The Man Who Couldn't Lose by Roger Silverwood

She was devastated. Didn’t do him any good then. Big drug baron from Leeds way now, isn’t he? Served time in Durham, hasn’t he?’
    Gardiner nodded.
    â€˜International figure now. A record as long as your arm. Always packs a gun. Thought to have murdered a man in Andorra. A customs man who got in his way. As sly as a fox.’
    Gardiner turned away from Angel and looked across at Harker.
    â€˜Right, Michael. That was just to put you in the picture. If you hear anything, let the DCI and me know about it.’
    â€˜Right, sir,’ Angel said.
    â€˜Crack on with …that crook in a wheelchair case … that Gumme murder, then,’ Harker said.
    Angel nodded and made for the door. He ran his hand through his hair as he dashed up the corridor back to his own office. They only wanted to see if he knew Spitzer, to see if he would recognize him if he turned up back in South Yorkshire, that’s all that was about. Must be ten years since he saw him. He was nothing but an uncouth hooligan then. A young man in a hurry. Now wanted for drug-running and murder and a lot more. He’d seen it all before.
    He arrived in his office and immediately picked up the phone. He tapped in a nine for an outside line then tapped in a six-digit number.
    There was a click as the phone was answered.
    â€˜Hello? Mrs Buller-Price speaking.’
    â€˜Ah,’ he said. Her voice sounded bright and normal. He was much relieved. ‘Inspector Angel here.’
    â€˜Ah,’ she said warmly. ‘How nice of you to call, Inspector. You have some good news for me? You have found my jewellery, my pot dog, my Fifi, and …?’
    â€˜Alas, no, dear Mrs Buller-Price, but rest assured we are making dedicated enquiries to find the items, but have had no success up to now.’
    â€˜Oh dear.’
    â€˜I have really phoned to ask you if you have seen any strangers in the farm or the fields, or indeed anywhere round there, lately?’
    â€˜No. I have not, Inspector. I did see your Sergeant Gawber last Wednesday, I think it was. He was very nice, with a fingerprint man. Haven’t seen anybody since.’
    â€˜I was thinking more recently. This morning? There was a report of a plane getting lost around your way early this morning. You didn’t see a small aeroplane …?’
    â€˜Must be a rotten navigator to get lost near this thumping great television mast! No. I didn’t see any planes. Where was he headed for?’
    Angel had to think quickly.
    â€˜Huddersfield, I believe.’
    â€˜Oh? I didn’t know there was a place to land in Huddersfield?’
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    â€˜Good morning, Mr Angel. Are Mrs Angel’s reading glasses satisfactory? Or is there something wrong with your eyes? Is it you that needs an eye test this time?’
    â€˜My eyes are fine, as far as I know, Mr Rainford, thank you. As you may remember, I am a policeman … a detective. I have a query about a pair of spectacles that have come into my possession in the course of investigating a case. Would you kindly take a look at them?’
    Rainford’s eyebrows shot up.
    â€˜Of course. Of course. How very interesting.’
    Angel pulled a large manilla envelope out of his pocket, carefully opened it and slid the spectacles out onto the counter top.
    â€˜Ah. Do these belong to a criminal, then, Mr Angel?’ he said. He picked them up, opened the arms, held them up in the direction of the shop window and looked through the lenses.
    â€˜Something like that,’ Angel said.
    Rainford turned to Angel and said, ‘Now, what exactly do you want to know?’
    â€˜Well, is there anything unusual about them?’
    â€˜They are not prescription spectacles. Hmm. These are really powerful, unsophisticated lenses for a patient who needs simple magnification, such as for reading or sewing or any kind of close work. The magnification is the same in each lens.’
    â€˜Where would one buy these