Angel scowled, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, there’s skimmed, semi-skimmed, organic, pasteurised, unpasteurised and full-cream. Then there’s green top, yellow top, red top or gold top. You can get it in half-litre, one litre, four litre or six litre plastic containers, I think, sir.’

  Angel’s eyes popped out, his face went red. ‘I just want some milk! White stuff! You know! From a cow! To put in a saucer! For cats! Milk lad! That’s all!’

  Ahmed’s jaw dropped and his hands shook. ‘You don’t have to shout, sir. I just need to know what to bring. I would not like to bring you what you do not want.’

  Angel closed his eyes momentarily, he breathed out loudly and then said, ‘Those two cats will be the death of me.’

  CHAPTER 3

  Lola Spedding was a 24-year-old dark-haired beauty, and she knew it. Her hair was short and fitted round her doll-like face like the petals of a flower. Her skin was clear and white like a pot dog. She had a lot going for her. When she walked down the street, everybody turned and smiled. However, she didn’t smile back much. She didn’t think she had much to smile about; she was short on friends and short on family. She hated her mother because she was always telling her what to do. And Lola didn’t like being told what to do; the nuns at school had always told her what to do. How she hated those nuns!

  She’d had the marriage, and she’d got the divorce. She married when she was seventeen. He ran off after three months. She hated him running off. He married her for her money, but she didn’t have any. And now Lola wanted what she had missed out on and more besides. And she intended getting it. She used to be a Daddy’s girl. He had taught Lola all about investment, about stocks and shares. He’d taught her the principles of maximising returns on capital. That was his business and he knew his business. But that was all he taught her. She was pretty sick of Daddy now; he had left her mother when Lola was in her teens. Her mother brought her up on her own. Poor Lola. Poor mother!

  She was dressed in a smoky black negligee, which showed off her lovely long legs. She was on the big bed smoking a cigarette, her smooth brown shoulders pressed against the pink plush bed head. She smoked too much, but she didn’t care. She was wearing a pair of black horn rimmed spectacles and reading a hardback book called, How to Get Rich Without Really Trying.

  She had been reading the book for an hour or so, when she heard the jingle of a bunch of keys followed by the noise of a key being pushed into the lock in the flat door. She tossed the book and spectacles across the bed, put the cigarette in the ashtray and swung her legs over the plush Chinese carpet.

  The door opened and a smartly dressed man wearing the most expensive suit in Bromersley came in. He had a black moustache, black curly hair, crisp white shirt and a bit of handkerchief sticking out of his top pocket. He was carrying a box of chocolates and sporting a big smile. He stretched his arms out towards her. ‘Darling!’

  Lola stood up. She was an inch or so taller than he was. She angrily kicked off her shoes to make herself shorter and glared at him. ‘Peter Wexell, where the hell have you been? Look at the time.’

  He leaned over to kiss her. She turned away. Nevertheless he grabbed her by the arm, gave her a peck on the cheek, and then pushed the box into her hands. ‘Chocolates.’

  She switched a smile on and then off. ‘Thank you.’ She threw the box of chocolates on the bed and then launched into the attack. ‘Do you realise I’ve been here on my own all day.’

  ‘Well, Lola, darling. I know, I know. But I’ve a practice to run.’ He opened his arms expansively and smiled toothily. ‘I can’t be here, and there as well, now can I?’

  She softened. ‘If I had money I could at least go out,’ she sniffed. ‘Meeting like this in this rat trap…It can’t go on.’

  ‘It’s a nice rat trap, isn’t it?’ he said, still smiling and looking round. He unbuttoned his coat. ‘It’s costing me enough, Lola darling. But if you don’t like this rat trap, I’ll look for another rat trap.’

  She turned towards the bed and then turned back. ‘You know I don’t mean that. I need money.’

  Peter Wexell dug into his inside pocket and pulled out a small bundle of notes. He waved it in the air. ‘Fifty pounds, Lola. How about that?’

  She reached up for it. He held it away from her, and smiled. ‘What do I get for it?’

  She smiled then and, like a small child, wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. As she did so, he lifted her up. A lock of her hair brushed against his cheek. Peter Wexell closed his eyes. She smelled like a garden in Paradise.

  ‘Put me down. Put me down,’ she protested giggling, and as he lowered her, she took the wad and stuffed it deftly under the pillow. She turned back excitedly and said, ‘Come on. Come on. Did you bring it? Did you bring it?’

  ‘Bring what?’ He added showing an even set of white teeth and a twinkle in his eye.

  ‘You know damned well what,’ she replied refusing to be teased. She looked into his smiling, tanned face and held out her hand. Her anger had now vanished completely.

  Like a magician, he produced something from inside his coat with a flourish. It was the Financial Times. ‘Voila!’

  ‘Oh,’ she whooped excitedly. She grabbed it from him and turned away.

  ‘I want to see a price.’ She opened the paper quickly at a page with long columns of figures on it. Sitting down on the edge of the bed she reached for the black-rimmed spectacles and ran her perfectly manicured fingers down a list of figures and across a column. A smile developed and her eyes lit up as she cried out, ‘They’re down!’

  Peter Wexell stood in the middle of the bedroom, pleased to see her looking so happy. ‘Is that good?’

  ‘If you’re buying it’s good. And I’m looking to buy.’ She threw the paper across the bed and took a pull at the still-smoking cigarette. She looked thoughtfully into the smoke as she slowly exhaled. and then across at him. ‘It’s no good, Peter, we can’t go on like this. You’ll have to think of a way.’

  ‘I’ll have to think of a way?’ he repeated with a forced smile. He leaned over her, ‘What am I supposed to do? Put her in a rocket and send her to outer space?’

  ‘You could do something.’

  ‘What?’

  Her eyes flashed and the corners of her mouth turned down. ‘Leave her,’ she said intently. ‘I can give you a lot better time than she ever could.’

  ‘I’m sure you can, honeybunch. I’m sure you can. But you are forgetting one important fact. She owns the practice, and she holds the purse strings. If I leave her, I leave the money as well.’

  ‘You’re a qualified solicitor, aren’t you? You could get a job with another practice couldn’t you?’

  ‘Not on these terms, sweetheart. Remember, I’m the senior partner. I’m the boss and I get the biggest screw and a percentage of the take. If I went anywhere else I’d have to start from scratch. Besides, I’ve worked damned hard to get Pettigrew and Shaw to the position it is in today.’

  She took a short sharp suck at the cigarette then stubbed it out viciously in the ashtray. ‘There is a way, Peter,’ she said, deliberately and quietly. ‘There has to be. I can’t — I won’t wait forever!’ She looked straight at him. His eyes looked unsteady for a moment. Then he looked briefly at her and turned away.

  ‘Maybe. I’ll think of something,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll think of something,’ she said meaningfully. She crossed her legs and then rocked them both on the edge of the bed, while smiling and looking up at him. Suddenly she said, ‘Come here.’

  He took a step towards her. She reached out and pulled him down by his tie close to her face and then onto the bed. The smell of a thousand lavender buds reached his nostrils, and, gently holding his head in her arms, their lips met. She gave him a kiss that made him forget all reason. Then she leaned back on the pillows and pulled him close to her bosom. His lips gently slid off her warm moist mouth down the curve of her neck.

  * * *

  The phone rang. Angel put the letter down and reached across the desk, ‘Angel.’

  It was DS Crisp. ‘I’m ringing from the hospital, sir. About that ring you sent me to show the witness, Jane Mulholland.’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant. What about it?’

  ‘She confirms that the ring is just like the ring she saw on the man’s hand, sir.’

  ‘Right. That’s great. Now come back here, give the ring to Cadet Ahaz and get onto that door-to-door before Joe Public forgets what day it is!’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  ‘And Sergeant,’ he said quickly. ‘How is the girl?’

  ‘Not so bad. The Sister said she might be discharged tomorrow, sir.’

  He nodded and smiled. ‘Right.’

  He banged a finger on the cradle to cancel the call, then dialled a number.

  A voice answered, ‘CID.’

  ‘Send Cadet Ahaz in to me.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  A few moments later Ahmed’s beaming face peered round Angel’s office door.

  ‘Come in, lad. Come in. You’re harder to find than the meat in a Cornish pasty!’

  The smile left Ahmed, he gave a little sigh and shook his head. ‘I came straightaway, sir,’ he replied earnestly.

  ‘I have instructed DS Crisp to give you a gent’s finger ring. It has been identified as a ring similar to one worn by one of the two lumps that attacked that young girl at Bardsley Service Station this afternoon. Get it photographed and copies circulated to all officers at this station, and Sheffield and Barnsley and Rotherham. You already have a description of the two men we are looking for, haven’t you?’

  Ahmed nodded.

  ‘Print those descriptions with the photograph. Put it out as a “Wanted” poster. All right?’

  ‘It’s not much to go on, sir.’

  Angel shook his head. ‘I know it isn’t, lad. I know it isn’t. But at the moment, it’s all we’ve got. Now off you go, chop-chop.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Ahmed turned to go.

  Angel stood up. ‘And if anyone wants me, I’ll be at home,’ he said leaning over to pick up the plastic bottle of milk that had been sitting on the windowsill.

  He drove out of the police yard with the car windows all the way down to disperse the smell of the plastic trim and upholstery, which the powerful sun had caused to be more pungent than usual.

  Detective Inspector Michael Angel lived in a modern semi-detached bungalow on a small estate on the edge of town. Despite the heavy five o’clock traffic through Bromersley, he was there in six minutes. He drove straight into the garage, lowered the up and over door and locked it. He let himself in through the side door and crossed the kitchen to the pantry to cancel the burglar alarm. He loosened his tie and unfastened the top button of his shirt, even the kitchen was hot. The sun had been beating down on it all afternoon and the house had been locked up since the morning making it unbearable. He opened a window and switched on the expelair. He put the plastic container of milk into the fridge and took out a bottle of German beer. Kicking off his shoes, he shuffled into the sitting room, switched on the television and flopped into a chair. A black cat with white markings appeared from nowhere. It cried and then climbed lazily onto his stomach.

  ‘Hello, Sundance. Nice to have someone to welcome me. Don’t worry. I’ve got some milk for you.’ He tickled him behind the ear and the cat purred. Angel smiled, ‘You’re a softy, aren’t you? Where’s Butch?’

  A second cat ambled into the room, he was ginger with a white stomach. He stopped after a few strides, lay down and scratched the side of his neck, then stood up and looked at Angel and Sundance.

  ‘Come here then, Butch. Don’t act daft.’

  Angel stroked the two cats. They wound themselves around his stomach and lap and eventually settled, contented, next to each other while he drank the beer and watched the news on television. The cats’ tails waved around occasionally jerking to one side and then back again until they came to rest along the crease of Angel’s trousers. Their eyes soon closed and their bodies became still.

  It was a warm, pleasant summer’s evening. Angel finished the beer and put the glass on a coaster. The television was boring; there was nothing interesting in the news. The cats were utterly relaxed and motionless in a deep happy sleep, Angel looked at them fondly and smiled. ‘You’re just like two dead uns,’ he muttered. Then he closed his eyes. The sound from the television became very faint, just a mumble, as Angel yawned, smiled, put his hands on his chest and fell asleep.

  The telephone rang stridently, piercing into the silence.

  Angel slowly became aware of the noise. Gradually he opened his eyes; the sitting room was dark and the moon was shining in through the window. He wondered how long it had been ringing. He fumbled around for the lamp on the table beside him and switched it on. The sitting room burst into bright illumination showing off the new beige carpet and floral patterned wallpaper, he screwed up his eyes. The sudden movement of his legs sent the two cats scurrying. He reached out for the telephone, hoping it was his wife to tell him how her mother was progressing.

  ‘Hello,’ he muttered into the mouthpiece while squinting at the clock on the mantelpiece; it was 11.45. He found the remote control and switched the television off.

  ‘Is that Michael Angel?’

  He recognised the voice of Superintendent Harker. ‘Yes, John. What’s up?’

  ‘A report of a body being found in Jubilee Park has come in. I’ve sent a PC down. He’s made contact with a witness. I’ve got Mac attending and Scenes of Crime are on their way. I want you to deal with it, Mike. Everybody else is busy. And I’ve managed to get hold of Crisp.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I’ve told them to rendezvous with you at the bandstand.’

  ‘Right, John.’

  The phone went dead.

  Angel pushed the footstool away and got to his feet. He realised he hadn’t had his tea, nor fed the cats. He swallowed, his tongue felt like a piece of an old lag’s bicycle saddle. He made his way to the kitchen and tripped over his shoes; he put them on in front of the sink and rinsed his hands and face and had a slurp of water. He looked round for the cats, but they had disappeared. He looked in the mirror over the sink, and blinked at the brightness of the reflection and then pulled a face, ‘What a mess!’ He set the alarm, switched off the lights, locked the door and went out to the garage, fastening his top shirt button and pulling his tie up on the way.

  Although nearly midnight, it was still warm and the moonlight shone brightly in a clear summer’s sky as he drove through the big black iron gates of Jubilee Park and along the narrow track to the bandstand. He knew exactly where it was; his mother had taken him to hear bands play on Sunday afternoons when he was a boy. Not many bands had played there recently but at one time it had been a regular place of entertainment. The bandstand was in a flat open turf covered area of the park quite close to a rear pedestrian exit, away from the trees and bushes.

  There was already a gathering of police service vehicles. He could see several people standing together, illuminated in the vehicles’ sidelights. There was Dr Mac’s car, the mortuary van, Scenes of Crime van, and a Panda car. A hospital ambulance was driving away, rocking dangerously as it crossed over the uneven grass and onto the narrow track. Angel parked where the ambulance had been.

  Leaping out of the car and flashing a torch, he called across to a PC, ‘Where’s that ambulance going to?’

  ‘It’s empty. He couldn’t do anything for the victim, sir. He’s going back. Dr Mac said it was all right.’

  Angel straightened his tie and passed a hand through his hair. ‘Right. Where is Dr Mac?’

  The young PC left the small huddle of people he was with and came up to the Inspector. He pointed to the nearest clump of bushes. ‘He’s over there, that’s where the body is, sir.’

  ‘Have you got a witness?’

  ‘That’s me,’ a man from the dark stepped forward.

  ‘And me,’ a young woman added, clasping the man’s hand.

  Angel flashed the torch briefly into the faces of a man and a woman in their twenties. He was a pleasant clean-shaven young man, nicely spoken and well dressed in a suit, shirt and tie. She was in a brightly coloured flowered dress and cardigan.

  ‘Good. I’m Inspector Angel. Can you tell me what you saw?’

  ‘Well, Inspector,’ the man began, ‘we were walking up here for what we thought would be a quiet, pleasant stroll to cool off after a hot day.’

  ‘I know what you mean. What did you see?’

  ‘When we reached the top of this rise, we stopped by that bush to look at the lights of the town. You can see the town hall and the hospital and St Barnabas’ Church. They’re all lit up. As we were picking places out, we heard the footsteps and breathing of a man rushing quickly past and down the track towards the main entrance. He was carrying what we now know to be a dead woman over his shoulder like a roll of carpet. He didn’t see us at first. I called out, ‘Good night,’ so as not to startle him. He stopped, turned to look at us, hesitated, and then threw the — er —dead body at us. It pushed us over.’

  ‘Are you hurt?’ Angel asked.

  ‘No,’ the young lady said.

  ‘She screamed,’ he said accusingly.

  ‘I did,’ she confirmed. ‘I was scared.’

  ‘Anyway, he turned back and ran off in the direction he had come from,’ the young man continued. ‘Well, of course, by then we could see what it was and that she was dead. I checked that my girlfriend was all right and then ran after him up there towards the back entrance. He had a good start on me, but it isn’t far. I made good time and I followed him to a door in the wall that leads to the gardens of two houses. I opened the door and just stood there and looked and listened for a while, but he had disappeared. I don’t know where he went from there. I didn’t fancy going in, and I didn’t want to be accused of trespassing.’

  ‘You didn’t see or hear him enter either of the two houses?’

  ‘No. It’s pitch black in those gardens. The high garden walls and the houses themselves keep the moonlight out. I didn’t hear anything. It was as quiet as a grave.’

 

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