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

by Roger Silverwood

  * * *

  When Angel arrived the following morning, Ahmed, who had been on the lookout for him, followed him through the door into his office.

  ‘What is it, lad?’ Angel said as he took off his coat.

  ‘There’s an urgent message for you from Sergeant Clifton, sir. He’s the duty sergeant on the desk. Will you phone him as soon as possible? He’s off in half an hour.’

  Angel reached out to his phone, tapped in a number and put it to his ear.

  Ahmed turned to go.

  ‘Hang on. There might be something I want you to do.’

  Angel heard a voice in the earpiece: ‘Night desk, Sergeant Clifton.’

  ‘DI Angel here. You have something for me?’

  ‘Ah yes, sir. It might be of interest. A man came into the station at four twenty-two this morning. He had obviously been drinking. He said his name was Maxwell Green. He was inquiring about his son, Jamie, and his ex-wife, Wendy Green who, he said, were not at home, and he was anxious to know where they were. I said that it was not a police matter and that he should make inquiries elsewhere. But he wouldn’t leave it at that. He said that he had been in his car outside the house waiting for them from four o’clock yesterday afternoon until four o’clock this morning. He said the house was obviously deserted but that his ex-wife was unlikely to be far away because her car was still in the garage, the upstairs bathroom window was slightly open and the sink was full of pots. Also he said that his son, Jamie, who is eleven years of age, wasn’t there. Now, because the lad is a minor, I thought you might want to get involved, sir.’

  Angel’s face creased. He already had two mysterious deaths to deal with. He had to make up his mind whether in addition he wanted to be involved in that inquiry or leave it to the uniformed branch. There were several questions needed answers before he could make that decision.

  ‘Yes, Sergeant,’ Angel said. ‘Did he say why he wanted to get in touch with his ex-wife at that ridiculous time?’

  ‘No, sir. Didn’t ask him directly. Didn’t want to encourage him. I thought it was a simple domestic’

  Angel nodded. ‘Did he have any thoughts about where his son might be?’

  ‘Not specifically. He did say that he spent a lot of time with her parents.’

  ‘What’s their address?’

  ‘He didn’t say.’

  ‘Didn’t you ask?’

  ‘Never thought it was going to lead into an inquiry we’d be concerned with, sir. We had a very busy night and were shorthanded. I have three men off with ’flu. I was greatly occupied in processing the work and moving him on.’

  Angel knew the feeling. It was honest of Sergeant Clifton to admit it.

  ‘How can I get in touch with this Maxwell Green?’ Angel said.

  ‘Well, sir, I know he’s staying at The Feathers, but actually he’s back . . . been here half an hour. He’s in the reception area.’

  * * *

  Ahmed showed Maxwell Green into Angel’s office and then went out and closed the door.

  ‘You must be Inspector Angel?’ Green said.

  ‘Come in,’ Angel said. ‘Please sit down.’

  Green was wearing a smart, expensive suit, but no tie and he needed a shave and his hair brushing down. Angel was quick to smell whisky on him, and he saw a gold and red coloured screw-cap bottle top sticking out of his jacket pocket. He recognized it as a half-bottle of MacFarlane’s Scotch Whisky. He wrinkled his nose. Whisky. The smell of second-hand whisky was not pleasant.

  ‘The duty sergeant tells me that you are worried about your son, Jamie, Mr Green,’ Angel said. ‘Also that you cannot find out where your ex-wife, Wendy Green has disappeared to.’

  ‘That’s right. Have you any news?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Angel said. ‘I have sent an officer to the address you gave us. He should be reporting to me by phone soon.’

  The man made a grunting noise indicating his disappointment.

  ‘You understand, Mr Green,’ Angel said, ‘that more than five thousand people a year in this country are reported missing. The police service does not, indeed cannot, commit time to trying to find out where these people have gone to, nor investigate the reasons why they have disappeared.’

  Green glared across the desk at him. ‘All right, all right,’ he said. ‘I don’t need a lecture.’

  Angel’s jaw muscles tightened. ‘It’s not a lecture. I am just familiarizing you with the facts, and I haven’t finished.’

  ‘Well, hurry up then. I am concerned for my son. I don’t need a lecture and excuses why you haven’t yet made any efforts to find him.’

  ‘I don’t deal in excuses, Mr Green. If there are any shortcomings at this station, I assure you they are dealt with severely. I was going on to say that two-thirds of the people who go missing are people who, for reasons of their own, want to disappear to avoid something or somebody, and they reappear months, or sometimes years, later. We are, however, greatly concerned in cases where a minor goes missing or where it is thought a crime has been committed.’

  ‘Well my son, Jamie, is a minor, isn’t he? He’s only eleven.’

  ‘Yes. I know. So let’s start with trying to find out where he is. All right?’

  Green’s eyes brightened and he leaned eagerly forward in the chair. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  Angel noticed that the man’s eyes were pink round the rims, possibly indicating that the man had been crying. Angel was beginning to develop an uneasy feeling about him.

  ‘Is there anywhere your son might be where you have not already looked?’

  ‘I haven’t looked anywhere. I didn’t know where to start. I waited outside Wendy’s house in my car hoping to see him as he came home from school yesterday afternoon, but he didn’t arrive. Wendy sometimes asked her mum and dad to take care of him if she was going to be late or away or whatever. He could be there.’

  ‘What’s their name and address?’

  ‘Woods is their name. They live at 120 Hoyland Road.’

  ‘What’s their phone number?’

  ‘Don’t know. They changed it and went ex-directory to stop me ringing them up.’

  ‘Why did you ring them up?’ Angel said, as he tapped in a number on his mobile.

  ‘I had to ring them up. They were often the only people who knew where Jamie was . . . he was often with them. Of course, they were on her side. But I had to know he was all right. I had to know whether she was looking after him or not. And, in the early days, to find out where she was. You have to understand they were difficult days.’

  Angel heard a voice from his mobile. It was Ahmed.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Angel said to Green, then into the phone he said, ‘Ahmed, find out quickly who lives at 120 Hoyland Road and get me their phone number.’

  He closed the phone and turned back to Green, who was holding his head in his hands.

  ‘That shouldn’t take long,’ Angel said. ‘You were telling me about when you were phoning Mr and Mrs Woods, and that they were difficult days.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ he said through his hands, ‘finding Jamie is what matters now.’

  Angel nodded then ran the tip of his tongue along his lower lip as he thought how he might progress the questioning.

  ‘How long had you been married?’

  ‘Nine years. We divorced two years ago. What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘You told the sergeant that Mrs Green’s car was in the garage, there were some pots in the sink and that there was a window open. You must have been up to the house and had a good look round?’

  He suddenly looked up. ‘Yes. No harm in that, is there?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘I didn’t go into the house, if that’s what you were thinking. I stood like a good boy on the front door mat — the mat I bought, incidentally — and rang the bell, which I also paid for. There was no reply. I rang it three times and then walked round the house and peered through the windows and the garage window. I thought she couldn’t be
far away, and that Jamie would be back from school in ten or fifteen minutes.’

  ‘When he didn’t arrive, you knew the address of your wife’s parents, why didn’t you go there and ask them?’

  ‘You make it sound so simple and so easy. I was expecting Wendy, also Jamie, any second, wasn’t I? Any second. If I had pushed off to 120 Hoyland Road, I might have missed him. I didn’t want to risk that.’

  Angel rubbed his chin.

  ‘Besides,’ Green added. ‘I didn’t expect to get a good reception there. They don’t like me. I wasn’t in any hurry to ask them whether my son was with them or not. It might have led — almost certainly would have led — to more argument.’

  ‘Had your relationship with them always been difficult?’

  ‘What has it to do with the case?’

  Angel’s mobile rang. He fished it out of his pocket, glanced at the LED. ‘It’s my sergeant,’ he said. ‘Excuse me.’

  ‘Yes, lad?’ he said into the phone. ‘What have you got?’

  ‘I’m inside the house now, sir,’ Crisp said. ‘There’s nobody here and it looks like there’s been nobody here all night. The central heating is switched on. There’s plenty of food in the fridge. Beds made. It seems to be clean and orderly apart from a few dirty pots in the sink. Even the garden is in good order.’

  ‘Do you think it has recently been occupied?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir. Fancy underwear on the bed. Very sexy.’

  Angel blinked. ‘How did you gain access?’

  ‘The front door was unlocked, sir.’

  Angel’s eyebrows shot up. His heart began to thump. ‘Say that again.’

  ‘I said, the front door was unlocked. I knocked a couple of times and waited, then tried it and walked in.’

  Angel pursed his lips. Everybody locks the house door when they are going out, particularly if they expect to be away overnight. The situation was beginning to look strange. He needed to speak to the boy’s maternal grandparents, and he needed to speak to them very soon.

  ‘Right, lad,’ he said. ‘I hope you haven’t put your dabs everywhere. I may have to have SOCO to go over it. Anyway, get out of there and wait in your car. I’ll send somebody to relieve you. Obviously if anybody turns up, detain them and let me know.’

  Green jumped up and said, ‘What’s happening? Has your man found anything?’

  Angel closed the phone and turned back to the man. ‘My sergeant’s in the house now,’ he said. ‘And there’s nobody there. He found the front door unlocked. Was it unlocked when you were there?’

  ‘I don’t know. I did not try it. Never thought of it. It may have been. I am an ex-husband, Inspector Angel. It is no longer my house. I have no legal rights there. I bought it and I pay to maintain it, but I am not even allowed in the bloody place.’

  ‘Did your wife usually lock the door when she left the house?’

  ‘Always. She wouldn’t dream of leaving it unlocked.’

  The phone rang again. It was Ahmed. ‘Yes?’

  ‘The name of the people who live at that address, sir, are Mr and Mrs Ian Woods and their phone number is Bromersley 221337.’

  ‘Thank you, lad,’ Angel said. Then he cancelled the call from Ahmed and tapped in the Woods’ number.

  Green said, ‘What’s happening? What have you found out? Who are you phoning now?’

  Angel said, ‘Your ex-in-laws, the Woods.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ he said.

  It rang out for about a minute but it wasn’t answered.

  Angel rubbed his chin. He really needed to speak to them.

  He cancelled the call and re-entered the number. It rang out a good while and then it was answered by a man with a little voice. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Who is that?’

  ‘Is that Mr Ian Woods?’

  ‘Yes. Who is speaking?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Angel of Bromersley Police. I am urgently seeking the whereabouts of your grandson, Jamie Green. Is he with you?’

  ‘No. He left here for school at half past eight. That would be in plenty of time for assembly at nine o’clock. He should be there. Why? He’s all right, isn’t he? He’s not been in an accident?’

  ‘He’s fine, as far as we know, Mr Woods,’ Angel said, ‘just checking. What’s the name of the school and what form is he in?’

  ‘St John’s on York Street. He’s in 2B.’

  ‘Thank you. Did he stay with you last night then?’

  ‘Yes, he did. He does frequently . . . when our daughter goes out for the evening, or whatever. He stayed Wednesday night, as well. What is this all about?’

  ‘Did your daughter go out last night?’

  ‘Well, now . . . there’s a funny thing . . . I don’t rightly know. What’s this all about, Inspector?’

  ‘Have you any idea where your daughter is now?’

  ‘No. I don’t. To tell the truth we are a bit worried . . . we haven’t been able to reach her on the phone since Tuesday morning.’

  That was it, the confirmation Angel had needed. His heart began to pound. In his chest, an angry volcano spewed out white hot lava. It was a reliable indicator. It augured that something dreadful had happened to Wendy Green.

  ‘I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes or sooner. Please don’t go out.’

  ‘We are not going anywhere, Inspector, but —’

  Angel closed the phone and turned to Green. ‘Jamie spent the night with Mr and Mrs Woods. He’s OK and appears at this moment to be at school. I’ll get my officers to see him and check that he is all right in every particular and then call you within the hour to report on what they find. In the meantime, I suggest that you go back to The Feathers, have some breakfast, a shower and get some sleep.’

  9

  Angel ran down the corridor followed by Flora Carter. They went out of the station by the rear door and got into the BMW. He started up the car and drove it out of the car park.

  ‘There’s a lot I want you to do, Flora,’ Angel said, as he took the corner towards town, ‘and there isn’t much time to tell you, so get your notebook out and listen up.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  ‘We are going to the Woods’ house; I am going to interview them. While I’m there, I want you to take my car, go to St John’s school and find young Jamie Green in Form 2B. Have a word with him and see if he’s OK. Gently ask him if he knows where his mother is. Then take a photograph of him, print it and take it to his father, Maxwell Green. He’s staying at The Feathers. Room 22. Make sure you get there by nine fifty-five. I promised him that. Tell him how his son is and check that the pic is that of his son. All right?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then phone Don Taylor at SOCO and ask him to fingerprint Wendy Green’s house at 16 Creesforth Road, ASAP. I want him to take prints from all the vital places, door handles, telephones, taps, ledges, rims and so on. He’ll know where. It’s a precaution, really, just in case there has been any foul play. I want to look over the house myself sometime today. Also ask Inspector Asquith to have the property guarded twenty-four seven until further notice, also ASAP. And I need an officer immediately to relieve Trevor Crisp who is there outside in his car waiting. See that they understand that I want anybody approaching the house stopped, identified and detained. Then come back here and collect me. Have you got all that?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Angel was near his destination. He slowed down the BMW and lowered the window. ‘Right. This is Hoyland Road,’ he said. ‘I want number 120.’

  ‘There’s a 111 on your right, sir,’ Flora said. ‘So the Woods will be on your left.’

  ‘This is it,’ he said, and he stopped the car in front of a small terrace house, amid a long row of similar houses.

  He jumped out quickly, crossed the pavement, opened the little gate up to the front door as Flora Carter took hold of the steering wheel and drove the BMW away.

  The front door was opened before he could ring the bell. A small man in his sixties said, ‘Are you from the poli
ce?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Detective Inspector Angel, Bromersley Police.’

  ‘I am Ian Woods. Come in. Come in, Inspector,’ he said. ‘I’ll close the door. Please go through to the back. My wife is in there.’

  Angel made his way through a small room with a three-piece suite squeezed around a coffee table, passed the bottom of a stairway that was pitch-black at the top, through another half-open door into the kitchen. A small, neat lady was sitting in a rocking chair at one side of a range. Angel nodded and smiled, but the woman responded with a look as hard as Bromersley water.

  ‘It’s the Inspector, Isabel,’ Woods said dashing in behind Angel and closing the kitchen door. He glanced at Angel and said, ‘Sit down, Inspector. Is our daughter Wendy all right? Where is she exactly?’

  ‘I am still seeking information about her, I’m afraid, Mr Woods. When was the last time you made contact with her?’

  Mr and Mrs Woods looked at each other with drawn, pained faces.

  Angel experienced some of the concern and fear they were going through.

  Woods took a deep breath and said, ‘It would have been Tuesday lunchtime. She phoned at about one o’clock to ask us if we would have Jamie to sleep over that night, to give him his tea, see that he did his homework, give him breakfast and send him off to school yesterday morning.’

  ‘And there was nothing at all unusual about that?’

  ‘In itself, no. Not at all. Since her divorce, we have had Jamie for sleepovers many, many times. We like having him. He’s got some clothes and pyjamas here. He’s a grand lad and we love him to bits. But she didn’t phone us yesterday at all to see how he was or anything, or arrange to collect him. And I phoned her several times but didn’t get a reply, so we told Jamie to come back here yesterday. After school as well. We’ve still not been able to reach her, and she hasn’t contacted us.’

  ‘Why did she ask you to look after him? Was there any particular reason?’

  Woods looked at his wife again. The corners of her mouth turned downwards. She lowered her eyes and shrugged. Woods looked down, sighed and then said, ‘Well, Inspector, to tell the truth she was going out with other men.’