Sham

by Roger Silverwood

  ‘Is DS Taylor up there?’

  A man’s head and shoulders appeared round the newel post at the top.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Right,’ Angel said. ‘I’m coming up. I want some gloves.’

  ‘You won’t need them, sir. We’ve about finished in there.’

  Angel reached the top of the stairs. Another SOCO came out of the bathroom and held the door open for him.

  ‘Ta,’ he said, as he stepped into the room.

  It looked very different from the way he had seen it a week ago. A complete wall had been removed and the four big mirrors that had made up the partition were now standing in the bath propped against the tiles. The space opened up was seven feet by ten feet and about ten inches deep. The back of it was a red brick and mortar wall. There were two copper pipes set vertically at the far end of the area draped with cobwebs, near to them on bare floorboards was an empty perfume bottle shaped like a fountain with its fancy stopper at the side of it. At the end nearest the door was a suitcase, a handbag, a housecoat, some pale blue underwear edged with white lace and some screwed up colourful wrappers of some sort. These items were jumbled together under a layer of fresh grey building dust.

  Angel turned to DS Taylor.

  ‘Where was the body then?’

  ‘Horizontal on her side, sir. Facing the wall. Arms over her head. Feet together, legs pointed towards the door.’

  He wrinkled his nose.

  ‘It’d be a tight squeeze?’

  ‘Yes. The back of her head was jammed up against the mirror.’

  ‘How was she dressed?’

  ‘Just a nightdress. Bare feet.’

  ‘Hmmm. Did you see any wounds?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Blood?’

  ‘No.’

  Angel rubbed his chin. Then he pointed to the suitcase, handbag and other items on the floor.

  ‘Has this stuff been photographed and checked for prints?’ he said, squatting and peering closely at the pile of personal effects. He particularly noted the handbag next to the two colourful screwed up wrappers or packets on the dusty floorboards.

  ‘Photographed, but not yet checked for prints, sir.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ he muttered, and took a pencil out of his pocket and proceeded to lift away a lace frill that was overhanging the handbag. ‘When it has,’ he said. ‘Let Ron Gawber have this stuff, all of it, urgently.’

  ‘Right, sir,’

  Angel then carefully pushed the handbag round through ninety degrees so that he could see the front of it clearly. The design of the clasp comprised two intertwined gold snakes. His mouth twitched unhappily. He knew that the body was that of Tania Pulman.

  *

  ‘Doctor Bell?’ Angel enquired.

  ‘Come in, Inspector,’ a man in his twenties with a high-pitched voice squealed impatiently. He had a bushy black beard and black-rimmed spectacles. ‘I understand it is police business. I can give you five minutes. I have a long list of patients to see this morning,’ he added. He reached out for a small plastic tomato-shaped timer on the desk top and dexterously cranked it round to the figure five.

  Angel’s mouth tightened. His eyebrows lifted slowly as he looked down at the little man and then took in the little interview room with its plain white walls and Spartan furnishings, comprising of a desk, an upholstered sprung chair, and one other chair made up of wooden slats, where he surmised had sat many a miserable and reluctant backside.

  ‘Well, sit down. Sit down,’ the little doctor snapped.

  Angel didn’t sit down. He rubbed his chin hard and deliberately slowly.

  ‘If my presence and timing here is inconvenient, Doctor,’ he said heavily. ‘I can close the clinic and we can adjourn to the police station where I assure you, you will be able to allocate plenty of uninterrupted time to assist me with my inquiries.’

  The doctor looked into Angel’s eyes. He began to consider that he might have met somebody he would have to pay attention to.

  Angel waited.

  The little timer ticked away several seconds.

  ‘It sounds serious. What is it. Inspector?’ Bell said.

  ‘Murder is serious’ Angel said heavily.

  Doctor Bell’s eyebrows shot up.

  ‘Murder? Oh dear. Who is it? Is it one of my patients?’

  ‘Richard Schumaker.’

  The doctor’s jaw dropped.

  ‘Oh dear. Who has he murdered?’

  ‘I didn’t say he had murdered anybody.’

  *

  ‘Saw your car pull up, sir. Just back from the hospital?’

  ‘Yes. Come in, Ron. Shut the door. Sit down. The doctor said that Schumaker suffered from BPD. Borderline Personality Disorder. It’s a … an across-the-board description for people who have difficulty controlling their emotions.’

  ‘You mean Schumaker was off his head?’ Gawber said.

  Angel hesitated.

  ‘No. The doctor said not. It was just a quirk in his character. Gave him pills for it. But neglected, he said, it could have been dangerous.’

  ‘So it doesn’t necessarily mean that he murdered Tania Pulman?’

  Angel sighed.

  ‘No. Well, we’ll have to wait for the post mortem. As they’re both dead, we might never find out what exactly happened. However, I think Tania’s name was heavily crossed out on that list in Richard Schumaker’s pocket because she was dead.’

  ‘And that list was a list of the women that Schumaker had successfully seduced or, anyway, bedded. A sort of score card.’

  Angel wrinkled up his nose. He was reluctant to agree, but that did seem to be the explanation. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Maybe Eloise Macdonald got off lightly, sir. Maybe the man who murdered Schumaker unwittingly saved her life?’

  Angel rubbed his chin.

  ‘Maybe she knows who the murderer is,’ Angel said. ‘If it was a current boyfriend, she’d want to conceal his identity.’

  ‘She seemed keen on Schumaker, sir.’

  ‘She was, or she gave me the impression she was. She was quite smitten by him. It would be difficult to believe that she’d dine with a prospective lover then tolerate having him murdered before her eyes by her regular boyfriend.’

  Gawber nodded.

  ‘And why would he wear a mask?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Angel said. ‘It wouldn’t be to hide his face from her, if she knew who he was and it wouldn’t matter if Schumaker identified him. He was going to be dead anyway. Doesn’t make sense.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘There’s something we’re missing here, Ron, and I can’t put my finger on it. I wish we could find Schumaker’s mobile?’

  Gawber shook his head.

  ‘We’ve looked everywhere, sir.’

  ‘If only we knew the service he used or the number.’

  ‘We only have Eloise Macdonald’s word that he had a mobile.’

  Angel blinked. He squeezed an earlobe between finger and thumb. Then he said, ‘All young people have mobiles these days, don’t they?’

  Gawber shrugged.

  ‘And there’s the murder weapon,’ Angel said. ‘The blood-covered shirt and jeans, the missing coat, gloves ...’

  ‘They’re not buried in the grounds. There were positively no fresh earth marks anywhere.’

  Angel’s jaw stiffened.

  ‘This case is going to go down as one of the great unsolved murders of our time.’

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Yes? Come in.’

  It was Ahmed. He was carrying a message form.

  ‘What is it?’ Angel said irritably.

  ‘Just come down the wire, sir,’ Ahmed said. ‘Thought you’d be interested. The judge trying Rikki Rossi has just thrown the case out and discharged him.’

  Angel’s face dropped. Rossi was free again.

  Ahmed passed the message form over to Angel.

  ‘I thought you’d like to know what the judge said, sir?’
/>   Angel wrinkled his nose, looked down at the paper and began to read it out loud.

  ‘The judge also said — listen to this, Ron — that the very recent murder of a key witness might have brought about a very different result of the case. And he went on to say that no one should believe that they can make fools of the police and turn British justice on its head.’

  ‘Strong stuff, sir,’ Gawber said grimly.

  ‘Aye,’ Angel said, rubbing his chin hard.

  Angel reckoned Twelvetrees was lucky to have been able to drag the case out for two days, but it now looked as if Gina Rossi and her corrupt family would be back in command again in the north of England.

  Strawbridge’s plan had failed miserably, but fortunately, Angel had ideas of his own.

  He turned back to Ahmed.

  ‘Thanks Ahmed. Now get me DI Waldo White of the FSU in Wakefield on the phone,’ he said quietly.

  Gawber and Ahmed pricked up their ears. They wondered why he was contacting the head of the local police artillery so apparently spontaneously. They exchanged glances.

  He looked up and caught them in the act. He glared at Ahmed. ‘Get on with it. Do it from your own office. Chop!’ he snapped. ‘And put him through here.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ Ahmed said and rushed out.

  ‘I’ll crack on, sir,’ Gawber said.

  He followed Ahmed out of the office and closed the door.

  Angel slumped in the chair, sniffed, picked up the phone and dialled a number.

  There was a click and a familiar voice said, ‘Mallin. Traffic division.’

  ‘Yes, Norman. Angel here.’

  ‘Oh yes. Are you fully recovered, sir? I heard you took quite a beating.’

  ‘I’m fine. It’s nothing,’ he gabbled. ‘That car’ he added heavily. ‘The one brought in by Mrs Buller-Price.’

  ‘Oh yes, sir’ Mallin affirmed enthusiastically.

  ‘Just giving you notice, Norman. I expect the fireworks to begin anytime now.’

  11.

  ‘There’s no doubt about it, sir. It is Tania Pulman,’ DS Donald Taylor announced as he closed the door.

  Angel pointed to the chair by his desk.

  ‘Appearance, description, passport, everything fits,’ the SOCO continued.

  Angel sniffed. He had already deduced that.

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Nothing unusual in her luggage, sir, her handbag and so on. What you’d expect an upwardly mobile young woman to carry about with her. The suitcase contained only clothes, make-up and stuff like that. But everything of the very best.’

  Angel sniffed again.

  ‘Except these, sir,’ Taylor said, producing two straightened out colourful bags from his inside pocket. The predominant colour was turquoise and they were about the size and style of potato crisp packets; they had the words Cheapos Lucky Bag in red printed across the middle, and were illustrated with animals, party hats, clowns; illustrations that would be presumed to appeal to children.

  ‘Those two were found empty and screwed up on the floor in the cavity where the body was found.’

  Angel nodded. He had seen them there. He knew what they were. He frowned as he picked them off the desk. They were the bags a woman had shown to him and spoken about at length when he had first visited the supermarket to interview Eloise Macdonald.

  ‘Any prints on them?’

  ‘Schumaker’s, nobody else’s.’

  ‘Hmm. Right. Leave them with me. And ask Doctor Mac to let me know the cause of death as soon as he can, will you?’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  Taylor went out.

  Angel looked at the paper bags and rubbed his chin. Whilst he couldn’t see any direct connection between them and the death of Tania Pulman, Richard Schumaker, or anybody else, it seemed mighty curious that in a house that was as tidy and clean as a new pin, two discarded empty paper bags should be hidden away. One could well understand why a body might be concealed in the case of foul play, but why empty paper bags? They could as easily have been dumped in the bin, burned or taken away and disposed of away from the house. There was nothing illegal in the possession of Cheapos Lucky Bags. They didn’t contain drugs or counterfeit goods, or poison; they weren’t stolen property; why should they receive such unusual attention?

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ he called.

  The door opened. It was Gawber.

  ‘Ah, Ron, just the man,’ Angel said, ‘The dead girl is Tania Pulman. Her parents ought to be told.’

  Gawber hesitated; it was a job nobody wanted.

  ‘I was waiting for confirmation before setting up a formal ID, sir. Kill two birds with one stone. But I haven’t had cause of death, yet. The lass was a bit of a minor celebrity, an up-and-coming model. And, by the way, some of the newspapers are belly-aching for a statement.’

  Angel blinked; then, rubbing his chin, he said, ‘This news might make the front page of some of the nationals?’

  ‘With a sort of glamour photograph, I’m sure it would, sir.’

  ‘Right, crack on with it then,’ he said with a frown.

  Gawber turned to go.

  ‘Just a minute, Ron,’ he called. ‘I wonder if we can incorporate that release with an appeal, an appeal for a man with a skull and crossbones tattoo on the back of his hand? If we do get any response, we can check off the names against the list we found in Schumaker’s pocket. We desperately need the public’s help with this case. Also, we need to know of anybody else who has experienced this sort of formalized assault, you know, starting with the throwing of an empty lager can, the threats, the waving of the knife, the tattoo, the mask and so on.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’

  ‘You’ll need a glamour photo of Tania Pulman.’

  ‘There are some sexy studio shots of her among her stuff in the suitcase,’ Gawber said, his face brightening. ‘I’ll get right on to it, sir,’ he said and turned to leave.

  Angel said, ‘Have you seen these?’ He pointed to the empty lucky bags on his desk.

  Gawber reached out and picked one of them up. He turned it over and took in the illustrations.

  ‘Yes. They’re from Cheapos. Kids go mad on them.’

  ‘Kids, yes. What would Schumaker be doing with them and why would he chuck them in the cavity to hide them?’

  Gawber frowned and shook his head.

  ‘Beats me, sir.’

  Angel growled.

  The truth was, Cheapos Lucky Bags were beginning to get on Angel’s nerves. The things were on his mind morning, noon and night. While he was driving home in the car, during his evening meal, his breakfast, watching television, his mind was on the lucky bags. When he woke up in the morning, it was the first thing he thought of. He knew they had something to do with the murders, but what?

  Eloise Macdonald showed Angel into the little interview room by the reception counter in Cheapos giant supermarket.

  ‘Back again so soon, Mr Angel?’

  He thought he detected a self-confidence in her that had not been there previously.

  ‘One or two questions about Cheapos Lucky Bags,’ Angel said lightly.

  Her eyes opened wide. She shook her head.

  ‘Lucky bags? Aren’t you looking for the man that killed Richard, Mr Angel?’

  ‘We are working on that, Eloise. Still working on that. Never fear.’

  ‘I would have thought it would have had quite a priority over our lucky bags.’

  Angel wouldn’t be drawn. He identified a distinct change in her. He pursed his lips and nodded slightly.

  ‘Please sit down,’ she said.

  When they were seated facing each other over the table, she said, ‘You know, Mr Angel, as I think about it, the man that murdered Richard had a good look at me. He may come looking out for me. He said he knew me. He said that I had been his girlfriend, which wasn’t at all true. I would know a man I had been out with, whether he was wearing a mask or not. But he may think that I ca
n identify him and give him away to you.’

  ‘I wish you would.’

  ‘I wish I could!’

  Angel shook his head.

  ‘If you have the slightest inkling of who it might be, you should tell me.’

  ‘I don’t know him. Never seen him before. If I had, I would have told you. But, I tell you, sometimes at night, in the dark, walking home, I think about it. It makes me nervous. If I think someone is following me, I worry about it. I wait until I can get into a good light, with other people, and slow down and, of course, the person walks straight past me.’

  ‘If he’d wanted you dead, Eloise, he would have done it before now!’ he said to put her at ease.

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  ‘Be assured, I am. As a matter of fact, my interest in the lucky bags is directly associated with Richard Schumaker’s murder. Two empty bags were found hidden in his house,’ he said, taking them out of his pocket. ‘Have you any idea how he might have come by them or what they were doing there?’

  ‘I have no idea. Cannot think. Unless there are any children he was saving them for.’

  ‘No. As far as we can find out, he was a bachelor; lived on his own.’

  ‘But he did shop here, and everybody is entitled to them, Mr Angel. All customers have to do is buy fifty pounds’ worth of groceries to be entitled to a lucky bag. What they do with them, of course, is entirely up to them.’

  ‘Of course. Now I need to know what is in them.’

  ‘Sweets and novelties and small toys, I don’t know in detail. I can get you a list.’

  ‘Please do. Are the contents always the same?’

  ‘No. They vary according to availability and also, to some extent, the season.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, last year, they put in tiny chocolate eggs, also some bags had pretty little chenille chicks for Easter. At Christmas, a Father Christmas mask and beard, and miniature models of reindeer, dinosaurs, Mickey Mouse transfers, as well as sweets, perhaps a liquorice item, a party blow-out, a whistle, a party hat, a small toy and so on.’

  ‘Hmmm. I need a few unopened bags and a list of contents.’

  *

  ‘You want to see me, sir?’ Angel said, his head round the door.

  ‘Yes,’ Strawbridge growled. ‘Come in. Sit down.’

  Angel could see by the look on his face that the superintendent was about as happy as a dog in a desert.