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Hargreaves said that three mahogany ones were stolen. He gave me a photograph from the manufacturer’s catalogue, and he showed me the place they had occupied in the workshop.’
    ‘Was there any unnecessary damage or any graffiti left behind by the intruders?’ Angel was wondering whether it was an act of vandalism fuelled by drugs or alcohol, or a serious robbery for gain of some kind.
    ‘Oh no, sir. I don’t think it was kids on a drug trip.’
    ‘Well, what do robbers want with three coffins?’ He rubbed his chin. All the reasons he could think of he didn’t like. He hoped it didn’t augur a spate of grave-digging or worse.
    ‘Don’t know, sir,’ Scrivens said looking at him wide eyed.
    ‘Any forensic?’ Angel said.
    ‘No.’
    The phone rang. Angel reached out for it. ‘All right, Ted,’ he said. ‘Leave it with me.’
    Scrivens made for the door.
    Then Angel called, ‘Oh Ted.’
    Scrivens looked back.
    ‘Nip into CID and tell Ahmed I want him pronto.’
    Scrivens nodded, went out and closed the door.
    Angel then pressed the button on the phone. ‘Angel.’
    It was a young PC on reception. ‘There’s a woman here asking for you, sir. Says her name is Elaine Dalgleish.’
    ‘Good. Show her down here, lad, smartly, will you?’ Angel said and replaced the phone.
    He sighed. He needed to collect his thoughts.
    There was a knock at the door. It was Ahmed.
    ‘Ahmed, I want you to put a poster on the noticeboard.’
    He screwed up his face. ‘Yes sir?’
    ‘About three coffins stolen from Hargreaves the undertakers.’
    The constable blinked. ‘ Coffins ?’
    ‘Yes. I want to know if anybody comes across them in their travels. Get a photograph and description from Ted Scrivens.’
    ‘Right, sir.’ He went out.
    A few moments later a PC showed a woman into the office.
    ‘Please sit down, Mrs Dalgleish, or is it Miss?’ Angel said.
    ‘Thank you, and it’s Mrs Dalgleish,’ the middle-aged woman said as she settled into the chair nearest the desk.
    ‘How long have you been housekeeper to Mr and Mrs Razzle?’ Angel said.
    ‘Three years, Inspector.’
    ‘Are they good employers?’
    ‘They’re all right. But listen here, Inspector, are you going to tell me if what I hear is right?’
    ‘What’s that?’ he said.
    ‘That Mr Razzle pointed the gun of his robot on to himself and took his own life?’
    ‘It certainly looks like that, Mrs Dalgleish. Who told you he took his own life?’
    ‘Mrs Razzle. But, I must say, I don’t believe it. Not Mr Razzle. He’s not the type. I reckon you’ll find out who did it … it’ll be somebody else who managed to take over control of his robot. You’ll soon find him. You are that Inspector Angel, aren’t you, who is said to have the mind of a criminal, who always gets his man, like the Canadian Mounties? I’ve read all about you in the papers. They say you’ve never had a murder case that you haven’t solved. You’re that Inspector Angel, aren’t you?’
    It wasn’t easy for him to avoid her eyes. Eventually he looked up and said, ‘I suppose I am.’
    ‘And I expect you’re married, Inspector, aren’t you?’
    He hesitated. ‘Yes,’ he said.
    ‘I can do that, you know. I mean on the telly. When I’m watching a murder film on the telly. I can nearly always pick out the one who done it. It’s the one least likely. The one who is supposed to be a good sort.’
    Angel gave her a polite smile.
    She smiled back, followed by a nod.
    There was a short pause, then Angel said: ‘Do you know of anybody who would have wanted Mr Razzle dead?’
    ‘No. He was a fine, upright, hard-working man, and very clever with it. He had several inventions to his name, you know.’
    ‘So I have heard.’
    ‘He was a lovely man. He does get a bit ratty when he’s busy in the workshop and someone wants to see him. When I’m there, I always try to put callers off, or put them on to Mrs Razzle.’
    ‘Did someone … anyone difficult call recently,