The Snuffbox Murders

by Roger Silverwood

  ‘I also came in to tell you that Mrs Podlitz is the only person on the electoral roll at that address, sir. She is also down as the owner of the garages and outhouses at the rear. Also, I looked up 26 Edward Street. Mrs Violet Beasley is the only name down as resident on the electoral roll.’

  Angel’s eyebrows went up. ‘Right,’ he said, banging his fist on the desk.

  ‘Also, there’s nothing known about Violet Beasley or Violet Small, her maiden name, sir,’ Ahmed finished with a self-satisfied nod.

  Angel looked up at him. He was pleasantly surprised. ‘Thank you, Ahmed,’ he said.

  Ahmed went out.

  Angel rubbed the lobe of his ear between finger and thumb for a few seconds, then said, ‘Flora, looks like we can’t make any progress on the country-house gang for the moment. That clever man has got one over us again. Let’s take advantage of The Manor House being unoccupied. There must be something we have overlooked in that cellar that would help identify Charles Razzle’s murderer. I know you’ve already looked at everything, but did you actually move the stuff against the walls, the safe for instance?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Right. Withdraw the front door key from the stores. Take a few hefty lads from CID. Move what you have to. Same with the walls. I want you to take a final thorough look round the place. There must be something there we have overlooked.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  ‘I’m going to visit that security specialist, Brian Farleigh.’

  Farleigh smiled and looked around his showroom. There were no customers, only the pretty receptionist at the desk by the door.

  ‘Shall we sit where we sat before, Inspector?’ he said.

  Angel nodded and flopped into an easy chair in a corner of the room.

  ‘What can I do for you this sunny afternoon?’ Farleigh said breezily. ‘I assume that it is in connection with the murder of Mr Razzle.’

  Angel sighed. ‘Yes indeed. I just want to check on a few facts, Mr Farleigh. It is a mystery as to how the murderer managed to enter the house so boldly by the front door.’

  ‘Must have had a key.’

  ‘Oh yes. The windows and the back door were all closed and secure. So he certainly came in that way and he definitely used a key. I have accounted for all the official keys. So he must have used a copy … but I don’t know how he might have come by it. Then he managed to dodge the two CCTV cameras, enter the cellar workshop, shoot Charles Razzle, set it up to look like it was the robot who had committed the crime, and then make his escape. Now, Mr Farleigh, I believe that there must be a way out of the workshop or at least a place where a man could have hidden down there, to make his escape at a later time … and I was just checking with you that you didn’t come across such a possible hiding-place when you were fitting the security door for him.’

  Farleigh grinned. ‘You have already asked me that, Inspector?’

  Angel hunched his shoulders slightly. ‘Yes, well, when we can’t solve a crime,’ he said, ‘we go back over things. Maybe ask the same questions, hoping that we might glean a titbit of extra information that could provide another line of inquiry.’

  Farleigh shook his head. ‘No, Inspector. Sorry. I don’t know of anything new or different. I just supplied and fitted the door. Charles Razzle wouldn’t let me work on anything without him being there. He was very secretive.’

  Angel wrinkled his nose.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t be more helpful,’ Farleigh said.

  Angel’s mobile rang. He frowned, rummaged in his coat pocket, looked at Farleigh and said, ‘Excuse me.’

  It was Flora Carter. She sounded breathless. ‘Sorry to bother you, sir. We’re here in the cellar workshop at The Manor House.’

  Angel turned away. ‘Speak up, lass. It’s a bad line. Did you say you were speaking from the cellar workshop at the Razzle’s house?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘We’ve found a CCTV camera concealed in the wall.’

  Angel’s face brightened. ‘Has it got tape in it?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Is it possible it was recording the night that Charles Razzle was murdered?’

  ‘I don’t know that for certain, sir,’ Carter said, ‘but that’s what I was wondering.’

  Angel nodded and looked at his watch. It was five o’clock exactly.

  ‘We need SOCO to look at it for prints before we can actually view what has been recorded,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to leave it where it is until morning. But be sure and lock the workshop door. It’ll be safe there overnight.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  Angel gave a big sigh and smiled. ‘Great stuff, Flora. Well done. See you in the morning.’

  Angel pocketed the mobile and turned back to Farleigh, who was thumbing through one of his own catalogues.

  ‘Sorry about that, Mr Farleigh,’ Angel said.

  Farleigh looked up. ‘That’s all right,’ he said closing the catalogue and tossing it to a table nearby. ‘I’m sorry that I am not able to add to my original statement.’

  ‘You only know what you know,’ Angel said, getting to his feet. ‘Well, must be off. Good afternoon.’

  *

  It was ten minutes past midnight. The sky was as black as fingerprint ink. The only sound to be heard was the nearby rustle of trees and bushes and the distant hum of traffic on the motorway a mile away.

  A high-powered car whispered its way slowly past the front of The Manor House on Creesforth Road. It ran out of sight, then came back three minutes later with its lights switched off and drifted even more slowly past the big house. Then it speeded up and disappeared.

  Twenty minutes later, the figure of a tall man in a black hat materialized from behind a laurel bush in The Manor House front garden. He was carrying a black canvas bag. He stood motionless. He was looking and listening. Then he suddenly darted across the lawn in the direction of the house and stood by a small bush four metres from the front door. Moments later he reached the front door, opened the canvas bag and took out a pair of earphones and a microphone. He put the earphones on and plugged them into a power pack round his waist. He pushed the microphone on a short wire through the letterbox on the front door, plugged the other end into the power pack, turned up the power and listened.

  The listening system was so powerful that, reputedly at twenty metres, it could hear a mouse attempting to dislodge a sliver of mutton stuck between its molars. However, nothing was heard, so the man returned the microphone and earphones to the canvas bag, inserted a key in the front door and entered the house.

  When inside he took a headband with a small handtorch fitted to it out of the bag, slipped it over his head, switched it on and adjusted the light beam to shine directly ahead. He made his way through the hall to the kitchen and down the basement steps to the security door to the workshop. There, he quickly secured a small processor to the door lock with magnets, connected it to a hand-held computer powered by the power pack on his waist and started a search for the lock combination. It soon connected, and in seconds the six digits were shown on the LCD. He tapped the number displayed on to the keypad on the door, there was a click and the door opened a centimetre. He pulled the connecting wires out of the equipment, put it in his bag, reached up the door handle, pulled open the door and went into the workshop.

  No sooner had he entered the room than the light went on.

  The intruder saw Crisp standing resolutely in front of him. He looked round to see Angel, who said, ‘Strange place for you to be at this time of night, Mr Farleigh?’

  Brian Farleigh’s eyes flashed in every direction. His face glowed scarlet. His breathing was rapid. His head shook. He froze momentarily. Then with tremendous determination, he suddenly turned, brushed past Angel and made a run for the door. Angel reached out for him and caught his left arm. Farleigh turned back and lunged out at Angel’s head with his right fist and missed. Angel hung on. Farleigh made another lunge and missed again. Angel improved his grip on Farleigh’s arm, then, with
a quick twist of his wrist and a push at his elbow, the man dropped to the floor with a scream. Angel followed him down and brought the big man’s arm up round his back. Farleigh struggled like a madman. Crisp rushed over with the handcuffs and, putting his knee in Farleigh’s back, the two policemen secured one wrist in them and then, after a struggle, the other. Then they rose to their feet, pulling Farleigh up between them.

  When Farleigh’s shining big eyes met Angel’s, he yelled, ‘It was a trick, you bastard! A filthy trick.’

  Angel nodded and said, ‘Rather good, wasn’t it?’ He turned to Crisp and said, ‘Search him. Then charge him.’

  Crisp said, ‘Spread your feet.’

  Farleigh did so grudgingly and Crisp began patting him down.

  Over his shoulder Farleigh looked at Angel and said, ‘What are you charging me with?’

  ‘The murder of Charles Razzle. What did you think?’ Angel said.

  ‘Ridiculous. What motive could I possibly have for murdering him?’

  ‘Robbery,’ Angel said as he dusted down his suit with his hands.

  There was a pause.

  Crisp began emptying Farleigh’s pockets.

  ‘Robbery of what?’ Farleigh said.

  ‘The contents of that safe.’

  ‘How would I know what was in his safe?’

  ‘You saw the contents when you fitted this door and you’ve been wanting to get your sticky fingers in there ever since.’

  ‘That’s not true. What proof have you got that I knew what was in there?’

  ‘The fact that it was found empty after his dead body was found.’

  ‘That’s not proof, and it’s not proof that I murdered him.’

  ‘Robbery was the motive, and you stole the stuff. We’ve plenty of proof of the murder. Firstly, rather obviously, what are you doing here now, and don’t say you fancied a midnight stroll. You’ve already acknowledged you were tricked.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Exactly. You were worried in case a CCTV camera, which doesn’t exist, had film showing you murdering Charles Razzle and ransacking his safe.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘And where did you magic a front-door key from in a matter of six hours? It was the same key you used to break in here on the twenty-fifth of May to murder Charles Razzle, wasn’t it?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘No matter. We shall find it.’

  Crisp took something out of Farleigh’s jacket pocket and handed it to Angel.

  Angel looked at it. It was a strangely shaped key. He nodded and said, ‘Well, well, well. Here it is. Obviously home-made from the cast of an original. The jury will love that.’

  Farleigh glared at it and said, ‘It’s a plant. I’ve never seen it before.’

  Angel shook his head. ‘You’re a terrible actor, Farleigh. But what really brought you to my attention was the fact that it took you over two hours to open that door for Rosemary Razzle with your modern combination lock equipment the night you murdered him, while three days later, the police sergeant at the head of the CID Specialized Services, Cyphers, Codes and Combinations division, opened it in one minute and forty seconds, which was about the length of time it took you tonight. So why did it take you so long on the night of the murder?’

  ‘No comment.’

  Angel looked at Crisp, nodded and said, ‘Get on with it, lad. I’ve a bed to go to.’

  Crisp said, ‘Brian Farleigh, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something….’

  FOURTEEN

  ‘Come in,’ Angel said.

  The office door opened. It was Ahmed, his eyes like two fried eggs in a frying pan. ‘Good morning, sir. Is Mr Farleigh locked up for the murder of Charles Razzle?’

  ‘He is, lad. Why?’

  ‘Mmm. That’s great, sir. He’s making a lot of noise.’

  ‘He can make as much noise as he likes. He’ll get tired before we do.’

  ‘He’s saying he didn’t do it sir, and he wants to see his solicitor.’

  ‘Well, he can see his solicitor, but he’ll have to give the poor man time to finish his kedgeree and devils on horseback. Find out who he is and tell him he has a client screaming out for his services.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  ‘And there’s no soap again in the washroom, Ahmed. When we’ve finished here, will you see if you can catch the cleaner before she goes and get a bar put in there?’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  ‘Now we’ve a lot to do this morning, Ahmed. I’ve no time—’

  The phone rang. Angel reached out for it. It was Harker.

  ‘Yes, sir?’ Angel said.

  Harker coughed several times into the mouthpiece, causing Angel to screw up his face and hold the phone away from his ear. When Angel thought he had finished the racket, he brought the phone back to his ear and had to endure another ear-splitting episode. Eventually, between the coughing, he managed to hear Harker say, ‘Come up here, Angel. This is a very serious matter.’ It was followed by more coughing.

  Angel wrinkled his nose as he replaced the phone. He stood up. He looked across at the young constable. ‘It’s the super,’ he said. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Right, sir. I’ll see if I can find the cleaner,’ he said and went out.

  Angel thought about what the ‘serious matter’ might be. There were quite a few peripheral matters and corners he had cut over the past two weeks, but he couldn’t bring anything to mind that might be described in such terms. Of course, he had never adopted the HOLMES method of investigation, which in the UK was highly regarded and applied by most of the forty-three police forces. It had nothing to do with the fictional character, Sherlock Holmes. The name was an innocent coincidence. HOLMES was an acronym for Home Office Large/Major Enquiry System, the UK mainframe police computer system.

  Angel had never attempted to adopt this thorough and extreme system and he hoped that Harker hadn’t suddenly realized that it should have been in use and that he intended to compel Bromersley force to embrace it.

  He arrived at the superintendent’s door. He took a deep breath, knocked, and walked in.

  Harker glanced up from his overloaded desk. His eyes seemed more bloodshot than usual, his sparse grey/ginger/brown strands of hair even sparser than before, and his potato-shaped nose more purple than the red colour he usually showed.

  He sniffed. ‘Ah, yes. You, lad.’ He reached out for a letter in one of the wire baskets on the desk in front of him. He read it, put it back, pulled out another, read that, looked up and said, ‘You were assisting Sheffield CID last Tuesday?’

  Angel blinked then he said, ‘No, sir.’

  Harker glared across at him. ‘Your BMW was seen driving away from the crime scene at Strawberry Reservoir just as Detective Chief Inspector Pimm and his team were arriving. You took statements from the four witnesses and instructed them on how to behave at a crime scene.’

  Angel’s eyebrows shot up. ‘No, sir. Not really. I—’

  ‘Didn’t I tell you to stand fast because the crime was in the Sheffield area and was nothing to do with us?’

  ‘Yes, sir, but I needed to know whether the victim was who I thought it was.’

  Harker was angry. His heavy eyebrows fluttered. ‘Have you stopped taking orders from your superiors, then?’

  ‘No, sir. You didn’t order me not to look at the victim. I understood that you simply didn’t want me to undertake the investigation of the case.’

  ‘You did not only look at the victim, you had … DS Crisp, I suppose it was … take photographs. And you interviewed the four witnesses.’

  ‘I didn’t interview them, sir. I merely spoke to them, or rather they spoke to me.’

  ‘Are you quibbling with me, lad? Did the witnesses impart any information to you about the dead woman or not?’

  ‘Well, yes. I suppose…. They sort of … volunteered it.’

  �
�And did you have someone take photographs at the scene?’

  ‘Well, er – yes. That was entirely at my instigation, sir.’

  ‘DCI Pimm is not favourably impressed with this interference, lad. He is quite right to call it professional trespass. The matter will have to be reported to the chief constable. It will be up to him how far he wants to take the matter. We must retain a good professional relationship with all other forces, particularly those with whom we share a common boundary. Also, there’s the matter of the taking of photographs of corpses that are not your case.’

  Angel suddenly had an idea. ‘Does DCI Pimm know the identity of the dead woman, sir?’

  ‘Of course not. That’s what’s made him so angry. He says that he may never find out who she is.’

  Angel ran his hand slowly across his mouth and said, ‘That’s true, sir. That’s very true.’ Then he added, ‘I can send him the photographs if—’

  ‘What’s the point of that? He’s got the body. He can take as many bloody photographs as he likes, can’t he?’

  ‘Just trying to put matters right, sir. If he feels hard done by—’

  ‘I should think he does. Right. Get back to your desk. This complaint against you is far too serious for me to deal with. I shall pass it upstairs. The chief can make the decision what to do with you when he gets back.’

  Angel didn’t like that. If it was upheld, it would go on his record and might be referred to endlessly by Harker. He might have a stoppage of pay. He didn’t want any of that, either.

  He came out of the superintendent’s office and stormed down the corridor. He felt as if he had been force-fed three helpings of Strangeway’s fish pie and it wouldn’t drop down his stomach.

  PC Ahaz saw Angel coming towards him. He stopped and said, ‘Excuse me, sir. The radiator in the corridor outside the CID office is making a funny noise.’

  Angel kept on walking. ‘Tell me later, lad. Tell me later,’ he said, not caring if the radiator exploded into a thousand pieces. He reached his office, immediately reached out for the phone and tapped in the number for the South Yorkshire Police.