by Graham Ison
‘Conspiracy to rob a safe depository, carrying a firearm with intent to resist arrest, and anything else we can think of. But the interesting thing about it all,’ continued Fox, his enthusiasm unabated, ‘was that he too was working for Danny Horsfall.’ He paused. ‘Well, when I say working for him, he was actually working for the safe deposit company, but of course he was a plant, just to open the door.’
‘What the hell’s that got to do with me?’
‘Only that you’re the gent who told the safe deposit company that he was a man of good character, well knowing that he had a previous conviction for burglary. And isn’t it a co-incidence that it was a conviction resulting from the burglary of a house from which several paintings were stolen from a valuable private collection. Which takes me back to this Cézanne that fell off the back of one of your lorries ...’ Fox gazed mildly at Paxton. ‘My enquiries have indicated that one of the paintings that Beresford nicked was a Cézanne called The Orange Grove. There, Paxton, old fruit, what d’you think of that?’
Paxton’s shoulders drooped. ‘What if it was?’
‘Beresford said you were the receiver.’
‘Lying bastard,’ said Paxton.
‘Well, if it wasn’t you, who was it?’
‘Nothing to say.’
‘Well in that case,’ said Fox, ‘you can have it all on your own, and Mr You-Know-Who will undoubtedly laugh all the way to the Costa Brava.’
There was a pause which seemed to last an eternity. ‘Danny Horsfall,’ said Paxton. ‘He set up the whole thing.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Fox.
‘Then what the hell did you ask me for?’
‘Because you’re doubtless going to feel impelled to make a statement to that effect and what’s more, old son, will almost certainly put on a creditable turn of speed to clamber into the witness box at the Old Bailey to tell My Lord and the members of the jury all about it. However, that’s all in the future. For the time being, I am arresting you for conspiracy to rob, theft, and handling stolen goods, to wit a Cézanne painting.’
‘I don’t know anything about it,’ said Paxton.
Fox glanced at Evans. ‘The prisoner made the usual reply,’ he said.
*
The general manager of the safe depository was not too pleased to be presented with a sheaf of twelve search warrants. But he had to admit that it was better to explain to his clients that their boxes had been searched by police than that they had been stolen. Perhaps. Which is what, but for Fox’s intervention, he might just have been doing.
The first box that Fox and his men opened contained half a million pounds in banknotes. Fox made a note to have a word with the Inland Revenue.
The fifth box was filled with packets of white powder. That information, together with a sample of the said powder, went to the Drugs Squad.
‘I s’pose it is drugs, guv?’ said Evans.
‘Got to be,’ said Fox. ‘Talcum powder’s not so expensive that you have to keep it in a safe deposit box.’
But it was the seventh box that excited Fox’s interest. It contained a foolscap-sized envelope in which there was a lengthy statement. Fox perched on the edge of a table and read its eight or nine pages before handing it to Evans.
‘Well, Denzil,’ said Fox, when Evans had finished reading, ‘so that’s what Horsfall was after. It sure as hell stitches him up a treat.’
‘If the bloke who wrote it is prepared to say it all in the witness box, guv.’
‘Oh, he will, Denzil, he will. Once we’ve spoken to him. But first we’ll do a little homework of our own, just in case he goes moody on us.’ He pointed to the statement and, by implication, its author.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘What a beautiful day, Denzil,’ said Fox. He stood in the centre of his office carefully brushing his jacket. After a moment or two of close inspection, he slipped it on and adjusted his tie.
‘You think so, guv?’ Evans stared at the rain coursing down the windows of Fox’s office at New Scotland Yard.
‘Of course. Today is the day we journey to Epping to nick Mr Daniel Horsfall. It’s a splendid day, Denzil.’
There were three cars in the little convoy that drove out of the underground car park at ten o’clock and by dint of some expert roadcraft pulled up outside the Horsfall residence in Epping one hour later.
Fox placed some of his men at strategic points around the house and then led a team of four officers up the driveway of Horsfall’s impressive dwelling. He pressed the bellpush and shook his head at the mellifluous tune that it produced. ‘Man’s got no style,’ he said to Evans.
The woman who answered the door was about fifty years of age. She was attired in a skin-fitting creation that its manufacturers described as a tiger-skin jump suit. Unfortunately, they were not to know that the curves which had originally attracted Danny Horsfall had now moved to other, less alluring parts of her body. The result, when added to her frizzy blonde hair and an excess of cosmetics, was slightly ludicrous. ‘Yes?’ demanded this vision.
Fox was envious of her ability to cram so much hostility into one short, monosyllabic word. ‘Would I have the honour of addressing Mrs Charmaine Horsfall?’ he enquired.
‘And who wants to know?’
‘Thomas Fox ... of the Flying Squad, madam.’
‘What d’you want?’
‘In a word, Danny. Well-known wit and raconteur.’
‘If you mean Mr Horsfall, he’s in bed.’
‘Really?’ said Fox. ‘Perhaps you’d be so good as to give him my compliments and tell him I’d like a word with him.’
Mrs Horsfall looked doubtful. She was aware of her rights, but she was also fairly knowledgeable about the Flying Squad. Furthermore the name of Detective Chief Superintendent Fox was not entirely unknown to her. ‘I’ll see if he’s awake,’ she said and started to close the door.
Fox pushed gently against it and stepped over the threshold. ‘We’ll come in and wait, if you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘It’s raining.’
‘Mr Horsfall’s a bit particular who he has in his house,’ said Mrs Horsfall. ‘He won’t like this, you know.’
‘No,’ said Fox thoughtfully. ‘It wasn’t my intention that he should.’ His finger traced the edges of the Neighbourhood Watch sticker behind the glass of the front door.
With a toss of her head, Mrs Horsfall left them and walked away. Fox had an unedifying view of her as she ascended the stairs, her oversized and swaying bottom making a vain attempt at sexual enticement as she did so.
‘A good old trouper,’ said Fox to Evans. ‘In her day, of course. Bit past it now.’
‘What, on the stage, guv?’
‘Only peripherally, Denzil. Used to be a stripper. Thank God she’s given it up,’ he added with feeling. ‘I don’t think I could stand it.’
Seconds later, Mrs Horsfall returned. ‘He’s not there,’ she said. ‘I never heard him get up, but he can’t have been gone long, his bed’s still warm.’ She smiled provocatively. Fox wished she hadn’t. ‘But he left this.' She handed over an envelope addressed to Fox.
Fox tore it open. Inside was a brief note suggesting that if the police wished to interview Mr D. Horsfall, he would be at his solicitor’s office at two o’clock that afternoon when he would be happy to answer questions. The address was obligingly added.
‘Oh dear,’ said Fox. ‘Some people make our job very difficult.’
Mrs Horsfall smiled again. ‘Will that be all, then?’ she asked sweetly.
‘Not quite,’ said Fox and nodded at Evans who, with a flourish, promptly produced an official-looking form.
‘What’s that?’ asked Mrs Horsfall.
‘A search warrant, madam,’ said Fox. ‘My officers are now going to take this place apart. Well, some of them are. Mr Evans and I have business elsewhere, so I’ll bid you good day.’
Fox settled himself in the front seat of his car and gave Swann the address of Horsfall’s solicitors. ‘Proceed, Swann,’ he sa
id and pushed the seat back a notch or two.
They arrived at half-past twelve, parked on a double yellow line, gave a zealous traffic warden short shrift, and waited.
At ten minutes to two, the unmistakable figure of Danny Horsfall was sighted some way away by officers specially placed as look-outs by Fox. As Horsfall approached the office of his legal advisers, Fox got out of the car and confronted him. ‘Danny boy, what a lovely surprise. Just missed you this morning.’
‘I’ve got nothing to say to you without my solicitor being present,’ said Horsfall, clearly angry that Fox had got to him before he had reached the safe haven of his highly paid lawyer’s chambers.
‘Well, we’ll see about that, Danny, old sport,’ said Fox. ‘But in the meantime, I have a piece of paper here from the Chief Metropolitan Magistrate.’ He patted his pocket. ‘It’s actually addressed to Each and All the Constables of the Metropolitan Police Force, but I’ve decided to take it personally. It directs that the said constables arrest and bring before the said magistrate one Daniel Horsfall to answer divers charges. In other words, Danny, you’re nicked.’
‘What for?’ Horsfall gave a passable impersonation of an outraged citizen.
Fox ran a hand round his chin. ‘Conspiracy to rob a safe depository, conspiracy to pervert the course of justice, theft in several different forms, conspiracy to cause grievous bodily harm, being concerned in the production of pornographic films, several counts of false accounting, issuing a false prospectus ...’ Fox grinned. ‘How’m I doing, Danny?’
‘You can’t prove any of that,’ said Horsfall, but there was little confidence in the way he said it.
Fox put an arm round Horsfall’s shoulders. ‘Never mind, Danny boy, we’ll work on it together, you and me. There, can’t say fairer than that, can I?’
The offices of Horsfall’s solicitor — offices which Horsfall had nearly reached — were in that part of London which fell within the jurisdiction of the City of London Police, but Fox always felt more comfortable in one of his own police stations. Consequently, he conveyed his prisoner to Bow Street. ‘Might as well keep them all in the same place, Denzil,’ said Fox. ‘Just in case we want to hold a party.’
Danny Horsfall did not carve a picture of the successful businessman as he was escorted into the interview room by DS Fletcher. He had been deprived of his tie, braces and shoe-laces by a conscientious custody sergeant fearful that Horsfall might be tempted to use them to commit suicide. One of the intriguing aspects of police regulations is that few senior officers will override such a decision because the responsibility immediately shifts from the sergeant to themselves. The result was that Danny Horsfall shuffled into the interview room clutching his trousers.
‘I want to make a complaint about this.’ Horsfall sat truculently on the chair opposite Fox.
‘I don’t blame you,’ said Fox. ‘It’s really quite the most awful suit I’ve ever seen.’
‘And I want my solicitor here. Now.’
‘You seem obsessed with the legal profession, Danny. The custody sergeant was saying that you’d talked of little else ever since you arrived.’
‘I know my rights,’ said Horsfall. ‘And I’m not saying anything until my mouthpiece turns up.’
‘How remiss of me,’ said Fox. ‘Didn’t I tell you that? Well, just to put the record straight, you are under no obligation to say anything unless you wish to do so, but anything that you do say will be recorded and may be put in evidence.’ He smiled at Horsfall. ‘There, feel better now?’
‘Very funny,’ said Horsfall.
‘You’ve nothing to worry about,’ said Fox. ‘I’m the one who’s going to do the talking.’ He opened a thick docket and ran his finger down a list. Then he glanced up. ‘We’ve had some amazing assistance just recently, Danny. It’s so refreshing these days when people don’t seem to want to help the police. I’ve a whole bundle of statements here, each one of which mentions you in some way or another. Let’s start with the murder of David Pogson, shall we? That’s firmly down to you.’
‘No way!’ Horsfall jerked upright in his chair.
‘Oh, I’m sure I can convince you that you’re wrong, Danny. Let me explain. The gun which was used to kill Pogson was found in Waldo Conway’s flat when we arrested him. That is to say on one of the occasions we arrested him.’ Fox paused to smile. ‘Lenny Feather, whom we also arrested — poking about in a safe depository as it happens, but you’d know all about that — felt an overwhelming desire to tell us that this gun had been given to him by you with strict instructions to plant it on poor old Waldo. Mr Feather affirmed that he duly carried out your instructions. In view of the fact that Mr Feather’s dabs were all over it, the police not unnaturally believed that he was in some way connected with this dastardly murder. But he wasn’t having it. And I can’t say I blame him. He put it down to you.’
‘Feather's a slag.'
Fox nodded. ‘I can’t argue with you there, Danny, old sport,’ he said. ‘But on top of all that, there were some disturbing facts we discovered about the movement of a certain Cézanne painting called The Orange Grove, to say nothing of an irate art dealer in Amsterdam who has been muttering darkly of late about the Dutch Mafia and a contract he’s putting out on you.’ Fox made the lie sound convincing and was pleased to see that Horsfall squirmed in response.
‘I don’t know anything about no picture —’
‘Which,’ continued Fox as though Horsfall hadn’t spoken, ‘we were lucky enough to find in your house at Epping only a matter of hours ago.’
‘But —’
‘And if you’re wondering why your lady wife, the gorgeous Charmaine, didn’t give you a bell to let you know, it’s because we nicked her at the same time for possession of cannabis.’
‘Cannabis!’ Horsfall almost screamed the word. ‘I’ve told her about that, the stupid cow.’
‘You have my sympathy,’ said Fox. ‘Once she realised that the chips were down, she obligingly told us all about this picture. How it came into the possession of the Horsfall family. Strange stories about crates appearing mysteriously from the A12. All that. Admires the picture greatly it seems.’ He shook his head. ‘Genuinely sorry to see it go.’
‘You just wait till I get my hands on her.’
‘That’ll be little short of a miracle, Danny. Unless you get banged up in Holloway too. Incidentally, did you know that the name Charmaine comes from the Latin meaning “one who sings”? Fascinating, isn’t it?’
‘I’m not having any of this bloody crap,’ said Horsfall.
‘But by far the most intriguing piece of information is that which we found in a certain safe deposit box.’ Fox held up the sheaf of paper between finger and thumb. ‘A safe deposit box in which you demonstrated a great interest ... to the point of trying to acquire its contents. This obliging document catalogues your sins in great detail. I should imagine that the author devoted a great deal of time to research and preparation. In short, old son, it screws you down a treat.’
Horsfall affected disinterest. ‘Really? And what makes you think that some anonymous crap you got out of a safe deposit is going to carry any weight in court?’
‘Oh, it’s not anonymous, and I’m sure that the writer will be delighted to get up in court and repeat it all word for word.’
‘Well, that’s just where you’re wrong, Mr Clever-dick Fox. And I’ll tell you why. Because the writer of that load of crap was the one who topped Davie Pogson.’
Fox paused, his face impassive. If this sudden utterance of Danny Horsfall’s was true, it cast an entirely new light on the investigation into Pogson’s murder. ‘Is that a fact?’ he said calmly.
‘Yes, it bloody well is, mister.’ Horsfall leaned back in his chair, a cold expression of disdain on his face. ‘And if you want a statement about it all, you can have one, but not until we talk deals.’
Fox scoffed. ‘My dear Danny,’ he said. ‘If you think that you’re going to talk your way out of an indictment that�
��ll need a crane to get it into the Bailey, you can think again.’
‘Please yourself,’ said Horsfall.
A fleeting regret crossed Fox’s mind. Regret that the custody sergeant had taken possession of Horsfall’s tie. At that moment, nothing would have pleased him more than to seize it and twist it. Hard. ‘Well now, Danny boy, I’m most grateful for that piece of intelligence, but I have to tell you that you’ve said enough. Now that you’ve pointed me in the right direction, it will be a matter of the utmost simplicity to charge this killer in time to appear next to you on the appointed day. A sort of double-bill, as you might say. There, how’s that grab you?’
‘Sod you, copper,’ said Horsfall.
Fox stood up. ‘The trouble with the average villain, Denzil,’ he said, ‘is that he’s so ungrateful.’
*
‘Perce,’ said Fox.
‘Yes, guv?’ DS Percy Fletcher looked unhappy, but that was because he was sure he knew what was coming next. And he was right.
‘Whack a few papers together on Horsfall for the Crown Prosecution Service, there’s a good chap. They’ll need to be across the road by nine o’clock tomorrow morning.’
Fletcher was aghast. ‘But guv’nor, there’s about twenty counts.’
Fox shook his head. ‘Oh no, Perce, nothing like that. There’ll be a lot more than twenty. But just stick something down on paper ... enough to get an eight-day lay-down at Bow Street tomorrow morning. Then, with a week’s breather, you can get down to doing the job properly.’
*
‘The problem here, Denzil,’ said Fox, ‘is that Danny Horsfall’s given us a name, but sod-all else. Now if this person did top David Pogson — and I must say I think it’s doubtful — we’ve got to find some proof.’
‘Yes, indeed, guv.’
‘So where are we going to get it from?’
‘Could nick the said suspect and do a bit of in-depth interrogation, I suppose.’ Evans looked dubious.
Fox pondered that suggestion for a moment or two. ‘Yeah, could do, but I’d rather have something a bit stronger than that.’
