Free The Cuckoo Clock Scam by Roger Silverwood Page A

that you were going to run me in for something … something I didn’t do.… You always do.… Like this murder you’re trying to stick on me.’
    ‘Where were you last Tuesday night at nine o’clock.’
    ‘This is an intrusion of my privacy,’ Quigley said and he looked at Bloomfield for support.
    There was none coming. Mr Bloomfield shook his head and with a finger indicated that he should answer the question.
    Angel also noticed the gesture.
    The muscles on Quigley’s face tightened. He was an angry man. He looked down.
    ‘Well?’ Angel said.
    Quigley rubbed his chin several times, then he said, ‘I was with a … a friend.’
    ‘Who, and where? From when until what time?’
    He wrinkled his nose and didn’t look up. ‘Her name is Juanita Freedman if you must know. She lives at 11 Bull’s Foot Railway Arches on Wath Road. I was with her from about six o’clock in the evening, and I stayed all that night.’
    Angel wrote the name and address down. It sounded unlikely. He couldn’t imagine who would want him staying with them, especially through the night but in his job, Angel had found that all manner of people made strange bedfellows . Obviously he was going to be speaking with Miss Freedman, and Quigley knew that he would.
    Quigley added: ‘I don’t want that bandying about the place, you know. Technically, I am still married. If my missus got to know, it could cost me a fortune, you understand?’
    ‘Yeah. Yeah,’ Angel said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this last night?’
    Quigley shrugged. ‘It’s my business. I didn’t think it would get this far. You are going to let me go now?’
    ‘If I get satisfactory confirmation of this from … Miss Freedman.’
     
    The interview with Quigley was terminated at 0922 hours. Liam Quigley was taken back to a cell in the station, Mr Bloomfield left immediately, presumably for his office in the town, Crisp left the station to begin his undercover job looking into the background of Felicity Santana, while Angel drove down to 11 Bull’s Foot Railway Arches on Wath Road on the outskirts of Bromersley to interview Miss Juanita Freedman.
    Number eleven was next to a scruffy little antique shop which was the end shop of a small, busy frontage of shops. It had a large estate agent’s ‘For Sale’ sign secured to the front. At the side of the shop window was a door, which had an illuminated bell-push button on the jamb. Underneath it was a small neat handwritten label that read, ‘No 11. Juanita Freedman’. He pressed the button, and as he waited he stepped back and looked into the window of the antique shop next door. He peered closely through the glass and saw a woman in a black dress leaning on the counter reading something. She was surrounded by old pictures, old furniture , old stuff of all kinds. There were no customers in the shop, the shop front needed a fresh coat of paint and the stock seemed dusty. He wondered if the owner had lost interest. He pressed the bell at number eleven again. There was still no reply. He grunted. Miss Freedman was obviously out. He turned and made his way back and past the shop window and through the door. The jingle of a bell on a spring, triggered by the opening of the door, caused the woman tolook up from her reading matter. She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes. Angel guessed she was about fifty, desperately trying to look thirty.
    ‘I am looking for Miss Juanita Freedman,’ he said. ‘I believe she lives in the flat above this shop.’
    ‘I am Juanita Freedman,’ she said, raising her eyebrows. ‘How can I help you?’ She had a pleasant, warm, deep voice.
    ‘DI Angel, Bromersley police, Miss Freedman. I am making inquiries into the whereabouts of Liam Quigley last Tuesday night.’
    ‘Tuesday night?’ she gasped. Her eyes flashed then closed. The smile vanished. She put a hand up to cover her face, which flushed up the colour of a judge’s robe. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘Oh dear.’ After a moment, she