Shrine to Murder Page 6

  ‘He’s out of his mind,’ Mac said, ‘a lunatic. His MO, repetition of a theme, is bound to give him away.’

  ‘How many of the four will he be successful in murdering before we catch him?’

  ‘Well, you needn’t spend any time looking for a laurel leaf, Michael.’

  Angel blinked. ‘Why?’

  ‘Found one. It was tucked in the flap of her blouse.’

  Angel swallowed.

  Mac said, ‘Speak to you tomorrow.’

  ‘Aye. Thank you, Mac. Goodnight.’

  He replaced the phone and looked up at Carter. ‘That was Mac. Confirmation - if we had needed it - that we are looking for a serial killer.’

  Carter’s eyebrows shot up. She sucked in air as fast as a Maclaren.

  *

  Angel was pleased to be arriving home.

  He drove the car into the garage, locked the door and made his way up the garden path. He looked at his watch. It was a quarter to seven. He usually arrived a few minutes past five. Mary would be waiting for him and she wouldn’t be pleased. He knew he wasn’t going to win a popularity contest.

  He unlocked the back door as usual and went in.

  Mary glared at him from the sitting room door and followed him through the kitchen to the hall wardrobe, her face as straight as a gun barrel.

  ‘What time do you call this?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, love. I know I’m late,’ he said as he took his coat off and put it on a coathanger. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Dinner’s ruined. I don’t know what I am going to give you. Whatever’s happened?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll have…anything.’

  She looked at him and stiffened. ‘You won’t have anything. You’ll have a proper cooked meal, like all normal good-living people. What an outrageous thing to say, “I’ll have anything.” As if I would let you have any old thing that was…that was hanging around.’

  ‘A corned beef sandwich would be fine,’ he said shuffling into the sitting room.

  ‘I haven’t got any corned beef, and I wouldn’t dream of giving you a sandwich for your main meal,’ she said. Then she looked up as if inspired. ‘Ah. I’ve got some eggs,’ she said and rushed away into the kitchen.

  Angel went to the end of sideboard and looked for the morning’s post. That’s where it was usually put, but there was nothing there.

  ‘Any post?’ he called.

  ‘Nothing for you.’

  He pulled a face then nodded. At least, no post meant there were no bills.

  He meandered through into the kitchen. Mary was busy cracking eggs into a bowl. He opened the fridge, took out a bottle of German beer, knocked off the cap, poured it into a glass, made his way to the sitting room, sat down in his favourite chair, kicked of his shoes, loosened his tie, unfastened his top button and switched on the TV. As the set was warming up he heard Mary call out.

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘You’d better be,’ she said, trying to sound threatening. His mobile phone rang. He fumbled around in his pocket for it.

  Mary also heard the ring, groaned and muttered something.

  Angel looked at the LCD. He saw that it was Crisp. ‘Yes?’ he said as he sat down in his favourite chair.

  ‘I found the sandwich shop, The Lunch Box, sir. Ronnie Striker did go there this morning before nine. The woman who owns it said that she was not sure of the exact time. He ordered a sandwich that she prepared fresh. It took her only two minutes. And she understood that it was for Mrs Underwood. That’s about it.’

  ‘Did she say if he seemed agitated…did he behave any differently from normal, in any way?’

  ‘No, sir. He wasn’t a talker. Didn’t have any social chitchat. She knew that. So she didn’t try. She said that she knew that he was…that there was something wrong with him.’

  Angel’s jaw muscles tightened. He squeezed the phone and put it closer to his mouth. ‘The only thing that’s wrong with the lad is that he has learning difficulties and has the mental age of a twelve-year-old. He’s not…he’s not mad.’

  ‘I think she thought with me checking up on him that we had him down as a possible suspect. That’s all.’

  ‘Well, maybe she’s wrong. Thank you, lad. Let’s leave it there. Goodnight.’

  He closed the phone. It rang again.

  There were more groans from the kitchen. ‘Don’t be long on that thing,’ she called. ‘I’ll be bringing your tea in shortly.’

  Angel pressed the button. It was Police Constable Weightman. ‘Sorry to bother you, sir, but I was instructed to give you a bell about the security of 22 Park Road.’

  ‘Yes, John.’

  ‘Seems all right, sir. Nobody here. No broken windows. Curtains open. No sign of a break in.’

  ‘Right, John. Thank you. I hope you have a peaceful night.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Goodnight.’

  He pocketed the phone as Mary appeared with a plate of scrambled eggs, toast and cutlery.

  Neither spoke as they watched the news on the television. After the weather forecast, Mary found the TV remote and pressed a button. The screen went black.

  Angel continued eating the scrambled eggs.

  She was pleased that he was enjoying the makeshift meal. She sat in her chair the other side of the library table. ‘What’s happened, then?’ she said.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said munching the last piece of toast.

  ‘You’re surely not late for no reason?’

  ‘No, love.’ He hesitated before he replied. He didn’t want to alarm her unnecessarily. She would have to be told. He chewed and chewed then swallowed the last forkful of egg, then said, ‘We’ve got a serial murderer, Mary. The same MO in the case of two deaths and there’s the prospect of a further four more…unless we can catch him.’

  Mary’s face changed. Her mouth dropped open. A cold shiver ran up her back. ‘Oh, Michael,’ she said. ‘How dreadful. You will be careful, won’t you?’

  *

  It was 08.45 hours Thursday, 28 May, and Angel and his team were in the CID briefing room. Dr Mac was also there.

  Angel was delivering a résumé of the two murder cases.

  ‘DS Taylor advises us that as far as the scene is concerned,’ Angel said, ‘the murderer has shown himself to be forensically aware and, up to now, has left behind no clues that can be used to reveal his identity. Having said that, Dr Mac has found hairs on the body of Luke Redman which do not belong to him, and we are awaiting a DNA result from the lab at Wetherby. In the meantime, there are unusual questions to be addressed, such as why Ronnie Striker, a man who has a mental age of a 12-year-old, says that he saw Jesus on his knees at the side of Ingrid Underwood, and why the murderer apparently left a lone laurel leaf with the body of each victim.

  ‘We have to work fast to make sure that the murderer doesn’t strike for the third time. The matter paramount to the investigation now is to find the link between Luke Redman and Ingrid Underwood, and that is where our attention must be urgently directed. Any questions?’

  A voice from the back said, ‘From the wounds on both victims as described by Dr Mac, the murderer would be heavily marked with blood. Would the clothing thought to make the murderer look like Jesus be actually a sheet to save his own clothing being bloodstained underneath?’

  Angel nodded. ‘Could be. It’s a valid suggestion that we must seriously consider, but it doesn’t explain the sandals and the white star in Jesus’s hand that Ronnie Striker says he saw.’

  ‘There was a man in the market who has had bedsheets stolen from his stall, sir,’ Crisp said.

  ‘Must be followed up,’ Angel said. ‘I’ll leave that with you, Trevor, but our priority at this juncture has to be to find the link between Luke Redman and Ingrid Underwood. That would hopefully lead to avoiding any of the four other deaths the murderer has threatened.’

  ‘If it was a sheet, sir,’ the voice at the back said, ‘the murderer would need to destroy the bloodst
ained sheet, wouldn’t he? The thorough murderer would burn or bury it. There’s no other absolute way.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Angel said.

  ‘I was thinking that recently turned-over earth or a fire somewhere -’

  ‘That’s right, and if anybody comes across such indications in the course of their inquiries, they should follow it up. But, I bring you all back to it, nothing is more important than finding that link. Anything else?’

  ‘A laurel leaf wreath is, of course, made of laurel leaves, sir,’ Carter said. ‘And a laurel wreath is what they used to hang round racing drivers who have won the Grand Prix, and statues of famous men on their anniversaries and so on. Is there a link between some famous race or event and the two victims?’

  Angel nodded. ‘I don’t know, lass. Can’t think of anything off hand. That’s what we have to find out.’ He looked up and across the eager faces. ‘Anything else?’

  Nobody seemed to have anything more to say.

  ‘Right,’ Angel said. ‘Thank you all very much. Please carry on. Will DS Carter and DS Crisp and DC Scrivens see me in my office straightaway?’

  Chapter Six

  ‘Come in, all of you,’ Angel said. ‘Shut the door. I see you’ve met DS Carter.’

  Scrivens said, ‘Yes, sir.’

  Crisp grinned. ‘Yes, sir.’

  Carter smiled across at Crisp.

  Angel noticed the glance and thought they must like each other. He didn’t like it. He hoped it wouldn’t develop into some sort of romance.

  He looked at her and said, ‘You have to report on Cyril Krill.’

  Carter’s eyes flashed. ‘I haven’t had the opportunity before, sir.’

  ‘I know you haven’t,’ Angel said. ‘You’ve got it now. Tell me about him.’

  ‘It’s all a bit odd, sir,’ she said. ‘Everybody says Cyril Krill is in a financial mess. He was doing very well until about six months ago. Last year’s bank and house price collapse seems to have left him in financial straits. As far as I can find out, he has no building projects in hand. All his builders and plasterers and joiners were employed on a contract basis and they have been dismissed. But the Krills still live in a big house in Sheffield, and both he and his wife have big cars. And they went to that trade fair in London together.’

  Angel turned to Crisp. ‘I thought his wife went somewhere to see their daughter.’

  ‘She wasn’t at her school in Gloucestershire, as she said,’ Crisp said. ‘She could have done, sir.’

  ‘Why would she lie about that?’ Angel said looking round. Nobody offered an explanation.

  ‘The headmistress said that she was expected,’ Crisp said, ‘but at the last minute phoned and said she wasn’t feeling well. The daughter was apparently very disappointed.’

  ‘If she was not well enough to see her daughter, how come she was well enough to go to London with her husband?’ Angel said. He looked at Crisp. ‘I really need to know where the Krills were at the time of her father’s murder and at the time of Ingrid Underwood’s murder.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ Crisp said, and made for the door.

  ‘Wait a couple of minutes for me. I’ll come with you. It’s the only lead we’ve got.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ Crisp said. ‘My car’s out at the front,’ he added and went out.

  Angel turned to Scrivens. ‘You were looking into the possibility that Luke Redman might have made an enemy at his work.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Scrivens said. ‘Mr Redman only ever worked at the Northern Bank. I called on the few contemporaries still living, and made several phone calls, sir. And nobody thought he was that bad…I mean bad enough for anyone to want to murder him. He wouldn’t have won any popularity contest, but as bank managers go, it seems he was pretty straight.’

  ‘All right, Ted. I hope you’re right,’ Angel said and rubbed his chin. ‘There are a couple of details you can clear up for me. You know that Ronnie Striker went out to buy a sandwich from the shop for Ingrid Underwood. We know he bought the thing. Presumably he brought it back to the florist’s shop but there was no explanation as to what happened to it. Even in the clear-up, SOCO didn’t come across it. I want you to find out what happened to it. See Ronnie Striker; he should know, but be gentle, don’t upset him. Remember he has a man’s body but he’s only twelve years old in the head. All right?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And there’s something else. Go to the florist’s shop. SOCO will soon be finished there. Find out about the shop bell, and report back to me how it works.’

  Scrivens frowned. ‘The shop bell, sir?’

  Angel clenched his fists. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The shop bell. How is it powered? Electric mains, battery, gas, oil, solar, steam, coal, gravity…or is it simply a bell suspended and hit by a piece of metal screwed to the door when the door is opened.’

  Scrivens’ face lightened. ‘Oh, yes, sir.’

  ‘Well, push off then, lad,’ he said. ‘We are working against the clock here, you know. I don’t want the murderer striking a third time.’

  Scrivens’ eyelids shot up and then down in alarm as the possibility dawned on him. He rushed out and closed the door.

  Angel turned to Carter. ‘Now then, lass. The link between Luke Redman and Ingrid Underwood has to be much more than him buying flowers from her shop from time to time, or her being a customer at the bank when he was manager, although they are obviously places where a connection may have started. We have to find the relations, friends and acquaintances of each of the two victims and from them, try to uncover a situation or circumstance they had in common. Whatever it is, it must be able to be incorporated in some way with another four people, because the murderer has signalled that he intends to kill four more.’

  ‘Why six?’

  ‘Who knows? It doesn’t fit a team number, does it? I don’t know of any particular group that would make six. Or it could be seven if you included the murderer.’

  ‘There’s seven-a-side football, sir.’

  ‘I can’t see Redman in a football team with Mrs Underwood. There’s more than twenty-five years’ difference in them for one thing.’

  Carter had to agree. She nodded accordingly.

  ‘I don’t know why it’s six, lass,’ Angel said. ‘But it is. We know so little about Ingrid Underwood. The man across the road at the bike shop said she has a daughter but she’s not come forward. Start there. There should be an address book or some clue as to her ID in Ingrid Underwood’s house. See what you can do to find her or any other person close to her. Keep in touch. All right?’

  ‘Right sir,’ she said and she was gone.

  Angel looked round the empty office, checked that he had everything he needed, then went out, closed the door, ran up the corridor to the front door of the station to join Crisp who was already in his car, his engine running, waiting for him.

  Angel slumped in the passenger seat, dragged the seat-belt across his chest, pressed the metal bit into the fastener, and signalled Crisp to move off.

  It was not a happy day.

  They travelled in silence. Angel used the time to mull over the case and then marshal the questions he had for the Krills.

  Crisp drove the Ford to Sheffield, and then through the twists and turns of the city-centre streets with their ‘No Entry’, ‘No right turn’, ‘No left turn’ signs and with certain roads restricted to buses and taxis only. He found the way on to Rivelin Valley Road, then on to the A57 Manchester Road towards the Peak District National Park. Among a stretch of architect designed houses on the right hand side was the house of Cyril and Kathleen Krill.

  Mrs Krill answered the door.

  Angel sensed that they were about as welcome as a gas bill. She showed them into the drawing room.

  After preliminaries, which were kept to a minimum, Angel said, ‘Your husband not here?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘He’s in his office which is an annexe at the rear of the house. Do you wish me to call him?’ she said reaching for the
phone.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘I need to know where you were overnight on Saturday night/Sunday morning last and between 8.40 and 9.00 yesterday morning.’

  ‘I have already told you that I was at my daughter’s school on Saturday night.’

  Angel looked at Crisp.

  Crisp said, ‘The headmistress says that you phoned her on Saturday morning and said that you had a migraine and that -’

  She glared at Angel. ‘You’ve been checking up on me.’

  ‘Of course,’ Angel said.

  ‘Do you think I would want to kill my own father?’

  Angel shrugged. ‘I don’t know you, Mrs Krill. I am only a policeman doing a very unpleasant job. Can you simply answer the question?’

  She licked her top lip with the tip of her tongue, thoughtfully. ‘It was true,’ she said. ‘I did have a migraine, so I stayed at home. I was in bed most of the time.’

  Angel blinked, looked at Crisp who was getting ready to speak, held up his hand to stop him and said, ‘Here, in this house alone, the entire weekend?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘And I don’t suppose you saw anybody throughout that time.’

  Her lips tightened. ‘You can’t see anything, Inspector, when you have a serious attack. Ask any doctor.’

  Angel sighed. ‘So nobody can vouch for you being here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why did you say you went to see your daughter? It would have been perfectly simple to have told the truth.’

  Her eyes darted to the left to the right and back again. ‘Oh for god’s sake, I lied. My husband was there. He thought my migraines had gone. I didn’t want him to think I was still suffering from them. He has enough to worry about just now. It was easier to tell a white lie than to explain.’

  Angel frowned. He wasn’t satisfied, but time was precious. Wherever she was, she hadn’t an alibi for the time of her father’s murder.

  ‘And where were you yesterday morning?’ he said.

  ‘I was here. Why?’

  ‘Can anybody corroborate that?’