Free The Cuckoo Clock Scam by Roger Silverwood

daughter.’
    ‘What sort of a thing?’
    He hesitated. ‘Whenever things got umpty, she used to leave my house to go and stay with him.’
    ‘How old is she?’
    ‘That’s not the flaming point,’ he roared. ‘She was my daughter. She was all I had. We were great pals, and were very close when her mother left. He had no right to … He had no right to entice her away.’
    ‘Where is she now?’
    Quigley rubbed his chin. ‘I don’t know. I wish I did.’
    ‘Got a photograph?’
    Quigley reached into his pocket, fished into his wallet and put one postcard-sized photograph on the table. Angel reached out for it. She was a pretty girl with long red hair.
    ‘We’ll copy this and return it to you, Mr Quigley. How old is she?’
    ‘Eighteen, but she was only seventeen when this all started. Vincent Doonan was fifty years old. Nearly old enough to be her grandfather. I have been down to his mucky little house more than half a dozen times to bring her back. He hated my guts.’
    ‘When was the last time you went there?’
    ‘Tuesday, except that she wouldn’t come back.’
    ‘What happened?’
    ‘She wouldn’t come back.’
    Angel’s fists tightened. ‘You said
that
.
Why
wouldn’t she come back?’
    ‘It’s got nothing to do with it. It needed hardly any daft little ting and she’d take off down to Doonan’s. It got to the stage where I could hardly say anyting to her. The other day I said that the milk was off, which it was. She took that as a criticism of her management of the catering. It wasn’t. She didn’t see it like that. She used it as an excuse. And she was off like a loose horse at the Kilkenny races. I have provided well for her, Mr Angel. You’ve seen my house. She’s got a nice room of her own; she needs for nothing.’
    ‘Except perhaps a mother figure.’
    ‘Not my fault the cow went back to Ireland.’
    ‘We shall have to find your daughter … interview her. What’s her name?’
    ‘Sonya, but she won’t be able to tell you anything. And she’s done notting wrong … notting you can touch her for. This is all Doonan’s fault. He used to give her ciggies withgrass in them. If I found any on her I used to burn them. He was a bad influence all round.’
    Angel shook his head. He could have spent all day talking to Quigley about his relationship with his daughter, and her relationship with Vincent Doonan. It didn’t promise to prove useful. And Quigley himself was no saint. He’d served time for robbing a Lion Security van outside a bank in Wakefield, as well as a large computer and TV warehouse on a commercial estate in Bromersley. He was also suspected of being involved in other major robberies but as yet nothing could be proved.
    Angel was resigned to moving the questioning onwards.
    ‘Where are you employed at the moment?’
    ‘Huh. You know damned well that I haven’t a job. You know I couldn’t get a job to save my life, and that I’m living on the unemployment money.’
    People who sponged off the state always annoyed Angel. ‘Seems to me you’re living better than I am,’ he said.
    Bloomfield looked up with a severe face. He stared hard at Angel to catch his attention.
    Angel gave a slight shrug, acknowledging that he may have gone a little too far. But he could see that even at a time of high inflation, Quigley’s standard of living indicated that money was entering his pocket faster than it was leaving it.
    ‘I’m good with money,’ Quigley said. ‘Always been able to save. My house is paid for. I don’t need a lot to … get around.’
    ‘How much is the insurance on your new Range Rover?’
    Quigley’s eyes flashed. His head and hands made small rapid movements as if he’d had a charge of electricity through him. ‘Don’t know.’
    ‘More than your dole money, I’d wager,’ Angel said.
    ‘I don’t think so.’
    ‘I do. Why did you run away from us and hide in your loft when we knocked on your front door?’
    ‘I knew you were the bogeys and