The Fruit Gum Murders (16 page)

Angel turned back and went straight to the chest of drawers. The top drawer contained clean shirts, underclothes, socks and so on. The middle drawer was full of dusty and scratched photographic tackle. There was a Leica camera and a Baldini, an enlarger, two light meters, flash bulbs, a tripod, developing and fixing dishes and two unopened packs of roll film dated up to July 2001. There was also a roller for producing glossy prints and a small guillotine for trimming them. Angel closed that drawer and opened the bottom one, which contained boots, old shoes and slippers. He quickly closed the drawer and turned to Crisp.

‘Is this all there is, Trevor?'

‘Yes, sir. There's a suit of clothes and a raincoat hanging on a coathanger on the back of the door.'

Angel went into the bathroom. It was dark. There was no window allowing natural light. He fumbled around the doorway, looking for the light switch.

Crisp saw him. ‘It's a pull-switch just inside, sir,' he said.

Angel found it, pulled it, then turned back to him and said, ‘Thank you. Did you come across a red electric lamp when you were searching the place?'

‘A red electric lamp? There's one resting on a dusty dry flannel on top of the bathroom cupboard, sir. I think you can just see it.'

‘Ah, yes,' Angel said. He reached up, took down the lamp, looked at it, replaced it, found that his fingers were covered in dust and hairs, ran his hand under the sink tap and wiped it on a towel. Then he opened the bathroom cupboard door, glanced inside and closed it.

He came out of the bathroom, looked across at Crisp and said, ‘So … Patrick Novak had been a keen photographer … he took photographs, developed them, enlarged them, trimmed them … and then hid them.'

Crisp looked at him and frowned.

Angel rubbed his chin and said, ‘But where?'

‘And why?' Crisp said.

‘I daresay we'll know the why when we know the where.'

There was an unexpected knock on the door.

Angel frowned and looked at Crisp, who shrugged. Angel waved a hand towards the door and Crisp stepped forward. Before he could reach the handle, the door opened and a woman looked in.

When she saw him, she smiled and said, ‘Oh, Mr Crisp. I thought I heard voices.' Then she looked at Angel.

Crisp smiled, then he said, ‘Mrs Rimmington-Jones, this is my boss, Detective Inspector Angel.'

She looked surprised. ‘Oh. I didn't know,' she said. ‘Is everything all right?'

‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Rimmington-Jones,' Angel said. ‘I'm on a flying visit to support my colleague, DS Crisp. There are a few matters you might be able to help us with. And I'd like to ask you a few questions.'

She looked Angel up and down. A smile slowly developed across her normally tight and downturned lips. ‘With pleasure, Inspector. How can I help?' she said.

Angel smiled and nodded. ‘In particular, I need to find out Patrick Novak's next of kin.'

‘I can't help you there, Inspector,' she said. ‘Mr Novak had been a tenant of mine for twelve years and in all that time I never heard him speak about any relative, nor did he correspond – as far as I know – with any. I took in his post when he was at work.'

Angel frowned. ‘I understand that he was a bit of a photographer?'

‘I believe so. In his early days here, he frequently got parcels and correspondence from firms that supply photographers. But not so much lately.'

‘What did he photograph?'

‘Do you know, Inspector Angel, I don't think I ever saw anything he photographed.'

‘DS Crisp will have told you that we are from Bromersley police force because he died on our patch. Can you tell me what he was doing in Bromersley?'

‘I have never known him make such a trip. It was unusual for him. He owed me three months' rent. That's all I know. He said that he'd soon be able to pay it back, but he had to be away for a few days to settle up a bit of business.'

Angel rubbed a hand across his cheek and jaw. ‘But he didn't say with whom?'

‘No. I'm afraid not.'

‘Do you know where he banked?'

‘I don't think he used a bank. He once told me he couldn't trust them. Whenever he paid the rent, it was always in cash.'

‘Did he have a mobile phone?'

‘I never saw him with one. He seemed to favour the public phone box on Coalsden Road.'

‘Was he in regular employment?'

‘Well, Inspector, there's an unusual thing. He was a porter at Coalsden Cottage Hospital. He had been there for years, then one day it seemed he left and retired … last year, October time. I personally didn't think he was old enough to be drawing his old-age pension. I thought he was only in his fifties. But ever since then, I've had difficulty getting him to pay his rent on time.'

‘Didn't he try to get another job?'

‘I've no idea. I suppose so. He didn't confide in me, Inspector. He didn't confide in anyone, as far as I know.' She shook her head. ‘He was an odd man,' she added.

‘Where's this Cottage Hospital, Mrs Rimmington-Jones?'

‘It's only two miles away, just off the Norwich Road. At the end of Duck Lane.'

TWELVE

After passing two farms and a duck pond, and driving though a ford, a high stone wall with large, black-painted iron gates in the open position came into view. On one of the gates was a signpost.

Angel saw it coming and said, ‘Slow down, Trevor, and let's read what it says.'

Crisp put his foot on the brake.

The sign read: ‘Private. Coalsden Cottage Hospital. Patients may be visited by prior arrangement only. Quiet aids recovery. Use of car horns prohibited. Maximum speed 10 mph. Please use designated car parks. All enquiries to Marjorie Underbank, Bursar.'

‘Right,' Angel said. ‘This must be it.'

Crisp shoved the gear stick into first and let in the clutch. As they went through the gates, they found themselves on a long drive up to a large Georgian building resembling a stately home.

‘Looks a bit grand for a cottage hospital,' Angel said. ‘Drive up to the entrance, Trevor. Drop me off, park up and join me.'

‘Right, sir.'

Angel made his way to reception. He showed his ID to a young woman and said, ‘I want to see Miss Marjorie Underbank, the bursar, urgently, please.'

‘Certainly,' she said. ‘I'll see if she's in.'

He waited five minutes and a woman came out to him. He saw from a badge pinned to her jacket that her name was Trudi Templeton, and that she was the assistant bursar. ‘We don't often have a visit from the police,' she said. ‘What can I do for you, Inspector?'

‘Miss Templeton, I understand that you had an employee, Patrick Novak, working here as a porter?'

Her face changed. The corners of her mouth turned downwards and her eyelids lowered. ‘Oh, I see. For all inquiries about employees, Inspector, you will need our HR department.'

Angel said, ‘Well, would you kindly direct me to the person in charge of the HR department, then?'

‘Certainly. It's down this corridor and the first door on the left.'

‘Thank you,' he said and set off determinedly along the corridor. He found the entrance to the HR office. It was a big white door with a glass panel in it.

He tried the door and discovered it was locked. He was surprised. There was some small writing painted in the corner of the pane of glass, which read: ‘Human Resources office. Open Monday to Thursday 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.; Friday 9 a.m. to 4.30 p.m. Closed Saturday and Sunday.'

He looked at his watch. It said ten to five. He clenched his fists, breathed out heavily and returned to the reception desk.

‘Your Miss Templeton said that I needed to see the director of your HR department. I have just been down there and the office is closed.'

‘Ah yes, sir. Well, you see, it is Friday and the HR office closes at 4.30 on a—'

The muscles on Angel's face tightened. ‘I know that now, miss,' he said. ‘Can I see Miss Marjorie Underbank urgently? She is the bursar, isn't she?'

‘Oh yes, sir. I'll see if she's in. Please take a seat.'

He hesitated. ‘Tell her the matter is urgent,' he said.

He then left the desk and sat down in the end one of a row of chairs along the wall of the entrance hall.

Crisp came into the hall. He looked around, saw Angel and sat in the seat next to his. ‘Have you seen her, sir?'

Angel looked at him, his lips taut, and said, ‘I haven't seen anybody helpful up to now.'

A few minutes later, Trudi Templeton appeared. She looked troubled. She came across to them.

Angel and Crisp stood up. She looked at Crisp and then at Angel.

‘He is with me,' Angel said. ‘This is my sergeant, DS Crisp.'

She nodded quickly, then said, ‘Ah. All the hospital administration offices will be closing in the next few minutes, gentlemen. We finish at five o'clock. And, as it's Friday, you will have to come back when we reopen on Monday morning.'

Angel ran his hand through his hair, drew in a big breath and said, ‘I cannot possibly wait until Monday morning, Miss Templeton. I have travelled a hundred miles as quickly as I could from a crime scene to make inquiries into the murder of one of your ex-employees.'

‘Murder?' she said. Her hands went to her face. ‘Patrick Novak?'

‘It is extremely important that I get some information about him now,' Angel said. ‘Monday morning may well be too late. The murderer has the opportunity to commit a dozen or more murders in that time. If I don't get some serious attention to my inquiries instantly, I will subpoena the entire management of this hospital, prosecute any recalcitrant for obstructing the police in the execution of their duty, and get a court order to close this hospital down and have all the patients transferred.'

‘Oh. Oh!' Trudi Templeton said, and she ran off towards her office, then she stopped, came back and breathlessly said, ‘Excuse me, gentlemen. I won't be a minute.'

Angel nodded. ‘Thank you. We will wait here.'

She raced off.

Crisp looked from her to Angel and said, ‘You can't really do all that, sir, can you?'

‘No,' Angel said. ‘But
she
doesn't know that, and we have to move on quickly with our inquiries. From the moment a crime has been committed, evidence is being contaminated, some intentionally, some through ignorance and some through natural progression. The only way we can counter the situation is by moving rapidly ourselves. But you know all about that. That's the sort of elementary stuff they taught you at Hendon.'

Crisp said, ‘Yes, sir. It's a pity we can't freeze the scene of crime and the relationship between the victim and the villain to the moment just before the murder is committed. That would make detection a lot easier.'

‘That's a bit fanciful, I think, Trevor. If we could extend that moment even more, maybe we'd be able to stop the crime being committed in the first place?'

It was at that moment that Trudi Templeton rushed back up to them and said, ‘Ah, Inspector, Mrs Underbank would like to see you. Will you follow me?'

‘Thank you,' Angel said, and the two men stood up and followed her.

They were shown into a comfortable-looking room with a large desk and several chairs in front of it. Sitting behind the desk was a portly, middle-aged woman with a face like thunder. She was holding a pair of spectacles.

As they came in, she stood up, looked at them, nodded and held out her hand, ‘Good afternoon, Inspector, please sit down.' They shook hands. ‘And you must be the sergeant. Good afternoon. Please sit down.'

‘Thank you,' Angel said.

‘I'm sorry that we didn't get off to a very good start, Inspector. The truth is partly because we are somewhat embarrassed that Patrick Novak was ever employed here. But Trudi tells me that he has been murdered?'

‘That's right, Mrs Underbank. And I have the unenviable task of finding out who murdered him. There are some questions I would like to ask about him.'

At that point, Angel took a miniaturized tape recorder out of his pocket and said, ‘Have you any objection to recording our conversation? It will avoid taking notes and save time.'

She shook her head and made a gesture to place the machine wherever he wanted on her desk.

‘Thank you,' Angel said. ‘Now, Mrs Underbank, Patrick Novak worked here for some years, didn't he?'

‘Must have been around fifteen years, Inspector. I was the one who interviewed him and recommended his appointment as a porter/handyman to the board. That was one of my bad decisions. But he was very good at his job. Reliable. Good timekeeper. Although most of his time was spent wheeling patients round the hospital, he was very handy at small electrical and carpentry jobs, and painting and decorating. We never had any complaints about him. Some patients even told us what little services and shopping he'd done for them. We only had good reports about him. That was until last October.'

‘Well, please tell me, what happened last October?'

‘Before I go there, Inspector, let me say something about this hospital. Coalsden Hospital is a private hospital, and private surgery and nursing is expensive. It is specialized and labour-intensive, so we tend to get moneyed patients, including some minor royalty, titled and business people, politicians and pop stars. And people both in the public eye and out of the public eye would rather have their hernias and haemorrhoids confidentially treated here than have every surgical procedure and operation reported in detail in the newspapers. Some come here to have their unwanted babies, which is very sad. They also come here for cosmetic surgery. So you can understand that confidentiality is very important.'

Angel nodded. ‘Yes, indeed, but please tell me about last October.'

‘Of course,' she said. ‘I received an anonymous letter saying that Patrick Novak had been selling to newspapers photographs of patients which had obviously been taken without their knowledge. We knew that some of this had been happening, but we had no idea of the culprit. We thought it must have been a visitor. Anyway, I had Novak in here and confronted him with it. He didn't deny it. He boasted that it was him and that he had being doing it for some time. I had no choice but to dismiss him. He responded by rattling off a list of long-standing grievances he had against me in particular and the hospital in general and stormed out. And that, I thought, was the end of it.'