The Diamond Rosary Murders Read online

  Angel took it and read it. ‘“Sources close to the police believe the robbers may have escaped with the Rosary to South Yorkshire.”’

  ‘So it might turn up here,’ Ahmed said with a smile.

  Angel frowned then shrugged. ‘It might,’ he said as he handed the paper back.

  ‘Thank you, lad,’ he added.

  Ahmed went out.

  The phone rang.

  Angel reached out for it. It was DS Taylor. ‘I’m speaking from the King George Hotel, sir. I thought you’d want to know. I’ve done the LMG test on a spec from one of the brown flakes recovered from the car-park and I can confirm that it is blood.’

  Angel’s eyebrows went up. ‘Right, thank you, Don. Strange thing. The blonde woman reported by Mr Wiseman to be seen dead in the car-park last night was also seen this morning by Mrs Fortescue, the hotel manager, and she says she was very much alive and well.’

  Taylor didn’t reply immediately. ‘Well, maybe there were two slim, identical blondes running around Bromersley?’ he said.

  Angel sighed. ‘Yeah, and maybe they are both called Marilyn Monroe,’ he said. ‘No, Don, I don’t think so. If just one blonde answering Wiseman’s description was reported missing, then we might be able to make sense of it. In the meantime, send that specimen off to Wetherby and let’s see if they have her DNA on file.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  ‘Did you find anything in the rubbish bins?’

  ‘No, sir. Believe it or not. The bins were emptied at around eight o’clock this morning.’

  Angel sighed. He ran his hand across his chin.

  ‘Not having much luck, sir,’ Taylor said.

  ‘No. How much longer are you going to be at the King George?’

  ‘Not sure, sir. We are applying a full search and swabbing routine to the room on the fourth floor and that’s well on its way. The so-called penthouse suite has been partly contaminated by the activities of the hotel cleaner, so that has very much reduced our workload there.’

  ‘Have you unscrewed the sofa from the floor?’

  ‘Yes, sir. And there’s nothing underneath but dust,’ Taylor said.

  Angel pursed his lips. ‘Have you lifted the floorboards?’

  ‘We took them up. They hadn’t been disturbed for a century, I bet. And there was nothing under there besides more dust.’

  Angel rubbed his cheek hard. ‘Have you any idea at all why the thing was screwed down in that position then, lad?’

  ‘No, sir. Haven’t a clue.’

  It was 8.28 a.m., the morning of Friday, 9 December. There had been a hard overnight frost and arctic winds were gusting round the ginnels and alleyways of Bromersley.

  Angel was coming down the corridor in the police station. A telephone was ringing out in the distance. As he got nearer his office, he realized that it was his own phone ringing so insistently. He wrinkled his nose, grudgingly increased his speed to the office door, pushed it open, glared at the phone, snatched it up and said, ‘Angel.’

  ‘It’s Don Taylor, sir. I wondered if you were in.’

  Angel’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Of course I’m in,’ he bawled. ‘I’m always in at this time, Don. I know I’m a senior officer and don’t get paid by the hour, but I reckon I should at least start when the CID office opens. Anyway, what do you want, lad? It’s a bit early for you, isn’t it? Speak up.’

  ‘It’s about the two rooms at the King George Hotel, sir, in the names of Joseph Memoré and James Argyle.’

  ‘Aye. What about them?’

  ‘Well, sir, unusually they were both cleaned down with spirit of some sort. And there wasn’t a new clear print in either room. And there was nothing in the wastepaper baskets either.’

  Angel frowned and rubbed his chin. ‘Real professionals, we’ve got, eh?’ he said.

  ‘Never before met such thoroughness, sir,’ Taylor said. ‘It shows they are fishy characters.’

  Angel nodded. ‘Right lad, thank you. By the way, you have certainly been prompt with your info. What’s happening?’

  ‘To tell the truth, sir, I’ve been chasing everybody round. I don’t want to have to work over Christmas again.’

  Angel smiled. He understood exactly. He had worked the last two Christmases and it wasn’t much fun. And postponing Christmas for a few days to fit round the investigation of a murder case might be very commendable, but it is just not the same.

  ‘I know how you feel,’ he said. He ended the call and returned the phone to its holster.

  It rang immediately.

  Angel snatched it up. ‘Angel,’ he said.

  The caller inhaled noisily and then began to cough. The noise was loud and raucous. Angel instantly recognized the caller. It was his boss, Detective Superintendent Harker.

  The coughing continued for twenty seconds or more. It was so loud that Angel pulled the phone away from his ear. He waited patiently. It wasn’t unusual.

  Eventually Harker croaked, ‘Is that Angel?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he said.

  ‘There you are. Couldn’t get you.’

  Harker sounded relieved, and after a further noisy intake of breath, said, ‘There’s been a triple nine, timed at 08:10 hours. That man Haydn King … boss of the brewery … been found dead in his swimming pool at his home on Pine Avenue … reported in by his butler, Meredith. I’ve informed SOCO and uniformed. Now this is going to be a big case, Angel. King was a very important man. And, I shall want to know every detail of this. Report in as soon as you have the facts.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ Angel said. ‘Pine Avenue? Is that the same Pine Avenue off Creesforth Road, where you live, sir?’

  Harker coughed lightly, then said, ‘Well, yes, it is. Strange, I only met the man the night before last.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ Angel said. He cancelled the call and tapped in a number.

  As he waited for the phone to be answered, he couldn’t help but think about the peculiarities of this life. Two men living opposite each other for more than ten years, had spoken to each other for the first time only two nights earlier, and now one of them was responsible for investigating the other’s death.

  He pursed his lips.

  Some people might say, ‘What a coincidence!’

  But Angel didn’t believe in coincidence.

  Ahmed answered the phone. ‘Yes, sir?’

  Angel said: ‘I am going to investigate the death of Haydn King on Pine Avenue. Find DS Crisp and DS Carter and ask them to join me there ASAP.’

  FOUR

  Five minutes later, Angel drove his BMW through the wrought-iron gates into the grounds of the mansion of the late Haydn King. As he swerved round the bend in the drive and passed the screen of lime trees he saw the white SOCO van, a police patrol car, Dr Mac’s car and a large white Mercedes coupé. The vehicles were in a line in front of the big house. Angel parked behind them, got out of the car, locked it and made his way to the front door. A constable was on the front step stamping his feet and blowing into his hands. As he approached, the man threw up a salute.

  Angel responded, then said, ‘Good morning, lad. Who is in charge?’

  ‘DS Taylor, sir. But Dr Mac, the pathologist, is here.’

  ‘And where are they?’

  ‘In the room where the swimming pool is, sir. That’s the door facing you at the far end of the hall.’

  Angel nodded, pointed his thumb at the line of cars and said, ‘And who owns the white Merc?’

  ‘Mr King’s nephew. His name is Fleming, sir.’

  The constable opened the door for him.

  ‘Thanks lad,’ Angel said.

  As it closed behind him, he immediately felt the warmth of the house on his cheeks and the back of his hands. He glanced at the large paintings on the walls as he made his way down the long corridor on the parquet floor to the door at the end. He opened it and was immediately inside the clammy swimming pool area. The big tiled-and-glass building was bustling with SOCO men and women in white overalls, boots and masks.
r />   He waited there and took in the scene.

  DS Taylor and Dr Mac were in front of six cubicles at the end of the pool, on their knees leaning over the body of a big man with a beard in swimming trunks; his corpse lay on a white polythene sheet.

  The rest of the SOCO team were engaged in taking samples of the pool water, carefully recording the temperature readings of it, and searching for fingerprints and footprints. One man was on the high diving platform with a camera, his flash tiresomely catching the attention of Angel’s eye from time to time.

  DS Taylor looked up from Haydn King’s body, saw Angel and crossed to the door.

  ‘Have you finished round here, Don?’ Angel said, not wanting to trespass in an area not already scanned by his team.

  ‘We’ve finished everything at this end, sir, around the edge of the pool, the shower and the changing cubicles,’ he said, pointing out the area with a hand.

  Angel’s nose twitched as he observed how the muggy pool room annoyingly accentuated and echoed every syllable Taylor had uttered.

  ‘I’ll have a word with Mac,’ Angel said, then he wandered to the side of the pool where the doctor was working. Taylor followed.

  Angel looked down at the body, then at the doctor. ‘Morning, Mac,’ he said. ‘What you got?’

  The little Glaswegian looked up and said, ‘Ah, Michael. It’s a good morning for us, but not for this poor laddie. Looks like an early morning dive that didn’t go right.’

  ‘Accidental death?’

  ‘It’s looking like that. He has a serious injury to his skull consistent with hitting his head on the edge of the pool, followed by drowning … but that’s only what it looks like.’

  ‘Do you suspect foul play, Mac?’

  ‘I’ll let you have the full SP when I’ve had him on the table. Might be able to phone you this afternoon.’

  ‘That would be good. Thanks, Mac,’ Angel said. Then he saw the doctor take four body-surface thermometers out of his white bag and set them on various parts of King’s body. ‘Time of death?’ Angel said.

  ‘I’m just working on that, Michael.’

  Angel nodded. He could see that he was. He turned to Taylor. ‘What you got, Don?’

  ‘No prints round the pool area, sir. But on the curtain across the entrance to the cubicle, some smudged prints, probably the dead man’s.’

  Angel shook his head. ‘Anything for me to work on?’

  ‘We found him floating face-down in the middle of the pool. He seems to have been in bed, taken it into his head to have a swim, and put on his trunks, dressing-gown and slippers. He came downstairs, put his gown on a coat hanger and his slippers on the shelf in that cubicle, climbed up to one of the diving boards, launched himself from there, hit the side or the bottom and died in the pool.’

  Angel frowned. ‘I want the pool water filtering. You’ll need to organize it with the staff. Have them knock off the heating, then put filters across the drain exits and then the valves. When the pool is drained, the bottom will need close inspection.’

  ‘Right sir,’ Taylor said. ‘Are you looking for anything in particular?’

  ‘Just being thorough, lad, that’s all.’

  Taylor nodded. He rubbed his chin, looked down at the body and then back at Angel and said, ‘I wonder if there was any reason for him to have taken his own life, sir?’

  Angel said: ‘I don’t think I’d bother putting my dressing-gown on a coat hanger or keeping my slippers dry if I was about to commit suicide.’

  Taylor wished he had thought more carefully before he had put the question.

  ‘No, sir,’ he said in a small voice.

  Angel pointed to the glass-panelled doors that looked out onto a long stretch of white frosted lawn bordered with trees and evergreen bushes. ‘I suppose you can access this room from the garden?’

  ‘Yes, sir. But there are no fresh fingerprints or footprints on either side of the doors.’

  Angel crossed the edge of the pool to the door. He turned the knob. It didn’t give. It seemed secure. ‘You found the door locked?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He moved on. ‘When you sweep Haydn King’s bedroom, Don,’ he said, ‘be particularly thorough about fingerprints. I know you always are, but if there is any foul play in connection with this death, and as there’s precious little here at the scene, there might be something in the bedroom.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good,’ Angel said. Then he looked behind at the cubicles and pointed at them. ‘Which one did the dead man use?’

  ‘The end one, sir,’ Taylor said. ‘That was where the smudged prints on the curtain were found, also the dead man’s dressing-gown and slippers.’

  Angel nodded. ‘No clear footprints or fingerprints, I suppose?’ he said.

  ‘Everything’s too wet, sir.’

  Angel nodded again. He knew that Taylor was almost certain to say that, but he had hoped there might have been more prints of some sort despite the conditions. It had been known, where the prints had been greasy enough.

  ‘I’ll just have a look round,’ Angel said.

  ‘We haven’t checked the steps up to the high diving board and the board itself, sir.’

  He would avoid them. ‘Right, I’ll leave it with you. Ring me on my mobile if anything turns up.’

  He turned away and sauntered thoughtfully round the changing cubicles. He carefully observed the dressing-gown, the pyjamas hanging on a peg, and the bedroom slippers on the bench in the first cubicle. He walked all the way round the swimming pool, looked closely at the low diving board at the far end, and then made his way to the door.

  Angel came out of the swimming pool hall, walked up the long corridor and back into the entrance hall. He looked around, hoping that a member of the staff would be around, but there was nobody. He saw a door ajar and peered round it. He saw a big room comprising mostly upholstered settees and chairs. Some chairs were set around a big open log fire that looked very inviting.

  Suddenly a man’s voice called out, ‘Hello there. Can I help you?’

  Angel was taken aback. He had no idea who the owner of the voice was or where he was calling from. The voice sounded educated and friendly, nevertheless Angel withdrew.

  The voice said, ‘It’s all right. Come in, old chap.’

  Angel strode back through the doorway of the room.

  A man in his thirties smartly dressed in an immaculate morning suit was seated by a wine table on which there was a tray of coffee. There was a copy of The Financial Times on his lap.

  ‘Are you looking for somebody?’ the man said.

  ‘Yes I am,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t mean to intrude. I am Detective Inspector Angel from Bromersley Police.’

  ‘Ah yes, dear boy, I am Mr Haydn King’s nephew, Vincent Fleming, and his next of kin. I am trying to recover from the shock of losing my dear uncle in such a tragic and unexpected way. You will probably be looking for me before the day is out. Please come in. Get warm. Would you care to join me for coffee?’

  Angel pursed his lips. He didn’t usually accept hospitality when he was on duty but it being such a punishingly cold day, he thought he would make an exception.

  ‘That would be most welcome. Thank you.’

  ‘Just apply your finger to that bell push by the side of the fireplace. Then choose a chair you fancy.’

  As Angel sat down at the opposite side of the little table, Fleming closed the pages of The Financial Times and placed it on a chair nearby.

  ‘This is a very sad day. Uncle Haydn was such a good swimmer. It has all been so unexpected. You’ll no doubt be wanting to ask me questions, Inspector?’

  Angel nodded. ‘I certainly do, Mr Fleming,’ he said, taking an old envelope out of his inside pocket on which he was to make notes. ‘I am sorry to have to bother you at this time. Tell me, do you live here with your uncle?’

  ‘No, Inspector. I live in Tunistone.’

  Angel knew Tunistone well. It was a farming village abou
t six miles to the west of Bromersley and a little way up the Pennines.

  ‘How do you come to be here, then?’

  ‘Meredith, my uncle’s butler, phoned me early and told me what had happened so I came here straightaway. I can’t get over it. I really can’t.’

  The butler Meredith came into the room. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ he said. Then he looked at Fleming. ‘You rang, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Meredith,’ Fleming said.

  Angel looked across at the man. Meredith was, of course, the man who had found and reported the body in the pool, the very man he needed to see.

  ‘Would you organize a cup for the Inspector?’

  ‘Of course, sir,’ Meredith said, then he turned to Angel and said, ‘Good morning, sir.’

  ‘Good morning, Mr Meredith,’ Angel said. ‘I would like to have a word with you when I have finished here, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Yes, of course, sir,’ he said. ‘Please press the bell there by the fireplace, when you are ready.’

  Meredith then left the room and returned almost straightaway with a cup and saucer on a silver salver. He placed the cup and saucer on the table, went out and closed the door.

  Fleming poured the coffee and Angel took a sip. It tasted good.

  ‘You live on your own, up there in Tunistone, Mr Fleming?’

  ‘Yes. I live in a farmhouse sheltered by a hill. It is a bit cooler than here, but it is very pleasant. And there is nobody to fall out with.’

  ‘So were you there on your own last night?’

  Fleming raised his head slowly, stared at Angel, then very deliberately he said, ‘I see, Inspector. You are looking for my alibi?’

  Angel’s eyebrows shot up. He realized that he had been a little obvious. ‘I ask everybody, Mr Fleming. Everybody to do with the case in hand. It’s a habit. If it offends, please excuse me.’

  ‘But I thought it was without doubt a tragic accident?’

  ‘It may well be, Mr Fleming. So you would have no objection to answering the question?’

  Fleming looked him straight in the face and said, ‘I live on my own, but I was here, dining with my uncle, until about nine o’clock. I left here and arrived home at about 9.30 and I remained there until I received a phone call from Meredith at a few minutes past eight this morning. I hope that satisfies you, Inspector.’