The Big Fiddle (18 page)

Then he ended the call, closed the phone, sighed and leaned back in his chair.

I
t was about an hour later the same morning, that Angel
remembered
that he had not heard lately from his old friend Dr Mac, who might have some vital information, so he picked up the phone and tapped in the Bromersley General Hospital number and was eventually put through to the mortuary.

The doctor’s familiar Glaswegian voice came on the line. ‘Good morning, Michael. Long time since I heard from you. Must be a whole week. I was beginning to think you’d come into money and retired to live in the Maldives.’

‘I won’t be able to do that – even if I wanted to – unless I could earn what a nerdy pathologist I know, who lives, breathes and dreams dead bodies, earns, and only considers humans in terms of what they might look like opened up on a slab.’

‘
My
, we are in a mood this morning, laddie. Let me see if I can cheer you up.’

‘You won’t cheer me up if you haven’t got answers, Mac,’ Angel said.

‘Well, what is it you want to know?’

‘The last I heard was that you thought that whoever murdered Nancy Quinn did it with a short-bladed knife, probably a common-or-garden steak knife.’

‘That’s right, Michael. There were twenty-eight separate
stabbing
wounds in her thorax, abdomen, pelvis and chest.’

‘And that it was probably committed during intercourse.’

‘That’s right.’

‘So were you able to locate any semen for DNA purposes?’

‘No. Not in this case. I suspect the man was barren. That often goes along with being a psychotic patient. He needs finding and locking up, Michael, and quickly.’

Angel blew out a length of air. ‘Couldn’t agree with you more, but I need evidence, Mac. And you’re not helping.’

‘Sorry, Michael. That’s the best I can do.’

Angel thanked the pathologist, ended the call and then tapped in another number. There was a knock on the door.

He called out, ‘Come in.’

It was Don Taylor with a large brown registered envelope.

Angel saw the envelope and his face brightened. He cancelled the call and dropped the phone into its holster.

‘You’ve got some results, Don?’

‘From Wetherby lab, sir. The DNA results of ten different hair samples. Eight were from different pieces of clothing in Nancy Quinn’s wardrobe, one was from her stomach and the other from her thigh. The DNA of one of the eight hairs from her clothes matches both hairs taken from her body. The rest are all different. However, I have checked all the DNA on the PNC, and it is all negative.’

His face dropped. ‘That’s not much use, then. Of course, not every villain’s DNA is on the PNC. The only thing it tells us is that her murderer was all over her. But we knew that. We need the DNA of Edward Oliver – or whatever his name is – to
prove
it was him.’

Taylor went out and Angel picked up the phone.

There was a knock on the door. Angel glared at it. ‘Come in,’ he called.

It was Ahmed. He was holding two sheets of A4.

Angel frowned, looked at what he had in his hand and said, ‘Is that from Sorensen’s?’

‘Just come through by email, sir.’

Angel slammed the phone down into its holster. ‘I have been trying to ring you about that,’ he said taking the two sheets of paper from him.

Angel read each entry of the application form to hire a vehicle which, of course, was in the name of Edward Oliver and entirely fictitious. The crook would have had to answer each question exactly so as to match the entries in a driving licence he must have shown to Mr Sorensen which itself must have been a forgery. Angel noticed the date of birth, 14 March 1971, and wondered whether in a thoughtless moment it was possible the crook might have entered his own actual date of birth or had he just pulled a date entirely out of thin air?

He conveyed this thought to Ahmed.

‘I’ll go back to the PNC site, sir and tap that date in and see if it throws any names up.’

‘Great stuff,’ Angel said. ‘We are due a bit of luck, Ahmed. Off you go, then.’

As Ahmed closed the door, Angel picked up the phone and entered in a number. It was his own home number. He wanted to speak to Mary. He wanted to tell her about tonight. She wouldn’t be pleased.

‘Hello,’ she said in a voice that sounded interested and welcoming, whoever it was.

Angel adopted a cheerful attitude. ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he said, ‘just rung to say – in plenty of time, you may note – that I won’t be home till late tonight. There’s an exercise I have to attend.’

Mary wasn’t pleased. ‘What sort of exercise?’

‘A field exercise for the young PCs, nothing to worry about. I might not get home until midnight.’

‘Midnight? Oh. And what about your tea?’

‘Erm. I’ll have it tomorrow.’

‘And what about tomorrow’s tea?

Angel was losing his patience. ‘I’ll have that the day after. What is all this? Puzzle corner? I’m giving you loads of notice because we have this exercise thrust upon us. I can’t help it. But it’s nothing to worry about.’

‘I hope this is not going to become a regular thing.’

‘Of course it isn’t. If there’s anything good on the telly, you can record it for me. I think there’s a new episode of
Downton Abbey
on ITV.’

‘What? No, there isn’t. And anyway, would you expect me to watch it twice? And what are you going to do about your tea?’

‘I’ll be all right. I’ll get something from the pub.’

‘Huh, the pub. You don’t want to be hanging around there for long.’

‘If I’m not home by eleven or so, lock up and go to bed.’

‘You’d better be in by midnight.’

He knocked imperatively on the desk. ‘Got to go, love. Somebody at the door. If I can, love, I will. If I can’t, I won’t. And anyway, I’ll see you in the morning.’ Then he added tenderly, ‘Goodbye and take care.’

There was the slightest pause, then Mary gently said, ‘Goodbye and you take care.’

He smiled, cancelled the call, shook his head and dropped the phone in the holster.

Angel was busy at his desk and was disturbed by a knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ he called.

‘It’s 7.25, sir,’ Ahmed said, ‘and DI White’s here.’

‘Right, lad,’ Angel said, throwing down his pen. ‘Get Sergeants
Carter and Taylor. We want to be ready in five minutes. Have you told your mother you are working late?’

Ahmed grinned. ‘Oh, yes, sir.’

Angel nodded and then jerked his head towards the door,
indicating
that he should leave.

Ahmed went out and held the door open for DI White.

‘Come in, Waldo,’ Angel said. ‘Right on time.’

White grinned. ‘Good evening, Michael. So the diamond has been duly returned to the bank and there has been no visible movement of the robbers.’

Angel nodded. ‘It should be a straightforward procedure, Waldo.’

It was two o’clock on the morning of Wednesday, 15 May. The south Yorkshire town of Bromersley was quiet, still and as black as fingerprint ink. There were five unmarked police cars parked among other cars, each on a different backstreet, and each one no further than seconds away from the Northern Bank in Clement Attlee Square.

Angel was in his own car with Flora Carter and two other armed officers. He was on an open RT line to Crisp at the
observation
post on Bradford Road and the four cars. All points were keeping silence.

Suddenly, the quiet and peace of the night was disturbed by the shrill scream of alarm bells from the bank.

‘There she goes,’ Angel said into the phone. ‘Can you hear that, Trevor?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Crisp said.

‘And have you still got clear vision of the white van?’

‘Yes, sir. And I’ll keep my night vision binoculars on it until it moves.’

Angel said, ‘All cars, I expect it will be a few minutes before the
thieves can make their escape. Take your cue from DS Crisp. Over to you, Trevor.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Crisp said. ‘Two men have arrived. They’re looking up at the bell on the front of the bank. They’ve turned away and are walking quickly up Bradford Road.… A few bedroom lights have gone on … a car has arrived and has parked outside the front of the bank.…’

Crisp maintained the commentary for ten minutes or so, then suddenly he stopped, drew in air loudly enough to be heard through the RT in all five cars, his voice went up an octave and he said, ‘It’s moving. The white van is moving. All cars, go, go, go!’

From five different directions, the five unmarked police cars raced to Clement Attlee Square and quickly surrounded the white van as it pulled out into Bradford Road. The van driver tried to squeeze the van between two of the cars, but crashed dramatically into the side of one of them, damaging the bodywork extensively and stalling the van engine, which he feverishly tried to restart but failed.

The FSU police got out of their cars first and repeatedly yelled, ‘Police. Put your hands where we can see them. You are surrounded.’

Then they pulled their Heckler and Koch G36 rifles into
position
and formed a ring round the van. Plain-clothes men mounted powerful lights on top of their cars and directed their beams onto the van.

Flora Carter was on her mobile to the station. ‘Ahmed, send the Black Maria, a low loader and a tow truck to Bradford Road, opposite Clement Attlee Square, as soon as you can.’

DI White pointed his Glock G17 pistol and a powerful hand torch at the front off-side door of the van as Angel slid it open. It revealed a huge man in overalls with his hands up, blinking in the
powerful lights. Behind him were five other faces of men who knew their bid for quick, easy money was now lost.

White looked at the man in the driving seat. ‘Get out,’ he said. ‘Put your hands on top of the van.’

Angel patted him down. He felt something hard in a pocket. He took it out. It was a small matte-blue handgun. A Beretta. He looked at it closely. It was a 3032 Tomcat. Deadly at close range. Angel handed it to Flora Carter, who put it in an EVIDENCE bag and recorded it on a clipboard. PC Weightman handcuffed the prisoner and held him by the cuffs, awaiting the arrival of the Black Maria.

White instructed another of the gang to get out of the van to be searched.

At the same time, from the direction of Clement Attlee Square, Angel heard a powerful car engine suddenly roar into life. He looked round, concerned that one of the gang might have escaped. He could see nothing as the sound slowly faded into the night.

Minutes later the Black Maria arrived in Clement Attlee Square and the six men in handcuffs were taken across the road and loaded into it. One of DI White’s vehicles and six of the team of twelve escorted the vehicle back to Bromersley Police Station.

The other six FSU men went with Angel and White to the gas inspection chamber and opened the lid. Two men suitably clad in denims and armed with Glock handguns and torches came forward. Angel shone his torch into the gaping mouth of the tunnel. Something small reflected back at him. It was a bright yellow colour.

He turned to White and said, ‘What’s that?’

‘Don’t know,’ White said.

One of the men saw it, and reaching down, pulled it out of the damp earth and handed it up to him.

‘Thank you, lad,’ Angel said.

It was a gold chain with a star-shaped pendant with a circle in the middle. The diamond was missing.

Angel’s eyes shone. He turned to White and said, ‘It’s the setting of the Mermaid Diamond!’

White realized the significance of the find.

‘You two chaps,’ he said, ‘Keep a lookout for a big diamond on your journey, will you?’

‘Yes, of course, sir.’

The two men began their journey. Initially, the tunnel was a gradual descent at around sixty degrees. After about twelve feet the tunnel levelled out and there was room to turn and crawl on hands and knees for twenty yards or so, then a gradual ascent of about six feet. The men could hear the burglar alarm that was still ringing as they approached the hole in the three-foot-thick wall of the bank’s vault. The leader shone his torch inside the vault. All he could see were metal cupboards, one with its door open, and stashed with currency wrapped in cellophane packets. And there were piles of deed boxes of various shapes and sizes, maybe a hundred in all. There was no sign of anybody in there, or in the tunnel, so the men turned round and returned to the surface. The journey there and back took only a matter of five or six minutes.

Angel and White were waiting to greet them.

‘Nobody down there, sir, and no sign of the diamond,’ the leader said.

A disappointed Angel thanked them.

They put the cover back over the gas inspection chamber, and Angel left two PCs to guard it.

Everybody except the two PCs then returned to Bromersley nick.

The prisoners were now safely in cells and Crisp and Flora were preparing to take their fingerprints.

Angel turned to White and said, ‘Well, thank you very much,
Waldo. Three more guns off the streets. And two deadly-looking knives. That was a neat job, well done, don’t you think?’

White smiled. ‘Glad to be of service, Michael.’ He turned to go, but he came back. ‘Sorry you didn’t find that … diamond?’

‘The Mermaid Diamond?’ The corners of Angel’s mouth turned downwards. ‘We haven’t properly searched the prisoners.’ Then he added sternly, ‘I will have them X-rayed if necessary.’

White smiled. ‘Good luck with that, Michael.’

‘Thanks again, Waldo. I’m glad that nobody was hurt in this exercise.’

‘So am I. Goodnight, Michael.’

White bustled down the corridor to round up his men in the police car park to mount their two trucks and head back to Wakefield.

Meanwhile Angel’s team strip-searched the prisoners and found that they had many thousands of pounds’ worth of notes stuffed in their pockets and tucked under their clothing, but the diamond was not found. They were fingerprinted and asked their names, addresses and for an explanation for their presence in a van at that time of night and other preliminary questions, but each one simply said, ‘No comment’ to each question.

A low loader returned to the station having picked up the Ford van wrapped in plastic sheets and tied with rope for forensic examination later that morning; also a tow truck that had been sent to collect the damaged police car was delivered to the garage.