He remembered that there was a switch under the edge of the carpet by the driver’s seat which was an immobilizer switch. It could be operated by contact with the heel of his right shoe if he pulled it back far enough. It was put on all Bromersley police vehicles to prevent a car being stolen when, for some reason, it may have to be parked in an unsafe area. He wondered if he could make use of it on this occasion. He had a plan.
As he meandered down the cart track, Angel developed a cough. It seemed to be nothing, but it persisted, so eventually, he reached down with his right hand to his trouser pocket.
Grogan started. He reared up and said, ‘What you doing? Show me your hand, slowly.’
Angel’s heart began to thump at the speed of the Ritual Fire Dance. He brought up his hand to show that he held only a plain white handkerchief.
Grogan eyed it suspiciously then said, ‘All right.’
Angel nodded and coughed into it. He held it in his hand for a little while. The cough seemed to subside so he returned the handkerchief to the same pocket. Seconds later the cough returned. He reached down for the handkerchief.
Grogan said, ‘All right, but don’t try anything clever or I’ll blow your frigging head off.’
Angel’s hand returned with the handkerchief. He coughed into it. He repeated the cough. He sounded genuinely ill.
Grogan stared up at Angel’s face.
While his attention was diverted, Angel brought back his right foot, knocked the switch under the carpet with the heel of his shoe, and the engine stopped abruptly, causing the car to jerk to a halt.
Grogan glanced round. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Don’t know,’ Angel said.
‘Are you out of petrol?’
Angel knew the tank was a quarter full. ‘No,’ he said.
Grogan tried to reach back to click off his seatbelt. He couldn’t do it. ‘Unfasten me,’ he said.
Angel realized he intended walking down the lane. Their destination couldn’t be far because the river was only a few hundred yards away. He knew his life would be at an end if he didn’t act soon.
Angel released Grogan’s seatbelt catch. The belt zipped away across him. Then Grogan reached up with the gun in his hand to the door handle. There was Angel’s chance. There was the valuable two seconds. Angel reached over Grogan’s chest and with both hands leaped on his left hand and reached out to the gun. A shot rang out. It was deafening and so close. Hot lead landed somewhere.
The gun was in Angel’s hand.
Angel then saw a hole in the car roof. He blew out a big breath in surprise and relief. The bullet had missed him by inches.
Grogan nursed the fingers of his left hand and said, ‘You frigging bastard.’
Angel knew he would have to move fast. If Grogan had supporters waiting for him with a boat at the water’s edge, the gunshot may have alerted them and they might turn up looking for him.
Angel got out of the car, rushed round to Grogan’s door, yanked it open then stepped several paces back. He released the clip on the Walther and counted three rounds, then pushed it back. A full clip held eight. Grogan had murdered four men and attempted to murder him; that was five. Five from eight, three. Correct.
‘Get out of the car,’ Angel said. ‘Move. Turn round. Put your hands on the car roof.’
He noted the great mess of blood on the car seat and Grogan’s raincoat. He patted him down. He was looking for any other weapons. There weren’t any but there were sealed, plastic packs of £1000 worth of £20 notes in every pocket. He snatched them out and threw them on the ledge under the windscreen. There were about twenty-five packs altogether.
‘What’s this, Grogan?’ Angel said. ‘Pocket money?’
‘Mind your own frigging business.’
He waved the gun at Grogan and said, ‘Stay there.’
Angel dashed back to the driver’s side of the car and fished around on the glove shelf looking for his handcuffs. He was going to handcuff Grogan and then fasten him with rope to the backseat of the car where he could do no harm, then quietly investigate the end of the lane.
He hadn’t reached the car door when a small white pick-up truck came racing towards him from the direction of the dock. There were two men standing in the back of the truck, aiming rifles at him, and in the cab were two others. He thought he recognized the driver.
Angel’s heart sank. He reached into his pocket for the Walther. Even with the luck of a lottery winner, he couldn’t possibly manage four of them and Grogan as well with three rounds.
The truck stopped close up to him, several feet from the BMW. The driver was Johnny Oxford, one of Grogan’s gang. He was pointing a revolver out of the window at him, ‘Put them up, Angel.’
He had no option but to obey. He raised his hands, his right hand still holding the Walther.
The men piled out of the truck.
Grogan rushed round the BMW, smiling and holding out his hands. He snatched the Walther out of Angel’s raised hand.
Oxford gave Grogan a bear hug and said, ‘Raphael, Raphael.’
Grogan said, ‘Johnny.’
‘You’re wounded, boss.’
‘Got caught by a stray bullet as I was trying to get out. I must get it seen to. Is everybody here?’
‘Yeah. Yeah.’
One of the men said, ‘Angus hasn’t turned up.’
‘He won’t be coming,’ Grogan said. He glanced back at Angel and said, ‘This frigging bastard has got him locked up at Bromersley nick.’
The five men glared at Angel.
Angel was worried. Seriously worried.
‘The boat ready?’ Grogan said.
‘Ready and waiting,’ Oxford said. He pointed at Angel and said, ‘What you going to do with the copper?’
‘We can’t take him with us,’ said one of the others.
‘Well, we can’t leave him here,’ Grogan said. ‘He knows too much.’
He looked round at the gang.
They all stared back at him.
‘Leave it to me.’
Angel felt a shiver run down his spine, his legs and his arms, down to his fingertips. He wanted to run but he knew it would only serve to entertain Grogan’s gang and prolong the agony of his certain death.
Grogan looked at him with cold, unfeeling eyes. There was no pity in them. ‘Angel,’ he said, and he pointed the barrel of the Walther towards the river. ‘Walk down the lane.’
Angel didn’t move. He couldn’t move. His body felt numb. He wanted to pray but he also wanted to stay alert, in case there was a way of avoiding this final scene. This wasn’t the way he had ever thought he would leave this earth. He had considered the possibility that he might die in a gun fight, but he had always thought that he would at least have had a gun in his hand. He had certainly not expected to be shot like a dog.
‘Go on,’ Grogan said, ‘walk down the lane.’
Angel kept his ground. He looked at Grogan with a fixed stare.
‘Walk down the lane, Angel,’ Grogan said. ‘Go on.’
Grogan raised the gun.
Angel saw his finger tighten round the trigger.
There was a loud gunshot and a tiny shower of earth exploded six inches in front of Angel and landed on his shoes.
‘If you won’t walk, then run, you frigging bastard.’
The other members of the gang laughed.
Grogan looked round at them, smiled and raised the gun again.
Then they heard a voice through a police megaphone say, ‘Put that gun down. You are surrounded. You are all under arrest.’
The gang looked round but they couldn’t see anybody. They defiantly raised their weapons.
‘Put your weapons on the ground now or you will be shot,’ the voice said.
More than thirty armed men in army uniforms, with bits of twigs and greenery projecting from their uniforms, suddenly appeared from behind the bushes, coming up the lane from the river and down the lane from the main road.
The gang hesitated.
‘Put your weapons on the ground now or you will be shot,’ the voice said. ‘This is your last chance.’
The four men and Grogan dropped their weapons and raised their hands to show they were empty.
Angel lowered his hands, sighed and gawped at them in surprise.
An unmarked police car he recognized turned off the main road, turned down the lane and stopped behind the BMW.
Out jumped Flora Carter. She had a big smile on her face. She ran up to him.
‘Are you all right, sir?’ she said brightly.
‘Of course,’ he said, rolling his shoulders and arms round to relax them. ‘You took your time.’
‘Your text message, “With Grogan. Follow. Inform SUO,” was a bit cryptic, sir, to say the least.’
‘It was the best I could do. Grogan was watching me, and I was watching him. I had to do it when I was looking for tissues for him, to clean him up.’
‘And you drove very fast, sir.’
‘The vehicle tracking device works regardless of speed, Flora,’ he said. ‘It just takes a bit longer to catch up, that’s all.’
‘Yes, sir. Have we enough to hold Grogan, sir?’ she said.
‘There’s plenty,’ Angel said. He reached into the BMW through the open window, picked up a small white box from the glove shelf and said, ‘Thanks to modern technology, Flora, absolutely everything is recorded on there.’ He put the box in his pocket and tapped it safely. He looked round.
‘Hey. Do these chaps know there are probably a few more of Grogan’s gang at the bottom of this lane?’
‘There were two, sir,’ Carter said. ‘They mopped them up first. They were in a small boat – a cobble I think they call it – with a trunk full of money. They were waiting for Grogan and any others in the gang who had survived the attack.’
‘They presumably had a rendezvous with a sea-going boat to who knows where.’
Angel saw Grogan, and the other members of the gang, handcuffed behind their backs, being pushed up the lane.
‘Well, come on, Flora. Might as well get off. These Special Unit of Operations lads seem to know what they are doing. They can finish up here.’
SIXTEEN
Angel arrived back at the station at a few minutes past four o’clock. Ahmed followed him into his office carrying a blue message pad.
‘Everything all right now, Ahmed? The emergency over?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Thank you for telling me what was going on. I realize that you could have been in trouble.’
He smiled. ‘That’s all right, sir.’ He referred to the blue pad he was holding. ‘I’ve got three messages for you.’
‘Right, lad, what are they?’
‘Inspector Trickett from Leeds Central phoned just to keep you in the loop about Peter King,’ Ahmed said. ‘The inspector said that a cardigan has turned up belonging to that schoolgirl who was raped and murdered just before Christmas. It has been tested for DNA and semen stains on it showed that they are from Peter King, so he’s been re-arrested and charged.’
‘He’ll be pleased.’ Angel said.
‘Who will?’ Ahmed said.
‘Both,’ Angel said. ‘It’ll get him out of our way for a bit. What else?’
‘Superintendent Harker wants to see you, sir,’ he said, ‘as soon as you come in.’
Angel frowned. He didn’t want to know about it. It was always trouble. ‘What about, lad? Have you any idea?’
‘It might be that you weren’t at that service station when he’d specifically told you to stay there, sir.’
Angel wrinkled his nose and thought about it for a moment then said, ‘Aye, it might. And if I had stayed there, Grogan might be on his way to Morocco or somewhere more exotic, that has no extradition agreement with the UK, with four million quid belonging to other people.’ He sighed. ‘All right, lad. I’ll go up there. I’ll sort it. Thank you. Anything else?’
‘Your wife rang, sir. She said would you phone her back. She said it was important.’
Angel pulled a face. ‘That bloody bed,’ he said.
Ahmed peered at him. ‘What’s that, sir?’
Angel looked up. He hadn’t intended speaking out loud. ‘Oh? Nothing. Right, lad. Thank you.’
Ahmed went out.
Angel’s nose went up and the corners of his mouth turned down. He hadn’t assembled that bed yet and Lolly was supposed to be arriving tomorrow. It was such a tedious puzzle. He didn’t mind a mental puzzle but a physical puzzle was beyond him. It would take him all that evening to assemble it. And there was the fancy bedhead to assemble and then fix. He reached out for the phone and tapped in the number.
‘Hello, love,’ he said. ‘Are all right? Ahmed said you wanted me urgently. What’s the matter?’
‘It’s Lolly,’ she said.
He thought she sounded as if she’d been crying.
‘What about her?’
‘She’s not coming,’ she said. ‘After all I’ve done – we’ve done. She’s not coming.’
Angel was delighted but he said nothing.
‘You wouldn’t believe it,’ Mary said. ‘You know that she was originally coming to us to get out of the smell of paint because she had the decorator in to do the whole place? Well, the decorator is very artistic. She said he hasn’t just slapped paint on and papered clean bright new wallpaper. Here and there he has painted frescos. Anyway, he is quite mature and unmarried, a bit younger than her … well, eighteen years younger than her, actually … He’s finished decorating the house and, well, they’re going off to Nice together for three weeks. Staying in his sister’s seafront flat. And if it works out all right, they might get married. He’s already asked her. She says he’s a terrific physique. Runs on the beach every day. Has a great suntan and a great eight-pack. Personally, I think it’s disgusting. I don’t know what you think. Of course, you take a far more liberated attitude to carryings on like that. You’ll probably approve of what she’s going to do. I tried to talk her out of it but she wasn’t having any. She’s been married three times and each one of them has ended in disaster. I reminded her that I was the elder sister but that didn’t make any difference. Well, what do you think? If my mother was alive, she’d turn in her grave. Well, what do you think? Just a minute, there’s somebody at the door. Hold on, love. I will have to answer it. Hold on.’
Angel smiled. He didn’t care if Lolly married Nicolas Sarkozy or even Angela Merkel if he didn’t have to put that wretched bed together.
Suddenly he heard her voice again. ‘Hello, Michael. Are you there?’
‘Yes, love. Who was it?’
‘Josh from next door,’ she said sounding mysterious. ‘He took a little package in from the postman for us when I was out shopping this morning. It’s only small but it’s too big, whichever way you try it, to go through our letterbox. It’s quite heavy for its size. Shall I open it? Are you expecting anything? Can I open it now?’
‘For goodness’ sake, open it,’ Angel said. ‘Put yourself out of your misery.’
‘Hold on then. I’ve got a knife here.’
Angel heard the rustle of paper and then sounds of mystification, then more rustling of paper, more mystification then a sound of delight. ‘Oh, Michael. It’s beautiful. Amethyst. Natural amethyst. The way it picks up the light. Lolly would have been delighted to have had that in her bedroom. All those blues and purples. Oh, you are a darling. Thank you, sweetheart. As she is not coming I’ll put it at the side of the bed … my side. Is that all right, Michael?’
‘Yes, love,’ he said.
It would be from Felicity Kellerman. She had said she would send him a piece of amethyst, which he had politely declined. But it was very kind of her.
‘Will you be late tonight, darling?’ Mary said.
His ears pricked up. She hardly ever called him darling. ‘I don’t expect so, love,’ he said, warily. ‘Why?’
‘I’ve missed you, you fool. It’s been a long day. And I want to thank you for th
e beautiful amethyst. You can be so romantic when you want to be.’
He smiled. ‘No, I won’t be late, Mary,’ he said. ‘Goodbye, sweetheart.’ He replaced the phone, smiling. There was a bit of good news. Great. He continued to sit at his desk, smiling, until he heard it. That bluebottle had started up its monotonous buzzing again. Then he saw it. It zigzagged across his desk and made for the closed window. He leaped up, reached out for the Police Review, rolled it up and lunged into attack. He made several swipes to the left and then the right. Then it suddenly went very quiet. He wondered if he had made a direct hit. He looked carefully round the window but he could not see it. The buzzing suddenly started up behind him. He turned round. It was flying round the lampshade. He made swipe after swipe and was sure he had caught it at least once, but it continued to make that annoying buzzing sound. Then it disappeared again and the buzzing stopped.
Angel looked everywhere for it but he couldn’t see it. He stood there a few moments in silence, shrugged, threw down the Police Review, reached out for his coat and went home.
By the Same Author
IN THE MIDST OF LIFE
CHOKER
THE MAN IN THE PINK SUIT
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING HONEST
MANTRAP
SALAMANDER
SHAM
THE UMBRELLA MAN
THE MAN WHO COULDN’T LOSE
THE CURIOUS MIND OF INSPECTOR ANGEL
FIND THE LADY
THE WIG MAKER
MURDER IN BARE FEET
WILD ABOUT HARRY
THE SNUFFBOX MURDERS
THE CUCKOO CLOCK SCAM
THE DIAMOND ROSARY MURDERS
THE BIG FIDDLE
THE FRUIT GUM MURDERS
Copyright
© Roger Silverwood 2014
First published in Great Britain 2011
This edition 2014
ISBN 978–0–7198–1460–0 (epub)
ISBN 978–0–7198–1461–7 (mobi)
ISBN 978–0–7198–1462–4 (pdf)
ISBN 978–0–7198–9208–7 (print)
Robert Hale Limited
Clerkenwell House
The Dog Collar Murders Page 24