The Wigmaker (14 page)

‘Any colour,’ Angel growled.

He broke the connection and then tapped in another number. It was soon answered.

‘Leeds Police. SA team. DS Maroney speaking.’

It was ten minutes to six when Angel arrived home. He walked into the kitchen, went to the fridge, took out a bottle of German beer, picked up a glass off the draining board and walked into the hall. There was no sign of Mary. From the warm, heavy atmosphere in the kitchen he had noticed the oven was on and that two pans were bubbling on the gas ring, making steam, so she wouldn’t be far away.

In the hall he saw the monstrous, shabby three legged ‘Chippendale’ table still supported by the pile of ill assorted books. He shook his head and wrinkled up his face. He turned away from it and called out, ‘Is anybody there?’

Mary came out of the pantry. Without looking at him, she said, ‘You’re late.’

He stepped back into the kitchen and sniffed.

‘Is it ready, then?’

‘No.’

‘Well, I’m not late then, am I?’

‘Tea in this house is five-thirty.’

‘Tea in this house is when we want it,’ he said bluntly and turned into the sitting room.

He put down the beer and the bottle, took off his jacket, loosened his tie and sat down.

A few minutes later Mary came into the room. ‘You might as well know that I’ve been all over Bromersley and there isn’t a single joiner or carpenter, whatever the difference is, that will make me a matching leg for that table.’

Angel thought it sounded as if she wanted peace. The comment was still about that damned table, but she was being reasonable and rational. It was nearing an admission that buying that rickety wooden pile had not been a good idea. He must think quickly about what to reply. It had been a bumpy weekend. He would welcome a truce. He poured the beer slowly.

‘What do you propose to do then?’ he said eventually.

‘Well, I haven’t given up hope yet. I wondered if you knew anywhere?’

He knew she was thorough. If she couldn’t find anywhere, there wasn’t anywhere. He sipped the beer.

‘No, love. I don’t know anybody. And what do they say?’

‘Most have said they haven’t time. But I think that they can’t be bothered. Too small a job for them.’

‘Of course, there is a bit of skill required. I noticed the leg tapers most of the way down until near the bottom when it swells out. It would take quite a bit of time and skill to copy it. And it would be a one off. Did you try Smith’s?’

‘First place I went to.’

There must be somebody who could and would be willing to make a fourth leg for that table. He screwed up his face. ‘Try wider afield. Try Sheffield.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ she said, her face brightening. ‘First thing tomorrow. There must be
somebody
.’

He looked down into the beer. His suggestion to try Sheffield was not such a brilliant idea. She’d be having him troop over there, messing about with unknown tradesmen of doubtful parentage who would be into the business of charging fantasy prices. There was still £106 of that legacy not yet spent. It would be good if he could avoid that being frittered away. It would do very nicely against the gas bill.

‘Would you like to lay the table?’ she called from the kitchen. ‘It will only be a couple of minutes.’

‘Right, love.’

They had the meal, watched some unfunny repeats of unfunny comedy shows followed by the news featuring death, disaster, famine and cruelty on television until half past ten. Then Angel yawned.

‘At midnight I have to go out on a job with Ron Gawber.’

Mary’s face dropped. She wasn’t pleased. ‘Working nights now?’

‘No. Just having a bit of trouble getting some evidence. I expect to get positive proof tonight.’

‘How long will you be?’

‘Around a couple of hours, I expect.’

‘Not dangerous, is it?’ she said. ‘I don’t know why I ask. You always say no.’

He smiled. ‘No.’

She smiled.

Peace seemed at last to be restored in the Angel household.

T
he church clock chimed a quarter past midnight.

The streets of Bromersley were still, dry and quiet. The pubs were shut, the drunks and the good were in bed. Only policemen, nurses, doctors, shift workers, ambulance drivers, murderers and thieves were roaming the streets.

Angel stopped the BMW outside 12 Royston Avenue, Bromersley. The door of the house promptly opened and out slipped Ron Gawber. He crossed the deserted flagstone pavement and got into the car.

The two men were on a mission. And it wasn’t legal. There was a certain sort of excitement in the air. The two men sensed it in each other.

Angel’s forehead was moist and he could hear his pulse beat in his ears, while Gawber was grinning nervously, like a newly appointed cabinet minister out on the pull.

‘You don’t have to do this, you know, Ron. If anything goes wrong, we could both finish up out on our ear.’

‘Long time since I went out at night, sir. This has got to be better than telly. Also, be good to get that chap behind bars. Too smart. Too complacent by far. You’ve got more to lose. I’m only going to be trespassing and causing a nuisance. You are the one committing the actual breaking and entering.’

‘Only entering, Ron. I hope not to be breaking in as well.’

He drove under the yellow halogen lights past rows of small, quiet, dark, respectable houses, up to the Rotherham Road traffic lights, turned left and along to Jubilee Park, which was off Creesforth Road. He drove on to the big free car park there, and parked up. He was pleased to see two others cars parked there in the night; his car wouldn’t be so conspicuous.

He turned to Gawber, licked his lips and said: ‘Let’s go through it again, Ron. Make absolutely sure we know what we’re about.’

‘Right, sir. Well, we have a hundred thunderflashes. We string them together to ignite in quick succession in sticks of twenty, then position two sticks near the fountain base, right under his bedroom window on the car park, twenty more in the bushes, twenty more in the gazebo and twenty near the main gate.’

‘That’s it.’

Gawber nodded. ‘Right. And I move from point to point and ignite them on a short fuse of a minute or so.’

‘Aye. The zigzag sequence of the locations means that you will not only be ahead of them and catch them by surprise, but you will also always be able to move to the next location in the dark and so not be seen.’

‘I’m glad of that, sir.’

‘You must
not
be seen. He may very well have a gun.’

Gawber’s eyebrows shot up.

‘After you have ignited the last stick at the main gate,’ Angel continued, ‘you return here to the car and wait for me.’

‘Right, sir.’

‘And in each case, don’t hang about waiting for the thunderflashes to ignite. Light the timing fuse and get to the next position in the dark. After the last position at the gate, light the fuse and run like hell.’

Gawber grinned. ‘Like Hendon, sir?’

‘Damned sight more serious,’ Angel replied. ‘And dangerous,’ he added. ‘Got your stopwatch, torch, shower caps, gloves and box of matches?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘When you get back here, switch on your mobile in case I want to phone you. And I’ll give you my car remote so that you can get in the car. All right? Come on. Let’s go.’

‘Hang on a minute, sir. What shall I do if you don’t get back?’

Angel smiled. ‘I’ll be back, Ron,’ he said confidently. ‘I shouldn’t be more than ten minutes behind you. And let’s hope that this time, we nail the bastard.’

It was 2.17 a.m. Zero hour.

Angel scampered across the edge of the gravel car park and hid around the corner of the house. This was a very delicate manoeuvre. He knew if he was caught, he could be arrested, charged and thrown out of the force. It didn’t bear thinking about. He stood with his back pressed against the wall. His chest quivered like ten thousand bees doing whatever bees do.

Gawber ignited the fuse of the first stick of thunderflashes.

Seconds later, the peace and quiet of the car park under Frank Chancey’s bedroom window became as noisy and as bright as the launch of a rocket to Mars.

His bedroom light went on. A few seconds after that Frank Chancey’s face appeared at the window. By then the thunder-flashes had burned out. In the darkness, he could see nothing. Three minutes after that, Lyle’s head peered out. He must have heard the racket and gone to his boss’s room.

Both puzzled faces withdrew.

Angel, in the darkness took two shower caps out of a pocket and put one over each foot, then tore open an envelope and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves.

From the concealment of the bushes Gawber, also wearing shower caps and rubber gloves, crept up to at the edge of the car park and ignited the two-minute fuse to the second stick of thunderflashes then moved swiftly to the clump of bushes at the other side of the drive further away from the house.

Chancey and Lyle returned to the bedroom window and caught the full sight and blast of twenty thunderflashes firing in quick succession on the car park below. Three or four minutes after that the main door of the house banged open and both men appeared in night attire. Chancey was waving a shotgun, and Lyle was brandishing a powerful flashlight. They searched the car park area then began searching the nearby bushes.

While they were busy searching Angel came round from the shadow of the corner of the house, sprinted across the front of it, through the open door, into the hall and up the stairs. He rushed along the landing to Chancey’s bedroom. Then, much to his surprise, outside the bedroom door, he saw exactly what he had come for: Chancey’s shoes. They would be the ones that he would have worn that day, no doubt placed there for the versatile Lyle to clean. Without delay, Angel snatched them up, rushed into the bathroom, found the light switch, pulled it and crossed to the washbasin. He heard the last stick of thunderflashes explode and reckoned he must be a little behind schedule. He took a small glass bottle of the powerful acid and two small pieces of plastic sponge out of his pocket and put them on the edge of the sink. He rubbed one of the sponges on the soap in the soap dish and roughly washed the shoe soles, then rinsed them under the tap. He then poured the concentrated acid on to the other small piece of sponge, wiped each shoe sole and held the shoes together up to the light, looking for a reaction. He expected a bubbling or a colour to show. He waited. There was nothing! Nothing on either shoe sole. His jaw muscles tightened. His stomach turned over. The bees returned. He quickly made the test again. And stared at the shoes. Still no reaction. This was a disaster. There was nothing more to do. He licked his lips. He heard the last stick of thunderflashes go up. He must pack up and get out of there. He rinsed the shoe soles under the cold tap, grabbed a nearby towel and wiped them dry. Then he dropped the sponges in the loo and flushed them away, stuffed the bottle back in his pocket, straightened the towel, picked up the shoes and made for the door. He turned, had a quick look round to check that he had left everything in order, pulled the light switch, ran along the landing to Chancey’s bedroom, where he deposited the shoes by the door, just as had found them. Then he flew down the stairs, along the hallway to the main entrance, along the front of the house and round the corner. He stood there, his back to the wall, breathing heavily, just in time to hear the sound of two men stomping over the gravel car park.

‘We ought to phone the police, sir,’ he heard Lyle say.

‘No. Only kids having a lark. I reckon we’ve chased them off. They won’t come back.’

‘Oh no, sir. Those firecrackers must cost a few bob. And there was a lot of ’em. It was too well organized, first here and then there. Had us racing around like March hares.’

‘What could the police do?’

‘Well, what did the skylarkers want?’

‘I don’t know, Jimmy.’

‘Can I get you a drink, sir. Get you back to sleep?’

The door slammed. Silence.

Angel waited a few minutes to make certain that Chancey and Lyle had settled down for the rest of the night. Then he made his way uneventfully back to his car; it took him about ten minutes. He opened the door, slumped into the seat, closed the door and turned to a smiling Gawber.

‘Did you get it, sir?’

Angel sighed. ‘No. Negative. I must have got hold of the wrong shoes.’

Gawber’s head came up. ‘Either that or you got the right shoes, sir, and Chancey didn’t murder Peter Wolff.’

‘It’s more than a week since Wolff died; he’s had plenty of time to dispose of them. He’s not a fool. If he didn’t murder Peter Wolff, I haven’t the faintest idea who did. I’m fed up with this case, Ron. There are no clues, no evidence, no witnesses and no motive.’

‘It’ll have to go in that big, fat file of unsolved murders, sir.’

Angel’s jaw muscles tightened. ‘Not while it’s on my list, it won’t.’

Gawber smiled. He knew Angel refused to be beaten. He had a hundred per cent success rate at solving murders. The hierarchy at Bromersley were quietly quite proud of his record and all murder cases or suspected murder cases were always directed to him.

‘I will now have to find another line of inquiry,’ he grunted.

‘And another suspect,’ Gawber said.

Angel yawned. ‘My bed’s calling me,’ he said and he reached out to the ignition switch.

It was expected that if you were on DI Angel’s team, and had spent half a night on duty, that you would still check in by 8.28 a.m. the following morning as usual. There was a slight buffering consolation: those ranks below inspector were paid overtime. Those who were inspector or higher simply received the glory. However there wasn’t a lot of it about in Bromersley nick that morning. The only reward on offer to Angel was a decent cup of tea.

‘Ta, lad,’ he said, as Ahmed placed the saucer on the improvised table mat. It was a CD with the words ‘How to get broadband with BT’ printed on the reverse side.

Angel picked up the phone and tapped in a number. As the phone rang out he turned to Ahmed and said, ‘Nip up to the SOCO office and ask Don Taylor if he’s got Katrina Chancey’s SIM card sorted. It’s time I was hearing from him.’

‘Right, sir,’ Ahmed said. He went out and closed the door.

There was a click in the telephone earpiece and a deep warm woman’s voice said, ‘Hello, Zoë Grainger. Who is that?’

‘Inspector Angel here, Zoë. Good morning. I’m sorry I haven’t any news of your husband just yet. Just wanted to ask you a couple of questions.’

She sighed. ‘Oh, really, Inspector. He has never been away so long. I really do suspect the worst. I honestly think he’s dead. There’s no other explanation. Whatever am I going to do?’

‘I am really sorry, Zoë.’

‘I can’t believe he would stay with another woman as long as this. Once he’s made love to her, and dominated her, he immediately loses interest. I’ve seen it a thousand times. Oh, Inspector what am I going to do? I can’t go on like this. Waiting. Just waiting. I’ve no money, and the gas bill’s arrived this morning. I can’t go on like this. I’ll have to go back to work.’

He knew all about bills, especially gas bills. It was the old Micawber principle. Money was no problem to those who had enough, but it was an absolute disaster to those who hadn’t. He scratched his head. How on earth was he going to direct her attention to his questions? ‘Go down to Social Security. Tell them your trouble. I am sure they will help.’

‘I am always down there. They don’t believe me any more. But I will have to go there. They’ll only tell me I should be working. It’s such an embarrassment. I tell you, Inspector, this time, when he comes back … if he comes back, I swear, I’ll kill him.’

Angel thought, a confession before a crime … that’s unusual. He couldn’t find the right words. ‘I’m very sorry, Zoë.’

‘I shouldn’t be bothering you with this, Inspector. I’m sorry. You … you phoned up just as I was about to explode. I feel better. I’ve got it out of my system. Now what is it? You wanted to ask me something?’

‘Yes. It was about his credit cards and …’

‘Huh! You must be joking. He doesn’t have credit cards. He used to have a whole lot of them in folding plastic cellophane fronted wallets, which he used to enjoy unfastening and watching them unroll down to the floor. He had enough cards for Dodworth Colliery Band to play a full game of gin rummy. Huh! They won’t let him have credit cards again, Inspector. Nobody gives Gabriel credit if they ever want to see their money again.’

‘I suppose he doesn’t have a bank account?’

‘His name is mud at every bank in Bromersley.’

‘He doesn’t have any savings in a post office, building society or anywhere?’

‘Hell, no.’

‘Mobile phone?’

‘When the initial money ran out, he didn’t have any cash to put any more time on the thing, so he chucked it in the canal.’

‘So there’s nothing we can look at that might tell us where he is or what he might have done since the night he got on that train at Bromersley station nearly four weeks ago?’

‘I’ve told you, Inspector, he’s dead!’

He suddenly heard her crying. She let out a big wail.

He sighed and bit his lip. He struggled to think of something comforting to say. His chest swelled, became unpleasantly hot and prickly.

‘Don’t go on like that, Zoë,’ he said eventually.

‘The most beautiful man … in the world and he’s dead … because I just couldn’t hold on to him.’ There was more sniffling.

‘There, there,’ Angel said.

There was a moment’s silence then she suddenly said firmly, ‘I’ve finished, Inspector. Not another tear. That’s it. I’m sorry to have embarrassed you. You are very kind. Don’t worry about me. I am going to get a job. I am going straight out to the employment office, and I’ll get a
Chronicle
. I’ll get something. I enjoyed it when I was working, before. I don’t see why I shouldn’t enjoy it again. I may be a bit rusty and I know they … nobody would give me a sub. But … but … that bloody gas bill will have to wait a week or two. That’s all.’

He felt exactly the same about his gas bill.