Missing, Presumed... (An Inspector Angel Mystery)

by Roger Silverwood

  Lloyd Corbett turned to her. ‘No. Not here,’ he whispered. He nodded towards the girls behind them. Too many witnesses.’

  Laura wasn’t pleased. After a moment, she nodded.

  Angel sighed the sigh of his life. His thoughts were everywhere. How was he going to get out of this? What about Waldo White? What about Ron Gawber? Where were they?

  Laura turned round to the girls. ‘Get back to work, you bitches. Get some frigging money earned. This isn’t a bloody sideshow.’

  The girls muttered something and then quickly disappeared into the blackness.

  Angel couldn’t believe that he was the prisoner of a Corbett and this dreadful woman. And where was James Corbett? He expected him to turn up at any second.

  Lloyd Corbett looked at Laura, nodded towards Angel and said: ‘He won’t be on his own, Laura. Let’s get out of here!’ She nodded.

  ‘We’ll have to take him with us,’ Corbett said.

  Her eyes flashed like a wild cat in the night. ‘A frigging copper in my car?’ she said.

  Corbett shrugged. ‘Watch him while I open the door.’

  She was pleased to be in a position to shoot him, particularly as now there weren’t any witnesses. Angel knew it. He stood there motionless: he was not going to give her any excuse.

  Corbett dashed up to the car and opened the nearside front door.

  The inside of the car lit up like an operating theatre.

  He dug the muzzle of the gun in Angel’s back and said, ‘Get in

  Laura frowned. ‘In the front, Lloyd?’ she said.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll sit right behind him with this on his neck,’ he said, waving the Beretta.

  Angel climbed inside. As he leaned back, he felt the searing pain of the gunshot in his side. He put his hand to it and felt blood. He said nothing.

  ‘No tricks,’ Corbett said as he climbed in behind him.

  The cold steel in the back of his neck caused Angel to focus his mind most remarkably. He could hardly think of anything else.

  Laura opened the door. In a sort of a dream, he saw her take her handbag from the glove compartment to the right of the steering wheel, drop in her gun, fasten it with the clasp and replace the bag in the glove compartment. He clocked in that it was too far away and too well buttoned up for him to reach even if a chance came up.

  Laura got in the car. It rocked down at the offside with her weight.

  Angel watched her. She had curves all right. She had a stomach that was one big curve, outwards. Her bosom was so big she could have suckled for Yorkshire.

  She closed the door and the inside of the car was in darkness.

  For some inexplicable reason, Angel preferred the dark. It seemed more secure.

  ‘Let’s get away from here,’ Corbett said. ‘You don’t know who is around.’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah,’ she said.

  She turned the ignition key and the engine began to hum. She engaged gear, released the handbrake and the car flew over the cobblestones along Canal Road. The headlights caught several girls in its path on the way. They reached the main road in two seconds and turned left towards Wakefield.

  It was a main road out of town and restricted to thirty miles per hour, and Laura was keeping exactly to it. There was very little traffic.

  After a mile or so, Angel noticed that the muzzle of the gun was no longer at his neck. He gave an involuntary sigh. One slip of Corbett’s finger and he would have been dead. Angel heard the gentle tapping out on the keyboard of a telephone, then he heard Lloyd’s voice: ‘It’s me… I know, I know, we had a bit of trouble, James… That copper, Angel, turned up… He was snooping round… No, he was on his own… Of course I’m sure… He was on his own talking to one of the girls, waving his badge around, trying to get a free jump, I expect… We got rid of his car… I don’t know, James, do I?’ he suddenly said angrily. ‘Anyway, we’re bringing him to the farm now… All right. Don’t lose your frigging wig… We couldn’t help it! Canal Road was buzzing… What could we have done with him? We had no choice!’ he yelled.

  Angel heard a click. It sounded as if the conversation had ended abruptly and that James Corbett wasn’t pleased about Lloyd and Laura taking him to their place of hiding. But Angel had learned one thing: their destination was a farm.

  The feel of cold metal returned to the back of his neck, sending a cold chill to his mind and down his spine.

  Laura glanced back at Lloyd Corbett and said, ‘What’s the matter with James, then?’ Laura said.

  ‘Aw. He don’t want the copper at the farm,’ Lloyd Corbett said.

  Laura didn’t reply.

  Angel watched her drive. She was a very competent driver and the car was moving along at a good speed since they had passed the speed de-restriction signs and were out of the built-up area. He knew the road well enough. They must now be about ten miles from Wakefield. He wondered what had happened to Ron Gawber and Waldo White. He couldn’t turn round to see if they were following. He desperately hoped that they were. It was his only possibility of getting out of this mess, and the only chance of catching the Corbetts and Laura and whoever else was awaiting him at the farm.

  Laura said: ‘You know, Lloyd, we can’t stay there for ever. Don’t James think it’s time for a move?’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s a good place. It’s safe.’

  ‘We could put the copper in the barn, and leave him there.’

  ‘Yeah, but where would we move to?’

  The car suddenly slowed.

  Laura knocked a switch on the steering column; amber lights flashed on the left. Angel saw a crude sign painted in black on wood at the side of the road with an arrow that read ‘Heartbreak Farm’.

  A chill ran down Angel’s back as he wondered what was ahead of him.

  Laura turned the steering wheel left and the car bonnet pointed down a cart track, hardly noticeable from the main road. The track continued for half a mile, over a railway bridge through a field, past three barns or farm buildings and quite suddenly a large modern house partly covered in ivy appeared opposite the last one. The tyres crunched noisily on the silver-grey gravelled drive.

  There were lights in most of the large windows. Lights came on illuminating a patio area as they arrived, and the front door opened. A big figure in a silk dressing gown walked down the stone steps. It was James Corbett. He was carrying a glass with a drink in it. He glared at the car as it came to a stop in front of him.

  Angel noted that the muzzle of the gun had been removed from the back of his neck. He breathed out a long sigh silently. He noticed that his back was stinging. It must still be bleeding. He licked his lips. His jaw tightened. He must appear strong and in perfect control.

  James Corbett walked down the steps from the patio as Laura applied the handbrake. The car stopped at his feet, noisily spraying some of the gravel. He glared at Angel and pointed to him as Lloyd Corbett leaped out of the back door.

  "You stupid nerk,’ James Corbett said.

  Lloyd shrugged. ‘What choice had I?’ he said.

  Then James Corbett turned back to the house and yelled: ‘Mossy! Mossy, where are you? Take care of him.’

  Angel saw Moss rush out of the house with an old Sten gun on a strap over his shoulder and carrying a torch. He ran down the steps, pointing the gun in the direction of the car. Angel shook his head in dismay. It seemed that the place was armed to the gunnels. He was going to be lucky to get out of this alive.

  The brothers walked up the steps together, arguing and shouting at each other.

  Laura withdrew the ignition key, picked up her handbag and got out of the car.

  James Corbett looked back at her and said: ‘Are you all right, love? Apart from this frigging idiot brother of mine, did anybody else get out of line?’

  ‘They wouldn’t dare,’ she said, slamming the car door.

  ‘What’s the take?’

  She waved her handbag and pulled a face like a Cheshire cat. ‘Over two grand.’

  He wave
d his hands in the air. He looked at Lloyd and said, ‘I knew it was worth it. What did I tell you? There’s brass here. Manchester’s played out.’ He turned back to her. ‘Give Mossy a hand with the copper, Laura, love, will you?’

  Her eyes glinted in the moonlight.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said, and she rubbed her hands together as she crunched across the gravel.

  James Corbett turned back to her. ‘But don’t hurt him,’ he said.

  She flashed her eyes angrily at him but he didn’t see; he was talking animatedly to Lloyd.

  In the few moments that Angel had not been closely watched, he had reached into his pocket, taken out the Golden Delicious apple and concealed it in his hand.

  Moss came up to the nearside front door of the Mercedes, opened it and flashed the torch.

  ‘Get out,’ he said.

  Laura took the gun out of her handbag and watched Moss prod Angel towards the building opposite the house. They trudged over, kicking through the silver-grey gravel. The door was wedged open with a brick.

  Moss flashed the torch inside. Angel glanced quickly round. It was simply an empty barn with three centre posts in a line supporting the roof. There was a row of hooks on the wall of the barn near the door. Hanging from it were lengths of leather straps, horse collars and rope. The owners presumably had had an interest in horses.

  Laura followed them inside.

  ‘What did James tell you to do with him?’ she said.

  ‘Tie him up to that post and tie him up real tight,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll watch him while you do it, Mossy,’ she said, waving her gun in Angel’s direction.

  Moss flashed the light. He unthreaded several lengths of rope from the hook, selected one and put the others back. He then turned back to Angel. ‘Up against that post, copper,’ he said.

  Angel had no option but to do as he was told.

  ‘Hurry up, Mr Angel,’ Laura said. ‘Hands behind your back.’

  ‘Hold the torch, Laura,’ Moss said.

  Angel looked at the big hand confidently holding the gun and the torch in front of him about eight feet away. He wasn’t planning taking any risks.

  Moss busied himself behind Angel with the rope.

  ‘You know, he’d make good target practice, Mossy,’ she said.

  Angel’s pulse started up again. What on earth could she mean? His pulse banged louder than the big drum in Dodworth Colliery Band.

  Moss pulled hard at the rope as he made the first knot. He didn’t want to hear what else she had to say.

  She frowned, looked at Angel and said: ‘Yes. You know what, Mossy? I’ve always wanted to see if I could shoot somebody’s earlobe off. Well, both earlobes, really. You know, to match.’

  Angel couldn’t imagine anything more humiliating, and the pain would surely be hard to bear.

  ‘If I could do that,’ she continued, ‘I should think I would be regarded as a top shot…and a woman at that…and in the light only of a torch.’

  ‘No,’ Moss said, his eyes darting in all directions. ‘No. You’re not to harm him.’

  ‘I saw it in an old film once.’

  ‘You’re not to harm him. You heard what James said.’

  ‘I don’t care what he said.’

  Footsteps could be heard in the gravel. A figure appeared out of the darkness through the open door.

  ‘You don’t care what I said?’ James Corbett growled. He was holding a gun and pointing it casually in front of him.

  Laura said: ‘Didn’t hear you coming, James. I was only…fooling around.’

  ‘If we get rid of this copper we have to do it right,’ James Corbett said. ‘Leave no trace that it has anything to do with us. It needs some thinking about. Planning. You understand?’

  Moss suddenly turned from Angel, held up a wet, red hand and said: ‘Phew. There’s some blood here, boss.’

  ‘Where’s that from?’

  ‘His side. Look, his coat is covered. He’s bleeding.’

  Laura shone the torch at Angel’s back. Her face changed. Her lips tightened. ‘Oh, I bet my frigging car seat is covered in the stuff’

  She thrust the torch into James Corbett’s free hand.

  ‘Frigging coppers,’ she said and rushed out of the barn.

  Angel was glad to see her go.

  Corbett rubbed his chin.

  Moss finished off fastening Angel’s wrists then looked at James Corbett for his approval.

  Angel felt several hard tugs at his wrists. The tie was very tight. Very tight indeed.

  ‘That should do it, Mossy, yes.’

  The two men left. The barn door was closed with a bang and Angel was left in darkness.

  It was a relief at first. He felt sick. He wanted to throw up, but he couldn’t.

  He had to escape that very tight fastening of his wrists. It was fortunate that he had that apple between his hands. Because of that, he expected to escape from the rope in a few seconds.

  Angel had employed an old escapology trick perfected by the great Harry Houdini, who used a tennis ball painted flesh colour to match the colour of his skin. He palmed it, easy for him, and then as the rope was being looped round his wrists, he worked the ball into a position between his wrists so that it felt tight to the person tying him up — indeed it was tight, very tight — but the person tying him up didn’t realize that a ball was between the wrists he was tying together. The fastening could be checked and it would seem very secure. Indeed it was secure. Subsequently, at the right moment, though, it was a simple matter to squeeze the ball down to the fingers and let it drop to the floor and thereby have enough room in the rope to wriggle free. That’s just what Angel did. But he didn’t have a ball. He had used an apple.

  The apple dropped on to the barn floor. The rope loosened and he stuffed it in his pocket. He could now see light showing underneath and down the sides of the barn doors. It was coming daylight. He crossed to the doors to see if they were locked and, as he expected, they were. He would be able to read his watch dial if he put his wrist to the gap. It was 5.30 a.m.

  He frowned and rubbed his chin as he wondered what had happened to Ron Gawber and Waldo White and his armed team. They clearly had not followed him there. Ron Gawber couldn’t have known what had happened because he was out of contact, but Waldo would have worked out from the interrupted commentary on the phone that he had run into trouble. However, he clearly had missed making contact with Laura’s car, and was therefore unable to follow it to the farm. It was then that Angel realized that nobody knew where he was. He was on his own. He was wounded, unarmed and without a phone or transport. It was four on to one and they had at least one firearm each.

  He had known better days.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As the light improved he searched round the barn. He kicked the thin covering of straw about but found nothing interesting underneath; it was just a dry, hard, earth floor. On the wall near the door were four large pegs holding an assortment of riding tack, and long and short ropes for leading and training horses or ponies. Looking upwards were crossbeams that formed the simple roof structure. There were no windows or other doors. That was about it.

  He spent some time meandering round the barn, listening for the sound of footsteps on the gravel. He returned to the tack and ropes hanging from the pegs on the wall and spent a little time taking stock of what there was. Then he coiled up three long lengths of rope and threw them separately over a crossbeam at the back of the barn while still holding the ends. He made a noose at those ends of the ropes, then kicked some straw over them to conceal them. He then looked round the barn again, rubbed his chin and ran his hand through his hair. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the rope that had so recently held his wrists together so securely. He unravelled it, tied a simple knot in it about twelve inches from the end, then draped it round his neck so that he would be able to grab it from there quickly when necessary.

  The sun was bright now and beams of light shone through narrow slits aroun
d the doors on to the barn floor.

  He dashed across to the doors to see if he could see anything useful outside. He would like to have been able to see the front door of the house, the patio area and the part of the gravel drive leading up to the barn door, but he could see none of that. As he tried various positions, he noticed a knot in a length of timber in the wall about 3/8” in diameter. It seemed likely that it was ideally positioned. It stood proud of the face of the timber, so he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little pearl-handled fruit knife he always carried. With a bit of pressure and care, he eased out the knot and a perfect spyhole was created. And only just in time. He put his eye to it and saw the front door of the house open and Moss come out. The Sten gun was hanging from his shoulder by a strap.

  Angel’s heart leapt. His pulse began to thump again, seeming to make more noise than a helicopter. He saw Moss walk across the gravel towards the barn door.

  Angel quickly retreated to the pole nearest the door, snatched the rope from round his neck, wrapped it tightly round his right hand, put his hands behind the pole and grabbed the other end tightly by his left hand. Then he dropped his head down on to his chest and closed his eyes.

  He heard the barn door open followed by a few footsteps. There was a pause.

  ‘Come on, Angel,’ Moss said. ‘Wakey. Wakey.’

  Angel didn’t move.

  He heard him come towards him.

  ‘Come on, Angel.’

  Moss came a little nearer.

  ‘Are you all right? Wakey wakey.’

  There was a pause. He came closer still.

  ‘Do you want something to eat?’

  Angel could feel his breath on his cheek. It smelled of cheap brandy. Another pause.

  Then he felt Moss’s hand yank his head back by his hair. ‘Come on, Angel,’ he said, holding on to it for a second or two, then he let it go.

  With the speed of light, Angel brought both hands round from behind the pole, turned him sideways, put the rope under Moss’s chin and pulled like hell.

  Moss tried with one hand to remove Angel’s grip, but he made no impression. The Sten dropped to the ground, making a rattle. Moss applied both hands to ease away the rope, but Angel had the purchase and the strength. He maintained the grip. Moss’s face was turning white but he was still struggling. They rolled on to the ground. Angel on top. He was determined. It was his life or Moss’s. Seconds passed. Moss’s eyes closed. He stopped struggling. He was either dead or unconscious. Angel released his grip cautiously. He stood up, kicked the Sten gun to his place by the knot hole, then dragged Moss across the floor until he was under the horizontal roof beam. He put the noose round his feet and pulled the rope tight, then he kept pulling until the only part of Moss’s body on the ground were his shoulders and the back of his head. Angel then tied it off round one of the big hooks holding the tack. He straightened up. He felt a bit swimmy. He shook his head. He went back to look at Moss. Colour was returning to the man’s face and he was breathing. Angel nodded with satisfaction.