After a few moments Angel said, ‘Do you want some overtime?’
‘I wouldn’t volunteer for it, sir.’
Angel licked his bottom lip. He thought he knew a surefire way of changing his mind. ‘Not even if it’s back up on the top floor of Mansion House flats?’ he said artfully.
Crisp blinked then gave him an old-fashioned look.
‘Margaret Gaston’s pad, sir?’ he said brightly.
‘No. Next door,’ he said. ‘Number 20.’
‘Mr Prophet will see you now, Inspector,’ she said holding the office door open.
Angel liked her smile, her teeth, her hair, her face, her smell and her figure. He wondered how any woman were lucky enough to have everything in such perfect form standing in what he guessed were outrageously expensive shoes.
‘Thank you,’ he said as he passed her and enjoyed the close brief whiff of the perfume.
Prophet was standing, leaning over the desk with his arm outstretched.
Angel transferred the envelope of photographs he had brought in with him to his left hand and shook Prophet’s hand.
‘Ah. Pleased to see you, Inspector. Please sit down. Are you any nearer finding my wife’s murderer?’
‘Frankly, no, but it is early days. There are a few questions I must ask you, Mr Prophet.’
‘Of course. I realize that you let me off lightly yesterday. It was most considerate.’
Angel nodded then said, ‘We aim to please. You will know that most murders are committed by their nearest and dearest?’
‘Indeed, yes.’
‘So we have to eliminate you absolutely from our enquiries. So I have to ask if you can account for your whereabouts yesterday afternoon.’
‘Indeed, I can.’
He picked up a telephone and said, ‘Karen. Will you come in here a moment, please.’ He replaced the phone.
‘I was at my desk, here, from one-thirty until you came yourself and broke the news at … about twenty to five. My secretary, Miss Kennedy, I am certain will confirm it.’
The door opened and Karen Kennedy came in.
‘Karen,’ Prophet said, ‘the Inspector is asking about my whereabouts yesterday afternoon. Would you kindly tell him where I was?’
‘Mr Prophet was in the office the entire afternoon, Inspector, as usual.’
‘Thank you,’ Angel said. ‘Did he have any visitors?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I know that he was very busy on a particular case. There were several phone calls for him, but I managed to head them off.’
‘Right. Thank you,’ Angel said.
She smiled angelically and went out.
‘I hope that satisfies you, Inspector.’
‘Yes. Of course. Now can you think of anybody who would have wanted your wife dead?’
‘No. Except, of course, Cora Blessington.’ Prophet’s eyes narrowed. ‘I thought you had a witness, Mrs Duplessis next door. Cora was seen coming out of the house, didn’t you say? I thought the case was cut and dried. It was Cora Blessington who murdered my wife, wasn’t it?’
Angel nodded. ‘It certainly looks like it. We just have to be very careful and quite certain, you know. You’re in the legal profession, Mr Prophet. You know what it’s like satisfying the law.’
Prophet sighed.
‘What more do you need?’
‘Motive.’
‘Money, I should think.’
‘Have you any proof of that?’
‘No. But my wife was immensely rich, in her own right. She handed dosh out to charities like there was no tomorrow.’
Angel rubbed the lobe of his ear between finger and thumb. It sounded as if Prophet didn’t know about the thousand-pound-a-month deficit in Alicia’s bank balance.
‘And do you think she regarded Lady Blessington as a charity?’
‘Well, she certainly wasn’t an asset, Inspector, was she?’ he said sourly.
‘Now that she’s dead, who inherits her estate.’
‘As her husband, I do. Do you know what I think, Inspector? I think she came to Alicia. She knew she was well off. She asked for a loan. Alicia possibly refused. She could be very stubborn if she thought she was being taken advantage of. Cora Blessington pushed Alicia as hard as she could. She visited Alicia several times over the past six months or so, and maybe asked her for money. If Alicia declined, possibly she threatened her. When Alicia finally refused, she shot her.’
Angel raised his head. ‘Your wife had no deep secret that Cora Blessington could have blackmailed her with, had she?’
‘No. Certainly not. The motive was straightforward. Take it from me, Inspector.’
Angel thought he could possibly be correct. A rich woman was always a target.
‘I’ve examined your late wife’s bank statements,’ he continued. ‘And as a matter of fact, she appears to have drawn a cheque to cash for a thousand pounds each month for the past six months.’
Angel watched him carefully. The man’s eyes narrowed. His fists tightened. He thought he was going to explode.
‘Can you explain where the money has gone?’ Angel added.
‘No. But I’ve got a damned good idea!’
Angel understood and was considering his next question.
Then Prophet suddenly said: ‘It’s outrageous. She has got to pay. You must find her and arrest her, Inspector. She has got to be punished. It’s a pity they abolished hanging.’
Angel sighed and rubbed his chin.
‘There’s something else you might as well know, sir.’
‘What’s that?’ he snapped.
‘Whoever it was who murdered your wife on Monday, it wasn’t anybody called Lady Cora Blessington: there’s no such person.’
Prophet said: ‘I am not really surprised, I suppose. That had passed through my mind.’
‘So you must tell me all you can about her. Have you ever met her?’
‘Just the once. About six months ago. Yes, must have been. I interrupted Alicia and her having afternoon tea. I thought she was quite charming in her way. I didn’t know that at the time she had such evil intent, nor that she would have been able to carry it out herself.’
‘And what was your wife’s attitude towards her?’
‘Oh, she liked her, at first, anyway. They talked about all the things my wife had enjoyed, tennis, riding, music and so on. I believe they were old school friends. I don’t know which school, nor how they met up.’ Prophet rubbed his chin. ‘Yes. Strange that. She just popped up from nowhere and took the only person I ever cared for.’
‘You wouldn’t have a photograph of her, would you?’
‘Shouldn’t think so,’ he said distastefully.
Angel passed the envelope of photographs across the desk.
‘These were taken from a drawer in your sitting-room by one of my men.’
Prophet’s big blue eyes opened wide.
He took the envelope turned up the flap and tipped them out onto his desk. They were typical snapshots of members of the family, on holiday, on the steps of churches, on the beach and in the garden, mostly postcard size or smaller. He leaned over the desk and pushed them around the green polished leatherette. He seemed pleased to be looking through them. Eventually he pounced on one particular square photograph in colour.
‘She’s there!’ he yelled. ‘Cora’s there! Look!’
He picked it up, turned it round and pushed it under Angel’s nose. ‘There!’
Angel felt his pulse increase and that inexplicable warm hum in the chest.
Prophet pointed at an unusual-looking eccentric in a long blue dress and cream hat. Seated next to her, clearly, was the smaller figure of his wife, Alicia Prophet.
‘I remember now. Of course! I took it. In the garden. Shortly after Alicia had introduced her to me. Alicia and Cora were having tea at the rustic table on the patio. The garden looked very nice too. The rose bushes were out. The trees were in full leaf.’
Angel strained to see the features in detail of Lady Blessington’s face, but the photograph had been taken from quite a distance back and the face was partly shaded by the hat and the head of blonde wavy hair. He thought she was a big-boned woman dressed in the manner of the 1930s.