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noted was also painted white, the same colour as the walls and the ceiling. As he looked closely at it, he also noted that the camera bracket was fastened to a small-bore vertical pipe that ran from a radiator in the basement upwards, then out through into the floor of the kitchen.
    He frowned, shook his head and stood there a few moments before he followed Taylor into the workshop. Standing in the doorway he took several long looks round the place. The sight of the blue plastic robot (now without lights flickering in the head or a gun in its hand) caused him to stop briefly to take it in. He stared at it thoughtfully for a few seconds, then shook his head.
    ‘Where was the body?’ he asked.
    Taylor pointed to the area on the floor in front of the desk. ‘Full length down there, sir. Three bullets. One in the chest, one in the head and one in the stomach.’
    Angel wrinkled his nose as he visualized the scene. ‘You’ve plenty of photographs?’
    ‘Stacks, sir.’
    ‘Mmm. The gun. Any prints?’
    ‘A Walther PPK/S, sir,’ Taylor told him, opening an evidence bag, taking out a handgun from it and handing it to him. ‘No prints on the gun. Razzle’s prints were on three of the rounds. The clip had five rounds when I checked it. Three had been fired, so the clip had been full.’
    Angel saw the three shell cases on the floor near the robot.
    ‘Those from this gun?’
    ‘Yes, sir. No prints. Everything checked. Absolutely in perfect order.’
    Angel nodded and returned the gun. ‘Now the remote control. Tell me about it.’
    Taylor picked up a crudely made piece of equipment that appeared to be a cross between a TV remote and a string puppetmaster’s control bar.
    Angel looked at it, blinked and said: ‘He’d presumably not finished this part of his handiwork?’
    ‘It was found on the floor, a few centimetres from his right hand.’
    ‘With his fingerprints all over it?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Anybody else’s?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Did it work? Can it operate the robot, make it aim the gun and fire at a target on command?’
    ‘Oh yes, sir,’ Taylor said, pulling a grim face. ‘It works perfectly.’
    Angel sniffed. Technology was reaching a new low in his estimation.
    ‘You have to put the gun in the robot’s hand and set the finger inside the trigger guard, of course,’ Taylor said. ‘Then, by pressing buttons on the remote control, you can raise its arm, manoeuvre the wrist in almost every possible direction, aim the gun and fire it on command.’
    ‘Would you have to press the button that controls the finger on the trigger on each occasion you wanted to fire a round?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Where was the gun pointing when you arrived?’
    ‘It was aimed about chest height in the direction of the desk. As the desk is just behind the open door, there was a risk that we might have been in the firing line, so I got the armourer to come – wearing suitable body armour, of course – to make it safe by removing the gun from the robot’s hand.’
    Angel nodded. He was thinking how dangerous this world could become if there was a proliferation in the use of armed robots.
    He rubbed his chin and looked round. ‘The only way in or out of this workshop is through that door?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘There are no windows, back doors, trap doors, chimneys, air vents or other possible means of access? I want you to be absolutely sure about that.’
    ‘I am sure, sir. You can rely on it.’
    Angel had worked with Taylor for seven years and always found him thorough and reliable. He nodded.
    ‘Anybody else’s prints or DNA in this place … especially on the robot?’
    ‘No. Every sample we have taken in this place has Charles Razzle’s prints on it and nobody else’s.’
    ‘And you are still going through his desk, then?’
    ‘We’ve just about finished, sir. Nothing criminal, or even interesting. He has a big portfolio of shares and cash savings in dated bonds. Even though I suppose he took a beating last