by Alfie Robins
A uniformed officer stood by the doorway, preventing anyone leaving or entering without authorisation. ‘What’s the story?’ Warren asked as he held his identification for the officer to see, who then added his name to the incident log.
‘One of the counter staff managed to trigger the silent alarm when two blokes came in wearing ski masks. One of them was in possession of a handgun. Me and my partner were first on the scene, we were only a couple of streets away when we responded to the call.’
‘What did they get away with?’ asked Elvis.
‘Bruised egos, they left with nothing.’
‘Nobody injured?’
‘They’re a bit shook up, but no physical injuries.’
‘That’s what I like to hear, thanks.’ Warren said, as he opened the door and stepped inside with Elvis following close behind.
To the right was a tall rack with newspapers and magazines, to the left was the sweet counter and directly in front of them was the post-office section, a long counter with ceiling high glass screen. The staff stood close together, grouped in front of the door to the private quarters.
‘Good morning,’ Warren said, immediately the small huddle separated. ‘The Manager?’
‘That’s me,’ a slim woman stepped forward, she looked to be in her early thirties, about five five tall, black hair styled in a modern lop-sided type bob, oval face with almond coloured eyes. ‘Sally Parker,’ she said, as she held out her hand.
He took the offered hand and shook. ‘Detective Sergeant Greg Warren and this is my colleague Detective Constable Dixon,’ he held his warrant card for inspection. ‘You okay, Sally?’ he asked, noticing the slight tremble in her voice.
‘I’m fine, really, just shook up, you know.’
‘I’m not surprised, it’s a normal reaction in a situation like this. How about cups of tea all round?’
‘Good idea,’ she turned. ‘Do the honours would you please, Sue?’ Sue, one of the sales assistants responded with a nod and disappeared through the door marked private.
Notebook in hand, Elvis wandered over to the remaining members of the group to take details.
‘So, Sally, are you up to telling me what exactly happened here this morning?’ She nodded. ‘When you’re ready just start at the beginning.’ Sally seemed to relax a little.
So much for Trish saying I’m intimidating, Warren thought to himself feeling quite pleased with how he’d settled her down.
‘It was only about thirty minutes ago,’ she looked up at the wall clock, ‘ten fifteenish, the shop was empty, no customers. I was down on my knees behind the post-office counter, looking for some large envelopes. I just happened to glance towards the window and saw the reflection, two men wearing khaki coloured overalls coming through the door, pulling their masks over their faces, you know, the type with just eye and mouth holes. One of them was holding a gun.’
Then what did you do?’
‘Well I kept down, crawled to where the emergency alarm button is and pressed. It was only two, maybe three minutes and then I heard the siren.’
‘Was anyone else behind the counter?’
‘Yes, Graham.’ Sally pointed to a middle-aged chap standing with his back to them.
‘Call him over please, Sally.’
‘Graham, can you come over here?’ Graham almost jumped out of his skin when he heard his name, looked as shocked as the rest of the staff. ‘This police officer would like a word.’
‘Can you get us a copy of the CCTV, please, Sally while I have a word?’
‘Of course.’ She smiled, then disappeared into the office.
‘Hi, Graham, I’m DS Warren, I understand you were behind the post-office counter when the two men came in?’
‘Yes, that’s right, Sally was searching for something on the shelves under the counter. I was sorting the specials.’
Sue came back from the kitchen with a tray of hot drinks and passed them around, and Warren called Elvis over to take notes.
‘Okay, talk me through what happened.’
Graham was still on edge, he was obviously in shock, pale faced and wringing his hands. ‘Both men pulled masks down as soon as they came through the door.’
‘Did you see their faces before they pulled down their masks?’
‘Briefly.’ That was something Warren thought.
‘Great, carry on, please.’
‘The one holding the gun was waving it all over the place, he looked really nervous. The main bloke, he was as jittery as I was, he put a carrier bag on the counter, it was one of those Tesco bags for life. The one with the gun shouted at me to put all the cash in the bag. Well, I just froze, that was when he slapped his left hand down on the counter top and yelled to do it now or he’d blow my head off.’
‘Did they wear gloves at all?’ asked Elvis, lifting his head up from the note taking.
‘No, don’t think so. It was all over so fast, I fumbled with the till, not deliberately, my hands just shook. I thought he’d shoot me. Then we heard the sirens.’
‘What happened next?’
‘The second one grabbed his bag, said something like, ‘“oh shit, let’s go,”’ and then started to have a coughing fit. Next thing they were running out the door pulling their ski masks off as they went. The whole thing was over in three, maybe four minutes, can’t have been any longer.’
‘That’s great Graham, thanks, now if you’ll give the best description you can to my colleague I’d appreciate it.’ Sally came back with a burned copy of the previous twenty fours of CCTV. ‘Thanks,’ he said, as she handed him the DVD. ‘If you can have everything left as it is I would appreciate it. Also make sure none of your staff touch anything until the Crime Scene Investigators have been and done a complete forensic examination, that would be great.’
‘How long do you think it will be before we can open up?’
‘That I can’t say, sorry. Now is there anything else that comes to mind?’
‘Don’t think so, I’ve told you everything,’ she replied apologetically.
‘Someone will be along later to take everyone’s statements.’ Warren took a business card from his wallet and gave it to the manager. ‘If you or anyone should remember anything give me a call.’
‘No problem, officer.’
‘How are you doing, Elvis?’ Puzzled, Sally looked from Warren to DC Dixon, and back. ‘Long story,’ he said.
‘Be with you in a minute, boss.’
Once outside Elvis took out a packet of cigarettes. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked Warren.
‘Nope, just don’t blow the smoke my way.’
He took out a cigarette and lit up, the breeze blowing the smoke directly at Warren, who gave an over emphasised cough.
‘I’m thinking amateurs, didn’t seem as if they had much idea at all,’ Elvis said as he dropped the almost full cigarette down a drain.
‘That’s what worries me, they’re the most dangerous. Let’s get back and have a look at this,’ he said putting the DVD in his pocket.
‘How’s it hanging, Jimbo?’ Elvis asked, as he and Warren walked into the office.
‘Not bad, mate, you?’
‘Fine,’ he replied. Trish looked up from her keyboard giving them the look and shook her head.
‘What?’ he laughed.
‘If you don’t know I’m not telling you.’
‘C’mon you two, stop the frivolity,’ said Warren.
Jimbo laughed. ‘Listen to you.’
‘Oi, Jimbo, you may be a civilian but I can still kick your arse.’
‘Fair enough. How did you get on?’
‘Before we start has anyone seen Bernie?’
‘Lunch, I think,’ Trish answered.
‘Lunch?’ Warren said looking at his watch. ‘Hardly gone breakfast time. I think me and PC Philips will be having words.’
‘About time,’ Jimbo muttered under his breath.
‘The raid on the Post-Office, turned out to be a fiasco, our two-armed robbers didn’t ha
ve a blood clue what they were doing,’
‘If you ask me it was doomed from the start,’ Elvis told them.
‘The good news is we’ve got them on DVD, and apparently one of them left a nice big hand print on the post-office counter.’
‘No gloves?’ asked Trish.
‘Amateurs, Trish, I’m not saying they’re not villains, but not cut out for this kind of job,’ he put the CCTV DVD into his computer. Trish and Jimbo stood up from their desks, walked over to view the screen. Warren pressed the fast forward key. ‘Here we go, 10.13am this morning.’
The watched as the two men entered the post-office, pulling down ski masks as they did and dropping the latch on the door. ‘Everybody, keep where you are, and no one will get hurt,’ the gunman yelled, as he waived the hand gun about.
Warren paused the video. ‘Anything look familiar?’
‘Baikal,’ Trish said.
Play button pressed they watched as the gunman’s partner put the bag on the counter top. ‘The cash, fill the bag,’ he told Graham behind the glass screen.
There was something about the voice that sent a shiver down Jimbo’s spine.
It was obvious Graham had been scared shitless, he could hardly control his hands as he reached to pull the bag though the opening below the screen. Then the siren of the approaching squad car could be heard. The voice again telling the gunman it was time up, when the man started to cough, Jimbo was certain it was Lee.
‘Stop it there and rewind a little.’ Jimbo said. Warren stopped the playback and looked at Jimbo.
‘What’s the problem?’ Warren asked.
‘Just press play.’ Warren did as he asked. He leaned in closer to the screen. ‘I know him, the one with the bag, its Lee Etherington.’
‘You sure?’ Trish asked.
‘I wasn’t too sure at first, then when he had the coughing fit, I knew it was him.’
‘What about the gunman?’
‘Sorry, no, nothing ringing a bell.’
‘No matter, nice one, Jimbo,’ Elvis said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
‘Yeah, but all the same, he’s a mate of mine,’ Jimbo said as he shrugged the hand from his shoulder, and went back to his own desk and sat down.
‘That’s the nature of the job, Jimbo, you know that,’ Warren told him.
‘Suppose, all the same, it’s like being a grass.’
‘You can’t look at it like that, Jimbo,’ Trish said. ‘Think about what would have happened if his crazy mate had lost it and shot someone?’
‘Jimbo, do you know where this Etherington bloke lives?’ Warren asked his pal.
‘He’s got a shit hole of a flat on Anlaby Road.’
‘Write the address down and we’ll pick him up.’
‘My name won’t come up in any of this, will it?’
‘Nope, no need at all, it’s not as if you’re a copper.’
‘It doesn’t feel that way at times,’ he said as he wrote down Lee’s address.
‘That’s because you do a proper job mate, just like a copper,’ Trish told him as a confidence booster. It did the trick, not that she didn’t mean it.
‘Trish, Elvis, get hold of a couple of uniforms and pick Jimbo’s mate up - sorry, ex-mate.’
There was a hush in the interview room. Lee Etherington sat at the interview table, watching the second hands on the wall clock tick by. He didn’t know which was louder, the ticking or the pulse banging in his temple. A stern looking uniformed officer sat on a chair in the corner of the room, it was usual practise until the interviewing officers arrived. Etherington nearly jumped out of the chair as the door opened with a flourish.
‘Mr Etherington, my name is Detective Constable James, this is my colleague, Detective Constable Dixon,’ Trish said by the way of an introduction. She pulled out a tubular chair and sat opposite Etherington. ‘Thanks,’ she said to the uniform, who nodded, stood up and left the room. To say Etherington was nervous would have been understating the situation, he looked shit scared.
Elvis, picked up a tape cassette, tore off the cellophane and placed it in the recorder, then did the same with a second tape. The lights on the tape machine changed from green to red when the record button was pressed. ‘The time is 2.15pm, on the Friday October 20th, present in the room are DC James, DC Dixon and Mr Lee Etherington. Mr Etherington, for your protection and ours, a record of this interview will be recorded on tape. Lee Etherington, you do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you may later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.
Mr Etherington, you are charged with being involved in an attempted armed robbery. You have the right to have your legal representation present during the interview, or, if you wish we can appoint someone for you,’ Trish told him.
‘Yeah, as if …’ catching his breath, ‘I have a brief on …tap,’ then he burst into a coughing fit, ‘g …get me one of yours,’ he finally managed to get out. ‘Till then I’m saying nowt,’ he sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.
‘In that case, this interview is suspended at 2.22.pm.’ Elvis said, as he reached across and stopped the recording. Trish gathered up her folders, stood up and left the room. Elvis took the tapes from the machine, signed and timed them. The same uniformed officer as before entered the room. ‘Take Mr Etherington to the cells to wait for his solicitor, and get him some water.’
Etherington stood up and kicked back his chair as the officer walked over and stood beside him. ‘How long before he gets here?’
‘As long as it takes, in the meantime please enjoy our hospitality.’
‘Wankers,’ Etherington said and started coughing again, as he was led away to the holding cell.
‘Well that was a waste of time,’ Elvis said, as he walked into the squad room and dropped his folder down on Trish’s desk.
‘Just got to be patient,’ she told him, ‘there’s no way he will wriggle out of it.’
‘But did you see the state of him? How the hell he managed to leg it when they heard the sirens I’ll never know, he can hardly put one foot in front of the other. Jimbo, how come you’re mates with a loser like him?’
Jimbo sat up straight. ‘I used to go to school with him. I keep thinking, after when my old man topped himself that could have been me if it hadn’t been for Pat Conway.’
‘Conway?’
‘Yeah, that’s what I said, Conway.’
Elvis thought it wise not to pursue the conversation.
Chapter 29
Relaxing in his riverside apartment, savouring a glass of Glenfiddich malt whiskey, the question Neil Powers asked himself, was, what was the best way to deal with Ray Cole – AKA Detective Sergeant Greg Warren. Perhaps the simplest way would be the best, just blow him away with a Baikal, the very type of weapon he and his team were investigating. Unfortunately, the information garnered from Sam made this option impossible. Detective Sergeant Greg Warren and Ray Cole were indeed one of the same, Warren’s alter ego, had obviously been created by the best, and from what Powers had seen, he had taken to the role like a duck to water.
But, then again, the back story created for Neil Powers was an even better one.
The secret of a good cover story is to base as much as possible on the truth, real life facts and events that can stand up to scrutiny. As far as Neil Powers erroneous past was concerned, much was based on the truth.
True, he had been a sergeant in the Royal Logistics Regiment, a weapons expert.
True, he and Gardener had been close friends while serving in Her Majesty’s Forces.
True, he had failed selection on his first attempt to enrol in the Special Air Service, however, on his second attempt, his abilities had not gone unnoticed. Subterfuge proved to be his forte.
As for Sergeant Neil Powers striking a senior officer, it was pure fabrication, along with the myth that he had he served a six-month correction sentence in the ‘glass-house’, as
was the dishonourable discharge from Her Majesty’s Armed Forces. Neil Powers armoury skills, along with his aptitude for subterfuge, had made him the ideal candidate for a new unit born out of the Special Air Services and the National Crime Agency, the Specialist Intelligence Joint Ventures. Powers ‘six-month correctional sentence’, had been used constructively, intensive training with various law enforcement agencies, at home and abroad. On successful completion of his training Powers was duly promoted to the rank of Lieutenant, the difference being he had the powers of a police officer.
After another whiskey and working his way through assorted options, Powers had come to a decision regarding DS Warren. He couldn’t shoot him, although he had liked the idea for a moment or two, things were bad enough, and why complicate matters even more? He would meet his adversary head on, and, in a place he would least expect it.
Chapter 30
Trish had her head down, deep in thought as she updated the daily log book with tasks completed and those yet to be carried out. Eyes sore from staring at his computer monitor, Warren sat back in his chair rubbing them with the knuckles of his hands.
‘Don’t think it’ll be long before I’ll be getting two pair of specs for the price of one.’
‘Yeah, you are knocking on a bit,’ she replied, head still down and chuckling to herself.
‘So, who do you think we should make permanent on the team, Elvis or Bernie?’
‘Elvis,’ a voice said from the open doorway.
Warren recognised the voice immediately, spun around in his chair and stood up. Momentarily he was stuck for words.
‘What the …how the hell did you get in here? Who let you in the place?’ Trish looked up, gob smacked. ‘This is a restricted area to members of the public, never mind the likes of you.’
Powers stood in the open doorway, an identification card hung around his neck on a lanyard. Holding the ID in his left hand, he walked towards Warren who was still rooted to the spot.
