Shrine to Murder by Roger Silverwood

all,’ she said. ‘It’s the early bird that catches the worm. You should be grateful.’
    Angel sniffed. ‘What happened this morning?’
    ‘ The usual,’ Ronnie said. ‘I got there about twenty past eight and sat on the step and waited.’
    ‘ Then what happened?’
    ‘ Ingrid came and opened up, like always, and I put my bike in the back, took the shutters down, put the kettle on like I always do.’
    ‘ Then what happened?’
    ‘ She gave me two pounds and twenty-five pence and sent me out to The Lunch Box to get her a sandwich. It’s just round the corner.’
    ‘ Does she always do that?’
    ‘ Only when she doesn’t bring her own.’
    Angel pursed his lips. He hadn’t heard of the place. ‘How long did it take you to fetch the sandwich, Ronnie?’
    ‘ I ran there and back, but she had to make them up specially - prawn and tomato.’
    ‘ Five minutes? Ten minutes?’
    ‘ Ten minutes, I expect. I was as quick as I could run.’
    Mrs Striker said, ‘It wouldn’t be long. He always runs everywhere, don’t you Ronnie?’
    ‘ Yes,’ Ronnie said.
    ‘ Yes, I’m sure,’ Angel said. ‘Then what happened?’
    ‘ I went straight through the front shop into the back room,’ Ronnie said. ‘The shop door was propped open with a brick.’
    ‘ Was it usually propped open like that?’
    ‘ Yes. In the summer and good weather. I usually prop it
    open. ’
    ‘ And what did you see?’
    Ronnie ’s face turned from a grey colour to a sweaty red.
    His eyes looked straight ahead but he didn’t seem to be looking at anything. He didn’t speak.
    ‘ Yes, Ronnie?’ Angel said. ‘What happened?’
    ‘ Ingrid was on the floor by the table and Jesus was kneeling down in a red cloud praying over her.’
    Angel ’s jaw dropped.
    ‘ What did you do?’
    ‘I t was amazing.’
    ‘ Yes, Ronnie, then what happened?’
    ‘ I knew I shouldn’t be watching. It was a private moment. He was giving her the last rites so I knew she must be dying. I didn’t want to see that. I came out and I ran back home.’
    ‘ That’s right, Inspector,’ Mrs Striker said. ‘He arrived home at about nine o’clock. He was in a state, poor lad.’
    Angel rubbed his neck and chin. ‘What did Jesus look like, Ronnie.’
    He stared at Angel for a moment then smiled knowingly.
    ‘ Everybody knows what Jesus looks like.’
    ‘ Ronnie!’ Mrs Striker said. ‘Don’t be rude. Tell the inspector exactly what you told me.’
    ‘ I’m not being rude. Well, he wore…like a long white robe. And sandals.’
    ‘ Anything else? Anything on his head?’
    ‘ He had long hair.’
    ‘ What colour?’
    ‘ Brown, I think. It was dark, anyway.’
    ‘ Did he have a halo?’
    The pupils of Ronnie’s eyes slid to the left and then the right. ‘I don’t know about that,’ he said.
    ‘ Does that mean no, Ronnie?’
    ‘ I can’t remember, Inspector.’
    ‘ Did he have a beard?’
    ‘ I didn’t see his face, but I expect so. He would have, wouldn’t he?’
    ‘ I don’t know. I didn’t see him. You saw him. Are you sure it was Jesus, Ronnie? Could it have been a saint or somebody else?’
    ‘ No. It was Jesus. He held a star in his hand. It shone so brightly I had to close my eyes.’
    ‘ A star?’ Angel shook his head. This was getting out of hand. ‘What sort of a star?’
    Ronnie frowned. ‘I don’t know. I think he was polishing it on his cloak.’
    ‘ What colour was it, Ronnie?’
    ‘I don’t know. It was bright. It blinded you. It was wonderful.’
    ‘ Was it silver?’
    Ronnie nodded.
    ‘ And what were you wearing at the time?’ Angel said.
    ‘ My jeans, T-shirt and trainers.’
    ‘ I shall want to borrow those, Ronnie.’
    He looked at his mother.
    ‘ Yes. Yes. That’s all right.’ Mrs Striker said. ‘The inspector can borrow them.’
    Ronnie pulled a face. ‘I shall want my trainers, Mother.’
    ‘ It won’t be for long,’ Angel said.
    Ronnie looked down at the black polished leather shoes and stamped