‘Stop it,’ Angel said, ‘and run it back to where he first comes into the picture, then let it run to when he walks out of it.’
‘Right, sir. But that will only run for two or three seconds.’
‘That’s all right, lass. Do it a few times. It might just shake my memory.’
As he watched the screen, he said, ‘I do remember this lad. He was with his father and one other. They were doing the “leftover tarmac” scam.’
Flora frowned. ‘What’s that one, sir?’ she said.
‘Well, the scammers usually pick on the elderly or infirm who have a drive that is maybe a bit tatty. The most presentable of the team knocks on the door of the poor soul and says something like: “I was just in the neighbourhood resurfacing a drive, madam, and we’ve some tarmac left … just enough to even off your drive and smarten it up. It would normally cost around a thousand pounds, but we could do it for only two hundred pounds. Would you like us to do your drive?” ’
‘And I suppose some people fall for it,’ Flora said.
‘Yes, but there’s more. They make a dreadful job of it. They just throw some tarmac over the drive any old how, they don’t bother to make it even or roll it; then the whole team of three or four heavies knock on the door for payment. Of course there are usually protests but the bullies flex their muscles and scare the old folk, who consequently pay them. Sometimes they try to increase the price if they see the customer has more money than the agreed amount. When they’ve got the cash they make a quick exit. The poor souls they’ve swindled are often too embarrassed to admit they were taken in, and, in any case, they don’t have a clue who the men were or where they came from. It’s a despicable crime to aim at the old or disabled.’
‘How was this gang caught, then, sir?’
‘I think an old couple happened to catch sight of their vehicle and note its registration number, and our further inquiries subsequently brought the case to court.’
‘I hope you’ll be able to find out who this is and pick him up, sir.’
‘Well, Flora, I’ll buzz off and try to find the records of this case, and have this lad brought in. Well done, lass. Keep looking for any other villains. Also note the time that this lad leaves the hotel.’
‘Right, sir.’
SIX
Angel picked up the phone and tapped in a single digit. It rang out a regular bleep. It was soon answered. ‘Control room, Sergeant Clifton.’
‘Ah, Bernie, DI Angel. I want you to send a couple of lads to 4, Sebastopol Terrace. Pick up a Thomas Johnson, wanted to assist us in our inquiries.’
‘Do you want him in your office, sir?’
‘Better put him in an interview room.’
‘Right, sir.’
Angel cancelled the call, then checked on the address list on his phone, found Crisp’s mobile phone number and clicked on it.
‘Good morning, sir,’ Crisp said. ‘I was just about to call you.’
‘Well. Where are you, lad, and what have you found out?’
‘I’m staying at the Blue Thistle Hotel, Clyde Street, Glasgow, sir. And I’ve got started. I went to Robinson’s flat last night. It’s a bit rough, and it turns out that he was living with his girlfriend. Well, she called herself his partner. Her name is Michelle Brown. I introduced myself and broke the news to her. She was naturally upset and shocked, and she told me that she thought he was two-timing her but she had no idea who with.’
‘Did she know he had come to Bromersley?’
‘Oh yes. He had told her that he owed a bookie £800, that he was putting the squeeze on him, but it was all right because somebody in Bromersley owed him some money and he was coming down to get it. And that he had expected to get back up here by Tuesday.’
‘Did he tell her the name of the bookie he owed money to, or the one who owed him the money?’
‘No, sir. She also told me that he owed money on his credit card and was behind with his rent on the flat.’
Angel wrinkled his nose. ‘Oh. Hadn’t they any money coming in? Was he working?’
‘No, sir. He’d had a job on the railway but had left it after a couple of weeks. He said it was boring, it didn’t pay enough and that he was better off on the dole. Michelle had a good job in a supermarket in Glasgow.’
‘Were you able to find out anything at all about the person who Robinson said actually owed him the money he came down here to collect?’
‘No, sir. Do you think if I found his last place of work on the railway and went there, I’d be able to find out – perhaps from a workmate – who it was in Bromersley that owed him that money?’
Angel blew out a foot of air. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, rubbing his chin. ‘On reflection, though, I don’t think he’s likely to tell a workmate he’d known only two weeks something about his finances that he hadn’t also told this girl, Michelle.’
Crisp nodded. ‘I suppose you’re right, sir.’
‘What about his parents and other members of his family … and friends?’
‘Michelle said that he’d told her that he’d more or less split from his family in Cheshire in 2009, and that he hadn’t any friends. She’s been with him a year and she’s not seen any correspondence to or from anybody. He said he was a loner, and that had proved to be true, except for this mystery woman Michelle had said was somewhere hovering around.’
Angel frowned. ‘Is there any way we can find out about this other woman?’ he said.
‘I’ll have another try, sir,’ Crisp said. ‘I’m seeing Michelle again today after she’s finished work. She might be holding back.’
‘Yes. Good. Do that. By the way, in Robinson’s flat, did you see any fruit gums? And have you come across anybody connected with this case eating fruit gums?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Hmmm. Well, see if you can find out anything else. Michelle might know more than she has said. The slightest morsel of information might help us make sense of the case, lad. Phone you tomorrow. Goodbye.’
He ended the call and returned the phone to its holster.
For the next hour Angel had his head down, busily catching up with the reports and letters on his desk, and made a little progress in reducing the pile. He was filing some letters away when he heard a disturbance outside his office. There were a few bangs as if somebody had kicked or thumped a nearby door, and voices were raised.
‘I tell you I haven’t done nothing!’ a raucous voice yelled out.
‘Inspector Angel only wants to ask you some questions,’ another voice said.
‘Well, you’re not getting me into any frigging cell.’
‘We’re only going to an interview room,’ a third voice said.
Angel got up from his desk, opened his office door and looked out into the corridor.
A burly young man in rolled-up shirt sleeves, who Angel recognized as Thomas Johnson, was being held by his arms and led by patrolmen PC Donohue and PC Elders towards interview room number 1, which was along the corridor two doors away.
‘What’s going on?’ Angel said.
‘This is Thomas Johnson, sir,’ Donohue said.
‘I know you,’ Johnson said. ‘You’re that frigging Angel. It was you who sent me down last time. I’m not going down again.’
Angel stared at him and said, ‘All I want to do is ask you some questions, lad. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way, which do you want?’
It took a few seconds for him to decide to answer. ‘I want to go home. I’ve done nothing wrong.’
Angel stared hard at him. ‘Which way do you want?’
There was another delay, then Johnson muttered something incomprehensible.
‘What was that, Thomas?’ Angel said.
‘The easy way,’ he bawled.
‘Right,’ Angel said, then he turned to the two patrolmen and said, ‘T
hank you, lads. Let him go.’
They looked at Angel a second or two then slowly relaxed their grip on Johnson, who shook himself like a dog coming in out of the rain.
‘Come with me,’ Angel said, closing his office door and leading the way down the corridor to the interview room.
Minutes later, Angel was seated at the table with Johnson opposite him. Patrolmen Donohue and Elders waited outside.
‘Now then,’ Angel began, ‘this is simply a preliminary interview. I am not even recording it. Just tell me the truth. That’s all I want.’
Johnson shuffled on the chair, looked downwards and rubbed his fingers, first with one hand and then the other.
‘Where were you on Sunday evening between half-past eight and nine-fifteen?’ Angel said.
‘I dunno, do I?’ Johnson said, making a quick upward glance in Angel’s direction.
Angel pursed his lips. ‘Think about it, lad. It’s only the day before yesterday. Sunday evening.’
‘I must have been at home. I hadn’t any money to go out. Oh yes, I had. I had a win on the dogs. I remember. I did go out. But I was on my own.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘I’m not sure. Sunday teatime, Kevin brought a bottle round. We celebrated my win. Had a frigging laugh. I remember.’
‘Who is Kevin?’
‘Friend of mine, lives next door. He had to go home … something to do with his mother … no, it was his girl. He’d promised to take her somewhere. … ’
Several seconds passed.
Angel said, ‘Where were you on Sunday evening?’
‘I’m trying to think, man. I’m trying to think. Don’t crowd me.’ He ran his hand through his hair.
Angel rubbed his chin slowly. ‘Did you go on a pub crawl?’
He looked up at Angel and said, ‘Yeah. That’s what I did. But I was on my own. I like to go out when there’s a few of us. Nobody wanted to come. Yeah, that’s what I did, I think. I went out.’
‘What time did you leave home?’
‘Frigging hell, I don’t know. I had a bacon buttie then I … it must have been seven or eight o’clock.’
‘Where did you start? Do you usually have a sort of regular plan, or a route?’
‘We start at the Feathers usually, but I was on my own. I might have done. What’s all this about, anyway?’
‘Maybe you did start at the Feathers? Who did you see there that you remember?’
‘The Feathers? There’s that toffee-nosed bitch behind the bar.’
‘Tell me about her, Thomas.’
Johnson shrugged. ‘She was just … stuck-up. You know.’
‘Did you speak to her?’
‘Only to get a pint, you know. She did it as if I was rubbish, you know.’
‘How much did you have to drink there?’
‘I dunno, do I?’
‘Did you go upstairs?’
‘Might have done.’
‘What did you go upstairs for?’
‘I didn’t say I’d been upstairs. I said I might have done.’
‘If you had been upstairs, what would you go upstairs for?’
‘If I’d had a woman, or I had picked one up. I might have taken her upstairs.’
‘And did you do that on Sunday night?’
‘No. I don’t remember anything like that,’ he said with a snigger. ‘I would have remembered that, I’m sure I would.’
‘Right, so what did you do next?’
‘I remember coming down the steps and going outside. It was still daylight. There was a taxi in the rank. He brought me home, and I went to bed.’
‘And what time was that?’
‘I dunno. I don’t keep count of every minute of what I do. I was out to enjoy myself.’
‘You know when you were upstairs in the Feathers,’ Angel said, ‘do you remember going into any of the bedrooms?’
Johnson frowned. ‘No. I don’t remember going upstairs,’ he said.
‘You said, “when I came down the steps I went outside.” Perhaps you went up in the lift, but walked down, and you forgot?’
‘I s’pose it’s possible.’
‘You know, Thomas, it would help if I knew what you went upstairs for. Was it to visit a man or a woman?’
Johnson shook his head. ‘I don’t know any women there.’
He stopped fidgeting with his hands. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small white paper bag. He fumbled in the bag and took out a small sweet and put it in his mouth.
Angel’s eyes lit up. ‘What are those?’
Johnson stared at him. ‘Does thar want one?’
Angel leaned forward putting out his hand. Johnson grudgingly held out the bag. Angel dipped into it and took out a fruit gum.
Angel didn’t put it into his mouth, instead he looked at it in the palm of his hand then slowly said, ‘You are going to be in need of a solicitor. Do you have one of your own or do you want me to appoint one?’
Johnson’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re kidding, aren’t you? What would I be wanting a solicitor for?’
‘Is Mr Bloomfield your usual one?’
Suddenly, Johnson’s face grew red and his eyes stared angrily at him. ‘Yes, but what are you putting me down for?’ he bellowed.
‘I’m going to have to keep you in custody to assist us with our inquiries.’
‘Oh no,’ Johnson bellowed. ‘You’re friggin’ not!’
Then he stood up, clenched his fists and lunged out a mighty right blow at Angel’s face, which missed him by a mile. Angel managed to grab his arm and, using the momentum Johnson had created, dragged him flying across the table and onto the floor where he landed gracelessly in the corner of the room.
The ruckus caused the door of the interview room to be opened. PC Donohue stuck his head in. ‘Everything all right, sir?’
Angel pointed with his thumb at Johnson behind him, who was on his knees, getting to his feet, shaking his head, and squeezing and rubbing his right arm. ‘Pick him up and cuff him, Sean.’
It was with some difficulty that PC Donohue, PC Elders and Angel managed to get Thomas Johnson into a cell and then process him. It was necessary for Johnson to put on police-issue denim and remove his own clothes for SOCO to examine them. Again this caused more uproar and resistance.
It was not as if being locked up in a cell was a new experience for Johnson. Although, unusually, he had managed to confound the court on a charge in 2011, nonetheless he had served three months in 2002 for obtaining money with menaces and assaulting a police officer; also six months in 2009 for two offences of obtaining money by deception and assaulting a police officer.
When the three officers had completed these initial measures, Angel instructed the duty jailer that Johnson was to be left alone for the time being to cool off, and to give him the opportunity of recognizing the plight he was in and to come to terms with it. Angel then thanked the two patrolmen and instructed them to report back to their team leader.
He still had Johnson’s mobile phone in his hand, so on his way back to his office he called in at the CID room and went across to Ahmed’s desk.
‘Check that off, Ahmed, ASAP. It belongs to Thomas Johnson. I’ve just taken it from his pocket. He’s in the cells.’
‘Right, sir,’ Ahmed said.
Angel then returned to his own office, where he phoned and instructed Don Taylor to send a team of SOCO to search Johnson’s home, 22 Sebastopol Terrace, for the usual things: drugs, firearms, pornography, excesses of jewellery, gold, silver, cash and items reported stolen, and to report back to him ASAP.
As he replaced the phone, it began to ring. He reached out for it. It was DS Flora Carter.
‘I am still going through that CCTV, sir, and I have just come across that man again … leaving the hotel.’
‘Thomas Johnson, Flora?’
‘Oh, you found him?’ she said brightly.
‘Great stuff, Flora. What time did he leave?’
‘9.15, sir.’
‘Hmm. He arrived at 8.30 and left at 9.15. That would have given him plenty of time. Tell me, Flora, was Johnson carrying anything, like a bag?’
‘No, sir.’ She frowned.
The fact that he wasn’t carrying anything worried him.
‘I’m wondering, Flora,’ he said. ‘How would he manage to dispose of the two glasses and the bottle? We know they were in Robinson’s room at the time of the murder, and that they are not there now.’
‘Can’t think, sir. Not just like that.’
‘Right, Flora. Carry on.’
He returned the phone to its cradle.
He couldn’t get the matter of the disposing of the glasses and the bottle out of his mind. He leaned back in the swivel chair and looked up at the ceiling. He rubbed the lobe of his ear between finger and thumb. Then it came to him in a flash. Johnson could simply have emptied the glasses and the bottle down the sink, rinsed them out, taken them with him in the lift to the ground floor, and then on his way out he could have dumped them almost anywhere on the floor, windowsill or any convenient ledge, and the busy hotel or bar staff would have collected them, and put the glasses in the washer and the empty bottle in the waste or the returns without hardly thinking about it.
He didn’t know what the glasses or the bottle looked like precisely, he only knew the marks they made standing on a surface. Therefore he couldn’t see much point in trying to see if any of the items could be located in such a large and busy hotel like the Feathers where there must be thousands of drinking glasses and hundreds of wine bottles. So that was decided upon.
All he had to do now was find a motive. Thomas Johnson’s criminal speciality was extracting money by deception with menaces and assault, so one would naturally expect his alcohol-sodden brain to use the same modus operandi in his dealings with Norman Robinson. Maybe he simply tried to terrorize the poor man into parting with whatever money he had? Angel expected it might all be uncovered in the course of his further investigations.
The phone rang.
He leaned forward in the chair and reached out for it. ‘Angel?’
The Fruit Gum Murders Page 6