The Dog Collar Murders (6 page)

‘Yes. I suppose so,’ she said.

He turned to Crisp. ‘Set that up, Trevor. See if Miss Ives can find us a suspect.’

Crisp and Norma Ives stood up to leave.

The phone rang. Angel reached out for it.

It was Harker. His voice was stark and emotionless. ‘There’s another triple nine,’ he said. ‘Looks like murder and it’s another vicar.’

The half-brick in Angel’s chest bounced on to his stomach and then back up.

‘The Reverend Raymond Gulli,’ Harker said. ‘St Barnabas Church on Rotherham Road. Found by his wife in the last few minutes.’

Angel breathed in and then out, deeply, and said, ‘Right, sir. I’ll get straight on to it.’ He replaced the phone.

Crisp stared at him. He knew Angel well enough to know that the call must have been significant.

Angel looked up at Crisp and said, ‘Crack on with that job, Trevor. Use an interview room. And send Ahmed into me urgently.’

‘Will do, sir.’

Angel then turned to Norma Ives and said, ‘Thank you, Norma. We appreciate your help. Now if you will excuse me, something else important has cropped up.’

She smiled and went out, followed by Crisp.

As the door closed, Angel tapped Don Taylor’s number into the phone and told him the news.

‘Two priests within a few hours of each other?’ Taylor said. ‘Whatever is happening, sir?’

‘Who knows?’ Angel said. ‘How long are you going to be at St Mary’s?’

‘We’ve just finished the crime scene routine, sir. We need Dr Mac to examine the body in situ and then have it moved. We need a couple of days to complete the house search.’

‘I’ll chase Dr Mac up, Don. In the meantime, I want you to scoot over to St Barnabas Church on Rotherham Road and examine the crime scene and the body of the Reverend Raymond Gulli. See if there’s anything there we need to jump on immediately. I’ll get DI Asquith to provide officers to secure both buildings overnight.’

‘What?
Now
, sir?’

‘Yes, Don. It means that you’ll be at the crime scene of the murder of Raymond Gulli while it is still hot.’

‘Yes, sir, but what about searching these premises?’

‘Don’t argue, lad. You can do that afterwards.’

Angel knew that Don Taylor didn’t like working under pressure, or being broken off a job halfway through, but there were times when it was necessary. Over the years, Angel had found a foolproof way to speed him up.

‘You can finish St Barnabas, check the immediate crime scene there, then come back to St Mary’s tomorrow or as soon as you can
fit it in. Or if that is too much for you and your team, we can ask West Yorkshire to help out.’

‘No, sir. No, sir,’ Taylor said. ‘Don’t do that. We’ll manage.’

Angel nodded with sly satisfaction. It worked every time.

A
ngel knocked and entered Harker’s office. His face creased when his nose detected the distinctive smell of TCP.

‘You wanted to see me, sir?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Harker said. ‘Come in. Sit down.’

Angel sat down on a chair opposite his desk and peered at the ugly, bald man between two pillars comprising piles of papers, reports, circulars and boxes of Kleenex.

Harker coughed then said, ‘I’ve just had a valuable and very disturbing phone call from a high-ranking officer in the Met. Known him twenty years or more. We trained together in the eighties. He went to London and I came here.’

He paused, briefly screwing up his face as if he had been
transported
to the cookhouse at Strangeways in a supernatural way and had caught a whiff of the gravy. After a moment, he breathed out, shook his head as if to get rid of the smell and said, ‘He told me that a consignment of 250 boxes of pure cocaine in boxes purporting to be biscuits will be delivered to somebody in Bromersley by the end of the week. It is part of a consignment originating in the Caribbean but heading here via Spain.’

Angel was all ears. Information of this sort was often worth more than a judge’s pension.

‘He assures me,’ Harker said, ‘that the source is reliable but
unofficial
and therefore cannot be attributed. I suspect that it has come from a villain taken into custody down there who has exchanged this information for some concession. They’re more lax down there about deals with defendants than we are up here. Typical of a big urban force.’

Angel blew out a yard of breath. ‘That’s a lot of cocaine, sir.’

Harker nodded. ‘Make somebody in Bromersley very wealthy.’

Angel slowly shook his head. ‘I don’t like it, sir. I really do not like it. Is there anything else known? Such as method of transport?’

‘Nothing, lad. I’ve told you all that he told me.’

‘What sort of biscuits?’

Harker shook his head.

Angel wrinkled his nose and said, ‘What retail or wholesale food businesses in Bromersley could take delivery of 250 boxes of biscuits at a single drop?’

‘I would have thought only supermarkets and wholesalers.’

Angel nodded. ‘It would be difficult getting a fake delivery into a national supermarket system and then immediately out, sir. They have their own vans, drivers, warehousemen, checkers and shelf fillers. They would all have to be fixed. And there are cameras and computerized checking systems all over the place. They are very concerned with their own security. But independent wholesalers are different. They are much smaller, and there are only two in Bromersley, privately owned. Both seem respectable, but you never know.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Harker said, ‘have officers positioned clandestinely outside their premises tomorrow and Friday to monitor deliveries.’

‘Right, sir. Is that all we can do?’

‘I think so,’ Harker said, looking down at the pile of letters and documents in front of him. ‘Well, carry on, lad. I’ve a lot on.’

‘There’s something else, sir,’ Angel said. ‘It’s important.’

Harker wasn’t pleased. He shook his head rapidly several times then looked up and said, ‘Oh? Whatever is it? Spit it out, then.’

‘I’m concerned for the safety of the priests, vicars and ministers in the town, sir,’ Angel said. ‘As you know, two priests have been murdered today. Also, yesterday, strangely, a man wearing a dog collar murdered the ticket clerk, Harry Weston.’

Harker frowned as he wiped his purple nose. ‘Mmm. Yes. It has not gone past me unnoticed. What is happening? Is it a rogue priest who has a vendetta against his fellow priests?’

‘I don’t know, sir. It’s too early to say.’

‘Or an atheist who thinks he is justified in murdering priests?’

Angel shook his head. ‘It would be hard to believe that the man in the dog collar was actually the genuine article. But there are eighteen
priests, ministers or vicars in the town. Six of them are women. And I was thinking that we should be providing them with personal protection.’

Harker screwed up his face, breathed in deeply, rubbed his chin then breathed out noisily. Eventually he said, ‘That would require fifty-four officers, lad. Three shifts at eight hours a day. Can’t afford that.’

Angel’s jaw hardened. He wanted to ask how many people he could afford to have murdered, but he didn’t. ‘We need to do
something
, sir. If another priest is murdered, the force would certainly be heavily criticized.’

‘You need to catch the murderer, lad,’ Harker said. ‘That’s the thing to do.’

‘SOCO haven’t finished their examination of the first crime scene yet. So I can’t get in there, and until I have a verbal report, I can’t sensibly develop any lines of inquiry.’

‘Well, you need to get your finger out, lad.’

Angel’s heart began to thump. The knuckles of his fists whitened. He didn’t like being criticized when he was doing all that was possible. ‘I’ve men out on door-to-door around St Barnabas vicarage as we speak. St Mary’s vicarage is screened from neighbours so there’s no point in organizing a door-to-door round there. Also, I have an officer looking up all the characters who like to dress up as priests. I can’t initiate any other inquiries until I have a report from SOCO and find out exactly what’s happened.’

Harker lifted his hand and made a waving gesture. ‘Well, I’ll think about it, lad. Can’t promise anything. I’ll think about it. Carry on with your investigation. Now push off, I have a lot to do.’

Angel’s face muscles tightened. He stood up. ‘Right, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ve made my recommendation. I will now go and put it in writing and I’ll send a copy to the chief constable.’

Harker looked up at Angel. He didn’t like his last comment. ‘You don’t have to get smart with me, Angel.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.’

‘The chief constable knows about all my decisions, and as I have said before, is always one hundred per cent behind them. You
understand
?’

‘I am sure he is, sir,’ Angel said. He didn’t necessarily believe that
it was true but he thought it was diplomatic to say so. ‘Perhaps you and the chief constable would like to reconsider the situation, sir?’

The muscles round Harker’s chin tightened, his tiny black eyes stared hard into Angel’s and the corners of his mouth turned down.

Harker then held up his hand and waggled his forefinger. ‘Sit down, lad,’ he said. After a few moments he spoke again, ‘Perhaps we can advise the eighteen clergymen and women of the possible danger they might be in.’

‘That’s the
minimum
we must do. We must also provide some high-profile protection for each one.’

‘Yes,’ Harker said. ‘They must be accompanied whenever they go outside.’

‘No, sir,’ Angel said, shaking his head. ‘They are not in danger when they are
outside
among people. The two victims were in their homes,
inside
, alone, when they were murdered.’

‘Oh? Well, yes. Anyway, let DI Asquith have a list of the eighteen,’ Harker said, ‘and I will see that they are all visited by patrolmen in the next hour. I will instruct Asquith to advise them, for the time being, not to stay in their houses at any time alone. They must always be with somebody. Also, all those who live on their own should move out immediately and stay with family or friends, or have friends in to stay with them. Also I will instruct Asquith to instigate a programme of visits to each house by patrol cars, at
irregular
times, say three times a day, for the next three days. And that will have to do.’

Harker looked at Angel for approval. Angel just looked back at him. He didn’t think Harker’s plan was anywhere near adequate but he sensibly reasoned that it would be a waste of time to press him further.

‘I’ll get that list to DI Asquith straightaway, sir,’ Angel said.

He stormed down the corridor back to his office and slammed the door. He yanked open a drawer in his desk and took out a cream file. It was a list of the clergy in the town. He was perusing it when there was a knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ he said.

It was Crisp. He stood at the door, holding the handle. ‘Are you free, sir?’

Angel looked up. ‘Come in.’ He closed the file, handed it to him
and said, ‘Find Ahmed. Give that to him. Tell him to take it to DI Asquith straightaway. It’s urgent and he’s expecting it. Well, he will be by the time Ahmed gets there.’

Crisp stared at him and then at the file.

‘Go on, then, lad. Chop chop. Then come back.’

‘Right, sir,’ Crisp said. He rushed out and closed the door.

Angel reached out for the phone to speak to DI Asquith. He told him that a current list of local clergy was on the way to him. He also conveyed his fears for the surviving clergy, outlined Harker’s plan in advance and enrolled Asquith’s support in implementing it. Asquith promised to instigate the plan promptly and maintain his close, personal supervision of its execution.

Angel was a little cheered as he came to the end of the call. He then tapped in DC Scrivens’ mobile number.

‘Yes, sir,’ Scrivens said promptly.

‘Come to my office ASAP, lad. I’ve a job for you.’

‘Right, sir.’

Angel was replacing the phone as Crisp returned.

‘Come in, lad. Sit down. So Norma Ives didn’t find anybody in the rogues’ gallery?’

Crisp’s eyebrows shot upwards. ‘I’m afraid that’s right, sir. How did you know?’

‘If she had picked anybody out, you would have blurted it out, lad, just as soon as you had seen me. But you never said a word.’

Crisp’s mouth dropped open. Angel knew him too well.

‘Pity, that,’ Angel said. ‘Never mind. I have another job for you.’

‘Yes, sir?’ Crisp said.

‘There are “gentlemen of the road” who regularly called at St Mary’s vicarage for handouts from the vicar there, Sam Smart. Norma Ives said that a big, ugly Irishman in a navy blue duffle coat, known as “Irish John”, called only yesterday morning. I expect he also called and some or all of them also called on Raymond Gulli at St Barnabas. Maybe the Irishman also called on the rest of the clergy in the town. Anyway, see what you can find out about him. Also see if you can find him on your travels, in which case, of course, bring him in. But be careful. He could be a murderer, the one we are looking for. All right?’

‘Right, sir,’ Crisp said as he got to his feet.

‘And make sure your mobile is switched on.’

‘Yes, sir,’ he said.

He reached the door. Somebody outside knocked on it. Crisp frowned and opened it. It was Scrivens.

‘Come in,’ Angel said.

Scrivens came in as Crisp went out.

Angel told Scrivens that a consignment of cocaine packed as biscuits was destined to be delivered to one of the two food
wholesalers
in the town in the next few days, and instructed him to mount a covert surveillance of the premises of the two distributors.

‘You’ll need two cars and three men besides yourself,’ Angel said. ‘Don’t do anything rash. There’s a lot of money involved in this
transaction
, several million pounds, so some big-time crooks, who could be armed, may be personally involved. So I don’t want you to be visible. I want your teams just to act as eyes and ears. Monitor all vehicles as they call at the warehouses. Check them out with Swansea as they arrive. If they don’t give them a clean bill of health, or if anything looks at all suspicious, report to me on my mobile. Photograph every vehicle, driver and crew, if you can. All right?’

Scrivens was young, full of enthusiasm and pleased to be given the responsibility to run such an important operation on his own. ‘Right, sir,’ he said brightly.

It was four o’clock when Angel drove the BMW up to SOCO’s van outside St Barnabas Church. Two police Range Rovers, blue lights rotating, were standing in the taped-off churchyard. In the fading daylight, he saw a group of four uniformed police patrolmen in a huddle. One of them, PC Sean Donohue, car patrolman, who saw Angel’s car arrive and stop at the kerbside, left the others, lifted up the tape and came up the path and through the church gates to meet him.

Angel lowered the car window, nodded towards the group and said, ‘Having a mothers’ meeting?’

‘Just finished, sir,’ Donohue said. ‘Reporting in now.’

‘Anybody see or hear anything?’

‘Nobody
heard
anything, sir, but I spoke to a man who got a sighting of a man who could have been the murderer.’

Angel’s heart began to beat out a Sousa march under his shirt.
Another possible eyewitness? It was the best news he’d had all day.

‘Where is he, Sean?’ he said as he got out of the car.

Donohue pointed up the road. ‘It was the man in number eight, sir. Said he saw a man in a white gown, knocking on St Barnabas’s vicarage door.’

Angel frowned. ‘A white gown? What time was this?’

‘He said about ten o’clock, sir.’

Angel’s eyes steadied. The time fitted perfectly. Things were getting better. ‘I want to speak to him,’ he said.

Donohue nodded then led Angel along the pavement. Ahead on both sides of the street were long lengths of terraced houses.

As they walked, Angel said, ‘What sort of a chap is this witness, Sean?’

‘Elderly, sir, retired, used to work at the glassworks. Name of Cyril Wade.’

Angel nodded.

Donohue stopped at the fourth house on the left, which had a white plastic number eight screwed on to a creosoted paling gate. He knocked on the door.

The door opened. A small man looked up at the two policemen.

Donohue said, ‘Mr Wade, sorry to bother you again. This is my boss, Detective Inspector Angel. Would you mind telling him what you saw outside the vicarage door this morning?’

Wade hesitated. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘You’d better come inside. It’s cold with this door open.’

When the three men were seated in the tiny front room of the little house, the man began. ‘I was a bit late getting up this morning. Well, I live on my own, I can do what I like, I reckon. When I got
downstairs
I remembered that I hadn’t any milk, so I threw on some clothes and went out to the corner shop. I got a bottle and was coming back past the church gate when I thought that out of my eye corner I saw a strange figure at the vicarage door. Being a bit nosey, I stepped back and saw a man in a long bright shiny white coat knocking on the door. I thought it was odd. I gawped at him for a second, I suppose, then walked on.’