The Snuffbox Murders Page 2

  She went up the basement steps and into the kitchen. She filled the kettle and switched it on. Then she switched it off and went into the dining room to the drinks cabinet, grabbed a bottle, found a tumbler and poured herself a half-glass of brandy. She turned as if she had heard a noise from the front door. She put the bottle down, dashed into the hall, up to the door, opened it and looked out. There was nobody there. She returned to the dining room, made for the brandy then heard the doorbell ring. She turned back again and answered the door.

  As the door opened, the light shone on two uniformed policemen.

  Their mouths opened expectantly as they recognized the famous and beautiful Rosemary Razzle. It wasn’t everyday they got close up to a real live celebrity actor.

  ‘Mrs Razzle.’ They knew who she was from her regular television appearances. ‘I’m PC Donohue and this is PC Elder. We came as soon as we could. What’s the trouble?’

  She nodded. ‘Come in, please. It’s my husband. He’s in his workshop. Locked in. Something’s wrong. He doesn’t reply. I’ve banged on the door, and tried to speak to him on the extension phone, but there’s no reply.’

  The two young men followed Mrs Razzle down the imposing hall, through the huge kitchen to the basement steps.

  She wiped an eye with the back of her hand.

  ‘He’s in here.’

  ‘Can’t you open the door, miss?’ Donohue said. ‘Haven’t you a key?’

  ‘It’s a combination lock. I don’t know the number.’

  ‘We’ll see if we can break it down, miss.’

  When the policemen tapped on the door, they knew they wouldn’t be able to force their way in. It was a heavy steel door with a combination lock in the centre.

  PC Elder tried the handle and pulled it. It didn’t shift. He banged loudly on the door with his asp. It made no impression.

  ‘How do you know your husband is in there, miss?’

  ‘The light is on. The switch is on the outside and it’s on … he often works long hours in there. Where else would he be at this time of night?’

  ‘Is there any other way in? Where are the windows?’

  ‘There are no windows and there is no other way in.’

  ‘There is a phone in there?’

  ‘Yes. I phoned him. He didn’t pick up. Please do something. He might have had a heart attack or something.’

  Donohue saw a phone on the wall. ‘Does this connect to the phone in there?’

  ‘Yes.’ She rubbed her long white manicured hand across her brow and said, ‘You just dial 9 and hold on, but I’ve done all that and he doesn’t answer.’

  Donohue picked up the phone, tapped in the single digit and listened. After a few moments, he pulled the phone away from his ear and said, ‘Can’t hear it ring out.’ He put his ear to the steel door.

  Rosemary Razzle said, ‘You can’t hear anything through that.’ Then she breathed in noisily and said, ‘Oh. This is useless. You’re not doing anything. Time is going on. My husband might be in there dying.’

  ‘What else can we do, miss?’ Donohue said, replacing the phone.

  She turned away and ran her hand through her hair. She turned back. ‘I’ll have to get the man out that built the thing. He’ll surely know how to get the door open.’

  ‘If we phone him, he might turn out more quickly for us. What’s his number?’

  Her face dropped. ‘Oh dear. I don’t remember his name. He works for a security business in Sheffield. It’s his business, I think.’

  ‘Try Yellow Pages.’

  She rushed off.

  The two policemen looked at each other, looked skywards, then shrugged. Donohue grabbed the door handle and yanked it several times. He fiddled with the combination lock and tapped in a few random numbers and tried the door handle. Nothing happened. He kicked the door. It didn’t budge.

  Donohue’s RT blared into his ear: ‘Sixty-two, come in sixty-two. Where are you?’

  He told the sergeant where he and Elder were and explained the situation. He was told to stay there with Elder as long as they could be useful, but to keep in touch, then they made their way up the steps into the kitchen.

  Mrs Razzle came in from the hall while looking into the phone book. She lowered the book on to the kitchen table, feverishly whipping the pages backwards and forwards until she found the page she wanted, then ran her finger down the small print. She stopped as she found a particular name, and read off a number. She then reached out to the phone fixed to the wall next to the large American refrigerator and tapped in a number. It rang a long time. As she waited, her eyes flitted across the room at the brightly lit, spotless kitchen and the two policemen standing by the basement door looking at her.

  They stared at her, noticing the sculptured silver-blonde hair, the slim figure, the long legs covered by a white dress and the necklace with the big diamonds twinkling in the light.

  A man suddenly answered the phone. ‘Yeah?’

  She caught her breath. ‘Is that Farleigh Security?’ she said.

  ‘Yes. Brian Farleigh speaking.’

  ‘This is Mrs Charles Razzle, you might remember building a security workshop in the basement of our house for my husband?’

  ‘And security lights outside the house, sure do, Mrs Razzle. But, what’s the matter? What you ringing me at this time of the night for?’

  ‘My husband is in the workshop … the door is locked … and I can’t get in.’

  ‘Maybe … maybe he wants to be on his own?’

  ‘You don’t understand. He doesn’t answer the phone. He must have been in there hours. I think something may have happened to him.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘You don’t know the combination?’ he said.

  ‘He keeps changing it. Is there another way in there?’

  ‘No, Mrs Razzle. I think you know that there isn’t.’

  Her face went scarlet. Her lips tightened. ‘There must be something you can do?’

  Farleigh sighed. ‘I’ll come straight over. You’re the big house at the far end of Creesforth Road in Bromersley, aren’t you?’

  ‘Please be quick,’ she said and slammed the phone back on to its hook.

  The two policemen had made some tea for Mrs Razzle and themselves, and were sitting at the kitchen table drinking it. Mrs Razzle had left hers and was walking up and down holding a glass of brandy and sipping from it from time to time in silence, occasionally darting out of the room to check on the front door.

  The police officers had tried talking to her about her life and work, and about her husband, but she mostly answered in monosyllables. They had managed to elicit that he was an inventor in the throes of something important that he needed to keep secret until it had been registered with the patents office. His particular work necessitated a secure room, and she explained why she was so certain that he was in there.

  She was leaning against the worktop, breathing noisily, looking up at the kitchen clock, watching the second hand sweep little by little round the dial, while the other hands indicated that it was almost two o’clock in the morning, when the front doorbell rang. She banged down the tumbler, ran to the door and opened it.

  A big, suntanned man in a suede coat stood on the step smiling at her.

  ‘Mrs Razzle.’

  ‘You’ve been a helluva time, Mr Farleigh,’ she said.

  He looked at her in surprise, jaw dropped. ‘Came as quickly as I could,’ he said as he dragged two valises into the hall.

  ‘You know where it is. Please make your way there.’

  He bustled down the hall, into the kitchen, nodded at the two policemen, went through the door to the basement and down the steps.

  Mrs Razzle followed close on his heels, with the two policemen behind her.

  At the security room door, Farleigh lowered the valises to the floor, turned to Mrs Razzle and said, ‘You’re certain he’s in there?’

  ‘Positive,’ she said. ‘And he must be ill or something’s wrong, other
wise he would have answered the phone.’

  Farleigh rubbed his chin. ‘Hmm. There’s only one way I can open this door, Mrs Razzle. It will take some time.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘What? I expected you to open it straight away. You built it, after all.’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s a security room, Mrs Razzle,’ he said as he took off his suede coat and draped it over the newel post. ‘Access is not supposed to be easy. That’s why it’s called … a security room.’

  ‘There’s no quicker way?’

  ‘Only dynamite.’

  ‘Well, use that then.’

  He grinned. ‘We’d need permission from the local authority … that would take a month … anyway, down here we might blow a hole in the sewer. And you wouldn’t like that.’

  She threw her hands up in the air and said, ‘Well, do something!’ She breathed in noisily and turned away. She turned back, looked at her watch. ‘It’s ten minutes past two already.’

  She made for the stairs.

  The policemen stood back to allow her to pass.

  Then she turned back to Farleigh. ‘I will be in the kitchen. Let me know as soon as that door can be opened.’

  She marched up the steps into the kitchen.

  Farleigh looked at the policemen, grinned, then busied himself securing a small processor to the door lock with magnets then, from that, a lead to a USB port in a hand-held computer powered by mains electric from a socket low down on the wall. That done, he began a search for the combination. Starting from zero, illuminated red numbers ticked progressively on the small LCD screen. The lock had a six-digit combination number, so he said it might take a long time.

  The policemen, who were on the basement steps leaning over the handrail, watched fascinated. Over Farleigh’s shoulder, they could see the numbers slowly tick away. After ten minutes, they became bored and went upstairs to the kitchen.

  Mrs Razzle was nowhere to be seen.

  Donohue went into the hall. Through an open door, he saw a light. He wandered towards it. It led into the drawing room. The light source was from a pretty lamp on a small table next to a large luxurious sofa. He saw Mrs Razzle full length on the sofa apparently in a deep sleep. She looked like the fairytale princess from some extravagant Hollywood movie. He enjoyed just looking at her. All that was missing was the music from a hundred-piece orchestra. His eyes travelled to the table where he saw the tumbler half-full of brandy. He didn’t want to disturb her. He crept quietly out of the room and returned to the kitchen.

  PC Elder was looking at an electric kettle that was about to boil. He turned to Donohue. ‘Does she want a coffee? Do her good.’

  ‘She’s flaked out.’

  ‘Not surprised with all that brandy she’s sunk. Do you think she’d mind if I had another cup of tea?’

  ‘Shouldn’t think so.’

  ‘It isn’t as if they’re hard up,’ he said, looking up and around meaningfully.

  Steam began to come out of the kettle. It clicked off.

  ‘What does he do?’ Elder said.

  ‘Invents things,’ Donohue said. ‘You’ve heard of Charles Razzle?’

  Elder frowned. ‘I think I’ve heard the name.’

  ‘Musical tin-opener. Portable flushing toilet. Robot floor-cleaner. He’s well known. Been on the telly. He’s reputed to be working on something big.’

  ‘Really?’ Donohue said as he poured the water into the two cups. ‘That’s why he built this security workshop, patents, and all that?’

  Donohue nodded.

  In spite of the tea, Elder yawned and lowered his head into his arms on the kitchen table.

  Donohue looked up at the kitchen clock. It said half past three. He leaned back in the chair trying to get into a comfortable position. It was not possible. He put his elbows on the table, leaned into his hands and closed his eyes. In his imagination he could see his bed. It looked very inviting. He was thinking how much he would enjoy a shower and then a long sleep when he heard heavy feet on the cellar steps. He opened his eyes, nudged Elder, who jumped to his feet.

  ‘I wasn’t asleep, Sean,’ Elder said. ‘Just resting my eyes.’

  Donohue looked at the clock. It said ten minutes past five.

  Farleigh came through the open basement door. He glanced round the kitchen.

  ‘Where is she?’ he said with a grin.

  Donohue’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Is it unlocked?’ he said.

  ‘Where is she?’ Farleigh said.

  The policemen glanced at each other. The door was unlocked. They suddenly felt wide awake.

  Donohue pointed down the hall. ‘First door on your left,’ he said.

  Farleigh dashed out of the kitchen.

  Donohue took a quick swig of cold tea, put the cup down on the worktop and crossed to the basement door. Elder followed him.

  Mrs Razzle appeared at the drawing room door, swaying like a rope bridge in a gale. Her hair half-covered her face.

  Farleigh came up behind her.

  ‘I heard you. I heard you,’ she said. Her speech was slurred. ‘You’ve unlocked the bloody thing. About time too.’

  She tried to rush, but she couldn’t.

  ‘Go on. Go on,’ she said waving him on like an impatient driver waving on a bothersome car behind.

  He overtook her and ran down the basement steps.

  She followed making the best speed she could, precariously gripping the banister with both hands.

  The two policemen came up quickly behind.

  The security room door was still closed.

  When Farleigh reached it, he pressed down the handle and pulled the heavy door silently towards them.

  Mrs Razzle leaned forward.

  The two policemen closed up behind her.

  As it was opening, they heard a voice from inside the room. It was gentlemanly and courteous, but hollow and echoing. ‘What do you want me to do now?’ After a pause, the voice said, ‘Did I do that correctly?’ Then after another pause, it reverted to the original question: ‘What do you want me to do now?’

  It kept repeating the two questions alternately.

  Mrs Razzle turned to the men behind her. She frowned, now seemed completely sober but unnerved, and said, ‘That’s my husband’s voice, but it’s not him speaking.’

  Donohue pushed forward to be at the side of her and said, ‘Be careful, miss.’

  The strange hollow echoing voice suddenly stopped. It seemed to have heard their two voices and was considering its response.

  ‘I do not understand your instruction,’ the robot promptly chanted. ‘Would you repeat it, please?’

  The door was now fully open and they stared into the long, brightly lit cellar. Immediately they saw a human-sized robot made of clear blue plastic standing upright against the wall facing them. Three small red lights were flashing inside the top of its translucent plastic head. Ominously, they saw that it was holding a handgun in the shooting position.

  Beyond the robot, the walls of the cellar were lined with banks of black electronic equipment, LCD screens and powerful batteries. There seemed to be dials on everything. Electric cables ran all over the place. There was a smell of acid and rubber. There was a long bench in the middle of the room cluttered with engineer’s and electrician’s tools, and an assortment of entirely unfathomable metal and plastic parts. The corner of a desk projected from behind the door.

  Mrs Razzle took a short step into the cellar. ‘Charles,’ she said, tentatively. She peered round the workshop door, and then she saw it. It was the body of a man slumped on the floor by the desk in a pool of blood.

  She screamed and cried out, ‘Charles! Charles!’

  ‘Stand back, everybody,’ Donohue yelled. ‘We’re in the line of fire of that gun.’

  Donohue, Elder and Farleigh stepped out of the doorway.

  Mrs Razzle, ignoring Donohue, suddenly rushed over towards the body by the desk.

  Donohue instantly reached forward, put his arm round her waist, lifted he
r out of the doorway and swung her back into the basement, out of range of the gun.

  ‘Put me down,’ she screamed, digging her nails into his hand and kicking his shins with the back of her shoes. ‘How dare you?’

  At the same time, the strange voice reverted to saying, ‘What do you want me to do now? What do you want me to do now? What do you want me to do now?’

  THREE

  DI Angel’s office, Bromersley Police Station, South Yorkshire, UK.

  0828 hours. Tuesday, 26 May 2009

  Angel looked across the desk at the uniformed constable and rubbed his chin. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘Well, sir,’ Donohue said, ‘Clive Elder and I managed to get Mrs Razzle out of the line of fire of the robot, up the basement steps into the kitchen, where she completely gave way to tears. Clive made her some sweet tea and we talked to her … tried to comfort her. The security engineer wanted to leave. He said that he had a lot on. So I took his phone number and address and told him that he would be needed as a witness, and he went. Meanwhile, all the time, now that the security door was wide open, through the closed basement door, we could still hear that robot’s voice chanting away, “What do you want me to do now?” over and over again.’ Donohue pulled a creased face. ‘Fancy a robot killing the man who made it.’

  Angel frowned.

  ‘We were thankful the thing didn’t follow us up the stairs,’ Donohue added. Angel ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

  ‘You said it looked as if Charles Razzle had directed the robot on to himself using a remote control?’ Angel said.

  ‘The gun was pointed in that general direction. Sounds ridiculous, sir, but yes. That’s about the size of it. On the floor by the body, with a dozen or more control buttons on it, was what looked like a rather crude remote control. Also, as I said, the security door was locked, and we were told there was no other way into the room. There was nobody else in there.’