Shrine to Murder (19 page)

‘
Thank you very much, sir.’

He
cancelled the call and rang the undertakers, Jobson Hargreaves. He was soon speaking to Mr Hargreaves Senior. ‘I’m making inquiries about the funeral of a Malcolm Malloy who died on 24 May and whose funeral was on the 10 June 1989.’

‘
That’s almost twenty years ago, Inspector. It will take me a few minutes to find the right order book.’

He
eventually came back and said, ‘I took the order, Inspector. It’s in my writing. Mr Malcolm Malloy. Now what did you want to know?’

‘
What was Mr Malloy’s address?’

‘
It’s given here as Skiptonthorpe Cottage Hospital. That’s where we would have had to collect his remains.’

Angel
rubbed his chin. The place was ten miles out, towards the moors. It had been closed down years. Who gave you the order?’

‘
A Mr J. Parker-Snell.’

‘
And who signed the death certificate?’

‘
It’s just a squiggle of course, but thankfully, it’s typed underneath. Dr Cambridge.’

‘
And was Mr Malloy buried or cremated?’

‘
Buried. Strange, I remember. He’s in a quiet plot by the wall in Bromersley Central Cemetery. Plot 1505.’

Angel
blinked. He was very surprised. He fully expected to be told he had been cremated. ‘Thank you very much, Mr Hargreaves.’

He
replaced the phone, went out of the office, and dashed down the corridor, past the cells to the back door. He jumped into the BMW and drove through the town centre and out on the Sheffield Road to the first traffic lights. He turned left and left again and he was on Cemetery Road. He passed a procession of shiny limousines, which had just left the cemetery. A man was closing the wrought-iron gates.

Angel
parked up the car, got out and went over to him.

‘
Are you the cemetery manager?’

‘
I’m the gravedigger, sir,’ the man said with a smile. ‘But I accept the promotion willingly.’

Angel
’s tact had worked. ‘It’s all done with machinery now, isn’t it?’ he said nodding towards a small diesel-driven digger on tracks.

‘
Aye. You’ve sussed me out. What can I do for you?’

‘
I’m looking for grave number 1505, a Mr Malcolm Malloy.’

‘
1505? That’ll be on the south side, by the wall. Come on. I’ll walk you down.’

‘
Thank you.’

The
two men trudged silently down the long path, the gravedigger leading. When almost at the end, the gravedigger took a stride off the flagstone on to grass, around some headstones and then up to the cemetery boundary wall. Angel followed. The gravedigger stopped, pointed at an unmarked plot and said, ‘That’s it. 1505.’

Angel
looked down at the grassed-over plot with no headstone or grave edging and frowned. ‘Are you sure?’ he said.

The
gravedigger was adamant. He fished around over the plot in the dandelions with his fingers and found a grey aluminium marker with the number 1505 embossed on it stuck into the earth. He pointed it out to Angel.

Angel
acknowledged that it was 1505, nodded, thanked him, returned to his car and drove straight to Bromersley General Hospital. After a good deal of persuasive talking to the hospital secretary, the young man said he would need to consult his several masters. Angel hung around waiting in the secretary’s office until sanctions were granted. Then he was shown to a small general office behind the lifts, where he was invited to wait. Twenty minutes later, a porter wheeled in a trolley of dusty files from the cellar for Angel’s perusal.

‘
There you are, sir. That’s everything there is on Skiptonthorpe Cottage Hospital from 1 January 1989 until it closed in May. You can leave them here when you’ve done. But please don’t muck them up.’

‘
I won’t,’ Angel said. ‘And thank you.’

Angel
dived into the files and soon found out that Malloy was admitted to the hospital at 9.42 p.m. on 11 April 1989. There were details of the doctor who examined him, treated him, prescribed the trauma routine for him, and many details of his welfare and his physical reaction to it. He was diagnosed as having 80 per cent burns. Angel found out that the morning following the night he was admitted, Malloy was transferred to the cottage hospital, Skiptonthorpe, for specialist burns treatment. The treatment seemed to be almost exclusively trauma nursing. He noted that he had been written up for a visit from a psychiatrist and several visits from a prosthesis clinic technician. As much as Angel could interpret medical terminology, Malloy seemed at that time to have been dangerously ill.

After
two hours of wading through results of endless tests, unintelligible notes and daily reports, Angel looked up wearily and rubbed his eyes. He wondered whether all this was leading him any nearer to catching the murderer. On the last page of Malloy’s notes was a printed floor plan of the ward indicating the door, sink, the placing of the furniture, and so on. Angel noticed that there were only two beds shown, and across each bed in blue Biro was written a patient’s name. His heart leaped when he saw the name of the one who shared the ward with Malloy.

He
sat back in the chair and looked round the empty overheated office, stunned, as if someone had hit him with Strangeway’s tower. He dived back into the files and spent another hour searching, reading and making notes.

Then
he tidied all the papers in the files, returned them in their proper order to the trolley and came out of the little office. He went out to his car. He made a call at the electoral roll office at the Town Hall then he drove straight to Dr Suliman to get a warrant. Angel almost always approached Dr Suliman because he was usually the most accessible JP in Bromersley, and warrants were almost always needed at short notice.

By
the time Angel reached the station, it was five minutes past five. He looked in the CID office but it was empty. He ran into his office and reached for the phone. Nobody was answering the phone in the SOCO’s office either.

He
heard the distant clang of a metal locker door followed by the closing of a door up the corridor. He slammed down the phone and rushed out of the office, hoping to see one of his team.

It
was DS Carter.

He
pursed his lips and rubbed his chin. She was one of his team, of course. But for the job he had to do, he reckoned it needed a man.

She
walked up to him like a young gazelle.

‘
Good night, sir,’ she said with a nervous smile.

She
passed him.

He
didn’t reply. He couldn’t. He watched her. He was thinking. He had a warrant to arrest a serial killer in his pocket. He’d like to keep it ‘in the family’. Should he get uniform to assist him now? Or ask her? Or leave it until the morning?’

‘
Sergeant Carter,’ he called.

She
stopped in the corridor and turned. ‘I thought you were going to ignore me, sir?’

‘
No. No,’ he said, rubbing his chin. ‘Lot on my mind.’ He ran the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip. ‘Are you in a hurry?’

She
blinked. ‘No, sir,’ she said as she walked back towards him.

‘
Like to earn a bit of overtime? I am hopefully going out to arrest the serial killer.’

Her
eyes and mouth opened wide. ‘Sir!’ she said.

He
frowned. ‘I take it that’s a yes. Bring some handcuffs.’

Chapter Fifteen

Angel stopped the car outside 12a Mulberry Place, a big old Victorian house and pulled on the handbrake. ‘I don’t know whether he’ll be at home or not. I’ll try him on the front door. You go round the back. And be careful.’

Carter
dashed off.

Angel
walked slowly up the steps to give time for Carter to get in position. He looked at the unwashed windows and the dirty step. He frowned when he observed that the curtains in both of the front rooms were closed. He noticed the cobweb across the corner of the front door as he banged the knocker hard and loud. There was no reply. He waited a few moments then repeated the battering. There was still no reply. He went round the side of the house and saw Carter waiting by the back door.

She
saw him and came over.

‘
No reply,’ he said, licking his lower lip with the tip of his tongue.

‘
What now, sir.’

‘
We’re going to break in.’

She
looked round for a window to break.

Angel
noticed what she was doing. ‘No,’ he said.

He
walked across to the back door and peered at the lock. ‘It’s only a two lever,’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t take long.’

Carter
watched in surprise as he took a slim case of lock-picking tools out of his inside pocket. ‘Hold this for me,’ he said.

She
held the open case for him.

Firstly,
he sorted out a blank key about the size of the lock, covered one side with white chalk, inserted it in the lock, turned it anticlockwise as far as it would go, withdrew it and checked it for marks. It told him what he needed to know. Then he carefully introduced a pick into the keyhole and then another. He soon had the first lever and had to fish round for the second. It took him a minute or so. He thought he had found it. He applied some pressure. There was a click and it was done. He returned the picks, the blank key and chalk to the case, took it from her, closed it and dropped it back into his inside pocket.

Carter
said, ‘Is it unlocked?’

He
nodded, turned the knob and pushed open the door.

‘
Anybody here?’ he called. ‘This is the police.’

The
door led straight into a large, old fashioned kitchen, meanly furnished and in need of a good clean.

‘
Anybody here? This is the police,’ they called several times.

They
walked quickly through it into a hall. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. A corner of the hall had the wallpaper peeling off. Cobwebs were draped from corner to corner. The floor was uncarpeted. There was the smell of stale food. There was no furniture.

Four
doors led out of the hall.

Angel
indicated to Carter to look in the rooms.

He
looked in the nearest room, which was uncarpeted and had no furniture in it. A second was also empty. A third room was in darkness, the curtain was drawn to. He switched on the light. It had a computer on a bench, a large-screen TV, a chair and piles of magazines and newspapers on the floor. He put his hand on the top of the TV screen expecting it to be cold. It wasn’t.

He
sucked in air. A thumping started in his chest. He realized the murderer could not be far away. He suddenly thought about Carter. He dashed out into the hall. She was on the stairs. He was relieved that she was all right. She saw him. Her face brightened. He ran up behind her.

‘
Weird, sir?’ she said.

‘
He’s in the house,’ he whispered. ‘Be careful.’

She
gasped then gawped back at him, with big, startled eyes.

‘
How do you know?’ she said.

He
didn’t reply. He wished he had brought somebody with muscles like Gawber. He overtook her and reached the top of the stairs. He looked in one room. It was also unfurnished.

Carter
looked in the room opposite.

He
came back on the landing and had gone into another room when he heard her gasp.

‘
Sir! Sir!’ Carter yelled.

‘
Yes. Have you found him?’

He
dashed out to the landing and bumped into her.

Her
hands were shaking in front of her. She saw them as if they weren’t hers. Her face tightened. She stopped shaking and put them down by her side as if she was purposely steeling herself.

‘
Have you found him?’ Angel said.

‘
No, sir.’

‘
What is it, then?’ he said.

Her
eyes tracked to the door of the room she had just come out of. ‘In there, sir.’

Angel
went up to the open door. His nose twitched. There was an unusual smell. He became immediately aware of warm air round his cheeks, ears and hands, and a smell of hot wax. As he went inside, he saw the amazing sight of many candles and nightlights lit - some on a table, some on the floor, and at the far side of the room, some on a dressing table reflected in a mirror. Then Angel saw that draped on a wall were four white bed sheets heavily stained in blood. He reckoned they would be the sheets worn as Roman-type garments by the murderer when he killed Luke Redman, Ingrid Underwood and Angus Peel.

He
breathed in and out deeply. His pulse rate was very fast.

It
was a big room. Probably the master bedroom. The candles produced an oppressive heat and a camphor like smell.

Carter
came up close to him and said. ‘Where is he, sir?’ Angel shook his head. ‘Don’t know.’

He
was wondering where he was, also thinking that possession of those sheets alone with his DNA as well as the victim’s on them would be enough to convict him and put him way forever.

There
was a high table in front of the sheets, with four photographs, in frames, of the characters in Roman dress from the production twenty years earlier, and four brass candlesticks on it, each holding huge candles decorated with glitter and what looked like brightly coloured glass stones in red, green, blue and amber.

‘
It’s a shrine,’ Angel said.

Carter
’s jaw dropped open. ‘A shrine?’

They
ventured further into the large room and saw another table with a lamp on it, also a large mirror and hat blocks on it. There was a golden-brown man’s wig on one, and a wreath of laurel leaves on the other. To the left of the mirror was a steel box with twenty or more sticks and pots of stage makeup, and to the right, a big open pot of cold cream, and three open packets of crepe hair in different colours.

They
were so absorbed in all these materials that they failed to notice a man silently appear from behind one of the bloody bedsheets. He had his hands in his pockets.

He
stared at them for a moment then said, ‘Ah. Inspector Angel and a beautiful young lady.’

His
voice was as cold as the Christmas icicles that hang from Strangeways’ roof. ‘Breaking and entering my humble home. What are you doing here?’

Startled,
they turned to face him.

Angel
was on his mettle. ‘We’ve come to arrest you,’ he said.

‘
Ha. You’ll never arrest me.’

‘
It’s Mr Lamb,’ Carter said.

‘
Oh you know me, Miss. I’m flattered,’ he said.

‘
It’s not Kenneth Lamb,’ Angel said. ‘It’s Malcolm Malloy, in a mask.’

Carter
frowned.

The
man sniggered. ‘You’re right, as always, dear Inspector. Your reputation remains unsullied. You will be able to go to your grave knowing that you were right again. How ever did you find out? I thought I had covered my tracks perfectly.’

‘
The hospital records, Malloy. You should have destroyed them.’

‘
The hospital records? Huh. I didn’t need to. The switch was perfect. The man in the next bed died of similar burns to mine. It was an easy matter to wheel the beds round, swap over the notes, put an extra roll of bandage over the dead man’s face, and the switch was made. The hospital was closing down the following day. The staff were in chaos. They were leaving for other jobs. I pretended to be asleep when the idiot nurse looked at me, then let the undertaker come in and take the dead man out. The plan was perfect.’

‘
Wonderful,’ Angel said ironically.

‘
Yes. I thought so,’ Malloy said. ‘You didn’t say what I missed.’

‘
You didn’t destroy the ward plan. I only had to see the name of the other man in the ward, and it showed up the whole nasty business.’

‘
Damn. I should have been more thorough. Damn. Damn. Damn.’

‘
You probably ruined his family’s life, Malloy.’

‘
Huh. He didn’t have any family, Inspector. Like me. He didn’t have anybody close. He didn’t have any visitors. Don’t you think I hadn’t thought of that? I watched that
very
carefully
. We shared the ward for almost six weeks, we became very close. He had to have face reconstruction, as I had. It made us both look like freaks.
Freaks
! I have had to wear a prosthetic chin and half cheek ever since. But my instruction in make-up at stage school came in very handy. You never noticed, did you? If you didn’t have to touch my face, you would never have known.’

‘
Of course I knew. I knew it wasn’t Lamb who stole the sheets. Like I knew you weren’t Lamb when you appeared so dramatically just now.’

‘
How could you know? How did you know? My height is the same as his. The suit is similar to the one he wears. The mask is a fair likeness, and the skin colour identical!’

‘
You have blue eyes, he has brown, and the mask does not flex and tighten naturally when you speak.’

Malloy
breathed in noisily. He was not pleased. ‘There are
limits
to what one can expect of a mask, Inspector.’

‘
What did you start it all for?’ Angel said. ‘Why murder the people who were your friends.’

‘
They were not my friends. They were my competitors. While I was three years in and out of hospital, in unspeakable pain and being carved about, they were making relationships, marrying, having children, running businesses, establishing practices, becoming famous. Doing all the things normal people do. But not I. All I could do was take a backroom job, a humble clerk, where hardly anybody saw me. With a face like mine, I couldn’t even get a job as the hunchback of Notre Dame, much less as a leading man. I couldn’t kiss a woman – on stage or off – for fear she would be repelled by the coldness of my plastic lip. Why should it happen to me? What had I done? Why couldn’t it have happened to someone else? There are plenty of stupid, worthless, motiveless people out there in the world. Why me? I was set for great things. I was greatly talented. I was ready for all the Shakespearean, Dickensian and every other part. There isn’t a character I could not have played magnificently. I was set to pick up all the awards. Everybody said so. By now, I would have had a cupboard full of Oscars. My name would have been linked with all the big Hollywood names. I would have been chancellor of universities. Awarded the CBE. I would have been worth millions. Women would have been clamouring for my attention and I would have been swatting them away like flies. I would have made love to every desirable woman in the world and been searching for more. There would have been no end to it. Alas, it was not to be.’

Angel
sniffed. ‘No, it was not.’ He stepped forward and said, ‘Malcolm Malloy, I am arresting you on -’

Malloy
suddenly pulled his right hand, holding the silver dagger, out of his pocket. He held it up high. ‘Stay where you are, Inspector. Nobody is arresting anybody.’

Angel
froze. His heart pounded.

Carter
stared up at the weapon.

Angel
took a deep breath, turned back to Malloy and said, ‘I have started the notice of arrest, I
have
to finish it.’

‘
I have not finished my mission, Inspector. There are still two members of the conspiracy that have to be disposed of.’

‘
No, Malloy. Put down the dagger down. Your killing spree is finished.’

Carter
suddenly said, ‘Come on, Mr Malloy. I think your description of the mad man who has been badly treated has been most wonderfully portrayed and if it had been part of a screen trial, I reckon you would most certainly have got the part.’

Angel
glanced at her, his mouth open. He wondered if she had gone mad.