Angel’s face brightened.

‘Great.’

Mac opened the cover. ‘It’s of the Northern Bank. In the name of Simon Smith. Will that do ye?’

‘Thanks, Mac.’

CHAPTER SIX

‘Yes, I’m the Manager, Richard Thurrocks. How can I help you, Inspector?’

‘Mr Thurrocks,’ Angel said. ‘We have just found the body of a man we believe to be Simon Smith. He had a cheque book issued by this branch with his name imprinted on it. What can you tell me about him?’

Thurrocks said: ‘Oh dear. Simon Smith. Lots of Smiths. Ah yes. I met him once, I believe. Hmmm. Let me see.’

He tapped a dozen keys on the computer on the desk in front of him, then leaned back waiting for the page to come up.

‘Mr Smith,’ he said uncertainly. ‘Did he die of natural causes, Inspector?’

‘We don’t think so,’ Angel said heavily.

‘Oh dear.’

Thurrocks looked back at the screen. ‘Ah yes. Opened the account on December 17th, 2004. I remember. He sold the family business for a tidy sum. Hmm. He seems to have been slowly reducing the balance ever since.’

Suddenly the penny dropped in Angel’s head and he sensed he might be on familiar ground. He looked across at Thurrocks.

‘Is this the same Smith who sold his glass bottle works to an American firm?’

‘I believe so.’

‘For two million pounds?’

He hesitated. ‘I really shouldn’t say, Inspector.’

Angel’s jaw muscles tightened. ‘You really should,’ he said glaring at him. ‘This is a murder enquiry.’

‘Well, yes, then,’ Thurrocks said.

‘What’s the credit balance now, then?’

‘Less than a hundred pounds.’

Angel’s eyes flashed.

‘Looks like you may have been robbed.’

‘That’s not possible,’ Thurrocks said, but he was beginning to look worried. ‘We have systems and procedures to protect us from fraud.’

‘Well, somebody has.’

Angel rubbed his chin. There was something very fishy about this.

‘What can you tell me about Simon Smith?’

‘Not much, Inspector. Highly respectable. If I remember correctly, he had sold his business and wanted to deposit the proceeds safely for a short period while he and his family had a holiday. I don’t think he actually came into the branch again. I certainly don’t remember seeing him. Just a minute, Inspector. The proceeds were left on a high-rate deposit account. It would have required his written instructions to transfer it to a current account. We wouldn’t have issued a cheque book without it. We must have received a letter or a signature to do that. All transactions thereafter would be conducted quite securely by cheque and post or phone. There really is no chance of fraud.’

Angel frowned. He really must see the dead man’s sister again, P.D.Q.

‘Can you turn up the letter?’

‘Oh yes,’ he said confidently. ‘Excuse me a minute.’

Thurrocks went out of his office.

Angel leaned back in the leather chair. It was pretty luxurious. He banged lightly on the arm rests and thought how comfortable it was. He turned up his nose in a familiar expression as he considered that it would have been bought with the interest from many a naïve soul’s overdraft. He looked round the office at the plush furnishings. Momentarily, he felt quite envious. But then he liked being a detective at inspector level much more than doing bank work. Very much more. And he enjoyed catching murderers. It had become his speciality. He suddenly had a thought. He took out his mobile and tapped in a number. It was soon answered by Ahmed. He asked him to look at the notes he had made on his desk during Miss Smith’s visit the day before and to give him her phone number. He said he would hold on while Ahmed looked it out. It took him a couple of minutes before he came back to the phone. He recited Miss Smith’s phone number. Angel thanked him, closed the phone and recorded the number on the back of an envelope. He was pocketing the envelope as Thurrocks came back into the room. Angel noticed the man wasn’t very happy. He was tapping his bottom lip and chin with shaking fingers.

‘Surprising, Inspector,’ Thurrocks said. ‘There certainly was a letter. There is an entry duly recorded in the post journal, but the letter is not in the file where it should be.’

Angel frowned. He looked Thurrocks up and then down.

‘Hmmm. If it turns up, I want to see it,’ he said heavily.

‘So do I!’ Thurrocks said.

‘What is the address you have for Simon Smith?’

He read it off the computer screen and Angel duly recorded it on the envelope.

‘Can you remember what he looked like?’

‘No. I only saw him the once. He must have looked … ordinary, conventional that is, or I would have remembered.’

‘I expect the thief might well leave that small balance to avoid the more conspicuous action of actually closing the account.’

Thurrocks flopped down into his chair.

‘I don’t understand it,’ he said, biting his nails. ‘This has never happened before.’

‘Tell me,’ Angel said thoughtfully. ‘Has anybody left your employment in recent days?’

Thurrocks shook his head slowly, then he stopped, his eyes glowing like cat’s eyes in a country road. He looked across the desk at Angel.

‘There was one man – Spencer,’ he said excitedly. ‘Spencer! Yes. That was his name. Left without working out his notice. Simon Spencer. Promising young man as well.’

‘I want his full name, last address and you’ll have his national insurance number.’

These were quickly supplied, then Angel phoned them through to Ahmed and told him to check on his last known address. Also to contact the national insurance office in Newcastle to see if he was claiming any state benefits.

He closed the phone and turned back to Thurrocks.

‘If anyone comes in the bank to attempt to withdraw any more from this account, phone me and try to detain them. In the meantime, I will be setting up other inquiries. And I would ask you to keep this confidential Mr Thurrocks, except, of course, from the bank’s directors. I wouldn’t want your staff or any outsider to know of the police’s interest in Spencer yet. All right?’

‘Right, Inspector.’

He took his leave and returned to the BMW.

He stood uncertainly, at the car door. There was so much to do, he didn’t know where to turn next. He was anxious to know if SOCO or Dr Mac had uncovered any clues at the scene. And he also wondered if Ron Gawber’s house-to-house had unearthed anything. He needed to keep on that murder while the crime scene was hot.

He got into the car and drove off towards The Three Horseshoes.

His mind was still racing. He couldn’t be certain what had happened to Simon Smith. Was he lost in the Tsunami or not? According to Miss Smith, her brother had died in the Tsunami. If that was so, the body in the skip couldn’t be his. If it wasn’t Smith’s, then whose was it? And there was another thing….

He arrived at The Three Horseshoes and parked in the car park next to SOCO’s white van. A few nosy parkers had seen the police vehicles, the incident tape and SOCOs in conspicuous whites, and were hovering near the main pub door.

There was no sign of Dr Mac, nor the body in the skip. Angel crossed the car park, lifted the tape and almost bumped into Taylor. He was still in whites and, coming out of the van, was waving an email.

‘Just had confirmation back from the station, sir,’ Taylor said. ‘The fingerprints of the dead man match those of an escaped prisoner, Harry Harrison, 36. Escaped while being transferred from Wakefield in January.’

Angel’s face brightened. He nodded appreciatively. It was always good to know the identity of a victim. It cleared that up.

‘And there’s more, sir. They also match some of the prints on the wrappers of that hoard of money you found round the corner under the floorboards. And that money’s now in the station safe.’