He had just settled at his desk when there was a knock at the door. It was Taylor and he was carrying a length of timber. Angel peered at it. ‘I’ve finished the examination of Angus Peel’s van, sir,’ Taylor said. ‘That’s great, Don.’ ‘I’m afraid there’s not much that you will want to hear, sir.’ ‘So tell me anyway.’ ‘Well, there aren’t any prints on any of the door handles, the steering wheel, the gear stick, or the ignition key - the obvious places. They’ve been wiped clean or the murderer wore gloves. And I can’t rely on any of the many samples in the mud that had floated on to his clothes, his shoes, his head and his hands. They could have originated from anywhere…they could have been from the van or from mud in the canal.’ ‘I know. I know. Anything else?’ He raised up the length of rough white timber that had not been planed. It was about 4” long x 4” wide x 1” thick. ‘This is the piece of wood that was used to jam the accelerator.
