Angel raised his head. ‘Your wife had no deep secret that Cora Blessington could have blackmailed her with, had she?’
‘No. Certainly not. The motive was straightforward. Take it from me, Inspector.’
Angel thought he could possibly be correct. A rich woman was always a target.
‘I’ve examined your late wife’s bank statements,’ he continued. ‘And as a matter of fact, she appears to have drawn a cheque to cash for a thousand pounds each month for the past six months.’
Angel watched him carefully. The man’s eyes narrowed. His fists tightened. He thought he was going to explode.
‘Can you explain where the money has gone?’ Angel added.
‘No. But I’ve got a damned good idea!’
Angel understood and was considering his next question.
Then Prophet suddenly said: ‘It’s outrageous. She has got to pay. You must find her and arrest her, Inspector. She has got to be punished. It’s a pity they abolished hanging.’
Angel sighed and rubbed his chin.
‘There’s something else you might as well know, sir.’
‘What’s that?’ he snapped.
‘Whoever it was who murdered your wife on Monday, it wasn’t anybody called Lady Cora Blessington: there’s no such person.’
Prophet said: ‘I am not really surprised, I suppose. That had passed through my mind.’
‘So you must tell me all you can about her. Have you ever met her?’
‘Just the once. About six months ago. Yes, must have been. I interrupted Alicia and her having afternoon tea. I thought she was quite charming in her way. I didn’t know that at the time she had such evil intent, nor that she would have been able to carry it out herself.’
‘And what was your wife’s attitude towards her?’
‘Oh, she liked her, at first, anyway. They talked about all the things my wife had enjoyed, tennis, riding, music and so on. I believe they were old school friends. I don’t know which school, nor how they met up.’ Prophet rubbed his chin. ‘Yes. Strange that. She just popped up from nowhere and took the only person I ever cared for.’
‘You wouldn’t have a photograph of her, would you?’
‘Shouldn’t think so,’ he said distastefully.
Angel passed the envelope of photographs across the desk.
‘These were taken from a drawer in your sitting-room by one of my men.’
Prophet’s big blue eyes opened wide.
He took the envelope turned up the flap and tipped them out onto his desk. They were typical snapshots of members of the family, on holiday, on the steps of churches, on the beach and in the garden, mostly postcard size or smaller. He leaned over the desk and pushed them around the green polished leatherette. He seemed pleased to be looking through them. Eventually he pounced on one particular square photograph in colour.
‘She’s there!’ he yelled. ‘Cora’s there! Look!’
He picked it up, turned it round and pushed it under Angel’s nose. ‘There!’
Angel felt his pulse increase and that inexplicable warm hum in the chest.
Prophet pointed at an unusual-looking eccentric in a long blue dress and cream hat. Seated next to her, clearly, was the smaller figure of his wife, Alicia Prophet.
‘I remember now. Of course! I took it. In the garden. Shortly after Alicia had introduced her to me. Alicia and Cora were having tea at the rustic table on the patio. The garden looked very nice too. The rose bushes were out. The trees were in full leaf.’
Angel strained to see the features in detail of Lady Blessington’s face, but the photograph had been taken from quite a distance back and the face was partly shaded by the hat and the head of blonde wavy hair. He thought she was a big-boned woman dressed in the manner of the 1930s.
It was still a mystery, but Angel was delighted. His chest warmed with excitement and his pulse thumped noticeably. There she was: the murderer of Alicia Prophet. The name was false but, at last he was holding a photograph of the actual murderer. It was the first step towards getting a conviction. He frowned and continued to gaze at the photograph.
All he had to do was … find the lady!
CHAPTER SEVEN
* * *
‘Ah. Mrs Duplessis. Good morning. Can I have a word with you?’
‘Oh?’ she said peering at him. ‘It’s Inspector Angel, isn’t it? Yes, of course. Please come in. Sit down … wherever you like.’
‘Here is fine. Thank you.’
Angel took the photograph, which he had carefully wrapped in polythene, out of his pocket. ‘Will you take a look at this? Do you recognize either of the two people sitting at the table?’
Mrs Duplessis took the photograph, held it to the light, adjusted her spectacles, looked back at Angel and said, ‘Of course. It was taken in the garden next door. It’s dear Alicia with … somebody.’
She peered at it more closely. ‘They’re having tea on the patio.’
Angel licked his bottom lip.
‘Do you know who she is with?’
‘Ah yes,’ she said after a moment’s hesitation. She pulled a face and added: ‘It’s that woman, Lady Blessington.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Oh yes, Inspector. Positive.’
Angel sighed and nodded.
‘You couldn’t mistake her,’ she added. ‘And that blue dress. That hat. Yes that’s her.’
‘And that’s the woman who you saw rushing down the path just after three o’clock last Monday afternoon?’
‘Without any doubt, Inspector. Yes.’
‘Thank you,’ he said.
He smiled. He felt good. He now had a second witness who provided positive ID. ‘Now what can you tell me about her. You spoke to her, did you not?’
‘Only briefly. She was good at the social graces. Introduced herself. Told me she was a friend of Charles and Alicia Prophet. That she and Alicia went back a long way. That she had recently caught up with her. That’s about all she said.’
‘Can you tell me if there was anything unusual about her … any little thing … doesn’t matter how small.’
Mrs Duplessis looked blank, then shook her head.
‘Well,’ Angel began, ‘did she have any particular mannerisms. Did she have a twitch? Did she smell of anything? The smallest thing might help me to trace her, you never know.’
‘No. I can’t think of anything. She always kept a good distance from me. When she shook hands, she just held out the tips of her fingers, at arm’s length, very briefly. And after we had touched she pulled back and turned away, as if I had the plague.’
Angel thought about this.
‘Her voice was strained, as if it pained her to speak.’
He nodded encouragingly.
‘But title or no title,’ she added. ‘I am as clean as anybody. I am always washing my hands.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ Angel said kindly. ‘Was there anything else?’
‘Yes. There was something else that I noticed. Only a little thing….’
Angel nodded encouragingly.
‘A matter of bad manners, really,’ she said. ‘Whenever I saw her come up the path, she always walked straight into the house. She never knocked and waited … like you or I would do. She didn’t knock. Just barged straight in.’
‘Perhaps she did that because she knew Mrs Prophet was blind. They were supposed to be good friends. Save her getting up.’
Mrs Duplessis didn’t agree. She simply shook her head. She thought Cora Blessington was categorically rude.
Angel made a note of it.
‘How often did you see Lady Blessington?’
‘Three or four times. When I was in the garden. She would arrive suddenly, by taxi. Sail up the path. Wave and call out a greeting of some sort then dash into the house through the front door. An hour so later, a taxi would arrive, she would come out of the house, down the path to it and away.’
‘Did you always see her in the company of Mrs Prophet?’
&nb
sp; ‘I don’t think so. Dear Alicia hardly ever came out. Her blindness made it difficult.’
‘And what did she say to you about her?’
‘Nothing. I don’t think she ever spoke of her.’
‘What did Charles Prophet say about her?’
‘Can’t remember him saying anything in particular. But I don’t think he cared for her.’
Angel pursed his lips.
‘And I didn’t care for her,’ she added. ‘I can tell you.’
Angel nodded. He understood why.
It was ten o’clock.
Angel passed the open CID-room door on his way up the corridor to his office.
Ahmed saw him and called out: ‘Good morning, sir.’
‘Good morning, Ahmed,’ Angel said without even glancing back. ‘Have you heard from Newcastle about that address?’
‘Yes, sir. Been looking out for you, sir,’ he said, carrying a newspaper. ‘There are a couple of things.’
‘Come into my office, then. What’s up?’
Angel opened the door and Ahmed followed him in.
‘The address National Insurance have for Simon Spencer is 212 Huddersfield Road.’
‘Right, Ahmed. That’s good. Tell Scrivens I want to see him urgently, will you?’
‘Yes, sir. And I’ve brought this to show you,’ he said, unfolding the paper and putting it on the desk in front of him. It was that morning’s copy of the South Yorkshire Daily Examiner.
Angel looked at it eagerly, his eyebrows raised.
‘Ah!’ he said. ‘Mmmm. Done us proud. The front page. Couldn’t be better.’
The headline read: ‘Rubbish Skip Murder. Police completely baffled.’
Angel smiled and quickly read the item about Harry Harrison’s body being found in the skip and that he had been discovered hiding out in flat number twenty, Mansion Hill.
He smiled and put the paper down. He was as chuffed as a serial murderer let off with an ASBO.
He rubbed his chin.
He turned to Ahmed. ‘While I remember, I want you to go through back copies of Police Review also into the NPC and see if there are any women who have been released from prison in the last three months. They may have served time for fraud, and aiding and abetting fraud. Particularly, also, if they are known to have carried handguns. All right?’
‘There shouldn’t be many, sir,’ Ahmed said.
Angel wrinkled his nose. ‘I only want one,’ he bawled. ‘One’s enough!’
‘Right, sir,’ Ahmed said and turned to go.
‘Hang on, son. There’s summat else. I want a meeting of all CID on duty, in the briefing office at 16.00 hours today. DS Crisp already knows, so you needn’t bother him. But spread the word. Don’t miss anybody.’
‘Right, sir.’
‘And I’m expecting an Albert Amersham anytime now. He’s a witness. When he comes, will you show him in here?’
‘I got your message that you wanted to see me. I was fair worried. I never been into a police station afore, much less into an office. I’m a reight careful driver. I hope I haven’t been breaking any laws or anything. And my car is regularly serviced and kept safe. Well, it has to be. You know that. Else I wouldn’t get my licence.’
‘It’s nothing to worry about. Please sit down, Mr Amersham,’ Angel said. ‘Thank you for coming in so promptly.’
‘Aye. Ta,’ he said and looked round the little office. ‘It’s a darn sight posher than our dispatcher’s office, I can tell you.’
‘Yes. You work for A1 Taxis as a driver, don’t you? Tell me about being sent to twenty-two Creesforth Road on Monday afternoon, please.’
‘Well, let’s see. I’d just taken a fare to the railway station to catch the 13.48 to Leeds when it came up on the RT to go to Wells Street Baths to pick up a fare for Creesforth.’
‘What was your dispatcher’s name?’
‘Mmmm. Monday afternoon. It’d be Maisie. That’s all I know her by.’
‘What time would that be, Mr Amersham?’
‘Well they were only just in time for the train. I saw the train leave, so it would be a few minutes to two o’clock. Say five to two. I wasn’t late. I belted across town, down Wath Road, left onto to Wells Road and up to the entrance of the baths. And there she was, Lady Blessington.’
‘And how did you know her name was … Lady Blessington?’
‘ ’Cos she told me, when we got to Creesforth Road. Made a point of it, she did.’
‘And where was she waiting exactly?’
‘On the steps that lead into the baths.’
‘Did you think she’d just come out of the baths then?’
‘I suppose so. Niver thought about it. It was just that Maisie had said that that was where I was to pick her up from.’
‘What did Lady Blessington say to you? Can you remember?’
‘The usual. Just chatter, you know. The weather. It was a beautiful day. It was boiling hot.’
‘Did she have any luggage?’
‘She didn’t have no big luggage. No suitcases or anything like that. Just a handbag, I think. I’m not sure.’
‘Did you consider, that if she had been for a swim, she would have needed a towel and a swimsuit at the very least?’
Bert Amersham looked at him and blinked.
‘I niver give it a thought, Inspector. I just drive a motor. I don’t think about….’
‘Well, did she have a bag large enough to carry, say a medium-sized towel and a swimming costume?’
‘I suppose they don’t take up that much room. She probably had a bag that big, I am not sure, Inspector. Sorry and all that. I remember she had a handbag. She kept her money in a handbag. I remember that. Yes. I remember that I heard it click when she closed it after she paid me.’
He sighed. ‘That’s all right. Now did Lady Blessington have any particular mannerism or did she behave in any way unusual?’
‘We get all sorts, Inspector. All our customers are all different. She was as normal as any of them.’
‘We believe that she murdered the householder, a blind lady, Mr Amersham. I am desperate to find her. You may have seen or heard something that could give me a clue as to where we might find her.’
‘Wow! I didn’t realize. That’s a rum do.’
‘Anything else you can tell me? Did she smell of anything? Did she smoke? Did she speak with an unusual accent? Did you notice any scars or marks on her face, hands or legs?’
‘No, Inspector. I don’t think so. None of those things. Her dress came down nearly to ground and I thought that was a bit unusual, but then again, we get all sorts.’
‘You wanted me, sir,’ Scrivens said.
‘Yes, Ted. Come in. Close the door,’ Angel said. ‘There’s a retired bank clerk, Simon Spencer. He’s retired early. Very early. Too early! There is evidence to suggest that before he left, he got his money mixed up with the Northern Bank’s. Now there’s no proof yet, just a load of circumstantial. So I need you to tread carefully. The current address National Insurance have for him is 212 Huddersfield Road. Will you nip up there and ask him to be kind enough to accompany you back here to assist us with our inquiries?’
Scrivens grinned.
‘Do you want him in here, or in an interview room, sir?’
‘Interview room.’
Scrivens nodded and went out.
Angel picked up the phone and tapped in a number.
‘It’s DI Angel. Are you still at the Prophets’ house?’
‘Yes, sir,’ DS Taylor replied. ‘We broke off to attend the murder scene outside The Three Horseshoes, you know. And early this morning we swept Harrison’s flat. It wasn’t big, but there were three rooms. You told us to—’
‘I’m not chasing you, Don. Just enquiring.’
‘Oh? Right, sir. Well, we should be finished here this afternoon. There’ll be standard samples taken from here to process.’
‘Did you find anything significant at Harrison’s flat?’
‘No, sir. Af
ter eliminating his prints, there were no samples to take.’
Angel frowned. That meant there were no clues or DNA in the flat. He blew out a long breath. Thank God he had found the money and the prints on it!
‘Right,’ he said. ‘In your search there … at the Prophets’, did you come across an address book?’
‘Yes, sir. And a Christmas card list. I think it’s in a woman’s writing.’
Angel’s face brightened.
‘I’d like to have those A.S.A.P. And did you see a camera anywhere?’
‘A camera, sir?’
‘Yes. An ordinary domestic camera for taking snaps of the family and so on?’
‘No, sir. No camera.’
Angel frowned.
‘Right, Don. See you later this afternoon.’
He rang off.
CHAPTER EIGHT
* * *
The lift was out of order. Angel had to walk up three staircases to the third and top floor of Mansion House Flats. He started off well, but had to take the third staircase rather more slowly. When he arrived at the top, he hung onto the handrail and waited, breathing deeply several times. He stuck four fingers down the top of his shirt collar and pulled it away from his sticky neck. He sighed. He was thinking, he really would have to hold back on those meat pies and halves of Old Peculier at The Fat Duck for a few months. For some time, Mary had been suggesting that he took a flask, a banana and a hard-boiled egg into the office for lunch. He didn’t rate that idea much. It was the sort of thing desk-bound workers do. He hadn’t much time for people who pushed paper around for a living and got fat backsides from hanging onto a desk job for years on end. He had noticed a definite tightness of his trousers round the waist: maybe he’d give it serious thought. Last time they came back from Sketchley’s, he had thought he had been given somebody else’s by mistake.
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