me she came into the house and found it wide open, so she closed it. It is unfortunate, but there we are. That’s what she says happened. So if it had had any fingerprints they would have been hers.’
‘So it doesn’t matter then, sir, does it?’ Taylor said.
Angel gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Of course it matters. The existence of Susan Fairclough’s clear fingerprints on the fridge door would have proven that she was telling the truth, even though it was in itself trivial and apparently inconsequential. You know, Don, that some witnesses sometimes lie. So it would have been nice, as an example, to have confirmation that this witness, in this instance, told the truth.’
Taylor gave a little shrug, then returned to the hall to carry on with the vacuum cleaner.
Angel, followed by Flora, went into the living room. It was neat and presentable. He saw a delicately decorated and chased three-piece silver tea set on the sideboard. He picked up the teapot, turned it over and looked for the silver marks. He saw a lion passant, a leopard’s head, a king’s head and the letter ‘b’. His eyebrows shot up. ‘Phew!’ he said as he replaced it. ‘Georgian. A couple of grand at least, and on open display.’
Flora said, ‘The murderer wasn’t a thief, then, sir?’
He scratched his head. ‘Well, certainly not this morning,’ he said.
‘Maybe he just didn’t notice it?’
‘Mebbe. Let’s just have a quick look upstairs.’
They passed Taylor in the hall and mounted the stairs.
Everything was well looked after, clean and tidy. The largest bedroom at the front had a conventional dressing table situated in front of the window. He saw a gilt metal box between a hairbrush and a hand mirror on a cut-glass tray. He opened the box and saw several rings and earrings. He picked up the largest ring, which had an impressive baguette-cut green stone in the middle and twelve old cut diamonds around it. He showed it to the sergeant.
‘If that’s a real emerald, Flora – and I think it probably is – there’s another couple of grand. Could be more.’
She looked at it and smiled. ‘I wouldn’t mind a ring like that, sir.’
‘Don’t marry a copper, then,’ he said.
She smiled at him.
He replaced the ring and closed the gilt box.
She said, ‘More evidence that the killer wasn’t a thief, sir?’
‘Well, I don’t know, Flora. He certainly didn’t seem to have stealing in mind while he was here this morning.’
They went downstairs. Taylor was still in the hall by the vacuum cleaner. ‘There are no fresh prints on it, sir,’ he said.
‘Right, Don,’ Angel said, wrinkling his nose. ‘Another dead end.’
There was suddenly a shout from the kitchen. It wasDr Mac. ‘I’ve found it, Michael. I’ve found it.’
Angel, Taylor and Flora dashed out of the hall to the kitchen.
Dr Mac pointed to the tile floor at a small, shiny brass bullet case. ‘I was just straightening him up before rigor mortis sets in, and I moved a leg and that rolled out from underneath his trews.’
‘Aaah!’ Angel said, patting Mac lightly on the back. ‘We are going to need that for Ballistics.’
Taylor crouched down and got hold of the bullet case by inserting his pen into it and then turning it upright.
‘What calibre is it, Don?’ Angel said.
‘Looks like a .32 ACP, sir,’ Taylor said. ‘I’ll just check it for prints.’ He rushed off to find his brush and tin of aluminium powder.
Flora Carter turned to Angel and said, ‘What’s ACP stand for, sir?’
‘Automatic Colt Pistol,’ Angel said. ‘It’s an old classification. Today it is usually used simply to describe a cartridge with straight sides as opposed to cartridges with tapering sides.’
She nodded.
‘Flora,’ he said, ‘will you go across the road and see if Mrs Fairclough is up to coming back here? I’d like to settle one or two things. Don’t push her if she’s not up to it.’
‘Right, sir,’ she said, and
‘So it doesn’t matter then, sir, does it?’ Taylor said.
Angel gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Of course it matters. The existence of Susan Fairclough’s clear fingerprints on the fridge door would have proven that she was telling the truth, even though it was in itself trivial and apparently inconsequential. You know, Don, that some witnesses sometimes lie. So it would have been nice, as an example, to have confirmation that this witness, in this instance, told the truth.’
Taylor gave a little shrug, then returned to the hall to carry on with the vacuum cleaner.
Angel, followed by Flora, went into the living room. It was neat and presentable. He saw a delicately decorated and chased three-piece silver tea set on the sideboard. He picked up the teapot, turned it over and looked for the silver marks. He saw a lion passant, a leopard’s head, a king’s head and the letter ‘b’. His eyebrows shot up. ‘Phew!’ he said as he replaced it. ‘Georgian. A couple of grand at least, and on open display.’
Flora said, ‘The murderer wasn’t a thief, then, sir?’
He scratched his head. ‘Well, certainly not this morning,’ he said.
‘Maybe he just didn’t notice it?’
‘Mebbe. Let’s just have a quick look upstairs.’
They passed Taylor in the hall and mounted the stairs.
Everything was well looked after, clean and tidy. The largest bedroom at the front had a conventional dressing table situated in front of the window. He saw a gilt metal box between a hairbrush and a hand mirror on a cut-glass tray. He opened the box and saw several rings and earrings. He picked up the largest ring, which had an impressive baguette-cut green stone in the middle and twelve old cut diamonds around it. He showed it to the sergeant.
‘If that’s a real emerald, Flora – and I think it probably is – there’s another couple of grand. Could be more.’
She looked at it and smiled. ‘I wouldn’t mind a ring like that, sir.’
‘Don’t marry a copper, then,’ he said.
She smiled at him.
He replaced the ring and closed the gilt box.
She said, ‘More evidence that the killer wasn’t a thief, sir?’
‘Well, I don’t know, Flora. He certainly didn’t seem to have stealing in mind while he was here this morning.’
They went downstairs. Taylor was still in the hall by the vacuum cleaner. ‘There are no fresh prints on it, sir,’ he said.
‘Right, Don,’ Angel said, wrinkling his nose. ‘Another dead end.’
There was suddenly a shout from the kitchen. It wasDr Mac. ‘I’ve found it, Michael. I’ve found it.’
Angel, Taylor and Flora dashed out of the hall to the kitchen.
Dr Mac pointed to the tile floor at a small, shiny brass bullet case. ‘I was just straightening him up before rigor mortis sets in, and I moved a leg and that rolled out from underneath his trews.’
‘Aaah!’ Angel said, patting Mac lightly on the back. ‘We are going to need that for Ballistics.’
Taylor crouched down and got hold of the bullet case by inserting his pen into it and then turning it upright.
‘What calibre is it, Don?’ Angel said.
‘Looks like a .32 ACP, sir,’ Taylor said. ‘I’ll just check it for prints.’ He rushed off to find his brush and tin of aluminium powder.
Flora Carter turned to Angel and said, ‘What’s ACP stand for, sir?’
‘Automatic Colt Pistol,’ Angel said. ‘It’s an old classification. Today it is usually used simply to describe a cartridge with straight sides as opposed to cartridges with tapering sides.’
She nodded.
‘Flora,’ he said, ‘will you go across the road and see if Mrs Fairclough is up to coming back here? I’d like to settle one or two things. Don’t push her if she’s not up to it.’
‘Right, sir,’ she said, and
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