Angel and the Actress (14 page)

He smiled.

T
HERE WAS A
knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ Angel said.

It was Ahmed. ‘You wanted me, sir?’

‘Yes, lad. Just checking. Yesterday I gave you an important letter for urgent delivery.’

Ahmed frowned. ‘Yes, sir. It was addressed to Professor Lott at Wetherby.’

‘That’s the one. What did you do with it?’

‘I gave it to Mrs Meredew, the telephone receptionist, sir. And I told her it was urgent and that you wanted it sending by courier.’

Angel smiled. ‘Did anybody else see it before you gave it to her?’

Thoroughly mystified, Ahmed said, ‘It was sealed, sir.’

‘I know that.
I
sealed it. I just want to be quite clear about it. You didn’t open it or show it to anyone else?’

Ahmed opened his eyes in astonishment. ‘Of course not, sir,’ he said.

‘I was sure you hadn’t,’ Angel said with a benevolent smile. Then he explained the trap that he had set to catch
Mrs Meredew, and told him to keep the matter to himself.

‘Right, sir,’ Ahmed said, and he left Angel’s office. He grinned at the deception and was delighted to be let in on the ruse. He didn’t like Mrs Meredew anyway. She was always offhand with him. He thought that maybe she didn’t like black people. He was still smiling when he reached his desk in the CID office.

Ten minutes later, Flora Carter arrived at Angel’s office.

‘The number that Jones the caterer gave me has never been an allocated phone number, sir,’ she said. ‘And the address he gave me is also false. There isn’t a number 82 Eastgate. The numbers stop at 56.’

Angel’s face creased. ‘Right, Flora. Get me Jane Bell’s telephone number. And the butler, Alexander Trott’s.’

Two minutes later, he was speaking to Jane Bell.

‘It’s nothing to worry about, Jane. I have need to speak to Miss Minter’s caterers, the Joneses. We are having a bit of difficulty contacting them. Do you have their latest telephone number and address?’

‘I don’t, Inspector, I’m very sorry. I didn’t have anything at all to do with the catering arrangements for her party. She wanted to do as much of it as she could herself, you know.’

‘Well, what do you know about the Jones couple, Jane?’

‘Nothing really, Inspector. I showed them round when they came to see Miss Minter, that’s all,’ she said.

He frowned. ‘Showed them round?’ he said.

‘They came by arrangement with Mr Trott, on Saturday, the day before the party. They wanted to see
the kitchen facilities, the proximity of the drawing room to the kitchen, the positioning of the electric sockets and the switches. Things like that. They depend a lot on electric sockets for their pans and hotplates.’

‘Of course. Why did Miss Minter choose the Joneses to cater for her special party?’

‘I don’t know. Mr Trott had probably heard of them. They may have been recommended to her by a friend. Or it may have been one of those decisions Miss Minter had made herself. I’m sorry, I can’t help you with that one.’

‘Were they at any time left in the big drawing room by themselves?’

Jane Bell hesitated. ‘Yes. They were. I was busy with the delivery of wines and spirits from Heneberry’s at the time. I had to leave them for a while … might have been twenty minutes or so.’

‘Aaaah,’ Angel said knowingly. He smiled, but it was a grim smile.

‘But everything was all right,’ she said quickly. ‘I checked the rooms personally. Everything was left just as it should have been.’

‘I’m sure it was, Jane,’ Angel said, his eyes suddenly beginning to glaze over. ‘I’m sure it was … thank you.’

He replaced the phone and, keeping his hand on the instrument, he smiled, then sighed deeply.

Flora saw the transformation in him and said, ‘Do you want Mr Trott’s phone number, sir?’

He didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure whether he had heard her or not.

‘What did she say, sir?’ she said.

Angel slowly looked at Flora, then shook his head to
clear it and said, ‘I think we might have Joan Minter’s murderer.’

It was 6.30 p.m. that Friday evening.

The police station was so quiet you could have heard the sound of a tenner being slipped into a screw’s pocket.

Angel was still at his desk. He phoned The Feathers Hotel and booked a table for dinner for himself that evening for 7 p.m. He cleared the desk of the reports he had read, then he opened a drawer in the desk and took out the Glock 17 handgun and the fully loaded magazine he had withdrawn from the armoury that afternoon. He pushed the magazine into the gun and put it into his jacket pocket. He then went out of the station to his car at the rear of the station. He drove the BMW out of the station car park into town to The Feathers Hotel. He parked the car near the main door. He went into the bar and looked round. There were only six men in there. He clocked them. He didn’t know any of them. He went up to the bar, ordered a whisky and asked for the restaurant menu. He took them away with him to a seat near the door. He wanted to see out of the corner of his eye if anybody was paying him any attention. He didn’t think anyone was.

At 7 p.m. he went into the restaurant. He was the first there and had an unexceptional meal. At 7.50 p.m. he left The Feathers and went outside to his car. The sky was as black as an undertaker’s hat.

He arrived home around 8 p.m. He drove straight into the garage, pulled down the door, locked it and looked around. It was as quiet as it was dark. He put his hand in his pocket as he walked down the garden path. The phone
was ringing as he came through the door. It seemed to have an imperative sound to it. He switched on the light and quickly dashed over to it and snatched it up.

‘Hello?’ he said, but the line was dead.

It worried him. He didn’t like calls that resulted in silence like that. He put down the receiver and went round the room closing the curtains.

Then he had an idea. He slumped down in the chair and tapped in 1471. Up came a number he recognized. It started 013: the Edinburgh prefix. Then he remembered. His wife’s sister, Miriam, had had her operation that morning. He’d better ring back straight away and show some concern, although he was confident that she would be OK. She always was.

He picked up the phone and tapped in the number.

‘Hello, sweetheart. How are you?’ he said.

‘Fine. Fine,’ Mary said. ‘Oh, I’m so relieved. I’ve been ringing all evening. I couldn’t get you. Where have you been?’

‘Working,’ he said quickly. ‘But I’ve been thinking of you. Tell me, how is Miriam?’

‘She’s fine,’ she said. ‘I am so relieved. She came out of the anaesthetic quite quickly. The surgeon’s made a super job. He’s ever so pleased with her, and she is with him. She has a lot of stitches, but he said they’d hardly be visible in a few weeks’ time.’

Angel frowned. He wondered who would be looking at them anyway.

‘And he’s ever so nice,’ she said. ‘I’ve met him.’

‘At what those cosmetic wallahs charge, he should be oozing charm from every orifice,’ Angel said.

His comment rattled Mary. She didn’t like him making critical statements. ‘
Michael!
’ she snapped.

There was a brief silence.

‘How are
you
getting along?’ she said. ‘What have you had for tea, love?’

‘It was very nice, thank you,’ he said quickly. ‘When are you coming home?’

‘Monday or Tuesday, if you can manage without me?’

‘Of course I can manage without you. I don’t want to have to, but I can. How are the kids behaving?’

‘No problems at all. I take them to school for a quarter to nine and collect them at four o’clock. They’re as good as gold. There’s a steak and kidney pudding in the fridge – have you eaten it yet?’

‘Yes. I think so. It was absolutely delicious.’

‘What do you mean, “I think so”?’

He assumed the slightly-cross-husband tone. ‘Look, Mary, this phone call is costing an arm and a leg. We shouldn’t be using it to talk about food. I’m fine. The fridge is fine. Everything here is fine. Miriam’s fine. The kids are fine. You’re fine, and I’m looking forward to picking you up at the station on Sunday. In fact I can’t wait.’

‘Oh, darling,’ she suddenly said gently. ‘I
do
believe you’re missing me. That’s nice. I’m missing you too, but it can’t be before Monday.’

‘Yes, all right, sweetheart, Monday. Now, give my love to Miriam and the kids. And I’ll give you another ring soon. God bless you.’

‘And God bless you,’ she said. ‘Bye.’

He replaced the handset. And smiled. He loved Mary more than words could possibly quantify but he couldn’t
make love to her over the phone. He wanted her home and he was delighted to learn that she was returning on Monday. By then he should have solved the two murder cases and got the killers behind bars.

He took off his jacket, slumped down in his favourite chair and switched on the television. He watched the news, the weather, the local news and then some new quiz game. He knew some of the answers but wasn’t following the rules of the game and he didn’t know any of the so-called celebrity contestants. He switched the television off, then prepared his breakfast before going upstairs.

It was 2 a.m. Angel heard the noise of a creaking floorboard on the stairs. He knew it was the fourth from the top. That step had always creaked. Thirty seconds later there was the rustling of clothes and the sound of a forty-a-day man refilling his lungs with air.

Angel froze and maintained absolute silence by inhaling and exhaling long, steady breaths.

He saw the silhouette of a small man carrying a partly masked torch come through the open bedroom door. The man was creating looming shadows on the wall of the dressing table, then the bedside lamp, then the bedhead.

The man came further into the bedroom. Through the crack in the hinge of the wardrobe door, Angel also saw that he was carrying a gun with a thickened barrel. It sent a shiver down his spine.

The torch shone fully on the bed. It showed the shape of Angel’s body under the duvet. The intruder raised his gun with the silencer on it and fired at the duvet three times. There were three quick thuds as lead hit the duvet.
He then went back to the wall by the door to switch on the room light, stuffed the gun in his pocket and approached the bed. He pulled back the duvet to look at his handiwork and saw an arrangement of pillows and cushions. His eyes went cold. His face turned scarlet. ‘
What the hell?
’ he said.

At that moment, Angel pushed open the wardrobe door behind him, shoved the muzzle of the Glock just above the man’s coccyx and said, ‘Throw the gun to the floor on the other side of the bed, then put up your hands, unless you want to spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair.’

The man stiffened. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You got me. Don’t shoot.’

Angel jabbed the Glock harder into his back and through clenched teeth he said, ‘
Do it, then. Throw it
.’

‘I’m doing it. I’m doing it,’ the man whined.

He reached down to his pocket, took it out and threw it as instructed. Then he put up his open hands.

The gun landed on the carpet on the other side of the room.

‘That’s better,’ Angel said. ‘I wondered when you’d show up, Roberto.’

The man stiffened. ‘
What
?’ he said.

‘I have suspected you for some time,’ Angel said. ‘Roberto Fachinno, also known as Robert Jones, erstwhile caterer, son of Charles Fachinno, the potted-meat king. Turn round. I am arresting you for the murder of Joan Minter.’

Roberto Fachinno turned so that he had his back to the bed, while Angel faced him with his back to the bedroom door.

The man said, ‘Go ahead. Arrest me.
Then
you’ll have to prove it.’

‘I will. And I can,’ Angel said.

‘Impossible. I am completely innocent,’ Roberto Fachinno said.

‘I know exactly how you murdered Joan Minter. It was really quite clever.’

‘Ridiculous,’ Roberto Fachinno said. ‘Nobody will believe you.’

Angel said, ‘Oh yes they will. You went to Joan Minter’s home a few days before the big occasion purporting to sort out her requirements in detail, but you actually came to familiarize yourself with the switches on the panel by the drawing-room door. You had to know
that
to put your plan into action. Then, on Sunday night, when Miss Minter was addressing her guests, you sneaked out of the kitchen into the hall and when she had everybody’s attention, you crept into the room, behind the guests, waited for her to put the cigarette to her lips, then switched off the lights, aimed for the cigarette and pulled the trigger. Then you rushed out into the hall, opened and closed the front door to make everyone think you had gone outside and then swiftly returned to the kitchen.’

‘Ha!’ Roberto Fachinno said. ‘And why would I want to do all that to murder an old, forgotten film star?’

‘Revenge. Revenge for the bankruptcy of your father. He always blamed Miss Minter for reneging on her commitment to take the lead in a film he was planning to make.’

‘Very clever. I am glad that you know, Angel. I wish the whole world could be told that my father was an honourable
man, and I am glad that you know even though you are so near the end of your life.’

Angel thought it was very bold of Roberto to imply that he had the upper hand.

‘She not only reneged,’ Roberto continued. ‘
She broadcast
the fact that she had reneged. She said that she couldn’t consider taking on such a role for an unknown entity whose only claim to the entertainment industry was that he was “the potted-meat king”. She had such influence. She seemed
so
respectable …
so
shrewd …
so
charming, that everybody else in the film-making business deserted him. My father couldn’t attract actors of her standing to consider taking the role. It made him bankrupt.
My father
. A man who was always used to having a few hundred quid in his pocket was reduced to fishing for food through skips at the back of Cheapo’s to survive.’

‘
He
didn’t murder anybody, though, did he?’

‘No. He was too weak. But I have now put that right. I am strong, you see, Angel.’