The Diamond Rosary Murders

by Roger Silverwood

  ‘We don’t want to do that, Mr Memoré. It may result in injury to you and to Miss Moore. Also, neighbours and passers-by may be caught in any crossfire. It would be much safer if you were to surrender peacefully. It would also go in your favour when you go to court.’

  ‘Huh. I am not going to any court. Hold on a minute.’

  ‘I’ll hold,’ Angel said.

  Memoré had his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, which he removed very briefly from time to time and Angel could hear both Memoré’s and Marcia Moore’s whispered voices, but he couldn’t make out what either of them was saying.

  Crisp said, ‘What’s happening?’

  Angel mimed to him not to speak.

  After a minute or two, Memoré came back and said, ‘Are you there, Angel? I am not going to any court. I am going to get out of here. Anybody who approaches the flat vill be shot. I am armed. There is plenty of food. I can hold out for days. Marcia Moore is my prisoner. I want a helicopter, a pilot and a full tank of fuel. I want that by four o’clock or she vill be shot. Have you got that?’

  All Angel’s facial muscles tightened. He had wanted to avoid confrontation. An ultimatum was the last thing he needed.

  ‘That would take a bit of organizing, Mr Memoré,’ he said.

  ‘Right, you’d better get on vis it, then,’ he said.

  Angel needed time to think out his next move. He had managed to achieve a delay of a few minutes, which was good. But he hadn’t taken into account that Memoré could be so evil.

  ‘I’ll phone you back in a few minutes, Mr Memoré.’

  ‘Orl right,’ Memoré said. ‘Don’t be too long,’ he added and the line went dead.

  Angel shook his head and looked down at his feet.

  ‘What’s happening, sir?’ Crisp said.

  ‘He wants a helicopter, a pilot and plenty of fuel or else he’ll kill Marcia Moore.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Crisp said. ‘Where on earth are you going to get a helicopter with a pilot willing to take him?’

  ‘I’m not. He’s not going anywhere, and certainly not in a helicopter.’

  ‘Did he believe you when you said you had the place surrounded?’

  ‘He was stunned that we knew they were there at all. He’ll believe it for a while, anyhow. He wouldn’t think that I would have announced our presence if there were just the two of us and neither of us was armed. The FSU lads should be here in a few minutes.’

  ‘Well, what are you going to do, sir?’

  ‘I’m thinking about it.’

  Angel picked up the mobile and tapped in the number. It was soon answered. ‘I’ve got my sergeant searching around for a helicopter and pilot for you—’

  ‘It had better not take long.’

  ‘He’s doing his best, Mr Memoré. He’s only just started. He’s in touch with the RAF at Leconfield, who have several Sea King helicopters. However, he’ll probably have difficulty getting authorization for the flight.’

  Memoré came back fuming. ‘I have to have a helicopter. You have to get on with it. Time is running short. There are nearer ones than those. There are the AA and the weather people. They have helicopters. I don’t care where you get it from.’

  ‘I’ll push my sergeant along those lines if we can’t get authorization from Leconfield, and I’ll ring you back again in a minute or two.’

  ‘Orl right,’ Memoré said and the phone went dead.

  Angel looked at Crisp and said, ‘Where the hell are those FSU men? See if you can see them anywhere, Trevor. I can’t keep these two bottled up forever.’

  Crisp got out of the car. He was met by a cold breeze. He walked along the top road and stood around, hands in pockets, collar up. There was no sign of the FSU Range Rovers. However, an unmarked car with a number plate he did recognize drove into view. It was Flora Carter. She flashed her lights, he acknowledged her with a wave and she stopped by him.

  ‘The Inspector will be pleased to see you,’ he said.

  ‘Everything all right?’

  His face showed that it wasn’t.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  He quickly told her the situation and explained why he was standing there.

  ‘What’s the boss going to do?’ she said.

  ‘Don’t know. He’s just playing for time.’

  ‘Better check in.’

  Crisp pointed to the turning off to Marion Road. ‘He’s just round the corner … parked up in a Mondeo.’

  She drove off and parked behind the Ford.

  Angel was thinking about his next move. He saw Flora arrive through the rear mirror. He was pleased about that. She showed her face at his window and he signalled for her to get in the front seat.

  ‘You left Ted Scrivens all right, Flora?’

  She nodded. ‘He’ll manage until Don Taylor arrives,’ she said, settling in the seat. ‘I was thinking, sir. Maybe Domino and Memoré set up a meeting with the Chameleon there to exchange the Rosary for a bundle of money, but the Chameleon got the better of them, killed Domino to make his escape and took the Rosary.’

  ‘You’re half-right, Flora.’

  ‘But who is the Chameleon?’

  ‘Did you see Trevor Crisp on the top road?’

  ‘Yes, sir. He brought me up to date. You’re having quite a day. He said that you’re managing to hold the two villains at bay.’

  Angel sighed. ‘Aye. So far so good. But they won’t stay in there forever. They’ve at least one handgun, and, until the FSU arrive, we’ve nothing but bluff.’

  The mobile rang. Angel answered it. It was Memoré.

  ‘Where’s dat frigging helicopter?’

  Angel pulled a face. He had to think quickly. ‘We are still waiting for authorization for the flight. I have spoken to the Wing Commander up there, he says he can’t authorize the flight because it is not for the transport of a sick or injured person over an agreed route.’

  Angel could hear Memoré breathing heavily. ‘I don’t give a frigging damn for your Ving Commander,’ he bawled. ‘There’ll be plenty of sick, injured and dead persons round here starting with this Marcia Moore, if I don’t see a helicopter here by four o’clock. There are plenty of osser people with helicopers. I warn you if a helicopter is not here by four o’clock, I will keel her.’

  Angel glanced at his watch. It was four minutes to four. He licked his bottom lip. ‘My sergeant is working hard at it, Mr Memoré. But please be patient. However, I don’t think it will be possible to have it here for four.’

  ‘You had better. Her death vill be on your conscience.’

  ‘No it won’t. And you have to be reasonable. You realize that another murder by you will make your sentence even longer.’

  ‘You’ll never catch me, Angel. You have four minutes to get me that helicopter.’

  The line went dead.

  Angel ran his hand through his hair. He began to breathe more rapidly. He closed the phone. He saw Flora looking at him. She looked anxious.

  ‘He’s all bullets and brilliantine,’ he said, trying to be optimistic.

  But she was not fooled. ‘What’s he say?’

  ‘He’s still threatening to shoot Marcia Moore if a helicopter isn’t here by four o’clock.’

  Flora’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. ‘Oh, sir,’ she said and shook her head.

  ‘I can’t see what more I can do,’ Angel said.

  The mobile phone rang out again.

  ‘Angel,’ Memoré said. ‘It’s two minutes to four. Where is the helicopter that is going to take me away from all dis?’

  ‘We have managed to get in touch with a privately owned chopper. But he wants £500 cash up front before he’ll even turn out. We’re trying to get someone to finance us temporarily, but it is taking a lot of setting up. The banks want security.’

  ‘But it vill not be here at four, will it?’ Memoré said obstinately.

  ‘It will be here just as soon as we can get the five hundred and then get the money to him,’ Angel said.
>
  Memoré didn’t speak. The phone suddenly went dead.

  Angel bit his lip. ‘He’s going to shoot her. He’s going to carry out his threat. What can I do?’

  He looked at his watch. The second hand was climbing up to 12. He leaped out of the car and looked in the direction of Flat 2, Little John Road.

  There was a gunshot. It echoed round the houses.

  ‘Oh, God,’ Flora said.

  Angel began to run towards the flat. He called back, ‘You stay there.’

  ‘Be careful, sir,’ Flora called.

  As Angel reached the drive of that block of flats, he saw Marcia Moore running frantically down the steps, screaming and crying, with her hands in the air. She was wearing that black lace dress, but no coat. He stopped and watched her. She didn’t see him at first and apparently intended running blindly ahead.

  Then she saw Angel, turned and rushed up to him, ‘He tried to shoot me,’ she cried. Then she put her arms round him, one over his shoulder, the other under his arm. Her whole body was shaking.

  Angel stood there like a hat-stand. He untangled an arm and managed to reach into his pocket.

  ‘I got my chance,’ she said. ‘I had to save myself. It was him or me. It was awful, dreadful. I think he is dead.’

  ‘Where’s the gun?’ he said as he pulled something out of his pocket.

  ‘I dunno. I dunno. It must be up there somewhere.’

  Angel managed to click the catch of one cuff on Marcia Moore’s wrist and then reached out for the other. When she realized what he was doing, she pulled away.

  ‘What’s this?’ she said brusquely.

  Angel stared at her. The crying ceased. The tears dried up. The shaking had stopped. She yanked the anchored wrist with the handcuffs hanging from it free, turned away and started to run off.

  Trevor Crisp and Flora Carter came running up.

  ‘Stop her,’ Angel called.

  They caught her in their arms.

  ‘Hold her, but be careful,’ Angel called. ‘She is probably armed.’

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’ they said in unison.

  Angel ran up to them and quickly grabbed the hanging handcuff and the free wrist. She fought like the she-cat she was, but eventually he managed to secure the cuffs and fasten them with her arms behind her back.

  ‘Take hold of her, Flora,’ Angel said. ‘Don’t let go.’

  Flora Carter grabbed the woman at the back by the cuffs.

  Marcia Moore glared at Angel and said, ‘You’re like all men. Frigging pigs!’

  Unmoved at the outburst, Angel looked at her and said, ‘Marcia Moore, I am arresting you for the murder of James Argyle, Lee Ellis, Charles Domino and probably Joseph Memoré. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned, something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be used in evidence.’

  Flora’s eyes stood out like elderberries on stalks. ‘She’s the Chameleon, sir?’ she said.

  Crisp looked as if he had been whacked on he head with a barrister’s briefcase. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he said.

  Angel said, ‘It’s true. And she needs to be searched very carefully indeed. I believe you will find one or more stilettos, which will prove it,’ he said. ‘You’ll also probably find the Rosary.’

  ‘Ridiculous,’ Marcia Moore said. ‘It is Joseph Memoré who was the Chameleon. He was going to murder me! You heard him, Mr Angel. He said so, several times.’

  Angel shook his head. ‘Save it, Miss Moore,’ he said. ‘You can tell it to the jury.’

  A uniformed man carrying a Heckler & Koch rifle, and wearing a gun holster and a helmet with the word POLICE on it, rushed up behind them. It was DI Waldo White of the FSU.

  Angel looked up at him and sighed.

  White said. ‘Is everything all right, Michael? Sorry we’re a bit late. To tell the truth, we got lost.’

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ Angel said without conviction. He noticed two khaki Range Rovers loaded with armed police parked at the kerb. He turned back to White and pointed up to the flat behind him and said, ‘There is a man in there, Waldo. He is probably armed. This woman says she shot him and that she thinks he is dead, so I need to get up there fast.’

  ‘We’ll see to it, Michael,’ White said.

  ‘It was self-defence,’ Marcia Moore muttered, her head now bowed. She was shivering and her teeth were rattling. Her eyes resumed the half-closed state. ‘Anybody got a cigarette?’ she added.

  Angel looked at White and said, ‘Have you any women in your unit?’

  ‘Yes. Two. Why?’

  ‘This woman is The Chameleon.’

  White’s jaw dropped open. He stared at Marcia Moore. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  ‘She needs very careful searching,’ Angel said. Then he nodded towards Flora and added, ‘With my sergeant, here, do you think you could organize that?’

  ‘Sure,’ White said. He turned and waved towards the first Range Rover. A man also wearing protection gear and carrying a rifle came running up. White told the man what was required. He ran back to the Range Rover and the doors of the two vehicles opened and some of the armed police rushed across the yard and swarmed around White. He quietly told them what was required.

  At the same time, Angel grabbed Flora by the sleeve and pulled her away from the others. ‘Stay with her,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t leave her side until she’s in a cell at the station. And if she wants to talk, record everything she says.’

  Flora nodded grimly.

  An FSU woman escorted Flora and Marcia Moore across to the Range Rover.

  ‘I had to do it,’ Marcia Moore whined. ‘He would have killed me. Anybody got a cigarette…?’

  White turned back to Angel, nodded towards the flat and said, ‘Now leave it to us, Michael. He might not be dead, and we have the protection of our body armour.’

  White then lead eight armed police up the steps to the flat.

  Angel stood at the bottom and waited.

  SEVENTEEN

  It was 8.28 a.m., on Friday, 16 December 2011.

  Angel bustled through the station back door, past the cells, and along the busy main corridor leading from the rear door all the way down to his office. The dozen-or-so police or civilian staff he passed, without exception, smiled, or nodded or spoke. He beamed as he acknowledged the courtesy. The attention was a little exceptional and was an understood appreciation that he had uncovered the identity of the Chameleon and what’s more, that he had her stashed away so that she could not kill again!

  He glided into his office, threw his overcoat at the hook on the steel cabinet and slipped into the swivel chair.

  There was a knock at the door. It was Ahmed. He came in all smiles. ‘Good morning, sir,’ he said. ‘DS Carter asked me to give this to you.’ He put a small pile of coins on Angel’s desk. ‘It’s the change from the cigarettes, sir.’

  Angel frowned, picked up the coins, counted them, blew out a foot of breath, looked up at the ceiling and said, ‘Good grief. Cigarettes? She must have got her a box of Havanas!’

  He put the money in his pocket, turned to Ahmed and said, ‘I want to see Don Taylor as soon as he comes in.’

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

  DS Taylor arrived several minutes later.

  ‘What about Memoré then, Don?’

  ‘Well, sir, subject to anything that Dr Mac may come up with, it’s straightforward enough. Memoré was shot once in the chest with the Beretta, which we know from past experience was Memoré’s favourite weapon. His prints are all over the shell cases. And Marcia Moore shot him, as she freely admits. Her prints are on the trigger and the butt. There is no forensic to indicate that anybody else was at the scene, before or after the gunshot. So that’s about it.’

  Angel nodded. ‘All nice and tidy.’

  ‘What about the Rosary, sir?’ Taylor said. ‘Where was it exactly?’

  ‘Flora found it. It was wrappe
d in a gent’s handkerchief and tucked in the top of one of her stockings. In the top of the other stocking was a stiletto. And in a leather sheath sewn inside the collar of her dress was another one.’

  Taylor winced. ‘Deadly.’

  ‘Evidence enough to convict her of the murders,’ Angel said.

  Taylor went out.

  Angel leaned back in his chair and squeezed the lobe of his ear between his finger and thumb as he went through a mental checklist. He reckoned that he had done everything he could do up to that point to progress the case against Marcia Moore. So he turned round to the table behind his chair and picked up a red file. It was the file with the six transcripts of the interviews between Haydn King and Mrs Lin. It looked like around a hundred and twenty pages of closely typed A4 sheets. He wasn’t looking forward to the read. It looked very wordy and uninteresting.

  He had to try and get into the mind of Haydn King to try to understand how it was possible that he could repeatedly dream of meeting his death in his swimming pool and then two days later, for the nightmare to become a reality. He also hoped to discover the reason why King had employed actor Reuben Paschal, who had looked so very much like him, also he wanted to know why Paschal appeared to have been shaved after he also was murdered.

  There was a knock at the door.

  He looked up. ‘Come in.’

  It was Flora Carter.

  ‘Have you a minute, sir. I’ve something you’d be interested in.’

  Angel was relieved. It delayed him from having to delve into the potentially boring state of Haydn King’s mind. He pointed to the chair, then he closed the file, tossed the wadge of A4 back onto the table behind him and turned back to face her.

  ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘What is it? By the way, has that solicitor arrived for Marcia Moore?’

  ‘He’s in the cell with her now, sir.’

  ‘Ah. Good.’

  Flora took the seat opposite him.

  ‘I would have thought you would have gone home by now,’ he said. ‘Catch up with some sleep. You were here with her till very late last night.’

  Flora smiled. ‘It was all worthwhile, sir. Those cigarettes worked wonders. She’d do anything for a cigarette. Last night she talked almost non-stop. Mostly about men. She doesn’t think much to men.’