The Fruit Gum Murders (5 page)

‘We are not certain yet, but it's about the size of an acorn.'

‘An acorn? No. Even if I missed it with the vac, I reckon I would have seen it.'

‘Right,' Angel said, ‘thank you very much, Monica.'

‘Can I go now, Inspector? I've my mother's shopping to do.'

‘Yes, thank you.'

She nodded at the duty manager and rushed off.

Angel turned to Blacklock. ‘Were you on duty when the dead man, Norman Robinson, checked in yesterday?'

‘Yes, Inspector, I was, but I didn't see Mr Robinson. I can find out who checked him in, though.'

Angel nodded. ‘Right. I need to speak to everyone who spoke to him. Also I'd like to know how he made the reservation and when.'

Blacklock was on the phone for a minute or two, then he came across and said, ‘The young lady who checked Mr Robinson in last night is coming round now. Muriel Derbyshire. She'll only be a minute. He made the reservation only the day before yesterday by phone. I don't know that I can find out who actually spoke to him.'

Angel said, ‘I really need to know, Mr Blacklock.'

The young man frowned. ‘Maybe I can identify the handwriting,' he said.

There was a knock at the door.

Blacklock crossed and opened it. A young woman stood there. ‘Come in, Muriel,' he said. ‘The inspector wants to have a word with you.' Then he called back to Angel, ‘This is Muriel Derbyshire, the receptionist you wanted, Inspector. I'm just going to check that other matter out for you, Inspector. Won't be long.'

‘Right,' Angel called.

The door closed.

Muriel came in and up to Angel.

Angel smiled at her.

Muriel's eyes shone like cat's eyes. ‘I've seen you on the television, Inspector,' she said, ‘and in the papers. You're that detective that always gets the criminal in the end, aren't you? Like the Mounties.'

Angel was thrown off his stride. ‘Er, yes. Well I usually do. I have done up to now. Let's hope that—'

‘My mother says you're better looking than Tom Cruise.'

Angel looked away, then looked back at her and said, ‘Oh yes? That's very nice of her. Now, I understand, Muriel, that you were on reception yesterday afternoon when a man called Norman Robinson came up to the desk. Is that correct?'

‘Yes, that's right, Inspector. Well, it wasn't really the afternoon, it was six o'clock.'

He frowned. ‘How do you remember the time was six o'clock, Muriel?'

‘Because six o'clock is the cut-off time. That's the time we review all the bedrooms in the hotel that are not occupied or not paid for in advance. It is to avoid having any empty rooms that night. We usually have late inquiries for rooms on the phone between six and seven and even much later. And I recall that we were about to regard room 201, Mr Robinson's room, as free and therefore available to be let. But then he rolled up just in time.'

‘I see. Please tell me what happened.'

‘Well, as I said, he came up to the counter and told me his name and said he had a reservation for one night. I checked everything, asked him to fill in and sign the register, which he did. I told him his room number and said it was on the second floor and handed him the key.'

Angel screwed up his face and said, ‘Yes, Muriel, but was he clean and tidy, was he rude, familiar or pleasantly court-eous, did he look prosperous, down at heel or happy-go-lucky? Was he handsome, desirable or obnoxious? Did he smell of anything: mint, beer, or soap?'

‘Oh dear,' Muriel said. ‘Well, he didn't smell of anything as far as I can remember. He had black curly hair that was very nice … and clean fingernails. I always seem to look at people's fingernails. He was quietly spoken.'

‘If he had asked you for a date, would you have been pleased and accepted?'

She smiled. ‘If I had been ten years younger and I wasn't happily married, Inspector, I might have gone out with him. Yes.'

‘Did he look well-to-do? After all it costs more than a hundred quid a night to stay here, doesn't it?'

‘If you include dinner, it does. I wouldn't know if Mr Robinson was well-to-do or not. I am not good at judging things like that.' At that point she looked closely into Angel's eyes and said, ‘You know, Inspector, you
do
ask some strange questions.'

‘I'm only trying to get a picture of the man, Muriel. One last question. Was he chewing or sucking anything while he was booking in?'

Her eyes partly closed as she wondered about the question. ‘Like chewing gum, do you mean?' she said.

‘Yes,' he said, ‘or a sweet of any kind.'

‘No, he wasn't. I can't stand people whose jaw is constantly on the go as they talk to you, especially with chewing gum. Can you?'

The office door opened. Blacklock came in carrying a printed sheet of A4. He looked very thoughtful.

Angel looked at him.

‘If you've finished with me, Inspector,' Muriel Derbyshire said, ‘I ought to get back to the counter.'

Angel nodded. ‘Yes, I think so. Thank you very much, Muriel.'

She smiled, stood up and made for the door.

Blacklock came up to Angel. ‘I feel a fool, Inspector. I took Mr Robinson's booking over the phone myself,' he said after consulting the sheet of A4. ‘It's written down here in my handwriting. And it was made on Saturday – the day before yesterday – at 10.25 a.m. I can hardly bring it to mind, it was so straightforward. I do remember him giving an address in Glasgow because – as he spoke with a Yorkshire accent – I wondered why a man in Scotland would speak with a local twang.'

Angel's eyebrows went up. That was interesting. Norman Robinson spoke with a Yorkshire accent; possibly a local man?

‘Was there anything else unusual about his booking?'

‘No. Nothing.'

Angel wrinkled his nose. He thanked Blacklock and came out of the hotel office.

FOUR

Angel came out of the office and went to the hotel lift. He pressed the button and was taken up to the second floor to room 201. Angel found Don Taylor and two other SOCO men by the bedside cabinet. He noticed that the body of Norman Robinson was no longer there, and that Dr Mac and his big black bag had also gone.

When Taylor saw Angel, he said, ‘We've just discovered something I am sure will interest you, sir.'

Angel came across the room to them.

‘Look at that, sir,' Taylor said.

Angel looked at where he was pointing.

Taylor said, ‘We sprayed a fine alkali spray across the surface of this bedside cabinet and it threw up these three ring marks: two the same diameter and the third slightly larger.'

Angel's eyes opened wide. ‘A bottle and two glasses?' he said.

‘We think so, sir. And we think it would be wine because the marks indicate weak acid.'

‘Great stuff,' Angel said. ‘And we
may
be able to determine exactly what sort of wine it was.' He reached out for the room telephone and was soon connected to the duty manager.

‘Jack Blacklock. How can I help you, Inspector?'

‘Can you tell me if any bottles of wine or any drinks at all were sent up to room 201 after 6.00 p.m. yesterday?'

‘Certainly, Inspector. I'll just have to look through the list of vouchers from the bar and room service … no, Inspector. Nothing was sent up to room 201 yesterday.'

Angel wrinkled his nose. ‘Thank you,' he said. He replaced the phone and turned to Taylor. ‘No. I thought not. Is there a glass in the bathroom?'

Taylor smiled. ‘We've checked it. It does not make the mark either of these two tumblers made.'

Angel said, ‘Oh? So whoever the murderer is, he brought a bottle of something, and two glasses, and after they had presumably had a drink or two or more, the bottle and the glasses were packed up and taken away from the scene.'

Taylor said, ‘That's what it looks like.'

Angel squeezed the lobe of an ear between finger and thumb. ‘Very unusual,' he said. ‘Sensible, from the point of view of the murderer, but very unusual.'

Suddenly he turned to Taylor and said, ‘Make sure you get good photographs of those marks, Don. And measure the diameters.' Then he added, ‘On second thoughts, take the bedside cabinet. Those marks could prove to be vital.'

‘Right, sir. Leave it with me. I'll make it right with the hotel. We can move it ourselves.'

Angel nodded and said, ‘Protect that surface.'

‘Will do. There's something else, sir,' Taylor said.

Angel turned back to him. ‘Yes, Don?'

‘There are red stains, like flecks, on the bottom sheet of the bed. And it isn't blood.'

‘Show me.'

Taylor pulled back a blanket and indicated the bed sheet covered with a clear plastic sheet.

Angel stared at it. ‘It isn't face powder, is it?'

‘I thought it might be that, but it isn't. If it were face powder, sir, it would brush off completely. This tends to cling onto the linen, as it were, as if it had an oily content to it. We've managed to vacuum some particles of it. It'll take a day or two to determine what it is.'

Angel frowned. ‘Right, Don. Come back to me on that ASAP. It might be critical.'

‘Right, sir. That's all.'

Angel turned away.

There was a knock on the door, then it opened. Detective Sergeant Flora Carter peered gingerly round the door. When she saw Angel, she sighed and then smiled.

‘Come in, Flora,' he said.

She came in and closed the door.

‘I wasn't certain I had the right room, sir,' she said. ‘Sorry I'm late. I must tell you, there are five or six reporters on the front door.'

‘What do you mean? Are they inside or outside?'

‘They are actually in reception drinking, sir. But their eyes are on the front door. Nobody gets in or out without them knowing about it.'

Angel shook his head. ‘Right, Flora. Thank you. I'd rather dodge them. I'm not ready to talk to them yet. By the way, on your travels have you seen anything of Trevor Crisp? I've an urgent job I want him to do.'

‘No, sir, but if I do, I'll tell him you're wanting him.'

Angel sighed. ‘Ahmed should have told him more than an hour ago. Well, I expect he'll turn up. Anyway, I've also got an urgent job for you.'

She beamed and looked at him attentively.

‘Yes. Don Taylor has got CCTV that covers the front door and the reception desk of this place for yesterday, the day of the murder. Get it from him. And I want you to go through it – frame by frame – and see if you know anybody. All right?'

‘Right, sir,' she said.

‘Right, crack on with it then,' he said as he reached out for the room phone. ‘Hello … it's Detective Inspector Angel. Can I speak to Mr Blacklock? Yes. Hello there,Mr Blacklock. I understand that your reception area is being monitored by newspapermen … I wondered if you had a rear exit I could use? … That's very kind of you. I'll meet you at the bottom of the stairs in a couple of minutes. Goodbye.'

He went out of the room into the corridor and looked it up and down. He was looking for CCTV and there was none. He walked along to the end of the short corridor to the long one and saw cameras in both directions. He turned around, retraced his steps along the short corridor, past room 201, and made for the lift. There were no cameras there either. The lift was stationary so he pressed the button to open the doors and peered inside. There was the tiniest of cameras high in the corner. He came out and descended the stairs, noting that there were no cameras there.

At the bottom, waiting for him, was Mr Blacklock.

‘Thank you for meeting me,' Angel said. ‘I hope I haven't kept you waiting.'

‘Not at all, Inspector. Not at all.'

‘I see it is possible, if someone used the stairs, to access rooms 201 to 204 without being picked up on the CCTV.'

‘Yes. That's right. I hadn't thought about it, but that's because they are round the corner on the short corridor by the lift.'

Angel nodded.

Blacklock said, ‘You want to leave by the back door, don't you?'

‘Yes, I do. If you don't mind?'

‘No trouble at all. Please follow me,' he said, opening a door to the right marked ‘Staff Only'. It led into a short passage past the ‘Larder', ‘Refrigeration Unit' and ‘Kitchen' to a big door.

‘Is any of this area covered by CCTV?'

‘No, Inspector. And this is the back door.' Blacklock reached out, turned the knob on the Yale lock and pulled the door open.

It certainly led outside. There was the waste skip, the waste bins, the beer and lager crates.

Angel turned to the manager and said, ‘Well, thank you very much, Mr Blacklock. If I wanted to come back in through this door, how would I do it?'

‘You'd either use a key or press the doorbell and somebody from the kitchen staff would answer it.'

‘And would they let me in?'

‘Only if you were staff and they knew you.'

Angel rubbed his chin.

Having avoided the newspapermen, Angel arrived at the police station at 2.45 p.m. He let himself in by swiping his ID card through the lock on the rear door. He moved swiftly past the cells and turned into the green corridor. He arrived at the CID office and peered in. Ahmed was there, working away at a computer.

‘Ahmed,' he said.

The young man jumped to his feet. ‘Yes, sir?'

‘What are you doing, lad?'

‘Updating files, sir.'

Angel reached into his pocket and pulled out a mobile phone. It was still covered with silvery grey aluminium dusting powder. He handed it to him. ‘That belonged to the dead man, Norman Robinson. Will you check on all the calls made from it over the past month, and let me know ASAP?'

Ahmed smiled and said, ‘Yes, sir.'

‘What's funny, lad?' Angel said.