The Curious Mind of Inspector Angel Read Online Free

away from his ear and said, ‘It’s no good.’
    Johannson’s top lip tightened back against his teeth. His fists tightened causing his nails to cut into the palms of his hands.
    ‘Cut,’ he bawled, his face scarlet with rage. ‘Shoot that bloody horse or put a gag in its mouth. If you can’t keep it quiet, you’ll be off this film and every other Euromagna production for the next hundred years. Do you understand?’
    The driver looked mortified. He too coloured up red. His was with embarrassment, not rage. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘Very sorry, sir.’
    Johannson waggled a finger to summon a young man from the crew standing in the group nearby. He whispered in his ear. The gofer ran off.
    Nanette Quadrette glared at Johannson, hoisted up her bosom and tightened her mouth. Johannson didn’t notice. A woman rushed up with a powder puff and touched her nose again.
    The gofer returned with a small bottle. Johannson took it, unscrewed the top, poured some pills into his hand, then up to his mouth and swilled them down with something from a paper cup in front of him. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair and said, ‘Right, Sean.’
    They began the routine all over again.
    This time, everything went well. The marker boy marked the scene. The bird warbler was spot on cue.
    Nanette Quadrette did her bit down the cobblestones in that long thin, tight dress, with everybody’s eyes on her. She looked terrific. She was magnetic. The scene showed great promise. She seductively knocked on the door, looking desirable and full of anticipation, and waited.
    The door didn’t open.
    She held the tension magnificently.
    Johannson stared across the garden gate at it. It still didn’t open.
    Everybody waited. And waited. It was too long. The spell was broken.
    Quadrette took in a deep breath, turned round, glared at Johannson, hoisted her skirt and squawked, ‘Well, where the bleeding hell is he?’
    Most of the crew blinked and sucked in air.
    ‘Cut,’ Johannson said through clenched teeth.
    You could have cut the air with a chain saw. Everybody wondered what was going to happen next and stared at the director.
    Johannson glared back at Nanette Quadette. ‘I am not his nanny!’ he bawled. ‘This is supposed to be a professional outfit. I am dealing with a bunch of bloody amateurs!’
    Then the farmhouse door opened uncertainly and the dark bronzed head of Otis Stroom poked through it. He was wearing spectacles now. He took them off, blinked, looked across at Johannson in surprise and said, ‘I say, Mark, what’s my cue to open the door?’
    Johannson looked heavenward.
    Nanette Quadrette screamed, pushed the woman with the powder puff out of the way and stormed off to her caravan.

THREE
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    Broadlawns, Yew Tree Lane, Weybridge, Surrey. Monday, 19 February 2007. 10.00 a.m.
    ‘It’s not enough,’ Violet screamed. ‘Nowhere near enough. It’ll cost you a lot more than the deeds of this house to get shut of me, you bastard.’ She viciously stubbed a cigarette out on the ashtray on the mantelpiece and then stormed angrily round the living room.
    ‘Be reasonable, Violet,’ the man said, standing up and rubbing each side of his moustache in turn.
    ‘The crack in the pool needs twenty thousand spending on it. The drive needs repaving.’
    ‘I can’t possibly pay out for everything. Be reasonable, Violet.’
    ‘Reasonable? What’s reasonable? Who stuck by you when the coppers were climbing all over the house in that mucky porno caper you had going with that girl? If I hadn’t lied for you, you’d have gone down for four years.’
    ‘They weren’t pornographic! They were artistic poses. Dammit you used to—’
    She cut him off. ‘She was under age and you knew it. I’ve built a very profitable business up for you, over the past ten years,’ she said, lighting up another cigarette. ‘While you’ve been away, living it up with Merle, playing at being Mr Respectable.’
    ‘ We’ve built a very profitable