Angel thanked him and then spoke to the landlord and his wife, who had nothing useful to add. They had had a busy but peaceful evening in the bar, and nothing unusual had occurred.
Angel nodded and came out of the back door of the pub as one of the SOCO team in standard disposable white paper overalls was snapping photographs of the pub, the skip, the body and everything else that didn’t move.
Gawber arrived and came rushing across the car park.
‘Do the door-to-door, Ron. All I’ve got is a dead man in a brown suit, who wasn’t here at 5 o’clock yesterday afternoon.’
‘Right, sir,’ Gawber said and set off back the way he’d come.
Angel turned back to the skip.
Mac was in the skip, kitted out in the white paper overalls, hat, rubber boots and gloves. He hovered over the body.
Angel called over to him. ‘Cause of death, Mac?’
The doctor wasn’t pleased. He muttered something including an expletive he’d no doubt learned in his student days while washing pots for beer money in a Glasgow pub.
‘Didn’t quite catch it, Mac,’ Angel said knowingly.
‘I don’t know the cause of death yet,’ he snapped testily. ‘Give me a chance! Wound to the chest. Lot of blood around. Lot of bruising. He’s been badly knocked about. Might take me a day or so.’
Angel’s eyes narrowed.
‘Nasty. Sounds like a gang-type attack, more than one assailant?’
There was a pause before Mac snapped out his reply.
‘Don’t know. Ye’ll have to wait.’
Angel looked away. That was the problem – he couldn’t wait. He looked back at the body and tried to get a square look at the face. Mac had turned the head over to pull up the eyelids. There were blue bruises to the forehead and the cheeks. There was blood dried on his lips, which also seemed swollen. Nobody could ID him in that state.
Angel wasn’t prepared to hang around.
‘Look in his pockets, Mac,’ he said patiently. ‘I need to know who he is.’
Mac had just put something in a small transparent packet. He zipped across the top of it to seal it, wrote on it and put it in a white valise over his shoulder.
‘Aye. All right. Anything to shut you up.’
He pulled the body round more easily to reach the inside pocket. He reached inside found something. He brought it out, carefully holding it by the edges.
‘I think I’ve found ye a cheque book.’
Angel’s face brightened.
‘Great.’
Mac opened the cover. ‘It’s of the Northern Bank. In the name of Simon Smith. Will that do ye?’
‘Thanks, Mac.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘Yes, I’m the Manager, Richard Thurrocks. How can I help you, Inspector?’
‘Mr Thurrocks,’ Angel said. ‘We have just found the body of a man we believe to be Simon Smith. He had a cheque book issued by this branch with his name imprinted on it. What can you tell me about him?’
Thurrocks said: ‘Oh dear. Simon Smith. Lots of Smiths. Ah yes. I met him once, I believe. Hmmm. Let me see.’
He tapped a dozen keys on the computer on the desk in front of him, then leaned back waiting for the page to come up.
‘Mr Smith,’ he said uncertainly. ‘Did he die of natural causes, Inspector?’
‘We don’t think so,’ Angel said heavily.
‘Oh dear.’
Thurrocks looked back at the screen. ‘Ah yes. Opened the account on December 17th, 2004. I remember. He sold the family business for a tidy sum. Hmm. He seems to have been slowly reducing the balance ever since.’
Suddenly the penny dropped in Angel’s head and he sensed he might be on familiar ground. He looked across at Thurrocks.
‘Is this the same Smith who sold his glass bottle works to an American firm?’
‘I believe so.’
‘For two million pounds?’
He hesitated. ‘I really shouldn’t say, Inspector.’
Angel’s jaw muscles tightened. ‘You really should,’ he said glaring at him. ‘This is a murder enquiry.’
‘Well, yes, then,’ Thurrocks said.
‘What’s the credit balance now, then?’
‘Less than a hundred pounds.’
Angel’s eyes flashed.
‘Looks like you may have been robbed.’
‘That’s not possible,’ Thurrocks said, but he was beginning to look worried. ‘We have systems and procedures to protect us from fraud.’
‘Well, somebody has.’
Angel rubbed his chin. There was something very fishy about this.
‘What can you tell me about Simon Smith?’
‘Not much, Inspector. Highly respectable. If I remember correctly, he had sold his business and wanted to deposit the proceeds safely for a short period while he and his family had a holiday. I don’t think he actually came into the branch again. I certainly don’t remember seeing him. Just a minute, Inspector. The proceeds were left on a high-rate deposit account. It would have required his written instructions to transfer it to a current account. We wouldn’t have issued a cheque book without it. We must have received a letter or a signature to do that. All transactions thereafter would be conducted quite securely by cheque and post or phone. There really is no chance of fraud.’
Angel frowned. He really must see the dead man’s sister again, P.D.Q.
‘Can you turn up the letter?’
‘Oh yes,’ he said confidently. ‘Excuse me a minute.’
Thurrocks went out of his office.
Angel leaned back in the leather chair. It was pretty luxurious. He banged lightly on the arm rests and thought how comfortable it was. He turned up his nose in a familiar expression as he considered that it would have been bought with the interest from many a naïve soul’s overdraft. He looked round the office at the plush furnishings. Momentarily, he felt quite envious. But then he liked being a detective at inspector level much more than doing bank work. Very much more. And he enjoyed catching murderers. It had become his speciality. He suddenly had a thought. He took out his mobile and tapped in a number. It was soon answered by Ahmed. He asked him to look at the notes he had made on his desk during Miss Smith’s visit the day before and to give him her phone number. He said he would hold on while Ahmed looked it out. It took him a couple of minutes before he came back to the phone. He recited Miss Smith’s phone number. Angel thanked him, closed the phone and recorded the number on the back of an envelope. He was pocketing the envelope as Thurrocks came back into the room. Angel noticed the man wasn’t very happy. He was tapping his bottom lip and chin with shaking fingers.
‘Surprising, Inspector,’ Thurrocks said. ‘There certainly was a letter. There is an entry duly recorded in the post journal, but the letter is not in the file where it should be.’
Angel frowned. He looked Thurrocks up and then down.
‘Hmmm. If it turns up, I want to see it,’ he said heavily.
‘So do I!’ Thurrocks said.
‘What is the address you have for Simon Smith?’
He read it off the computer screen and Angel duly recorded it on the envelope.
‘Can you remember what he looked like?’
‘No. I only saw him the once. He must have looked … ordinary, conventional that is, or I would have remembered.’
‘I expect the thief might well leave that small balance to avoid the more conspicuous action of actually closing the account.’
Thurrocks flopped down into his chair.
‘I don’t understand it,’ he said, biting his nails. ‘This has never happened before.’
‘Tell me,’ Angel said thoughtfully. ‘Has anybody left your employment in recent days?’
Thurrocks shook his head slowly, then he stopped, his eyes glowing like cat’s eyes in a country road. He looked across the desk at Angel.
‘There was one man – Spencer,’ he said excitedly. ‘Spencer! Yes. That was his name. Left without working out his notice. Simon Spencer. Promising young man as well.’