by Joe Carter
It was a toss-up between Alan Brazil on talkSPORT, or me listening to a compilation CD. I plumped for the CD, and the first track was The Verve’s ‘The Drugs Don’t Work’. I waited until I got to the end of my street before I turned the volume right up. When I was stuck in traffic and I looked over at a fellow driver singing at the top of their voice, I often wondered what song they were singing along to. There was no way of telling, but it was a therapeutic way of losing yourself in the confines of your own car. I made sure I sang every word and missed every note, but it certainly livened me up on my journey.
I drove off the main road and onto the windy country lane that led to Dave’s cottage. He was just waving his wife and kids off on the school run. I pulled up alongside his wife’s driver’s side and said hello to Elaine. I told her that she looked great and that she’d done a top job keeping Dave off the takeaways and out of the pubs. I said I’d just read an excellent article stating how fantastic quinoa was in a diet. She thanked me and said she’d give it a go. I laughed to myself, thinking of poor old Dave.
I shook Dave’s hand and removed a Loake shoebox from the boot of my car. We walked through the kitchen to a cupboard under the stairs, where I saw a huge antique Samuel Withers safe. It was a proper old-fashioned safe, with a big mounted manufacturer’s crest on the green-patterned front. There was a single keyhole in the middle of the door, and a handle that was shaped like a fist holding a small metal rod. Dave put the key into the keyhole and turned it, and with his other hand twisted the handle and slowly opened the heavy door. There was a loud creak as the weight of the door opened to reveal the contents.
He quickly pulled out a Sainsbury’s carrier bag – the more expensive type, the ones that you have to pay for at the checkout. He handed it to me and then couldn’t close the door or turn the key quick enough so as to get me out of that cupboard. He clearly didn’t want me to see the specifics of the secrets that sat in the safe. I looked at him in the hallway without saying a word. ‘What!?’ he blurted out with a contorted half-smile on his face. I shook my head and said to him, ‘You’re a dark horse, young David, aren’t you?’
I went to the kitchen table and turned out the contents of the bag, taking my time to count it all. There was £25,000 in £10 and £20 notes. I had brought some thin rubber bands, and I wrapped the money in twenty-five rolled-up £1,000 bundles and placed a rubber band around each of them to keep them in place. Dave looked at me and said, ‘It’s like watching a professional in action.’ I ignored him and placed the twenty-five rolls into a dust bag and then into the shoebox.
My work was done with Dave. I told him that his secret was safe with me, and I promised not to break into his house and steal whatever the contents of his safe were. He chuckled and said, ‘Whatever you do, don’t get yourself arrested with all that money.’
It was my intention to park in the train station car park and wait for the 10.05 train to arrive from Liverpool Street. But I didn’t want to sit there too long, drawing attention to myself. I had half an hour to kill, so I stopped at a Costa Coffee and reloaded on caffeine. I had placed the shoebox under the passenger seat of the car and it was hidden from view. I pulled into the station slightly after 9.55 a.m., and parked away from the cab rank but close enough to be seen by someone exiting the station. Just after 10 a.m., two cars pulled into the car park. They had police written all over them. One had three burly white men inside, and the other had four similar-looking males. Instinctively, I didn’t give them time to focus their attention too much on me and I drove out of the station. However, I wasn’t quick enough, and I noticed that one of the rear-seat passengers had spotted me. I could see him pointing to my car as I drove off.
I went through the first set of lights with the intention of casually driving to my gym, which was nearby. I noticed that both of the cars had joined the same line of traffic as me, about four cars behind. The journey to the large car park in front of the gym only took about four minutes. The two cars followed my every turn, and as I pulled into the car park, so did they. One car pulled alongside my driver’s side, and the other parked directly behind me. All seven men were out of the two cars before I’d switched off the music.
One of them knocked on my window and said my surname. I thought this was very strange. I took my time putting the window down and said, ‘What did you say – my music was playing.’
I was instructed to step out of the car and put my hands on top of my head. I was then told to kneel down, plastic cuffs were placed very tightly around my wrists, and two of them carried out a physical search. This spectacle was taking place right outside the gym, and a small group of people had gathered to watch my humiliation. A young girl in her training kit who I recognised asked if I was OK. I told her I was fine. The detectives were firing a number of questions at me, about where I had been, where I lived and so on. I didn’t answer a single question.
They pulled me up off my knees and took me around to the passenger door, which was open. Sitting on the passenger seat was the Loake shoebox, with the lid off and the dust bag wide open to reveal the rolled-up £1,000 bundles. I was then arrested for money laundering and cautioned. I was asked if I had any comment to make; I didn’t even respond to the question.
The shoebox was placed in a large see-through evidence bag, and I was put in the back of one of the unmarked cars, with an officer either side of me. Both of them were doing their best to convince me I was in a whole heap of trouble. They said they knew who I was and that they didn’t need a ‘wannabe’ or ‘has-been’ gangster in their area.
We arrived at the gates of the police station without me having uttered a single word. The plastic cuffs that were behind my back had been done up so tight by the detective that they were cutting into the skin of my wrists, but I wasn’t going to let them know that they were causing me pain. I was pulled out of the back of the police car and led through a metal cage into the custody suite, where all arrested persons are processed. It was at this stage, in front of the uniform sergeant, that one of the officers had to give the reasons for my arrest. He said that I had been observed acting suspiciously this morning in the vicinity of the train station. I had been furtive and evasive and had driven off. When stopped, a large amount of cash had been found underneath the passenger seat of my car.
The sergeant asked me if that was correct, but I made no comment. The sergeant was then shown the contents of the exhibit bag. He instructed the other officers to count the contents in my presence once I had gone through the administration of being booked in. I gave the sergeant all the standard information: my name, address, date of birth. I declined a solicitor and had to sign to confirm the fact that I had been offered one. The plastic cuffs were kept on me, although the sergeant had instructed the officers to cut them off. This they only did once every note of the £25,000 had been counted. My right wrist had started to bleed by this stage, but I ignored it. I was allowed one phone call, and I phoned Emma on her mobile to let her know the situation. I told her not to worry, that I’d done nothing wrong and I’d be home for dinner.
The detective who appeared to be taking charge of the situation returned to the charge room and slammed the exhibit bag onto the sergeant’s raised desk. He blurted out in a cocky voice: ‘Twenty-five thousand pounds, Sarge, in used ten- and twenty-pound notes – just what we all keep under our passenger seat when we pop out to the shops.’ Two of his colleagues laughed but I just stared at him, emotionless. There were two men in their twenties sat on the bench behind me waiting to be booked in, with a couple of uniform police officers alongside them. I heard one of the two say, ‘Fuck me, did you see all that dough?’
I was asked to sign to say that the money had been taken from my car, which I willingly did. I told the sergeant that I wanted every penny back as it was my legitimate money. To further my degradation and humiliation, my belt and shoelaces were removed to prevent me harming myself. I was placed into cell number three and the heavy metal door was slammed behind me. The noise reverbe
rated around the cell for a few moments.
I stood about a foot inside the cell and took in my surroundings. There was a wicket in the middle of the cell door – these can be opened from the outside so that officers can pass your food through and check on your welfare. To my left was a metal toilet that had suffered a few dents and scratches and smelt of urine. I knew there was no way in the world I’d be sitting on it. There was a buzzer on the wall to get the attention of the gaoler or sergeant. A blue, plastic single mattress sat on a wooden bench opposite the door, and a manky blue woollen blanket was at the end of the mattress.
I took a deep breath and the smell of the urine stayed in the back of my throat. I unravelled the blanket, took my shoes off and lay on my back on the mattress, with the blanket laid carefully over my front to ensure it went nowhere near my face. I looked up at the ceiling, where ‘0800555111’ was painted alongside the word ‘Crimestoppers’. The fact it was perhaps a tad too late for me to ring them, now that I was lying in a cell minus a phone, was not lost on me though it could have been genius if they’d actually a phone with a direct link to the Crimestoppers office. I’m sure many a trapped man would’ve dialled the number in a moment of despair, and shared a few criminal secrets and shopped a few people to get out of a sticky situation.
My pattern was always the same when arrested: never eat or drink anything whilst in police custody; never talk to anyone through the cell wicket; and never engage in banter, shouting or conversations with any other prisoners in the cells next to me. I was always polite but not friendly, and I would sleep or try to for as many hours as I could.
About two hours after I had been placed in my cell, I was woken by the sound of the wicket being opened. I could hear a soft female voice that sounded South African, an accent that I hated. I’d rather listen to a broad Brummie accent than South African. She apologised for waking me and asked me to come up to the door to speak with her. I sat up and swung my legs around. I was now sat looking directly at two dark eyes and a mop of dark brown hair. The lady, who I would’ve guessed was about thirty years old, told me that she was a drug counsellor and said that I could talk with her in confidence about any drug addictions I had. She would be able to help, whilst I was at the police station and also if I was released or remanded into prison. I let her finish her speech, and paused before I said, ‘No, thank you.’ Then I turned and faced the wall, and covered myself with the blanket. She continued offering assistance but I gave no response, and I heard the sound of the shutter and bolt closing.
I soon knew the Crimestoppers phone number backwards: 1115550080. I had numerous visits from the gaoler; I was offered breakfast and cups of tea but I refused every offer. I was woken from another sleep by the gaoler opening my cell door and telling me that I was going to be interviewed. I was walked down the cell passage to the bright lights of the custody suite. I looked up at the large black numbers on the plain white face of the clock above the sergeant’s head. It was 2.10. I found myself staring at the clock, trying to establish in my head what make it was, but there was no name on it. The sergeant interrupted my mundane thoughts to inform me that two detectives were taking me to interview. He asked me if I wanted to be represented by a solicitor during the interview. He also commented that I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since I had been arrested and he offered both again. I politely declined all offers.
I was taken into a soundproofed interview room by the sarcastic detective, and his awkward-looking partner. I looked around the room whilst he explained the procedure to me. I could see there was a camera in the corner of the room, and the awkward detective was clumsily trying to take the plastic wrapper off one of the interview tapes. It was really bugging me, and I had to stop myself grabbing both tapes from him and opening them myself. Eventually, he found the brown strip that was clearly visible, and used it to break the plastic seal.
Two tapes were placed in an outdated black recording device that sat on the battered table. He pressed two buttons on the machine, and a buzzer sounded for about five seconds and then stopped. On the desk in front of the two detectives was a plastic-coated guide to the interview procedure. I could see that they were reading from this sheet.
The first one introduced himself as DC Gables, and his awkward colleague as DC French. I was asked to state my name, which I did. I was then cautioned and told the reason for my arrest, and asked if I wished to make a comment. I said, ‘All the money that was taken off me today is legitimate money. I can account for every single penny, and I will be getting it back.’ For the next forty-five minutes, I didn’t answer another question put to me by either of the detectives.
At the conclusion of the interview, I was returned to the custody office. There was a new sergeant on duty, together with an extremely fresh-faced inspector, who was very well spoken. Both of them introduced themselves, then they told me that my detention was authorised, so the detectives could investigate my arrest for money-laundering offences. Again I remained passive and polite, and showed no emotion. I was led back to my cell and remained there until 7.30 p.m., my only interruption being the concerned gaoler continuing his offers of food and drink.
Eventually I was told that I was being released from the police station, but that I had to return in six weeks’ time, when all enquiries by the detectives would be complete. I was informed that my money would be retained until its legitimacy was clarified. I was given my mobile phone and personal belongings back, together with my Hermès belt and shoelaces.
They then buzzed me out of the custody area and into the public waiting area. I looked at my reflection in the window as I switched my mobile phone back on; I could see bits of blue wool from the blanket stuck in the stubble on my face.
I stepped outside and rang Emma. I heard her voice immediately. I told her I was out of the police station and asked her to pick me up. She said she’d been sat in her car, parked around the corner, since five o’clock. Before I’d even hung up, she pulled around the corner and I jumped in the passenger seat. The car smelt clean and welcoming, and it was lovely and warm inside. Emma gave me a big hug and a kiss and said she was so pleased to see me. I looked at her and said, ‘Let’s go home, I need a shower.’
Emma asked me question after question on the drive home, getting very little in response. As we pulled up on the drive, I looked at her and said, ‘Ems, let me have a hot shower. You put the kettle on and we can sit and I’ll tell you everything.’
Thirty-two
I undressed in the hallway and let all my clothes fall onto the oatmeal carpeted floor. There were many flecks of blue wool that had attached themselves to my clothes, and the contrasting colour was evident as they nestled amongst the carpet fibres. I picked my clothes up, and lifted the hinged lid of the vintage teak sea trunk we used to store our dirty washing in. I could barely see the fading words of the import company on the front of the trunk, and I wondered what treasures it had stored whilst at sea.
I closed the lid and walked into the bathroom. I grabbed a clean white towel and held it to my face with both hands, breathing in the freshness as deeply as I could. I loved the smell of the fabric softener. I put the shower on full blast and stood under it for an age before I started scrubbing the grubbiness of the police station out of my skin and hair. For a brief moment, I sat down in the shower and let the power of the hot water pound my head.
I felt clean and refreshed as I dried myself with the fluffy towel. I put on a pair of plain grey Ralph jogging trousers and a plain white Ralph sweatshirt, and a pair of pristine Stan Smiths on my feet. I went downstairs to find Emma had made me two rounds of cheese on toast and a huge mug of tea. I would never have asked for this to eat, but it was absolutely delicious. She said that Dave had phoned and wanted to speak with me.
Emma and I chatted about the events of the day and she told me that Ray had popped into the shop to see her. He said he’d been expecting to meet me at 11.30 at the Spanish café opposite the shop, but I obviously hadn’t shown. She had told him I’d b
een arrested and was at the police station, but that she didn’t know what for. She said that he didn’t hang around, but asked her to call him if she heard any news.
I told Emma that I needed to borrow her phone to ring Ray. I took his number out of my phone and tapped the digits into hers and dialled the number. Ray answered, and I told him who it was and that I needed to see him straight away at the office. He said he’d be there in fifteen minutes. I put the phone down without saying goodbye.
I asked Emma if she minded dropping me down the office, and explained to her exactly why I wanted to see Ray. She understood and told me to call her when I was done. I grabbed my Aquascutum scarf and the two of us jumped in the car. Emma pulled up outside the front of the pub. I thanked her, and told her that I’d text her from Ray’s phone when I was done as I didn’t have mine with me.
I paused outside the doors to the pub and watched Emma drive away; she was looking in her mirror and waving at me. I stepped through the doorway into the warmth inside. There was a lovely, open log fire burning, and the aroma and crackling of the seasoned cedar wood filled the small snug area. I ordered two large Courvoisier and Stone’s, and positioned myself out of sight at our usual table. I sat and stared out the bowed window of the pub, my mind drifting as I watched a dad holding his daughter’s hand as they crossed the road together. She was oblivious to the potential danger of the traffic as she skipped across the street, chattering away as she looked up at her dad. She knew that she was safe because he had hold of her hand; she knew that he would never let her come to any harm.
