‘I agree, sir.’
‘But Schuster would need a house, a place of some sort, to take Selina for two or three weeks. That terraced house on Edward Street hardly seems imposing enough. Did you check with the council? Does he pay rates or rent on any other property?’
Gawber smiled wryly. ‘He was behind with his council tax. He was two years behind with the council rates on 11 Edward Street, until last week he paid the bill in full, over a thousand pounds. Looks like he suddenly came into money.’
Angel frowned. ‘That man is beginning to look interesting.’
‘Is there enough for us to get a search warrant, sir?’
‘I really don’t think so. We need proof that Selina is missing, some indication that she actually arrived in Bromersley and then that somebody murdered her. We don’t know any of those things for a fact yet. What we’ve got is only circumstantial.’
Gawber’s jaw dropped. It was true. All these inquiries stemmed from what must have been a convincing scenario put before Angel by Mrs Henderson. It seemed to him that his boss was on quite a risky mission.
‘We need more. If we can get him on any other crime, we could maybe get a search warrant and get round it that way.’
Gawber nodded.
‘There’s obviously money tumbling into that house from somewhere. He’s not working, so where’s the money coming from? Is his wife working?’
‘No. Checked on that.’
‘Right. I want you to shadow him for a couple of days. Take a camera. I can’t offer you a mate. Just sit out there and find out who comes and who goes, and where he goes and what he does.’
‘It’s Friday, sir. When do you want me to start?’
‘Are you looking for any overtime?’
‘Not now the weather’s turned nice.’
‘Do it today and Monday then. Let’s hope we’re lucky.’
‘Right, sir.’
Angel’s eyes followed him out. He watched the door close. Then he turned to the pile of post and reports on his desk. He fingered through the envelopes and was about to open one when the phone rang. It was the superintendent. He could tell by the wheezy intake of breath before he spoke.
‘Come up here, lad. Smartly.’
‘Right, sir,’ Angel said. He pulled a face. A visit to Harker’s office was rarely a pleasant experience. He trudged up the green corridor, wondering what had prodded him into life that Friday morning. It couldn’t be the matter of the missing Nigel Monro and the ruby egg. Angel had not pursued that since Harker had ordered him to drop it. It seemed that that case would have to be investigated in his own time. He had given his word to Sir Max that he would see that the ruby was delivered to the Princess Yasmin. It might not be possible, seeing as how the ruby wasn’t in the safe as it should have been, but he must do what he can. He may have to find the whereabouts of Nigel Monro first in order to be able to recover the ruby.
He arrived at the superintendent’s office, knocked on the door and went in.
Harker began speaking as soon as the door was closed. ‘I see from a report from one of your sergeants that he’s been making trips to priests, ministers and wedding clerks. What’s that all about?’
Angel looked up. ‘It’s a case that came to me direct, sir. A woman, a very rich woman, name of Selina Line, has gone missing, and her sister is particularly concerned for her safety. Selina Line ran away from home and took up a relationship with a man in Bromersley. She apparently married him on 9 August. I have been trying to establish the details of the marriage so that we can identify the man and interview him. Up to date, I have had no success. The missing woman managed to keep the wedding a mysterious secret.’
Harker rose, his nose turned up and the corners of his mouth turned down. He sniffed then said: ‘Sounds like a tale from a schoolgirls’ Penny Dreadful.’
‘The sister is very worried, sir,’ Angel said. ‘The woman withdrew all her money from her bank and building society accounts, took with her jewellery worth £80,000 and nothing has been heard of her since. She suspects that her sister’s been abducted.’
‘Local family?’
‘No, sir. They’re from Surrey.’
His ginger eyebrows shot up. ‘Surrey? Surrey? What are we doing helping Surrey with their crime figures? They’ve never done anything for us. And, anyway, what is the connection of the missing woman with Bromersley?’
‘The missing woman’s sister in Surrey traced a phone call she had had from her to the phone box on Victoria Road.’
‘Is that all? Nothing else?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Don’t you realize, one digit wrong and the call could have come from…from anywhere. I think you’ve gone round the twist, lad. This is obviously a case for missing persons. Send the sister to the Salvation Army. They do mispers better than anybody. Even if the phone box is the right one, maybe the woman wanted to be carried off to a love nest with a bit of Yorkshire rough. What’s it got to do with you?’
‘It doesn’t sound right. She is middle-aged, not used to socializing. Lived under the shadow of her father. Her father died, left her a fortune.’
‘Have you any proof that the woman is in danger?’
‘No, sir. I don’t suppose —’
‘Well, until that happens, forget it. Our hands are tied.’
‘It doesn’t…smell right, sir.’
‘Forget it. We can’t afford to finance an inquiry that should be undertaken by another force. What do you think this is, lad, a charity?’
‘It is a public service, sir.’
‘One woman isn’t the public, lad. What is it with you? Ever since you gained a certain attention in the media for solving murder cases, you think that this station revolves round you. I think that you think it’s your own personal support centre. Well, it isn’t. You’ve got to mesh in with everybody else. Work as part of a team. Work in a disciplined way. This case is clearly a missing person case. It is not for us to be involved unless a crime has been committed. You know that damned well. What is it, lad? Is the woman who reported it a good-looker or something? Have you started fancying a bit on the side? It happens to middle-aged men. You’d not be the first copper to lose his marbles at the hand of a sweet-talking bird, with a big bank balance and a good pair of legs.’
Angel’s heart was thumping. His lips tightened against his teeth. ‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘The lady is charming enough, but that’s nothing to do with it. My marbles are in perfect order. It is that there are other factors in this case that justify me continuing with it.’
‘But we don’t want to continue with it,’ bawled Harker. ‘You’re still trying to find reasons why we should continue with it, I’m trying to find reasons to get out of it. This is a misper case, the woman should be directed to the Salvation Army. If there is more to it, it should be passed on to the Surrey force where it rightfully belongs. Let them do it. Their budget will be ten times ours.’
‘There’s more crime down there.’
‘That’s why their budget is ten times ours. It isn’t as if her body has been found in the borough. She’s probably whooping it up with her Casanova in some five-star hotel on the French Riviera. Now I don’t want to hear any more about it.’
Angel’s face dropped. His thought processes were being thrown into disarray. He would have to review the situation and make some compromise plan. He certainly had no intention of abandoning the case: he had committed far too much personal emotional energy and time into it. He couldn’t leave the matter unresolved.
‘Now what I really want to know,’ Harker said, ‘is how you are getting along with the business of the four men with the broken fingers. It’s almost two months since the offence. How are you getting along with that?’
Angel crisply told the superintendent that PC Ahmed Ahaz was making a list of comparisons, to find matching facts of all four men that hopefully would lead to unravelling the mysterious reason for the assault.
Harker didn’t seem pleased with the idea but
he didn’t suggest any other lines of inquiry. He simply gave him a general pep talk about sticking closely to the brief of cases only allotted to him and that was that.
Angel couldn’t get out of the office fast enough. He charged down the corridor and turned into the CID room.
Ahmed was at a desk by the door. He was tapping on a computer keyboard.
‘How’s it going, lad?’ Angel said.
The young man looked up in surprise. ‘Only slow, sir. I think I have run out of questions.’
Angel shook his head. ‘You can never run out of questions,’ he said pursing his lips. ‘Have you gone back to their schooldays? Have you asked them which schools they went to?’
‘Yes, sir. There are no similarities there.’
‘Hobbies? Gardens? Pets?’
‘Yes, sir. Done all that.’
‘It’s a bit obvious, but did you ask about any rings they might have worn or even used to wear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Wives, children, their ages. Get dates. Anything years back happened to them all on 24 June? The date they were attacked. Always get the dates of events. You might get something to match there.’
Ahmed’s face brightened. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Are the four men cooperating with you all right?’
‘Yes, sir. They’re mostly as keen as we are to get an explanation.’
‘Good. Good. Keep at it. You’re doing a really good job, Ahmed. I know it’s boring and repetitive, but you mustn’t get lost by the rhythm and repetition of the thing. Don’t lose sight of what this is all about.’
‘No, sir,’ he said.
‘We are trying to find a link, a clue, something that applies to all four men, something that is the same to each of them. Something that all these four men have, are, did, have experienced, owned or whatever, in common. And that will help us to solve the mystery.’
Ahmed sighed. ‘I’ll never do it.’
‘Yes, you will,’ Angel said. ‘It’s a matter of persistence. Keep at it. I’m relying on you.’
‘Right, sir,’ he said, and he turned back to the computer, looked up at the screen and began to tap purposefully on the keyboard.
Angel hovered for a moment and watched him. He smiled and decided that he had said enough. He went out of the room and crossed to his own office. On the desk he saw that somebody had put an email under a polythene bag containing a pair of handcuffs that he had indented for. He frowned, put the handcuffs in the drawer and picked up the email.
It read:
From Detective Superintendent Cheetham, Lamb Road Police Station, Sturdingham, Herts.
To all senior ranks, all 43 forces.
Following the shooting dead yesterday of Terence Patrick Gilfillan, 23, fairground worker, of Dublin, Liverpool and lately of Milton Keynes, who was awaiting trial for drug trafficking and selling, I am urgently needing to talk to a man known as The Fixer who was seen in the vicinity and is strongly suspected of this murder.
The Fixer is around 5’ 10” tall, 160 lbs, dark navy blue suit, collar and tie. He is armed and carries a Walther PPK/S 32 automatic. He is also believed to have been responsible for the murder of Paul Muller, robber of Liverpool, last month, and several other murders in London.
I would be grateful for any information on any suspect that may pass through your hands, who you might consider to be The Fixer.
Message ends.
He sat down and read the email again, then he lowered it on to the desk. The Fixer. That was the second time that name had come up. He sounded to be a nasty piece of work. He would have to keep his eye open for him. He noted the description of the man. There wasn’t much. He found it easy to memorize.
The phone rang. It was Crisp, sounding very pleased with himself. He had found the red-haired young woman Angel had spotted strutting unsteadily out of Laurence Potter’s house with the empty Merlin Vacuum Cleaner box.
‘Her name’s Valerie, sir. She accosted me, well, sort of…’
‘In daylight hours? Where?’
‘Well, she used to go to The Fisherman’s Rest at lunchtime, before the smoking ban. Now she doesn’t do pubs, she says. I caught up with her in Mrs Chin’s Little House of Happiness, up Barrel Street. Acupuncture, Chinese massage, skin treatments, specialist aromatic oils, that sort of thing. Above the Chinese takeaway. I said I wouldn’t arrest her provided that she helped us with some general information.’
Angel blinked. ‘I can’t meet her there,’ he said.
‘Oh no, sir. She’d only agree to meet in a neutral place. The best place I could get her to agree to was the picnic area in Jubilee Park.’
Chapter Nine
Since the rain had stopped, the sky had turned bright blue and the sun had shone continuously, which made the picnic area of Jubilee Park a pleasant place to make a tryst. The area comprised twenty tables with fitted benches on two sides to seat four people to a table. The sun had thoroughly dried out the tables and seats, which were warm to the touch, but even so, only a handful of people occupied them.
Angel had already surveyed the location, been into the park café opposite and bought a small packet of digestive biscuits and some thin weak tea in a cardboard cup. He had chosen a table furthest away from two separate couples who were enjoying the sun and each other’s company. He sipped the tea, then checked his watch. It was four o’clock straight up. He wrinkled his nose and wondered why women were always late.
A young woman with red hair and a short skirt was crossing from the direction of the café. She strutted across to him confidently. He recognized her and stood up.
‘Valerie?’
Close up, her make-up was cracked like blistered paint and her uncovered chest was like a kitchen-sink draining board.
‘You must be the copper,’ she said with the look of a patient about to have a flu jab.
He nodded. ‘Can I get you a tea or anything?’
She flashed him an appreciative smile. She didn’t get many courtesies from attractive men those days.
‘Brought my own,’ she said, lifting a long, uncovered leg inside the bench to sit down.
He had to admit she had shapely legs.
‘Only drink my own now,’ she said, unlatching the buckle of a thick leather satchel she had been carrying on a shoulder strap. She fished inside and brought out a small glass bottle half filled with a clear liquid. She shook it at him and said meaningfully: ‘I’ve had my drink spiked for the last time.’
Angel watched her unscrew the top and take a swig; he guessed it was white rum. As she screwed back the top, she curled her lips and shook her head as if she hadn’t really enjoyed it.
‘You’re not going to do the dirty on me and arrest me, are you?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘I must be crackers. I was told it was to help a missing woman else I wouldn’t be here. I’m not even certain this is a good idea. I don’t suppose there’s a reward or anything?’
‘Only the satisfaction that you might save a woman’s life.’
She smiled. ‘Huh. Come off it. Don’t try and appeal to my better nature because I haven’t got one. If I can help you, I hope that if I ever get in trouble you’ll let me off.’
‘Won’t be able to do that, Valerie. But if you’re ever in trouble, ask for me. I’ll help you if I can. All right?’
He took a business card out of his wallet and pushed it in front of her.
She looked at it and then into his eyes briefly. ‘All right, Detective Inspector Angel, what exactly do you want?’ she said as she put the card in a purse inside the leather bag.
‘It’s like this,’ he said. ‘I am looking for a missing woman. She’d be older than you, but not a woman of the world like you. Her mother died years ago, and she was brought up under the protection — heavy protection, I suspect — of her father, who was a successful, wealthy man. She never wanted for anything, but knows little about marriage, villains, deceit and liars. She would be used to mingling in a world of people of gen
tleness, honesty and wealth. Her father died two years ago. She has an older sister, who sort of stood in for her father, but she hadn’t the authority, I suppose. Anyway, she inherited half her father’s fortune, which was a helluva lot, and recently left the family home. Inquiries show that she arrived in Bromersley and mysteriously married somebody a fortnight ago. We have no idea who the man is. Now she has completely disappeared. Have you come across anybody like that?’
‘Didn’t know there was anybody like that. Anyway, why pick on me? Why would I know any more than a thousand others?’
‘We have a shortlist of people who might have…known her.’
Valerie licked her lips for a moment. Her eyes darted here and there. ‘Yeah, but I didn’t.’
‘Laurence Potter is a…a friend of yours.’
The pupils of her eyes jumped. ‘Laurence Potter? Not a friend. A client, Inspector Angel. A client, nothing more. You don’t suspect him, do you? If she had married him, where is she now? She wasn’t there yesterday!’
Angel didn’t answer.
Her eyes suddenly stopped moving around as she worked out answers to her own questions. She reached out for the bottle, unscrewed the cap quickly and took another swig.
‘How long have you known him?’
‘Yesterday was the first and only time.’
‘How did you make contact?’
‘He phoned me. I leave my photograph with my mobile number printed on it in pubs and clubs and…other places. He wouldn’t have a problem finding a girl like me in Bromersley. There’s plenty of competition. Huh.’
Angel shook his head when he heard her say ‘other places’. By that, he thought she meant phone booths, which she would know was illegal. She was playing canny; she still didn’t trust him.
‘Was he difficult negotiating?’
‘Easy as pie. I went straight round. He paid like a lamb.’
Missing, Presumed... (An Inspector Angel Mystery) Page 10