‘Are you going to ring the number now, sir?’
‘No I’m not,’ he said firmly. ‘Whoever has possession of the mobile that answers to this number must be the murderer of Richard Schumaker. I shall ring it only when I get the circumstances right. Don’t want to give the murderer advance notice. According to Eloise Macdonald, Schumaker had a mobile phone in the restaurant. The waiter, Dingle, says he neither saw it nor found it there, so Schumaker must have taken it with him into the conservatory. There he was murdered; she fainted, and thereafter it disappeared. SOCO couldn’t find it in the conservatory or anywhere in the club buildings or grounds, therefore it must have been taken by the murderer. There is no other explanation.’
‘That is assuming that Eloise Macdonald and the waiter chap, Louis Dingle, were both telling the truth.’
Angel nodded.
‘Exactly.’
There was a knock at the door.
‘Come in.’
It was DS Taylor from SOCO. He was carrying two see-through envelopes with the word EVIDENCE printed in red across them.
‘Ah! Don. What have you got?’ he said, opening his arms out to take the envelopes from him.
‘Said you wanted them urgently, sir, so I brought them over. Two empty Cheapos Lucky Bags and the torn bits of the photograph that we recovered. We have assembled them on a bit of cardboard as well as we can with Blu-Tack. Neither had any prints or DNA. They were too badly soaked in pigswill.’ He pulled a distasteful face. ‘Or whatever it was.’
Angel pulled out a dirty, patchwork quilt of a photograph, about six inches by three and a half. There were only about three-quarters of it there, but it was unquestionably a full-length photograph of Tania Pulman in a skimpy dress.
‘It had been torn into about thirty-two pieces. We recovered twenty-two of them, mostly from the inside bottom of one of the bins, congealed in the goo; some of the pieces were found on the side of a trough in a sty. The pigs must have eaten the missing bits, sir. We couldn’t find them anywhere. We searched high and low.’
‘Anything on the back of the photo?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Any dabs? Any DNA?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Right, Don. Thanks very much.’
DS Taylor nodded and went out.
Angel picked up the two empty Cheapos Lucky Bags. They had been torn open. He put his fingers inside and looked. There was nothing to see.
‘Huh!’ he growled impatiently and then rubbed his chin.
‘What do they mean, sir. What’s the significance of them?’
‘Yah!’ he bawled. ‘I wish I knew. They just keep turning up. Always empty. It’s getting very annoying. They turn up in the most unexpected places. There was one hidden behind the mirror with Tania Pulman’s body. Obviously Richard Schumaker wanted to conceal it, for whatever reason. Now these, being found in the pigsty, also to be concealed, but this time not by Schumaker. He would have been dead. Somebody else. So who else wanted to dispose of them, secretly? And why? Why? Why?’
Gawber knew it was a rhetorical question.
Angel sniffed and tossed them aside. Then he reached out for the tatty photograph. It looked like an incomplete jigsaw puzzle. He peered down at it for a few seconds, then suddenly snatched open the desk drawer and pulled out a hand magnifier. He examined the photograph again carefully.
‘Mmmm. I thought so.’
Gawber looked at him intently.
‘Spotted something sir?’
‘Mmmm.’
He passed the photograph and the glass to Gawber.
‘Look closely at the bottom right hand corner.’
‘That’s where there’s a piece missing, sir.’
‘Aye. But on the piece to the left of the gap is a handwritten capital “A” followed by a lower case “1”. To the right of it are three lower case letters “ove”. And below I think I can make out the lower case letters “ania”. If the missing piece had not been missing, I venture to suggest that the inscription would have read: “All my love, Tania.”’
Gawber looked again at the patched up photograph. After a few moments, his mouth dropped open. He slowly lowered the magnifying glass and said, ‘Yes sir. She gave this to a boyfriend or a lover, who subsequently became disillusioned or fell out with her or something, and threw it away in the pigswill!’
Angel pursed his lips.
*
Friday the thirteenth ended quietly.
Angel arrived home, kissed Mary, ate his salmon, peas and mashed potato, and then sat quietly in his chair in front of the television. But he didn’t take pleasure in the programmes. He gawped blankly at the screen. Sometimes his eyes would be closed. There would be a comfortable expression on his face, but he wasn’t listening to anything at all. The details of the Schumaker case were in the front of his mind, and his subconscious, like a machine, was assembling the facts and trying all the permutations of how they might fit together.
And … to no avail.
He went to bed and soon got off to sleep.
Mary always knew when a case was troubling him. In her experience it was best to leave him alone until he had solved it.
His sleep was fitful. He had been awake twice. He turned over. His mind wrestled with the case for an hour or more until it was too tired to labour further and then he would fall away to the peace of sleep. He had always been affected in this way. That’s probably what made him such a successful detective.
And so the weekend passed with absolutely nothing of interest happening in the Angel household. Mary continued her boring domestic chores while Angel continued his somnambulistic existence, moving from room to room and chair to chair and then to bed as Mary’s work schedule and the clock dictated.
On Monday morning, the sixteenth, at 7 a.m., the alarm clock bell rang.
Mary nudged him and switched on a bedside light. Angel automatically threw back the blankets, swung to the edge of the bed, yawned, stretched one arm in the air, tried to scratch a place in the middle of his back, discovered it was impossible to reach, resigned himself to failure, grunted and then fished around for his socks. He found them and his slippers, and put them on. He looked round the room. It was another cold, January morning. Thank God for central heating. In this half-awake state, he shuffled around the end of the bed, out on to the landing, switched on the bathroom light then made his way into the room to the wash basin.
When he was lathered up and had started to shave, his mind started to stir, and he began to think about what he had to do that day. And then, suddenly, like magic, everything became crystal clear. He knew the identity of the murderer of Richard Schumaker. It was as plain as the nose on your face. He also knew the secret of the lucky bags. It was obvious. And he could explain the reason why Eloise Macdonald and Mirabelle Jones told such conflicting stories. He knew why the murderer wore a mask. The fog had lifted. The picture was in focus. Oh, explanations, answers, the whole mystery, everything was rolling out in front of him like prizes in The Generation Game.
16.
Angel parked his car at the rear of the station, let himself in with his keycard and bustled up the corridor.
A cleaner washing the floor was squeezing her mop in the top of the bucket. He strode round her and smiled. She looked at him strangely as she thought she heard him singing a song from West Side Story: ‘I feel pretty. Oh so pretty. I feel witty and pretty and gay ...’
He danced into his office, took off his raincoat and hung it on the hook at the end of the filing cabinet. He dropped into the chair and immediately stood up again. He felt a bulge in his jacket pocket. Oh yes. He remembered what it was. Mary had put it in there so that he wouldn’t forget it. He pulled out the package. It was in a little pink bag and had the name ‘Ahmed’ written across it in block letters. He had asked Mary to get it for him a week or so ago, but each day he had forgotten to pick it up. He smiled with pleasure and satisfaction as he placed it just so at the end of the desk.
Then he pulled ope
n the middle drawer and took out the file he had amassed on the Schumaker case. He had a lot to do before the rest of the team arrived. He wanted everything to be just right.
At 8.35, he heard footsteps on the corridor outside his office. He looked at his watch, picked up the phone and tapped in a number.
‘Cadet Ahaz, sir. Good morning, sir.’
‘Ah yes, Ahmed. Good morning. Send DS Gawber in here.’
‘Right, sir.’
He replaced the phone in the cradle.
Moments later, there was a knock at the door and Gawber put his nose round.
‘You wanted me, sir?’
‘Yes. Come in. We’re going out to make an arrest,’ he said grandly.
Gawber’s mouth dropped open and his eyebrows shot up.
Twenty minutes later they were at Frillies Country Club.
Angel led the way up to the reception counter and slapped the palm of his hand on the bell.
Martin Tickell came smartly out of the back office. The smile on his face disappeared when he saw the two policemen.
Angel was all smiles.
‘Good morning, Mr Tickell. You remember DS Gawber, don’t you?’
‘Certainly do. Good morning, gentlemen. Have you any good news for me? Have you found the murderer of that poor man, yet?’
‘Oh yes,’ Angel said conclusively. ‘Can I have a word with your headwaiter, Louis Dingle?’
Tickell’s face dropped.
‘Oh dear.’
Angel said nothing.
‘Of course. He’s in the restaurant setting out the tables for lunches.’
‘Would you care to accompany us there? Please lead the way.’
Tickell nodded. He left the counter and reappeared through the office door and led them along the corridor and through the double doors to the restaurant.
Louis Dingle was very smart but in his shirt-sleeves, his coat over a chair, as he seemed to be setting a table. He heard the men approach and went towards them.
‘Good morning, gentlemen. Can I help you? Have you come to see me?’
Angel smiled.
‘Indeed we have.’
Dingle swallowed.
‘I have told you all I know about that poor man.’
Angel nodded and turned to Tickell.
‘Is Walter Flagg in the kitchen?’
‘He should be. He starts at nine.’
‘Yes, he’s there, Inspector,’ Dingle said.
‘Let’s all go through to the kitchen, then,’ Angel said.
Dingle rushed forward and held open the serving door. Angel and Gawber lead the way and Tickell and Dingle followed close behind.
Flagg was at a bench, pouring some flour into a bowl. He looked up, stopped pouring and approached the party wiping his hands on his huge apron.
‘What’s all this?’ he said with an applied smile. ‘A deputation?’
Angel said, ‘No, Mr Flagg. I’ve come to make an arrest.’
‘Oh yes,’ he said, looking serious and still wiping his hands.
‘Yes,’ Angel said. ‘You see I’ve solved the mystery of the murder of Richard Schumaker.’
‘You mean … you think it’s one of us?’
‘No,’ Angel said quietly. ‘I know it’s one of you.’
Tickell looked affronted.
The men came together in a half circle in the centre of the kitchen.
Angel said, ‘It was quite easy really. There were only four people apart from the victim on these premises when the murder occurred. There was the victim’s young lady, Eloise Macdonald, and you three. Well, it clearly wasn’t her, although she did confuse me with some of the evidence she gave. But she always spoke the truth. She told it how it was, strange though it seemed to be at times. But she certainly didn’t have a motive. So it had to be one of you three. As you may know, Schumaker’s mobile phone was stolen at the time of the murder and the day following, I asked each of you if you had a mobile, you each said you had and I asked to see them. I wonder if you’d be so good as to produce them again now?’
Tickell nodded and produced his from his jacket pocket as did Flagg.
Diggle said, ‘Mine’s in my jacket pocket in there. Excuse me.’
He went out of the kitchen through the serving door to the restaurant. He was gone a few seconds and then returned all smiles. He had the phone in his hand.
Angel then said, ‘Be so good as to switch them on.’
‘Mine’s on all the time I’m at work,’ Tickell said.
‘So’s mine,’ said Flagg.
‘Mine’s on now, inspector,’ Diggle said.
Angel nodded and winked at Gawber to check that all three phones were indeed switched on.
Gawber ambled slowly round the back of the three men, looked over their shoulders then nodded back at Angel.
Angel took out his own mobile, switched it on, then went to the memory.
‘Whoever’s phone rings now,’ Angel said theatrically, ‘is the person who stole Schumaker’s phone after he had murdered him.’
He then pressed the send button.
And nothing happened.
No phone rang.
Gawber looked at the three phones and then at Angel and frowned.
Each of three suspects looked at each other with blank faces.
Angel pursed his lips.
‘One of you is not using the mobile he showed me a week ago.’
The three men looked bemused.
‘This is the same one I showed you then, inspector,’ said Tickell.
Angel said, ‘Yes, Mr Tickell. It is. You and Mr Diggle each produced your mobiles from the same places. Mr Flagg however, kept his mobile in his jacket pocket hanging in his locker, no doubt to keep it away from liquids and heat and flour and so on.’
Flagg looked up at him. His eyes flashed.
‘Perhaps you would permit my sergeant to take a look there, sir?’
‘No!’ he snapped. ‘There’s no need. I only have the one phone.’
Angel’s pulse began to race.
‘I’m afraid, Mr Flagg, I’m going to have to insist.’
Gawber pulled on a pair of plastic gloves and went across to the end locker. He pulled out some clothes and behind them at the back, wrapped in a yellow duster was a mobile phone. He carefully held it up and looked across at Flagg.
The chef stood there, red in the face and said, ‘It’s not mine. I don’t know how it got there. It’s been planted there. I’ve never seen it before in my life.’
‘Switch it on, sergeant,’ Angel said.
He pressed the button and it began to ring out, Brrr brrr. Brrr brrr. Brrr brrr.
*
‘But how did you know, sir?’
‘That’s where Flagg kept the phone last time. He wouldn’t want it covering with flour. He had to buy another phone so that if he was asked about it again, he could produce that one. He kept that one handy in his pocket, handy in case we went round to check his phone out again. It nearly worked too.’
‘But why would he want to steal Schumaker’s phone?’
‘Because there would be calls to and from him showing the closeness of the relationship he had with Schumaker, which would be — which will be highly incriminating. He may also have wanted it in case any of the young women’s numbers are in the memory.’
‘Will there be a lot?’
‘Who knows? But the biggest clue was the list of names with ticks after each one and, ominously, Tania Pulman’s name crossed out. You see Walter Flagg and Richard Schumaker had a secret pact. It was a competition between them to make love to as many women as they could. In addition, they each agreed to assist the other to accelerate the game by being a stooge and pretending to attack the virtue of the girl of the moment, permitting the other bravely to chase away the assailant. This had the result of making the would-be lover into a hero and thereby thrusting the girl gratefully into his arms. They changed roles as suited the requirement of the situation. It had been well rehearsed and worked a trea
t for them. I believe that Richard, however, who was much better-looking than Flagg, stole one particular girlfriend from under his nose. The beautiful Tania Pulman. Flagg may have been already dating her when Schumaker seduced her away from him and killed her while making love. When she went missing, he had to tell Flagg, who must have gone crazy, tore up her photograph, disposed of it in the pig bins, (as he did his blood covered clothes: must have expected the pigs to eat everything in sight) and at the next charade decided to get his revenge by killing him off.’
Gawber shook his head.
‘Terrible, sir. Terrible. And what had the lucky bags to do with it?’
‘That was where they got the skull and crossbones transfers from; they used the props to impress the girls and make the attacker seem more macho and dangerous. It is also where Flagg found a mask.’
‘What did he need a mask for, sir?’
‘He didn’t want Eloise Macdonald to recognize him. I might never have solved the case if Mirabelle Jones hadn’t seen the piece in the newspaper, noticed the similarity in the behaviour of the two men, volunteered the info and then recognized the dead Schumaker as her attacker.’
‘I suppose Schumaker intended disappearing when he had sold the house.’
‘Yes. And not left any of his fingerprints or DNA around for us to use to catch and convict him when the body behind the mirror was found.’
Gawber sighed.
‘A remarkable case, sir.’
Angel nodded.
‘Highly remarkable. Right. Check off that phone and let me know what you find,’ Angel said, pulling the Schumaker file across the desk. ‘You should find numbers that will strengthen the case.’
His eyes caught the little pink packet he had carefully placed there that morning, which reminded him. ‘Ah, yes. And send young Ahmed in.’
Gawber smiled.
‘Won’t be young Ahmed much longer, sir.’
‘Aye,’ Angel said with a smile. ‘When is the actual day, Ron?’
‘Tomorrow, sir. He’ll be eighteen tomorrow.’
The door closed.
The phone rang. Angel picked up the receiver.
‘Angel.’
‘It’s that Mrs Buller-Price, sir,’ the civilian woman telephonist said.
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