The Auction Murders

by Roger Silverwood

  ‘No lad. I can’t either,’ he said. He reached over for the phone and dialled a number.

  It was answered by a young lady with a squeaky voice: ‘Schofield’s Yorkshire Chemicals. Charlotte speaking. How can I help you?’

  ‘Ah yes. I’m calling on behalf of Mrs Bailey, 28 Huddersfield Road, Bromersley.’

  ‘Oh yes? Did she want to place an order?’

  ‘Well, she asked me to query last Thursday morning’s call,’ he said. He pursed his lips and listened hopefully.

  ‘Oh yes? What exactly is the problem? The order was delivered all right on Friday, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I think so. That’s not exactly what she asked me to phone about,’ he said and then he shut up, just held the handset and looked up at the ceiling.

  ‘Let me have a look at what she has on order … Mmmm … Now, she usually has a ten-kilo block of Cardox, doesn’t she? Delivered on a Friday.’

  ‘I think so,’ he said nodding happily. ‘Ah well, she was wanting to know what exactly is in it?’

  ‘Oh? Well I am sure it will be suitable for what she needs it for. It’s pure, deep-frozen one hundred per cent carbon dioxide. That’s all it is.’

  ‘Ah,’ Angel said, his face brightening. ‘Right. Thank you.’

  ‘Did she want any on Friday?’

  ‘I expect she’ll phone you tomorrow as usual. Thank you very much, Charlotte. Goodbye.’

  He replaced the phone.

  Ahmed looked at him expectantly. ‘Did you find out, sir?’

  ‘Aye,’ he said with a smile. ‘She buys Cardox, frozen carbon dioxide, from them.’

  Ahmed looked blank. ‘What’s that, sir?’

  ‘It’s for refrigeration, keeping things cold. Looks like ice, but it leaves nothing behind, no water. As it melts or thaws, it turns into gas and disperses into the air. It is sometimes used by funeral directors, hospitals, ice-cream vendors and TV and film set designers. It comes in a block, and it’s usually delivered in an insulated container. In this instance,’ he said slowly and with a big smile, ‘it explains cold feet and the remains of a spirit disappearing in a cloud of mist in the drawing room of Selina Bailey’s front room on Huddersfield Road!’

  The young man’s mouth dropped open.

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in.’

  It was Gawber. ‘I’m just back from the bank, sir. Saw the assistant manager. Geoffrey Sanson wasn’t one of their favourite customers. He was always exceeding his overdraft limit. They occasionally had to stop his cheques.’

  ‘Oh?’ Angel pursed his lips. ‘Hmmm. That’s how it was, eh?’ He turned to Ahmed. ‘Did you find that chap, Benny Peters?’

  ‘Yes sir. He is a bookie, sir. Got a shop in Temptation Yard. Opposite the Town Hall. Nothing known.’

  ‘Do you want me to call on him, sir?’ Gawber asked.

  Angel looked up from the desk. ‘No. Finish off at Sinclair’s … and if you see any freshly turned earth on your travels …’

  Gawber frowned and turned back.

  Angel wrinkled his nose. ‘The murderer’s clothes would have some blood on them. Probably quite a lot. Would need somewhere to bury them or burn them …’

  ‘Ah yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Right sir. I’ll keep my eyes open.’

  Angel watched Gawber go out and close the door behind him. He rubbed his hand across his chin a few times, then turned to Ahmed.

  ‘Yes sir?’ he replied brightly.

  ‘What do you know about Polish vodka?’

  ‘Polish vodka? It’s an alcoholic drink, sir, isn’t it? Looks like water. Doesn’t smell on your breath.’

  ‘Precisely. Hmm. So presumably anybody could sup the stuff and no one would be any the wiser … unless they’re falling about the place … or slurring their words …’

  Ahmed stared at him and wondered what he was getting at, but said nothing.

  Angel pulled the pile of papers and post that had increased over the past two days towards him. He sniffed and said, ‘I’ve got more paperwork than Carol Vorderman’s manager. Go on, lad. Hop off. I’ve a lot to do.’

  Suddenly the door opened. ‘Can I come in?’ It was Mac.

  Angel looked across. ‘Aye,’ he said smiling.

  As Mac came in, Ahmed went out.

  ‘I’ve got a present for you,’ he said in that Glaswegian dialect singularly his around Bromersley station.

  Angel nodded. ‘Sit down.’

  Mac slid into the chair, opened a brown envelope and gently tipped the contents over the desk. Two dangerous-looking stilettos clattered out.

  Angel wrinkled his nose and reached out for them. ‘Ah,’ he said and nodded. ‘The same as the other two.’

  ‘Two more to go to make the half-dozen,’ Mac said ominously.

  Angel sniffed. ‘Any prints?’

  ‘No. Just gloves.’

  ‘Anything else? Footprints? DNA?’ he asked eagerly. There was a pause. ‘Anything?’ he added hopefully.

  ‘Nope. Nothing,’ Mac said, rubbing his chin. ‘The murders would be silent, bloody and quick. Same as the others.’

  Angel shook his head and blew out a long sigh. ‘What I particularly don’t like, is that the murderer is obviously someone we know, probably brushing up against, perhaps on a daily basis, or even several times a day. No wonder there’s a sort of nervousness around the town. It’s somebody we know, somebody you might work with, see at an auction, stand next to in a shop, or have knock on your door to return something they borrowed.’

  ‘Aye. My wife’s got the heebie-jeebies,’ Mac said grimly. ‘Her friends in the butcher’s and the hairdresser’s are the same. Won’t open the door if I’m not there. Day or night. And I can’t get out to the pub now. She won’t be left on her own.’

  ‘Mary’s the same.’

  ‘I thought you had a lead on that couple of lumps with ponytails.’

  ‘They keep popping up. I got a witness who almost saw them thump Geoffrey Sanson outside the auction house. Since then, they’ve disappeared. Whoever they are, whatever they are, they’re harder to get hold of than an apology from the prime minister. Which reminds me, could vodka be responsible for the condition of Geoffrey Sanson’s liver, Polish vodka?’

  ‘Of course. Sounds a very possible candidate, Michael. Have you got some evidence that that was his tipple?’

  ‘No. Not evidence. Information from a witness, in passing, you might say.’

  ‘Any alcohol taken regularly in excess will turn your liver to yellow Wensleydale in no time.’

  ‘Mmmm. Well, those two men … if it is those two men, what are they looking for? Money? Deeds? There wasn’t any cash in the houses. Or drugs. And Lady Ogmore’s bungalow had a lot of small, portable treasures, but nothing was taken. Whatever it is, they haven’t found it yet or they would have stopped looking and stopped killing.’

  ‘Can’t help you there, Michael.’

  Angel sighed. ‘It shouldn’t be as difficult as this, Mac. Look at how much blood was spilled at each murder scene. That’s a fair amount of clothing stained … ruined — coat, shirts, ties, dresses, skirts.’

  ‘And gloves.’

  ‘Aye, and gloves. Whoever it is, at least three sets of clothes would have had to be burned or buried somewhere. Is that one fire, or three fires? There are very few open coal fires where you could quickly dispose of a suit and a shirt and a pair of gloves. Or is it one hole in the ground or three holes? We are dealing with a very efficient murdering machine; it’s hardly likely such damning evidence is being saved and stored in a wardrobe, under a bed or in the boot of a car! By the way, you haven’t seen any newly turned earth in your travels, have you?’

  ‘No.’ Mac’s eyes narrowed. He looked closely at Angel and said, ‘Can I put another aspect to you, Michael? Have you considered that sticking a stiletto in somebody with the certainty you are terminating a life requires a person of a particular temperament? Once the tip of that blade pierces the skin, the victim will be effectively
dead in two seconds. No ifs and buts. It’s not like firing off a gun in response to something that frightens you. The victim might survive and give evidence; also you could be yards away from him. Applying a stiletto necessitates some emotional preplanning; it requires you to be actually close up to your victim. For that last second, at the very least, he can see you and you can see him, and he will know you are killing him!’

  Angel nodded. ‘You know Mac, I think the murderer or murderers must be hyped up with something. Something powerful. Like a needle full of cocaine?’

  ‘Aye. Half a bottle of whisky would do it.’

  ‘Or vodka?’

  ‘Or vodka. Yes.’

  ‘Trouble is, I can’t find a suspect who regularly sups vodka, sticks needles in or —’

  ‘You won’t,’ Mac interrupted, his eyes stared unblinking across the desk. ‘They’d do it on the sly.’

  Angel nodded. ‘And it’s somebody associated with, or very close to, the Ogmores. I reckon Mrs Sinclair was the exception. She got in the way and had to be killed to allow the murderer to search the house. After all, her husband was the doctor who attended the Ogmores.’

  ‘All roads lead back to Ogmore Hall. The butler, the housekeeper and the doctor who were murdered … and that secretary, Kate Cumberland, and Lady Emerald herself, whose places were turned over but both live to tell the tale …’

  ‘Aye and if the murderer can’t find whatever he’s looking for, he’ll be back. It might be staring him in the face and he can’t see it. Do you think Lady Emerald is safe? Kate Cumberland has a husband or a partner or, well, she lives in with somebody. Lady Emerald is on her own. Now, a young, attractive and prominent young woman in that bungalow out in the country there, on her own …’

  Angel reached out for the phone, pressed a button and said, ‘Ahmed. Phone Scrivens and tell him I want to see him before he goes home tonight.’

  ‘Right sir.’

  He replaced the phone and turned back to Mac. ‘Scrivens lives only two miles away from her. I’ll get him to check on a few things, discreetly, on his way home.’

  Angel rubbed his face and then his neck. He looked like an undertaker who had just made a refund.

  Mac watched him. ‘You are getting far too intense, Michael.’

  ‘I should think so,’ he snapped. ‘I have that feeling the murderer is right under my nose …’

  13

  Ahmed opened the door. ‘Miss Cumberland, sir.’

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ Angel said and pointed to the chair. ‘Please sit down.’ Ahmed went out and closed the door.

  Kate Cumberland was a pretty young woman with a ready smile. She sat in the chair nearest the desk.

  ‘Now then, I’ve asked you to call in to see me … I didn’t get the opportunity to have a word with you at the time your house was broken into. You’ve still no idea what the intruder was looking for?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You were secretary to Lord Ogmore and worked up at the Hall until his death in June last year. Why did you leave?’

  ‘I left because there was very little for me to do. When Lord Archie died, the bank called in the loan he had taken out to pay off the outstanding Inheritance Tax, which meant that the Hall would have to be sold. Her ladyship’s situation was worsened by the rumour about the Ogmore diamond.’

  ‘What rumour was that?’

  ‘Well, Lord Archie used to keep this huge diamond in a little brown drawstring pouch in his pocket. He said it was safer and he wouldn’t have to pay to insure it and comply with all the annoying conditions the insurance company would have put on him. The rumour was that it didn’t exist … that it had been sold years back.’

  ‘So, where is it now?’

  ‘I suppose her ladyship has it. It was in his dressing-gown pocket the day he died. I know because I saw it. Well, I saw the pouch anyway. Only that morning he had had an earnest conversation with Lady Emerald about something. The bills and the bank loan, I believe. I didn’t hear what was said exactly. But he waved the pouch under her nose, I think to reassure her that as long as he had the diamond, they would be financially OK. I had heard him say that before.’

  ‘Hmmm. And can you recall the day Lord Archie died?’

  ‘I think so. He hadn’t been well for about a week. Dr Sinclair had been to see him a day or so before. I don’t know exactly what the trouble was. He did drink rather a lot. On this particular day, he didn’t get dressed, which was unusual. He came into the drawing room in his pyjamas and dressing gown, late. We went through the morning’s post together. There were one or two letters to see to, nothing much. Then her ladyship came in. There was some query about a bill from Heneberry’s, the wine merchants. That’s when he waved the pouch in front of her. Next, Geoffrey Sanson came in with a tray of tea, closely followed by Mrs Drabble who came in to discuss the menu. As I recall, his lordship was sat on a big sofa in front of the coffee table, where he’d seemed to enjoy a cup of tea with Lady Emerald. But suddenly, his face changed. He put the cup down, and asked her ladyship to send for Dr Sinclair. She immediately rang through and he said he would come at once. She lifted his feet and moved cushions around him to make him more comfortable on the sofa. Then she asked Geoffrey Sanson to push the sofa nearer the fire to keep him warm, and she asked me to fetch a blanket from the chest in the front hall, which I did. I helped her to cover him with it. He looked very ill. He was perspiring and he lay there with his eyes closed, but I don’t think he was asleep. Mrs Drabble cleared the tea things and came back with a cloth and duster. She wiped the coffee table top and tidied up the newspapers and things. Then we all left them together. That was the last I saw of him. Dr Sinclair arrived shortly afterwards. Geoffrey Sanson was hovering at the front door and showed him straight in, but I believe he had already gone.’

  ‘Hmmm. And what happened to the diamond then?’

  ‘Her ladyship would have taken it. It was hers by rights, of course. And it is immensely valuable.’

  ‘Did anybody else know about the diamond?’

  ‘Oh yes. Everybody knew about it.’

  ‘Geoffrey Sanson played the role of butler very properly, you know. Like as if it was a part in a play. He wouldn’t say anything out of turn, not to his lordship anyway. I think he always fancied himself as a lady’s man. Perhaps he wouldn’t have behaved so perfectly if, say, her ladyship had become a widow and he had been alive. Well, who wouldn’t? With her looks and money and title?’

  ‘Did he say so?’

  ‘No, but you can work out what people are thinking if you watch them when they don’t realize you are watching them, can’t you?’

  Angel nodded.

  ‘And he was up to his eyes in debt, so Lord Archie strolling round the place with a diamond worth many millions in his pocket was like a red rag to a bull for him.’

  ‘Oh,’ Angel said. ‘What was the reason for the debt?’

  ‘Horses. Couldn’t resist a gamble on the gee-gees, inspector. He used to boast about his winnings, but he never told us about his losses. There used to be a bookie on the phone to him regularly. I used to take the calls in the estate office, very roughly spoken man. Bertie or Bertram or some such name. Chasing him for money. He told me if ever he rung up I was to say he was out. He must have got himself into a right mess.’

  ‘Did you know Mrs Drabble at all well?’

  ‘Not really. She was a lovely lady. I can’t imagine who would want to harm her. It’s awful.’

  ‘Mmmm. One last thing. In your travels, have you come across two tubby men in ponytails?’

  ‘Two?’ she smiled. She shook her head firmly. ‘Not even one, inspector. They’d stick out like sore fingers. They wouldn’t take any finding round here, would they?’

  ‘No,’ he lied.

  *

  The bungalow door opened.

  ‘Good morning, Lady Ogmore,’ Angel said. ‘May I come in?’

  ‘Of course,’ her ladyship replied. She was dressed in a long dress that hugged h
er as if it had been sprayed on. Her hair was in perfect formation; her make-up could have been applied by Renoir. She pulled open the door further. ‘Come on through, inspector. You’ve caught me dressed this time. And I see you’ve got rid of those crutches.’

  ‘Not before time,’ he replied, taking in a heady whiff of some expensive chemical out of a spray, as he squeezed between her and an armchair into the cluttered room.

  She closed the door quickly, reached across to the armchair by the table, grabbed two thick magazines from the seat and a stocking draped over the back, and made them disappear. ‘Please sit down, inspector. Excuse the mess. It’s the maid’s day off,’ she said with a wry grin.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, making himself comfortable. He then began rubbing the lobe of his ear between finger and thumb. ‘I’m sorry to come unheralded. But I’m urgently trying to wrap this case up before the murderer visits anybody else.’

  Her mouth dropped open; her big blue eyes stared at him. ‘Oh yes,’ she said breathily. ‘Of course. The papers implied you weren’t making much progress. Is that really true?’

  ‘No. No,’ he lied, loudly and magnificently. ‘We have several lines of enquiry. But I want to ask you about the Ogmore diamond.’

  ‘Yes?’ she said, frowning. ‘What about it, inspector?’

  ‘What happened to it?’

  ‘My dear father-in-law disposed of it, ages ago. Sold it to pay death duties, shortly after Archie and I were married. He jokingly used to say he had to sell it to pay for Archie’s and my wedding reception. It would be about 1996 or even earlier than that.’

  ‘Your husband’s ex-secretary, Kate Cumberland, said that the day Archie died, she saw him wave a brown pouch containing the diamond in front of you. She had the distinct impression that he had it at that time and that you have it now.’

  Lady Emerald’s face tightened. ‘If I had the diamond, inspector, do you think I’d be living in this squashed-up little place? The truth is that the only way my dear husband could keep the bailiffs at bay was by a show of financial strength, financial strength that we didn’t have. It’s amazing what impressionable snobs there are out there. Regrettably it all fell apart when he died. I hadn’t the guile to perpetuate the myth … and so I finished up here.’