Angel and the Actress Read Online Free Page A

handbag.
     
    The Mansion House, Bromersley, South Yorkshire – 11 a.m. Monday, 3 November 2014
     
    Angel was in the small sitting room off the hall. He was seated behind a small antique ormolu table that had beenmoved to the middle of the room, which was adequately furnished with several chairs, and a big television almost concealed by a fire screen.
    He had his notes in front of him and was reading through them when there was a knock at the door.
    ‘Come in,’ he called.
    It was DS Carter. Her face glowed. Her eyes were dancing. ‘We’ve found the gun, sir.’
    Angel’s eyebrows went up. ‘Where?’ he said, standing up. ‘Whereabouts?’
    ‘On the lawn, not far from the front door,’ she said.
    ‘Show me,’ he said.
    Carter turned round and made for the door. Angel went round the table and followed her. They went out through the front door, down the steps and onto the drive.
    On the lawn beyond, a small crowd of policemen and women in high-visibility coats and carrying long sticks were talking among themselves. They looked round as Angel and the sergeant approached.
    Carter led the way on to the grass, and about two metres from the gravel drive, on the closely cut lawn, she pointed downwards. ‘There, sir,’ she said.
    The group of police who had been searching the grounds and the house came in closer.
    Angel looked down at the handgun. He recognized the make immediately.
    ‘Ah,’ he said, giving a deep and satisfying sigh. ‘It’s an old Walther, PPK/S .32 automatic.’
    He turned to the group and said, ‘Who found it?’
    ‘I did, sir,’ a young man said with a grin.
    ‘Well done, lad,’ Angel said. ‘And what’s your name?’
    ‘Atkinson, sir,’ he said, enjoying the moment and looking round to see if his workmates were noticing him.
    ‘I’ll remember that,’ Angel said. Then he looked at the others. ‘Nobody’s touched it, have they?’ he added.
    A few voices muttered, ‘No, sir.’
    ‘Good,’ he said, then he looked at the young policeman and said, ‘Stay with this gun, Atkinson, and don’t let anybody near it until SOCO assume responsibility for it. All right?’
    ‘Right, sir,’ Atkinson said, still grinning.
    Angel turned to Carter and said, ‘Ask Don Taylor to deal with it ASAP. Have you much more to search?’
    ‘No, sir, but I said I’d assist Don with the vacuuming of the witnesses’ clothing.’
    ‘Right,’ Angel said. ‘The women will prefer another woman for that job, obviously. I’ll get Crisp to take over from you, but carry on with the searching until he arrives.’
    She nodded in agreement and turned away.
    Then Angel set off back to the little sitting room, tapping out a number on his mobile as he went. He was phoning his other detective sergeant. He closed the sitting-room door and sat down at the ormolu table. He had the phone to his ear listening to the ringing tone.
    To look at, Detective Sergeant Trevor Crisp was straight out of a 1940s Hollywood list of leading men: tall, dark and handsome. He was in his thirties, unmarried and had been seen many times hanging around with WPC Leisha Baverstock, the station beauty. They had been engaged at least twice but where their relationship was at any given time, nobody knew. Crisp wasn’t a gifted detective. He wasn’t even hard-working. In fact,Angel frequently couldn’t find him. But he was very useful in dealing with women witnesses and villains. He could wheedle round a female better than anybody else at Bromersley nick, and he could handle tough, rough recidivists when necessary.
    Angel’s phone was answered.
    ‘Good morning, sir,’ DS Crisp said.
    ‘There you are,’ Angel said. ‘I want you over here on this Joan Minter murder ASAP. What are you doing?’
    ‘I’m looking into the strange case of the robbery of two cars from the same family, sir.’
    ‘Oh?’ Angel said, and began to tug on an ear. ‘Were they luxury cars … Rolls Royce or Jaguar or…?’
    ‘No, sir. One was a Ford and the