Free Murder in Bare Feet by Roger Silverwood

Hobson, interviewed him and sent him home. Their principal tasks had been to cooperate with the police in their investigation to find the raiders, to consider what changes, if any, ought to be made to maintain the highest level of security, determine the branch’s losses and get the bank in order for reopening as soon as possible. Under their direction, bank staff, plumbers, carpenters, locksmiths, cleaners, alarm and telephone engineers rushed round the building trying to get the bank organized and ready for re-opening the following morning.
    Angel went up to the open door of the manager’s office and spoke to one of the directors busy at the desk.
    ‘My chaps have finished here, Mr Benson. And I am off. Have you worked out how much money they took?’
    ‘I have it exactly.’ He reached out to an adding machine print out and said, ‘Four million, nine hundred thousand pounds sterling. Mostly in used ten and twenty-pound notes. Not bad for a morning’s work, eh?’ he said wryly.
    Angel shook his head. ‘Not good,’ he said.
    ‘Have you any suspects then?’ Benson said.
    ‘No, not yet,’ Angel said. He tried to sound bright and optimistic, but privately he reckoned it was going to take some solving. It was a very thoroughly thought out operation. Some person or persons with an understanding of modern telephone technology as well as a master of organization, discipline and simple psychology had conceived this bold plan that had left behind no forensic for him to work on.
    ‘You discovered the source of the foul smell and how it was activated, but did you manage to work out how they managed to flood the place ten minutes after the woman had left the premises?’ Benson said.
    Angel pursed his lips. ‘No, but I hope to.’
    ‘These thieves could have taught Houdini a few tricks, eh?’
    Angel sniffed then nodded thoughtfully.
     
    Ahmed opened the door. ‘Good morning, sir. You wanted me?’
    ‘Yes, lad,’ Angel said. ‘Come in. Close the door a minute.’
    Ahmed’s eyes narrowed as he came up to Angel’s desk.
    ‘In the SOCO office,’ Angel said, ‘Don Taylor has got the lads there making copies in plaster of Paris of the print of the bare foot of the murderer of Charles Pleasant. They’re for distribution to the Head of CID at all forty-three forces. It’s important that they arrive speedily and in perfect condition. Now I’ll give you the draft of a letter to accompany each of them. I want you to print copies of the letter, then liaise with SOCO, and pack them, include a copy of the letter, label them, and get them posted ASAP. All right?’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ Ahmed said.
    ‘And tell Don I want a couple of extra copies for me in here, and I want another for our charge room. I’ll brief the duty sergeant in the charge room myself, and he can pass it on to the afternoon shift and so on. All right?’
    ‘Right, sir,’ he said and bounced cheerfully out of the office.
    Angel watched the door close, then looked down at the pile of envelopes on his desk. Most of them had arrived while he had been out of the office the previous day. He fingered through them disinterestedly with a faraway look about him. Then his fingers stopped moving. His mind was on a blurred male figure, at the side of the road, on Sebastopol Terrace, standing there in bare feet, firing a gun. He couldn’t stop himself from repeatedly asking why anyone would choose to remove their shoes and socks in order to commit a murder. It had no merit that he could see. It was simply not a good idea, unless the murderer was used to walking bare foot. If that had been so, he would have to consider whether he was looking for someone who didn’t need shoes to walk about or drive a car. But that didn’t seem right either, because in this country, a barefooted man would be so conspicuous. Nobody could walk the streets of Bromersley without shoes.
    His thoughts dissolved away as he realized that someone was knocking at the door.
    It was Doctor Mac.