The Auction Murders

by Roger Silverwood

  ‘There wasn’t a brown pouch then?’

  ‘There was a brown pouch all right, inspector. But there wasn’t a diamond in it.’

  Angel nodded his understanding.

  ‘Just one more thing, your ladyship. Do you know anything about two fat men with ponytails? Apparently well dressed … in an expensive car.’

  ‘No.’

  The answer didn’t surprise him at all. ‘One last question: did you know that Geoffrey Sanson was in debt?’

  ‘It would be the gee-gees. Yes, I knew about that. He tapped my husband a couple of times for a few hundred pounds. But he always paid him back. It wasn’t for a big amount, was it? I’d hate to think …’ She stopped speaking and shook her head slightly.

  ‘I don’t know. I hope to find out all about that very soon.’

  ‘Sanson was a nice man,’ she smiled again. Her eyes looked distant as she recalled happy times.

  Angel noticed a dimple form in her left cheek when she smiled. ‘I understand that he liked you.’

  ‘Yes. Yes … I believe he did … A nice man,’ she said distantly.

  ‘Yes.’ Angel stood up. ‘Well, thank you very much, your ladyship. That’s all I need for now. I might want a statement about Geoffrey Sanson, if you wouldn’t mind. Perhaps, also, you wouldn’t mind coming to the station, sometime. You can give it to my sergeant. I’ll give you a ring. Save time.’

  ‘Of course. Of course,’ she said crossing to the door. ‘Anything I can do to help,’ she added with a polite smile.

  They shook hands. She opened the door. Angel hesitated on the step.

  ‘May I have a look round the garden before I go? Your spring flowers … budding: I am a keen gardener.’

  ‘Yes of course. There’s not much to see, inspector. I haven’t done a thing out there since I arrived.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Goodbye.’

  The door closed.

  He turned away and strode down the short path to the L-shaped lawn and surrounding border. He stepped on to the middle of the lawn and looked closely at the turf; it was in need of cutting. Crossing to the borders farthest from the bungalow, he looked down at the dead tulips and daffodils and the dandelions, plantain and dock leaves beginning to show. He had seen what he wanted to see. Straightening up, he briskly returned to his car and made his way back to the station.

  *

  ‘Mrs Buller-Price called in to see you, sir,’ Ahmed said.

  Angel took off his coat and threw it at him. ‘Oh yes,’ he said vaguely. His mind was elsewhere.

  ‘She left a message.’

  Angel crossed to the desk and dropped into the swivel chair. ‘What is it?’

  ‘She remembered the name of the little girl who was the daughter of Cyril Sagar and his wife.’

  Angel looked up at him. ‘And what is it?’

  ‘Elspeth, sir,’ he said. ‘Elspeth.’

  Angel’s eyes opened wide. ‘Yes. That’s it! I remember. I knew it was something daft. Elspeth Sagar. Yes. Now that’s the woman I want you to find. She’ll probably be married by now.’

  ‘Right, sir. There was something else. Mrs Buller-Price is still expecting you for a cup of tea, sir.’

  ‘Aye. Thank you, lad. Any other messages?’

  ‘Dr Mac came in and left a file. It’s on your desk. He said it was the PMs on Dr Sinclair and his wife. He said to tell you, he didn’t think it contained anything you didn’t already know.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ Angel groaned. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘You asked me to find Geoffrey Sanson’s next of kin. I can’t find any living relative, sir.’

  ‘Hmmm. Right, lad. We’ll have to give that one up. While I remember, there’s some aerosols of paint in the stores. They were confiscated from that graffiti idiot who got a six-month ASBO. Tell the sergeant you want to borrow a couple for me. If there’s a choice of colours, choose light ones, like white or yellow, but any will do. All right?’

  Ahmed nodded and made for the door.

  ‘And I want a hammer. A heavy one.’

  He blinked. ‘Right sir.’

  ‘Are you going to remember all this, lad?’ he snapped.

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘Mmmm. Right. And I nearly forgot. I want a moustache.’

  Ahmed’s eyes nearly dropped out. ‘A moustache, sir? A moustache? Now where am I going to get a moustache from?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be such a defeatist, lad. And it has got to be this colour,’ he said twitching his hair between his fingers. ‘Get a big one. I’ll cut it down to the size I want myself.’

  Angel watched the door as it closed and smiled briefly. Then he leaned back in the chair and looked up at the ceiling. The good humour left him. Giving out a long sigh, he rubbed his chin hard several times, then reached forward and picked up the phone.

  He tapped in a number and waited. At length it was answered.

  Angel said, ‘Hello. Is that Mr Mountjoy?’

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘This is Inspector Angel, Bromersley Police. I wonder if you could get to the station tomorrow morning, Mr Mountjoy. It’s a matter of identifying the murderer.’

  14

  It was Friday, the thirteenth.

  Angel picked up the plastic bag of bits and pieces he had asked Ahmed to procure for him and came out of the station by the rear door. He got into his car and drove out of the yard, turned into the road towards Huddersfield and along to Victoria Falls roundabout. Turning left up the road towards Barnsley for 200 yards, he stopped, turned round, parked up at the side of the kerb and got out his mobile. He tapped in a number.

  There was a short wait, then a click and a woman’s voice said, ‘Hello?’

  ‘Ah, good morning, Lady Ogmore. DI Angel here. I wonder if you’d be so kind as to call into the station and give my sergeant that statement about Geoffrey Sanson and what you knew of his financial situation, as we discussed?’

  ‘Good morning, inspector,’ she said brightly. ‘Yes, of course. When would you like me to come?’

  Angel smiled. ‘Well, to suit you really. Now, would be very convenient?’ he said hopefully.

  There was a slight pause. ‘I’ll come straightaway.’

  Angel beamed. ‘Thank you so much. Ask for detective sergeant Gawber. He’ll be expecting you. Goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye inspector.’

  He nodded, pressed the button and tapped in another number.

  It was promptly answered. ‘Gawber.’

  ‘She’s on her way,’ Angel said grimly.

  ‘Right sir,’ he replied.

  Angel cancelled the mobile and dropped it into his pocket. He looked at his watch. He reckoned it would only take a couple of minutes for her ladyship to lock up the bungalow, get in her car, drive through the estate gates and down to Victoria Falls on her way to the station. He had the roundabout well in his sights; all he had to do was to wait.

  Two minutes and forty seconds later, he saw the open-top white Porsche glide past the end of the road and round the island on its way to Bromersley. He nodded approvingly, started up the car engine, drove back to the roundabout, turned left along the main Huddersfield road for a hundred yards and left through the estate gates. Pulling up outside Lady Ogmore’s bungalow, he grabbed the plastic bag, got out of the car and strode purposefully through the front gate along the path, down the side to the rear of the building. He looked round at the shrubs and field beyond. There were no signs of life in any direction. He took out the aerosol can of unsightly yellow paint, shook it and sprayed the pane of glass that had been replaced only nine days earlier.

  Ahmed had borrowed a hammer from the station maintenance man. Angel reached into the bag for it and lunged at the window. There was a loud crash as the glass broke and jagged pieces of the yellow-painted glass dropped on to the path at his feet and into the bedroom. He continued the bashing until the hole in the window was big enough to gain access.

  *

  Angel opened the door of the CID briefing room and l
ooked inside. He was pleased it was unoccupied. There was a table at the front, near the door, with a pile of books on it and a telephone. The wall behind it was fitted with a blackboard. A third of the board was covered with notes and photographs of persons wanted or missing and there was a column of names written up in chalk. A big map of Bromersley and the surrounding district covered a side wall, and in the body of the room were five rows of chairs, six in a row.

  Angel wrinkled his nose: there was an unpleasant smell of fish and chips. He crossed to the window, opened it, then he went back to the table, picked up the phone and tapped in a number.

  There was a click and a voice said, ‘Gawber.’

  ‘I’m back. Wheel her into the briefing room,’ he said sombrely.

  There was a click. He replaced the phone, ambled thoughtfully across to the chairs and sat on one at the front.

  After a few moments, he heard footsteps along the corridor and Lady Emerald’s gentle voice. ‘In here, sergeant?’

  ‘Yes please, ma’am,’ Gawber said, and he remained in the doorway.

  Angel stood up.

  She glided through the door all smiles, as beautiful and immaculate as ever. She spotted Angel and crossed towards him. ‘There you are, inspector. The sergeant is looking after me wonderfully well. It’s so interesting to see where you work and where it all happens.’

  ‘Would you like to join me, your ladyship?’ He said indicating the chair next to him.

  There was a momentary look of confusion on her face. She glanced swiftly round, hesitated, smiled and said, ‘Er yes. Of course.’

  WPC Leisha Baverstock appeared at the door. Gawber whispered something to her. She nodded and came into the room.

  Lady Ogmore stared into her face and then at the uniform of the WPC for a second, and forced a smile.

  ‘Good morning, Lady Ogmore,’ Leisha said, confidently, and sat down in the chair two away from her.

  Her ladyship nodded and smiled. Her eyes darted from one to the other, round the room and back to the WPC. The smile left her and her hand went thoughtfully to her mouth.

  Angel nodded at Gawber who disappeared leaving the door open. He put his elbow on the back of the chair and turned to face her. ‘I have just returned from your bungalow, Lady Ogmore,’ he began quietly. ‘I am afraid I found it necessary to smash the glass in your bedroom window.’

  Her mouth dropped open and she blinked several times.

  ‘But I’ve sent a police constable and a glazier up there. It will soon be repaired again.’

  She shrugged and said, ‘Well, never mind, inspector. Accidents will happen.’

  ‘Oh no. No,’ he said quickly. ‘It wasn’t an accident. I did it on purpose.’

  She shook her head very slightly. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. If it’s being repaired …’

  ‘Oh but it does, Lady Ogmore. It does. You see, although it may seem a detail to you, when you smashed the window nine days ago, fragments of glass flew all over the place … on to the lawn … even on to the border by the fence, twelve feet away.’

  Her face went pale. Her eyes froze. ‘I didn’t smash any window.’

  Angel held up a steadying hand. ‘Now if it had been smashed from the outside, as I did this morning, most of the glass would have dropped on to the path and into the room on to your bedroom carpet.’

  Gawber came back into the room and sat quietly next to him.

  She hesitated. ‘Not necessarily,’ she said. ‘It could have been windy.’

  ‘It was a very calm and sunny day. I’ve just completed the experiment and the point is proven. I even painted the glass yellow so that it is easy to see it and it will not be confused with the glass fragments that spread further afield when you smashed it from the inside, as only you could have done.’

  He waited.

  Her mouth twitched, then she said: ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. Why would I smash my own window? It’s preposterous.’

  Angel pursed his lips. ‘It’s not that preposterous … not when you wanted everybody to believe that you too were a potential victim.’

  ‘This is nonsense. Not only is this ridiculous, but I know that you have to have proof. And that you can’t have.’

  ‘Oh but I do,’ he said confidently. ‘I’ve got an eye witness.’

  ‘You can’t have!’

  ‘I have a witness who saw you leaving Alison Drabble’s flat in your car in great haste, minutes after you had murdered her.’

  ‘Ridiculous,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘I was nowhere near her place the day she was murdered.’

  ‘Ah. This man knows differently.’ He glanced back over his shoulder at Gawber and nodded.

  Gawber got up and went out through the door into the corridor.

  Nobody spoke.

  By now Lady Ogmore was red in the face, her breathing was heavy and unsteady, her hands shook at times but her jaw was set defiantly.

  Angel licked his lips and rubbed his chin. He was trying to remain confident. It wasn’t easy: he was depending upon an eye witness who couldn’t see!

  Gawber came back into the room leaving the door open. They exchanged glances as he returned to his seat next to Angel.

  Lady Ogmore looked from one to the other and said, ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘All will be revealed, your ladyship.’

  After a few seconds, in the silence, they could hear the regular tapping of a stick against the wall along the corridor and a man with a moustache, dark glasses, in a light raincoat and hat with a cream Labrador in its yellow dayglo and aluminium harness appeared framed in the doorway twenty feet away.

  ‘Ah,’ Angel called. ‘Come in, Mr Mount joy.’ The man gripped the aluminium harness tightly in his left hand and the white stick in his right and followed the dog a few paces into the room.

  Her ladyship’s mouth dropped open. She began to speak but stopped.

  Angel called. ‘Do you recognize this lady?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said confidently. ‘She’s the one I saw last Tuesday at about two minutes past two coming out of the recreation ground opposite Mrs Drabble’s flat on Carlton Road. Nearly knocked me down. Kept pipping her horn. She could see I had a dog.’

  Lady Emerald’s face went scarlet. Her hands trembled. She licked her lips and swallowed. ‘Ridiculous. He couldn’t have seen me.’

  ‘Come in. Sit down, Mr Mountjoy,’ Angel said.

  The man followed the dog to the table by the door. He carefully put his stick across the table top, let go of the harness, pulled out the chair behind the table and sat down. He touched the dog on its back and the animal gave a quick wag of its tail and flopped on to the floor by his side.

  Lady Emerald followed the man’s every move: her eyes were transfixed on him. ‘It’s a trick!’ she shouted. Her hands were shaking. ‘He couldn’t have seen me.’

  Angel sat there expressionless.

  ‘Get him to read something,’ she called.

  Angel blinked and rubbed his chin.

  ‘If he can see, get him to read something,’ her ladyship said angrily.

  Angel looked at Mr Mountjoy, pursed his lips and made a pleading gesture with his hands.

  The man eventually said, ‘What do you want me to read?’

  Her ladyship’s face contorted with anger and she said, ‘Those books on the table. Take the third one down, and read aloud from that.’

  He selected the third book down out of the pile of five and opened it at random. ‘Shall I start from the top?’

  ‘No!’ she bawled angrily. ‘Start at the second paragraph down?’

  He held the book about fifteen inches from his face and, although he was still wearing sunglasses, he began to read, clearly and effortlessly. ‘When the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 came into force — on 1 January 1986 — police were given the power to photograph and fingerprint persons reported or charged with a recordable offence.’ He stopped, lowered the book, looked up and said, ‘Do you want me to go on?’

  Angel
looked at Lady Ogmore.

  ‘That’s not what’s written,’ she cried. ‘He’s remembered it from somewhere. It’s a trick. I know it is. He couldn’t have seen me!’

  Angel nodded at Gawber, who went over to the man at the table, took the book from him and showed the open page to her. She hardly glanced at it. She wouldn’t have been able to see it through all the rage and tears.

  ‘Is it the second paragraph down?’ Angel asked.

  Gawber looked at the page then back at Angel and nodded. ‘Yes.’

  Angel turned back to Lady Ogmore.

  ‘You’re surely not suggesting he memorized all that stuff in all five volumes, are you?’

  ‘I thought he was blind. I was certain he must be blind. Do you think I would have let a blind man stop me?’ She shook her head several times and stared at the floor. ‘I don’t know what Archie did with it. It wasn’t my fault he died and left all those debts,’ she muttered. ‘I couldn’t stand to be poor again … not at my age!’

  Angel nodded. That was it. The game was up. He sighed, rose to his feet and turned to WPC Baverstock.

  ‘You’d better search her first. I suspect she’ll have a stiletto on her somewhere. Be very careful.’

  Lady Ogmore’s head had dropped on to her chest; her eyes were closed. She seemed to have fainted. Baverstock and Gawber took her by the arms and lifted her to her feet. Her handbag dropped to the floor and fell open. A powder compact, a small perfume aerosol and a silver-handled stiletto in a slim leather sheath slithered on to the parquet floor.

  *

  ‘Her fingerprints were all over it, sir,’ Gawber said sombrely as he closed the office door.

  ‘Aye,’ Angel said, looking up from his desk and wrinkling his nose. ‘Label it and put it with the other four. Have you charged her?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘Any drugs on her?’