Shrine to Murder

by Roger Silverwood

  Scrivens nodded. ‘Right, sir.’

  ‘You can also tell him that DS Carter is with me and we are going down to Angus Peel’s house to see if we can raise him. Then, if I’m not back, help Ahmed process and settle Kenneth Lamb into a cell and push off home. All right?’

  ‘Right, sir,’ he said, he went out and closed the door.

  Angel turned back to Carter and said, ‘You’ve instructed the duty jailer, the cells of the men are not to be unlocked at the same time?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘They’re not to think they’re prisoners, but I can’t risk one murdering the other.’

  ‘He understands that, sir,’ she said.

  ‘Right. Let’s go.’

  Five minutes later, at nine o’clock exactly, two cars arrived at the front of the small, modern bungalow on the Wothersley estate, Carter in her Ford followed by Angel in his BMW. Daylight was fading quickly. It was still light enough to see the road, but it was necessary to use sidelights. They parked their cars and met up at the front gate.

  Angel saw that there were no lights on in the bungalow. He stepped up to the front door. Carter followed. There was an air of neglect about the place. While the doorknob and the keyhole were well used, the white paintwork on the door needed a good clean down and small cobwebs removed from across the corners of the lintel. There was a bell push at the side. He pressed it and heard chimes ring out inside.

  They waited. There was no reply. They looked at each other.

  ‘Just like it was before, sir,’ Carter said.

  He nodded. ‘Have a walk round, sergeant. See if all the window glass is sound and the back door is locked.’

  She rushed off.

  Angel pressed the bell again.

  Then suddenly he heard a voice, a loud, raucous voice, a voice that sounded as if the owner of it gargled with formaldehyde. ‘Hey, you there.’

  Angel looked round.

  The bellowing came from a big man in a vest and jeans standing outside the open door of the bungalow next door.

  ‘Who are you?’ he bawled. ‘What are you? Jehovah’s Witnesses? He’s out. I saw your mate earlier. You never give up, do you? Pity you haven’t got homes to go to.’

  Angel called back, ‘I’m a police officer. I want to speak to Mr Angus Peel on a very urgent matter. Who are you, sir?’

  The tone of the man changed. ‘Oh? Police?’ he said, and he came across his drive to the low concrete and wire fence between the two bungalows.

  Angel crossed to meet him. He waved his warrant card in his direction, even though it was too dark for the man to be able to read it.

  ‘He’s out,’ the man said. ‘His van isn’t here. We’re trying to keep the estate respectable, you know? There’s always somebody knocking on our doors trying to peddle us something. Not always honest.’

  Angel knew what he meant. ‘Any idea where Mr Peel might be?’

  ‘He works late hours occasionally and sometimes eats out or brings in a takeaway. Don’t know what he gets up to,’ he said. ‘I think he’s got a bird on the side,’ he added with a snigger.

  Angel’s eyebrows went up. ‘Any idea of her name or address?’

  ‘No. It was only a joke.’

  ‘You said something about someone calling earlier.’

  ‘Yes. Strange looking chap. I thought he was a Jehovah’s Witness.’

  ‘Can you describe him? It might be important.’

  ‘Easy. He was dressed in a white cloak thing, like…like Lawrence of Arabia. He had a beard. I saw him through the front window. He was knocking on Angus’s door. Strange. He’d gone by the time I got outside to see what he wanted.’

  Angel’s heart began to beat like a tom-tom.

  Carter arrived back from checking the windows. She saw Angel conversing with the man and rushed up to join them. Angel lifted his head and looked at her.

  ‘Nothing, sir,’ she said.

  Angel turned back to the man. ‘Anything else?’ he said.

  ‘Don’t know,’ the man said. ‘I said I only caught a glimpse. He had a lot of hair, black or dark brown. Can’t think. He looked like the figures you see in big, old churches.’

  Angel’s mind was in turmoil. He must keep calm. ‘What time was this?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know….’

  Angel eyed the man closely. He looked yellow in the glow of the halogen streetlight. ‘Could be very important,’ he said. ‘Very important indeed.’

  The man frowned. ‘Between five and six,’ he said. ‘No, it was six o’clock exactly. I remember now. I was watching the telly and the news had just started.’

  Angel rubbed his chin.

  Carter said, ‘How tall was he?’

  ‘About your height,’ he said.

  ‘Five feet, eight inches?’ she said. ‘Did he come in a car?’

  ‘Don’t know. Didn’t see one.’

  ‘When he left, which way did he go?’

  ‘Don’t know. That’s all I can tell you.’

  Angel said, ‘What’s Mr Peel’s van like?’

  ‘It’s a white Ford Transit van, new. He’s only had it a few weeks.’

  ‘Right,’ Angel said. ‘Thanks very much. If he turns up, tell him that…tell him we want him to report to the police station very urgently.’

  ‘Yes, all right. Is he in trouble?’

  Angel didn’t want to ring any alarm bells. ‘No. Nothing like that.’

  ‘The other chap, the chap dressed like an Arab…are you looking for him? Is he a villain?’

  Carter looked at Angel who said, ‘Something like that.’

  ‘If he comes back, I’ll give you a bell,’ the man said.

  Angel reckoned the man couldn’t tell them any more. ‘Thank you very much,’ he said. ‘Good night.’

  When he was out of earshot, he turned to Carter and said, ‘I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit. I’m going to put this place under observation in case Peel or the murderer turn up. And I’ll get Traffic to transmit a notice to stop all new white Ford Transits they see in the district.’

  ‘Anything I can do, sir?’

  ‘Yes. Go home and get some sleep. You’ll need to be on top form tomorrow.’

  Chapter Nine

  It was after ten o’clock when Angel arrived home.

  Mary was furious.

  ‘I phoned the station twice,’ she said. ‘Nobody knew where you were, and there was nobody there I knew well enough to ask where you were. Even Superintendent Harker had gone home.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mary. You know what it’s like when there’s a murder on.’

  ‘Surely you’ve time to phone.’

  ‘I suppose…but I forget. It gets so busy, so intense.’

  ‘You soon remember to come home when…when you’re hungry.’

  ‘I’m not hungry. Couldn’t face a thing.’

  Mary’s eyes flashed. ‘There’s a fine thing to say. That was best English lamb. It’s ruined now, Michael. I couldn’t possibly reheat it. You’ll have to have it cold, tomorrow with salad.

  ‘I’m sorry, love,’ he said. ‘You have to understand -’

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ she said as she stormed out to the kitchen. ‘Honestly, I don’t know why I bother,’ she said, slamming the door and making the lampshades on the chandelier rattle.

  Then followed a clattering racket from pots and pans and cutlery being banged about, making more noise than a New Years’ Day riot in the cookhouse at Strangeways.

  He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Highlights of the day’s events kept coming back at him. He sat in silence. Time passed by. He wasn’t certain how long. The noise from the kitchen had subsided. The door quietly opened and Mary came in. He didn’t seem to notice.

  She looked at him for a few moments, then sat on the arm of his chair, leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

  He looked back at her, nodded, put his hand on hers and squeezed it.

  ‘What would you like?’ she said. ‘I
’ve got some eggs, and -’

  ‘No. Honestly. A cup of tea’s fine. That’s all I want.’

  She hesitated, then patted his hand again, glanced at the television, reached over to the remote control, pressed the button to switch it on then stood up and returned to the kitchen.

  He watched her go and smiled. He settled back in the chair.

  The volume on the TV came up. It was loud, dramatic music, but his eyelids closed and he fell asleep.

  *

  The alarm clock rang.

  Angel reached out of bed and cancelled it. It was 7.30, Friday morning.

  Mary edged up the bed, whisked back the duvet and dangled her legs over the side, fishing around for her slippers.

  Angel reached out for the phone and tapped in a number.

  Mary turned round and stared at him. ‘Who on earth are you disturbing at this time in a morning?’

  ‘Checking up to see if the lads outside Angus Peel’s house have turned anything up.’

  ‘Poor souls. It is only 7.30. Why don’t you give them another hour or so?’

  He was soon speaking to one of the two men skulking in a car parked at the opposite side of the road two car lengths from Peel’s bungalow. The conversation was short and negative. He banged down the receiver.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said.

  Mary was in the bathroom. She didn’t hear.

  He grunted then reached out for the phone again.

  He tapped in the number of the Control Room.

  ‘Did you get any reports about white Ford Transits overnight, Sergeant?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Let me see…here we are. Three were seen and stopped, sir. None belonged to that disabled supplies shop. All index numbers were checked and all were engaged in legal business.’

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘I hope you had a quiet night?’

  ‘Two drunks fighting outside The Feathers, a domestic on Canal Road, that’s all, sir.’

  ‘Right. Thank you.’ He frowned as he slowly replaced the phone.

  ‘Bathroom’s free,’ Mary called.

  ‘Coming,’ he said and whisked back the duvet.

  ‘I don’t know why you don’t get a proper job like teaching,’ Mary said. ‘With nice, respectable people, where you keep normal hours and you don’t have to work all hours, and phone people at all hours. And I would know for certain you’d be home at 5.30, without a knife in your back or a bullet in your chest.’

  ‘Don’t be so melodramatic,’ he said. ‘I’ve never had a serious injury yet, nor ever likely to have.’

  There were several more similar exchanges over the breakfast table. He’d heard them all before.

  Mary gave him an extra-long kiss before he left for the office that morning. It was by way of apology for complaining so much. He was fully aware of it. He knew all her moods. He adored her and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her, except give up being a policeman. He liked being a copper. And he liked being DI Angel, the policeman who always unravels the mystery and gets the murderer. And she was aware of that. She just had to let off a bit of steam sometimes when it took him away from her and she thought he might be putting himself in danger.

  *

  It was 08.28 hours when he walked into the office. Ahmed saw him arrive from his desk in CID and followed him in. ‘Good morning, sir.’

  ‘Good morning, lad. Did you settle Mr Lamb in all right?’

  ‘He was a lot of trouble, sir. Objected to being put in a cell. Wanted to return home.’

  ‘But you’ve got him locked up, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. He was demanding to see the Chief Constable.’

  Angel grunted, then said, ‘He’ll have to put up with me. But we need to find Angus Peel first. Phone that shop where he works. See if he’s turned up for work. You never know. I don’t know what else we can do.’

  Ahmed was about to pick up the phone when it rang. He answered it. ‘Inspector Angel’s office.’

  ‘Control Room. Is the inspector there?’

  Ahmed held the phone out. ‘It’s the Control Room, sir.’

  Angel took the phone, ‘Angel speaking.’

  ‘About that Ford Transit van, sir. It’s turned up. A man fishing in the canal on Canal Road noticed the roof of a white vehicle just under the water. I sent a patrol car there. From the other side of the canal, the patrolman could see the index plate. And that’s the one.’

  Angel’s heart began pounding. ‘Thank you, Sergeant. Any idea how it got there?’

  ‘He said it had mounted a low wall, sir, so it looks to have been deliberately driven in there at speed. It’s going to have to be lifted out. It’ll need a heavy crane.’

  ‘SOCO will see to that. Instruct the patrolman to stay there until some uniformed arrive, will you? I wouldn’t want nosey swimmers or anybody else interfering with it.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  He replaced the phone and breathed out a long sigh. If Peel was dead in the van, then one of the two men in the cells or the woman in the safe house had to be the murderer. If he wasn’t, then he has still to be found and it won’t be a moment too soon, because he could very well be the murderer on the loose.

  He turned to Ahmed. ‘Go to your own phone and ring DS Maroney, of Leeds Police Underwater Team. Give him my compliments. Tell him we’ve a job for him and his team, and ask him to come over ASAP.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ he said and he went out.

  Angel picked up the phone and tapped in a number.

  ‘SOLO,’ Taylor said.

  ‘We might have found the whereabouts of Angus Peel, Don,’ Angel said.

  *

  Angel went down to Canal Road and had a quick look at the scene then quickly returned to his office.

  He phoned Don Taylor to instruct him to organize the hoisting of the van out of the canal ASAP, and to liaise with DS Maroney of the Leeds Police Underwater Team.

  He had just replaced the phone when there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in.’

  It was Ahmed.

  ‘What is it, lad.’

  ‘There’s a message from the duty jailer, sir. It’s that Lamb in cell 4. He’s kicking up and wants to see you.’

  ‘Yes. I expect he does. Tell him I haven’t forgotten him. I’ll see him soon.’

  The phone rang.

  Angel reached out for it and at the same time waved Ahmed to carry on.

  Ahmed went out and closed the door.

  It was WPC Baverstock. ‘Margaret Ireland here at the safe house wants to see you, sir. She’s rather fed up with being here.’

  Angel sighed. ‘Yes. All right, Leisha. Ask her to be patient and tell her I will definitely see her today.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  He replaced the phone. It rang out again. He picked it up.

  ‘Angel,’ he said.

  It was Harker. ‘Come up here,’ he growled, then there was a loud click as he slammed the phone down.

  Angel pulled a face. It could only be trouble. When Harker wanted to see him it was always trouble. He replaced the phone, trudged up the green corridor to the superintendent’s office, tapped on the door and went in.

  The skinny man with the big ginger eyebrows had a white plastic inhaler up a nostril. He looked at Angel out of the side of his eyes.

  ‘Come in,’ he said, pulling the inhaler down and shoving it up the other nostril. After a long sniff, he withdrew it, replaced the cap and dropped it in the pocket of the cheap, ill-fitting navy-blue suit coat. His father-in-law had died recently and Angel thought he must have inherited the suit from him.

  Angel closed the door and went up to his desk.

  ‘What the bloody hell’s going on?’ Harker said. ‘I passed the cells and found two men in there. I asked the jailer what’s going on and he said that they were there under your instructions. I asked him what they were charged with and he said that they weren’t charged, they were there for their own protection. I said against what, and he said he didn’t know. Nex
t, I arrived here in my office to find an indent from WPC Baverstock for meals for a woman in the safe house. I got hold of Baverstock on the phone and I asked her who or what is the woman being protected against and she said one of the two men in cells. I said which one. She said she didn’t know. I thought as they are both locked up what on earth has she to be protected against? What sort of a police station are we operating here? It seems to me it’s a freebie hotel for scroungers. What on earth is happening?’

  Angel sighed. He knew Harker would make it difficult if he found out what was happening. ‘It’s simple enough, sir. One of the three is a murderer, committed to murdering the other two, but I don’t know which one.’

  ‘Eh? I see. It’s a new procedure, is it? Put all the suspects in cells, and we are certain to include the guilty one. Huh. I’m not sure we will have enough cells, but I am certain that the CPS wouldn’t be able to construct a case against all three at the same time, should you take them to court.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be the whiz-kid detective that always gets his man, the tabloid paper’s darling. Frankly, Angel, I think you’ve finally gone off your chump.’

  Angel explained about the messages in blood daubed on the mirrors and then went on to inform him that there was a fourth missing suspect/victim and that his van was at that time being retrieved from the canal.

  Harker’s bloodshot eyes flashed. ‘You’ve brought in a crane?’

  ‘There is no other way, sir.’

  ‘That’ll be over three thousand pounds,’ he bawled. ‘This case is getting well out of hand. Is the man’s body in the van?’

  ‘Don’t know that yet, sir.’

  ‘You don’t know?’ he bawled. ‘Yet you’ve set engineers on to bring it up? You’re floundering around, Angel, aren’t you? And you’re doing everything the most expensive way. You could have sent a diver down to see. If a body isn’t there, you could leave the van in the water. The insurance company might have brought it up, at their expense.’

  Angel clenched his fists. ‘Yes, sir, but if there’s any forensic, I need it now, to prevent more murders. Also, the insurance company may never have lifted it. We can’t wait. I need to preserve every scrap of evidence there might be. He’s killed two we know about and has threatened to kill another four. He means business. We are fortunate in this case, as I happen to have found out who his prospective victims are.’