Blunt Force

by La Plante, Lynda

  ‘Bloody hell, you were right. The bullet I just test-fired is a match to the one recovered from the Daily Express robbery.’

  Elliott looked cautiously pleased. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Take a look for yourself. I’ve got the groove marks lined up perfectly.’

  Elliott spent a minute looking at the two bullets in the microscope. ‘That’s brilliant work, Dabs. What about the bullets from the other two robberies?’

  ‘I’m just about to check them. It’ll take me ten or fifteen minutes. If you want a coffee while I do it, my office is down the corridor.’

  Jane went with Elliott to Dabs’s office. She flicked the kettle on.

  ‘If the gun Dabs just test-fired was lawfully seized in 1976 by Murphy and matches to a bullet recovered back then, I don’t see how that’s evidence of corruption.’

  ‘The gun was booked out of the lab in early 1977 by the then Detective Inspector Murphy. He said he needed it for the interview of a suspect believed to have been involved in the Express robbery. The suspect was never charged and the gun was never returned to the lab. I believe Murphy threatened the man he arrested and said he’d fit him up unless he got a cut of the proceeds. From information I’ve received, I believe Murphy then provided his suspect with what he thought was a now untraceable gun, which was then used in the September 1977 Williams & Glyn’s Bank payroll robbery and the Daily Mirror robbery in 1978.’

  A stunned Jane nearly dropped the milk bottle as she removed it from the fridge. ‘Oh my God, a security guard was shot dead during the Daily Mirror robbery.’

  ‘That’s right, and when Dabs comes back I think we’ll discover the bullet that killed the guard was fired from the same gun and will match a bullet recovered from a wooden door frame after it was fired at the Williams & Glyn’s robbery.’

  ‘But shouldn’t the recovered bullets from different robberies have been compared and cross-checked?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Comparisons are only made if specifically requested by the investigating officer to link a particular gang to a series of crimes. The investigating officer in the three cases I just mentioned was . . .’

  ‘Murphy. But how did the gun end up back here at the lab?’

  ‘It was down to you, actually. Remember the stash of hidden guns you uncovered at George Ripley’s garage?’

  Jane nodded. ‘I thought that Smith & Wesson pistol Dabs just test-fired looked familiar. It was one of a number of guns we found with the money from the Shoreditch job hidden behind a fake wall in the vehicle inspection pit. But how did the gun end up in the Ripleys’ hands?’

  ‘Dabs, as you know, worked with Murphy at Rigg Approach. He had this niggling feeling Murphy might be corrupt, but he had no evidence to prove it.’

  ‘Was this before or after I was on the squad?’ Jane asked, wondering why Dabs had never said anything to her.

  ‘It sort of started after you found the gun at the Ripley garage. The squad DI, Stuart Kingston, told Dabs to take all the guns straight up to the lab for examination and cross-check against any recent unsolved armed robberies where bullets were fired. When Murphy saw the garage scene photos, he asked Dabs where the guns had gone and lost his rag when he found Dabs had taken them up to the lab without his “personal” authority. And yet he never bollocked Kingston.’

  ‘He obviously got panicky about the Smith & Wesson being the one he’d stolen.’

  ‘You bet he did. He also told Dabs to cancel any cross-checking on it as no witness said a pistol with a walnut handle was used in the armed robberies the Ripleys were suspects in. Dabs felt his whole reaction was OTT and reckoned identifying the grip as “walnut” so easily from a photograph that wasn’t even close up was a bit more than mere coincidence.’

  ‘So, Dabs informed Countryman about his suspicions?’

  ‘Yes. It took a lot of guts, but the tipping point was the way Murphy treated you. Dabs suspected he did your legs because you found the pistol and therefore posed a threat to him.’

  ‘I knew there was more to it all,’ Jane said, feeling sick to her stomach.

  ‘Anyway, with Dabs’s help, I covertly researched every robbery case Murphy was involved in since his first posting to the Flying Squad in the mid-seventies. The only two instances where a nine-mill Smith & Wesson .39 automatic pistol with a walnut grip was seized were the Daily Express job and the one found by you at the Ripley garage. What also stood out is the fact the witness at the ’77 and ’78 robberies described the gun that was fired by a robber as black with a brown handle. Do you remember your last job on the Flying Squad, just before you left?’

  Jane looked confused. ‘You know it was the one where I was shot at and my colleague got hit trying to protect me.’

  ‘What exactly happened?’

  Jane took a deep breath. ‘I was in a static observation point overlooking the bank, watching for the suspects to arrive. When they did, there was a massive shoot-out with my colleagues. From my raised OP I saw one of the suspects sneaking alongside some parked cars and making his way towards an alleyway. I put a call-out over the radio and went after him. I confronted him in the alleyway and shouted “armed police”.’

  ‘But you weren’t armed, were you?’

  ‘No, I just thought it might make him stop or hesitate so I could arrest him. But as you know, it didn’t work out that way.’

  Elliott took a photograph from an envelope. It showed a dead man lying on the pavement with a pool of blood coming from his chest and head.

  ‘Do you recognise this man?’

  Jane was still calm but she couldn’t help her emotions welling up. ‘Yes! He was the man who shot at me. For Christ’s sake, are you trying to play mind games with me? You obviously know who he is and what he did!’

  ‘And who shot him dead, Jane?’

  ‘Fucking Murphy did!’

  ‘And where was Murphy before he shot him?’

  Jane shook her head. ‘I don’t know, my eyes were closed and when I opened them, he was standing over the man and then he kicked a gun away from him. Murphy told the local uniform officers to take me back to the station because I was in a state of shock.’

  Elliott replaced the photograph in the envelope. ‘The man Murphy shot dead was Harry Burton – the same man arrested and interviewed by Murphy for the 1976 Express robbery.’

  Jane’s eyes opened wide. ‘Are you saying Murphy set Burton up and deliberately shot him dead?’

  Elliott nodded. ‘I also think Murphy originally nicked Burton knowing full well he was involved in the Express robbery and did a deal with him, then made sure that no one was watching Burton or his gang prior to the ’77 and ’78 robberies. Over half a million pounds was stolen in the three robberies. I think Murphy gave Burton the gun and helped set up the robberies, for which he got a big payoff.’

  Jane swallowed, finding it difficult to take it all on board. She thought about the fact that after the incident she had not returned to work at the Flying Squad after Murphy had accused her of unprofessional conduct.

  ‘Am I in danger?’ she asked.

  Elliott shook his head. ‘You were, but now Burton is dead he doesn’t pose a threat to Murphy, and with you off the squad he thinks his worries are over.’ He gently touched her cheek and leant close. ‘I’m very proud of you.’

  An excited Dabs hurried into the room. ‘The bullet recovered from the Williams & Glyn’s robbery and the one from the body of the security guard at the Daily Mirror job both match to the Smith & Wesson .39. We’ve got the bastard!’

  Elliott held up his hand. ‘Not yet. I want to give him enough rope to hang himself.’ He turned back to Jane. ‘And I need your help.’

  *

  When she got home, Jane knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She poured herself a large whisky and lit another cigarette from the now depleted ‘emergency’ pack. Elliott had said he couldn’t tell her exactly what he wanted her to do until he got authority from his chief constable who was leading Countryman. She was trying
desperately to make sense of what Murphy had done and the fact her life had been put in danger because of him. It was as if her brain refused to accept it could all be true. She was more determined than ever to bring Murphy down, but right now it was all too much to process. And she couldn’t let herself be distracted from the Foxley murder at such a crucial point in the investigation. She started running through what they knew about Ahmed Farook.

  She knew he had been in the UK for twenty years, and that he had spent time in prison for GBH. He had worked for Mandy Pilkington for the past six years and they had ascertained that his brother-in-law, Ameer Fareedi, held a responsible job with a chain of butcher’s. They also knew his wife, Farah Fareedi, had a university education, but they had found little information about Aiyla Farook. She had come to the UK after marrying Farook, bringing his five-year-old daughter. They had not found a birth certificate, and the name on the immigration records, Rania Yasmin Farook, could mean that the girl from the model agency was actually someone else, even though her aunt and her mother had agreed the girl in the photograph was Yasmin. Jane recalled Spencer telling her how Farook reacted when they had shown him the photograph and he was certain that is what had sparked his murderous rage.

  Jane was topping up her whisky when the phone rang. She was in two minds about answering it. When she did, she almost wished she hadn’t, as her sister Pam launched into a lengthy diatribe about a woman in her hair salon who had asked for a perm and then complained about it being too curly, so they had re-set her hair in large rollers and she then said that she should have had it cut—

  Jane interrupted. ‘Pam, I’ve had a really long day—’ But before she could say any more, Pam exploded.

  ‘You’ve had a long day! That wasn’t the only client who made me want to throttle them!’

  Jane sighed. ‘You try interviewing two Muslim women who refuse to speak to you. One can’t speak English and the other one is lying, and I’m concerned about the whereabouts of her fifteen-year-old daughter who I think could possibly have been sexually abused.’

  Pam sighed. ‘OK, sorry, Jane. That sounds awful.’ After a moment she added, ‘Did you see that documentary on ATV?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It wasn’t that long ago now . . . all about the execution of Princess Misha’al.’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Jane asked.

  ‘She was a Muslim . . . it was what they called an “honour killing”, and they were never convicted because she had disgraced the family name.’

  ‘She was executed?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what the programme was about. Their faith is so strong that if you disrespect the family’s honour, you pay the consequences.’

  Jane started thinking.

  ‘Hello, Jane? Are you still there?’

  ‘Sorry, Pam, I’ve got to go. Listen, I’ll come and have a haircut soon, OK?’ Jane put the phone down.

  She put on her pyjamas and got into bed. She sat there for a while, going over it all in her mind. Aiyla Farook appeared to speak no English, but her sister Farah Fareedi most definitely did, and Jane was going to suggest they bring her in for questioning.

  Jane put her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. She didn’t understand why, but she started to cry. For so much of her time with the Flying Squad she had suppressed her feelings when she was being deliberately humiliated, and now the emotion poured out of her. Finally letting go felt good – but it also triggered something in her memory, something she had come across when checking through a report. There had been significant inconsistencies in the monies discovered in every robbery she had been involved with . . .

  Jane sat bolt upright. It was the missing cash that she had brought to Murphy’s attention. He had warned her to keep out of it and told her he would deal with it personally. Without her knowing it at the time, she’d struck a nerve.

  *

  The briefing kicked off at 8 a.m. DCI Tyler had a bruise just below his eye and seemed out of sorts, but Jane was feeling a renewed confidence, having dressed smartly and blow-dried her hair, as she joined the now diminshed team around the boardroom table. There was still no feeling of a job well done, despite Farook having been formally charged with Foxley’s murder at 11.30 the previous night, because they still hadn’t found the motive, but they knew they were getting closer.

  It was at this point that Jane asked if she could express her thoughts. DCS Walker had taken charge, and gave her a small nod as she opened her notebook.

  ‘I think our priority should be to locate Farook’s daughter, Yasmin. Her aunt said that she had returned to her family but we need to check if that’s true.’ Jane could feel the scepticism around the room, but she was not going to back down. ‘I think there’s a strong possibility Foxley’s murder could be connected with family honour. We know there was an incident at a premiere involving Yasmin. We have evidence that a number of underage girls attached to the agency were being paid for sexual favours.’

  Tyler rapped on the table with his knuckles. ‘Detective Sergeant Tennison, I have read all your very detailed reports but there is no confirmation that the incident you just referred to involved Yasmin Farook.’

  ‘Yes, sir, but that’s because I have been unable to interview her. I only have her aunt’s word that she returned to their country and is living with a relative there. I do have details of a niece who is being educated in England and I would very much like to have an interview with her to get further information.’

  ‘Sergeant Tennison, at this briefing we do not need suppositions, nor possibilities, but corroborated evidence that can be put forward as a motive for this man’s butchery,’ Walker said dismissively.

  There was silence as everyone looked at Jane.

  ‘Sir, Farook asked Michael Langton if Foxley was a famous film producer. Farook had said that his daughter was no longer part of his family . . .’

  Walker held his hand up. ‘If there is a situation regarding Farook’s daughter, and we are unable to ascertain her whereabouts, I suggest your information is taken to Missing Persons.’

  After the briefing, Spencer brought Jane a cup of coffee. ‘Look, Jane, I know Walker was being a bit harsh, but we’ve got our man. He’s admitted he did it. Case closed. Why don’t you just go with the flow?’

  ‘I can’t let it go, Spence, because in my opinion it’s a big loose end. If you’d been at that cold, empty flat, you’d feel the same way.’

  ‘Actually, Jane, I don’t think I would. I suppose you’ve heard the vice squad are going to be hauling in Mandy Pilkington. I think they’ll make sure she’s not only out of business but losing some of her blubber in Holloway for living off immoral earnings, not to mention tax fraud.’

  Jane found his cheery manner irritating. ‘What about Michael Langton? If Mandy’s place is closed up, where do you think he will go?’

  Spencer grinned and went over to his desk. He opened one of the larger drawers and took out a painting wrapped in a linen cloth.

  ‘This was delivered yesterday. I meant to show it to you but, with Odd Job spewing out his guts, I forgot.’ Spencer flipped the cloth aside to show the painting of two horses jumping towards the viewer. ‘Michael had it delivered before going back to live with his parents.’

  Before he could say anything else, Tyler called him into his office. Jane was thinking about following him when her desk phone rang. It was Dabs.

  ‘Sorry for calling you at the station. I know you’re heavily involved in the murder inquiry.’

  ‘Not as heavily as you might think, Dabs. I’ve not been given any assignments for today . . .’

  ‘Can you meet me in Regent’s Park?’ he asked before she could continue.

  ‘Which entrance?’ Jane said quietly, not wanting to be overheard.

  ‘The one nearest your flat.’

  ‘I can be there in fifteen minutes.’ Jane put down the phone. She wondered for a second how Dabs knew where she lived, but then dismissed it. If Tyler and
company didn’t feel it necessary for her to be around, she wouldn’t be. Always the professional, she told the civilian clerk she had no assignments and would be at home if needed.

  *

  After parking near her flat, Jane hurried into the park, crossing the circular road and heading past Sussex Mews, before seeing Dabs standing smoking under the trees.

  ‘You don’t have one for me, do you?’ Jane asked.

  Dabs gave her a little grin. ‘I didn’t know you smoked.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  Just as he was about to take the pack out of his pocket, Elliott, in his obligatory tracksuit, joined them. He was slightly out of breath, as if he had been jogging.

  ‘Some good news . . . other members of my team have discovered Murphy’s wife has huge sums of money in various accounts under false names and property abroad . . .’

  ‘Christ, don’t tell me, Murphy’s got an effing villa in Spain,’ Dabs interrupted. ‘He gets over there and we’ll never get him back.’

  Elliott smiled. ‘Murphy’s got too big an ego to mix with all the common villains holed up in Spain. He’s gone one better and bought a big place in St Lucia. I’ve been given the green light by my chief constable. He wants us to go ahead without using the solicitor Anthony Nichols as an informant.’

  ‘So, you’re going to arrest Murphy?’ Jane asked.

  Elliott sighed. ‘Not right away. As I see it, Murphy will be surveillance-conscious and our main problem is finding a way to approach him when he’s off-guard and on his own . . .’

  ‘I know where you could pick him up on his own,’ Jane said.

  Elliott leant forward. ‘Go on . . . where?’

  ‘He has a routine. Every morning at around eight, he drives up to the Flying Squad office at Rigg Approach in Leyton. It’s in the middle of a big industrial estate—’

  Elliott frowned. ‘Yes, I know that . . . and I doubt you’d be allowed in the building for a pleasant chat with him,’ he added sarcastically.

  ‘If you’d let me finish,’ Jane continued, ‘I was going to tell you Murphy is a creature of habit in the morning. He parks up, and as he goes into the building, he signals to the mobile burger van owner to get his usual breakfast ready. He dumps his briefcase on his desk and leaves the building to collect his bacon butty and coffee from the van.’