Murder in Bare Feet

by Roger Silverwood

  ‘Right, sir,’ Ahmed said and went out.

  As soon as the door closed, Angel sighed and wrinkled his nose. He was not a happy man. He was plagued with questions. He had been solving crimes now for nearly sixteen years but he had never had two cases so full of annoying, even ridiculous issues. For instance, why would a man commit murder with no shoes on? What sort of idiot walks about with no shoes on, waving a gun around? What’s the reason? And why had the victim no shoes? Two men without shoes? Both the murderer and the victim were walking about without shoes. It didn’t make any sense.

  He ran his hand through his hair.

  And why are the Joneses so secretive about having parsnips in the house? What’s so special about parsnips, for goodness sake? Were they used in connection with the murder of Charles Pleasant? There must be something dishonest about them. And he didn’t trust Emlyn Jones. He was sure he had something to do with Pleasant’s murder. But what? You can’t poison anybody with them. You can’t shoot them or knock anybody unconscious with them. They are not even slippery like a banana skin. You couldn’t put one on the top of the cellar steps to get rid of a rich, elderly relative with any certainty; he’d likely catch it with his stick without noticing and send it rolling down the stairs.

  ‘What possible use is a parsnip other than to eat the damned thing?’ he called out loud in exasperation.

  And how did that woman manage to flood the bank ten minutes after she’d left the place? The plumber said it was something to do with the ballcock, but he couldn’t quite see what. Neither did he know how she had managed to delay the leak for ten minutes to allow her and the phoney ambulance to make a clean getaway.

  And why is it that at the boarding house next door to the scrapyard they say they have a dog and a dog kennel, but the dog kennel is nowhere to be seen?

  The phone rang. He reached out for it. ‘Angel.’

  It was Don Taylor. ‘Excuse me, sir, but I’ve found out what that standing order for £800 a week payable to Hellman is for, sir.’

  ‘Oh yes, what?’

  ‘Well it’s to a Mr Hellman. He owns The Hacienda. Pleasant was paying him £800 a week rent.’

  Angel’s eyes narrowed. ‘The Hacienda? £800? Pleasant doesn’t own it then? Sounds a lot, £800 a week?’

  ‘Well, you know the price of houses today, sir. I’ve spoken to Mr Hellman. He bought the house from Pleasant in 2003.’

  Angel took the news in only slowly. ‘Who is this Hellman, then?’

  ‘He’s a local wholesale butcher … in a biggish way. Has premises on St George’s Road. A couple of retail shops. A stand in the market. Sells pre-packed meat lines like potted meat, salami and sandwiches to local factory canteens and so on. Imports and sells corned beef, tongue and other tinned meats. Well respected. He sounds kosher, sir.’

  Angel blinked. ‘You seem to know a lot about him?’

  ‘I knew you’d ask, sir.’

  Angel nodded and smiled. He replaced the phone. He rubbed his chin. He was amazed to learn that the house didn’t belong to Pleasant. He wondered about it briefly. Over the past twelve years, the Frazer sisters, between them, had certainly made a good job of spending his money.

  The phone rang. He reached out for it. It was Gawber.

  ‘Yes?’ Angel said.

  ‘I followed Emlyn Jones to the block of flats in Sheffield where Abe Longley lives, sir. I couldn’t follow him in, of course. I’m waiting outside.’

  Angel nodded. He had thought that Jones might contact his nephew, Abe, and warn him that he might be approached by the police and to be guarded about what he might say. But he was surprised that Jones would drive the fifteen miles to Sheffield, presumably to avoid creating the record of a phone call and the possibility of being overheard.

  ‘Right, Ron. Well, hang on there and see where Jones goes next. Follow him and ring me on my mobile. I’ll get over there just as soon as I can. See what Abe Longley has to say for himself. All right?’

  Gawber rang off.

  Angel glanced across the desk. It was very untidy. Papers all over the place. Correspondence read but not dealt with. Messages on backs of envelopes. Mysterious words scrawled on sticky notes. Not his usual style, but he decided that there was nothing he couldn’t leave until later. His blood was up. He was determined to get to the bottom of the case. He hoped that following Jones’s urgent visit to Abe Longley he might trip across some vital clue or titbit of information that would be the key to solving this case. Jones was very careful. Very careful indeed. And extremely clever. His attention to detail was quite exceptional. If he was up to anything criminal, Angel knew he’d need to draw on all his skills to catch him out.

  He dashed out of the office and down the corridor.

  CHAPTER 14

  * * *

  He arrived outside a group of four concrete blocks of high-rise flats on the north side of Sheffield. He found the block where Abe Longley lived and drove the BMW round looking for Gawber’s car. He couldn’t see it so he assumed Jones had gone and that he would be following him. He parked the BMW at the foot of the block, among another twenty cars or more. He made his way towards the lift doors. Rude words and hieroglyphics were spray-painted on them. He decided to walk up the steps to the first level, so changed direction. Four small girls were playing a jumping game on the steps. As he approached, a fat woman appeared from nowhere. She picked up the smallest girl, put her under arm, shouted something at the other three and rapidly shepherded them behind the steps along a corridor into the bowels of the building.

  He made his way up to the first floor and along the outside walkway, found the flat he wanted and knocked on the door. He had to wait what seemed for ages before the door was opened. A man answered it. He opened it about fifteen inches and held it in position with his foot while he buttoned up his shirt and tucked it into his trousers.

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector Angel. I’m looking for Mr Abe Longley?’

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘I’m making inquiries about the murder of Charles Pleasant.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said, showing no emotion or surprise. Then he hesitated and looked sideways behind the door. He looked uneasy.

  Angel sensed that there was something or somebody behind the door. His heart began to hammer in his chest.

  ‘I need to come in,’ he said. ‘There are some questions I want to put to you.’

  Longley looked back at him. He licked his lips. ‘It’s not convenient just now. Can you come back later?’ he said. He gave another glance behind the door.

  Angel’s fists tightened. ‘No,’ Angel said. ‘I’ve come all the way from Bromersley and—’

  He broke off, grabbed the edge of the door and gave it a mighty push, sending Longley backwards toward a sideboard behind him. There was a thud and the rattle of china and drawer handles. Angel peered behind the door and saw a girl with long stringy hair, big frightened eyes and wearing a smart white astrakhan coat. She was waiting behind the door. When she saw him, she screamed and put her fingers to her mouth.

  Longley recovered himself and came up to Angel with his fists clenched.

  The girl screamed again, then she ran across the room bare foot and out through the door at the other side of the flat.

  Longley’s face was red and his jaw muscles tight. ‘You didn’t have to do that,’ he said. ‘You’ve frightened her.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought you had somebody threatening you. I find that people hiding behind doors aren’t usually very friendly.’

  Longley looked at him for a moment, then slowly lowered his fists.

  Angel closed the door and looked round the little room. The table, sofa and floor were littered with store bags, boxes and loose tissue paper. ‘Your wife been on a shopping spree?’

  Longley looked away and ran his hand across his mouth. ‘Yeah, well, I suppose you could say that. She’s not my wife. She doesn’t live here. Her name’s Penny Furnace; she’s a neighbour.’ He suddenly spotted something amid the wrappi
ng paper and reached down for it.

  Angel saw it: it was black, small and frilly.

  Then Longley saw a stocking on a chair, and another on the table. He snatched at them and squeezed them in his hands to make them small.

  He went to the room door. A hand attached to a slim bare arm reached into the room. He pushed the stuff silently into it. The hand and arm disappeared and then came out again. He frowned and looked round the room and then at the floor. He found one shoe and then another. He put them into the girl’s hand. The hand and arm were pulled in and he closed the door. He returned, avoided looking directly at Angel, blew out an impatient measure of air and said, ‘Yeah, well, what do you want from me? Anyway, what happened to that bastard, Minto?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Minto? He retired,’ Angel said. ‘May I sit down?’

  Longley moved some wrapping off the sofa and banged it on to the table. ‘Right bastard he was.’

  Angel sat down. He guessed that Minto was the officer who had brought the case against his father four years earlier, that had resulted in Larry Longley being sent to prison for life. He could well understand Abe Longley’s resentment, but he really didn’t want to dwell on any history.

  ‘You said something about Charles Pleasant,’ Abe Longley said. ‘You’re making inquiries about his murder? Well, I’ve just had my uncle here. He told me you would be coming. He warned me to be careful. I don’t know what for. I’ve got nothing to be careful about. Huh! My mother’s been murdered and my father’s wasting away in jail; what have I got to be careful about? As long as I’m not set up for murdering Pleasant like my Dad was set up for murdering my mother, I should think I’m all right.’

  ‘You understand, Mr Longley, I have to follow up all persons who have a motive for killing him. And you wouldn’t deny you have a motive?’

  ‘He murdered my mother and got my father in prison for it; I’ll say I’ve a motive. I wouldn’t deny it at all. I’m glad he’s dead. I hope he rots in hell, but I didn’t kill him.’

  Angel didn’t react. He understood the man’s feelings.

  ‘So I simply need an alibi. I need to know where you were between four and five o’clock last Sunday afternoon?’

  ‘That’s easy. I was here with Penny all afternoon.’

  Angel nodded and pursed his lips.

  Longley turned his head and shouted: ‘Hey. Penny. Are you there?’

  There was a squeak of hinges and the room door opened, but she didn’t make an appearance.

  ‘Come on in, Penny.’

  First one eye, a nose and half a face, and then the other half of Penny appeared. She was dressed in a white overall dress with the words ‘Moo Moo Ice Cream’ embroidered in red on the lapels. She wore a pretty pendant necklace of rubies and pearls and two or three rings on every finger except the third on her left hand. She stared at Angel as if she was expecting him to jump out and attack her as she moved sideways round the room with her back to the wall.

  ‘This is Inspector Angel. He’s a policeman.’

  Angel smiled at her. She smiled back briefly with her mouth, but her big eyes were weighing up the man and the situation.

  Longley said: ‘He’s come about the man who murdered my mother. I told you about it.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Pleased to meet you, Inspector, but if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go to work. I’m going to be late.’

  ‘The inspector wants to know where I was on Sunday afternoon. Will you tell him?’

  ‘He was with me, here, Inspector. Watching a video, some of the time. Then my mother and father came in for a cup of tea.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘Half past four,’ she said. ‘Look at the time, Abe. I’ll have to go.’

  ‘Half past four?’ Angel said.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive,’ she said, then she made for the door, stopped, glanced at Angel, came back, put her arms round Longley’s neck, gave him a big, hard kiss, whispered something that sounded like, ‘Thank you. See you tonight.’ Then she made for the door.

  ‘I’ll need your full name and address,’ Angel called but the door had closed and she was gone.

  Longley turned to look at Angel with his mouth open.

  Angel thought Longley was surprised and embarrassed at the young woman’s show of affection.

  ‘I’ll need her name and address, and her mother and father’s name and addresses.’

  ‘Her name is Penelope Furnace and her parents are Ken and Barbara Furnace. They all live two doors away at number 114.’

  ‘I’ll have to speak to them.’

  ‘Of course. Why not?’

  ‘Are you in full-time employment at the moment, Mr Longley?’

  He sniffed. ‘I am not doing a lot at the moment. I had a job preparing meat for a supermarket, but it merged with another supermarket and powers that be decided to do the prepping at their HQ so I was surplus to requirements. I could have taken a job at nights doing a different job at less money, but I didn’t want to.’

  ‘So you’re presently unemployed?’

  ‘Well, yes. But I’m looking round.’

  ‘Have you any qualifications?’

  ‘Nothing formal. Spent all my working life in the meat trade.’

  ‘Taking after your father? There should be plenty of opportunities in and around Sheffield for an experienced butcher.’

  ‘Yes. Might even get my own shop,’ Longley said.

  Angel smiled politely and rose to his feet. ‘That’s all for now. I must call on Mr and Mrs Furnace.’

  Longley nodded and opened the door for him. ‘Turn right and it’s two doors along. A hundred and fourteen.’

  ‘Thanks very much. Good luck with the job hunting.’

  He sauntered along the walkway up to the door of flat number 114, two doors away. A genteel lady in her fifties answered the door. It was Mrs Furnace, mother of Penelope. She welcomed him and invited him into the flat. She introduced him to her husband. It seemed that they were watching a DVD on a large new slimline television set. It was the only bright piece of furniture in the dreary sitting room.

  The Furnaces seemed to have taken Abe Longley into the bosom of their family and were happy to confirm that they had certainly taken tea with their daughter, Penelope at Abe Longley’s last Sunday at 4.30 p.m.

  Angel returned to Bromersley well satisfied with his afternoon’s work thus far. He was travelling along Sheffield Road, checked the time on the BMW dashboard clock and saw that it was just short of four. If he was quick, he thought, he could call on Jazmin Frazer and clear up some points that had been bothering him. He took the next turning left off Sheffield Road on to Creesforth Road and travelled up to the last house next to the green belt, The Hacienda. He drove through the open gates, along the short drive round the fountain and stopped directly in front of the stone steps leading up to the front door. He was about to get out of the BMW when he became aware of the arrival of another car behind him.

  It was a swish red Italian sports car coming round the fountain at speed.

  In his driving mirror, he saw it advance towards him from behind. It was travelling much faster than he liked. He gasped and braced himself for a collision. Then suddenly it slowed abruptly and stopped only a truncheon’s thickness from his rear bumper. He blew out a lungful of air, leaped out of the car and turned round to confront the driver.

  A pair of long, nylon clad legs swung out of the low car on to the tarmac. They belonged to Jazmin Frazer.

  She laughed as his face showed that he had not appreciated her driving.

  ‘Good afternoon, Inspector.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Frazer,’ he said.

  ‘You needn’t have worried,’ she said. ‘There are little cameras at the front and the back of the car so that I can see exactly how near I am to things … an absolute godsend when parking. So sorry if I alarmed you.’

  She hadn’t hit his car, so there was no p
roblem. He shrugged and said: ‘I need to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘Certainly. Come in.’

  She unlocked the door pushed it open, threw her shopping and handbag on to the hall table, cancelled the alarm buzzer and directed him into a large comfortable-looking room with easy chairs, sofas and low tables arranged in a semicircle around a giant television screen.

  They settled in chairs adjacent to each other. She turned to face him.

  ‘Did Charles Pleasant leave a will?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, Inspector. The will is with his solicitors, and, before you ask, he left everything to me, as he promised he would.’

  ‘And have you any idea what his estate amounts to?’

  ‘Not yet. The solicitors are working on it. I believe your Sergeant Taylor took some documents away with him, to do a valuation.’

  Angel nodded and wondered if he should tell her the news about the shares and the bonds. He chickened out for the moment and rubbed his lips with his fingers thoughtfully.

  ‘You went to see Larry Longley recently … nine days ago, actually.’

  She arched her eyebrows. ‘You’ve been checking up on me.’

  ‘It came up in the course of inquiries.’

  ‘I heard he was ill. I had not seen him since that last day in court. It was four years ago.’

  ‘When he was sentenced to prison.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You attended the trial?’

  ‘Every day. It was awful.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  She hesitated. After a few moments she said, ‘That prosecuting barrister, Twelvetrees … going through all that … evidence … in such graphic detail … that so-called forensic expert … demonstrating with that chopper making such a … big production of it. It was horrible. And cruel.’

  ‘Yes. As a result of all that, I thought you might have hated your brother-in-law?’

  ‘I hated that Twelvetrees and the judge more,’ she said. ‘It was my sister they were talking about. I know she was a bit of a trollop. And she treated Larry very badly, but they talked about her as if she was … a parcel.’