Free The Dog Collar Murders by Roger Silverwood

execution.
    Angel was a little cheered as he came to the end of the call. He then tapped in DC Scrivens’ mobile number.
    ‘Yes, sir,’ Scrivens said promptly.
    ‘Come to my office ASAP, lad. I’ve a job for you.’
    ‘Right, sir.’
    Angel was replacing the phone as Crisp returned.
    ‘Come in, lad. Sit down. So Norma Ives didn’t find anybody in the rogues’ gallery?’
    Crisp’s eyebrows shot upwards. ‘I’m afraid that’s right, sir. How did you know?’
    ‘If she had picked anybody out, you would have blurted it out, lad, just as soon as you had seen me. But you never said a word.’
    Crisp’s mouth dropped open. Angel knew him too well.
    ‘Pity, that,’ Angel said. ‘Never mind. I have another job for you.’
    ‘Yes, sir?’ Crisp said.
    ‘There are “gentlemen of the road” who regularly called at St Mary’s vicarage for handouts from the vicar there, Sam Smart. Norma Ives said that a big, ugly Irishman in a navy blue duffle coat, known as “Irish John”, called only yesterday morning. I expect he also called and some or all of them also called on Raymond Gulli at St Barnabas. Maybe the Irishman also called on the rest of the clergy in the town. Anyway, see what you can find out about him. Also see if you can find him on your travels, in which case, of course, bring him in. But be careful. He could be a murderer, the one we are looking for. All right?’
    ‘Right, sir,’ Crisp said as he got to his feet.
    ‘And make sure your mobile is switched on.’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ he said.
    He reached the door. Somebody outside knocked on it. Crisp frowned and opened it. It was Scrivens.
    ‘Come in,’ Angel said.
    Scrivens came in as Crisp went out.
    Angel told Scrivens that a consignment of cocaine packed as biscuits was destined to be delivered to one of the two food wholesalers in the town in the next few days, and instructed him to mount a covert surveillance of the premises of the two distributors.
    ‘You’ll need two cars and three men besides yourself,’ Angel said. ‘Don’t do anything rash. There’s a lot of money involved in this transaction , several million pounds, so some big-time crooks, who could be armed, may be personally involved. So I don’t want you to be visible. I want your teams just to act as eyes and ears. Monitor all vehicles as they call at the warehouses. Check them out with Swansea as they arrive. If they don’t give them a clean bill of health, or if anything looks at all suspicious, report to me on my mobile. Photograph every vehicle, driver and crew, if you can. All right?’
    Scrivens was young, full of enthusiasm and pleased to be given the responsibility to run such an important operation on his own. ‘Right, sir,’ he said brightly.
     
    It was four o’clock when Angel drove the BMW up to SOCO’s van outside St Barnabas Church. Two police Range Rovers, blue lights rotating, were standing in the taped-off churchyard. In the fading daylight, he saw a group of four uniformed police patrolmen in a huddle. One of them, PC Sean Donohue, car patrolman, who saw Angel’s car arrive and stop at the kerbside, left the others, lifted up the tape and came up the path and through the church gates to meet him.
    Angel lowered the car window, nodded towards the group and said, ‘Having a mothers’ meeting?’
    ‘Just finished, sir,’ Donohue said. ‘Reporting in now.’
    ‘Anybody see or hear anything?’
    ‘Nobody
heard
anything, sir, but I spoke to a man who got a sighting of a man who could have been the murderer.’
    Angel’s heart began to beat out a Sousa march under his shirt.Another possible eyewitness? It was the best news he’d had all day.
    ‘Where is he, Sean?’ he said as he got out of the car.
    Donohue pointed up the road. ‘It was the man in number eight, sir. Said he saw a man in a white gown, knocking on St Barnabas’s vicarage door.’
    Angel frowned. ‘A white gown? What time was this?’
    ‘He said about ten o’clock, sir.’
    Angel’s