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

by Roger Silverwood

  ‘Is it male or female?’

  ‘Couldn’t tell, sir.’

  Angel’s eyebrows went up and he wrinkled his nose as he followed Flora Carter down the lane towards a white canopy that was set up across the muddy footpath forty yards ahead.

  Carter said, ‘I heard it’s female, sir. Couldn’t say how old. Apparently the straps of a vest or slip . . . and a bra are partly distinguishable. She’s been badly chewed up by the animal.’

  The corners of his mouth turned down as he realized he would have to view another atrocity.

  DS Taylor came out of the canopy. He was in the obligatory sterile, white, one-piece overall with hood, boots and gloves. He saw Angel and Carter and walked towards them.

  ‘What you got, Don?’

  ‘Not a lot, sir. Looks like another attack from a cat,’ Taylor said. ‘This time on a female. Age indeterminate.’

  Angel frowned. ‘How bad?’

  ‘Bad, sir. Face and the top half of her body are mutilated. She’s been badly mauled and parts of her have been eaten, her face, breasts and most of an arm. And there are claw scratches on her arms and legs. Again there are paw prints, twelve clear enough to take moulds of, but no human footprints.’

  ‘Time of death?’

  ‘Not sure. But like the previous case, the woman wasn’t killed here. The body was moved. There are hypostasis marks on her arms and a leg that I could see. It had been face up for at least six hours before being turned on its side.’

  ‘You found it on its side?’

  Taylor nodded. ‘I know it’s a bit unusual, sir. Its shoulders and hips are on their side, but the arms and legs are not. They’re all over the place. You’ll see for yourself.’

  Angel frowned. He was in no hurry to view the body. ‘Any ID?’ he said.

  ‘No, sir. There’s no sign of a bag or a coat with pockets or laundry marks on the bits of clothing as far as we could see. Dr Mac might find something when he has the body on the slab.’ Taylor pointed to the canopy behind him and said, ‘He’s about finished here.’

  Angel nodded then turned to Carter and said, ‘Have you any gloves, Flora? Did you bring any?’

  Her mouth opened and her eyes flashed. She wasn’t pleased. ‘No, sir,’ she said.

  Angel frowned. He wasn’t pleased either. ‘We need gloves,’ he said. ‘Well, don’t touch anything.’

  He pushed his hands firmly into the pockets in the sterile suit.

  Taylor looked sympathetically at Flora and then said, ‘There isn’t a lot you would want to touch, sir.’

  Angel and Flora Carter followed Taylor into the canopy.

  A powerful stark light on a tripod illuminated a mess of pink flesh, a head of dark hair, two open eyes, and torn remnants of clothes. There was dried blood everywhere. The body was located mostly on the grass verge but one leg was stretched out at an extreme angle on the muddy path.

  Dr Mac in the white sterile overalls, was crouching over the body, packing his bag. He looked up. His eyes over the mask showed his distaste.

  The horror of the scene caused Angel’s pulse to bang in his ears as loud as a Salvation Army drum.

  Angel methodically looked over the scene and the body. It consisted of dried blood, raw flesh and torn clothes. He noted the long naked shapely leg with claw marks in three places. He counted twelve numbered casts of paw prints in the mud on the path. He looked for signs of human footprints and saw none. He rubbed his chin. He wrinkled his nose. Then he opened the canopy flap and emerged.

  Flora Carter followed him out into the field, then quickly rushed past him and darted behind a bush, a handkerchief to her mouth.

  Angel’s face creased when he heard the throaty noise followed by the sound of vomit landing on the ground.

  Doctor Mac came up from behind him. He cast a quick glance in the direction of the bush. ‘A stiff brandy cured me, Michael. I used to carry a bottle in here,’ he said holding up his bag.

  Angel strode out, eager to get away from the place.

  PC Weightman held up the boundary tape for them. As they dodged under it, Angel said, ‘I think you must be slipping in your old age, Mac.’

  The little Scot raised his bushy eyebrows and said, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I’m waiting for an update on Julius Hobbs.’

  ‘I’ve only had him two days.’

  ‘It’s not like you to dally about.’

  ‘I’ve not been dallying about. I’ve all the hospital PMs to do as well as police work, you know. Anyway, I have almost finished.’

  Angel didn’t reply. They walked on a few more steps in silence.

  ‘I think I know what’s getting at you, Michael,’ the doctor said.

  ‘Well, you old fox, if you know, why do you keep me in suspense?’

  ‘You don’t think the death of Hobbs and therefore probably the death of this woman has been brought about by an animal, do you?’

  Angel sighed impatiently. ‘Don’t dance around it, Mac. If you’ve something to say, say it!’ he said.

  ‘I can’t say it, Michael, because I have nothing conclusive to say.’

  ‘But you have an opinion. A professional opinion, I mean.’

  ‘My professional opinion is that we have to wait and see, but I promise to phone you if I find anything remotely suspicious about that young man’s death or about this woman’s death.’

  * * *

  ‘Now, Vince, this might seem a very strange question,’ Angel said into the phone. He spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘But is it possible, by use of some sort of bait, or signal, or smell, or some other way, to train a cougar to attack and kill a specific person?’

  Professor Stevenson didn’t reply immediately.

  ‘You mean by sticking bait in his pocket or spraying him with a specific smell?’ he said.

  ‘Well . . . yes . . . any way at all, like that. And . . . so that the target doesn’t realize he, or she, has been marked?’

  The professor took a deep breath before he replied. ‘I am not sure, Michael. Unusual relationships do exist between animals and humans, but I really can’t see how a person could develop a sophisticated rapport with a cougar that would enable him to train it to that sort of degree. Almost all big cats I have had dealings with are simple creatures, interested in survival, copulation with their own kind, the protection and nurturing of their cubs, food . . . and little else. They are not looking for trouble. If they attack a beast or a human, it would be because they are hungry, or because they believe they are trapped, or because the beast or human is a threat or thought to be a threat to their cubs. In situations where they might find themselves cornered they would only be interested in escaping and would attack only to facilitate their escape. And when they are hungry, they would only attack a human if there is nothing else to eat. Believe me, Michael, the young flesh of a gazelle or a sheep would always be preferred to that of a wiry human.’

  Angel rubbed his chin. The professor’s reply seemed pretty comprehensive.

  ‘Right, Vince. Thank you,’ he said. Then he added, ‘There’s something else. It might seem to you to be a bit far-fetched, but this is a very difficult case, and it came to me . . . and I thought . . . I wondered . . . erm . . .’ His voice faded to silence.

  The professor said, ‘Yes, Michael?’

  Angel began slowly. ‘Is it likely, Vince . . . nay, is it possible . . . actually to . . . to hypnotize a cougar? You can possibly see where I am going with this?’

  ‘I think I can see exactly where you are going,’ the professor said. ‘I can’t say I have any knowledge of large cats of any kind being hypnotized, Michael. Mmm. But . . . well, a few years ago, I saw a Chinese girl hypnotize alligators.’

  ‘Alligators?’ The pupils of Angel’s eyes froze. He looked straight ahead. ‘So it is possible?’ he said.

  ‘Well,’ the professor began, slowly, ‘bear with me. Fifteen years ago, I went to an out-of-the-way village in the Sichuan mountains of China, and there was a big, round,
wooden, purpose-built structure about fifteen metres across, and had walls about four metres high, but it didn’t have a roof. Inside was a small pool and a few rocks and bushes, and languishing by the pool were eight alligators. There was a high viewing platform built all round the outside of the structure so that visitors on payment of a few yuan could mount the steps and look down at the alligators below. It was quite alarming. Anyway, I paid my money, climbed up the steps, chose a place to stand, leaned over the top of the rail and looked down at them. I must say, I love animals, but they took a bit of taking to. They were mostly somnolent until the music — if you can call it that — started. It was Chinese, of course, and very noisy. Then the alligators began excitedly running around in every direction. They can move at great speed, you know. I couldn’t identify any pattern or explanation except that the music must have warned them what to expect. Outside the pit, at ground level, a Chinese girl dressed in a big colourful gown and wearing a huge headpiece the shape of a fan appeared. She was carrying a torch. There was a door into the pit and, on cue, the torch was ignited and the girl went through the door into the pit. The animals slowed down and stared at her and the flaming torch.’

  ‘Was it that girl who hypnotized them?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m coming to that. The girl paraded confidently among them, waving the torch. They all stared at her and slowly edged towards her . . . they began making a circle round her, which made me feel very uneasy, I can tell you. I knew that if she had been bitten by any of them, that initial smell of blood would have incited the other alligators to attack her, and eight alligators would have made very, very short work of her. Anyway, they walked round her, then as they felt brave enough, one by one they advanced towards her. As she spotted one coming, she waved the flame in front of it, stared into its eyes until it stopped moving. She held the gaze for a couple of seconds then turned away from it with a flourish, and the alligator was transfixed. It had its eyes — and often its jaws — wide open. She looked up at the audience, waved the torch and everybody cheered and applauded. She did the same to each of the other alligators, until all eight were like statues. Then the door into the pit opened and men rushed in with meat and fruit on a trolley, which they left in the centre of the ring. Another man went to the pool and did something to it. They all carefully avoided actually touching the animals. The girl stood on a rock in the centre of the pit, I suppose she was watching the reptiles, making sure that none of them woke up. Anyhow, when the men had finished — it took about a minute . . . they went out, and when the door was safely closed again, the girl went round to each alligator in turn and either touched it, or looked into its eyes, or spoke to it, or all three, I couldn’t be sure. The reptile instantly came back to life, looked round, seemed all right and dashed off to the pile of food left in the centre of the room and began eating ravenously. When all eight were concentrating on eating, the girl came safely out of the pit to tumultuous applause.’

  Eventually Angel said, ‘That’s amazing, Vince, truly amazing. But it isn’t quite what I meant.’

  The professor frowned. ‘Oh?’ he said.

  ‘Well, I mean the girl didn’t instruct them to go anywhere or do anything,’ Angel said.

  ‘She didn’t command the alligators to fetch a ball, or jump through a hoop, or anything like that, Michael, but she certainly got them to stay stock still until she ‘released’ them.’

  Angel nodded. ‘Were they actually hypnotized?’

  ‘I don’t know if each alligator was actually hypnotized, but she clearly had great power over them.’

  Angel rubbed his chin. ‘Mmm. But could that be replicated with a cougar, or a team of cougars? Would it be possible for a human to be able to control and direct cats to attack and kill a particular person?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know, Michael. But, thinking about it, I don’t rule it out.’

  Angel permitted himself a slight smile. The outlook was improving. His heart felt lighter. He smiled and breathed out a long sigh. ‘All right, Vince. Let’s assume that it could be done. Then how would you direct a cat, specifically a cougar, to attack and kill an intended victim?’

  The professor rubbed his chin for a few moments then he said, ‘Well, I would cage the cat up so that it could not obtain food elsewhere, then feed it its favourite food, say raw, fresh flesh from a sheep, to which I had applied a small amount of a particular scent. I would reduce the amount of meat and increase the strength of the scent each day for about two months, so that the cougar would still be healthy but also ravenous and in no doubt that that scent indicated ‘good food’. Then I would apply that same scent to my target and arrange to have the target victim somewhere near where the cougar was being kept. Then I would release the cougar.’

  Angel nodded. Things were looking up. It was a dreadful thought but the professor had made the proposition viable. He sighed, smiled and said, ‘Thank you very much, Vince.’

  8

  Angel arrived home in a heavy rainstorm at just after half past five.

  He came in by the back door as always which opened directly into the kitchen. He closed the door and locked it. It was warm and there was the comforting smell of cooking. He noted with satisfaction that something was simmering in a pan on a ring and he saw that the oven was on.

  There was no sign of Mary.

  ‘Anybody home?’ he called.

  He was pleased to be inside on such a filthy night. He began to unbutton his wet coat.

  Mary came in from the hall. Unusually, she was all dressed up in a blue costume, high-heeled shoes and in full war paint.

  Angel’s eyebrows shot up. He was tired and in no mood to go out or have visitors. ‘What’s happening?’ he said.

  She smiled and said, ‘You’re late. Everything all right?’

  He leaned over to give her a kiss.

  She offered her cheek but said, ‘Mind my hair, love.’

  He kissed her then said, ‘What’s this? Are you going out?’

  She was surprised. She looked at him and said, ‘Haven’t you asked anybody to come?’

  He frowned, looked at her curiously and said, ‘What do you mean?’

  She straightened up, put her hands on her hips and said, ‘Haven’t you asked anybody to come and open the safe?’

  With furrowed brow, Angel finished removing his coat and went into the hall to the boxed-in space under the stairs to hang it up. That’s where he kept his top coat, umbrella, gardening shoes and other miscellaneous bits. As soon as he opened the door, he understood better what Mary was talking about. Inside the little cubby hole, much to his surprise, stood the safe. It looked even bigger than it did at Uncle Willy’s. His jaw dropped. He turned back to her.

  ‘Just after you left this morning,’ she said, ‘I had a phone call from Mr Smith himself. He said that they suddenly found that they had a time slot this morning in which they could move the safe, so I said if it was convenient to Mrs Goodman then it would be all right by us. Smith’s men actually delivered it at twelve o’clock. I knew you’d be pleased.’

  Angel wasn’t pleased. He threw his coat on the chair in the hall and ran his hand through his hair. That’s why she was dressed up. She had been expecting him to have found someone to come that evening to open the safe. She always liked to look her best to strangers, particularly on first acquaintance. He sighed.

  She produced a crumpled piece of paper, which she passed to him. ‘Oh yes, Michael, and here’s the bill.’

  The corners of his mouth turned down. He slowly unfolded it, saw that the bottom figure was as quoted, then stuffed it into his back pocket.

  He crossed in front of her and went into the kitchen. ‘What’s for tea?’

  Mary followed him in. ‘Aren’t you pleased?’ she said.

  ‘What’s all the rush about? Why didn’t you ring me?’

  ‘Well, we agreed that we were going to get Smiths to move it, didn’t we?’

  ‘Yes, but not necessarily today.’

  ‘Well, what
’s wrong with today?’

  ‘Nothing, I suppose. I just wonder what all the rush is about?’

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased. I haven’t bothered you with it. It’s out of Doreen’s hair. It’s ours — well, yours. You wanted it here. You agreed that Smiths should move it. I don’t know why you are so — so difficult?’

  ‘I didn’t want it under the stairs, for one thing.’

  ‘Where else was I supposed to put it?’

  Angel knew that his only legitimate gripe was that he hadn’t been consulted. He also knew he wouldn’t have been pleased to have had a phone call from Mary about the safe in addition to everything else that happened at the station that day.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said quietly. ‘But it can’t stay there. If it leaks out that we have a safe like that in the house, we’ll be burgled. Now what’s for tea?’

  ‘What about getting a key for it?’

  ‘Can’t. It’s a Phillip’s and they were bombed out of business in 1942.’

  ‘Well how are we going to get it open then?’

  ‘We’ll have to get an expert. There will be somebody at Wakefield who will know what to do about it.’

  ‘You mean one of your police contacts? They’ll take for ages. Isn’t there anybody nearer who will do it now?’

  Angel shook his head.

  Mary’s eyes flashed excitedly. ‘There’s bound to be one of your old customers who could open it,’ she said. ‘They’d do it for you.’

  Angel frowned. He pursed his lips. Since safes, alarm systems and CCTV had become more sophisticated, there were fewer top-class safe breakers around. Many were serving time in prison. It was a highly specialist art often passed down from father to son. ‘There’s old Geoffrey Rollings, known as ‘Gelly Roll Rollings’,’ he said. ‘Lives on Barber Street. One of the best. But I can’t approach him.’

  Mary glared at him and flashed her big eyes. ‘Why not?’ she said.

  His jaw tightened. He ran his hand through his hair, looked at the pan boiling on the oven top, and said, ‘Because it’s tea time, and I want my tea. We can deal with all that tomorrow, or Friday, or over the weekend. Right now, I want something to eat, please! I’m starving.’