Angel and the Actress (8 page)

Angel said, ‘Now, Mrs Fairclough, sorry about that … you were saying that several strange things happened at your house today.’

‘Yes. Firstly my dear husband should have been in London today. He left by train for London yesterday and was supposed to be returning late on Friday. It was to do with his work. He had these sales meetings about twice a year.’

‘So today he should have been at the head office of the Indemnity and Life Insurance Company in London?’

‘Yes,’ Mrs Fairclough said. ‘And if there had been a change of plan, I am surprised that he didn’t phone me.’

Angel nodded. He glanced at Flora Carter to see that she was writing this down. Then he looked back at Mrs Fairclough and said, ‘What else struck you as strange?’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘in the entrance hall of my house is an olive-green vacuum cleaner. It was the first thing I saw when I came in at lunchtime. I think it is brand new. Still has some wrappings on it. Now, I don’t know whose it is. It’s certainly not ours. I wouldn’t have chosen that colour anyway. We don’t need it. We don’t want it. I’m certain Ian wouldn’t have bought it. It would be right out of character. He doesn’t concern himself with things like vacuum cleaners. If we had needed one, we would have talked about it, budgeted for it and he would have probably left it to me to decide on the colour, the model and the price and so on. I hope I’m not going to get a bill for it from somebody.’

Angel rubbed his chin lightly. ‘What else was strange?’ he said.

‘Well, the fridge door was left wide open. Everybody
knows not to leave a fridge door open, don’t they? Ian would not have left it open like that. The murderer must have done that, but why?’

‘Is there anything missing from there?’

‘I really don’t know. I didn’t … I couldn’t … I just closed it.’

‘Is there anything missing from the house? Have you been robbed of anything?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t bother to …’ Her voice trailed away.

‘I understand. That’s all right, Mrs Fairclough. We’ve nearly finished for now. Where were you this morning? Were you out?’

‘I am a schoolteacher. Full-time. I teach at the school at the end of this road, Wakefield Road Middle School. I usually come home at lunchtime and sometimes have a quick, light lunch with Ian, if he isn’t travelling far away. I should have phoned the headmistress and told her why I’m not there. Oh dear.’

‘My sergeant here will do that for you. Won’t you, Flora?’

‘Of course,’ she said, producing her mobile.

Mrs Fairclough shook her head. ‘No. No. Thank you,’ she said. ‘I must do it myself. You said we were almost finished.’

‘And so we are, for now, Mrs Fairclough,’ Angel said. ‘There’s just one matter I’d like you to clear up, if you can. You said that your husband left yesterday for London by train: well, where did he spend last night?’

She closed her eyes a few seconds to think about the answer, then she said, ‘The arrangements were that he
was going to London by train on Tuesday – yesterday – and would be returning late Thursday about half past nine. I don’t know where he was staying in London, he didn’t say. But I could always get in touch with him on his mobile. I don’t know where he stayed last night, nor do I know why he came home early.’

‘Never mind, Mrs Fairclough. We will try and find the answers. Thank you very much, for now.’

I
T WAS AFTER
2 p.m. when Angel and Flora Carter made their way across the road to 33 Melvinia Crescent.

DS Taylor opened the door to them. ‘Good timing, sir,’ he said. ‘We’ve about finished here.’

They went inside the entrance hall and closed the door. Angel noticed the green vacuum cleaner. It was as Susan Fairclough had said; it was still partly wrapped in polythene. It was obviously unused and new.

‘It seems that it was brought to the house and left here by the murderer, Don, although I don’t know why,’ Angel said. ‘You’d better check it first of all for explosives.’

Taylor blinked. His face straightened. ‘Explosives, sir?’ he said.

Angel’s shoulders went up, he held out his hands palms upwards and said, ‘Or hidden transmitter. I can’t think of any sensible reason for it to be here. But I also want you to see if there are any prints or any other forensics that may lead to indicating who has handled it in the last twenty-four hours or so.’

Taylor nodded.

‘Now, where’s the body?’ Angel said.

‘In the kitchen, sir. Through there. Dr Mac’s still working on it.’

The little Glaswegian heard them and said, ‘Nay. I’ve finished here, noo, Michael. I just want the nod from ye.’ He had closed his bag and was getting to his feet.

‘I’ll just have a look, Mac … and then you can have it.’

Angel squatted down and looked closely at the dead man. Flora blinked rapidly several times. She had her bottom lip between her teeth as she leaned forward. In her own mind, she was not certain how much of the body and the crime scene she wanted to see.

The body was lying on the white and black kitchen floor tiles. It was of a clean-shaven, fresh-faced man in a dark-grey suit, with collar, tie and polished black leather shoes. The eyes were open and seemed to stare at the kitchen wall. The head had a black hole at the temple and there was dried blood over the cheek and on the floor tiles.

After a few moments, Angel stood up.

Flora shook her head, put a hand on her chest and swallowed uncomfortably. ‘Why didn’t somebody close his eyes?’ she muttered.

Dr Mac looked at Angel and said, ‘The fair citizens of Bromersley are keeping you busy, I see.’

‘
Too
busy, I’d say,’ Angel said. ‘What have you got, then, Mac?’

The doctor wrinkled his nose and said, ‘Male, about forty years. Shot once in the temple at close range. Died instantly, sometime between 9.30 and 11.30 this morning.’

Angel rubbed the back of his neck and said, ‘Hmmm. Thank you, Mac. You can take him as soon as you like.’

‘Right,’ he said. He turned away and dug into his pocket for his mobile.

Angel went out into the hall looking for Taylor. He was taking prints off the vacuum cleaner.

Taylor looked up at him and said, ‘There aren’t any explosives present in this cleaner, sir. And there isn’t a bug that I recognize planted on it.’

Angel nodded and said, ‘Well, what is the point of the damned thing?’

Taylor grinned. ‘Who knows?’

‘Who knows indeed,’ Angel said. ‘Where is the bullet case, Don?’

‘Haven’t come across it, sir.’

Angel’s eyes flashed. ‘Well, there’s bound to be one. Unless we have an intellectual murderer who took it with him to confuse us. And if he did, it’ll be the first time I’ve ever known it happen. They’re usually in an understandable hurry to get as far away from the scene of the crime as possible.’

He looked round the kitchen. There was a tall fridge next to the kitchen sink. He called out to Taylor in the hall. ‘This the only fridge in the house?’

‘Yes, sir. Did you expect more than one?’

‘No. Mrs Fairclough said the fridge door was wide open when she came in. I wondered why.’

Taylor came into the kitchen, opened the fridge door, quickly looked inside, then closed it. ‘Is it significant, sir?’

Angel shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But it would be good to have an explanation, wouldn’t it?’

‘Someone wanted to get something out of it in a hurry?’ Taylor said.

‘Could be.’

Flora said, ‘Someone wanted to get something out of it in a hurry who didn’t care about the condition of the rest of the fridge’s contents.’

‘Absolutely,’ Angel said. ‘That’s likely to be the intruder or murderer rather than the victim.’

Taylor said, ‘But the murderer’s prints weren’t on the fridge door handle, only smudges.’

Angel said, ‘Mrs Fairclough told me she came into the house and found it wide open, so she closed it. It is unfortunate, but there we are. That’s what she says happened. So if it had had any fingerprints they would have been hers.’

‘So it doesn’t matter then, sir, does it?’ Taylor said.

Angel gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Of course it matters. The existence of Susan Fairclough’s clear fingerprints on the fridge door would have proven that she was telling the truth, even though it was in itself trivial and apparently inconsequential. You know, Don, that some witnesses sometimes lie. So it would have been nice, as an example, to have confirmation that this witness, in this instance, told the truth.’

Taylor gave a little shrug, then returned to the hall to carry on with the vacuum cleaner.

Angel, followed by Flora, went into the living room. It was neat and presentable. He saw a delicately decorated and chased three-piece silver tea set on the sideboard. He picked up the teapot, turned it over and looked for the silver marks. He saw a lion passant, a leopard’s head, a king’s head and the letter ‘b’. His eyebrows shot up. ‘Phew!’ he said as he replaced it. ‘Georgian. A couple of grand at least, and on open display.’

Flora said, ‘The murderer wasn’t a thief, then, sir?’

He scratched his head. ‘Well, certainly not this morning,’ he said.

‘Maybe he just didn’t notice it?’

‘Mebbe. Let’s just have a quick look upstairs.’

They passed Taylor in the hall and mounted the stairs.

Everything was well looked after, clean and tidy. The largest bedroom at the front had a conventional dressing table situated in front of the window. He saw a gilt metal box between a hairbrush and a hand mirror on a cut-glass tray. He opened the box and saw several rings and earrings. He picked up the largest ring, which had an impressive baguette-cut green stone in the middle and twelve old cut diamonds around it. He showed it to the sergeant.

‘If that’s a real emerald, Flora – and I think it probably is – there’s another couple of grand. Could be more.’

She looked at it and smiled. ‘I wouldn’t mind a ring like that, sir.’

‘Don’t marry a copper, then,’ he said.

She smiled at him.

He replaced the ring and closed the gilt box.

She said, ‘More evidence that the killer wasn’t a thief, sir?’

‘Well, I don’t know, Flora. He certainly didn’t seem to have stealing in mind while he was here this morning.’

They went downstairs. Taylor was still in the hall by the vacuum cleaner. ‘There are no fresh prints on it, sir,’ he said.

‘Right, Don,’ Angel said, wrinkling his nose. ‘Another dead end.’

There was suddenly a shout from the kitchen. It was
Dr Mac. ‘I’ve found it, Michael. I’ve found it.’

Angel, Taylor and Flora dashed out of the hall to the kitchen.

Dr Mac pointed to the tile floor at a small, shiny brass bullet case. ‘I was just straightening him up before rigor mortis sets in, and I moved a leg and that rolled out from underneath his trews.’

‘Aaah!’ Angel said, patting Mac lightly on the back. ‘We are going to need that for Ballistics.’

Taylor crouched down and got hold of the bullet case by inserting his pen into it and then turning it upright.

‘What calibre is it, Don?’ Angel said.

‘Looks like a .32 ACP, sir,’ Taylor said. ‘I’ll just check it for prints.’ He rushed off to find his brush and tin of aluminium powder.

Flora Carter turned to Angel and said, ‘What’s ACP stand for, sir?’

‘Automatic Colt Pistol,’ Angel said. ‘It’s an old classification. Today it is usually used simply to describe a cartridge with straight sides as opposed to cartridges with tapering sides.’

She nodded.

‘Flora,’ he said, ‘will you go across the road and see if Mrs Fairclough is up to coming back here? I’d like to settle one or two things. Don’t push her if she’s not up to it.’

‘Right, sir,’ she said, and off she went.

Angel went back into the entrance hall. He was looking for Taylor. He saw him at the sitting-room window peering closely at the bullet case on the end of his pen. He was rotating it, looking for fingerprints with an 8x loupe in his eye.

‘Ah, Don,’ Angel said. ‘I was wondering how the murderer gained access to the house. Were there any signs of a break-in?’

‘No, sir,’ Taylor said. ‘The doors and windows were all sound.’

Angel nodded. He wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t pleased.

‘There are no prints on this bullet case, sir,’ Taylor said, taking it off his pen and wiping off the silver-coloured aluminium powder he had lightly dusted onto it.

Angel’s lips tightened. He shook his head. ‘Crooks are getting too smart these days.’

Taylor said, ‘There are lots of prints on the vacuum cleaner, but no recent ones.’

Angel wrinkled his nose again. He rubbed his chin. ‘I assume that it was sold or stolen from a retail business of some sort,’ he said. ‘An electrical shop, a warehouse or the like. If we could find out … Is there a price ticket or label on it that would give us an indication of where it came from?’

‘No, sir, nothing.’

‘Huh,’ he grunted. ‘There
wouldn’t
be. Right, Don, thank you.’

Then Angel turned away. He wasn’t pleased.

His muscles strained against the skin. His pulse pounded in his ears. He inhaled deeply through his nose then exhaled through his mouth.

Nothing was easy these days. However, it was when cases were difficult that he excelled. He had a record to maintain.

He dived into his pocket and pulled out his mobile. He
scrolled down to a name and clicked on it. It was to DS Crisp. It was ringing out. After a while it went to voicemail. At that, Angel’s face went scarlet. His eyes stuck out like bilberries on stalks. ‘
Ring me back
,’ he said. ‘
And it had better be soon!
’ He closed the phone and stuffed it into his pocket.

He breathed deeply several times then looked around.

Two men came in with a stretcher on wheels. They went out a few minutes later with Ian Fairclough’s body on it under a white plastic sheet.

When they had gone, Doctor Mac appeared in the hall. He had discarded the whites and wellington boots. He was wearing his overcoat and carrying his bag.

‘Cheerio, Michael,’ he said. ‘I’ll send you the PM in a couple of days.’

Angel waved. He smiled and said, ‘Earlier if possible, Mac.’

The white-haired man’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head as he went out into the hall. He knew that a couple of days was a very quick turnaround for any pathologist in this situation. He had already told Angel the time and cause of death. He then realized that he was being teased. He quickly turned and said, ‘The impossible will take a week, Michael, and costs twice the price.’

Angel grinned.

The front door closed.

Taylor came up to him.

‘We’re done here, sir. We’ve just to pack up. I didn’t find anything useful on the body, nor the vacuum cleaner.’

Angel had already realized that. ‘If it isn’t there, it isn’t there.’

‘When I get back I’ll see Control and make sure the house is guarded overnight, if you like.’

‘Thank you, Don.’

Angel turned away to the front window. He took out the old envelope from his pocket, looked at his notes and checked down the list.

Taylor and his team began to take their packs and equipment out to the van via the front door.

Angel suddenly looked up and said, ‘Anybody seen a telephone directory?’

One of the constables of SOCO’s team came forward. ‘I’ve seen one in here,’ he said, indicating the sideboard drawer. He pulled it open and handed it to Angel.

‘Thank you, lad,’ Angel said, and he scrambled through the pages. He soon found the number he was looking for, and tapped it into his mobile.

A few seconds later a woman answered. ‘Wakefield Road Middle School.’

‘This is DI Angel of Bromersley Police. Can I speak to the headmaster or headmistress, please?’

‘I am the headmistress, Marjorie Thompson,’ she said. ‘Oh dear, I suppose it’s about poor Susan Fairclough.’

‘I’m afraid it is,’ he said. ‘I am the investigating officer looking into her husband’s death. Can you please tell me if she was at school this morning?’

‘Of course. She was in school all morning. She took her own class this morning until break and then she took 2B until lunchtime.’

‘What time do you call lunchtime, Mrs Thompson?’

‘We break for lunch at 12.30. May I say that Mrs Fairclough is a wonderful and most valuable teacher, much
cared for by the staff here – and the pupils. And that her husband was a lovely man and that they were very close and highly respected. They lived only for each other.’

‘Thank you very much for that, Mrs Thompson. Goodbye.’

He cancelled the call and the mobile immediately began to ring.

He saw it was Crisp calling.

Angel breathed in quickly, his stomach clenched tight and his hand squeezed the phone. He put the phone to his ear and pressed the button.

‘Good afternoon, sir,’ Crisp said.

Through clenched teeth, Angel said, ‘Where the hell have you been?’

‘I’ve been here in the station all afternoon, sir.’

‘Well, why couldn’t I get you ten minutes ago?’

‘I was in the middle of a ticklish interview, sir. You see there was this woman, who—’

Angel knew he shouldn’t have asked. He would have been given the most unlikely and torturous explanation as to why Crisp had done his good deed for the day.

‘I don’t want to know,’ Angel said. ‘
I do not want to know
. Put that woman down, and leave anything else you are doing and bring yourself to 33 Melvinia Crescent ASAP.’

‘Right, sir.’