means that the super thinks that the man was killed by that wild cat. He’s wrong, but he’s the super and I’m only the inspector. Got it?’

  Ahmed nodded knowingly. ‘Oh yes, sir,’ he said, then he went out.

  Angel watched the door close. He shook his head and sighed. It was a deep sigh. It seemed as though he had drawn breath all the way from his toes. He looked round the little office and wondered what he was doing there. He rubbed his chin as he reminded himself that he was just one of millions, earning money to afford to keep himself and Mary warm and fed in a comfortable house. He used to believe he had the best job in the world, being a police inspector, solving crimes, bringing murderers to court and seeing them put away. It had all seemed very satisfying, and he had felt that he had a certain aptitude for it, but now, the job was becoming more difficult and he wasn’t enjoying it like he used to. It was more like an obstacle race. The foremost problem was Harker, who made illogical decisions in the face of evidence to the contrary, as in this instance. Angel could only think that it was to show his superiority. It had happened time after time. The superintendent was always putting in his oar in a most unhelpful way. There were also other reasons. Since he had been made an inspector, there had been changes to judges’ rules in favour of the criminal, always making it more difficult for Angel, his team and the CPS. In addition, the chief constable was frequently demanding statistics on the most obtuse aspects of crimes and criminals, and new restrictions were often made on current methods of evidence gathering to meet the ever-changing pernickety requirements of Health and Safety. And so it went on.

  Was the job losing its magic? Was it time to get out of the police service? A few years ago, he had had a dream of opening an office in Bromersley as a private detective. He thought he might have made a good living at it. But as murder was his primary business, he didn’t see that he would have had many private clients with a murder they wanted him to solve. He reckoned that most of any prospective clients would be husbands wanting their wives followed, and wives wanting their husbands followed. He had talked this over with Mary at length and she had said she’d support him in whatever he wanted to do, but that she didn’t think that he would be fulfilled with a business mostly involving tailing errant spouses, so the idea was abandoned. Maybe now was the time to resurrect it.

  The phone rang and brought him back to reality. He snatched it up.

  ‘Angel,’ he said.

  It was Harker, who coughed several times and then said, ‘There’s a triple nine. An anonymous caller reported a body found on Fish Lane, wherever that is.’

  Angel’s heart began to race. A body. All thoughts of leaving the force vanished. He knew exactly where Fish Lane was. It was a footpath between Salmon Cottages and Ashfield Lodge Farm.

  ‘Constable Weightman was on early shift and near the place,’ Harker said. ‘Control room sent him to investigate. He’s just confirmed it’s a body. Looks like another attack by that animal. See to it, lad.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ Angel said. He cancelled the call then tapped in a number. As it connected, he waited, gripping the phone tightly. The back of his hand suddenly felt unusually ice-cold. He glanced down and saw that the hairs were as stiff as a judge’s collar.

  Ahmed knocked on the door and came in.

  Angel replaced the phone. ‘I was just ringing you, lad. There’s a triple nine . . . a body found on Salmon Lane.’

  Ahmed’s jaw dropped.

  ‘Ring DS Taylor and Dr Mac immediately on your phone and ask them to attend.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ Ahmed said.

  ‘And have you contacted Crisp, Carter and Scrivens yet about the Hobbs case being handed over to the coroner?’

  Ahmed looked embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I haven’t had a chance. The phone’s never stopped and you —’

  ‘That’s OK. Cancel that order. Say nothing about it to them or anybody.’

  ‘Can I ask why, sir?’

  ‘I have the feeling that we’ll find that this body has been murdered in the same way as Julius Hobbs, which means that, in my opinion, a human is involved and therefore the inquiries would be justified.’

  Ahmed looked troubled. ‘But what about the super, sir?’ he said.

  Angel hesitated then gave him a political reply: ‘He’ll be delighted if we crack the case, Ahmed.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that, sir. I mean, didn’t he give you an order?’

  Angel looked at him closely and shook his head. ‘I know exactly what you meant, Ahmed,’ he said. Then he added significantly, ‘But we’re not going to tell him, a
re we?’

  The young man’s face brightened as realization dawned. ‘Oh no, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Good.’

  Ahmed went out.

  Angel reached for his coat.

  * * *

  Angel drove the BMW down Ashfield Road to the front of Ashfield Lodge Farm, which was as close to Fish Lane as he could get by car. He stopped the BMW, pulled on the handbrake and got out. He had arranged to meet DS Carter there. He looked around for her. His eyes alighted on a black and white cat through the bars of the grey, tubular steel gate across the front of the farmyard. The cat sped silently across the yard from the direction of the house. Angel watched it push its head into a hole in the side of a wooden barn. As it advanced further into the hole, its bottom wobbled rapidly and then disappeared. Angel rubbed his chin. Then he heard running footsteps behind him. He looked round and saw Flora Carter rushing towards him.

  ‘There you are, sir.’

  ‘What you found out, Flora?’ Angel said. ‘Don Taylor here?’

  ‘Yes, sir. And Doctor Mac.’

  He nodded. ‘Good. Where’s the body?’

  ‘Down here, sir.’

  ‘I’ll follow you. Have you set up the door to door?’

  ‘No, sir. Only just got here myself.’

  ‘It should have been done. See to it as soon as we’ve finished here. But not Miss Ephemore Sharpe’s farm. She wouldn’t help us anyway. But every house, coal-hole, caravan, dog kennel and rat trap that has a door or a window that overlooks the scene. All right?’

  ‘Right, sir. It’s along this path. It veers to the right. Between the farm and Salmon Cottages. I wish I’d worn my boots. It’s a bit muddy.’

  They went down the side of the farm wall, turned left and then picked their way along the back of a row of houses, passing the usual array of police vehicles with lights flashing and RTs chattering. They reached the taped area where PC Weightman, a big man who had been in the force more than twenty years, was on guard. He threw up a salute.

  Angel acknowledged it and said, ‘You found the body, John, I heard?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Weightman said, as he lifted up the tape. ‘After a tip off,’ he added.