Murder in Bare Feet Read online

  He put the wallet and everything else except the key back in the envelope, sealed it down with an abundance of Sellotape and rang for Ahmed.

  ‘Take that down to the office. See who is on duty. Ask him to put it in the safe for me and get a receipt. Got it?’

  ‘Right, sir.’ Ahmed went out as Gawber came in.

  ‘Have you a minute, sir?’

  Angel noticed that Gawber’s eyes were shining.

  ‘What is it, Ron?’

  ‘You won’t believe it, sir?’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Well, you told me to see what I could find out about the two Frazer sisters, Bridie and Jazmin.’

  ‘Yes. Shut the door and sit down. What about them?’

  ‘They were from a respectable family in Skiptonthorpe. Bridie, the elder sister, was a teacher in a school there. Very smartly turned out lass. Happily married, or so it seemed, in 1978 to a quiet, hard-working lad called Larry Longley, a butcher. They had one son, Abe Longley. However, over the years, Bridie got to know a man who had a transport business. He had a fleet of wagons doing long haul, mostly taking steel billets from Sheffield up to Glasgow then bringing whisky back and delivering it to a warehouse in the Isle of Dogs in London. Well, the relationship got what you might call hot, and Bridie was having it off with this chap. In return, he was buying her expensive designer clothes and handbags, jewellery and taking her away on foreign holidays and stuff. They were flying really high. The thing is, the husband knew all about it. In fact, he used to look after the son, young Abe, sometimes while his wife and this chap went off together. More than one occasion he took his young son away, when they went away somewhere different.’

  ‘Yes. I remember some of this coming out in court. Nasty set up, the whole thing. But Bridie got too greedy, didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes sir. The boyfriend couldn’t keep up with the money. He wouldn’t or couldn’t stump up for something she wanted, so they had an unholy row, and she walked out on him. She went back to her husband and their son. Later that day the boyfriend came to the Longleys’ house looking for her. Larry Longley said she was out with young Abe. He pushed past him into the house and searched it. Larry saw red and went after him with a poker. The boyfriend pushed him away and stormed out of the house. Two days later Bridie’s body was found in an oil drum, chopped up in pieces. An AA man tried to move the drum off the hard shoulder of the A1 in Leicestershire and discovered the body.’

  Angel pulled a face. ‘The husband got sent down, didn’t he?’

  ‘He got twenty years, sir. The chopper used on Bridie was the same chopper he used to use for cutting up stewing steak in the butcher’s shop. He’s doing time in Wakefield prison.’

  ‘Has he appealed?’

  ‘Twice. Each time it was rejected. And this is the bit you won’t believe, sir. When the boyfriend walked out of Longley’s house, he went straight to Jones’s antique shop and enticed Jazmin Jones, Bridie’s sister, away from her husband, Emlyn Jones. Then Jazmin Jones changed her name back to her maiden name, Frazer.’

  Angel nodded and took over the story. ‘Charles Pleasant and Jazmin Frazer were at Larry’s trial, holding hands. They were together throughout the trial and have been together ever since … until his murder on Sunday.’

  Gawber’s face dropped. ‘You knew, sir!’

  ‘Not all of it.’

  ‘Yes. His father died in 2003 and left him the scrap metal business. Shortly afterwards Charles sold the haulage business for a tidy sum.’

  ‘He must have been pretty well off then?’

  ‘Not for long. Not while either of the Frazer sisters were anywhere around.’

  Gawber smiled.

  ‘What do you know about Bridie and Larry’s son?’

  ‘Information about him is a bit sparse. I worked out that Abe must be 28.’

  His eyebrows shot up. ‘Doesn’t time fly?’

  Gawber nodded pensively.

  ‘When you’ve time, I want you to find him,’ Angel said, but at that moment, his mind was on a more pressing matter. He delved into his pocket and pulled out the key he had taken from Pleasant’s evidence envelope. He waved it at him. ‘In the meantime, there is a more pressing matter. I may have the key that will open the safe in the scrapyard. You’d better come with me.’

  Angel drove the car straight into the scrapyard at the end of Sebastopol Terrace and parked behind SOCO’s van.

  Taylor saw Angel and Gawber arrive and came out of the little office. He was still in the white overalls. He threw up a salute and said: ‘Good morning, sir.’

  ‘Good morning, Don.’ Angel looked at him hopefully. ‘Found anything interesting?’

  ‘Afraid not, sir. We’re about finished here. Going to do the grates both here and in the street and then we’re away.’

  ‘Move that forklift so that we can get to the safe, will you? I think I have the key for it.’

  Taylor’s face brightened. ‘Right, sir,’ he said and he jumped up on the forklift and drove it forward ten feet or so.

  Angel pushed the steel sheet away, crouched down, and put the key in the safe lock. He knew instantly it was the right one. He smiled as he felt and heard the solid click.

  Taylor and Gawber leaned forward. They all peered expectantly as he turned the brass handle and lifted up the heavy door.

  But the safe was empty.

  All they saw was the scuffed and dusty yellow-painted lining with an old-fashioned logo around the name ‘Philips’. The three men became very quiet.

  Angel stood up, rubbed his chin, turned to Taylor and said: ‘Check this out, Don. See if you can determine what Pleasant had last hidden in here.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can, sir.’

  Angel dropped Gawber off at the station, collected a cardboard shoe box from Ahmed and then drove the BMW down to the town centre on to Victoria Street to the car park at the back of the NHS clinic. He parked the BMW and walked round to the front entrance carrying the shoe box under his arm. Through the door facing him there were lots of signs with long medical words on them. He picked out the one he wanted and went over to a pretty young lady at a desk.

  ‘I phoned earlier. My name is DI Angel. I’m from Bromersley police.’

  The young lady in the blue uniform smiled. ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Doctor May has just arrived. Please go to treatment room number two over there. He’s expecting you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He knocked on the door and opened it.

  A young man in a white coat was sitting at a desk going through some papers.

  ‘Doctor May?’

  ‘Come in,’ he said smiling. ‘You must be the famous Inspector Angel?’ he said. He closed the file of papers and got to his feet.

  Angel shook his head and pulled a face. He wasn’t used to compliments. He certainly didn’t feel famous. Genuine compliments were about the only thing that made him stuck for words.

  ‘No,’ he muttered, ‘just plain Inspector Angel.’

  Then he quickly held up the cardboard box and removed the lid. ‘You said you would kindly look at a footprint.’

  ‘Anything I can do to assist the police, of course.’

  He passed the box containing the plaster cast to the young doctor.

  ‘What can you tell me about this, Doctor?’

  Doctor May put the box on the desk and looked down at it.

  ‘There’s not much to go on, I fear, Inspector.’

  Angel licked his lips. ‘We came across this footprint at the scene of a crime. Please tell me whatever you can?’

  ‘What occurs to me firstly is that it seems to be a perfectly healthy foot. There is nothing actually wrong with it. No signs of any past surgery either.’

  ‘Is it male or female?’

  ‘Judging by the size and contraction of the toes, I would say probably male.’

  He pursed his lips. Probably? Up to that point, Angel had been positive that it had been the print of a man’s foot.

  ‘Why only pro
bably male?’

  ‘The main differences between a male and a female foot in the Western world is that the male is larger, but the toes are more likely to be contracted, while the female foot is more likely to spend more time in open-toed shoes, sandals or no shoes at all. The female toes would therefore be less likely to be contracted. This wasn’t the case early last century, but these things change.’

  ‘Are the toes in this footprint contracted?’

  ‘They are partly contracted, which suggests that it is the footprint of a man who has historically worn close-fitting Western-type shoes. Also his big toe is not enlarged as it would be if he walked bare foot a lot.’

  ‘So, does this man regularly wear Western-type shoes today?’

  ‘Probably.’

  Angel sighed. He was hoping for a word like, ‘Yes’, or ‘No’. ‘Probably’ wasn’t much help. He thought a moment and then said. ‘Tell me, Doctor, in your experience and speaking generally, is the only reason that people walk about in bare feet because they can’t afford shoes? Or is that an oversimplification?’

  Doctor May smiled. ‘I believe that most of the people of the world would want to wear shoes if they could afford them. Does that answer your question?’

  ‘Yes, Doctor, thank you. But what’s your last word about the man who made this footprint then?’

  ‘If I was to stick my neck out, I would say that the foot that made this mark has worn Western-type shoes all his life.’

  ‘And how old do you think the man might be?’

  ‘Very difficult. It’s a fully grown foot, so the minimum age I would say would be about sixteen or seventeen. The maximum is much more difficult. The foot shows no sign of degeneration or muscle relapse, so it is probably somebody in their twenties or thirties, but depending on the person’s lifestyle, he could be as old as fifty or sixty or even sixty-five. Sorry I cannot be more help.’

  ‘You’ve assisted me more than you know, Doctor. Thank you very much.’

  CHAPTER 7

  * * *

  Angel looked at his watch. It was a few minutes past twelve o’clock. He licked his lips. He was thirsty. He could just sink a pint.

  He drove the BMW back up to the police station car park, parked it up and then walked down to the Fat Duck. It was the nearest pub to the station and was a frequent haunt of his at lunchtimes.

  He pushed open the door and looked round. The bar was as inviting as usual: the brass and glass were shining pleasingly. But it wasn’t busy. There was nobody at the tables, and only two old men standing at the bar. He recalled times when the place would have been heaving with customers. He sniffed. That new ‘no smoking’ in public places law was going to annihilate the British pub. A pretty girl appeared behind the bar. She greeted him and flashed a smile making it easy to reciprocate.

  ‘A glass of Old Peculier, please,’ he said. ‘And a meat pie.’

  He thanked her, passed her a fiver, she rang it up in the till, and then dropped a few coins in his hand. He moved to a cosy table by the window.

  The beer was chilled and tasted good.

  He was enjoying the peace and quiet and thinking about what the doctor had said when a man he hadn’t noticed before and didn’t know came across to him. He was a burly man about 40 years of age, he was wearing a dark suit, white vest and leather shoes, and he had several heavy gold chains round his neck. He was carrying a glass of beer.

  ‘Detective Inspector Angel, isn’t it?’

  Angel looked up, nodded and continued chewing the pie. The man spoke good English but he wasn’t local. Possibly foreign.

  ‘May I join you?’

  Angel would have wished that he wouldn’t, there were twenty or more other unoccupied tables, but he wasn’t inclined to be churlish.

  ‘Yes. Sure.’

  The man banged the glass on to the table, spilling a little, he noticed, but looked unconcerned and sat down opposite him.

  Angel didn’t like him. He wondered what he wanted. He was uncomfortable with his proximity. He started to observe the little things. He noticed he had big hands with clean fingernails and that the nails had a regular spade shape. Here was a man who could afford a manicure. He was wearing an Oré gold watch on a heavy gold bracelet and a gold signet ring. He obviously knew how to spend money. As Angel swallowed a mouthful of pie and licked his lips, he wondered how the man had earned it. He was still thinking about that as he glanced round the bar and realized that the two old men and the barmaid weren’t there anymore. There were just the two of them in the room. Something was not quite normal. It should be busier and noisier. He raised his head.

  Then the man leaned over the table until he was only six inches away from Angel’s nose. ‘You’ve got something of mine,’ he said quietly. ‘And I want it.’

  Angel felt his pulse begin to bang away. He stared into the man’s mean, little eyes. He carefully clocked his face. He hadn’t seen the man before. He took his time. He shrugged and said, ‘If it’s yours, you shall certainly have it. What’s your name?’

  ‘Just call me Gold.’

  Angel had never heard of him. ‘Right, Mr Gold.’

  ‘Just Gold. The thing is, you have moved it, and I want to know where you have moved it to?’

  ‘What are we talking about?’

  ‘Don’t come that,’ he sneered. ‘You are the DI Angel of Bromersley nick, aren’t you. Got a reputation for always getting your man, because you got second sight or you’ve got a computer for a brain or something. That is you, isn’t it?’

  He hesitated, frowned and then said: ‘I am DI Angel of Bromersley police. There is nobody else there by that name.’

  Alarm bells began to sound in his head. Gold’s attitude suggested that he had some back-up or support of some kind close by. He decided to test it before the crosstalk went any further. He finished the pie, emptied the glass, wiped his mouth with the miniscule serviette that had been under the pie, and stood up. ‘If you care to make an appointment to see me at the station, I will try to assist you. Now I must go.’

  Gold smiled. ‘Sit down, Inspector.’

  Angel’s eyes widened. He could hear his pulse bang louder in his ears. ‘I haven’t time.’

  He turned towards the door.

  Gold stood up. ‘All right, I’ll come with you,’ he said. Then he put two fingers across his front teeth, screwed up his mouth and let out a piercing whistle.

  The saloon bar door opened and two huge men were standing there. They must have been there some time. They were in dark suits and wore sunglasses. Their coats bulged under their breast pockets.

  Angel knew he was in serious trouble. He had never seen either of them in person before, nor were they in the station picture gallery.

  ‘The Inspector wants to leave, Shadrack,’ he said. ‘We are giving him a lift to the nick,’ he said with a grin. ‘On the way, he’s going to talk to us.’

  ‘I don’t know what you want,’ Angel said. ‘I can easily walk there. It isn’t far.’

  The two men in sunglasses separated, allowing Angel to walk between them. He strode out boldly between them. It was never wise to show how afraid you were, but three armed men to one unarmed man were odds he didn’t care for. He was thinking that these were not a local mob. He strode between them to the door, but when outside, they gently but firmly bundled him into a car. He was pushed into the middle seat in the back. He clocked that it was a dark blue Ford.

  Gold was last in. He sat next to him and closed the door. Shadrack got into the driver’s seat. The third man got into the car from the nearside back door and squashed up next to him. He was very close. There was a sickly smell of cheap Armenian brandy.

  ‘This isn’t necessary,’ Angel protested. ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘Let’s go the scenic route,’ Gold said.

  ‘I have to return to my office,’ Angel said.

  The driver pulled out of the Fat Duck car park and headed along Huddersfield Road out of the town.

  Gold turned to Ang
el and said, ‘Now then, Inspector, you’re getting a free lift. Well, it’s not exactly free. The charge is simply information. What have you done with the head. It’s mine and I want it back.’

  ‘I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr Gold.’

  ‘Just Gold. You’re the copper investigating the death of Charles Pleasant, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well don’t mess me about. As you will know, he had the jade head of Hang Mung Cheng. I want it.’

  Angel frowned. That was the head mentioned in the paper. Stolen from some foreign country. Worth millions. This man looked as if he would kill for it.

  ‘I was not aware of that,’ he said calmly.

  ‘Don’t mess me about,’ Gold yelled. ‘You must have found it. It was at Pleasant’s scrapyard.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. There was a safe hidden there but it was empty. I didn’t know what it was supposed to contain. I found the key yesterday and opened it, and it was empty.’

  Gold gasped. ‘It couldn’t have been. Pleasant arranged to sell it to me before he died. We agreed a price. Twenty thousand pounds. I’ve got the money. You can have it. Cash. No questions asked. You have got it. You must have it. What have you done with it?’

  ‘I have never even seen it.’

  Gold’s face was scarlet, his eyes sticking out. ‘You’ve taken it and hidden it away somewhere for a rainy day.’

  ‘I assure you I wouldn’t dream of such a thing. I can only tell you that I was not alone when the safe was opened. There were two other men present. They would tell you exactly what I have told you, that the safe was empty.’

  This seemed to surprise Gold.

  ‘What? Who?’ he said, then he added, ‘Coppers?’

  ‘One of them was.’

  ‘You coppers stick as close as blood to a blanket.’

  ‘One of the men wasn’t in the force. He worked for Pleasant. He was there when the safe was opened. I assure you there was nothing in it, nothing at all.’