The Fruit Gum Murders (11 page)

‘What was the point of taking flowers to him?'

Johnson shrugged his shoulders, frowned and looked at Bloomfield.

‘I don't know what he's on about.'

‘You refuse to answer my questions?' Angel said. ‘A search of your house, 4, Sebastopol Terrace, revealed a cache of money, £780 hidden in a biscuit tin, under a loose floorboard under your bed.'

Johnson leaped to his feet. His face was scarlet. ‘You frigging bastards,' he said, all teeth and saliva. ‘What right have you to go and search my house and take the only money I have in the world away from me?'

Bloomfield pulled at Johnson's jacket. ‘Sit down, Mr Johnson. Come on. Sit down.'

Angel was unmoved. He stared at Johnson and said, ‘Where did you get the money from?'

‘I saved it up.'

‘Do you work for Harry “the hatchet” Harrison? Are you one of his thugs? Is that money the money he paid you to murder Norman Robinson?'

‘What the frigging hell are you talking about? No! Of course it isn't. It's my savings.'

Angel said, ‘How did you save it?'

‘I put a fiver or a tenner out of my money there every week.'

‘But it's all in twenties,' Angel said. ‘New twenties. In
consecutive
order. Withdrawn from the Northern Bank. Fresh from the mint. Only printed a month ago.'

Johnson looked at Angel and licked his lips.

Bloomfield whispered in his ear. He replied similarly.

The solicitor said, ‘My client says that he recently took his savings to the Northern Bank and asked them to exchange them for clean twenty-pound notes.'

‘Oh, really?' Angel said. ‘Just a minute, Mr Bloomfield, did I say the Northern Bank?'

‘You did.'

‘What a fool I am. I'm so sorry. It wasn't the Northern Bank, it was the Westminster Bank.'

Flora Carter swallowed a smile.

Johnson leaped to his feet again. ‘You rotten bastard, Angel,' he said. ‘Trying to trick me, aren't you?'

Bloomfield grabbed his client by the sleeve. ‘Leave it, Mr Johnson. It's not very important. I expect you forgot which bank it was,' he said. Then he added heavily, ‘Just as Inspector Angel also forgot which bank it was.'

‘Where did you get the money from, Mr Johnson?' Angel said.

‘I've told you. I saved it up.'

‘You're not a very good liar, are you, lad?' Angel said, rubbing his chin forcefully.

Johnson's eyes stood out like fried eggs in a pan.

‘Don't answer that, Mr Johnson,' Bloomfield said. Then he looked at Angel and said, ‘You know, Inspector, that's a very improper question. I must ask you to withdraw it.'

‘Very well,' Angel said with a shrug.

He had no intention of withdrawing it.

‘Interview ended at 13.22,' Angel said and he switched off the tape.

There was a knock on the office door.

Angel looked up from his chair. He looked as if he'd eaten a plate of fish pie from Strangeways cookhouse. ‘Come in,' he called.

It was Flora Carter.

‘He's back in his cell, sir. It took three of us to get him in.'

Angel shook his head.

‘Where do we go from here, sir?' she said, casting an inquisitive look over his desk. She espied the monster holding down a few letters on the desk. Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Ah, you have a new paperweight, sir.' She picked it up. ‘Can I have a look?'

Angel nodded and leaned back in the chair. He had a lot on his mind.

‘Oh, it's a mythological figure isn't it?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Is it that wolf that has snakes growing from its head instead of hair?'

‘Don't know.'

‘Something to do with Romulus and Remus?'

Angel blinked, leaned forward and looked at her. ‘I don't think so. Do you like it?'

She hesitated. ‘It's very attractive in a way. Quirky. Like modern art.'

He peered at her. ‘Would you like it, Flora?'

She looked down at Angel, realized he was serious and quickly replaced the ornament onto his desk. ‘Oh, no, sir. Thank you very much.'

He sniffed.

‘I have nowhere to put it,' she added. ‘It's very beautiful, though.'

He sighed, nodded, rubbed his chin and looked back at the ceiling. ‘You know, Flora, I don't think Thomas Johnson murdered Robinson. I have to agree that the presence of the fruit gum in the room does not necessarily tie him to have been present in the room. It isn't as if we had his fingerprints on the sweet. However, he was present in the building. He doesn't deny that any more. And therefore may I be forgiven for suspecting that he was there for some nefarious purpose? I can't put my finger on it, but if he didn't murder Robinson he was there for some other criminal reason.'

‘And somehow,' she said, ‘I can't see him carrying a bunch of oriental lilies.'

He nodded.

‘Are you going to let him go, sir?'

‘I have still to find out what was on his mobile phone. If there is nothing helpful on there, I might have to. The murder was committed by somebody with intelligence, Flora, somebody who can organize themselves. Johnson couldn't organize a penny raffle. Nor could he save £780. I expect that that money had originally been a bigger sum such as £1,000 for doing something simple, like being a lookout man for a big cheese like Harry Harrison.'

‘Well, where does Harrison fit into this crime, sir?'

‘You know, Flora, I don't know. I didn't believe for one moment that Johnson had never heard of Harry Harrison. It is still possible that Johnson is regularly in his employ as a debt collector, bully-boy or minder. The only motive there is, as far as I can see, for him murdering Robinson is that he owed Harry “the hatchet” Harrison money and that he couldn't or wouldn't pay it back.'

‘Well, what did he come back from Glasgow for, sir?'

‘His girlfriend in Glasgow, Michelle, said that Robinson came to Bromersley to collect some money he was owed, but she didn't know who owed it to him. Anyway, it's a certainty he won't get it now. And I think we'll have to let Thomas Johnson walk, even though he's the only one we've caught sucking a fruit gum.'

‘Do you want me to do the honours, sir?'

‘Not yet, Flora. There are a few jobs I want you to do before we release him. I want you to attend to them yourself and to take this particular operation under your wing. All right?'

Flora Carter looked at Angel intently. She looked forward to the prospect of taking some responsibility in the case.

Angel said, ‘Here's what I want you to do. …'

Angel opened the big door of the CPS and made his way up to the receptionist, Tina, who looked bigger than ever.

She smiled at him, showing her two cute dimples.

‘Hello, Inspector. Nice to see you. We're not expecting you, are we? You're not down in my book.'

At that moment, an office door opened and Marcus Twelvetrees came out, all dressed in white and carrying a tennis racquet and a valise.

‘Ah, Tina,' he said. ‘Any calls for me, transfer to Miss Gregg's office.'

‘Right, Mr Twelvetrees,' she said.

He saw Angel and was surprised. ‘Hello there, Inspector. Did you want me? I have to be off, else I'm going to be late. I'm meeting the Chief Constable about the … erm. …'

‘That's all right, Mr Twelvetrees, I came to see Tina, really. But as you're here, a quick question, if you don't mind? Does the name Norman Robinson ring any bells with you?'

Twelvetrees waved his racquet at him as he made for the door. ‘Norman Robinson? No. I don't think so.'

‘Has he been in touch with you by phone recently?'

‘Me? By phone? Recently? No. No. He hasn't. Look, it's almost half-past. I'm sorry, Inspector, I'll have to go.'

‘Thank you, Mr Twelvetrees. That's all right. Enjoy your … erm, erm. …'

The front door banged and Marcus Twelvetrees LLD had gone.

Angel turned back to the reception desk. ‘Now then, Tina. I'm making an inquiry about a case I'm dealing with. Last Friday morning at 11.30, a man called Norman Robinson spoke to somebody on the phone at this number. It lasted four minutes. All I want to know is, who did he speak to?'

Tina frowned. She drew in a long breath and breathed it out while her face showed that she had no idea. ‘I don't know, Inspector. I get hundreds of calls a week on this phone.'

‘Do you answer them all yourself?'

‘Mostly. I would have answered a call at 11.30 a.m. definitely.'

Another office door opened and out came Juliet Gregg. She looked at Angel and smiled.

She was beautiful when she smiled. She was beautiful when she didn't smile.

‘Good afternoon, Inspector Angel. Mr Twelvetrees is out; is there anything I can help you with?'

‘Well, only a simple question, really,' he said.

She made a gesture with her hand, inviting him into her office.

Angel frowned. That was a bit unusual. He always dealt with Marcus Twelvetrees, never with her first-hand.

‘Thank you,' he said. And he passed in front of her into a small outer office with a young lady at a desk tapping into a computer.

‘Straight ahead, Inspector, keep going,' Juliet Gregg said from behind him.

Angel stepped forward through another open door. It revealed a spacious, oak-panelled room with two big windows. It was furnished with matching desk, table, chairs and bookshelves. Three framed certificates and several big oil paintings adorned the walls, and an open door beyond the built-in drinks bar indicated that the office also had the luxury of an adjoining bathroom.

He recalled what Marcus Twelvetrees had said to him at the al fresco party held there for her a week or so ago, that she would likely be fast-tracked to be a judge.

Juliet Gregg followed him in and sat down at her desk. She pointed to a chair opposite.

‘Thank you,' he said, finding a comfortable, upholstered chair. ‘I thought you might already have left to take up that partnership offer in Leeds.'

‘I'm just working out my notice, Inspector, tying up loose ends and so on. I want to leave Marcus and the force with everything nice and tidy.'

He nodded and smiled. ‘I was asking your receptionist, Tina, about a phone call here from a man called Norman Robinson last Friday. Do you remember such a call? It would probably have been from Glasgow.'

She pursed her lips briefly. ‘No, I'm afraid not,' she said. ‘Isn't that the name of the victim in the case you're working on?'

He looked up at her, surprised that she knew. She really was an eye-knocker. Her hair was jet black and shaped round her head like a prize chrysanthemum; her oval face framed her cheekbones, which were as high as a copper's helmet.

‘I've been reading about it the newspapers,' she said. ‘You've quite a reputation … an impressive record of success in criminal detection. They say you've solved every murder case you've ever worked on.'

He pulled a face. ‘Oh yes,' he said. He sniffed noisily and added, ‘They put me on a pedestal, so that when I fail to solve a case, they can enjoy knocking me off it.'

She began to laugh and looked across at him. He wasn't smiling.

She stopped laughing and said, ‘I'm so sorry, Inspector. I didn't realize you were serious.'

‘It's all right. To tell the truth I'm rather worried, Miss Gregg. Maybe they'll be knocking me off it quite soon. Criminals are getting smarter and smarter. But I don't have to tell you that. Do you know, I haven't got a clear motive nor an obvious suspect, yet.'

Still smiling, she said, ‘Well, sorry I can't help you in this instance, Inspector, but I'm sure you'll get there in due course.'

‘I certainly hope so,' he said as he got to his feet.

NINE

It was four o'clock when Angel arrived at the reception desk in the Feathers hotel. He was pleased that it was not busy. The duty manager was Mr Blacklock.

‘Good afternoon, Inspector. Can I be of any help?'

‘Yes, Mr Blacklock,' Angel said. ‘I have reason to believe that there had been some flowers in room 201 last Sunday or early Monday morning. However, when our forensic team arrived, there was no sign of them, which is a mystery to us. We know that some of them were oriental lilies. Can you tell me anything about them … how they got there in the first place … who supplied them, what they were for, or what did they represent, and what happened to them?'

‘Of course, Inspector. I'll just take a look,' Blacklock said, then he referred to a thick ledger already open on the counter in front of him. He began to turn back a few pages as he spoke. ‘We don't put flowers in the rooms as a matter of course, Inspector. So many guests seem to have allergies. They don't suit everybody. But, of course, we would always supply them in advance of guests arriving, or have them delivered to specific requirements, if guests ordered them. We would keep a note of such disbursements in this journal, and a charge would subsequently be levied to the appropriate room account.' He arrived at the page he wanted. ‘Let's see, now. It was Sunday last, the 2nd, wasn't it?' he said, running his finger down the column of entries. ‘Mmm. There's nothing here, Inspector.'

Angel wasn't pleased. ‘I don't suppose there was a delivery early Monday morning?'

Blacklock turned back to the journal. Eventually he looked up at him and said, ‘No, Inspector. There were no deliveries of flowers or anything else to room 201 last Sunday or early on Monday morning, sorry.'

Angel frowned. ‘Right. Thank you, Mr Blacklock,' he said as he turned away from the counter.

He couldn't get that smear of red pollen on the crisp white sheet of the dead man's bed out of his mind.

He pursed his lips.

He turned back to the counter.

Blacklock stepped forward. ‘Yes, Inspector?'