Angel smiled wryly. She wasn’t properly dressed last time he interviewed her. She didn’t object to his presence then, so what was different?
He glanced round the room to see what it was that she may not have wanted him to see. He saw a part bottle of Napoleon brandy and a glass on the sideboard. Underneath the bottle placed in the shape of a fan were three, ten pound notes.
She dashed over to the sideboard. He saw her pick up the notes, fold them and deftly stuff them into her bra. Then she quickly picked up the bottle and glass, turned round to face him, switched on a smile, rocked the bottle invitingly and said: ‘Drinkie?’
He shook his head.
‘Oh no. Of course. You’re on duty,’ she said tartly. ‘Well, sit down, Michael,’ she said. ‘Won’t be a second.’
She shuffled off in the slippers into the kitchen, deposited the bottle and glass and came out with a packet of Silk Cut and a disposable lighter. She glanced down at the cot as she passed it to the sofa to check that baby Carl was asleep, she smiled briefly, then flopped athletically onto the sofa stretching out her long legs.
‘I thought you might have brought my picture back,’ she said as she tore off the cellophane from around the packet.
‘Er, no. I hope you don’t mind. I’d like to keep it until the case is solved, if that’s all right. Your landlady doesn’t mind.’
‘Right,’ she said crisply.
Angel took out an envelope from his inside pocket and pretended to read it. He tried to marshal his thoughts.
She tapped out a cigarette and lit it. She blew out a big cloud of tobacco smoke. ‘Well, what is it you want to ask me?’ she said.
‘Who was that man?’ he said without looking up.
She thought a moment then said, ‘Nobody.’ Then she slapped down the lighter boldly and blew out another big cloud.
He continued to look down at the envelope. ‘How long have you known him?’
‘Who?’
‘Mr Nobody.’
‘Oh, him?’ There was another pause. ‘He came to check the gas oven and the boiler. Make sure it doesn’t give off CO2, and gas us while we were asleep.’
‘He reeked of brandy,’ he sniffed. ‘So do you. Do you entertain all your visitors with brandy?’
‘We just got carried away,’ she said with a grin.
‘Brandy is expensive.’
‘So what? I didn’t buy it, Michael. He brought it.’
Angel shook his head. ‘He brought a bottle of brandy to check on your gas boiler?’
She took a drag on the cigarette and breathed out loudly. ‘All right, Michael. All right. So he didn’t call to check the bloody boiler, but he has absolutely nothing to do with the murder of Alicia Prophet. He’s just a sweet little man who visits me almost every Friday in his lunch hour. Now, I don’t want you investigating him and upsetting his job or his wife. If any of this leaks out you could wreck his marriage!’
‘How long has this been going on?’
‘About a year.’
He sighed and shook his head. ‘What’s his surname?’
‘I can’t tell you that!’ she exploded.
‘Well, I daresay we will be able to find him easily enough. There won’t be many Lukes working at the gas board.’
‘I don’t want your men climbing all over the bloody gas board offices, Michael. You’ll give him away as easy as wink. He’s a quiet, nervous little man. He relies on me to be discreet. It’s not fair.’
Angel sighed. ‘Look here, Margaret, life isn’t fair. You have to do the best you can. But if you don’t do anything wrong, you can tell the truth, the complete truth, can’t you?’
‘Yes. Yes,’ she said irritably. She didn’t like being lectured. ‘Now what were those questions you wanted to ask me?’
‘What’s his name?’
She shook her head.
Angel said: ‘If his only crime is being unfaithful to his wife, I tell you, Margaret, I am not a bit interested … probably won’t even need to check him out.’
She sighed: ‘Luke Molloy.’
‘Thank you.’
The name didn’t ring any bells with him. He scribbled it quickly on the envelope and pushed it into his pocket.
‘Now what were those questions you wanted to ask me?’ she said impatiently.
‘Yes. The afternoon Mrs Prophet was murdered, where were you?’
‘That was Monday, wasn’t it? I was here. I told you. That’s the day I have for doing my shopping and that. I don’t go to the Prophets’ on Mondays.’
‘But specifically, Margaret, did you go to the Prophets’ house last Monday?’
‘No.’
‘Do you do Mrs Prophet’s shopping?’
‘Some of it, yes.’
‘And did she ask you to do some shopping for her on Monday? I know you did some shopping because you bought some oranges from the man on the market.’
‘I told you, I didn’t see her on Monday.’
‘Well, she could have phoned you or left a message or asked you earlier.’
‘Well, she could have, but she didn’t.’
‘You see, Margaret, there was some shopping left in the doorway of Prophet’s pantry.’
She shrugged.
‘And some money, £6.56,’ Angel said. ‘Could have been change from the shopping, left on the draining board in the kitchen?’
‘Could have been done by Mrs Duplessis, next door. She shopped for her sometimes. In fact, she was always dropping in. Pain in the backside, she was.’
Angel nodded. That might be true.
‘But you had shopped for Mrs Prophet in the past, hadn’t you?’
‘Yes. Regular. At least once a week. Usually a Wednesday.’
‘Ah,’ he said enthusiastically, ‘now where would you have left the shopping and the change in the event of Mrs Prophet being out when you returned?’
‘Alicia was never out. She never went out. It would have driven me bats. She didn’t want to go out. What would have been the point? She couldn’t see anything.’
‘Well, humour me,’ he said.
She shrugged. ‘If Alicia had been out, the house would have been locked up. I would have had to have brought her shopping here. And, before you ask, I wouldn’t have been able to get into Alicia’s, because I haven’t got a key!’
Angel wrinkled his nose and rubbed his chin.
Her raised voice in answering the question might have disturbed Carl. There was a slight noise from the cot. It sounded as if he was waking up and wasn’t too pleased about it. She leaped up from the sofa, flashing the long legs and stabbing her feet into the rabbit slippers.
‘He’s waking up.’
Angel looked across at mother leaning over the cot and baby Carl, whose bottom lip was turned down and his face creased. There was a second’s delay then a loud cry began the most woeful time of howling.
Margaret picked him up. ‘Aaaah. There’s my beautiful little boy,’ she said. ‘There, now. There. There.’
She jiggled him in her arms but the crying continued.
‘He wants some juice, Michael. He’s teething.’
Angel put out his arms. ‘Give him to me. He’ll be all right with me, won’t you Carl? I’ll hold him. Go and get some him some juice, Margaret.’
Carl’s eyes focused on Angel. He looked willing to go to him.
‘Come on, Carl,’ Angel said warmly. ‘Come on, big boy.’
He held out his arms and Margaret handed him across. ‘He’ll mucky up your suit,’ she warned.
‘No matter. It’ll clean. There we are,’ Angel said, nestling him on his knee.
Magically, the crying stopped.
Margaret grinned at the big man holding the baby so close to him and began to tickle his nose with a finger.
‘Won’t be a minute,’ she said.
‘No rush,’ Angel said. ‘We’re all right, aren’t we, Carl? We can get along a treat, can’t we? Yes we can. Yes we can. Cutgee, cutgee, cutgee coo. Cutgee, cutgee, cutgee coo….’