Shrine to Murder by Roger Silverwood Page A

on the floor several times. ‘I can’t get round in these shoes. I told you. They’re too heavy. I can’t run in them.’
    ‘ Of course you can,’ Mrs Striker said. ‘The inspector needs to examine your clothes. Let’s have no more argument about it.’
    Ronnie wriggled irritably in the chair then went back to looking at his fingers.
    Angel licked his lips. He wanted to finish this interview quickly.
    ‘ We’re nearly done, Ronnie. Just two more questions, then you can have a look at the handcuffs.’
    Ronnie looked up.
    Angel nodded reassuringly.
    Ronnie began to peel bits of loose skin from around his fingernails.
    ‘ You said this all happened in a cloud…a red cloud?’Angel said.
    Ronnie looked up again. His eyes glazed over. Then he said, ‘Yes, Inspector. It was all round the Lord everywhere. It was wonderful.’
    Angel pursed his lips. ‘And what colour red was it?’
    Ronnie screwed up his face. ‘Just red. Ordinary red.’
    Angel said. ‘There are lots of reds.’
    Ronnie shook his head.
    Angel then opened the desk drawer and rummaged around. He found an old stick of sealing-wax. ‘That’s one red,’ he said. ‘Was the cloud that colour?’
    Ronnie put his hand to his chin and rubbed it.
    Angel pointed to the tiles on the office floor. ‘Those tiles. There’s another red.’
    Ronnie looked down at the floor, and shook his head.
    Deep in the drawer, Angel found a typewriter ribbon he had had for years. It was unused. He hadn’t had the heart to throw it away.
    ‘ What about that?’
    Ronnie looked from one to the other, his lips, nose and forehead twitching uncertainly.
    Angel said: ‘Just a minute.’
    Then he quickly rattled through the morass of pens, pencils and paperclips and other stuff in the drawer and found an unopened packet of white blotting-paper which he opened and put on the desk top. Then he took out a very old razor blade and slammed the drawer shut. The blade was blunt from years of sharpening pencils and other jobs he had found to do with it, and was far from hygienic, but he made a slight cut on the little finger of his left hand, squeezed the finger and applied it to the blotting-paper. A small spot of blood quickly spread to the diameter of a pea. He held the paper up to Ronnie and said, ‘Was it that red?’
    Ronnie nodded. ‘Yes, Inspector. That was the red.’

 
    Chapter Five
     
    Ronnie Striker hadn’t seemed guilty of any wrong doing, so Angel had sent him and his mother home in a marked car, at least for the time being. He had watched Ronnie jump up and down and clap his hands at the prospect. Angel had also sent a SOCO officer with a sterile bag to collect Ronnie’s jeans, T-shirt and trainers for examination.
    Angel was still puzzling over the extraordinary evidence Ronnie Striker had given him. He had recorded the interview and played the tape back on the miniature personal recording machine he had concealed under a letter on his desk. It could not be used as evidence, but it saved time trying to remember and write down all the fine points of Ronnie Striker’s actual words. It needed some evaluating and understanding.
    He rubbed his chin.
    There were still a few urgent details to be attended to before he could leave for home. He looked at his watch. It was five minutes to five.
    He reached out for the phone. ‘Ahmed, I want you to pass the word that there will be a case meeting in the CID briefing room at 08.30 hours tomorrow morning. I want all the team there.’
    ‘ Right, sir.’
    ‘ And I still haven’t seen DS Crisp, you know.’
    ‘ He’s here now, sir,’ Ahmed said.
    Angel felt anger rise in his chest. ‘Well tell him I want him in here.’ He said and he banged the phone on to its cradle.
    A few moments later, there was a knock at the door. ‘Come in,’ Angel roared.
    It was Crisp. ‘You wanted me, sir?’
    Angel looked up. His jaw muscles tightened. ‘This morning I wanted you. At this time, I am not so sure. Where the hell have you