The Diamond Rosary Murders (16 page)

The Mondeo was by now only 3 miles behind the Mercedes so Angel knew he could be on to them very quickly if necessary.

The flashing light showed that the car was making its way at a measured pace to the far western perimeter of the town to an estate of council flats. It indicated that the car made a right turn into the estate along a road shown as Marion Road and then first right again into a cul-de-sac named Little John Road. It travelled up that road a little way then stopped.

Angel watched the flashing light carefully. ‘I think they might have reached their destination,’ he said.

He checked the time then watched the monitor closely for exactly two minutes, then said, ‘Yes. It looks like it. They’ve certainly given us a run around.’

‘How near do you want me to take us, sir?’

‘Well, we don’t want them to spot us, but we do need to pinpoint exactly where they are.’

Angel directed Crisp through Tunistone to the estate.

It comprised a large number of flats built in blocks of four, two above two, with outside separate stone steps leading to the ‘front’ doors of the upstairs flats. There were very few people in the streets around. Many people were at work or school. The dull cold weather was keeping any other residents inside in the warm.

‘This is Marion Road, Ted,’ Angel said. ‘It cuts straight
through the estate. Now drive along here fairly quickly, just as if we are just passing through and we know exactly where we are going. The Merc actually took the first on the right, which is Little John Road and stopped only a little way up. So have a peek up there.’

‘Right, sir,’ Crisp said. ‘Here we go.’

Crisp took the corner and turned into Marion Road.

As the Mondeo travelled across the end of Little John Road, the two men glanced up it.

‘There’re two of them, there, sir,’ Crisp said.

They saw the immaculate and tiny Memoré on the nearest side of the car and Marcia Graham’s unmistakable head of straw-coloured blonde hair and shapely figure on the far side. The two were energetically pulling a reluctant grey canvas tarpaulin over the roof of the Mercedes which was parked on the flagstone surround close to one of the staircases of an upstairs flat.

Angel saw them out of his eye corner. His jaw muscles tightened. ‘Right, lad,’ he said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Crisp put his foot gently down on the accelerator and they were soon out of sight.

‘Flat 2, Little John Road,’ Angel said. ‘That’s the address then.’

Crisp drove the Mondeo further along Marion Road into the heart of the estate, made a couple of turns then pulled up at the side of the road.

Meanwhile Angel was speaking to an old friend Detective Inspector Waldo White on his mobile. He was the officer in charge of the FSU, the Firearms Special Unit, in Wakefield. It was a special group of policemen and women on call 24/7 specially authorized to carry firearms and trained to deal with all
circumstances
where an armed person or persons were behaving in a dangerous manner.

Angel told White the situation in brief and they arranged to
rendezvous at the top of Marion Road, Tunistone, in about forty minutes. Angel was about to tap in another number when the mobile vibrated and rang out as he was holding it.

It was Flora Carter. His eyebrows shot up. He quickly pressed the button.

‘Yes, Flora,’ he said. ‘What you got?’

‘It’s not good, sir. Found the body of a man hidden behind a stone wall … just off the road. It’s Charles Domino.’

‘Charles Domino?’ he said. His face tightened, he shook his head, then blew out a lungful of air. ‘Stabbed in the heart, I expect?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Flora said.

‘Any signs of a struggle?’ he said, rubbing his chin.

‘No, sir,’ she said.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive. Ted and I have had a good look round and we can find absolutely nothing. There’s really nothing here. Only trees and bushes and grass.’

‘Any tyre marks or footprints?’

‘No, sir. We have not seen a single footprint, a weapon nor anything else that could be a clue.’

‘What about the ground? Now, this is important, Flora,’ he said heavily. ‘This is
really
important. Is the ground round there hard or soft?’

‘Pretty soft, sir. There were heavy showers here throughout last night.’

‘Any puddles?’

‘No. No puddles.’

Angel breathed out noisily. He lowered his eyebrows as he mulled over the information. He reached a conclusion.

Flora said, ‘Are you still there, sir?’

‘Well, I want you here in Tunistone urgently, Flora, so get yourself to the top of Marion Road ASAP. It’s just off the ring road to
Manchester. Look out for my silver Ford Mondeo. Now let me speak to Ted Scrivens.’

The young man came on the line. ‘Scrivens, sir.’

‘Now listen up, lad. I’ve got my hands full here, so I want you to ring Don Taylor in the SOCO office, and Dr Mac at the mortuary, report that you have a body. Tell them that you’ve spoken to me and that I’ve instructed you to ask them to do the necessary. Then ring the super and tell him about the body, and what’s happening. Then I want you to stay there and be “continuation officer” because I need Sergeant Carter with me here. All right?’

Scriven’s voice brightened. He liked the unexpected
responsibility.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said.

Angel ended the call, and tapped in a number.

Crisp said, ‘Charles Domino dead, sir?’

‘Yes, lad,’ he said rubbing his chin.

‘That would be the Chameleon again?’

‘I am very much afraid that it was, lad. Aye.’

‘Do you think, sir, that they met him there by arrangement, and that he stabbed Domino as he was handing the Rosary over?’

‘No. It’s becoming a bit clearer now that he has gone.’

Crisp frowned. It wasn’t clear to him.

A familiar voice answered Angel’s mobile. ‘Control Room, Bromersley Police. Duty Sergeant Clifton.’

‘DI Angel, Bernie. I’m on a surveillance job out at the top of Marion Road, Tunistone. A man and a woman. The man is known to be armed with a handgun. Now, I need a damned good negotiator to talk them out. Who have we got?’

‘There’s nobody at present on attachment, sir. Barney the Brains left, if you remember. There’ll be somebody on the West Yorkshire force, I expect. I’ll contact them if you like and let you know.’

Angel wrinkled his nose and groaned. ‘There’s isn’t time for that rigmarole. If these villains start on the move, we’ll not be
able to stop them, and we might lose them. There’s only Trevor Crisp and me here at the moment.’

Sergeant Clifton hesitated, then said, ‘Well, what do you want me to do, sir?’

‘Leave it with me, Bernie. There’s something else. I very urgently need a pair of walkie-talkies complete with fresh batteries from the stores. Send them by a plain-clothes man, in an unmarked car with a squib up his backside, will you?’

Clifton smiled, ‘Right, sir.’

Angel closed the phone.

Crisp said, ‘Who is going to be the negotiator, sir?’

‘Dunno,’ he growled. ‘Huh. Would you believe it? We still haven’t got an experienced negotiator at Bromersley.’

‘But you’ve done the course, sir, haven’t you?’

‘Yeah’ he said. The corners of his mouth turned downwards. He shook his head. ‘Trouble is, it assumed all villains are out of the same pot and they aren’t.’

He dropped the mobile in his pocket and turned back to Crisp. ‘It’s time we had a look at ‘em. See if they’re settled in. Get out and amble down the road. See if everything is quiet, and keep going. I’ll drive round to the other side of the estate and pick you up.’

Crisp got out of the Mondeo, leaned over to the back seat for his overcoat, put it on and set off.

Angel looked around. It was cold and cloudy, and the streets were very quiet. The occasional car or delivery van passed by but that was all. They had seen an elderly man walking a dog and a woman lugging her shopping home.

Angel got into the driving seat, set off up the hill, drove round the outside of the estate and two minutes later, turned the Mondeo into the bottom of Marion Road, where he saw Crisp in a black overcoat walking on the pavement towards him. When he reached him he stopped.

Crisp opened the car door. ‘They’re on the move, sir,’ he said as he got in.

‘
What
?’ Angel roared. That was the last thing he wanted to hear. His pulse began to thump. He could feel the beat on his
eardrums
. He shoved the gear stick into first and let in the clutch.

‘T
hey’re up to something, sir,’ Crisp said. ‘I caught sight of Joseph Memoré humping a big suitcase and a carrier bag down the outside steps. The tarpaulin had been partly removed from the car so that they could load the boot and the back of the car. It still covers the number plate and the bonnet.’

Angel pulled a face; it was a very worrying time. He drove the BMW resolutely up Marion Road. He was deep in thought. He believed Memoré had a small handgun, probably a Beretta, which was just as dangerous at close quarters as the Glock G17, the standard police-issue weapon, was at 30 yards. He also knew that if he allowed Memoré and Marcia Moore to escape from that flat, he might never be able to catch them again, and the beautiful historic Mary 1 gold, diamond and ruby Rosary might disappear forever. He checked his watch. It was almost noon. He reckoned that Waldo White and his unit from the FSU would still be about 15 minutes away, so he only had to stall the villains that length of time. Flora Carter would take longer, as would the man bringing the walkie-talkies from Bromersley.

The situation required bold action.

He drove the Mondeo up Marion Road, turned it through 180 degrees at the top and then drove it down again. He decided to risk taking a longer, more thorough look at the exterior of the villains’ flat. He drove down Marion Road and turned into Little John Road. He saw that the Mercedes had been partially uncovered,
as Crisp had said, but there were no signs of Memoré or Moore. He drove on for a further 25 yards only, then stopped at the side of the road and pulled on the handbrake.

‘What are you going to do, sir?’ Crisp said.

‘We’ve got to keep them there until the FSU arrive, which means that we have to set up communications with them
now
.’

Crisp shook his head. ‘The walkie-talkies won’t be here for another half hour or so.’

‘They could be even longer,’ Angel said and rubbed the lobe of his ear between finger and thumb. Then he suddenly said. ‘Give me your mobile.’

Crisp stared at him. ‘What for?’

‘Give me your mobile, lad. Come on. Don’t waste time.’

‘But, sir,’ he said.

Angel glared at him and nodded his head meaningfully.

Crisp pulled a face, dug into his pocket and slowly passed it over.

Angel snatched it from him, held it up and said, ‘Now listen, lad, I’m going to get out and look in the boot to find something to wrap round this phone. Then I’m going to deliver it to Flat 2, Little John Road, and I want you to—’

Crisp’s jaw dropped. His eyes opened wide. ‘You can’t do
that,
sir. He’s armed. He knows who you are. If you go anywhere near there, he’ll kill you.’

Angel shook his head impatiently. ‘No he won’t. He won’t get chance. Now, listen. I want you to wait one minute exactly and then turn round and drive to the end of the street and pick me up, all right?’

Crisp shook his head as Angel spoke. He didn’t want to do it.

Angel got out of the Mondeo, went round to the boot, from a packet took out a couple of self-seal polythene bags with the word EVIDENCE printed in big letters in red across them, wrapped them round the mobile, pushed the bundle inside
another bag, and sealed it. Then he walked quickly back along Marion Road, turned left up Little John Road, across the asphalt area, ran up the steps of Flat 2 to the front door. He pushed the package through the letterbox, turned quickly round, and returned to the corner of the street where he had arranged to be collected and was relieved to see Crisp arrive in the Mondeo right on time.

Angel got in the car.

Crisp let in the clutch and drove away. ‘Everything all right, sir?’

‘You were a bit late.’

‘You said a minute, sir.’

‘Take us up to the top of the street and park up there
somewhere
,’ he said as he took out his own mobile and tapped in the number of the other one.

He rubbed his chin as he heard it ring out. He must talk to Memoré and try to keep him and Marcia Moore contained
otherwise
the situation could end in a shoot-out and a possible
bloodbath
. There were the neighbours in the same block, people in the other flats close at hand and passers by who could be caught in crossfire, and they had to be taken into consideration and protected.

Suddenly the distinctive voice of Joseph Memoré said, ‘’Allo.’ Allo. What is this? Who is there?’

Angel put on his most robust voice. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Memoré. This is Detective Inspector Angel, Bromersley Police.’

Angel heard him gasp.

There was a pause and then Memoré said, ‘Oh. What’s dis? What’s dis, “Good afternoon”? What you vant, Angel?’

‘I want to tell you that you are surrounded by armed police officers and I want you to throw your weapons out of the window.’

‘Nossing doing. I don’t believe you. If you want me, come in and get me.’

‘We don’t want to do that, Mr Memoré. It may result in injury to you and to Miss Moore. Also, neighbours and passers-by may be caught in any crossfire. It would be much safer if you were to surrender peacefully. It would also go in your favour when you go to court.’

‘Huh. I am not going to any court. Hold on a minute.’

‘I’ll hold,’ Angel said.

Memoré had his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, which he removed very briefly from time to time and Angel could hear both Memoré’s and Marcia Moore’s whispered voices, but he couldn’t make out what either of them was saying.

Crisp said, ‘What’s happening?’

Angel mimed to him not to speak.

After a minute or two, Memoré came back and said, ‘Are you there, Angel? I am not going to any court. I am going to get out of here. Anybody who approaches the flat vill be shot. I am armed. There is plenty of food. I can hold out for days. Marcia Moore is my prisoner. I want a helicopter, a pilot and a full tank of fuel. I want that by four o’clock or she vill be shot. Have you got that?’

All Angel’s facial muscles tightened. He had wanted to avoid confrontation. An ultimatum was the last thing he needed.

‘That would take a bit of organizing, Mr Memoré,’ he said.

‘Right, you’d better get on vis it, then,’ he said.

Angel needed time to think out his next move. He had managed to achieve a delay of a few minutes, which was good. But he hadn’t taken into account that Memoré could be so evil.

‘I’ll phone you back in a few minutes, Mr Memoré.’

‘Orl right,’ Memoré said. ‘Don’t be too long,’ he added and the line went dead.

Angel shook his head and looked down at his feet.

‘What’s happening, sir?’ Crisp said.

‘He wants a helicopter, a pilot and plenty of fuel or else he’ll kill Marcia Moore.’

‘Oh my God,’ Crisp said. ‘Where on earth are you going to get a helicopter with a pilot willing to take him?’

‘I’m not. He’s not going anywhere, and certainly not in a helicopter.’

‘Did he believe you when you said you had the place surrounded?’

‘He was stunned that we knew they were there at all. He’ll believe it for a while, anyhow. He wouldn’t think that I would have announced our presence if there were just the two of us and neither of us was armed. The FSU lads should be here in a few minutes.’

‘Well, what are you going to do, sir?’

‘I’m thinking about it.’

Angel picked up the mobile and tapped in the number. It was soon answered. ‘I’ve got my sergeant searching around for a helicopter and pilot for you—’

‘It had better not take long.’

‘He’s doing his best, Mr Memoré. He’s only just started. He’s in touch with the RAF at Leconfield, who have several Sea King helicopters. However, he’ll probably have difficulty getting authorization for the flight.’

Memoré came back fuming. ‘I
have
to have a helicopter. You have to get on with it. Time is running short. There are nearer ones than those. There are the AA and the weather people. They have helicopters. I don’t care where you get it from.’

‘I’ll push my sergeant along those lines if we can’t get authorization from Leconfield, and I’ll ring you back again in a minute or two.’

‘Orl right,’ Memoré said and the phone went dead.

Angel looked at Crisp and said, ‘Where the hell are those FSU men? See if you can see them anywhere, Trevor. I can’t keep these two bottled up forever.’

Crisp got out of the car. He was met by a cold breeze. He walked along the top road and stood around, hands in pockets,
collar up. There was no sign of the FSU Range Rovers. However, an unmarked car with a number plate he did recognize drove into view. It was Flora Carter. She flashed her lights, he acknowledged her with a wave and she stopped by him.

‘The Inspector will be pleased to see you,’ he said.

‘Everything all right?’

His face showed that it wasn’t.

‘What’s happened?’

He quickly told her the situation and explained why he was standing there.

‘What’s the boss going to do?’ she said.

‘Don’t know. He’s just playing for time.’

‘Better check in.’

Crisp pointed to the turning off to Marion Road. ‘He’s just round the corner … parked up in a Mondeo.’

She drove off and parked behind the Ford.

Angel was thinking about his next move. He saw Flora arrive through the rear mirror. He was pleased about that. She showed her face at his window and he signalled for her to get in the front seat.

‘You left Ted Scrivens all right, Flora?’

She nodded. ‘He’ll manage until Don Taylor arrives,’ she said, settling in the seat. ‘I was thinking, sir. Maybe Domino and Memoré set up a meeting with the Chameleon there to exchange the Rosary for a bundle of money, but the Chameleon got the better of them, killed Domino to make his escape and took the Rosary.’

‘You’re half-right, Flora.’

‘But who is the Chameleon?’

‘Did you see Trevor Crisp on the top road?’

‘Yes, sir. He brought me up to date. You’re having quite a day. He said that you’re managing to hold the two villains at bay.’

Angel sighed. ‘Aye. So far so good. But they won’t stay in there
forever. They’ve at least one handgun, and, until the FSU arrive, we’ve nothing but bluff.’

The mobile rang. Angel answered it. It was Memoré.

‘Where’s dat frigging helicopter?’

Angel pulled a face. He had to think quickly. ‘We are still waiting for authorization for the flight. I have spoken to the Wing Commander up there, he says he can’t authorize the flight because it is not for the transport of a sick or injured person over an agreed route.’

Angel could hear Memoré breathing heavily. ‘I don’t give a frigging damn for your Ving Commander,’ he bawled. ‘There’ll be plenty of sick, injured and dead persons round here starting with this Marcia Moore, if I don’t see a helicopter here by four o’clock. There are plenty of osser people with helicopers. I warn you if a helicopter is not here by four o’clock, I will keel her.’

Angel glanced at his watch. It was four minutes to four. He licked his bottom lip. ‘My sergeant is working hard at it, Mr Memoré. But please be patient. However, I don’t think it will be possible to have it here for four.’

‘You had better. Her death vill be on your conscience.’

‘No it won’t. And you have to be reasonable. You realize that another murder by you will make your sentence even longer.’

‘You’ll never catch me, Angel. You have four minutes to get me that helicopter.’

The line went dead.

Angel ran his hand through his hair. He began to breathe more rapidly. He closed the phone. He saw Flora looking at him. She looked anxious.

‘He’s all bullets and brilliantine,’ he said, trying to be
optimistic
.

But she was not fooled. ‘What’s he say?’

‘He’s still threatening to shoot Marcia Moore if a helicopter isn’t here by four o’clock.’

Flora’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. ‘Oh, sir,’ she said and shook her head.

‘I can’t see what more I can do,’ Angel said.

The mobile phone rang out again.

‘Angel,’ Memoré said. ‘It’s two minutes to four. Where is the helicopter that is going to take me away from all dis?’

‘We have managed to get in touch with a privately owned chopper. But he wants £500 cash up front before he’ll even turn out. We’re trying to get someone to finance us temporarily, but it is taking a lot of setting up. The banks want security.’

‘But it vill not be here at four, will it?’ Memoré said obstinately.

‘It will be here just as soon as we can get the five hundred and then get the money to him,’ Angel said.

Memoré didn’t speak. The phone suddenly went dead.

Angel bit his lip. ‘He’s going to shoot her. He’s going to carry out his threat. What can I do?’

He looked at his watch. The second hand was climbing up to 12. He leaped out of the car and looked in the direction of Flat 2, Little John Road.

There was a gunshot. It echoed round the houses.

‘Oh, God,’ Flora said.

Angel began to run towards the flat. He called back, ‘You stay there.’

‘Be careful, sir,’ Flora called.

As Angel reached the drive of that block of flats, he saw Marcia Moore running frantically down the steps, screaming and crying, with her hands in the air. She was wearing that black lace dress, but no coat. He stopped and watched her. She didn’t see him at first and apparently intended running blindly ahead.

Then she saw Angel, turned and rushed up to him, ‘He tried to shoot me,’ she cried. Then she put her arms round him, one over his shoulder, the other under his arm. Her whole body was shaking.

Angel stood there like a hat-stand. He untangled an arm and managed to reach into his pocket.

‘I got my chance,’ she said. ‘I had to save myself. It was him or me. It was awful, dreadful. I think he is dead.’

‘Where’s the gun?’ he said as he pulled something out of his pocket.

‘I dunno. I dunno. It must be up there somewhere.’

Angel managed to click the catch of one cuff on Marcia Moore’s wrist and then reached out for the other. When she
realized
what he was doing, she pulled away.

‘What’s this?’ she said brusquely.