The Murder List Read online

  The phone was answered by a man. ‘Hello, Barnes and Barnes,’ he said.

  ‘This is DI Angel of Bromersley Police. Who am I speaking to?’

  ‘Gerard Barnes, Inspector. We are closed actually. I’m the only one here, but if I can help you, I will.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Barnes. I do hope you can. A woman, a Mrs Michele Pulman has been found murdered this morning. I need some information about her next of kin, her husband, and I believe she also had a child. And I need to have a copy of her Will. I want to know who would benefit from her death.’

  ‘Oh dear. Very sorry to hear that. Poor dear lady. She was a very wealthy woman who has had more of her share of bad luck,’ Barnes said. ‘Yes, we represent her. I was with her only a couple of weeks ago. Excuse me while I find her file … Here we are. Let me see … Yes, her next of kin is Mrs Jessica Loring, 446 Maple Avenue, Ontario 120987878.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Angel said scribbling away. ‘Do you have her phone number, Mr Barnes, by any chance?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry, we don’t. Now her Will would need to be copied, Inspector. The earliest I can do that is when I have some staff here. That would be Monday morning. You could have it collected then or we could post it on to you.’

  ‘I will send somebody to collect it on Monday morning, if that is convenient to you, Mr Barnes.’

  ‘I’ll see that it is prepared first thing, Inspector.’

  ‘Thank you, and can you help me with the whereabouts of her husband and child?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid I can’t. I think that they both died a long while back, but I can’t be sure when.’

  Angel thanked him and ended the call.

  He sat back in the chair and thought about the quickest, most reliable way of finding out what happened to Michele Pulman’s husband and child. He pulled open the middle drawer of his desk and took out a copy of the International Police Directory. He found the overseas telephone number for the Ontario Provincial Police, (Police Provinciale de l’Ontario), and he tapped it into his phone.

  He was soon speaking to the Captain of the Mounties in Ontario. Reception was as clear as if he had been speaking to Mary at home.

  Angel explained the problem and the captain said he was delighted to assist the British Police. He said that he would verify that the address was valid and check whether anything criminal was known about the residents. He kept Angel waiting several minutes then he came back and said that the address was valid and nothing criminal was associated with the residents. Angel then asked the captain if he could supply him with the telephone number of the house. He certainly could and a few moments later rattled out the number.

  Angel was delighted. He thanked the captain profusely for his information and time, and ended the call.

  He looked at his watch. It was eleven o’clock. He wondered if Mac, Don Taylor. Trevor Crisp or Flora Carter had uncovered anything new or different in their numerous and diverse searches. They could have. But then again, it could be just so much time-wasting nonsense.

  He fished into his pocket and took out his mobile. He checked that it was switched on then he put it back into his pocket. He had wanted to satisfy himself that they could contact him if the need arose.

  Picking up the landline phone, he dialled the long Canadian telephone number.

  It rang a long time and then a woman’s voice cheerily said, ‘Hello. Jessica Loring speaking.’

  Angel was pleased to make contact so easily. She came through as clear as a bell.

  ‘Mrs Loring,’ he said. ‘I’m Inspector Angel, a police officer speaking to you from Bromersley in England.’

  There was a slight pause. Her voice changed and she said, ‘Oh dear. It’s about Michele, isn’t it? What’s happened?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, Mrs Loring. Michele died very early this morning.’

  ‘Oh dear. Well, it was to be expected, I suppose. She has been ill for years. It will have come to her as a blessing, I expect.’

  ‘I’m sorry to have to break this news to you and then ask questions but that’s my job. Mrs Pulman’s solicitor told me that you were her next of kin, and that you would be able to tell me about her husband and daughter.’

  ‘Well they’re both dead, Inspector. Died ten years ago now. I never met them, but of course Michele told me about them in her letters. We used to exchange newsy letters years ago. Lately, we just put much shorter notes in cards on birthdays and at Christmas and so on.’

  ‘Do you know their exact names in full and where and when they died?’

  ‘I know that it was in a road accident, and that they both died. I can’t remember the date. He was called Dominic and their daughter, who was twenty years old, was Annabelle.’

  ‘Thank you very much, Mrs Loring. There’s just one more thing. What was Michele’s maiden name?’

  ‘Noble, Inspector. She was Michele Noble.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Loring. Thank you very much.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me, Inspector. The cause of Michele’s passing?’

  He bit his lip, sighed and said, ‘No, I didn’t, Mrs Loring. I didn’t want to upset you. We believe that she has three wounds in her heart made with a knife.’

  ‘Oh! Oh!’ he heard her cry out. ‘How dreadful. How absolutely dreadful. Oh dear. Have you caught the person who has done it?’

  ‘No. I am hopeful that the information you have given me will assist with the investigation.’

  Mrs Loring hesitated, then she said, ‘I don’t see how. It certainly wasn’t her husband or their daughter.’

  ‘We are looking for a serial killer, Mrs Loring. Mrs Pulman is the fourth victim. It is very difficult. Do you know of anybody who would have wished Michele any harm?’

  ‘Certainly not. I wouldn’t have thought anybody would have thought badly about her. She hadn’t a wicked bone in her body.’

  ‘Well, thank you very much, Mrs Loring. I’m sorry I was the bearer of such tragic news. Please accept my sincere condolences.’

  He managed to end the interview without causing more distress and he returned the phone to its cradle.

  He rubbed his chin. Finding out what happened to the husband and the daughter was something that must be investigated. He would set Ahmed on searching records first thing on Monday morning.

  He made a note on his envelope.

  The phone began to ring. Angel threw down his pen and reached out for it. He saw from the LCD it was Dr Mac. He assumed he was ringing from Michele Pulman’s house.

  ‘Yes, Mac. What is it?’

  ‘Is that you, Michael Angel? I’ll tell ye, I don’t reckon much to being hauled out of bed at this god-forsaken time on a Saturday morning. Why can’t your murderers work a five day week? And why does this one have to kill so early in the day? It’s aboot time you caught the bastard and got him put away.’

  Angel said, ‘You irritable, mean and cynical old man. Don’t you—’

  ‘Nae so much of the old. You’ll be my age one day.’

  ‘Not for fifty or sixty years,’ Angel said with a grin. ‘And if I make it, I bet you I’ll not be half as miserable as you.’

  ‘It’s all right for you. You’re happy to sit at home with the ever patient Mary and watch repeats of Bad Girls on the telly. I had planned to catch a salmon or two off Filey Brigg.’

  ‘You’ll still have time to get there, sit in the rain, get bored out of your head and catch pneumonia. Have you rung up just to gripe or do you have any information for me?’

  ‘I have just said what was on my mind, ye ken.’

  ‘You know what I need to know, Mac.’

  ‘Have you a pen ready?’

  ‘The ink’s probably dried up with waiting for you. Yes. Fire ahead.’

  ‘All right, well, I could say ditto really. The cause of death apparently (and to be confirmed) is loss of blood due to stabbing three times in the heart, the time of death was between five and eight this morning, and the mouth and gullet was rammed full of ordinary, uncooked, dried rice and she
has a cauliflower in her lap. From memory, Michael, that’s exactly the same as the other three. That’s why I could have said ditto. And that’s all I’ve got until Monday morning when I will get her on the slab.’

  ‘Thanks, Mac,’ Angel said, as he considered the details the doctor had rattled off to him.

  ‘Will any of that help you, Michael?’

  ‘It’s too early to say. It’s useful to know that she was almost certainly murdered by the same psychopath as the other three. You would have told me if you had observed anything unusual about the crime scene, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I would, and there wasn’t. Same wounds, same cauliflower, same rice and the same boring blood.’

  ‘Right, Mac, thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I need you to see the body and give me the nod to take it.’

  ‘Of course. Will you put me on to Don Taylor?’

  ‘Aye. He’s here. Hold on.’

  Mac passed over the phone.

  ‘DS Taylor, sir.’

  ‘Ah Don, I wonder if we’ve spent enough time looking at the rice and the cauliflowers. When you have time, would you take a look at the rice from each of the four victims and see if it is the same in all four cases. That is to say that it came – as far as you can tell – out of the same packet or batch. And the cauliflowers … is there anything to indicate their source? You know what I mean.’

  ‘I will have a close look, sir, but generally – to me – rice is rice and a cauli is a cauli.’

  ‘I know. I know. But I’m clutching at straws, here, Don.’

  ‘I’ll get back to you on that, sir.’

  ‘Very good. Now, are you ready for me yet?’ Angel said. ‘I think Mac wants to get away.’

  ‘By the time you get here, sir, we will be. By the way, I want the old woman, Miss Cole, back now. I need her prints for elimination. You have her address, sir.’

  ‘I also have her phone number,’ he said. ‘Take this down. It’s Bromersley 249322. I’ll be with you in a very few minutes.’

  TEN

  It was half past eleven when Angel arrived at 13 Creesford Road. He parked the BMW behind Mac’s car and walked along the drive of the elegant, architect-designed house, built during the excesses of the 1920s.

  The uniformed policeman on the front door saluted him. Angel acknowledged the salute, opened the door and went in.

  Taylor heard the door close and came out of the front room into the hall, still covered from head to toe in his sterile white overalls. He looked at Angel, pulled down his mask and said, ‘Perfect timing, sir. Through here.’

  Angel followed him back into the room. It was a large, well-furnished drawing room with the addition of a bed and bedside cabinets.

  Mac was by the door. He had discarded his white overalls and was standing with his bag at his feet. There were two other SOC officers in whites: one was taking photographs and the other packing up a white valise with plastic boxes, some containing samples from the scene.

  Sitting up in the bed, supported by pillows, Angel saw the body of a woman in a white nightdress. He crossed the room and went up close to the bed. Her eyes were closed. Her hair was jet black, her cheekbones were uncommonly high and pronounced. Even her hands were shapely and her nails perfectly manicured and glossed. He thought that when she was alive, she must have been strikingly beautiful.

  Looking downwards to her lap was a mess of blood spattered over the nightdress and a cauliflower.

  Angel turned to Taylor and said, ‘Have you spotted anything here that is unusual or different from the other three murders?’

  Taylor pursed his lips. ‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘Tediously identical, I would say.’

  Dr Mac coughed and said, ‘You’ve already had my answer to that one, Michael. Is there any chance I could have the body?’

  Angel identified a touch of tetchiness in the question. ‘Of course, Mac,’ he said.

  Mac dived into his pocket, pulled out his mobile, clicked on a number, put the phone to his ear and ambled to the other end of the room.

  The front door suddenly closed with a bang and was followed by a knock on the drawing room door which was ajar. Emily Cole came in. She looked round at the policemen one by one. Then she picked out DS Taylor, went up to him and said, ‘Somebody phoned and asked me to see you about taking my fingerprints.’

  Taylor said, ‘That’s right, Miss Cole. Won’t keep you.’

  She looked at him gently and said, ‘While I am waiting, do you think I could have a minute with my friend, Mrs Pulman?’ she said.

  Taylor frowned. He wasn’t sure what she meant.

  Angel stepped forward and said, ‘Of course you can, Miss Cole. You mustn’t touch her, though.’

  Miss Cole nodded her understanding, then turned back to Angel and said, ‘I recognize your voice. You’re the gentleman who spoke to me on the phone earlier, aren’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘My name is Inspector Angel.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector,’ she said. ‘I just want to look at her and say my goodbyes.’

  Angel walked with her up to the side of the bed. They stood, side by side.

  Miss Cole first looked at the dead woman’s face.

  ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ she said. ‘I used to wash and set her hair every week. Not a grey hair in sight at 61, incredible, isn’t it? There was nothing like doing her hair to cheer her up.’

  Angel nodded.

  ‘Look at her hands, Inspector. Aren’t they a lovely shape? I used to give her a manicure every—’

  She broke off. Her eyes flashed. She pointed to Mrs Pulman’s hand and turned back to Angel.

  ‘Her ring, Inspector,’ she said. ‘She’s not wearing her ring. It was never off her finger. She wore it all the time. It was given to her by her husband.’

  Angel’s eyebrows shot up.

  Emily Cole snatched open the drawer in the bedside table. Inside there were several boxes of pills. She picked them all out of the drawer as well as the white paper lining, but there was no ring. She threw the stuff back and slammed the drawer shut. Then she went down on her knees and looked under the bed.

  Angel rubbed his chin. ‘She could have taken it off,’ he said.

  ‘No. No. She was very sentimental about it. If she took it off, she would soon have put it back on again. Come to think, it was getting a bit loose for her. It sometimes used to swivel round.’

  Angel turned to Taylor and said, ‘Do you know anything about a ring, Don?’

  ‘No, sir. I don’t think she was wearing a ring.’

  ‘You should have pics of the victim and scene taken on arrival?’

  ‘We have, sir. We have. I’ll get them up on a laptop. Won’t take a sec.’

  ‘Yes. Do that,’ Angel said.

  Taylor passed a laptop to the SOCO who had been taking photographs and muttered a few words. The man took the laptop and the camera and went out of the room.

  Emily Cole’s mind seemed to be wholly on the ring. Her face looked pained and thoughtful. As she stood up she said, ‘It might be under her pillow. Can we get her out of bed?’

  ‘Not until she is moved to the mortuary,’ Angel said. ‘The doctor will be having her collected shortly.’

  Mac heard this, stepped forward and said, ‘The mortuary van is on its way, Michael. Should be here in a few minutes.’

  Angel nodded towards Mac, then turned to the old lady and said, ‘Is there anything else missing, Miss Cole?’

  Her face suddenly changed for the worse. Her eyes opened wide. ‘Not the Georgian silver tea set!’ she said. Then she dashed out of the drawing room into the hall.

  Angel signalled to Taylor with his thumb to follow her. She went out of the hall into the room next to it, the dining room. She stormed straight up to a big mahogany sideboard, pulled open one of the doors and dropped down on her knees again. Taylor squatted down beside her. She poked about inside for a few seconds then sighed, smiled and closed the sideboard cupboard door.

  Taylor said, ‘Is it
there?’

  She nodded and wearily got to her feet. ‘All five pieces. Thank goodness,’ she said.

  They returned to the drawing room and Taylor reported that all was well.

  ‘Are there any other treasures that might have been taken, Miss Cole?’ Angel said.

  She pulled back her head, stared at him in disbelief and said, ‘The house is full of Mrs Pulman’s treasures, Inspector. Keepsakes and things that reminded her of the past. I cannot possibly tell you that without giving it some thought … and having a good look round.’

  ‘I realize that. I really meant in the way of money or gold or silver or Rembrandts or Picassos? Whatever it might be, it is important. We need to know about it.’

  The SOC man came back with the laptop. He came straight to Angel and showed him the screen. ‘Is that what you wanted, sir?’ he said.

  Angel glanced at it. ‘Thank you,’ he said and he took the laptop. Then he added, ‘Miss Cole, will you come and look at this?’

  It was a close-up photograph of Michele Pulman’s midriff showing blood on the white nightdress and over a cauliflower. The backs of both of her hands were positioned under her bosom resting on her body. In the right hand bottom corner of the photograph were the figures 9.06. 9.5.2015.

  Angel looked at Miss Cole and said, ‘The first digits of that figure on the picture is the time the photograph was taken. Six minutes past nine. So this was one of the earliest photographs taken here this morning. The time and date cannot be changed. The evidence therefore is unarguable. Mrs Pulman was not wearing a ring then.’

  Miss Cole wrinkled up her nose then nodded. ‘I have to accept that, Inspector,’ she said.

  Angel smiled then said, ‘You’d better give me a description of that ring though, so that we can circulate it.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Well, it was two big-ish diamonds, offset in a claw setting with scroll work round the head. The ring was all platinum. It was very striking. Mrs Pulman said that the two stones represented her and her husband.’