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murder. There’s got to be a motive.’
    Crisp looked at him thoughtfully.
    ‘I’ve got Ron Gawber asking around Market Street, where his shop is. His neighbours and so on. I want you to start asking in women’s hairdressers. They are his natural competitors, I suppose. Might be up for a bit of gossip. But don’t waste time, lad. Work is piling up.’
    ‘Right, sir.’
    After Crisp had closed the door Angel picked up the phone and tapped in the CID office number.
    It was soon answered by Probationer PC Ahmed Ahaz, aged twenty. He was a handsome, shy, very intelligent and enthusiastic young man who came third at Aykley Heads police college in Durham and had been on Angel’s team since joining the force as a humble cadet three years previously.
    ‘Yes, sir?’ he said brightly.
    ‘Ahmed, there’s a man, Peter Wolff, wig maker … find out if he has any form. Also, there’s a man called Larkin, check him out while you’re at it. I haven’t got his Christian name. And bring me a cup of tea.’
    ‘Right, sir.’
    He replaced the phone.
    There was a knock at the door. It was Gawber.
    ‘Ah, Ron. What have you got?’
    ‘Can’t find anything much on Wolff, sir. He seems to have been a quiet sort of bird. Kept himself to himself. Pleasant. Courteous. Paid his way. Bought sandwiches most every day from the shop next door. Lived on his own. Some of the shopkeepers didn’t know he lived over the shop and were surprised when I told them. The card shop lady opposite thought he must be well off. She’d only seen well-heeled people go into his shop. It was appointment only. The door was always locked. Callers had to press a button to get into the place.’
    ‘Did she recognize any of his callers?’
    ‘No, sir. Only that they were … well dressed. No riff-raff, she said.’
    Angel frowned. ‘He was only a wig maker, dammit. Why keep the door locked? What had he got in there, the crown jewels?’
    ‘Maybe he was just being selective … keeping a high standard.’
    Angel rubbed his chin. ‘Hmmm. Come to think of it, there was no intruder alarm system in the building.’
    Gawber nodded. ‘That’s right. Maybe SOCO will come across a safe?’
    ‘Aye. What about his next of kin?’
    ‘Nothing known about that, sir.’
    ‘Right. Well, find out his bank and let’s look at his finances. His doctor, chase that up and anything else about him.’
    The phone rang. He reached out for it. It was Superintendent Harker.
    ‘Come along up here, right away, lad,’ he said. There was an unpleasant click in his ear and the line went dead.
    Angel’s face dropped. He replaced the phone and turned to Gawber. ‘The super wants me. Can’t think what for. There’s a cup of tea coming. You have it. If I’m going to be long, I’ll give you a buzz. All right?’
    Gawber nodded.
    Angel dashed up the corridor to Harker’s office.
    ‘Come in, Angel,’ Harker said. ‘Got something special on.’
    Angel lifted his head. Sounded interesting. Or was it something with a catch to it? It would be just like Harker to dress something dodgy up by saying it was ‘something special’.
    ‘You’ve heard of Chancey’s DIY and timber importers?’ Harker said importantly.
    Angel nodded.
    ‘Well, Frank Chancey, multi-millionaire and boss of that outfit, is on a sort of nodding acquaintance with the chief constable. Same club, charity boards and so on. He’s in a spot of trouble. Just rung up the chief, and the chief has just phoned me. His wife Katrina has disappeared. She’s a model, and her agent’s reported her missing to her husband first thing this morning. Possibly run off. Wants us to find her.’
    Angel’s eyes flashed. He wasn’t pleased. ‘A misper, sir? That’s a job for the Salvation Army, isn’t it?’
    Harker sniffed, then said: ‘Not in this case.’
    ‘You know that at present I’m up to my neck looking for the murderer of a wig maker, sir. Or is looking for this millionaire’s runaway wife more important than