tongue round his mouth desperately thinking of what to say. Then it came to him. He looked up.
‘Yes, but SOCA sent in a Chief Super in that South Hixham case, sir. A woman called Macintosh. Eighteen stones she was. You may know her? I heard from a DI up there that she had the station running round like rabbits. Made everybody jump. Everybody , except the Chief Constable. And it was the Chief Constable who eventually had to bring things to a halt. The regular police work had been brought to a standstill. She had cancelled all leave and rescheduled the shift system, and they had had to pay out thousands in overtime. And despite all the upset and palaver throughout the station, they still didn’t catch Reynard.’
Harker frowned. ‘Hmmm,’ he said slowly. He was thinking.
Angel looked at his eyes. He had slowed him down. He was weighing the pros and cons. His pupils were bouncing and moving from side to side. The cogs were moving like a Heath Robinson time machine.
Angel concealed a smile and turned away.
After a few moments, Harker said: ‘Very well, as you are certain it isn’t Reynard, we needn’t bother SOCA. That’s all I really wanted to know. Carry on then.’
Angel looked across at him. He wasn’t happy. What Harker had said was not exactly correct. If Reynard proved to be the murderer of Alicia Prophet, and SOCA had not been advised early in the investigation, SOCA would be furious and a big rocket would be sent from them to the Chief Constable. Somebody would be in trouble. But it wouldn’t be Harker. Oh no. He’d simply say that he, Angel, had misled him.
He closed the door.
Ahmed passed two envelopes across the desk. One was a large A4 Manilla with the one word, EVIDENCE, printed across it in red, and a smaller one bearing the name and logo of the Northern Bank PLC in small black letters in the corner.
‘The bank was a bit funny about releasing Mrs Prophet’s statements to me, sir,’ Ahmed said. ‘Until I showed my ID and told them about her death.’
‘They would be, and a good job too,’ Angel said as he slit open the envelope from the bank with a penknife.
Ahmed nodded, went out and closed the door.
Angel took the bank statements out of the envelope. There were twelve sheets. He looked at them carefully. There hadn’t been much activity in the account, but he did note that for the past six months a regular amount of £1,000 a month had been deducted from her balance. There was no payee’s name; the entries simply said that the withdrawals were in cash. He checked them over again then wrinkled his nose. That six thousand pounds needed some explanation.
He turned to the thicker envelope. He opened the top and peered inside. It contained photographs, mostly black and white, in all sizes. He closed the flap and put the envelope back on the desk. He looked at it thoughtfully for a few seconds and then reached out a hand to it and tapped it twice with the fingertips. He had made a decision. He stood up. The phone rang. He raised his eyebrows as he reached out for the receiver. It was Harker.
‘There’s a treble nine,’ he said urgently. ‘A man’s body found in a skip down the side of The Three Horseshoes, off Rotherham Road.’
Angel pulled a face. His pulse began to race. Another body. Here we go again. Would it never end? Another murder, and he’d quite enough on his plate.
‘Reported by a workman, a James Macgregor,’ Harker added. ‘He’s waiting there on site.’
‘Right, sir,’ Angel said, then he phoned SOCO, Dr Mac and Gawber. He passed on the information and instructed them to make their way to the crime scene A.S.A.P. He also advised Ahmed of the recent developments and instructed him to tell Crisp to join him as soon as the money under the floorboards in the flat had been dealt with and deposited in the station safe. He then grabbed the thicker of the two envelopes and dashed down the green-painted corridor to the rear door exit that led to the station car
‘Yes, but SOCA sent in a Chief Super in that South Hixham case, sir. A woman called Macintosh. Eighteen stones she was. You may know her? I heard from a DI up there that she had the station running round like rabbits. Made everybody jump. Everybody , except the Chief Constable. And it was the Chief Constable who eventually had to bring things to a halt. The regular police work had been brought to a standstill. She had cancelled all leave and rescheduled the shift system, and they had had to pay out thousands in overtime. And despite all the upset and palaver throughout the station, they still didn’t catch Reynard.’
Harker frowned. ‘Hmmm,’ he said slowly. He was thinking.
Angel looked at his eyes. He had slowed him down. He was weighing the pros and cons. His pupils were bouncing and moving from side to side. The cogs were moving like a Heath Robinson time machine.
Angel concealed a smile and turned away.
After a few moments, Harker said: ‘Very well, as you are certain it isn’t Reynard, we needn’t bother SOCA. That’s all I really wanted to know. Carry on then.’
Angel looked across at him. He wasn’t happy. What Harker had said was not exactly correct. If Reynard proved to be the murderer of Alicia Prophet, and SOCA had not been advised early in the investigation, SOCA would be furious and a big rocket would be sent from them to the Chief Constable. Somebody would be in trouble. But it wouldn’t be Harker. Oh no. He’d simply say that he, Angel, had misled him.
He closed the door.
Ahmed passed two envelopes across the desk. One was a large A4 Manilla with the one word, EVIDENCE, printed across it in red, and a smaller one bearing the name and logo of the Northern Bank PLC in small black letters in the corner.
‘The bank was a bit funny about releasing Mrs Prophet’s statements to me, sir,’ Ahmed said. ‘Until I showed my ID and told them about her death.’
‘They would be, and a good job too,’ Angel said as he slit open the envelope from the bank with a penknife.
Ahmed nodded, went out and closed the door.
Angel took the bank statements out of the envelope. There were twelve sheets. He looked at them carefully. There hadn’t been much activity in the account, but he did note that for the past six months a regular amount of £1,000 a month had been deducted from her balance. There was no payee’s name; the entries simply said that the withdrawals were in cash. He checked them over again then wrinkled his nose. That six thousand pounds needed some explanation.
He turned to the thicker envelope. He opened the top and peered inside. It contained photographs, mostly black and white, in all sizes. He closed the flap and put the envelope back on the desk. He looked at it thoughtfully for a few seconds and then reached out a hand to it and tapped it twice with the fingertips. He had made a decision. He stood up. The phone rang. He raised his eyebrows as he reached out for the receiver. It was Harker.
‘There’s a treble nine,’ he said urgently. ‘A man’s body found in a skip down the side of The Three Horseshoes, off Rotherham Road.’
Angel pulled a face. His pulse began to race. Another body. Here we go again. Would it never end? Another murder, and he’d quite enough on his plate.
‘Reported by a workman, a James Macgregor,’ Harker added. ‘He’s waiting there on site.’
‘Right, sir,’ Angel said, then he phoned SOCO, Dr Mac and Gawber. He passed on the information and instructed them to make their way to the crime scene A.S.A.P. He also advised Ahmed of the recent developments and instructed him to tell Crisp to join him as soon as the money under the floorboards in the flat had been dealt with and deposited in the station safe. He then grabbed the thicker of the two envelopes and dashed down the green-painted corridor to the rear door exit that led to the station car
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