today.’
Angel silently groaned. His chest began to burn up. ‘Right, lad. Ta.’
‘Can I do anything else, sir?’
‘No. No. I don’t think so,’ he said rubbing his chin. There was a throbbing in his ears.
‘I’ll keep my eyes peeled, sir. There’s probably a very simple explanation.’
‘Probably,’ Angel replied but in his heart of hearts, he didn’t really think that there could be. He began to fear the worst. He bit his lower lip as he slowly replaced the phone.
He looked at his watch. It was 5.04. He reached back out for the phone and tapped in a number.
Gawber answered.
‘I wanted to catch you before you leave,’ Angel said. ‘Ahmed’s missing. Been missing since lunchtime. He’s not at home. His mother’s phoned in. I can’t pretend I’m not worried.’
There was a moment’s silence, then Gawber said, ‘I’ll come straight down, sir.’ And he did.
Angel told him all that had happened.
Gawber nodded but could offer no suggestion that Angel hadn’t already considered.
‘I can’t sit around much longer,’ Angel said. ‘I’d be better touring the streets on the off-chance that I might see him.’
‘It’s dark out there, sir. You wouldn’t see anything.’
‘Could stop and ask people if they’ve seen him.’
Gawber shook his head. Angel knew he was right.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door.
Angel turned, pulse racing, dashed across to it and pulled it open. It was big John Weightman, a burly uniformed constable of the old school.
‘What is it, John?’
The prompt opening of the door took Weightman by surprise. ‘There’s a funny carry-on at reception, sir. There’s a man … found outside … sort of tied up … asking for you.’
‘Tied up? What? It’s not Ahmed Ahaz?’
‘Oh no, sir,’ Weightman said. ‘No. An unusual little man … looks like he’s been knocked about a bit. He says he knows you. Wants to see you, urgently.’
Angel and Gawber exchanged glances.
‘Right,’ Angel said and they followed Weightman out of the office, up the corridor through the security door into the reception area.
A young PC came out of the interview room by the reception room door. ‘I’ve put him in here, sir. Sat him down. I almost fell over him … he was in the gutter opposite the front door. Tied up. I’ve taken the plaster off his mouth and eyes and untied the rope round his wrists and arms.’
‘Right, lad. Let’s have a look at him.’ He bustled his way past the young constable into the small interview room followed by Gawber to see a rumpled figure of a man seated at the table. He was screwing up his face and rubbing his wrists.
‘Ah! Inspector Angel,’ the man cried out and leaped to his feet as soon as he saw him.
Angel’s eyebrows shot up as he instantly recognized the man. It was David Schuster. He was in his dusty, dishevelled suit, shirt and tie. His face was troubled, red and perspiring, and his hair was tousled. On the table was a coil of rope and two adhesive plasters, the kind used to dress injuries.
Angel went up to him. ‘Mr Schuster. Are you all right?’
‘Inspector Angel. They’ve got your young police constable, and I’m afraid they mean business.’
Angel felt as if he’d been hit in the chest by a cannonball. He swallowed. At the same time he put out his hands to Schuster’s arms and returned him to the chair. ‘It’s all right. Sit down. Who have? Tell me about it.’
Schuster reached into his top pocket and pushed a folded printed letter into his hand. ‘They sent me with that. It’s a ransom demand for the lad.’
Angel took it and read it.
To DI Angel,
Your young copper will be returned alive in exchange for the Patina treasure. Put all the 21 pieces in a white bin bag and tie it up securely with string, not sticky tape. Place on the pavement on blue chalk mark in shape of a cross at kerbside at crossroads at bridge arches on Wath Road, Bromersley at exactly 5.55 pm this evening then go away quickly. On
Angel silently groaned. His chest began to burn up. ‘Right, lad. Ta.’
‘Can I do anything else, sir?’
‘No. No. I don’t think so,’ he said rubbing his chin. There was a throbbing in his ears.
‘I’ll keep my eyes peeled, sir. There’s probably a very simple explanation.’
‘Probably,’ Angel replied but in his heart of hearts, he didn’t really think that there could be. He began to fear the worst. He bit his lower lip as he slowly replaced the phone.
He looked at his watch. It was 5.04. He reached back out for the phone and tapped in a number.
Gawber answered.
‘I wanted to catch you before you leave,’ Angel said. ‘Ahmed’s missing. Been missing since lunchtime. He’s not at home. His mother’s phoned in. I can’t pretend I’m not worried.’
There was a moment’s silence, then Gawber said, ‘I’ll come straight down, sir.’ And he did.
Angel told him all that had happened.
Gawber nodded but could offer no suggestion that Angel hadn’t already considered.
‘I can’t sit around much longer,’ Angel said. ‘I’d be better touring the streets on the off-chance that I might see him.’
‘It’s dark out there, sir. You wouldn’t see anything.’
‘Could stop and ask people if they’ve seen him.’
Gawber shook his head. Angel knew he was right.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door.
Angel turned, pulse racing, dashed across to it and pulled it open. It was big John Weightman, a burly uniformed constable of the old school.
‘What is it, John?’
The prompt opening of the door took Weightman by surprise. ‘There’s a funny carry-on at reception, sir. There’s a man … found outside … sort of tied up … asking for you.’
‘Tied up? What? It’s not Ahmed Ahaz?’
‘Oh no, sir,’ Weightman said. ‘No. An unusual little man … looks like he’s been knocked about a bit. He says he knows you. Wants to see you, urgently.’
Angel and Gawber exchanged glances.
‘Right,’ Angel said and they followed Weightman out of the office, up the corridor through the security door into the reception area.
A young PC came out of the interview room by the reception room door. ‘I’ve put him in here, sir. Sat him down. I almost fell over him … he was in the gutter opposite the front door. Tied up. I’ve taken the plaster off his mouth and eyes and untied the rope round his wrists and arms.’
‘Right, lad. Let’s have a look at him.’ He bustled his way past the young constable into the small interview room followed by Gawber to see a rumpled figure of a man seated at the table. He was screwing up his face and rubbing his wrists.
‘Ah! Inspector Angel,’ the man cried out and leaped to his feet as soon as he saw him.
Angel’s eyebrows shot up as he instantly recognized the man. It was David Schuster. He was in his dusty, dishevelled suit, shirt and tie. His face was troubled, red and perspiring, and his hair was tousled. On the table was a coil of rope and two adhesive plasters, the kind used to dress injuries.
Angel went up to him. ‘Mr Schuster. Are you all right?’
‘Inspector Angel. They’ve got your young police constable, and I’m afraid they mean business.’
Angel felt as if he’d been hit in the chest by a cannonball. He swallowed. At the same time he put out his hands to Schuster’s arms and returned him to the chair. ‘It’s all right. Sit down. Who have? Tell me about it.’
Schuster reached into his top pocket and pushed a folded printed letter into his hand. ‘They sent me with that. It’s a ransom demand for the lad.’
Angel took it and read it.
To DI Angel,
Your young copper will be returned alive in exchange for the Patina treasure. Put all the 21 pieces in a white bin bag and tie it up securely with string, not sticky tape. Place on the pavement on blue chalk mark in shape of a cross at kerbside at crossroads at bridge arches on Wath Road, Bromersley at exactly 5.55 pm this evening then go away quickly. On
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