On cue, a big black police van rocked quickly along the grass through the caravan site towards them.

Angel arrived at his office the following morning at 8.28 a.m. He was as bright as the Chief Constable’s MBE, and ready to supply the necessary evidence to the prosecuting barrister of the Crown Prosecution Service. This man, a Mr Twelvetrees, would use Angel’s information to obtain a remand order at the magistrates’ court next door later on that morning for each of the five members of the Glazer gang.

There was a knock at the door. It was Gawber.

‘I’ve checked the shoe size of each of the men, sir. The only size 10 is Eddie Glazer.’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘No possibility of an error, Ron?’

Gawber shook his head. ‘The others are 11s and 12s, sir.’

Angel nodded thoughtfully. ‘That confirms it then,’ he said firmly. ‘Eddie Glazer’s barrister will have to work damned hard to get him out of that.’ Then he added grimly, ‘Glazer will die in prison.’

‘I’ll push off and check they’ll be ready for court,’ Gawber said.

He went out as Dr Mac had arrived at the door.

‘Can I come in?’

Angel smiled.

‘Ah Mac, you’re always welcome here. Come on in.’

The Scotsman closed the door. Angel pointed to the chair by his desk. ‘Sit down. It’s very early for you, isn’t it, Mac? Worried some tealeaf might have nicked your porridge?’

‘None of your lip, laddie,’ Mac said maintaining a dour face.

Angel grinned.

Mac leaned across the desk and said: ‘I suppose you’d like to hear the result of the DNA comparison between the loose hair found on the body of Alicia Prophet, which SOCO confirmed belonged to Charles Prophet, and the flesh content in the saliva of Carl Gaston’s mouth, taken from that handkerchief of yours, wouldn’t you?’

Angel paid Dr Mac very serious attention. ‘It certainly has a bearing on a case I’m working on, Mac,’ he said expectantly.

‘Well, I can tell you quite positively, that there are enough similarities to prove that Charles Prophet was indeed the biological father of Carl Gaston.’

Angel raised his head.

‘Thank you very much indeed, Mac,’ he said, nodding slowly.

That was the very last piece in the puzzle and Angel felt a warm, comfortable feeling in his chest. An excited shiver ran up and down his arms and hands. He now knew exactly where to find the mysterious Lady Cora Blessington. He considered the position a moment; there was still a lot to do before he could make the arrest.

After exchanging the usual courtesies, Dr Mac left.

Angel rushed down to the CPS office and discussed and determined with Mr Twelvetrees, prosecuting barrister, the charges to be made against the Glazers. They were duly typed up and presented to their solicitors before attending the court. Later that morning, he had the satisfaction of seeing the five of them whisked away on remand in a Group 4 van.

The rest of the morning and afternoon, he spent a thoughtful and busy few hours making his plans. He briefed Gawber and then went home for a shower and an early tea.

At 5.25 p.m., Angel left home and drove the BMW to the end of Victoria Crescent, a side street in Bromersley. He parked it in such a position that he could see down Victoria Road; the road comprised Georgian stone-built houses which had been converted over the past century or so to offices mostly occupied by solicitors, accountants, estate agents and building societies. He particularly wanted to clock all the comings and goings from the offices and small private car park of Prophet and Sellman. He looked at his watch. It was 5.32 p.m. He did not expect that he would have to wait long.

At 5.35 p.m. Charles Prophet strode confidently out of the big blue door, crossed the car park to his car and drove away in the direction of The Feathers Hotel on Market Street. Seconds later the elegant figure of Karen Kennedy appeared on the front step. She looked round, turned back, put a key in the door lock, turned it, withdrew it, stuffed it into her swish Gucci handbag and strode swiftly the few paces across the car park to her white Mercedes. Seconds later, she drove away from Angel with a roar of the engine and turned in the opposite direction towards Jubilee Park on the other side of town, where she lived in a new block of flats on the main Doncaster Road.

Angel started up his BMW and followed her. She lived less than two miles from the office and she had, on good days, been known to walk the short distance. Today she was driving her white Mercedes competently through the side streets of Bromersley, skirting the busy shopping areas and eventually turning onto Doncaster Road. Angel kept a discreet distance behind her until she reached her block of flats. She pulled up on the main road, switched off the ignition, got out of the car and made her way towards the main door of the flats.

Angel followed her and was slowing his car, when, at the last moment, he touched the accelerator and the BMW jerked forward which caused his front bumper to hit the rear of the beautiful Mercedes making an unpleasant, expensive crashing noise.

Karen Kennedy heard it. She looked back angrily, took in the situation and stormed back down the path towards him.

Angel frowned and bit his bottom lip. He reversed the BMW back a few feet from the Mercedes, stopped the car and got out.

Karen Kennedy stood on the pavement edge, hands on hips and surveyed the damage. Then she stared at Angel and said: ‘Oh, it’s you. I might have known it. A stupid policeman! Haven’t you any brakes on that car?’ All the charm so well controlled at the office of Prophet and Sellman had completely disappeared.

Angel said: ‘I am very sorry, but you did stop rather abruptly and without any signal.’

Karen Kennedy’s face went scarlet. ‘There was no need for a signal,’ she stormed. ‘My brake lights would tell you I was stopping. Anyway, I had locked the car and was ten feet away, when you crashed into it!’

‘I didn’t know you were going to stop and park here on a main road,’ he said calmly. ‘And I don’t think your brake lights were working.’

‘They were working perfectly well yesterday when the car was returned after a service.’

‘And look how far you are from the kerb. A traffic policeman would book you for being more than ten inches from the kerb. It’s not safe for other traffic.’

She looked down at the distance the wheel of the Mercedes was away from the kerb. ‘That’s all right,’ she said. ‘Must be only five or six inches, that’s all.’

Angel looked shocked. He shook his head. ‘Be reasonable. It’s at least eighteen inches, Miss Kennedy … far too far … if this matter was taken to court, you’d have a job to prove the actual distance.’

She looked up at the sky and fumed: ‘Huh! Give me strength. Wait there, Inspector Angel,’ she said determinedly. ‘Wait there. I won’t be two minutes.’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Angel said evenly. ‘I’m not leaving here until I have details of your insurance company.’

She stormed off through the main door into the flats. When she was out of sight, Angel turned away from the door, dived into his pocket and pulled out his mobile.

He tapped in a number. The phone was promptly answered.

‘In position, sir,’ Gawber said. ‘We can be there in a minute.’

‘Right,’ Angel said. ‘When I send you a text, come in fast.’

‘Right, sir.’

‘Out.’

Angel cancelled the call and set up his phone to send the letters ‘OK’ to Gawber by text and held it in his pocket ready.

A moment or two later, Karen Kennedy appeared through the door. She had discarded her handbag and was bearing down on Angel with a small camera. Her face was grimly set, determined to win the argument.

Angel pressed the button on the phone in his pocket and sent the text.

Karen Kennedy stormed up to him waving the camera.