Night of Fire:

by Iain Cameron

  Barry Forshaw was a stereotypical thug, depressing in his similarity with every similarly employed individual who walked the streets of any British city. He started off in approved school for glassing a classmate and graduated to prison after a steady stream of assaults, some serious, and a large dose of drug trafficking. No offences had been committed for the last five years, no doubt the influence of his association with Rattigan and adoption of his subterfuge methods, and maybe an element of an old con ‘wising up’.

  They said little since being arrested and were no more loquacious when paired up with their legal team who came down from Birmingham to represent them. Henderson wished Hobbs good luck before the interview and meant it, as it was likely to be a very tedious process. In Hobbs’s favour, the fingerprints of Rattigan and Forshaw were discovered on the hundred grand and jewellery found in the house in Goldstone Road, and on the sum of one and a half million from the boot of a large Mercedes saloon parked nearby. Even without a confession, the CPS would be biting their hands off to have a chance of prosecuting those two.

  Walters manned the technology as Henderson shuffled his papers purposefully while watching the suspect. Solomon Fletcher looked young for a twenty-two-year-old, with trendy floppy hair and clothes that might have suited an older brother if he had one. He looked nervous, rubbing his hands together and refusing to look at the two detectives.

  His brief didn’t come from the well-heeled Birmingham legal practice that were representing Rattigan and Forshaw and some would regard this as an error of judgement. Fletcher looked like the weak link in the chain, but perhaps the threat of having his throat cut if he talked was sufficient incentive for him to keep his mouth shut. The man here to represent him was a duty solicitor, one he’d encountered before, Tom Nelson.

  ‘Mr Fletcher,’ Henderson said after the preliminaries were completed, ‘you are charged with the murder of Guy Barton.’

  ‘What…what the hell’s this?’ Fletcher screeched. ‘I thought you wanted to talk about the thieving of some jewellery.’

  ‘I must object,’ Fletcher’s brief said. ‘You are trying to provoke my client.’

  Good, Henderson thought; the more rattled he became, the better he liked it. ‘Surely this hasn’t come as a surprise to you? It’s there on the charge sheet.’

  ‘I know but I thought Ajay would–’ He stopped, wanting to say more but unable to continue.

  ‘Ajay would do what? Take the rap for it? No, he denies it. He blames you.’

  In fact Ajay Singh said nothing, no doubt mindful of the threat from the Brummie pair hanging over his head. Henderson was mindful of the threat too and started Ajay’s interview and now Fletcher’s with the Barton murder, which, as far as he believed, did not concern the two from Birmingham.

  Tears came now, trickling down the face of a young man caught between two stools. He rocked the seat back and forth and ran a hand through his hair, and any moment Henderson expected him to take handfuls of it and pull. In the past, similar behaviour would be taken as a sign of mental disturbance, but nowadays was more often associated with persistent drug use.

  ‘I didn’t do it, I didn’t fucking do it,’ he repeated.

  Henderson gave him a few moments to vent his anxiety before he said, ‘We’ll come back to it later. Tell me about the robbery.’

  ‘Eh? What?’

  ‘Tell me about the robbery at Fenton’s. The one you did with Guy Barton and Ajay Singh.’

  ‘How do you know about it?’

  ‘Ajay told me.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Don’t look so surprised. I know all about it, but I want to hear it from you.’

  ‘Oh, I dunno.’

  ‘Listen Sol. You denied murder and I more or less believe you, but nothing will convince me that you weren’t part of the team robbing Fenton’s.’

  He stared at the desk for a long spell, leading Henderson to think he wouldn’t get much more out of him today.

  ‘It was Guy’s idea,’ Fletcher blurted out.

  ‘What was?’

  ‘It was Guy Barton’s idea to rob Fenton’s. He’s a building control officer for the Council, right?’

  ‘Yes, he was.’

  ‘Ok, he was a building control officer for the Council. Well, he did some work at Fenton’s, checking their renovations were in keeping with building guidelines or something. He came to Ajay and me and said he knew how to get in there. He said we should do it during the Bonfire Night parade as it would be noisy and no one would notice the alarm going off, and even if they did, the cops wouldn’t be able to get there in time for the crowds.’

  ‘Right on all counts. How well do you know Ajay and Guy?’

  ‘Ajay and Guy went to school together so they’ve known each other for years. My mother lives beside Ajay’s mum and the two of us would hang out and smoke some dope. Guy joined us now and again.’

  ‘So, you three pals, smashed the back door into Fenton’s and filled a couple of sports holdalls full of jewellery.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Speak up for the recording, Sol,’ Walters said.

  ‘Sorry. Yeah, the three of us filled up a couple of holdalls with the stuff from Fenton’s.’

  ‘What happened then? What did you do with the loot?’

  ‘We took it to the flat Ajay and me were staying in Hanover Street.’

  ‘To await the arrival of your buyer, Gerald Rattigan?’

  ‘What d’ya think we were doing? Fuck, I mean no, I’m not saying nothing about them.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter if you do or you don’t. The four of you were caught looking at jewellery in the Goldstone Street house. We know that and we can prove it. Seven police officers at the scene will swear to it and I’m confident with the fingerprints of you, Ajay and your buyers all over the stolen jewellery, it will be enough for any jury to convict you all. Rattigan and his Rottweiler are going down, don’t you worry about them.’

  Fletcher put his head in his hands; he was cornered.

  ‘You are bullying my client, Inspector. I really must ask you to bring this interview to a close.’

  ‘If I do that, Mr Nelson, I’ll just go through the same questions, tomorrow, the next day and the day after that. Let’s get it done today.’

  He looked over at Fletcher who didn’t object. Henderson took this as acquiescence.

  ‘You admit you stole the stuff, Sol. How did you find a buyer?’

  He looked up. ‘Ajay knew them.’

  ‘Where did he find them? You can’t just look them up on Checkatrade.’

  He smiled. ‘Don’t be soft. Ajay met a mate of Rattigan’s when he was inside. When Guy came up with the idea, Ajay called him.’

  ‘What happened with Guy at Hanover Street?’

  ‘After the robbery, Guy came round and after a few beers, we were celebrating, like, he said he wanted to take a look at the stuff. Him and Ajay went upstairs.’

  ‘Where did you keep it?’

  ‘In a cupboard in the back bedroom.’

  Henderson mentally put a tick against his hypothesis.

  ‘Where were you while they were upstairs?’

  ‘Watching telly in the living-room.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘I got told most of the story by Ajay, as I wasn’t there at the time, right? I only came in at the tail-end, ok?’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘They were looking at the stuff when Guy picked up a bracelet. He said it was the only reason he planned the robbery. He’d always wanted to buy it for his wife as she loved it, but he couldn’t afford the ten grand it cost. He said they were going through a bad patch and maybe it would, you know, help improve things between him and his missus.’

  ‘Ok.’

  ‘The two of them started arguing; Guy said he was taking the bracelet away and Ajay said no. We agreed when we started planning this, none of us was to take anything; that was the deal. Guy got up and made to walk away when Ajay pulled out a gun.’

 
; ‘Where was Ajay?’

  ‘Sitting in the bedroom beside the bags of rings and stuff.’

  Henderson put anther tick against his hypothesis.

  ‘Ajay threatened to shoot him if he didn’t give it back. They stood facing one another in a big stand-off; Guy adamant he was taking it, Ajay saying he couldn’t. I came up the stairs and I couldn’t help it, but when I saw the gun and the look on Ajay’s face, I panicked. I shouted, ‘Ajay!’ and then he fired.’

  It was a gut-wrenching story and Henderson hid his feelings behind a cup of cold coffee, but in Walters’s eyes he could see tears. He remembered the bracelet in question, recovered from Guy Barton’s jacket pocket at the post mortem.

  ‘Ajay had the gun in his waistband?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Why did he have it?’

  ‘He said the buyer was a heavy dude and if things went pear-shaped he would use it to threaten them.’

  ‘Did he often carry a gun?’

  ‘I never saw it before, even when we did other jobs like boosting cars or buying dope from dealers.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘Ajay panicked. Told me we had to get out of there fast. We threw all the stuff back into a couple of holdalls and hightailed it to Goldstone Road.’

  Henderson wrapped the interview up ten minutes later and walked back to his office with Walters.

  ‘I should feel good, elated even,’ Henderson said. ‘We’ve cracked Guy Barton’s murder and solved the Fenton’s jewellery heist, but in talking to Fletcher and Singh, neither made any reference to Marc Emerson.’

  ‘You’re right. Ajay knew Guy well, and he’d only heard of Marc’s name, nothing more.’

  ‘What does it tell us?’ he said as he walked into his office and slumped into the chair while Walters took the visitor’s seat.

  ‘It tells us,’ she said, ‘either they’re lying about Marc Emerson, but I don’t think so as it came out in naturally in conversation, or Guy kept Singh and the criminal side of his life separate.’

  ‘The latter I think. Singh is the more accomplished liar but Fletcher is an open book. I was looking at his face when I mentioned Marc’s name, no nervous twitch, no guilty look; same with Singh.’

  DS Hobbs walked into the office and took a chair beside Walters.

  He sighed. ‘God, what a painful experience.’

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘Whatever your record is for ‘no comments’ it’s been broken by a mile.’

  ‘What? Even when you placed the evidence in front of them? Their fingerprints are all over the stolen gear and we found a million quid in their car.’

  ‘I know, I know, and why do you think they were in a house in Hove with a couple of jewellery robbers? They called round to see Ajay, an old friend of Rattigan’s, of course. His friend just happened to be in possession of all those nice pieces of jewellery and being in the business, he thought there would be no harm in taking a look.’

  ‘The bare-faced cheek. What about the money?’

  ‘That was to buy a house he fancied the look of.’

  Henderson smiled. ‘Funny, we didn’t find any estate agent details in their pockets or when searched their car.’

  ‘They’re in Micky Mouse land, boss,’ Hobbs said, his voice filled with exasperation. ‘Any jury will convict them for handling stolen goods, and in addition, we’ve got Forshaw for being in possession of a firearm.’

  ‘I’m concerned about Rattigan,’ Henderson said. ‘He’ll get a couple years from a lenient judge and be out in six months for being a model prisoner.’

  ‘He’s a leech. It’s people like him that make people like Singh and Fletcher rob jewellery shops.’

  ‘I’ve just had a thought. In fact I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. Where did Rattigan get over a million quid in cash?’

  ‘Good point,’ Walters said. ‘Nobody carries that amount of money around nowadays.’

  ‘We know drug dealers can generate large sums of cash but Rattigan isn’t into drugs, as far as we know.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Call Birmingham, Gerry and see what they can tell us. They might know about another big jewellery heist that went down in their patch. In which case, they might be pleased to hear we’ve got one of their compatriots in custody. With a bit of luck, we might be able to hang a money laundering charge around his neck.’

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Henderson arrived at the office at seven-thirty on Wednesday morning, his usual start time, but with an extra spring in his step. The team went out last night to celebrate their success in arresting the killer of Guy Barton and the robbers of Fenton’s. For him, a little black cloud hung over the frivolity as he didn’t yet know the identity of Marc Emerson’s killer, but as some of the team believed it to be Guy Barton, it would have been churlish to say otherwise.

  He didn’t go on to a nightclub after the pub as he couldn’t dance and wouldn’t know many, if any of the songs being played. While in the pub, he didn’t mix his drinks and stuck to beer which went some way to explaining why he didn’t feel so bad this morning, but his good mood had nothing to do with alcohol.

  He was keen to investigate the gun taken from Rattigan’s bodyguard, Barry Forshaw. Early indications were it had been used in other crimes and he would be interested to see what further research could uncover. He would take great pleasure in sending a number of emails to other forces which might help them clear up some of their unsolved cases.

  He first dealt with a rash of emails that had come into his mailbox since last night, from the Robbery Squad wanting to know when they could see his suspects, a congratulatory note from his boss, one from the Assistant Chief Constable, and from a couple of officers he knew in the Met. At nine he wandered into the detectives’ room to look for a willing gun researcher but one look told him all he needed to know. Faces looked gaunt, loads of empty coffee cups filled bins even at this time of the morning, and one or two looked to be asleep.

  Realising nothing much would be completed this morning, he returned to his office. He had only resumed his seat for about two minutes when DS Edwards came in. She slumped into the visitor’s chair as listlessly as Hobbs had done the day before after his encounter with the ‘no comment’ Brummies.

  ‘That was some night of celebration last night, Angus. What was in those cocktails?’

  ‘I don’t know as I didn’t drink them. I spent the evening drinking beer.’

  ‘I can’t drink beer either. It must be my age or something.’ She leaned over his desk. ‘I didn’t say anything I shouldn’t have, did I?’

  ‘No, I think twenty per cent pay rises for everyone is a generous action in the circumstances.’

  ‘What? I didn’t say that, did I?’

  He smiled. ‘No, but you should have.’

  ‘Thank the Lord. I’m not prone to shooting my mouth off when drunk, but there’s always a first time. Nowadays, one word or a hand in the wrong place and it’s curtains. One career down the toilet.’

  She got up from the seat with less energy than normal. ‘I just wanted to say again, well done for nicking the jewellery robbers and Guy Barton’s killer so quickly. It will be a great relief for his wife to know her husband’s killer is now behind bars and facing a murder charge.’

  ‘Perhaps not murder, more like manslaughter.’

  ‘Why? I thought Singh shot him?’

  ‘He did but he didn’t set out to murder him, in fact they were friends right up until the point Guy insisted on taking a bracelet out of their robbery haul. I don’t think I got the chance to mention it last night but Sol Fletcher said it might have been his shout that panicked Singh into firing. When he spotted the gun he shouted in surprise, ‘Ajay!’ and then Ajay fired.’

  She sat back down. ‘Christ, we’d be lucky to get him for manslaughter. Accidental discharge or Involuntary Manslaughter would mean he would serve less than ten years. It’s not much comfort for Lily Barton.’

  ‘That said, I’m not so sure the CPS agree
. Their initial view is, because there are no witnesses to back up Fletcher’s statement, they believe he made up the story to make things easier for his mate.’

  ‘I’ll go away with that positive thought in my head. We need to talk about this again but not today, Angus. Not until my brain starts to function as it should. I’ll catch you later.’

  Henderson didn’t hear her closing comments as mention of Lily Barton’s name reminded him that he hadn’t told her about the arrest of her husband’s killer. He reached for the phone, intending to call, but replaced it without dialling. Lily didn’t deserve to hear news like this over the phone, given her fragile state. He would tell her in person. He grabbed his jacket and headed out to the car.

  In the car park he called ‘good morning’ to a couple of late stragglers in the murder team making their way to work, leaving them with quizzical faces and checking their watches to make sure they hadn’t stopped. He climbed into the car and drove out of the car park. It was a short journey from Malling House to St John’s Terrace but enough time for him to get bored with a discussion on Radio 4 about the lasting legacy of a group of long-dead Greek philosophers.

  For once, he managed to find a parking spot on St John’s Terrace, but at the other end of the street from the Barton house. It was a misty, cold morning and even though it wasn’t raining, the air felt damp and seemed to seep through his clothes. St John’s Church looked foreboding in the dull, cloudy weather but his view was coloured by his opinion of churches, places he entered most often to attend a funeral.

  He knocked on the door of Lily Barton’s house and moved back to a lower step in order not to intimidate her. He waited for a minute and when he received no reply, knocked again. He was surprised as he knew from Helen Vincent, the FLO, they didn’t go out much and even if Lily was in bed or in the bath, Helen would open the door. He could hear some banging and muffled sounds but couldn’t be sure if it was coming from this house or the place next door.