Free The Snuffbox Murders by Roger Silverwood Page B

robot was his biggest venture yet. He was utterly consumed by it. He talked of nothing else.’
    ‘Did he have any health worries, or money worries … were you happily married? Was there another woman? Indeed, was there another man?’
    ‘There was not another man, and I am certain there was not another woman, as you so delicately put it. Charles is – or was – extremely wealthy from his work as an inventor alone, Inspector. He has received six-figure advance payments from each of his two recent inventions. In addition, my earnings as an actress are now not inconsiderable, and would in themselves have maintained us in fine style if we had needed to dip into them. As far as Charles’s health was concerned, he worked every day up to his capacity. He was certainly not depressed. He was too busy to be depressed. There is no question about that.’
    ‘There is a safe in the workshop … our scenes of crime chaps need to look into it. Have you got a key?’ he said slyly.
    ‘I regret that I have not.’
    He’d expected her to say that. ‘Do you know what’s inside?’ he asked.
    ‘The safe was for my husband’s use primarily. I expect there are only papers in there. He wouldn’t keep large quantities of cash in the house, there was no need. He should have had a bunch of keys in his pocket. There should be a key to the safe among them.’
    She’s smarter than she looks, he thought. She had certainly called his bluff.
    ‘Right,’ Angel said quickly. ‘We’ll see what we can find.’
     
    Angel went straight home from The Feathers. He drove the BMW into the garage, locked it and let himself in the back door of the bungalow.
    Mary was pleased he had arrived. He was so often late those days. It pleased her that she knew he would for certain be there when the finny haddock was ready for serving up. She was rinsing some fresh raspberries in a colander to be served with ice cream for pudding.
    He gave her a peck on the cheek on his way to the fridge, where he took out a can of German beer, opened it, poured it into a glass and went into the sitting room. He loosened his tie and collar, switched on the television for the news and slumped down in a chair.
    The TV screen lit up, the picture came into focus and immediately caught his attention. It was a news item about the gold-plated life-size reclining plaster model of Dorothea Jordan, former mistress of King William IV. He stared at the screen.
    He saw film of the handsome statue on a podium in an impressive-looking bedroom, then it showed two men carrying it inside Spicers’, the specialist antique jewellery and work-of-art dealers, through their imposing Georgian stone-pillared doorway on Royal Crown Road, London. The commentary was about King William IV and Dorothea Jordan, and the recent finding of the figure in an attic in a house in Bromersley. The commentator said that it was considered to be highly romantic, historically significant as well as greatly valuable and that it was going to be auctioned by Spicers’ shortly. It was expected to bring a princely sum.
    The item ended there and the news moved on to a piece about President Obama’s dog.
    Mary called out to say that tea was ready.
    Angel switched the television off and went into the kitchen.
    After tea, on a freeview channel, they watched an old film featuring a very young-looking Fred MacMurray. It was about a flying car and a super bouncing invention called ‘flubber.’ It was entertaining and mildly amusing but not exactly riveting.
    Mary noticed her husband’s eyelids occasionally dropping lower and lower for longer and longer.
    A caption indicated a break for advertisements and a striking picture of a gold and plaster figure of a woman dominated the screen again.
    Mary sat up and said, ‘That’s the statue we saw at Pinsley Smith’s auction in the park last Bank Holiday Monday.’
    Angel blinked and raised his head.
    It soon became clear that they were watching a trailer for a forthcoming