Mantrap (An Inspector Angel Mystery) by Roger Silverwood

Author:Roger Silverwood [Silverwood, Roger]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2015-09-08T07:00:00+00:00

9

‘Good morning, sir. Have you seen the morning papers?’

‘No, Ron. Have I missed something important?’

‘There’s a big lump of money been taken from the Northern Bank on New Street: £600,000.’

Angel looked up from his desk. ‘What? A hold-up? I hadn’t heard. When was this?’

‘No. Fraud. Something to do with the cash machines in the wall. They’re not sure exactly when, or how. Over a period of a couple of days, I think.’

There was a knock at the door. ‘Come in.’

It was Ahmed. He was carrying a copy of the local newspaper, South Yorkshire Examiner.

‘Now then, lad?’ Angel said, his mind still mulling over the cash machine fraud. ‘What do you want?’

Ahmed nodded at Gawber and turned to Angel. ‘Have you read this, sir?’ he said and slid the paper on the desk in front of him.

Angel took in the headline and read it out loud. ‘South Yorks £1.5m Bank swindle!’ He pushed the paper away irritably. ‘So what? You didn’t do it, did you?’ he said, pulling a stern face.

Ahmed grinned.

‘Well, tell me about it. In a nutshell. What happened? I’ve a lot on.’

Gawber said, ‘There’re similar headlines, on all the papers: the locals and the nationals. The national figure runs into fifty million quid!’

Ahmed read: ‘There’s £320,000 missing from the Woollen Bank in Doncaster, £129,000 and £402,000 from two branches of the City, Country and Capital Bank in Sheffield, and £600,000 from the Northern Bank in Bromersley.’

Angel shook his head in surprise. ‘How was it done?’

The phone rang. He reached out for it. ‘Angel.’

‘Aye.’ It was the superintendent. ‘Have you seen Pogle anywhere? Is he with you?’

‘No, sir. He’ll be on that obbo at Littlecombe, won’t he?’ Angel said slyly.

The superintendent sniffed and then replied, ‘Come down here then.’

There was a click and then silence.

Angel frowned and replaced the phone. He stood up. ‘I’ve got to go.’ He reached out for the crutches. ‘Ron, if you find anything interesting at Sinclair’s let me know. And Ahmed, see if you can find somebody called Benny Peters. Might be a bookie. And you can leave that paper there when you’ve read it, if you like.’

‘Right, sir.’

‘And tell Scrivens I want to see him,’ he bawled over his shoulder as he pointed the crutches down the corridor.

He knocked on the superintendent’s door and went in. A smart, well-fed man in a suit as sharp as a stiletto was sitting opposite Harker looking serious, rich and important.

The super stopped grinding his teeth. ‘This is Mr Alwoodley, local representative of the Association of UK Bankers and Deposit Takers. He represents the banking fraternity in this neck of the woods. That’s right Mr Alwoodley, isn’t it?’ he said, oozing goodwill, with a smile that would have made Anne Robinson reach for the slop bucket.

The smart man nodded, but he wasn’t smiling.

‘Mr Alwoodley has already seen the chief constable and he has authorized him to address senior officers,’ the super said. ‘Merryweather is on leave, Ascrigg is off sick and Pogle is busy, engaged on an urgent case.

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