Angel and the Actress (6 page)

Cartlett’s mouth opened wide. His eyes narrowed. He scratched his temple and said, ‘You wouldn’t do that.’

‘I might,’ Angel said, ‘so now will you go through to
my sergeant and have the paraffin wax test? You’ll not be alone. There are three other gentlemen before you …’

Meanwhile …

Crisp had arrived at the quiet T-junction, shortly after a Bromersley Police patrol car.

The two drivers of the Slater Security van were standing around with their hands in their pockets and stamping their feet on the pavement to keep warm. The police patrolmen had swiftly taped off the crashed vehicles, and had started erecting road signs indicating a detour.

Crisp had checked that the men in the security van were unharmed and noted what had happened. He took their names and addresses and asked them a few urgent questions, then phoned Angel on his mobile and reported the situation.

Angel said, ‘Were either of the men able to give a description of any of the robbers and the getaway car?’

‘They said there was nothing distinguishing about the robbers, sir, except that the one that spoke to them had a local accent,’ Crisp said. ‘They all wore black balaclavas. The car was a blue Ford Mondeo. It’s come to me, sir, that the two cars involved would be the two cars stolen yesterday from Mr and Mrs Sellars on Ceresford Road.’

‘So they were, Trevor. So they were. Did the robbers leave anything behind? Anything at all?’

‘Just three pickaxes, sir.’

Angel rubbed his chin. ‘Interesting … I’ll send SOCO out and a photographer. And a low-loader to bring in the wrecks. Was there anything else? Anything at all? Anything that might give us a lead? An empty lager can,
a glove, a piece of unburned detonator wire … anything?’

‘Don’t know, sir. Haven’t been here long.’

‘Well, have a good look round,’ Angel said.

There was a knock on the sitting-room door.

‘Hold on, Trevor,’ Angel said. He put his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Come in,’ he called. It was DS Carter.

‘We’ve finished all our—’ she began.

Angel pointed to the phone.

‘Ooh, sorry, sir,’ she said.

‘Won’t be a minute, Flora,’ he said. ‘Sit down.’

She nodded.

Then back into the phone he said, ‘Well, have a good look round, Trevor. And keep all busy fingers away from the wreck. It’s a crime scene. Preserve its integrity.’

‘Of course. Righto, sir,’ Crisp said.

Angel ended the call, closed his mobile and turned to DS Carter.

‘Now then, Flora,’ he said. ‘What do you want?’

‘We’ve finished our search, sir, and we’ve found nothing suspicious in any of the guests’ rooms or the house or the perimeter of the house.’

‘Hmmm,’ Angel said, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘Been through the rubbish bins?’

‘Yes, sir, of course.’

He breathed out heavily. ‘Very well. Dismiss the search party, thank them and tell them to report to their respective team leaders, then come back here.’

‘Right, sir,’ she said. Then she went out.

A
NGEL WAS STILL
in Miss Minter’s little sitting room. He looked at his watch. It was twelve noon. He took the used brown envelope from his inside pocket and consulted it. He leaned back in the chair and rubbed the back of his neck and his chin and then closed his eyes. There was a lot to think about.

He stayed like that for several minutes, then he opened his mobile and scrolled down to a name and clicked on it.

A few seconds later, a voice said, ‘Aye, Dr Mac speaking.’

Angel said, ‘Now, you old haggis-eater, you’ve had a body there for almost forty-eight hours and I haven’t heard a dickie bird from you. When were you going to ring me up and tell me about it?’

‘Oh, it’s you, Michael,’ Mac said. ‘You usually ring me up after I’ve had the corpse five minutes. Now you’re waiting forty-eight hours. What’s happening to you? You’re slipping, Michael. You’re getting relaxed, unconcerned and casual. What’s happened to the fire in your belly?’

Angel grinned.

Mac said, ‘As a matter of fact, it is on top of the pile to be typed out next.’

‘Well, do you think you could nick it off the pile and give me the highlights?’

‘Oh dear me,’ the doctor said, pretending to be reluctant. ‘The things I do for good Scottish–English relationships. Hold on … here we are. Well, there’s nothing much. You already know most of it, I think. She died from a single shot to the cerebellum, lying posterior to the pons and medulla oblongata and inferior to the occipital lobes of the cerebral hemispheres, thus losing the maintenance of her posture and balance.’

‘All right, Mac. You win. Let’s have that in English.’

It was Mac’s turn to crow. ‘Well, she fell and hit her head on the corner of the piano stool, which would have stunned her and finished her off. She was dead by the time she hit the floor.’

There was a second’s sombre silence, then Angel said, ‘Anything else?’

‘Well, what do you want? Her weight, height, operation scars, contents of stomach…?’

‘Contents of stomach. Yes,’ Angel said with eyebrows raised. ‘Anything there shouldn’t have been?’

‘Noo. Absolutely normal. Bloodstream, a trace of alcohol. Lungs, normal. Kidneys, normal.’

‘Was there anything else
abnormal
?’

‘Noo,’ the doctor said.

Angel was disappointed. There was nothing helpful there. ‘Well, thank you kindly, Mac,’ he said.

‘Anytime,’ the doctor said with a smile on his lips.

Angel thoughtfully closed the phone, leaned back in
the chair and squeezed the lobe of his ear between finger and thumb. A trace of alcohol in Joan Minter’s bloodstream seemed perfectly reasonable considering she was at a party and she had a glass in her hand at the time she was shot. It was frustrating that there seemed to be such a dearth of clues on the body.

There was a knock at the door. It was Flora Carter.

‘The search party has gone, sir,’ she said. ‘I had to organize transport back for them.’

‘Right. Come in,’ Angel said. ‘Sit down.’

There was another knock on the door. It was Don Taylor.

When Angel saw him he stood up. ‘Well, Don, what you got? Who has the blue specks with tails?’

‘Nobody, sir. The hands of all four came up clean as a whistle.’

Angel slumped back in the chair. He looked down, closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck.

Flora said, ‘Does that mean that they’re no longer suspects?’

‘No, not necessarily,’ Taylor said. ‘They could have been wearing gloves.’

‘Are you sure you checked the right four?’ Angel said.

Taylor sighed. ‘Felix Lubrecki, Leo Altman, Erick Cartlett and Alexander Trott, sir,’ he said.

Angel nodded. ‘That’s correct.’

Flora said, ‘What I don’t understand, sir, is how that butler chap, Trott, got so much lead, antimony and barium residue on his clothes. After all, he was standing at the other side of the room from the shooter, nearest the victim.’

Angel wrinkled his nose and said, ‘Well, we are
talking microscopic quantities, Flora. I expect the gunshot residues got onto Trott’s clothes when he leaned over Miss Minter to see what help he could render.’

Taylor said, ‘Well, sir, it doesn’t look as if that test is going to help us in this case.’

Angel said, ‘Well, so be it. There’s nothing more we can do here. Don, I want you and your team to go post-haste to a robbery scene on Hemmsfield Road. See if you can find any forensic. The Control Room has the exact location and background. Trevor Crisp is there; liaise with him. I hope to get there soon myself.’

‘Right, sir,’ he said, and he went out.

Then Angel turned to DS Carter. ‘Flora, provided we have their names and addresses and phone numbers, you can tell the guests and staff they can leave. Ask Mr Trott to see me before he goes.’

‘Right, sir,’ she said.

‘And then come back here. I’ve got a job for you.’

‘Right, sir,’ she said again, and she went out.

A few moments later, there was a knock on the door. It was Trott.

Angel’s eyebrows shot up. He noticed that the butler was no longer in a morning suit; instead he was wearing a smart brown suit, cream shirt with a patterned tie and brown shoes.

‘Erm, you wanted to see me, Inspector?’ Trott said.

‘Come in, Mr Trott. Please sit down a moment.’

The butler did not look his usual composed self. He was running his hand over his hair and touching his chin and mouth.

‘Yes,’ Angel said. ‘I need to know Miss Minter’s next of
kin. Can you tell me who that would be?’

Trott frowned, then said, ‘I am not aware that she has any family living, Inspector, but I do know her solicitors are Pink and Cairncross on Eastgate. Mr Harry Cairncross used to visit her.’

Angel made a note. ‘Thank you, Mr Trott. They probably know her next of kin and the contents of her will.’

‘Was there anything else?’

‘No. I don’t think so.’

‘I understand that you have finished your enquiries here,’ Trott said. ‘That pretty lady policewoman said that everybody should leave now, which made me suddenly realize that I am no longer in employment. For the first time in my life I am … I am out of work.’

‘I shouldn’t think you’d have much difficulty getting a new position.’

Trott shook his head. ‘There’s such a lot of unemployment and hardship about.’

‘After all you didn’t get the sack, did you?’ Angel said. ‘And I trust you have some savings to tide you over for a week or two while you find something.’

‘Well, I have, of course. And I could go and stay with my sister in Southport for a while. But I would rather stay here. I have my own room and all my things are here. Do you think that would be possible?’

‘It’s not for me to say, Mr Trott. But I shouldn’t think anybody would have any objection if you stayed for a few days. Give my “pretty sergeant” your new address, whatever you decide.’

‘Yes, Inspector. I will. And thank you. You’ve cheered me up.’

Angel smiled.

‘There’s something else, Inspector. Well, two things, really. Have you found out who murdered Miss Minter?’

‘No, Mr Trott. But we will.’

Trott smiled. ‘Good. Your name came to me the other day. Inspector Angel. You’re a celebrity, aren’t you? You’re the policeman who
always
gets his man, like the Mounties. I’ve read about you in a magazine somewhere. And there are so many murders that are never solved, but you’ve always managed to solve your cases and catch the murderer, haven’t you?’

Angel rubbed his chin, blew out a long breath and said, ‘Well, I have up to now.’ Then he quickly added, ‘What was the other thing?’

Trott was still smiling. ‘Oh yes,’ he said, then he frowned. ‘Miss Bell, Miss Minter’s secretary and the caterers, Mr and Mrs Jones, have not been paid. I somehow feel responsible …’

Angel said, ‘I should recommend them to contact Miss Minter’s solicitors.’

Trott smiled. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said.

He stood up and turned towards the door. ‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’ he added. ‘Thank you, Inspector. Goodbye.’

As he went out, Flora Carter came in.

‘Everybody seems pleased except the caterers, sir,’ she said.

‘They’ll be worried about being paid,’ Angel said. Then he added, ‘Flora, I want you to call on Mrs Vera Sellars. She lives at number 24 on this road. That’s the woman who had her handbag stolen recently. Get a list of everything
that was in it.
Everything
. You understand?’

‘Right, sir.’

‘I’m going to Hemmsfield junction.’

It was two o’clock when Angel arrived at the road junction where the Slater Security van had crashed and been robbed. The area was taped off and No Entry signs and diversion signs were all round the locale.

A uniformed constable recognized Angel in the BMW. He saluted him, lifted the tape and waved him underneath. Angel saw Crisp’s car and parked next to it. As he got out he saw that Crisp was in the car with two men in Slater Security livery.

The SOCO van was parked ten yards further away alongside the wreck, and DS Taylor and a detective constable were in their white disposable paper suits, carefully picking their way through the back of the wrecked blue and white van.

Another SOCO was in the cab of the Volkswagen with a flask of aluminium powder and a brush, looking for fingerprints.

Angel went up to DS Crisp’s car and opened the door.

Crisp made the introductions, then Angel looked at Crisp and said, ‘Can I have a word, Trevor?’ Then he left the car door open and walked a few paces away.

Crisp got out, closed the car door and went up to him.

Angel said, ‘Did they see any of the gang’s faces?’

‘No, sir. There were four in the gang, all wearing black or navy-blue balaclavas, and three of them – they’d be in their twenties and thirties – were wearing jeans, woollen jumpers and trainers. The fourth, who seemed to be the
gang leader, had very broad shoulders and was about forty. He was the one who rammed the van with the car. He was wearing protective pads round his legs and arms over a dark suit, and he had a safety helmet over the balaclava.’

Angel rubbed his temple. ‘Were there any firearms?’

‘Yes, sir. The driver who rammed them. He had a small, sort of blue-coloured handgun.’

Angel shook his head and wiped over his face with his hand. ‘Too many guns around the place. What do they know about their getaway?’

‘They said that the four men made their escape in a blue Ford Mondeo, sir. They went north towards Leeds. They didn’t get the licence number.’

‘It would have been a false number plate, anyway,’ Angel said. ‘Did they get away with a lot?’

‘Two hundred and twenty thousand, sir.’

His eyes opened wide. ‘It’s a lot of money,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘Another thing, sir. The notes were all dirty or torn notes on their way to the Bank of England to be destroyed.’

‘Did Slater’s men see anything helpful at all? You know, a tattoo, a wristwatch, that sort of thing?’

‘They said not, sir,’ Crisp said. ‘This gang weren’t amateurs. They seem to have left the job absolutely clean.’

Angel’s eyes flashed. The muscles round his jaw tightened. ‘Nobody can deliberately drive a car into a van at speed, blow open the door of the safe, take away all that dosh and not leave
something
behind.’

‘They left three pickaxes, sir.’

‘Yeah, I mean more than that. I’m hopeful that Don
Taylor will find something … a print or something. All right, Trevor. Carry on, but press them on anything they might have seen or heard of the robbers.’

‘I will, sir,’ Crisp said, and he returned to the two Slater Security men in his car.

Angel walked up to the vehicle wreck. ‘Is Don Taylor there?’

The tall slim figure wreathed in white came out of the innermost part of the van. ‘Yes, sir?’ he said.

‘How you doing, Don?’

He pulled down his mask and said, ‘Found a cigarette end, sir. The brand is “Adelaide”. Never heard of it. No prints on it. Looks like all the gang were wearing gloves, and that that discipline was maintained throughout.’

Angel’s face creased. ‘Can we get any DNA from it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘That would be great, if they’re on record,’ Angel said, rubbing his chin. Then his forehead wrinkled. ‘Just a minute,’ he said, and he walked back to Crisp’s car, opened the door, peered in and said, ‘Excuse me, chaps.’ He looked at the two Slater Security men and said, ‘Do either of you smoke?’

‘No,’ came the reply in unison.

He nodded, closed the car door, came back to Taylor and said, ‘It’s not from either of them.’

Taylor smiled. ‘Great stuff, sir. We’ll get it off to the lab today.’

‘Find anything else, Don?’

‘We’ve been over the three pickaxes they used to claw their way into the back of the van, but there are no prints or anything useful on them.’

‘Right. I’ll take them with me. Get one of your lads to put them in my boot, will you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Anything else?’

‘I’ve found part of the remains of the detonator, sir. A handmade job. Quite primitive but it works. Made from a three-inch length of steel wool, two matches, six inches of Sellotape, several yards of twin-core electric cable and a little nine-volt battery. A kid of ten could make it. And so efficient. The detonation is so quick that the blast of the dynamite blows out the flame of the two matches before they are burnt up.’

Angel blinked several times. ‘Interesting from the modus operandi point of view, Don,’ he said, ‘but there’s nothing forensic we can learn from that, is there?’

Taylor didn’t reply quickly. He scratched his head, then said, ‘It helps to measure the size of the explosion, sir.’

‘True. And the mentality of the villains.’

‘It’s that sort of info you’d get from a spell in prison.’

Angel nodded his agreement. ‘I reckon it would cost about two snorts of cocaine.’

‘The currency used to be cigarettes.’

‘Have you found anything else?’

‘No, sir, but we’re not quite finished.’

‘Have you been over the Volkswagen?’

‘There’s a man looking for prints now, sir. There are no sweet papers, no lager cans, no fag ends, nothing.’