The Money Tree Murders

by Roger Silverwood

  Angel took the opportunity to bring his notes up to date.

  Several minutes later, Alan de Souza came in.

  ‘Inspector Angel?’ he said. ‘You wanted to see me?’

  ‘Yes. Come in. Please sit down.’

  ‘I hope this won’t take long. I need to be at a rehearsal in a few minutes.’

  ‘I hope not.’

  Angel quickly explained that he was making inquiries into the death of Jeni Lowe and asked him if he knew her.

  ‘I don’t believe I’ve heard of her,’ he said.

  Angel showed him her passport photograph.

  De Souza shook his head. ‘I meet hundreds of girls and young women in television. This business is, sadly, littered with them … hundreds of them … chasing after sex or fame or both. I can’t be expected to remember everyone I meet.’

  Angel nodded. ‘She worked for The Meyer Agency. Does that refresh your memory?’

  He frowned. ‘Oh yes. Indeed it does. She was a copywriter with a smooth account executive pitching a presentation about marketing the format of our show abroad.’

  ‘And what did you think of her?’

  ‘You’d have to give me notice of a question like that, Inspector. I only saw her for a few minutes. I don’t think we even spoke to each other. She seemed a presentable young woman. She didn’t have any special features like a big nose, a tattoo on her arm or any metalwork hanging off her face. And I believe, from memory, she wore a conventional skirt and top.’

  ‘Yes, Mr de Souza, but did you like her?’

  ‘I didn’t get to know her, Inspector. She was here to sell Berezin a marketing scheme. I was only brought in with Dennis Grant to give our opinion.’

  ‘I take it you didn’t like her?’

  ‘Not much, no. I do hate it when women bring sex into marketing.’

  ‘So, obviously you never saw her … socially, out of the office, after work?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  Angel said, ‘Do you happen to know if she paired off with anybody else? If anybody else had a meal with her, took her out or developed any sort of a relationship with her?’

  De Souza shrugged. ‘No, I can’t say that I saw her with anybody outside the meetings, Inspector, but it happens all the time. Women have always been the cause of men’s downfall, haven’t they? Dennis Grant might possibly be able to tell you more. You’re seeing him next, I believe. He’s almost as popular with the girls as Viktor Berezin.’

  Angel rubbed his chin. De Souza seemed to have covered the point. He moved on.

  ‘Where were you last Sunday evening?’ Angel asked.

  He held out his arms and hands palm upwards and said, ‘I was here, presenting the show, wasn’t I?’

  Angel nodded, then he reached into his pocket and took out the blue plastic cap or top. He held it up between finger and thumb and said, ‘Do you know what this is?’

  De Souza took it, turned it over in his hand then passed it back. ‘Sorry. No idea. Was it found on the body?’

  ‘No,’ Angel said, then he added, ‘Well, Mr de Souza, thank you very much, that’s all for now.’

  ‘Ah, good,’ de Souza said. Then he stood up, crossed the room to the door, opened it, glanced at his watch and looked back at Angel. ‘I’ll just about make the rehearsal, thank you,’ he said. ‘Goodbye, nice to have met you, Inspector.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mr de Souza,’ Angel said.

  Then he went out, leaving the door open.

  Angel noticed a tall man standing there, smiling.

  Angel blinked and said, ‘Mr Grant?’

  ‘And you must be the famous Inspector Angel, from Bromersley police if my memory serves me right – the policeman who always gets his man, like the proverbial Mountie.’

  ‘I suppose I am,’ Angel said, standing back to let him in.

  Grant continued: ‘I was reading about you the other day in a magazine at the dentist’s. It was about the murder outside a scrapyard of a man in his bare feet. Then you discovered that the murderer was also in bare feet. It seemed a most convoluted and difficult case of murder. Anyway, you sorted it all out. You exposed the murderer and he got life.’

  Angel wished he wouldn’t go on about what he had read about him. He closed the door and pointed at a chair. ‘Please sit down, Mr Grant.’

  ‘I understand from Viktor that this is about a young lady from The Meyer Agency, Jeni something or other. Well, Inspector, I can tell you that I know very little about her. She was at several presentation meetings about promoting the format of Wanna Be Rich? abroad earlier this year. That’s all I know.’

  ‘You never went out with her, or met her outside those meetings?’

  ‘No. And I never saw anybody else show any particular interest in her either. She was such a pretty young thing. I can’t understand why anybody would want to kill her, I really can’t.’

  ‘Nor can I,’ Angel said. Then he said, ‘Where were you on Sunday afternoon and evening?’

  ‘I was in the studio most of that time. We rehearse the show from around noon until five o’clock. Then we are supposed to rest … until we assemble to transmit the show live at 8.30.’

  ‘Where were you between five and 8.30?’

  ‘Well, I can’t really leave the building. Most of the time I was in my office, being on hand for what last-minute changes or emergencies might crop up. I might nip into the canteen for a cup of tea, or down to the studio to check on something. I’m never far away.’

  Angel nodded. He fumbled around in his jacket pocket and took out the blue plastic top or cap that he had found in Jeni Lowe’s car.

  ‘Have you any idea what this is?’ he said.

  Grant took it. He frowned and turned it over in his hand. His eyebrows went up. ‘Is it the top of a computer memory stick?’ he said.

  Angel’s jaw dropped. He thought a moment and rapidly sucked in a mouthful of air. He could be right. He took it back from the man and had another close look at it. It was the same shape and general design, but was about double the size. He relaxed and exhaled. ‘No. It’s too big. But thank you.’

  ‘Pleasure,’ Grant said.

  Angel pocketed the bit of plastic. He got up. He thought he had asked him all the relevant questions for the moment so he shook Grant’s hand and took his leave.

  SIX

  Angel arrived back at his office at about twelve noon. He picked up the phone and summoned Ahmed. The young man arrived with his notebook.

  ‘Ahmed,’ Angel said, ‘I want you to run a check on these three men: Viktor Berezin, Dennis Grant and Alan de Souza.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  ‘And are there any messages from DS Taylor or Dr Mac?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Angel rubbed his chin.

  Suddenly there was a dull whirring sound.

  ‘What’s that?’ he said.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ Ahmed said, looking at his wrist. ‘It’s the alarm on my watch again. I mustn’t have set it right.’

  Ahmed pressed a button on the side of the watch and the alarm stopped.

  Angel said, ‘Does that watch tell you the right time now?’

  ‘Well, yes sir,’ he said. ‘It’s set at the right time for Tokyo.’

  ‘But we’re not in Tokyo.’

  ‘Well, I seem to have pressed the wrong button.’

  ‘Aren’t there any instructions with it?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well, follow the instructions then.’

  ‘They’re in Norwegian, sir. We didn’t do that at school. Do you speak Norwegian, sir?’

  Angel blinked. He rubbed his chin very hard. The question was trying his patience. ‘I should take it back to the man you bought it off, lad.’

  ‘Can’t do that, sir. He’s our next-door neighbour. He was doing me a big favour. It came in its original box and it only cost me £100.’

  ‘It’s £100 too much for a watch if it doesn’t tell you the time.’

  ‘I’ll get the hang of it, sir.’ />
  He went out.

  Angel reached for the phone. He wanted to speak to DS Taylor.

  ‘What have you got, Don?’

  ‘Well, sir, there’s quite a lot of blood splashes in Abercrombie’s front room as well as in the kitchen, indicating that Abercrombie put up quite a struggle with his assailant. The first blow was probably delivered in the front room and apparently continued in the kitchen, so in spite of his age and frailty, he was no pushover.’

  Angel thought he must have been a very courageous man. ‘Have you any idea what weapon was used?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Have you come across anything there that might have belonged to Jeni Lowe?’

  ‘No, sir. Nothing feminine at all. Very much a bachelor’s pad – if you know what I mean?’

  ‘Right, Don. Let me know when you have completed the sweep and I’ll come straight down.’

  ‘We’ll be through in about twenty minutes, sir.’

  ‘Right,’ he said.

  He promptly cancelled the call and tapped in the number for the mortuary at Bromersley General Hospital.

  He was soon speaking to Dr Mac.

  ‘Old man Abercrombie took quite a beating, Michael,’ Mac said. ‘When we got his clothes off, there were contusions on his neck, shoulders, arms and head commensurate with blows made with a rigid bar or rod of some kind, probably made from iron or steel … could have been a heavy poker, for instance.’

  ‘I’ll have a look when I get to the scene. Anything else?’

  ‘Aye. A few threads of hair from the front of Abercrombie’s waistcoat and one from the back of his hand will be from his assailant. It looks as if Abercrombie held the assailant by his hair at some point in the attack.’

  Angel had nothing but admiration for the old man, who would have been fighting for his life. ‘It sounds very likely, Mac,’ he said. ‘And the DNA from the hairs will be very welcome to prove the case, if and when I get a suspect. The murderer had been very careful not to leave any clue when he interfered with the brakes causing the death of Jeni Lowe. He has not been quite so clever in his assault and murder of old Mr Abercrombie.’

  It was Friday 15 November. The rain had stopped and the winds had eased a little.

  Cora Blenkinsop opened the back door of The Brambles and poured a bucket of dirty water down the outside grate. She closed the door, put the bucket and mop in the pantry, looked round the kitchen to see that everything was tidy, checked the time on the kitchen clock, then went into the hall to the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Mrs Rose!’ she called, while pulling on her overcoat. ‘I’ve finished the kitchen. And it’s half past twelve.’

  ‘All right, Cora,’ Helen Rose said. ‘I’m ready.’ She appeared at the head of the stairs and began to descend. ‘You’re sure I’m not putting you out of your way?’

  ‘Nah,’ she said. ‘It’s nobbut a cockstride. And it’ll only take a minute.’

  Helen Rose checked that the front door was locked and they left by the back door, which she also locked and checked. They walked down the short path to the side gate and they were out on to Havercroft Lane. It was a five-minute walk to the main Bromersley to Sheffield Road, which was only a mile from Bromersley town centre. They were now in a built-up area with houses on each side of the road and an Anglican church, St Thomas’s, on the right about 200 yards down.

  ‘That’s the church, Mrs Rose,’ Cora said.

  Helen Rose followed Cora Blenkinsop through the iron gate into the churchyard. They passed the main door of the church and went straight down the path along the side of it to where most of the gravestones were to be found.

  ‘I seem to remember that it’s a double one, next to the path on the right,’ Cora Blenkinsop said as she began to check the names on the gravestones.

  Helen Rose followed behind. She looked round to see if anybody was watching them. Several crows croaked something unwelcoming. Her hands were cold, but so was her back and her legs. She was shivering. She really didn’t want to be checking up on the miserable history of the people who had previously lived in her house, and she wished she was somewhere else.

  ‘Ah,’ Cora said. ‘This is it, Mrs Rose.’ She began to read. ‘Here lies the body of Elsie Cudlipp …’

  Helen Rose rushed up to her side. She looked at the large stone at the head of a double-spaced grave. She continued with the reading, a few words at a time, in a quiet quavering voice:

  Here lies the body of Elsie Cudlipp, who died on February 15th 1741, in the 30th year of her age. Also her son, Rupert Cudlipp, who died in the 12th year of his age. Also her daughter, Nancy Cudlipp, who died in the 11th year of her age. Also her maid, Clarice Evangeline Morpeth, who died in the 14th year of her age. May God grant them the peace they never had in their lifetime. R. I. P.

  ‘I told you it was there,’ Cora said.

  ‘Yes … It’s too awful to think about,’ Helen Rose said.

  ‘And I told you Amos Cudlipp wasn’t there cos he’s in your garden somewhere. He couldn’t be buried in constipated ground.’

  It was two o’clock when Angel arrived outside The Bailiff’s House, parking the BMW well into the side of the narrow lane. The sky was full of black clouds. The wind was blowing noisily and it was much colder. It seemed cold enough for snow. He went through the gate, up the path to the back door. He banged on the door and a member of the SOCO team donned in the sterile disposable white paper overalls let him in.

  ‘Thank you, lad. Where’s DS Taylor?’

  ‘I’m here, sir,’ Taylor said, coming through the door that led to the rest of the house. He was also dressed in a sterile overall. He pulled down the mask from over his mouth and said, ‘We’ve finished the sweep.’

  ‘Good,’ Angel said. ‘Dr Mac said that the murder weapon was an iron or steel bar …’

  ‘Is this it?’ Taylor said, pointing to a heavy iron poker about a yard long, made from half-inch-square extruded iron, twisted to create a design and with a piece of a larger diameter welded to it to form a handle. It was on the floor under the table.

  ‘Any prints anywhere?’

  ‘The handle has been wiped clean, sir. But there is blood and several grey hairs on the other end.’

  Angel’s face muscles tightened. ‘Vicious-looking weapon,’ he said. ‘Right. Let Mac see it. Then let me have it. It will have to be entered as an exhibit.’

  Taylor nodded. ‘Right, sir.’

  ‘Found anything feminine in the place? Anything that could have belonged to Jeni Lowe?’

  ‘No, sir. And we’ve looked everywhere. He seems to be a man who has never been interested in the fair sex. Cricket and horse-racing seem to have been his main interests.’

  ‘I was hoping that there would be some evidence to confirm the story he confessed to me that he took Jeni Lowe’s money, watch, ring and phone.’

  Taylor shook his head. ‘Nothing of that sort here, sir,’ he said. ‘Unless it is very well hidden.’

  ‘Unless it is very well hidden,’ Angel repeated slowly while rubbing his chin. After a few moments he said, ‘I wonder.’

  Taylor frowned. ‘What’s that, sir?’

  ‘I was thinking,’ he said, ‘if Jeni Lowe left her mobile switched on, and if I dialled her number …’

  He reached into his inside pocket and took out the scrap of paper with her number on that was given to him at the advertising agency. Then he took out his own mobile and tapped the number into it. He didn’t expect a reply but he certainly hoped he might hear it ring. He pressed the send button and after a second or two they heard a phone connect and ring out.

  Angel’s eyes met Taylor’s. They thought it was in the other downstairs room, the sitting room. There were two SOCO men working in there: one had a camera and the other was holding a shaded electric lamp to provide a light source.

  The ringing was coming from a wall, against which was a settee.

  Angel said, ‘Excuse us, lads. We’re trying to locate that phone.’

 
; ‘It’s under the settee, sir,’ one of them said.

  ‘Move it, will you? We’ve got to trace it before the battery runs out.’

  Angel, Taylor and the other SOCO men dragged the settee away from the wall.

  The phone was still ringing out but weakly.

  Taylor said, ‘It’s coming from somewhere under the carpet.’

  Angel peeled back the carpet and the underlay. He tapped around looking for a loose floorboard or two. Then he saw two short pieces. They were also loose. He knew he was not far away. He lifted them up easily and the volume of the ring increased appreciably. Underneath, between the joists, he saw a white plastic shopping bag with the word Tesco plastered across it in red. He lifted it out.

  ‘Bingo!’ he said. Then he looked inside the cavity to see if anything else was there. There was nothing but hundred-year-old wood shavings and dust. He stood up.

  ‘Thank you for your help, lads,’ he said.

  ‘That’s all right, sir.’

  ‘Take a pic of that hiding place then put it back together, will you?’ he said.

  He went through to the kitchen where there was a bit of space on the kitchen table. Taylor followed. He opened the bag on the kitchen table and took out the contents item by item.

  There was a very slim wallet containing only a bank debit card and a driver’s licence, an inexpensive wristwatch, a small decorative ring of six garnets and a pearl in nine-carat gold, and a mobile phone. Angel assumed that Abercrombie had removed any cash there might have been in the wallet.

  Taylor said, ‘Well, sir, there isn’t much there, but it shows that Abercrombie was telling the truth.’

  ‘Yes, but I wish I knew what Jeni Lowe had told him before she died,’ Angel said. ‘She told him about a racket and that he should tell the police. Also Abercrombie said that he tried to get more out of the man – whoever he is – and that he’s a monster, and that he’s found a money tree.’

  ‘Doesn’t help much, sir,’ Taylor said.

  ‘No. I think Abercrombie tried to blackmail whoever it was, and the man retaliated by murdering him. I haven’t seen a phone here. I assume there is one.’

  ‘Yes, sir. It’s on the floor. I assume Abercrombie pulled it off the table so that he could talk to you.’