The Man Who Couldn't Lose (17 page)

‘Bye.'

He replaced the phone.

Ahmed put the tea on the desk in front of him and said, ‘Have you heard the news, sir?'

‘No. What?'

‘You'll be pleased, sir,' he said, his eyes shining. ‘The super's arrested Alexander Spitzer and Luke Coulson. They're down in our cells, here, now.'

Angel nodded.

‘I knew Ron Gawber was organizing a raid on their farmhouse.' Then he sniffed. ‘Did you say the
super
had made the arrest? Where was DS Gawber?'

‘Oh, he was
there
, sir, and there was an armed unit from Wakefield as well.'

‘Any casualties?'

‘No, sir. They went in early doors, caught them unawares.'

Angel smiled quietly and sipped the tea. ‘Did they find anything … incriminating on the … premises?'

‘Huge store of heroin, sir. Suitcases of money. There was even an aeroplane hidden under straw in a barn.'

Angel nodded, sipped the tea again and then held the cup thoughtfully and said, ‘Has the PSD team moved Sergeant Galbraith out of our cells?'

‘What's that, sir?'

‘The Professional Standards Directorate. PSD. Time you knew these abbreviations.'

‘Oh yes, sir. They came on Friday. Started taking statements from everybody, and they took the sarge away with them then. Don't know where.'

‘They wouldn't have told you if you had asked,' he said starkly.

The reason he had asked was that he hadn't wanted Spitzer and Coulson to learn they were sharing a cellblock that had a bent copper in it. Bromersley force would never have heard the end of it.

Ahmed nodded his understanding.

‘Ron will be busy processing Spitzer and Coulson and interviewing them, then?'

‘Yes, sir, with the super. Do you want to go down? I'll wheel you down there if you want me to.'

He wrinkled his nose.

‘No. No. They're old hands. They'll be singing “No comment” to every question. It would be a waste of time. Besides, there are charges they have to answer, not just here, but in Manchester, York and Lincoln that I know of. And there'll be others I don't know of. That'll keep Ron and the super and the CPS busy for long enough.' He shook his head determinedly. ‘No, Ahmed, I have enough on my plate. I've got a murder to solve.'

The phone rang. He reached out for it.

‘Angel.'

It was Crisp calling from the CID office.

‘Spitzer was in Durham prison from July 20th 1997 to April 22nd 2004. Johnson was in Durham prison from February 22nd 2000 to January 10th 2004. So there was an overlap time of almost four years. They didn't share a cell, but they were in the same wing and on the same landing.'

‘Ah,' Angel said eagerly. ‘Then they would certainly know each other. Right, now go to the snooker hall on Duke Street and ask Mr Benjamin Johnson if he would kindly accompany you back to the station to see me. And be nice, Crisp,' he said gently, then his jaw stiffened and he added: ‘But don't come back without him.'

An hour later, Crisp wheeled Angel into Interview Room One where Benjamin ‘Bozo' Johnson was already seated with his solicitor, a smartly dressed young man. Their eyebrows lifted slightly as they took in the unusual sight of a police inspector being pushed into the room in a wheelchair, but they said nothing.

Crisp switched on the recording tape.

Angel began quickly in a monotone: ‘Interview Tuesday April 3rd at 12.45 p.m. Present, Benjamin Johnson, Mark Walker, Detective Sergeant Trevor Crisp and Detective Inspector Michael Angel.'

He turned immediately to Johnson.

‘Where were you during the late afternoon, about five o'clock on Tuesday, 20th March last?'

He frowned, touched his nose with his forefinger and said, ‘Five o'clock? I would be at the snooker hall on Duke Street.'

Angel sniffed.

‘If you've forgotten, that was the day Joshua Gumme was murdered.'

Johnson didn't even blink.

‘Yes. I was at the snooker hall. I'm almost always there.'

‘Are you the owner of a 1994 Mercedes car? Silver with a red stripe down the side?'

‘Yes. That's my car.'

‘Do you ever lend your car out to anyone, to a friend, or hire it out to anybody?'

‘No,' he said firmly.

‘Has it ever been stolen?'

‘No,' he said. ‘What are you getting at, Inspector?'

Angel was glad he had asked. It might save time. He made a leap in the dark with his next assertion.

‘Your car was used to transport a man dressed as a priest, but who was actually a wanted murderer and drug dealer, Alexander Spitzer, to The Feathers Hotel at around five o'clock that day. Are you saying you
weren't
the driver?'

‘Oh? That?' Johnson said, wrinkling his nose, looking down at his navel and then at a white splash left by a bird on a window pane. ‘That? No. I drove him to the hotel.'

‘Why didn't you say so?' Angel said tersely.

‘I had forgotten it was the same day.'

‘Why? How many times have you driven a man dressed as a priest to The Feathers Hotel?'

Johnson knew he'd been exposed.

‘I didn't realize it was the same day, that's all.'

Angel shook his head impatiently. He turned to the solicitor. ‘Mr Walker, you should advise your client not to lie unless it's absolutely necessary.'

‘He wasn't lying. My client had obviously forgotten, that's all.'

‘Well, I hope he doesn't
forget
anything else I ask him about. The questions are going to get more significant as we move on. Now then, Mr Johnson, how did you come to be taxiing murderer and drug dealer Alexander Spitzer around the place?'

‘It was only the one time. I met him off a train in Doncaster and brought him to The Feathers, that's all. He knew I worked for Mr Gumme. He asked me all about him. I didn't know much. I think he thought I could put a word in for him regarding some business he wanted to put to him. I couldn't, of course. The boss wouldn't have listened to me.'

‘Why did he choose you?'

‘I don't know.'

Angel wrinkled his nose. He turned to Walker and said, ‘Will you give him a kick or something? His memory's on the blink again. It might need a six-pack of Grolsch to get it started.'

Walker leaned over and whispered in Johnson's ear.

Johnson frowned, turned to Angel and said, ‘You mean why did Spitzer get me to taxi him?'

Angel made an exaggerated smile, nodded and said, ‘Yes.'

‘I knew him from the time I was in Durham prison.'

‘You were on the same landing for four years,' Angel said forcefully. ‘You couldn't avoid knowing him. How well did you know him?'

‘He was top dog. Practically ran the wing. Bossed all the rackets.'

‘So you were scared of him?'

‘
Everybody
was scared of him.'

‘So he got in touch with you and asked you to meet him in Doncaster and taxi him to the hotel.'

‘Yes.'

‘And what else?'

‘What else? Nothing else.'

‘Didn't he ask you to stick around in case he needed your assistance with something?'

‘He might have done.'

‘Of course he did. Or else he was slipping. What else did you do for him? Did you take him and Gumme for a drive in your car to have a natter, seeing as he couldn't get to talk to him privately at the hotel?'

‘No.'

‘And didn't Gumme lose his patience with Spitzer, pull out his gun in an attempt to get away from him and you?'

‘No.'

‘And didn't Spitzer take it from him, shoot him and then the two of you went to Town End Bridge to throw his dead body and his wheelchair off it, into the River Don?'

‘No.'

‘You were Spitzer's accomplice and therefore complicit in the offence of murder.'

‘No. No. I was at the snooker club. I was there
all
evening. Every minute.'

‘Any witnesses?'

‘No one in particular I can think of, but I was
there
. I guess some of the punters would remember me.'

‘Could Horace Makepiece confirm you were there?'

‘Well, no. Not exactly. He was … in and out.'

‘What time did Makepiece arrive?'

‘I told you that before, he got back at about eight-fifteen.'

‘Did you see him come in?'

‘No. He went to the printing room; he was printing up some menus for the Chinese or something.'

‘So how did you know he got back at eight-fifteen?' Angel bawled impatiently.

‘He
told
me,' Johnson responded in like fashion.

Angel ran his hand through his hair.

‘But you didn't actually see him?'

‘No. I was busy. The place was throbbing. All the tables were let. I was on my own. He turned up at about ten-thirty.'

‘Has he got a key for the front door?'

‘No.'

‘But you had emptied the place, and locked up by this time?'

‘Yes.'

‘Which way did he come in?'

Suddenly Johnson's face dropped.

Angel didn't miss it.

‘He came in by the front door, didn't he?' Angel said quickly. ‘You had to unlock it to let him in.'

‘I didn't think about it.'

Angel's pulse increased. ‘So he couldn't have come from the print room?'

‘I suppose not.'

‘Didn't you think it … strange? Particularly as he had made a point of establishing in your mind that he had returned from chauffeuring Mr Gumme at eight-fifteen?'

‘Naw,' he said. ‘Knowing the boss was at The Feathers, I just thought he'd been at it with Ingrid again, that's all.'

Angel and Crisp exchanged glances.

His solicitor looked at his client and tried to remain expressionless.

Johnson sat there with a dirty grin on his face.

‘Well, not so surprising, is it?' he continued. ‘The boss wouldn't be that much use to her, paralysed from the waist down. Surprised she chose Harelip though. Poor woman must have been desperate.'

Angel sighed and took the moment to shuffle himself into a more comfortable position in the wheelchair.

At length, he rubbed his chin and said: ‘What makes you say that Mrs Gumme and Mr Makepiece might have been “at it”?'

He shrugged.

‘He told me. Used to swank about it. There were several men. Everyone knew that that's what had been going on. Except the boss.'

Angel scratched his head.

Crisp pushed Angel in the wheelchair back up the green corridor to his office and squared him up in front of the desk.

‘Crisp,' Angel said. ‘Nip out and bring in Horace Makepiece. He should be at the snooker hall on Duke Street. Be quick about it and whatever you do, don't let him speak to Johnson. I don't want those two cooking up their own fairy story. All right?'

‘All right, sir.'

‘You've got a head start on Benjamin Johnson of five minutes, so crack on.'

‘Right, sir,' he said, making for the door.

‘And on your way down,' he called, ‘tell Ahmed I want him, pronto.'

‘Right, sir.'

The door closed.

Angel wriggled uncomfortably in the chair. He arched his back and tried to move the fingers in the pot. They seemed to respond. He couldn't actually see them move, but he thought the tendons tightened in response to his stretching. He tried again. Nothing moved. He wondered if it was merely wishful thinking. He sighed. It was suddenly very quiet. Very quiet. He looked around at the green and yellow walls, the grey metal desk and stationery cupboard, the imitation black leather upholstered swivel chair with its chromium-plated feet, and the striplight in the cream ceiling that some days would flicker. It was the first few quiet moments he had had in the station since that ride of death down Doncaster Hill Road into the bottom of Bull Foot roundabout, then bouncing like a beach ball over the island three times and crashing into a furniture van at the other side. He was so glad and thankful to have come out of it alive and be back here in his own office, solving crimes, seeking out criminals and contributing towards the promotion of equality in an unfair society.

There was a knock at the door.

‘Come in.'

It was Ahmed. He looked anxious. He came up to him, looked closely into his face and said, ‘Are you all right, sir?'

Angel looked back at him and smiled.

‘Yes, Ahmed. I'm fine.' He looked puzzled. ‘Will you phone and arrange transport for a witness, Benjamin Johnson, back to Duke Street? He's in Interview Room One. And ask the driver, whoever it is, to take him by the long route.'

Ahmed frowned. ‘The long route, sir?'

‘Tell them it's for me,' he said. ‘They'll know what you mean.'

Ahmed looked puzzled.

‘And a cup of tea wouldn't go amiss.'

‘Righto, sir, straight away.'

The door closed.

The phone rang. He reached out and picked up the hand-piece.

‘Angel.'

‘It's DC Scrivens, sir. Great to have you back, by the way.'

‘Thank you, Ted. Now, what is it?'

‘I'm in reception, sir. There's a young woman here … it's a bit odd. She's asking to see you about the Gumme case. She says she knows you. Her name is Mrs Muriel Tasker. Says she wants to make a confession.'

‘I broke into the Gummes' house and took back the garnet necklace my husband had bought me,' Muriel Tasker said boldly. ‘I had never done anything dishonest in my life. But it was the way it had been taken from me by that monster, Gumme, that so antagonized me that I was determined to get it back. My husband had said that I should let it go, but I am made of stronger stuff. I watched to see her leave in that fancy car of hers, then I broke the back window with something, climbed in through the window, the alarm started ringing but I took no notice of it. I soon found the bedroom. The necklace was on the dressing table. I just grabbed it, ran back to the window and was out in no time. I ran all the way back home. I was exhausted. I have had the necklace back just over a week now. I don't get as much pleasure from it, knowing that that tart had been wearing it.'

She banged it down on the table in front of him.

‘There you are. They can't give me long for taking back something that was mine, can they?'

‘No,' Angel said. ‘Why didn't you drive there and park nearby?'

‘We don't have a car, Mr Angel. Gumme didn't leave us anything.'

Suddenly, Angel's eyes glazed over. It was at that moment that he realized who the murderer of Joshua Gumme must be.

‘Excuse me, Mrs Tasker. There's something important I must see to. It cannot possibly wait.'

He leaned over, took the phone handpiece off its cradle, put it on the desk top, tapped in a number and then picked it up.

The phone was soon answered.

‘Come in here, Ahmed. There's something important I want you to do.'

‘Right, sir.'

He replaced the phone.

‘Now then, Mrs Tasker, sorry about that. Where were we?'

‘Mr Angel, how long do you think I'll get?'

‘Oh,' he said pensively. ‘First offence … your own property … probably a fine. It would be up to the judge.'

‘Now then, Mr Makepiece, I'll get straight to the nitty-gritty. Where were you between eight-fifteen and approximately ten-thirty, the night Joshua Gumme was murdered?'

Makepiece licked his lips.

‘I told you, Inspector, I was in my little printing room, in the back of the snooker hall. You know. You've been there. I was printing the menus—'

‘No, you weren't. Think again.'

Makepiece looked round Interview Room Number One. He looked at his solicitor, then at Crisp and then back at Angel.

‘But I
was
,' he insisted. ‘I was running Charlie Wong's menus in the printing room.'

‘No you weren't. Do you want to go for third time lucky?'

Makepiece licked his lips and swallowed. He didn't say anything.

Angel said: ‘You seem to have had a memory lapse. I'll tell you why you couldn't have been in the printing room, shall I?'

Makepiece simply looked at him.

‘Because you had to be let in the main door by Bozo Johnson at around half past ten. If you had been in the printing room, you would have already been in the main building.'

Makepiece's eyes bounced. He licked his lips.

Angel said, ‘Look, I already know that you were having an affair with Ingrid Gumme. And that's a very strong motive for murder.'

Makepiece groaned in protest. His face went white.

‘It wasn't me. It wasn't. I have had no affair with Ingrid Gumme.'

‘You weren't in the printing room that evening,' Angel said firmly. ‘Do you want to tell me where abouts you were?'

His solicitor leaned over and whispered in his ear.

Makepiece shook his head at him.

‘I ain't done nothing. I've got nothing to hide. I ain't going in the pokey for nobody.' He turned to Angel. ‘Yes,' he said. ‘All right, I'll tell you where I was.'

Angel gestured to him to continue.

‘I came to work for Mr Gumme about seven years ago as a driver. He was stuck in a wheelchair even then and had not long been married to Ingrid. When the boss was away, well, the cat used to play. Ingrid always was flighty. She used to wear revealing swimsuits then brush up close to you. She'd run her hands slowly down her body, suggestively, like, and so forth … ordinarily, I might have been tempted. I can't pretend I didn't notice or that it had no effect on me. But I know when to keep off the grass, and that was turf I had no intention of playing ball on. She used to say how she fancied me. Me? I ask you. With a face like mine. She kept saying things like how unhappy she was and hinted if the boss died she'd need somebody to help her spend his money. I'm not daft, Inspector. If she's behaving like that and saying stuff like that to an old soldier like me, what on earth is she saying to younger more obliging punters? Anyway, I didn't want no trouble. I was nice and cosy wid the boss and I wanted to keep my job, so I tried to keep my distance from her, widout falling out wid her, if you sees what I mean. Then about ten days ago, Ingrid told me that the boss had said that a big crook called Spitzer wanted to meet him at The Feathers and that he was going along to discuss the idea of maybe dealing a load of heroin in the snooker hall. She said this was the golden opportunity to get rid of the boss and get Spitzer blamed for it. I said that I wanted no part in it. The boss came in so we couldn't talk no more.'

His voice trailed away.

‘Then what?' Angel said.

‘Well, the night I took him to meet Spitzer at The Feathers, I dropped him off and came back to the boss's house. Put the Bentley quietly in the garage, and dropped the door as I told you. I was going to put the keys through the letterbox as usual, then she appeared through the French window in front of the swimming pool. She wasn't wearing much and she invited me in. I told her that I couldn't do anything to hurt the boss. She made light of it and said that she had only been joking. We had a few drinks and to cut a long story short we went to her bedroom. The first time and the only time. Afterwards, as we got dressed she said would I drive her to The Feathers. It was more of an order than a request from the boss's wife.'

‘Oh yes,' Angel said dryly.

‘Anyway, I drove her there and then she said the strangest thing. She said she could drive herself back. She said would I mind walking home. Didn't want to keep me up. It was about ten o'clock by now. I said OK.'

Angel said: ‘You would, her being the boss's wife.'

‘I walked back to the snooker hall, got there about ten-thirty and the rest you know. That's the truth, Mr Angel. The honest gospel truth.'

‘You know who murdered Gumme then, sir?' Crisp asked quietly as he pushed Angel in the wheelchair up the green corridor.

‘Oh yes,' Angel said as he nursed his plaster-covered left wrist in his right hand. ‘I've instructed Ahmed to brief John Weightman and WPC Baverstock, to get warrants and scramble whatever PCs and vehicles they can to bring them in.'

Crisp's eyebrows shot up.

‘You've worked it out then, sir?' he said excitedly, as he opened the office door and pushed the wheelchair up to the desk. He closed the door and then sat down opposite him.

Angel smiled.

‘It's easy when you get all the information. Muriel Tasker has just filled in all the missing blanks. Take this garnet necklace of hers. Among other things, she has just told me that her husband, James Tasker, handed it over to Gumme two weeks ago as a contribution to the impossible debt he had incurred. A week later, she admits to breaking into the house and taking it back from Ingrid Gumme's dressing table. Fair enough. But I have to ask myself, how did she know that that's where it would be? Gumme could have sold it, given it to someone else, put it in a safe, taken it to the jewellers to be cleaned, kept it in his pocket, but no, he had given it to Ingrid the evening of the same day, and she had worn it and left it on her dressing table. Now, how did Muriel Tasker find that out?'

Crisp looked blank.

Angel said: ‘She found out from her husband, James. And how did he find that out?'

Crisp looked just as blank.

‘Because he must have seen it there for himself. He had been in Ingrid Gumme's bedroom. He too had been “at it” with Mrs Gumme.'

Crisp didn't look blank any more.

‘Ingrid made the same overtures to James Tasker as she had to Horace Makepiece and, in her plan, had made an effortless transposition of James Tasker for Horace Makepiece. Tasker was much weaker and far more needy than Makepiece, so it was a doddle. She arrived at The Feathers, must have been after ten o'clock. James Tasker was already there, boozed up and angry and haranguing Gumme about the way he had treated him. He took little persuading by her to pursue her murderous scheme. She had already taken her husband's gun from his drawer in his study. When Spitzer parted from Gumme and angrily went up to his room, Ingrid appeared and enlisted Tasker to transfer Gumme from The Feathers to the Bentley. She drove the car, while Tasker, sozzled in alcohol and egged on by promises of money and whatever else, made by Ingrid, shot him dead through the heart in the back seat. Ingrid then drove the car to the Town End Bridge where they dumped him over the bridge followed by the wheelchair into the River Don.'

‘What about the gun? They didn't throw that over as well?'

‘No. To perpetuate the idea that her husband was murdered in the hotel by Spitzer, Ingrid needed the gun to be found somewhere in The Feathers. She probably knew that public lavatory cisterns are one of the favourite places police search. So she drove Tasker back to The Feathers to hide the gun in the Gents.'

‘Original, sir,' Crisp said. ‘Nasty but original.'

Angel nodded.

‘The day after, to remove all possible traces of the murder, she and Tasker took the Bentley out into the wheat field early in the morning, and set fire to it.' Then Angel added, ‘And the plan might have worked if it hadn't been for the lift at The Feathers being out of order.'

‘Wow!' Crisp said, his eyes shining. ‘She couldn't anticipate that, sir. Nobody could have.'

‘No,' Angel said with a sigh. ‘Well, you can finish this off, Crisp. You know everything now you need to wrap up this case.'

Crisp's eyes glowed with anticipation.

‘Yes, sir.'

Angel arched his back, pulled a face and sighed.

‘Before you start, phone Transport. Organize a car and driver for me. I want to go home.'

Mary was all smiles that evening. Glad to have him home but no more pleased than he was to be in his own easy chair by the fire. He seemed tolerably comfortable, but, unusually, not very talkative. He couldn't find anything of interest on the television and hadn't any enthusiasm for any of his library books. He ate a light meal Mary had prepared and at seven-thirty with her help, got undressed and into bed. He took the pills and fell straight to sleep.

The next day he didn't hurry to rise. Mary brought his breakfast to bed. He started his ablutions at ten o'clock and was inundated with phone calls from Superintendent Harker, Gawber and Crisp enquiring about different aspects of the cases against Spitzer, Coulson, Ingrid Gumme and James Tasker. The chief constable enquired of Mary into his health and promised to provide anything in his power to hasten his recovery. The Police Federation representative rang about his personal insurance. Ahmed phoned saying that he would be pleased to hear that he had heard that a new car had been ordered for him, also that Mrs Buller-Price had spoken to him and had left a message that she had had Mrs Gladstone to stay overnight and that she thought that she would be all right and would manage satisfactorily while her daughter Gloria was on remand; also that she had baked a special Battenburg cake for him and would leave it at the police station. Even the
Bromersley Chronicle
phoned to ask him about the accident at Bull Foot roundabout and he gave them enough for an eighth of a page in Friday's edition.

There were about half as many calls on Thursday, a mere handful on Friday and then none at all for two weeks.

In the meantime, he had appointments at the hospital and Ron Gawber called for him and transported him and Mary.

Eventually, the plasters were duly removed from his ankle and wrist.

The ankle felt and looked good, but his wrist was out of shape and an unhealthy grey colour, which worried him. After a week's course of treatment in the physiotherapy department, the use came back into his fingers, and they began to have a rosy pink glow, which delighted him. He took a short walk each day and he seemed to be getting back to normal.

It was now five weeks since he had been in his office and he was beginning to feel the need to get back to work.

He told Mary he was returning to work the next day. She was delighted.

He phoned the office and spoke to Ahmed. He enquired if he had heard any more about a replacement car for him. He said that DS Crisp had taken it and was running it in. He told him to tell DS Crisp to bring it to his house the following morning at 8.20 a.m. prompt.

Then with a light heart, he went up the stairs to set about sorting out some appropriate clothes for the morrow. He went in his handkerchief and sock drawer and at the back found the pack of playing cards and the spectacles that Gumme's son had left with him all those weeks back. He had forgotten all about them, so much had happened.

He put on the black, heavy spectacles and took the cards out of the packet. What Mary had said was true. The cards were not squared up; it seemed that they could not be squared up. Some cards projected the absolute minimum amount, but he shuffled them and looked carefully at them and a big smile spread all over his face. All became clear.

He went downstairs and called out to Mary.

‘Want a game of cards?'

‘I'm busy. Getting your tea.'

‘Come on. Play you at pontoon.'

‘You're no good at cards. You can never remember what's gone,' she said wiping her hands on a tea towel. ‘Wearing those Groucho Marx bottle-bottom spectacles too?'