Read Online Shrine to Murder by Roger Silverwood - Free Book Online

sir.’
    He wasn’t pleased.
    The phone rang. He snatched it up. It was Dr Mac.
    ‘ The woman was stabbed in the aorta, Michael. And a vicious wound it is. Made by the same dagger that was used to murder Luke Redman. I am afraid you have a serial killer on your hands.’
    Angel took the news as confirmation of what he had already guessed. ‘Aye,’ he said. The worry is that if my understanding of the messages on the mirrors are to be understood, the murderer has said that there are now four more to die.’
    ‘ He’s out of his mind,’ Mac said, ‘a lunatic. His MO, repetition of a theme, is bound to give him away.’
    ‘ How many of the four will he be successful in murdering before we catch him?’
    ‘ Well, you needn’t spend any time looking for a laurel leaf, Michael.’
    Angel blinked. ‘Why?’
    ‘ Found one. It was tucked in the flap of her blouse.’
    Angel swallowed.
    Mac said, ‘Speak to you tomorrow.’
    ‘ Aye. Thank you, Mac. Goodnight.’
    He replaced the phone and looked up at Carter. ‘That was Mac. Confirmation - if we had needed it - that we are looking for a serial killer.’
    Carter ’s eyebrows shot up. She sucked in air as fast as a Maclaren.
    *
    Angel was pleased to be arriving home.
    He drove the car into the garage, locked the door and made his way up the garden path. He looked at his watch. It was a quarter to seven. He usually arrived a few minutes past five. Mary would be waiting for him and she wouldn’t be pleased. He knew he wasn’t going to win a popularity contest.
    He unlocked the back door as usual and went in.
    Mary glared at him from the sitting room door and followed him through the kitchen to the hall wardrobe, her face as straight as a gun barrel.
    ‘ What time do you call this?’ she said.
    ‘ Yes, love. I know I’m late,’ he said as he took his coat off and put it on a coathanger. ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘ Dinner’s ruined. I don’t know what I am going to give you. Whatever’s happened?’
    ‘ It doesn’t matter. I’ll have…anything.’
    She looked at him and stiffened. ‘You won’t have anything . You’ll have a proper cooked meal, like all normal good-living people. What an outrageous thing to say, “I’ll have anything.” As if I would let you have any old thing that was…that was hanging around.’
    ‘ A corned beef sandwich would be fine,’ he said shuffling into the sitting room.
    ‘ I haven’t got any corned beef, and I wouldn’t dream of giving you a sandwich for your main meal,’ she said. Then she looked up as if inspired. ‘Ah. I’ve got some eggs,’ she said and rushed away into the kitchen.
    Angel went to the end of sideboard and looked for the morning’s post. That’s where it was usually put, but there was nothing there.
    ‘ Any post?’ he called.
    ‘ Nothing for you.’
    He pulled a face then nodded. At least, no post meant there were no bills.
    He meandered through into the kitchen. Mary was busy cracking eggs into a bowl. He opened the fridge, took out a bottle of German beer, knocked off the cap, poured it into a glass, made his way to the sitting room, sat down in his favourite chair, kicked of his shoes, loosened his tie, unfastened his top button and switched on the TV. As the set was warming up he heard Mary call out.
    ‘ Are you hungry?’
    ‘ Not really.’
    ‘ You’d better be,’ she said, trying to sound threatening. His mobile phone rang. He fumbled around in his pocket for it.
    Mary also heard the ring, groaned and muttered something.
    Angel looked at the LCD. He saw that it was Crisp. ‘Yes?’ he said as he sat down in his favourite chair.
    ‘ I found the sandwich shop, The Lunch Box , sir. Ronnie Striker did go there this morning before nine. The woman who owns it said that she was not sure of the exact time. He ordered a sandwich that she prepared fresh. It took her only two minutes. And she understood that it was for Mrs Underwood. That’s about it.’
    ‘ Did she say if he seemed