Sham

by Roger Silverwood

  ‘Right, Waldo. See you there.’

  He replaced the phone.

  Mary said, ‘What are you calling out the FSU for?’

  Angel was already on his feet.

  ‘Nothing to bother about. Got to arrest some people that just might be difficult, that’s all.’

  He was out in the hall, grabbing his coat off the peg.

  ‘Be careful.’

  ‘I’m always careful.’

  *

  It had been snowing and a sprinkling of the white stuff decorated the gutters and the hedge bottoms on the dark, busy Bromersley to Doncaster Road. It was 20.45 hours. Angel was parked in his BMW tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and gazing every few seconds into his rear mirror. He’d been waiting for six minutes when an unmarked Range Rover and two unmarked Armed Response Vehicles pulled up behind him.

  When he saw them arrive, he sighed, picked up a package from the nearside seat, got out of his car and dashed up to the nearside window of the Range Rover.

  DI Waldo White smiled and wound it down. From the light of the dashboard, Angel could see that both the driver and White were kitted up in bullet-proof gear with helmets and the word POLICE in white stencilled across them.

  ‘Thought you weren’t coming,’ Angel said.

  White laughed.

  Angel wasn’t laughing.

  ‘Waldo, the car with the tracer on it has apparently settled, and I believe that in the hotel are three armed people, Gina Rossi and her two sons, Rikki and Carl.’

  ‘The Rossi family,’ White said, suddenly serious.

  ‘Yes. I think they’re on a final bid to escape the country.’

  He passed White the packet he had brought from the car. ‘There’s a dozen photographs of each of the three of them.’

  He took them and nodded.

  ‘What are their arms?’

  ‘Handguns, as far as I know. Rikki Rossi only got off by the skin of his teeth, maybe making for Hull, to catch a boat. I suspect that they’ve spent the last twenty-four hours loading themselves with all their cash and valuables. Now, if they are alerted to our presence, they will certainly draw their guns.’ White rubbed his chin.

  ‘Not easy. We can’t rush them, not unless we know that they are all together and away from Joe Public. The more ordered way would require us to isolate them from all other people, residents, guests, staff in the hotel. I don’t want to provide them with any easy hostages. If they spot that they are outnumbered, that’s the course they would be likely to take. Can we evacuate the building without them becoming aware of it?’

  ‘Don’t know. Public place. Bars and bedrooms. It’s not always easy to explain the dangers and difficulties to the public quickly in emergency conditions; they’re often there to enjoy themselves, relaxed, unaware of any threat and they don’t always appreciate the danger and the need for prompt, silent response.’

  White nodded.

  ‘First sign of a uniform and they’ll be firing off right, left and centre.’

  White said, ‘You’re the only one not in uniform.’

  ‘Yes. All right. I’ll go in and try and sus things out.’

  ‘Are you known to them?’ he said suspiciously.

  ‘Slightly,’ Angel said misleadingly. ‘I can pick them out easily.’

  He certainly could. And they could pick him out at the speed of light.

  ‘See what I can find out.’

  They exchanged mobile phone numbers and Angel agreed to go into the hotel on his own and either return in person or phone back. If he did not come back or phone within ten minutes, White was to bring his team and come looking for him.

  He drove his car up the drive to The Yorkshireman. It had an imposing brightly lit front with a dozen or more flags of different nations fluttering over the entrance. He glanced round the huge car-park for Mrs Buller-Price’s car. He picked it out among a hundred or more others. It was only a few spaces from the entrance. He parked next to it. He noticed that the number plates had been changed. He shook his head and smiled wryly. He pulled out his mobile and dialled a number.

  It was soon answered.

  ‘DS Mallin. Traffic/ a voice said.

  ‘Michael Angel, here. Norman, I want you to organize the recovery of that car from The Yorkshireman car-park now. And by the way, the number plates have been changed.’

  ‘No surprise there, sir.’

  ‘It’ll have to be wrapped and handled very carefully for SOCO and forensic.’

  ‘Yes. I remember, sir.’

  He cancelled the call, pocketed the mobile and strolled boldly up the six wide steps to the revolving door set in the modern stone and glass frontage and pushed his way in. Facing the door was a long reception desk; a pretty young woman was coming out of an office behind it. She saw him approaching and smiled.

  There was nobody else about, so he walked quickly round the end of it, pulled out his warrant card, raised the sectioned counter, let himself behind into the area, put his fingers to his lips and pushed the card under her nose.

  Her eyes flashed and she backed away from him.

  ‘You can’t come behind here, sir,’ she said loudly.

  ‘Shhh! Look at this, Miss,’ he said holding up the warrant card. ‘Look at this. I am a police officer. This is an emergency. Can we go in the office?’

  She stood there motionless, her eyes staring, unable to take in what was happening.

  ‘No. No,’ she protested.

  Angel advanced on her and she retreated further into the office and round the corner out of sight of the reception desk.

  ‘Shhh. Look at this warrant card. I am a police inspector. That’s a photograph of me, look.’

  She glanced at it quickly then pulled away from him.

  ‘You’re a policeman?’ she stammered.

  ‘Yes. Can I speak to the manager?’

  ‘He’s gone home.’

  ‘Are you in charge?’

  ‘I can phone him. He can be back here in twenty minutes.’

  Angel shook his head.

  ‘That’s no good.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  Angel rubbed his chin.

  ‘You have three guests here, I believe. They are robbers and murderers. They are probably armed and are very dangerous.’

  She shivered. Her eyes shone like the taxi lights on a 707.

  He pulled photographs of them out of his inside pocket.

  ‘They probably didn’t use their real names, it’s Rossi, Gina, Rikki and Carl Rossi.’ He showed the photographs. She looked at them but didn’t seem to see them. She was too afraid and confused to take everything in.

  ‘Not to worry,’ he said and took hold of her forearm gently. ‘What’s your name?’

  She stared at him for a second. She couldn’t answer. She seemed to have forgotten it, then she swallowed and said, ‘Carol.’

  ‘Look, Carol,’ Angel said gently. ‘I have sixteen armed men waiting to come in and arrest them. I have to work out the best, safest, quickest way.’

  She blinked and shook her head. She seemed to come out of the trance. Angel’s avuncular manner must have relaxed her.

  ‘We had a party of four,’ she said, looking down at the photographs. ‘They arrived here about an hour ago. Just the one night.’

  Angel frowned. He hadn’t expected a fourth. It could be difficult if it turned out that Sharon had rejoined the bosom of the family.

  ‘A woman and three men,’ the receptionist explained. ‘Is she a striking, dark-haired woman with a Caribbean tan, very slim, huge mouth, about thirty-five?’

  So Sharon wasn’t there. Thank goodness. Angel rubbed his hand through his hair: he could see that the description could very well be how the receptionist saw Gina Rossi. But who was the third man?

  ‘Yes. The two sons were thickset, dark-haired, one about six feet, the other about five feet eight. I don’t know who the fourth man was ...’

  She suddenly saw the photographs as if for the first time.
r />   ‘That’s them. That’s them!’ she squealed loudly. ‘The other man was taller and older.’

  ‘Shhh!’ Angel said and put his finger across his lips.

  There was a noise out in the reception hall. It was followed by the ping of a bell. Angel assumed it would be a visitor with a query. He gestured for her to go and attend to it and to act normally.

  She went out.

  Angel listened. It sounded innocent enough. Something about a Daily Telegraph and a call at 6.45 in the morning.

  ‘Right, sir. Thank you. Goodnight,’ Carol said and returned promptly.

  Angel said, ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘They ordered a meal for the four of them to be served in the sitting-room of 104 on the first floor.’

  ‘For what time?’

  ‘Eight o’clock, I think. They’ll be in the middle of it now.’

  There was some more noise at the reception desk, a man coughed and there was the ping of the bell.

  Carol looked at Angel, who nodded and she went out to the desk again.

  Angel took the opportunity to contact White. He dialled out the number on his mobile. It was answered promptly.

  ‘Are you all right, Michael?’

  ‘Yes. There are three men and one woman, Waldo. I don’t know who the extra man is. They are apparently in Room 104 together now. It’s on the first floor. Use the stairs facing the door. Come quickly. I think this is a good time.’

  ‘Right.’

  He closed the phone and dropped it in his pocket.

  The query at the desk seemed to be taking a relatively long time. He listened round the door jamb.

  A man with a loud voice seemed to be complaining.

  ‘But I want the bottle, some ice and four glasses, now!' he heard him say.

  Angel thought he recognized the voice.

  Carol said, ‘Very good, sir. If you order it from Room Service, they will bring it to your room in the usual way.’

  ‘But I want to take it up with me,’ the man bawled heatedly.

  She reached out for the phone. ‘I can order it for you, sir. It’s Room 104 isn’t it?’

  Angel heard her mention Room 104. That was where the Rossis were dining. He put his head round the door jamb. He recognized the owner of the voice and dodged back. It was too late. The man had seen him. It was Detective Superintendent Strawbridge! No wonder Angel recognised his voice.

  ‘What you doing here, Angel?’ Strawbridge said, astonished.

  Angel walked through the door into the area. ‘Might ask you the same question, sir. All forty-three forces are out looking for you. You left us so suddenly.’

  Angel saw him glance towards the stairs on his right and then back at him; suddenly, he made a dash towards them.

  Angel couldn’t do with him tipping off the Rossis. He lifted up the counter and dodged underneath it. Meanwhile Strawbridge was on the tenth step of the big staircase. Angel spurted up the steps, caught him by an ankle and brought him down. Strawbridge rolled back a couple of steps and Angel dived on top of him. He grabbed

  his arms but the taller man resisted and managed to break free of his grip.

  ‘What do you think you are doing, man,’ Strawbridge growled, then he put his hands round Angel’s throat and squeezed.

  Angel brought up his clenched fists to try to force Strawbridge’s powerful hands away from his windpipe, but he didn’t have the angle, so with a mighty effort he pulled up his knees and moved the big man off his stomach. Strawbridge rolled down the stairs to the bottom like a roll of linoleum.

  Six elderly residents had gathered round at the foot of the stairs and were looking shocked at the scene.

  Angel followed him downwards and grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and pulled him to his feet. He was about to throw a punch at him when he saw DI White push through the revolving doors followed by his team of men clad in navy blue and black uniforms, wearing helmets with ‘Police’ marked on them and brandishing Heckler and Koch carbines.

  Strawbridge saw them also and raised his hands in surrender.

  White saw the two men and rushed over to Angel.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he said anxiously.

  ‘Yes,’ Angel replied breathing heavily. ‘Arrest this man. Go straight up. Room 104. Straightforward. The three are together finishing off a meal.’

  15.

  ‘You’ve arrested him!’ he yelled.

  The superintendent jumped to his feet, pushed the chair back away from the desk. ‘You’ve actually arrested a serving detective superintendent in the employ of Her Majesty’s Constabulary?’

  Angel blinked. He hadn’t expected Harker to react so strongly.

  ‘And he’s been locked up in a cell in his own station all night?’ he continued.

  ‘Yes, sir. Well, he was consorting with the Rossis,’ Angel said, trying to sound and look confident. ‘He owed gambling debts to them. They are well-known robbers and murderers. It is entirely justified.’

  ‘You’d better have plenty of proof for this high-handed action. In all my experience, I’ve never had reason to arrest or even argue with my superiors. You come along … and … I don’t know ...’

  His voice trailed away. He shook his head, sat down, opened his desk drawer, fiddled around, found a pin and began trying to extricate a piece of bacon from between his teeth.

  Angel was delighted with the way the previous evening’s operation had gone; all three Rossis and Detective Superintendent Strawbridge were safely locked up in the cells.

  ‘In the car,’ Angel said quietly, ‘there’s all the evidence you’ll need to charge the Rossis. There are four doors full of the proceeds of the robbery of that bank, and, no doubt other banks: the banknote numbers will match. That will prove they were there. The prosecution won’t have much difficulty showing the probability that Rikki Rossi pulled the trigger that murdered the clerk. Ballistics may be able to show that it was the gun he had on him when he was arrested last night. Also the backseat of that car is stashed with over a million quids’ worth of Class A, sir. We’ve got them for dealing big time, for resisting arrest, carrying firearms without a licence and goodness knows what else.’

  The superintendent stared up at him.

  ‘They say the car isn’t theirs, that it actually belongs to a Mrs Buller-Price!’

  ‘I can prove that they bought it falsely in her name, sir, but for themselves. Anyway, their fingerprints are all over it, and I can soon produce witnesses who saw Gina Rossi drive it up to The Yorkshireman yesterday.’

  Harker’s ginger eyebrows shot up. He pursed his tight thin lips, wrinkled his nose and then said, ‘Hmmm. You’ve an answer for every bloody thing.’

  Angel stifled a smile.

  Harker sniffed.

  There was an awkward silence. Eventually the superintendent said, ‘Ah, well, have you got the murderer of that Richard Schumaker yet?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Have you solved the mystery, an obsession of your own making, of those confounded lucky bags?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Well you’d better buzz off and solve that case, hadn’t you, instead of hanging about here? Frankly lad, you are just annoying me! I’ll try and sort this Strawbridge mess out and see what the chief says.’

  Angel was glad to get out away from Harker and back to his own office. He slumped into the swivel chair and tilted it back, put his legs on the desk and gazed up at the ceiling. He put his hands behind his head and let out a big sigh. He was thinking how much sweeter life would have been if he could have had a mature and happy relationship with his immediate superior. He had hoped for that when ‘Old Misery’ had moved down to the potteries, and Strawbridge had been posted to Bromersley, but, as events had proved, it hadn’t worked out that way. Nothing ever seemed to run on an even path for long. He rubbed his chin and yawned. He was delighted that the Rossis would receive a good long spell in prison — all three of them. They had had a good run for their money, but now they had to re
alize that the golden days were over. Nobody and no family could ride roughshod over the little people of this country forever, without being caught and appropriately punished. He was resigned to the fact that Harker would have to call him in to tidy up some of the details, but all the evidence was there in the car. And he candidly considered it had been a beautiful piece of police work even though ‘Old Misery’ would never ever say so.

  He wasn’t quite clear about what the state would want to do with Strawbridge. The chief constable would, of course, immediately discharge him from the force, but whether the DPP would want to charge him with consorting with criminals, deserting his post, entering into a commercial relationship with crooks, or whatever else, it was too early to say. Gambling in itself was not an offence, but, suffice to say, his career in the police force was over and his image of respectability had been permanently damaged. He would have difficulty in getting a responsible job again.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Angel hastily swung his legs off the desk, allowing the chair to return him to a business-like position.

  ‘Come in.’

  It was Gawber. He looked very animated. His eyes were shining and a hand was waving a small piece of paper.

  ‘Come in. What do you want?’

  ‘Heard about last night, sir. You cleaned up!’ he said with a big smile.

  Angel wrinkled his nose.

  ‘I wish Mr Charm thought so,’ he muttered. ‘Sit down.’

  Gawber stifled a smile.

  ‘Just heard back from Liverpool CID, sir.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Got that number, that mobile phone number from old man Schumaker’s address book. They are pretty sure that it will be Richard Schumaker’s,’ he said, waving the scrap of paper.

  Angel’s face brightened.

  ‘Ah, now we might be getting somewhere.’

  Angel copied the number straight into the memory of his own mobile, and then said, ‘See if you can find out the phone company and get a list of calls; that could be very enlightening.’

  ‘I’ve tried, sir. It’s a pay as you go firm, sir. They cannot say.’

  Angel pulled a face.

  ‘It’s never good for us to get too lucky, is it?’