The Curious Mind of Inspector Angel

by Roger Silverwood

  Schuster reached into his top pocket and pushed a folded printed letter into his hand. ‘They sent me with that. It’s a ransom demand for the lad.’

  Angel took it and read it.

  To DI Angel,

  Your young copper will be returned alive in exchange for the Patina treasure. Put all the 21 pieces in a white bin bag and tie it up securely with string, not sticky tape. Place on the pavement on blue chalk mark in shape of a cross at kerbside at crossroads at bridge arches on Wath Road, Bromersley at exactly 5.55 pm this evening then go away quickly. On safe receiving of all 21 pieces of treasure, your copper will be released. No tricks or he’s dead.

  Angel’s face looked as if he was himself staring death in the eye. He handed the letter to Gawber and walked away, his hand massaging his chin.

  Gawber read it and said, ‘We don’t have the stuff, anyway, do we?’

  ‘Well, we don’t know for certain where it is,’ Angel said. ‘And we certainly can’t get it and drop it as instructed at the arches on Wath Road in forty-five minutes.’ Angel turned and leaned over Schuster. ‘Who are these people?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Four of them came into my shop this afternoon. Demanding to see the candle-snuffer. They thought I had it. They scared me, I can tell you. Huge men in dark overcoats. Do you think they’re the mafia?’

  ‘Could you detect an accent?’

  ‘I don’t know. They might have been Londoners.’

  ‘No idea who they might be?’ Angel said.

  ‘No,’ Schuster replied.

  ‘Were there any more than the four you saw?’

  ‘I only saw four. I don’t know.’

  ‘Did you see PC Ahaz?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you any idea where he is being held?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did they talk about any … place at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, tell me quickly exactly what happened. Don’t miss anything out.’

  ‘Well, I was in my shop as usual. At about one o’clock, I suppose it was, four big men came in and asked to see the candle-snuffer from the Patina Collection. I told them I didn’t have it and explained that you had shown it to me. They were angry. At first, they didn’t believe me. Then they found some rope in the shop and fastened me at the wrists then my arms, then coiled the rope around me. They put plasters over my eyes and my mouth, took me outside, put me in a car and covered me with a blanket or something like that. I was in that car, worrying, for some time. I believe that while I was in there, they searched my shop. Then the four piled into the car with me and drove off. They stuffed that letter in my pocket and told me we were going to the police station and that they would be turning me out there, that I was to find you urgently and deliver the letter to you personally. Next thing, the car stopped, they pushed me out onto the pavement and drove off. I had no idea where I was. I couldn’t see. I tripped up over something and fell down in the gutter. Then somebody came up to me. One of your policemen. He peeled off the plasters, untied my hands and asked me who I was and what was I doing. I told him. I then realized where I was. He brought me in here. And that’s all I know.’

  Angel brushed his hand through his hair and strode about the room. ‘There’ll be some little thing they said, or hinted at, that might give us a lead as to where they took Police Constable Ahaz,’ Angel said staring at him.

  Schuster looked blank. ‘Can’t think of anything.’

  ‘There’s got to be something. Did you hear anything? Any unusual sound? Apart from the words they spoke?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you notice any particular smell while you were with them? Garlic, mints, snuff, anything?’

  ‘No.’

  Angel sighed, looked at his watch, turned to Gawber and said, ‘We’ve only got thirty-six minutes.’ Then he jabbed a thumb in Schuster’s direction instructing Gawber to have a go at questioning him.

  Angel walked round the room rubbing his chin.

  At first, Gawber looked blank. He couldn’t think what to ask. He turned to Schuster and said, ‘Are you sure you didn’t detect any hint of where they might have taken the lad?’

  Schuster shook his head forlornly.

  Angel said, ‘How many of the four men spoke to you?’

  ‘Only one.’

  ‘And did you notice his accent, or any mannerism, tattoo, rings? Did he smoke? Did he have a moustache, beard, spectacles. Did he wear a hat? How was he dressed?’

  ‘He was smartly dressed. Suit, collar and tie. And he might have had a London accent, I told you that. No mannerisms, tattoos or jewellery. I didn’t see him smoke. He hadn’t any facial hair or specs.’

  Angel suddenly brushed his hand through his hair again. He swivelled round to Gawber and said, ‘This is getting us nowhere.’

  Schuster shook his head. He looked down at the floor and said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m no help. I’m not used to this.’

  He looked like a frightened rabbit.

  ‘That’s all right,’ Angel said as gently as he could manage. ‘Let’s go back to your shop, to where this started. Something might occur to you. We might be able to pick up a lead from there. It’s our only chance. We’ll go in my car. Come on. Hurry up.’ He turned to PC Weightman on his way out, he pointed a finger at him and said, ‘I look to you John to contain this situation. I don’t want it spreading about. The media mustn’t get hold of it or it may cause the abductors to panic. Tell nobody, and instruct those here who know about this, if they care anything about Ahmed’s safety not even to talk about it among themselves. All right?’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  Angel, Gawber and Schuster piled into the car.

  TEN

  * * *

  It was a cold, dark, mean night. There was a heavy frost and wisps of fog sailed past in the headlights as they made the rapid three minute journey to Schuster’s antique shop.

  Angel stopped the car in front of the big old mill. The businesses on the ground floor had closed leaving the old building in ugly winter darkness.

  Schuster led the way. Angel and Gawber followed, shining powerful police issue torches on him as he unlocked the shop door. Inside felt colder than outside and smelled of stale cauliflower water and unwashed socks.

  Schuster fumbled along the wall for the switch, and turned on the lights.

  Inside was an absolute shambles. Pictures, antler’s heads, furniture and curtains were piled up everywhere. It seemed that every item in that cramped up little shop had been examined and cast aside: the mess was indescribable.

  Angel took one look and said, ‘If there was anything of value here they would have found it.’

  Then he suddenly had a strange feeling in his stomach. He knew something was wrong. Very wrong. He whipped round to Schuster and with staring eyes, through clenched teeth, said, ‘The shop door was locked. I thought you said you were in the car, tied up, with sticking plaster over your mouth and eyes under a blanket when the shop was being searched.’

  Schuster’s eyes bounced. ‘I was. I was. Yes, that’s right,’ he said, licking his lips.

  Angel grabbed the little man by the collar of his suit and lifted him up by it. He glared into his eyes and said, ‘And I suppose when they’d finished ransacking this place and not finding what they were looking for, they put out the light, locked the shop door and carefully put the key back into your trouser pocket?’

  ‘No,’ he stammered. ‘No. I don’t know what they did with that key. I opened the door with the spare key.’

  Angel didn’t believe him. ‘Oh? You always carry a spare key with you, do you?’ Angel said tartly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You always carry the regular key and the spare key, do you?’ he added even more heavily.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In the same suit?’

  There was a moment’s hesitation. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And when we got here just now, you didn’t even try the door to see if it was open. You didn’t need
to. You knew it was locked, because you locked it.’

  ‘No. I didn’t lock it. I guessed it would be locked. Or I supposed it would be, or it was just habit. I don’t know.’

  ‘You’re a liar, Schuster. There’s something else that’s just come to me. Only hours after showing the candle-snuffer to you, I had enquiries from two very peculiar individuals. I know the informant must have been you, because only you, my wife, DS Gawber here and myself knew of the candle-snuffer’s existence. Everybody else thought it and the rest of the church treasure was at the bottom of the Atlantic.’

  ‘It’s not true,’ he protested.

  Angel knew that it wasn’t exactly true. The resident of Number 2, Creeford Road knew, but Schuster wouldn’t have known that.

  ‘You and a crooked mate of yours have got my lad, Ahaz, haven’t you?’

  ‘No,’ Schuster yelled indignantly. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I swear it.’

  Gawber stood there with his mouth open.

  Angel turned to him and said, ‘Have you got any cuffs?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Gawber said.

  ‘It’s not true,’ Schuster persisted. ‘I don’t know anything about your colleague, Ahaz. What I have told you is absolutely true, every word.’

  Angel glanced round the shop. He saw a sticky tape dispensing machine on the counter. The tape was about half an inch wide. He leaned over, dragged it across, turned it round and pulled out about a yard of it.

  ‘What you doing?’ Schuster said, his shining eyes flashing round in all directions.

  Gawber hesitated. He looked very unhappy at what Angel was about to do.

  Angel yelled, ‘Hold your wrists out, together.’

  Schuster protested, ‘No. I’ve done nothing wrong. No. You can’t do this to me.’

  Angel’s mouth tightened. He glared at Gawber urging him to assist.

  Gawber reluctantly pulled the man’s forearms out in front together, while Angel wrapped the sticky tape roughly round Schuster’s slim wrists, drawing them tight together.

  Schuster struggled, but the two policemen were too powerful for him, and when they had finished the tape seemed to be as restricting as purpose-made handcuffs would have been.

  ‘I protest,’ Schuster yelled. ‘I’m totally innocent. You can’t do this to me!’ He wriggled vigorously to check out the effectiveness of the tape, and let out an uncontrolled scream of anger when he discovered that it seemed to be 100 per cent efficient.

  ‘I’ll have a look round,’ Angel said, his face scarlet and his heart thumping. He jumped over the glass counter and landed noisily on something wooden that gave way and splintered.

  ‘Go easy,’ Schuster said. ‘It’s my stock you’re damaging. I expect to sell that commode to somebody one day.’

  Angel extricated his foot from the debris, made his way round the back of the counter, through the bead curtain to a tiny place with a desk and chair and more junk beyond to a door. He pushed it open to show a lavatory and wash basin. It was unoccupied. On the whitewashed wall was a coil of rope looped around a bracket. He snatched it down and dragged it behind him. He turned back towards the bead curtain and stood there in the centre of the room a moment, thoughtfully.

  Then he called out, ‘Ahmed. Are you there? Ahmed!’

  He listened. There was no reply. He sighed and made his way back through the debris to the customer side of the counter.

  Schuster noticed the rope he was carrying. ‘Here. That’s my clothes line. What are you doing with it?’

  Without a word, Angel dropped the coil of rope over Schuster’s head. It settled round his neck and waist like he was a mountaineer.

  Schuster struggled. He was unable to discard it. ‘What’s happening? What are you doing?’ he protested irritably.

  Angel touched Gawber on the shoulder. ‘There’s nothing back there,’ he said. ‘Come on. He must be somewhere in this building. There are five floors to search. We’ve no time to lose.’

  ‘There’s nothing in there,’ Schuster said, anxiously.

  Angel dashed out of the shop into the night, his breath showing white in the street light. He dragged the reluctant Schuster to the graffiti-covered main doors to the upper floors of the mill. They looked as if they hadn’t been opened for years. He turned to Gawber and said, ‘Get those doors open. There’s a battering ram in my car.’

  ‘I tell you, there’s nothing in there,’ Schuster said firmly.

  Gawber looked at Angel. ‘Crack on with it, Ron. There isn’t a moment to lose.’

  Gawber turned away to Angel’s car. Two minutes later, the door was damaged enough to make entry possible.

  ‘Nobody’s been in there for fifteen years, to my knowledge,’ Schuster protested. ‘It’s not safe. The stairs could give way at any time.’

  ‘Just tell us where Ahmed is,’ Angel said patiently.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Schuster shrieked. ‘I don’t know. I keep telling you, but you don’t listen. I don’t know where he is! I don’t know anything about anything. You’ve got me all wrong! Honestly!’

  Angel and Gawber flashed their torches around the entrance way. There were steps downwards as well as upwards.

  ‘Let’s take the cellar first,’ Angel said, and flashed the torch down the stone steps and along white flaky walls. They made their way down to dusty stone floors. It was icy cold and every sound echoed round the cobweb-covered walls. He led the way followed closely by Schuster and Gawber.

  They reached the flagged basement floor and Angel called out, ‘Ahmed! Ahmed! Are you there?’

  They listened for a few moments. There was no reply.

  Schuster said, ‘You’re wasting your time. He’s not here.’

  Angel and Gawber flashed the torches around. They could see the length of the long empty floor area interrupted only by thick pillars of stone. At the far end of the area, Angel saw what looked like a door. He ran down the full length of the building to it. He could then see that it was a door made in iron and had a huge lock and handle on it with a large key sticking out. He pulled quickly at the handle. The door was very heavy. He managed to open it and look inside. He flashed the torch around. All that was inside the little room was a stone table, nothing else.

  ‘What was this used for?’ Gawber asked. ‘Built like Fort Knox. It looks like the place you might store explosives or valuables.’

  ‘It was for storing expensive dye stuffs and dangerous chemicals for curing and preserving lamb skins,’ Schuster said, superciliously. ‘I told you he wasn’t in there.’

  Angel turned back on him. ‘Where is he then?’ he said wildly. ‘What have you done with him?’

  ‘I don’t know anything,’ Schuster whined.

  ‘Come on!’ Angel shouted as he ran back to the steps. They climbed to the ground floor, passed the main door, and flashed the torch around at the long empty floor space, which was interrupted only by metal support pillars. Some of the street lights shone through the dirty windows onto the ceiling.

  Angel’s heart thumped heavily as he climbed the steps. Time was defeating him and there was no certainty that Ahmed was even in the building.

  ‘I’ll take Schuster straight up to the top floor, Ron. Check off the rest of the building and follow us up there.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ Gawber said. He was not a bit happy with the situation. He had no idea where Ahmed could be and he didn’t think that his boss seriously thought that he was concealed in the building either. It was just something to be doing … somewhere to be looking … a long shot if ever there was one.

  Angel pushed the nervous Schuster in front of him up the stone steps. At the top of each flight, Angel stopped and yelled out, ‘Ahmed, are you there? Are you there, Ahmed?’

  He stopped and listened.

  When they reached the fifth and top floor, and after Angel had called out to Ahmed once more, Schuster said, ‘He’s not here. It wouldn’t be safe to bring a dog in here.’

  ‘Where is he then?’ Angel bawled
angrily, his face red, his chest burning. ‘Where is he?’ he screamed. ‘What have you done with him?’

  Schuster shook his head. ‘I haven’t done anything with him,’ he stammered. ‘I’m just … the messenger. You know what they say, don’t shoot the messenger. I don’t know any more than you do.’

  Angel growled and shook his head. He went over to two big doors in the outside wall that faced the head of the steps. He shone the torch on them to see if they could be opened. He found a hasp and unhooked it. There was a handle. He applied pressure to it. The door was on runners. It squeaked and moved a little. He applied more weight. It suddenly gave way and slid open about eight feet. A blast of icy air hit him in the face.

  They could hear the distant hum of traffic down below.

  ‘What you doing?’ Schuster squealed, looking down into the cold, evil night at the lights coming and going through the drifting fog. ‘It’s dangerous. You want to keep that door shut, it’s dangerous.’

  Holding tight onto a handrail strategically placed by the sliding doors, Angel then leaned out into the night and pulled into the building the metal arm with a pulley wheel attached, which was on a swivel on the outside wall.

  Schuster knew something was amiss. His eyes flitted rapidly in every direction. ‘What are you doing? What’s happening? I have rights. You can’t do this to me. I shouldn’t even be tied up like this. I am not an animal.’

  ‘Sit down … on the deck,’ Angel ordered as he lifted the coil of rope Schuster had been carrying.

  ‘What for? What are you doing now?’ he said, eyeing him distrustfully.

  Angel came round the back of him and tapped the back of his knee with the side of his shoe. ‘Sit down,’ he snapped.

  Schuster went down and landed clumsily on the floor. ‘Hey! What are you going to do?’

  Angel quickly took one end of the rope and looped it round the man’s ankles.

  ‘What’s happening, Inspector?’ he chattered, waving his shackled hands about and casting a glance out of the open door. ‘What are you doing? You can’t do this to me. I’m a tax-paying citizen. I’ve never done a dishonest thing in my life. I shall report you to the chief constable. I’ll have you drummed out of the force.’