Shrine to Murder Read online

Page 13


  The team concluded their search and, having found nothing incriminating, they congregated in the kitchen. They couldn’t hide their disappointment.

  Crisp said, ‘What are you going to do then, sir?’

  Angel sighed, then said, ‘We have nothing to hold either of the two men, even though neither of them has an alibi for any of the murders. I am loath to return them to their respective homes, but I have no choice. Margaret Ireland has no alibis either, but the DNA result is enough to hold her for questioning.’

  ‘Seems very unfair, sir,’ Carter said.

  Angel nodded. ‘It is unfair.’ He turned to Crisp. ‘When you’ve finished here, go to the station, see Lamb and tell him that Superintendent Harker is unwilling to provide him with police security after 4.55 p.m. today.’

  Crisp’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Can I say that, sir?’

  ‘It’s the truth, lad,’ Angel said. ‘You can.’

  Angel then turned to Carter and said, ‘And you say the same thing to Franks.’

  Carter looked surprised.

  Angel continued, ‘Then you ask them to vacate the cells and suggest that they leave town, stay with a relation or in a hotel quietly somewhere until we catch the murderer. Tell nobody of their location but let me have their phone number. The mobile number would be best for security reasons. If they are careful about it, it will keep them safe. All right?’

  ‘What if anything should happen to either of them?’ Carter said.

  ‘It shouldn’t if they are careful,’ Angel said.

  Carter looked at Crisp and then at Angel and said, ‘Superintendent Harker has given you an ultimatum, hasn’t he, sir?’

  Angel nodded. ‘He’s my boss. I have to do as he says or leave the force. The same as you have to. All right?’

  Carter and Crisp exchanged glances.

  There was a short silence. Nobody seemed to know what to say.

  Ahmed seized the opportunity to join in the conversation, and eased his way between the two sergeants and said, ‘Excuse me, sir. If Margaret Ireland is the murderer, then what is her motive?’

  Angel rubbed his chin. ‘Ask me a question I can answer, lad. It’s certain that there’s no logic to these murders. There’s no discernable motive,’ he said, glad to be able to change the subject. ‘There is no money, gold, prize, estate, glory or lover to win. The murderer is simply feeding his or her ego, or exacting revenge. Or, it may be something else that is totally obscure. That’s why it is so difficult to solve. We are clearly dealing with someone who is sick. A psychopath. A lunatic. Somebody totally unhinged. They are the most difficult of all to catch. They are always bolder, cleverer and more dangerous than your average murderer, also they are inclined to play games with their adversaries. I expect he or she is doing exactly that with us right now. They act normally to the outside world, but privately, in their own minds, they are acting out a bizarre existence.’

  ‘How do you catch them, sir,’ Ahmed said.

  Angel’s eyebrows shot up. ‘They can be caught by slogging, thorough police work, but also by thinking like they do.’

  ‘How do you do that,’ Ahmed said.

  Angel frowned. Then gripped his chin between thumb and two fingers, pursed his lips and said, ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. I expect it comes in time.’

  ‘Are you doing it now, sir?’

  ‘I’m trying to,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to. But there’s something I must have missed. There must be. I don’t know what it is.’ Then he suddenly looked at his watch and said, ‘I have to go.’

  He made for the door, then turned round and looked at them all.

  ‘Finish up here,’ he said. ‘If you find anything, phone me. I’m going back to the station briefly. Then I’m going down to Canal Road.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ they called in unison. He waved in response and was gone.

  He drove straight to the station and phoned Mr Twelvetrees at the CPS about Margaret Ireland. He read him the DNA report on the hairs found on Luke Redman, pointing out that the sample indicated genes of a female with oriental heredity. He told him that Margaret Ireland had no alibi for any of the three murders, that she was one of the last three people alive and involved in the production of Nero, but added that there was no other direct evidence against her. Then he asked Twelvetrees if there was enough evidence to charge her with the murders. The barrister said that it was his opinion that there was not enough evidence circumstantial or otherwise to arrest and charge her for murder, but that there was definitely sufficient evidence to hold her for forty-eight hours for further questioning. That suited Angel admirably. He thanked him, rang off and immediately tapped in Taylor’s number.

  ‘Is the van out of the water yet, Don?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It’s tented and Dr Mac’s working on the body. It will take us a bit longer because the crime scene, of course, is significantly spoiled.’

  ‘Have you been inside the van?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Just about finished the inside. I came out for a breather. The smell is…unspeakable.’

  ‘What have you found?’

  ‘Well, sir, the ignition key was switched on and a long length of 2” by 1” timber was jammed between the seat back and the accelerator pedal.’

  Angel had expected that or something similar. ‘Was there anything in the van, such as a mirror?’

  ‘I thought you’d ask about a mirror, sir. No. But on the windscreen in red paint was the message: “III to go”.’

  Angel’s face muscles tightened and his heart beat faster. Although the message was entirely predictable, he felt that the audacious killer was speaking directly to him. He knew it and he didn’t like it.

  ‘Right, Don,’ he said. ‘That’s enough for now. Is Mac there?’

  ‘He’s just coming out of the tent, sir. Hold on.’

  Angel heard some unintelligible exchanges between them, there was a pause, then he heard Mac’s broad Glaswegian voice. ‘Now then Michael, what you wantin’ from me?’

  ‘Tell me straight, Mac. Is the wound on that victim, Peel, the same as the ones on Luke Redman and Ingrid Underwood?’

  ‘Aye. It is. And I believe it to have been made by the same weapon, a dagger with a 6” blade.’

  ‘No laurel leaf?’

  Mac snorted. ‘Give me a chance. There’s a laurel leaf tucked inside his shirt lapel. That’s all you what you wanted to know, isn’t it?’

  Chapter Twelve

  There was a knock at the door.

  Angel looked up. ‘Come in,’ he said.

  It was WPC Baverstock. ‘We’ve got Margaret Ireland for you, sir,’ she said. ‘Did you want her here or in an interview room?’

  ‘In here, for the minute,’ Angel said.

  ‘In here, Miss Ireland, please,’ Baverstock said.

  The woman came in. She looked round the office then down at Angel. She didn’t look pleased.

  DC Scrivens followed close behind and closed the door.

  Margaret Ireland looked from Angel to Scrivens to Baverstock and then back to Angel. ‘I’m not used to being moved around from place to place like a parcel,’ she said.

  ‘I’m transferring you to a cell in the station,’ Angel said.

  She blinked. She was obviously surprised. ‘It will be safer here, I suppose,’ she said.

  Angel nodded. ‘Not only that, Mrs Ireland, but in view of certain forensic evidence there is some possibility that it may be necessary for you to have to explain your presence in Luke Redman’s bedroom the night he was murdered. In the meantime, I am holding you for further questioning.’

  Her eyes almost popped out of her head. ‘What?’ she said. ‘Luke Redman’s bedroom? Ridiculous. That stupid old man was old enough to be my grandfather! I wouldn’t be seen dead with him. What are you up to, Inspector?’

  ‘There’s no need for you to offer any explanation now,’ Angel said. ‘I suggest that you consult your solicitor and I’ll speak to you tomorrow. All right?’

  ‘No. It is not
all right. I wouldn’t be seen dead with the stupid old fool. I don’t know what strange ideas you have got hold of, Inspector, or what cock and bull evidence you have concocted, but it’s utterly ridiculous and outrageous.’

  Angel looked up at Baverstock and said, ‘Take her down to the cells. See that she has all that she needs.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  As they went out, the phone rang.

  Angel reached out for it. It was Harker.

  ‘Do you know the time.’

  ‘Yes, sir. It’s 4.55,’ he said. He knew full well what the time was, and he told the superintendent what he wanted to hear.

  Harker grunted, said, ‘That’s better,’ and put the receiver down.

  Angel was about as happy as a villain who expected an ASBO and got two years.

  Thank god it was time to go home.

  There was a knock at the door. He looked up and sneered across at it.

  ‘Come in.’

  It was Carter.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, suddenly brightening. ‘How did Tom Franks take the news? Was he put out at all?’

  ‘He was surprised, sir.’

  He looked at her closely. ‘Did he show any signs of…of reluctance…or fear?’

  ‘He seemed unhappy at losing police protection, but glad to leave the cell. I must say, sir, I think you are taking a great risk withdrawing protection like this.’

  He heard her clear enough. He didn’t choose to reply.

  ‘Did he mention that he had a suitable hideaway to go to?’

  ‘He didn’t say, sir. But he did say that he was packing a bag and leaving immediately.’

  ‘Did he give you a mobile phone number?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  She passed a card with a handwritten number on it. He raised his eyebrows, glanced at the card and then put it in his pocket. ‘I assume there was nothing to report about Ingrid Underwood’s daughter, Rosemary?’

  ‘Nothing vital, sir, or I would have said. Things have been moving on rather quickly.’

  Angel nodded.

  ‘Anyway, sir, Rosemary Underwood said that she knew of no one who would wish her mother dead. She said that, as she was the only child, she was the only one to benefit financially from her mother’s death. Her mother divorced years ago and she can’t remember her father. She knows of no connection between her mother and Luke Redman or Angus Peel, and the names, Kenneth Lamb, Tom Franks and Margaret Ireland meant nothing at all to her, and she doesn’t know if any of them had been customers and bought flowers from her mother at any time. She didn’t know anything about the production of Nero either. The only relationship of her mother’s she knew of - and she didn’t like it - was the man opposite who has the bike shop, Carl Young. And that’s about it, sir.’

  ‘What didn’t Rosemary like about him?’

  ‘Nothing specific, sir. She said he was always hanging around when she visited her mother at the shop.’

  Angel frowned, closed his eyes for a second, then said, ‘He fancied her, that’s all. She wasn’t bad looking. I bet she’d been a cracker twenty years ago. Kids are always jealous. Anything else?’

  Carter nodded in agreement and then said, ‘No, sir. I think I’ve covered everything.’

  Angel nodded. He pursed his lips then rubbed his chin. She appeared to have done a thorough job interviewing Rosemary Underwood. She had asked all the questions he would have asked. He was wondering whether he wanted her to accompany him on a visit to Margaret Ireland’s parents. Ron Gawber, his sergeant for ten years, would have been the ideal copper to have sent on that sort of job on his own. Alas, he was not available to him any more.

  ‘About Margaret Ireland,’ he said. ‘There are so many reasons why she is probably not the murderer we are seeking. I really need some hard evidence to charge her or make a decision to eliminate her completely, before Kenneth Lamb or Tom Franks is found dead.’

  Carter looked surprised. ‘She’s in a cell, sir. Isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes. For only forty-eight hours, then I’ll have to release her. She’s not been charged with murder. She can’t be, yet. Not enough evidence. The only hard clue we have is the DNA on the two hairs found on the back of Luke Redman’s hand.’

  ‘Aren’t you waiting for a DNA result on the hair you took from her yesterday?’

  ‘That’ll take a few days. She’ll be out before then, and if she’s the murderer and she finds Lamb or Franks, it will be god help them. The lab said that the gene pattern indicates the hair belonged to a female of oriental origin. If Margaret Ireland’s parents or forbears are oriental, then she must be the murderer. She’s the only female it could be.’

  Carter nodded.

  ‘First thing in the morning,’ Angel said, ‘we’ll visit her parents.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  There was a knock at the door.

  Angel’s eyebrows went up. ‘See who it is, will you?’

  She opened the door.

  A voice said, ‘Ah, Flora, is the boss in?’

  It was DS Crisp. Angel recognized his voice.

  ‘Come in,’ he said, then to Carter he said, ‘Push off home. See you here, first thing in the morning.’

  She went out and closed the door.

  ‘Did you see Lamb off all right?’

  ‘He said he was pleased to go. He was bored to tears and the place hadn’t the comforts of home,’ Crisp said.

  ‘Did he give you a mobile number?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Angel’s hands tightened into fists. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be the Dorchester,’ he said. ‘It was to save his skin. Where’s he going to go undercover? The Maldives?’

  ‘I don’t believe he’s planning to go anywhere, sir. He said he’ll take his chances.’

  Angel ran his tongue along his lower lip. He was thinking. He was glad he didn’t have superintendent Harker’s conscience. ‘You’re sure that he understood the risk?’

  ‘He said he wasn’t scared of anything.’

  ‘What’s his home address?’ Angel said as he reached out for the phone.

  ‘72 Wentworth View, sir. On the corner. What are you doing?’

  Eventually a voice in the earpiece said, ‘Inspector Asquith.’

  ‘Michael Angel here, Haydn.’

  ‘Oh, the scruffy branch of her majesty’s constabulary,’ Asquith quipped. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Angel didn’t mind the friendly jibe if he could get his own way. ‘It’s more what I can do for you, Haydn. I have an idea that there might be a burglary at 72 Wentworth View tonight. If you could get your lads to keep an eye on the place…? Use the street corner as a rendezvous point a few times in the night. You know the sort of thing?’

  ‘Certainly watch that, my son. Have no fear. Thanks for the tip-off, Michael. If my lads can make a collar, they will. There’ll be no robbery there tonight, I can assure you. Pleasant dreams.’

  He replaced the phone.

  Crisp looked at Angel, smiled and shook his head knowingly.

  Angel wasn’t smiling. He was rubbing his chin in thought.

  ‘There’s one loose end that has not been cleared up, Trevor,’ Angel said. ‘I want you to see to it tomorrow morning, while I’m in Huddersfield with the new sergeant. It’s the business with Cyril Krill and that Solar Heating and Power Exhibition in London last week. Krill originally said that he went down there alone, yet in the Fair’s visitor’s book, the organizer told DS Carter that he had arrived there with a woman and signed in as Mr and Mrs Krill. Now, you know all about Mrs Krill. You interviewed her.’

  ‘Yes, sir. She spent the weekend at home with a migraine.’

  ‘Aye. I don’t know what we can do about that, lad. A migraine without a witness is not an alibi. Anyway, you remember, you were with me when Krill told us about a relationship he had had with a woman whose name he can’t remember; it began with an “M”. We never did tidy that up, such a lot happening. But I hadn’t forgotten it. I want you to go back to him. Lean on
him. Take Scrivens with you. I want you to get him to produce an alibi for the Saturday night/Sunday morning his father-in-law was murdered, if he can. Then I want you check it out, thoroughly. If it doesn’t hold up, bring him in for questioning. He’s probably got a strong enough motive to have murdered the old man, but, of course, we have no evidence against him in respect of Ingrid Underwood nor Angus Peel. However, it should make him sit up and take us seriously. He can’t play ducks and drakes with us like that.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  *

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ Carter said as she pulled open the door of Angel’s BMW.

  Angel nodded and, as the door closed, he let in the clutch and the car pulled smartly away from the steps of Bromersley Police Station and headed for Huddersfield Road and over the moors. They hardly spoke through the short journey.

  Eventually Angel said, ‘We need to find out if Margaret Ireland has any Far Eastern heritage. If she has, it would be a step nearer to matching the DNA of the hair and provide justification for arresting her and charging her with the three murders.’

  ‘So you want me to keep a lookout for anything Chinese or Japanese or - similar?’

  ‘It’s a matter of confirmation or elimination.’

  It didn’t take long to reach Huddersfield town centre.

  He handed Carter the street guide. ‘Lumb Lane is off the road to Oldham,’ Angel said.

  And so it was: a very long back street of terraced houses, which had their front doors opening directly on to the pavement. He found number 121 and was able to stop and park the BMW right outside the front door. Two little girls with skinny white arms and legs were bouncing balls against the red brick walls of a nearby house.