Looks were exchanged among the officers.
He continued. ‘There are two entrances to the flat. There’s the front door that leads straight from the pavement on Mansion Hill into the ground floor. It is always locked and can only be opened by tapping in the combination, known only to the landlady and the tenants. And there is a side door which leads through to a small backyard where the waste bins are located. The ground floor consists of four flats, two utility rooms, the lift and the stairs. The side door is usually locked by two heavy bolts. I have arranged for the bolts to be removed, so that the door cannot be locked, and so that Spencer should not have too much difficulty in gaining access. Nevertheless, this might be an all-night vigil. I want the white surveillance van to be parked on Rotherham Road. There’s a position there that would give us sight of both doors. I will be in there with DS Gawber. I have briefed two teams, each of two armed men, who will be joining us from the FSU at Wakefield. They will be in unmarked cars and parked well out of sight somewhere in Chapel Street or off Rotherham Road. They will be hidden from nosey parkers, but close enough to be brought in at short notice. This operation will start at 2100 hours. Everybody not directly involved, particularly drivers of marked cars, be aware to keep away from the area until dawn tomorrow, please. Any questions?’
A voice called out from the back.
‘Have you some specific intelligence that Spencer will show, sir?’
Angel frowned. ‘No. He may not show, of course. But two million pounds is a powerfully strong reason why he probably will.’
‘Is Spencer known to have any criminal associates, sir?’ another voice called out.
‘No. You mean … will he come alone? I believe this fraud was virtually his maiden job. He’s hardly had the opportunity to become a member of a gang.’
The questioner seemed satisfied.
‘Anything else?’ Angel said. He looked round. ‘Right. Thank you very much everybody. Just one more thing, I’d like to emphasize. This man has murdered in one of the most savage ways I know. Sticking a knife into a man, pulling it out covered in blood and then sticking it back into him, several times. He’s desperate. He connived at extricating two million pounds out of a bank account. He had given up his job and was planning how to spend it. It was almost in his grasp. Then suddenly his partner crossed him. His crooked plan began to fall apart. I believe he tried to scare Harrison into telling him where he’d hidden the money. In the quarrel, he stabbed him several times before he was dead. He’s a nasty piece of work, so don’t let’s take any chances with him. Let’s get him off the streets.’
It was 10.30 p.m. and the moon was high. A pleasant summer breeze blew. It hadn’t rained for a good forty-eight hours and dry warm weather was forecast.
Angel and Gawber arrived in the white observation van and parked it at the side of the road in a line of cars on Rotherham Road. They had an excellent view of the side door of Mansion Hill flats with the wheelie bins clustered in an area contained by a low brick wall broken by a gateway, the gate having long since been lifted off its hinges and discarded. The van, being at right angles to the street known as Mansion Hill, allowed the occupants a good view of a narrow strip of the front door, so that they were in a perfect position to be able to observe all access to and from the building. Their only light source was to be the moon, which tonight was adequate for the job they had to do.
Angel had settled himself on a stool in the back of the van. He was setting up the night binoculars on a table tripod on the bench fitted under the one-way window that faced the flats.
Gawber had unpacked the video camera, fitted it with a night lens and was unravelling the cable to plug it into the power socket on the bench.
‘Got a brand new tape, sir. Lasts ninety minutes,’ he said chirpily.
Angel only grunted in reply. He felt down into his suit coat pocket and pulled out a Glock hand pistol. It was the G 17, the standard model, only 7” long, that just fitted into the pocket. He pressed the catch on the stock, allowing the magazine to be ejected. It dropped into his hand. He checked the magazine spring by pressing the top round with his forefinger. It gave hardly at all, indicating that the first round was in the correct position and that the magazine was full. It held seventeen deadly 9mm bullets. It made a solid click as he pushed the magazine back into the stock. He stuffed the gun back into his pocket. Then he switched on the RT and reached out for the microphone.
‘Traveller One to Romeo Lima One. Are you all set?’
‘Yes, sir? We’re in position, up a ginnel off Chapel Street.’
‘Everything all right?’
‘There’s an old woman in a nightdress … keeps peering out of a back upstairs window at us, sir. I think she thinks we’re a couple of peeping Toms.’
Angel pulled a face. ‘I don’t want anything to cause a disturbance or divert your attention. Either speak to her and settle her down now or move to another position.’
‘We’ll move, sir.’
‘Call in when you’re in position.’
‘Right, sir.’
‘Traveller One to Romeo Lima Two. Are you all set?’
‘Yes, sir. We’re in a line of parked empty cars about 300 yards away on Chapel Street. Nobody is around. Nobody seems to have noticed us. We can be at the target house in about thirty seconds.’
Angel fished around into a bag under the table and pulled out a flask that Mary had prepared for him and poured a drink into a little china cup. He sipped it and made an appreciative noise.
A few minutes passed, then a voice on the RT said: ‘Romeo Lima Two to Traveller One.’
‘Right, come in, lad.’
‘We’re up the next ginnel and a bit nearer, sir. Just round the corner, in fact.’
‘OK. Keep the line open. Report any sighting of a solitary man about thirty years of age … he might be on foot … or in a car or even on a bicycle, I suppose.’
‘Right, sir.’
Angel turned to Gawber. ‘The last time I was out on a night obbo was that murder on Sycamore Grove. Remember?’
‘I do. Your missus was away because her mother was ill and you made yourself some beetroot sandwiches. Ahmed felt sorry for you and offered you some strange concoction that his mother had made him.’
They both smiled.
A voice through the RT said, ‘If anybody’s hungry I’ve got some roast beef.’
‘Thank you, lad,’ Angel said with a grin.