The Wigmaker Read Online Free Page A

yes.’
    Angel turned round and made his way up the second flight to the top floor.
    The top floor seemed to have suffered the least fire damage. There was a bedroom, a bathroom without a bath, a small living room with a small oven in the corner, a worktop, a television and a sink, a settee, an easy chair and a small table. The rooms didn’t have doors, just archways.
    Dr Mac, a small white-haired Glaswegian in a white paper suit was leaning over a large divan bed. His bag of mysterious surgical instruments stood open on the floor. He turned to see Angel appear through the arch.
    ‘Morning, Mac. What you got?’
    ‘Never been to a wig maker’s before,’ Mac said slowly in a broad Glaswegian accent you could batter with a haggis.
    ‘No. Neither have I. Is that the man, Peter Wolff?’
    ‘Yes. It’s him all right. There’s a picture of him in last week’s Bromersley Chronicle . He won a prize or something for making a wig for some famous popsy or other on the telly.’
    ‘I wouldn’t know. But it’s good to be sure whose body we are looking at.’
    Mac bent down to his bag, permitting Angel from the archway to see the body of a man still in bed, naked to the waist with dried blood on his chest; he had a bald, domed head and ribs sticking out like a turkey carcass on Boxing Day.
    ‘Was he shot?’ Angel asked, as he observed the face of the body. It was pasty, thin and white.
    ‘Aye,’ the doctor continued. ‘One bullet. About a .303. Timing will be a bit difficult. The fire has made a mess of my usual method of calculations.’
    Angel nodded. ‘But it’s reasonable to assume that Wolff was murdered before the fire was started.’
    ‘Aye. That’s logical,’ the doctor said, sealing up a polythene envelope and writing on the front of it. ‘And it’s correct.’
    ‘I assume then that the murderer would have broken into the premises, made his way up the two flights of stairs to this floor.’ Angel suddenly stopped, frowned, and said, ‘Tell me, Mac, has he got any pants on?’
    ‘No,’ the doctor said. ‘Why?’
    ‘I was thinking, he must have been murdered in bed. No man would normally stay in bed if he heard noises of an intruder in the place. If he were naked, he would certainly have felt vulnerable and further disadvantaged. There appear to be no signs of a struggle in or around the bed. I guess Mr Wolff may have been shot while he was asleep.’
    ‘It’s possible. He hasn’t been moved since death. I can say that for certain.’
    Angel seemed satisfied with that preliminary analysis. He rubbed his chin.
    Mac leaned over to the little bedside table and picked up his stand thermometer. He gazed at the level of the mercury. ‘You see, Michael. It’s still almost sixty in here and the windows are wide open.’
    Angel nodded. ‘So what time do you estimate death?’
    Mac pulled an impatient face. He closed the thermometer case and pushed it into his bag. ‘Well, I suppose it would have to be between 2200 hours last night and 0400 hours this morning. It would be difficult to be more accurate than that.’
    ‘Fair enough. The fire was first reported at 0600 hours. Mmm.’
    He was getting a clearer picture.
    There were footsteps on the stairs and a figure appeared behind him. It was DS Gawber. ‘Morning, sir.’
    ‘There you are, Ron. I’ve about finished here for the moment.’ He turned to the doctor. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you, Mac,’ he said.
    ‘Aye. I’ll do the PM this afternoon. Don’t expect a lot from here. The murderer was clean, tidy and well organized,’ the doctor called after him.
    Angel wrinkled his nose. He pointed out of the room, Gawber backed out and the two of them moved into the living room area.
    ‘This is murder and arson, Ron. I want you to find out Wolff’s next of kin, then ask around … in the neighbouring shops for any info about him … particularly about any regular visitors … customers, whatever.’
    Suddenly they heard a voice from below them