The Wigmaker Read Online Free Page B

calling out: ‘Inspector! Inspector Angel! Are you still up there?’
    It was DS Taylor. Angel went to the banister and called back down. ‘Yes Don, what is it?’
    ‘Young lady to see you, sir. Friend of Mr Wolff.’
    Angel’s head went up. That was good news. It might save a lot of shoe leather and time.
    ‘Right, I’ll come down.’
    ‘I’ll push off, sir,’ Gawber said. ‘See what I can dig up.’ He made for the stairs. Angel followed behind him.
    Taylor met Angel at the shop door. ‘She’s just outside, sir. Didn’t let her in. Says she knows Peter Wolff.’

CHAPTER THREE
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    A ngel opened the shop door and a young woman of about twenty-five with a doleful face and beautiful eyes greeted him. She spoke pleasantly, with no smile. She held her head erect and stiff, with her shoulders back. Her hair was shiny, thick and black. She had long slim legs, was about five feet tall and she had a handbag on a strap over her very lean shoulder.
    ‘Is Peter dead?’ she murmured, wiping her eyes with a tissue.
    Angel nodded. ‘I am afraid so, miss. Please come in,’ he said, holding open the door for her.
    She stepped gingerly into the shop, noticing firstly the water on the floor, then the grimy walls. Her big eyes looked round at the walls and mirrors. Her face reflected how shocked she was at what she now saw.
    ‘You knew him well?’
    ‘As well as anybody, I suppose,’ she said. Angel reckoned that her enunciation was exaggerated, indicating that English was not her first language.
    ‘What was your relationship with him, miss?’
    ‘My name is Gina Podolsky. I worked for him now and again. What has happened to him? Please tell me.’
    Angel was impressed by the genteel presence of the woman. She kept her head down and her eyes lowered.
    ‘I don’t know,’ he replied quietly. ‘He is dead and the place was set on fire. I am hoping you can help me. What did you do exactly? Were you intending to work for him today?’
    Her eyes flashed crossly. She gave a quick jerk at the waist that made her skirt fan out a little way to show more of her legs, she blinked affectedly and said, ‘I am a model. I posed for all Peter Wolff’s pictures for his catalogue. He said I was the best model he ever had.’ Her voice faltered. ‘Today, he wanted to shoot me in some new wigs and hairpieces he had made.’ She suddenly broke down in tears. ‘Oh, this is awful.’
    ‘Take your time, miss,’ Angel said gently.
    He waited a little while, then he said: ‘Did you know him long?’
    ‘Thank you. I am all right, now,’ she said, finding a pocket in which to stuff the tissue. ‘Three or four years. I live in Sheffield. We had an arrangement … a booking. I was to be here today between nine thirty and ten o’clock for around four hours. He was preparing his spring catalogue. It’s not a big catalogue, you understand. A sort of glorified leaflet that showed around sixty pictures of me in different wigs. He sends it out to his client list and any enquirers, I suppose.’
    ‘How well did you know him?’ Angel said looking closely into her eyes.
    There was that flash of anger again. She thought that Angel might be suggesting something improper. She lifted her chin. ‘I knew him only as a model for his wigs. Nothing more. He was nearly old enough to be my father, I suppose. But he was a very nice man.’
    ‘Did he have any family? Was he married?’
    ‘I think that he said he had been married but his wife had died. I do not know if they had had any children.’
    ‘I have to find his next of kin, you see, Miss Podolsky.’
    ‘I am sorry. I cannot help you there. I know nothing more about that.’
    ‘Hmm. Have you any idea who might have wanted him dead? Do you know if he had any enemies?’
    ‘Oh no. Peter was one of the nicest men you would wish to meet.’
    ‘Did he have any money troubles … as far as you know?’
    ‘I shouldn’t have thought so. He always seemed to be busy at the bench. The telephone rang