The Big Fiddle Read online

  ‘Probably. Come along, Inspector. It is 2013. All her boyfriends spend nights there, as far as I know.’

  ‘And you didn’t see him at all later on?’

  ‘I haven’t seen either of them since.’

  ‘Do you know his name?’

  ‘No. But why don’t you ask her directly, yourself?’

  ‘Can you hear anything through the wall?’

  ‘No. Well I have heard the occasional shout or raised voice, when she’s having a little row or something like that, I suppose. I mean … nobody’s perfect, you know, Inspector.’

  ‘No, indeed. And did you hear raised voices or shouting or banging doors anytime yesterday?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘But why don’t you ask her yourself?’

  ‘And were you in all day yesterday?’

  ‘I hardly ever go out. The supermarket and the shops round here deliver all I need for my cat and myself. Mrs Gamble’s daughter, Eileen, will get me anything out of the ordinary that I might need.’

  ‘Who is Mrs Gamble?’

  ‘She’s in number 24. Her door’s opposite mine. Eileen is a lovely girl. And she’s a good little shopper. Always knows where she can get it cheaper.’

  Angel wrote the name Gamble down; having that would make it easier to open the conversation with the lady when he made his next port of call.

  ‘Now, what do you know about Nancy Quinn’s latest man? Can you describe him for me?’

  Mrs Roman smiled. ‘About your height, Inspector,’ she said. ‘Yes, tall, dark and handsome. He looks as if he could take care of himself in a fight. In fact, he’s not unlike you. And a beautiful face. Like the face of a cherub. A real babyface.’

  Angel’s face muscles tightened. ‘Me? A babyface?’ he growled.

  ‘Dear me, no. No,’ she said quickly. ‘You’re not a bit similar in the face.’

  He was relieved to hear it.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, making a show of writing down what she was saying. ‘All this information will help us, Mrs Roman.’

  ‘What’s happened? Are you after him? Is he wanted by the police? Why, what’s he done?’

  ‘We’re not sure he’s done anything, Mrs Roman. We need to speak to him to help us with our enquiries, that’s all.’

  She looked at Angel suspiciously. ‘You’ve not told me why you’re asking all these questions.’

  ‘Please don’t worry about it, Mrs Roman. There’s been an incident next door. That’s all. I’ll tell you all about it at the right time. Now, what about his clothes? What was he wearing the last time you saw him … yesterday morning, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I have only ever seen him in a plain dark suit, black leather shoes, white shirt and blue tie.’

  ‘Any peculiarities, mannerisms, speech impediments?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Well, we didn’t have much contact. I only saw him twice … I think, but he had a beautiful speaking voice … like Richard Burton.’

  Angel recalled Burton’s voice. It certainly had many great attributes. ‘Do you mean the man is Welsh?’

  ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘His voice has no accent that I could detect.’

  ‘No accent, eh? That’s interesting,’ he said. ‘Right, do you happen to know if Nancy Quinn is local? Does she ever talk to you about her family and friends? Does anybody ever visit her?’

  ‘As I’ve said, a steady stream of men, that I saw. I shouldn’t be saying things like that, should I? I never saw anybody who might be described as family, but I don’t know they weren’t family, do I?’

  Angel stood up. ‘Of course you don’t. Don’t worry about it. I think that’s it, for now, Mrs Roman.’

  ‘Oh, are you going, Inspector? And I never invited you to have a cup of tea.’

  ‘That’s all right. Thank you for your help. You stay where you are. I’ll let myself out.’

  ‘Wait while I get my cat, Inspector,’ she said. ‘If I don’t pick him up, he’ll be off like a shot.’

  FOUR

  As Angel closed the door of Mrs Roman’s flat, DS Trevor Crisp, who had been chatting with DS Flora Carter outside Nancy Quinn’s flat, saw him. He left Flora and rushed down the hall towards him.

  Crisp knew he was potentially in trouble, but he wasn’t going to let it show.

  He smiled and said, ‘Good morning, sir. I hear you want me.’

  Angel glared at him. ‘The morning’s nearly over, lad. I’ve been trying to make contact with you since 8.30. Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘I was delayed, sir.’

  ‘Delayed?’ Angel said. ‘For two hours? It had better have been on very urgent business, lad.’

  ‘It was on police business, sir,’ he said with all the sincerity he could muster.

  ‘Go on, then, lad. Spit it out. Tell me about it.’

  Crisp licked his lips. ‘I don’t think you are in the mood to give me a fair hearing, sir.’

  ‘I think you’re probably right, but then again I’ve heard all sorts of half-baked excuses from you in the past; why would I expect this excuse to be any more reasonable?’

  ‘There you are, sir. I knew you’d say something like that.’

  Angel’s eyes were like lasers and they were unswervingly focused on Crisp’s.

  ‘Get on with it!’ Angel said.

  Crisp ran the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip. He tried to look directly at Angel, but it was difficult. He didn’t know quite where to look. ‘Well, I went into that shop in Clement Attlee square on my way to the station, sir. Gregg’s the newsagents.’

  ‘Yes, lad,’ Angel said. ‘Well, get on with it. You’ve got my full attention. You wanted a copy of the Beano?’

  ‘No, sir. I wanted a copy of the May issue of Police Review.’

  ‘How very virtuous,’ Angel said. ‘And I bet he didn’t have one.’

  ‘No, sir, he didn’t.’

  Angel ran his hand through his hair and said, ‘So what? Come on, lad. Get to the point.’

  ‘Well, Mr Gregg began complaining about a white Ford transit van being parked outside his shop. He said that it had been there every day for the past two weeks. It arrived just before eleven o’clock in the morning and it was still there at eleven o’clock at night. And he said that its presence made deliveries difficult, and besides that, it put people off coming into his shop.’

  ‘I don’t see why it would. There’s room for about eight vehicles to wait there, I believe. Anyway, Clement Attlee Square isn’t in a restricted area, is it? The driver can park there all day, if he wants to.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I know. And I told him that, but there’s more to it than that.’

  ‘Oh? If Gregg doesn’t like the driver parking his van there all day, there’s nothing he can legally do about it. You should have suggested that he had a friendly chat with the driver and tried to persuade him to park it somewhere else for a change.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I did say, sir, but he said he never sees anybody get out of the van, sir.’

  ‘Well, he should hang about the van and catch the driver when he returns later in the day.’

  ‘I said that to him as well, sir. But he insisted that he couldn’t catch anybody returning at that time. He’s a newsagent’s, sir. He starts work at 5.30 a.m., so he has to go to bed early.’

  Angel shook his head slowly several times. He sighed, then said, ‘Well, we all have our problems, lad, and your problem is that you have to convince me that it took almost two and a half hours to explain the law to Mr Gregg and to direct him on the best course for him to take.’

  ‘Well, customers kept coming into the shop. We kept being interrupted.’

  ‘Is that it, then? Is that the best you can do?’

  ‘Well, er yes, sir.’

  Angel ran his hand through his hair, then he said, ‘Well, it’s a damned good job I’m busy and haven’t time to bawl you out. As it is, I have two murders on my hands, and—’

  ‘Yes, sir. Flora has been telling me.’

  ‘What
you don’t know, you’ll have to pick up as we go along. I’ve started the door to door. I found a badly battered female body in Flat 21, which I assume is that of Nancy Quinn. I also assume that she left old man Piddington at 7 p.m. last night and came back here. So she was assaulted and killed sometime after that. I want to know anything at all you can find out about her, her visitors, and her activities.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ Crisp said.

  Angel heard footsteps from behind. He turned and saw two figures in white overalls, caps and wellington boots. They were Don Taylor and a PC from the SOCO team. They were standing outside the door of Flat 21 and were being greeted by Flora Carter.

  Angel wanted to get to them.

  He turned back to Crisp and said, ‘I couldn’t get a reply from Flat 22, but I’ve done 23 and 24. Carry on from there, lad.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ Crisp said. He turned away and began to look up at the numbers on the doors.

  Angel dashed up the corridor. ‘Hey, Don,’ he said. ‘Did you find any prints on old man Piddington’s wheelchair?’

  ‘Yes, sir. There are no prints on the handles at the back of the chair because the handgrips on the handles are ribbed rubber or imitation rubber. However, there are prints on the top rail at the back. I don’t know yet whose they are, but I don’t think they are necessarily indicative of any foul play; I mean, the owner of the prints could have been adjusting Mr Piddington’s cushion or something. They are of a small hand … could be Nancy Quinn’s or Christine Elsworth’s. Anyway, they are not Piddington’s. We found his prints on the armrests and the handle of the security brake as you would expect.’

  Angel nodded. ‘Well, let me have a result on that ASAP. Did you find anything else?’

  ‘No, sir. Not a thing.’

  ‘Did Mac happen to say how long Piddington had been dead?’

  ‘He said he’d been dead between ten and sixteen hours.’

  ‘Mac saw him at about ten o’clock; that means he died between six o’clock and ten o’clock last night,’ Angel said. He rubbed his chin. ‘Has Mac had the body removed?’

  ‘Yes, sir. The crime scene’s all yours.’

  Angel returned to 22 Jubilee Park Road with Flora Carter in the BMW. He was particularly eager to examine Mr Piddington’s wheelchair.

  It had been righted, appeared to be undamaged, and still had a light covering of aluminium dust on the smooth metal parts that SOCO had applied while looking for fingerprints.

  He leaned over, grabbed the chair by the arms, picked it up and held it for a few seconds to feel the weight of it. It wasn’t heavy, but it was awkward to hold in that position for any length of time. He lowered it back down onto the hall floor.

  ‘Now then, Flora,’ he said. ‘Do you think you could pull this upstairs with a smallish man in the chair?’

  ‘Can I try it first as it is, sir?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She went to the back of the chair and backed it up to the bottom step of the stairs, then, standing on the second step, she gripped the handles, and attempted to pull the chair backwards and upwards onto the first step. She couldn’t quite manage it.

  Angel, watching closely, said, ‘Try putting a hand on the banister rail, and with the other, grip the metal cross bar in the centre of the back of the chair, and lift it from that position.’

  It worked, and she progressed up the stairs, one at a time, and was at the top in a few seconds. It wasn’t at all difficult.

  ‘Now come on down, the same way,’ Angel said.

  When she reached the bottom, she smiled and said, ‘How’s that, sir?’

  Angel nodded, and rubbing his chin he said, ‘Now, do you think you could manage it with a ten-stone man in the chair?’

  ‘I really don’t know, sir. But I’d give it a try. Where are we going to find a ten-stone man?’

  Angel opened his mobile and tapped in a number.

  Ahmed answered. ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘What do you weigh, lad?’

  There was a slight pause before Ahmed said, ‘Did you ask me what I weighed, sir?’

  ‘Yes. In stones and pounds.’

  Ahmed hesitated, then said, ‘I weigh ten stone six, sir.’

  ‘That’s near enough. Come to 22 Jubilee Park Road rightaway. Who is the duty officer in the control room?’

  ‘Sergeant Clifton, sir.’

  ‘Right. Go up to the control room now and report to him.’

  Angel switched the phone off, then on again and tapped out another number.

  It was answered immediately. ‘Control room, Bromersley Police Station, DS Clifton, duty officer.’

  ‘It’s Angel, Bernie. I urgently need PC Ahmed Ahaz here at the crime scene. I’ve told him to come directly to you. Will you find him some transport to bring him here ASAP?’

  ‘Right, sir. Everything’s out, but I’ll find something.’

  ‘Thank you, Bernie.’

  He closed the phone and turned to Flora. ‘He won’t be long. Let’s have a look around. Let’s start upstairs.’

  They went upstairs and found the two large bedrooms in a reasonably good state of repair and decoration. They had curtains at the windows, and rather worn but still serviceable fitted carpets, but there was no furniture. The bathroom was a bit dusty and had the unmistakable air of being used very little.

  Angel came out onto the landing. He turned to Flora and said, ‘I can’t see any reason why old man Piddington would have wanted to come up here.’

  ‘No, sir. Perhaps, latterly he never bothered. It’s a big house for just one person.’

  They went downstairs, where there was a small kitchen, sitting room and another room Mr Piddington had used as his bedroom. There was a lavatory off a tiny cloakroom which also had a washbasin and was clearly part of the original building that had been built about 1920, although the washbasin had been replaced by a much bigger bowl. A shower room had also been added, taking space from what had been a large pantry.

  In the sitting room was a bureau. Angel opened it and busied himself looking through the various pigeonholes and small drawers, while Flora searched two chests of drawers, a bedside cabinet and a wardrobe in the bedroom.

  She came into the sitting room. ‘Nothing in there at all helpful, sir. Can I do anything in here?’

  Angel looked up. ‘No. There’s nothing here either,’ he said as he closed the bureau.

  They heard the front door open and then close.

  ‘Somebody’s here,’ Flora said.

  Angel closed the bureau. ‘It could be Ahmed,’ he said.

  They went out into the hall.

  Ahmed was standing there looking around. He saw Angel.

  ‘There you are, sir. Came as soon as I could.’

  ‘Ah yes, Ahmed,’ he said. ‘I want to see if it’s possible for DS Carter here to pull you up these stairs in that wheelchair.’

  Angel looked at Flora with eyebrows raised.

  She nodded in agreement, then turned to Ahmed, smiled and said, ‘Only if you agree, Ahmed?’

  Angel said, ‘I’ll stand in front of you, lad, and follow you up. If she falters, can’t do it or lets go of the chair, I’ll be there to stop you and the chair rolling down to the bottom. All right? It’s not a game or to settle a bet or anything like that, Ahmed. It’s solely in the interest of bringing a murderer to justice.’

  ‘Oh yes, sir,’ Ahmed said. ‘I don’t mind.’

  He could hardly resist Flora’s beautiful smile, plus the promise of support from a man he thought could do no wrong.

  Angel pushed the back wheels of the wheelchair against the rise of the bottom step, looked at Ahmed and pointed to the seat. Ahmed got into the chair and held onto the padded black arms. Flora squeezed past the newel post, took up her position on the stairs, put an arm down the back of the chair and gripped the tubular frame. She put the other hand out to the handrail of the banisters.

  Angel stood facing Ahmed. ‘Right, lad, now you just sit there and keep hold of the armrests. All r
ight?’

  Ahmed looked as cool as prison milk. ‘Right, sir,’ he said.

  Angel looked up at Flora. ‘Now, lass,’ he said. ‘In your own time, see if you can pull him up to the top. If you can’t, don’t hurt yourself, just let go.’

  Flora Carter gripped the framework of the chair tightly and pushing on the handrail proceeded to try to lift the chair with Ahmed in the seat up to the first step. She raised him three inches, then hesitated, then continued upward until the back wheels rested on the first step. Angel closed up. She repeated the pull and arrived on the second step. After that the momentum increased and she soon reached the top step and then the landing. Angel closed up only inches away from the chair at any time. She pulled the wheelchair safely away from the top of the stairs, then looked at Angel, who was beaming. ‘Well done, Flora,’ he said.

  She then looked at Ahmed and said, ‘Are you all right?’

  Ahmed beamed. ‘Yes, thank you, Sarge.’

  ‘Well, so far so good,’ Angel said. ‘We now know that Nancy Quinn could have dragged that chair with Mr Piddington in it up these stairs.’

  ‘Yes, sir, and if she had murdered him, have you discovered a motive?’

  ‘Not yet. But she seems the most likely. There’s a lot more work to do on this. Look, Flora, find out who Mr Piddington’s GP is from Christine Elsworth, see him and ask him if it would have been possible for the old man to have dragged his wheelchair up these stairs himself.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ she said.

  ‘And you can drop Ahmed off back at the station on your way.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ she said. ‘Come on, Ahmed.’

  Flora and Ahmed ran down the stairs and out of the front door.

  When they had gone, Angel sat in the wheelchair and ran it along the landing into an empty bedroom to get used to the feel of it. Then he ran it back along the landing to the top of the stairs and looked down. He could see that it would be frightening to anyone unable to walk and dependent on a wheelchair for mobility. After a moment or two, he wheeled the chair carefully forward up to the edge of the step, then, while holding onto the banister rail with one hand, he rolled forward so that the front wheels of the chair ran over the edge of the step. The wheelchair promptly bounced uncomfortably downwards twenty or thirty inches, then stopped abruptly at a precarious angle. The front wheels were suspended more than an inch above the next step down, and the wheelchair refused to move downwards any further. The front wheels were very much smaller in diameter than the back wheels.