The Fruit Gum Murders by Roger Silverwood Page B

said.
    â€˜Oh,’ she said. She was hoping he had forgotten about that. She stood up, went into the kitchen and returned with a brown envelope, which she gave to him.
    As soon as he saw it, his eyes flashed. ‘It’s from the gas people,’ he said and he tore into the envelope.
    â€˜That’s why you’ve been holding it back,’ he said. ‘I thought you were up to something.’
    â€˜I wanted you to enjoy your tea and not get all worked up,’ she said.
    He wasn’t listening. He read the letter very quickly then looked up at her. ‘It starts all sweetness and cosy-cosy. Listen: “Dear Mr Angel, our energy tariffs are changing.” Why don’t they say outright that their prices are going up? They are putting them up by five per cent. They put them up ten per cent only six months ago. But they say they’ll still be cheaper than most of the other energy suppliers.’
    â€˜It’ll be the same for everybody else, love.’
    â€˜But we’re not everybody else, Mary.’
    â€˜There’ll be others a lot worse off than us.’
    â€˜Aye, and there’ll be those who are a lot better off than us as well.’
    â€˜Well look, is there anything we can do about it?’
    â€˜Yes. We’ll have to use less gas.’
    Mary shook her head.
    They sat in silence for a few seconds, then Mary grabbed the Radio Times and said, ‘Well, do you want to watch television or not?’
    He wrinkled his nose, pushed the letter into its envelope and tossed it onto the library table. ‘What’s on?’ he said as he reached out for the television remote and switched on the set.
    Up came the picture of a pretty woman newsreader. ‘… And that’s the international news,’ she said. ‘And now the latest in the UK … a 28-year-old man was found dead in a hotel in the market town of Bromersley. The man has been identified as Norman Robinson, a single man, who originally lived in the town and had been living in Glasgow. He was apparently visiting his home town for one night only. We understand that the cause of death is not yet known, but foul play is suspected. The police have their top homicide detective investigating the case.’
    â€˜That’s you, darling,’ Mary said with a smile.
    The newsreader went on ‘… The cost of gas is set to rise another five per cent in the autumn.’
    Angel’s knuckles turned white. ‘We know!’ he yelled as he ran his hand through his hair.
    Mary quickly said, ‘There’s a repeat of an episode of Bad Girl s. Do you want to see that?’
    His face brightened. ‘Yeah.’
    Mary smiled.
    It was 8.28 a.m. the following morning, Tuesday the 4th of June. Angel was in his office at his desk when the phone rang. It was Dr Mac.
    â€˜Am I too early for ye, Michael?’ the Scotsman said. ‘I was burning the midnight oil and I’m therefore in a position to tell you a few facts about the deceased, Norman Robinson.’
    â€˜Fire away, Mac. I am all ears.’
    â€˜Aye, well the young man died from asphyxia, that’s certain.’
    Angel thought that that was odd. ‘That’s smothering, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Suffocation?’
    â€˜Well, yes. It could be. However, in this instance there are no marks round the mouth and nose. I would have expected to find bruising or pressure marks on the skin if that had been the case. A constriction in the throat would be another explanation.’
    â€˜You mean like choking on a chicken bone or something?’
    â€˜Yes, but there’s no signs of that either. I have examined the larynx and the throat most carefully. They are in perfect condition. The inhalation of smoke is another possibility, but there were no signs of smoke at the scene. Also it is not inhalation of carbon monoxide from a gas leak or from a car exhaust.’
    â€˜Well, what is it,