Shrine to Murder (15 page)

The
eyebrows went up again. ‘Good gracious. I was born in Huddersfield. In the maternity hospital there.’

‘
And your father and mother, are they Huddersfield people?’

‘
Of course.’

‘
And what’s their address?’

She
gave Angel a sideways glance and said, ‘Why do you want to know
that
?’

‘
Please answer the question, Miss Ireland.’

‘
Why do you want to know where they live?’

He
shrugged. ‘Just routine.’

‘
I wouldn’t want you worrying them, Inspector. They’re quiet, respectable folk. They could be quite put out by the presence of burly policemen stamping up their garden path.’

‘
Don’t worry, Miss Ireland. It may not be necessary to visit them, but I do need it for my records.’

She
was not all pleased. Her face was as friendly as Dartmoor prison in a thunderstorm. Her slim nostrils quivered in response to her heavy breathing.

He
sat there, looking at her, his pen poised over the brown envelope.

She
ran her hand through her hair and said, ‘If you insist, it is 121 Lumb Lane, Huddersfield.’

‘
Thank you very much, and there’s just one more thing for now.’

‘
Anything to get this over with.’

He
reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small plastic polythene envelope.

‘
Could I have two or three hairs straight from your head?’ She stared hard at him, her eyes were as cold as icicles from the prison roof.

*

DS Taylor in a loud voice said, ‘Divers, out of the water, please.’

DS
Maroney and DC Cutts of Leeds Police Underwater Team waded to the side of the canal and hoisted themselves on to the bank next to where Angel was standing.

They
removed the nose clips, lifted their goggles, and turned off their oxygen tanks. They greeted Angel, who nodded back.

‘
Right, Clem, take the tension,’ Taylor called out to the crane driver.

The
big man in the jockey cap positioned a lever and held on to it as he slowly let in the clutch. The slack wires at each corner of the submerged van whipped the surface of the water then straightened out and became taut.

The
crane engine began to groan as it worked to release the van wheels from centuries of mud and junk that had formed the floor of the old canal. As the engine laboured, the crane began to tilt precariously towards the water.

Angel
looked at the crane driver but he seemed not to be alarmed. The driver held on to the lever and maintained a steady strain.

The
angle of the crane settled, but it shuddered occasionally on the heavy steel framework specially built for it on the far bank of the canal.

After
ten or fifteen minutes, Angel could see the white van under the water drift a little away from the bridge, before it drifted back and the white roof edged unevenly through the surface of the water, causing a slight ripple.

There
were murmurs of rejoicing from the small crowd of police and other observers.

The
water under the bridge became black and ebbed and flowed through the weeds, throwing up lager cans, washing-up liquid bottles, women’s tights, part of an HMV radio casing and other litter not possible to identify.

Progress
was slower than a judge’s summing up. After half an hour, only 10 inches of one corner of the van roof was visible.

Angel
looked at his watch. This was wasting valuable time. His mobile phone rang. It was Ahmed. ‘I’ve got that warrant to search Margaret Ireland’s, sir.’

‘
Is DS Crisp there?’

‘
I’ll find him, sir.’

‘
Go on then, lad. I’ll hold on.’

Two
minutes later Crisp was on the line.

Angel
said, ‘Ah, Trevor, I want you to find DS Carter and take her and Ahmed to Margaret Ireland’s house. Ahmed’s got the warrant. Meet you there.’

Angel
closed the phone, dropping it in his pocket as he made his way down the bank to his car.

He
was soon on Wakefield Road making his way up the hill towards the town centre. Five minutes later, he pulled on to the Willows Estate. He saw Trevor Crisp’s car outside a small semi-detached house. He pulled up behind it, tried the door of the house and found it locked so he rang the doorbell. Ahmed let him in. The team had already started the search. The house was searched methodically and all supposed secret hiding places were checked. Police search teams were well used to finding hiding places. They took down mirrors held in place by screws with cosmetic heads to see if a cavity had been created behind. They removed the sides of the boxed-in bath to see what might be concealed in the space around the bath. They checked for loose floorboards under fitted carpets that had had tacks removed at a corner. All upstairs floors were carefully walked across to check for any sense of a loose floorboard. The stairs were measured on the underside to see if a secret space had been created. Nothing was overlooked.

DS
Carter had been in the dining room looking through the sideboard drawers and had discovered, underneath a surfeit of tablecloths, a large folder inside which was a photograph album and several loose photographs. She opened the folder on the table and was surprised at what she saw.

She
went out to the kitchen and said to Angel. ‘You might want to see these photographs, sir.’

Angel
followed her into the dining room. ‘What is it, Sergeant?’

Carter
turned the pages of photographs of Margaret Ireland taken in her late teens or early twenties. It seems it was a portfolio for a model agency. Some of the photographs showed her wearing only the tiniest bits of lace.

‘
A bit bold for the 1980s, sir?’ Carter said.

Angel
had to concur, but she looked very beautiful. There was a photograph of her in a skimpy Roman-style dress as the character Aristana, the teenage nymphomaniac in the production of
Nero
. There was also one of her with Malcolm Malloy. They were in full costume and make-up and had their arms round each other in what purported to be a loving embrace. Angel assumed it would have been a publicity photograph for the play. There was also a rather a more staid photograph of her with Luke Redman. She was on a pseudo-marble seat and he was standing behind her with his hand on her shoulder which Angel thought intended to convey an avuncular relationship. And there was a copy of the same photograph Angel had found on Redman’s study wall of the entire cast and production staff of the play.

Angel
rubbed his chin. At length he said, ‘Thank you. Very interesting. Pack them up and put them back as they were.’

He
returned to the kitchen. He wasn’t certain whether the sight of Margaret Ireland’s photographs would advance his inquiries or not. It highlighted the fact that there were no photographs of any family members or friends in the collection or indeed anywhere in the house. He meandered through the hall into the kitchen where Ahmed was searching. He noticed that the key was in the back door lock so he turned it and went out into the rear garden. It was well kept but there were no signs of recently disturbed earth. He came back inside and locked the door.

The
team concluded their search and, having found nothing incriminating, they congregated in the kitchen. They couldn’t hide their disappointment.

Crisp
said, ‘What are you going to do then, sir?’

Angel
sighed, then said, ‘We have nothing to hold either of the two men, even though neither of them has an alibi for any of the murders. I am loath to return them to their respective homes, but I have no choice. Margaret Ireland has no alibis either, but the DNA result is enough to hold her for questioning.’

‘
Seems very unfair, sir,’ Carter said.

Angel
nodded. ‘It is unfair.’ He turned to Crisp. ‘When you’ve finished here, go to the station, see Lamb and tell him that Superintendent Harker is unwilling to provide him with police security after 4.55 p.m. today.’

Crisp
’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Can I say that, sir?’

‘
It’s the truth, lad,’ Angel said. ‘You can.’

Angel
then turned to Carter and said, ‘And you say the same thing to Franks.’

Carter
looked surprised.

Angel
continued, ‘Then you ask them to vacate the cells and suggest that they leave town, stay with a relation or in a hotel quietly somewhere until we catch the murderer. Tell nobody of their location but let me have their phone number. The mobile number would be best for security reasons. If they are careful about it, it will keep them safe. All right?’

‘
What if anything should happen to either of them?’ Carter said.

‘
It shouldn’t if they are careful,’ Angel said.

Carter
looked at Crisp and then at Angel and said, ‘Superintendent Harker
has
given you an ultimatum, hasn’t he, sir?’

Angel
nodded. ‘He’s my boss. I have to do as he says or leave the force. The same as you have to. All right?’

Carter
and Crisp exchanged glances.

There
was a short silence. Nobody seemed to know what to say.

Ahmed
seized the opportunity to join in the conversation, and eased his way between the two sergeants and said, ‘Excuse me, sir. If Margaret Ireland is the murderer, then what is her motive?’

Angel
rubbed his chin. ‘Ask me a question I
can
answer, lad. It’s certain that there’s no logic to these murders. There’s no discernable motive,’ he said, glad to be able to change the subject. ‘There is no money, gold, prize, estate, glory or lover to win. The murderer is simply feeding his or her ego, or exacting revenge. Or, it may be something else that is totally obscure. That’s why it is so difficult to solve. We are clearly dealing with someone who is sick. A psychopath. A lunatic. Somebody totally unhinged.
They
are the most difficult of all to catch. They are always bolder, cleverer and more dangerous than your average murderer, also they are inclined to play games with their adversaries. I expect he or she is doing exactly that with us right now. They act normally to the outside world, but privately, in their own minds, they are acting out a bizarre existence.’

‘
How do you catch them, sir,’ Ahmed said.

Angel
’s eyebrows shot up. ‘They
can
be caught by slogging, thorough police work, but also by thinking like they do.’

‘
How do you do that,’ Ahmed said.

Angel
frowned. Then gripped his chin between thumb and two fingers, pursed his lips and said, ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. I expect it comes in time.’

‘
Are you doing it now, sir?’

‘
I’m trying to,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to. But there’s something I must have missed. There must be. I don’t know what it is.’ Then he suddenly looked at his watch and said, ‘I have to go.’

He
made for the door, then turned round and looked at them all.

‘
Finish up here,’ he said. ‘If you find anything, phone me. I’m going back to the station briefly. Then I’m going down to Canal Road.’

‘
Right, sir,’ they called in unison. He waved in response and was gone.

He
drove straight to the station and phoned Mr Twelvetrees at the CPS about Margaret Ireland. He read him the DNA report on the hairs found on Luke Redman, pointing out that the sample indicated genes of a female with oriental heredity. He told him that Margaret Ireland had no alibi for any of the three murders, that she was one of the last three people alive and involved in the production of
Nero
, but added that there was no other direct evidence against her. Then he asked Twelvetrees if there was enough evidence to charge her with the murders. The barrister said that it was his opinion that there was not enough evidence circumstantial or otherwise to arrest and charge her for murder, but that there was definitely sufficient evidence to hold her for forty-eight hours for further questioning. That suited Angel admirably. He thanked him, rang off and immediately tapped in Taylor’s number.

‘
Is the van out of the water yet, Don?’

‘
Yes, sir. It’s tented and Dr Mac’s working on the body. It will take us a bit longer because the crime scene, of course, is significantly spoiled.’

‘
Have you been inside the van?’