Read The Wigmaker for Free Online

‘No, thank you, Mr Larkin. I will quickly take a look at one or two things out here, and then I’ll be on my way. Please tell his lordship that I will do all I can to catch the thief.’
    ‘Right, sir,’ Larkin said, then he dashed away.
    When the noise of Larkin’s footsteps on the gravel had faded away Angel looked down at the bullrushes close to where he was standing, then across the length of the rippling blue water to the green bushes and trees at the other side. Thousands of reflections of the sun danced gently on the water. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully … we live in an age when if something looks easy to steal – regardless of its value – people will steal it. Ballpoint pens in some banks are fastened to the desk by a chain. Multiple grocery chains put some small, expensive items in security boxes. In this situation, a suit of armour worth millions had been stolen. He could imagine that it would be great to help dress a theatre or a film set, but it could not be offered for sale for that purpose. This particular one would presumably have been immediately spotted. How then would a thief dispose of it? How would he convert the suit of armour into hard cash? Perceptive antique dealers and leading auctioneers wouldn’t want to handle it without knowing the source. Was it possible a loyal citizen from, say France, might seek to wish to have the armour returned to its native country? Like the Greeks with the Elgin marbles. There are very wealthy people who have stolen hoards of paintings and sculptures which are too well known to be shown publicly, who may have widened their interest to include antiquities. He rubbed his chin.

CHAPTER FOUR
----
    A ngel returned to his office and glanced at the pile of post on his desk. He wrinkled his nose. It hardly ever seemed to get any less. He fingered thoughtfully through the envelopes, but it was pointless: his mind was on the wig maker. He wondered why anyone would want to murder him. He began in his thoughts to go systematically through the list of possible motives. He was interrupted by a knock at the door.
    ‘Come in.’
    It was DS Trevor Crisp, a handsome, well-dressed young man much admired by the ladies. It was rumoured that he had a relationship with the best looking unattached young woman in the station, WPC Leisha Baverstock, but his love life was neither straightforward nor comprehensible.
    ‘You wanted me, sir?’
    Angel’s eyes flashed. His jaw tightened.
    ‘I wanted you two hours ago, at a murder scene,’ he snapped. ‘A wig maker, Peter Wolff of Market Street, was shot dead in the early hours. That’s when I wanted you. And then at Lord Tiverton’s place, a suit of armour worth millions was stolen. I could have done with you there as well.’
    Crisp looked sheepish. ‘I heard about the wig maker, sir, but I was tied up with a house burglary; thieves got away with the contents of a deep freezer in a garage. It wasn’t a major incident, but I couldn’t just dump the woman.’
    Angel’s face was red. He blinked. He couldn’t resist saying, ‘I don’t know, lad? You’ve dumped plenty of women in the past!’
    Crisp’s eyes opened wide. He was thinking what to reply. He wasn’t usually stuck for words.
    Angel moved on quickly. ‘This wig maker, Peter Wolff, did you know him?’
    ‘No, sir. Heard of him. I reckon there isn’t a woman in the town who hasn’t. Some of them would’ve given their eye teeth to have had a wig made by him. He knew the hair business backwards. You know, he knew what constituted a glamorous hairdo. Expensive though, I think.’
    ‘Yes, but what was he like as a man?’
    ‘Don’t know, sir.’
    ‘I want you to ask around. Find out where he went. What made him tick. What his interests were. Who his friends were. Who his enemies were. I’ve had a cursory look over his shop and flat, but learned very little. Surely there’s more to life than eating and sleeping and making wigs? There is no apparent reason for his