Free Angel and the Actress by Roger Silverwood

local accent,’ Crisp said. ‘They all wore black balaclavas. The car was a blue Ford Mondeo. It’s come to me, sir, that the two cars involved would be the two cars stolen yesterday from Mr and Mrs Sellars on Ceresford Road.’
    ‘So they were, Trevor. So they were. Did the robbers leave anything behind? Anything at all?’
    ‘Just three pickaxes, sir.’
    Angel rubbed his chin. ‘Interesting … I’ll send SOCO out and a photographer. And a low-loader to bring in the wrecks. Was there anything else? Anything at all? Anything that might give us a lead? An empty lager can,a glove, a piece of unburned detonator wire … anything?’
    ‘Don’t know, sir. Haven’t been here long.’
    ‘Well, have a good look round,’ Angel said.
    There was a knock on the sitting-room door.
    ‘Hold on, Trevor,’ Angel said. He put his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Come in,’ he called. It was DS Carter.
    ‘We’ve finished all our—’ she began.
    Angel pointed to the phone.
    ‘Ooh, sorry, sir,’ she said.
    ‘Won’t be a minute, Flora,’ he said. ‘Sit down.’
    She nodded.
    Then back into the phone he said, ‘Well, have a good look round, Trevor. And keep all busy fingers away from the wreck. It’s a crime scene. Preserve its integrity.’
    ‘Of course. Righto, sir,’ Crisp said.
    Angel ended the call, closed his mobile and turned to DS Carter.
    ‘Now then, Flora,’ he said. ‘What do you want?’
    ‘We’ve finished our search, sir, and we’ve found nothing suspicious in any of the guests’ rooms or the house or the perimeter of the house.’
    ‘Hmmm,’ Angel said, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘Been through the rubbish bins?’
    ‘Yes, sir, of course.’
    He breathed out heavily. ‘Very well. Dismiss the search party, thank them and tell them to report to their respective team leaders, then come back here.’
    ‘Right, sir,’ she said. Then she went out.

SIX
    A NGEL WAS STILL in Miss Minter’s little sitting room. He looked at his watch. It was twelve noon. He took the used brown envelope from his inside pocket and consulted it. He leaned back in the chair and rubbed the back of his neck and his chin and then closed his eyes. There was a lot to think about.
    He stayed like that for several minutes, then he opened his mobile and scrolled down to a name and clicked on it.
    A few seconds later, a voice said, ‘Aye, Dr Mac speaking.’
    Angel said, ‘Now, you old haggis-eater, you’ve had a body there for almost forty-eight hours and I haven’t heard a dickie bird from you. When were you going to ring me up and tell me about it?’
    ‘Oh, it’s you, Michael,’ Mac said. ‘You usually ring me up after I’ve had the corpse five minutes. Now you’re waiting forty-eight hours. What’s happening to you? You’re slipping, Michael. You’re getting relaxed, unconcerned and casual. What’s happened to the fire in your belly?’
    Angel grinned.
    Mac said, ‘As a matter of fact, it is on top of the pile to be typed out next.’
    ‘Well, do you think you could nick it off the pile and give me the highlights?’
    ‘Oh dear me,’ the doctor said, pretending to be reluctant. ‘The things I do for good Scottish–English relationships. Hold on … here we are. Well, there’s nothing much. You already know most of it, I think. She died from a single shot to the cerebellum, lying posterior to the pons and medulla oblongata and inferior to the occipital lobes of the cerebral hemispheres, thus losing the maintenance of her posture and balance.’
    ‘All right, Mac. You win. Let’s have that in English.’
    It was Mac’s turn to crow. ‘Well, she fell and hit her head on the corner of the piano stool, which would have stunned her and finished her off. She was dead by the time she hit the floor.’
    There was a second’s sombre silence, then Angel said, ‘Anything else?’
    ‘Well, what do you want? Her weight, height, operation scars, contents of stomach…?’
    ‘Contents of stomach. Yes,’ Angel