Wannabe in My Gang?

by Bernard O'Mahoney

  11

  A RIGHT CHARLIE

  The Essex firm I had been part of was in tatters. Those who hadn’t been murdered were either locked up, in hiding or facing some other distasteful dilemma. The remnants of our 1960s counterparts, the Kray firm, were not faring any better. Like our firm, gang members had defected after its leaders had embarked on an orgy of mindless violence against not only enemies, but their own friends. Further divided by deceit and betrayal, those not dead, imprisoned or in hiding were all waiting for their own personal tragedies to happen. On 14 May 1997, Charlie Kray sat in the dock at Belmarsh Crown Court with his head bowed. He had pleaded not guilty to a charge of supplying two kilos of cocaine. As his eyes roamed the public gallery looking for a friendly face, he must have felt both disappointment and relief. Disappointment because only two of the seats were taken up – one by a man who had written a book about Charlie’s life and another by a female who had read that book and become a Kray fan. Absent were the legions of gang groupies that so publicly and vocally professed to be firm friends of the Kray family. It must have hurt Charlie to realise that so many of his friends were not friends at all. Now the shit had hit the fan, these friends were nowhere to be seen. Their loyalty, like the Kray legend, had been nothing more than romantic nonsense.

  Charlie must have also felt relief because he had been spared the ordeal of having an audience hear the truth about him. For years he had basked in the infamy of his brothers, allowing people to believe that his family controlled some Mafia-type empire, awash with money. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Charlie squirmed uneasily in the dock as his defence barrister told the court that he was ‘a pathetic, skint old fool who lives on handouts from his pals’ and ‘a charming but gullible old man that doesn’t know his limitations.’

  Charlie had been trapped in an elaborate sting by police officers keen to arrest the remaining free Kray. Had they been minded, the police could have gone on a prison visit and put Reggie in the frame as well. People were always putting hare-brained schemes to the Kray brothers, who always agreed to get involved.

  They knew most proposals were nonsense, but the Krays had no capital, no business interests and no income to speak of, so they chose to take a chance on anything they were offered. To ensure the brothers would agree to a business proposal, they would be promised a high percentage of any profits without having to invest any of their own money. The person who had proposed the deal would then dash off to the nearest printers and have a wad of business cards and letterheads made which would proudly display their name alongside that of their heroes. These would then be dished out at every opportunity to friends, family, people down the pub and in the street and anywhere else these nobodies could pretend they were business partners with somebodies. The Krays rarely made money out of these ventures. What genuine entrepreneur would contemplate such a meaningless amalgamation? Reggie would justify getting involved with yet another loser by saying to me, ‘You never know, one of them might make some decent money for us one day.’ The trouble was, I did know, and Reggie was fooling himself. Just like Charlie had been fooling himself when he had unwittingly boasted to undercover police officers about being able to supply huge quantities of drugs.

  Further shame and humiliation was heaped on Charlie as the details of his amateurish attempt to deal in drugs were revealed to the jury.

  On 7 March 1996, Charlie Kray’s son Gary died. He had been suffering from cancer. Charlie, who had an extremely close relationship with Gary, was, quite naturally, devastated. To add insult to injury, Charlie had to suffer the indignity of asking his brother Reggie for money because he couldn’t afford to pay for Gary’s funeral. When the funeral took place, the Home Office would not allow Reg to attend so an empty car was hired to follow the cortège. It was Reggie’s way of saying that despite the fact he couldn’t physically attend, he was there in spirit. One man who did attend was Patsy Manning.

  Patsy was from Birmingham and I had met him on several occasions. He had been Reggie’s co-author on the book Slang from which Reggie had originally pledged all proceeds to James Fallon, although neither he nor his family ever received anything. Patsy was a likeable man and had known the Krays all his life. He had spent time in prison with Reggie after clubbing a doorman with a hammer and almost killing him. I had attended Patsy’s 60th birthday party in Birmingham at a club called the Elbow Rooms with my friend Stephen ‘Boss-eye’ Whiddon. Charlie Kray came along and we spent the entire weekend celebrating. Whilst at the Elbow Rooms, Charlie had called Stephen and me into a toilet cubicle where he was snorting cocaine with a £50 note. Giggling and unsteady on his feet, Charlie was urging everybody to share a few lines with him. Eventually, Stephen and I had to help Charlie back into the bar area as we thought he might collapse he was so drunk and drugged.

  Patsy had attended Gary’s funeral with another man called George, who had been kind enough to drive Patsy to London for the service in his Jaguar ‘as a favour’.

  Charlie always enjoyed a drink but following his son’s death, he turned to the bottle for comfort. Instead of the drink making him the life and soul of the party, as it had done in the past, it now had the effect of making him extremely depressed and very emotional. Whether it was the alcohol or his state of mind, nobody knows, but Charlie certainly wasn’t thinking straight in the months following his son’s death.

  Some time after Gary’s funeral, Patsy rang Charlie to invite him to a party at the Elbow Rooms. Charlie told Patsy that he wouldn’t be able to go, as he had no money. Patsy said that he had a friend in Birmingham who owned a hotel and Charlie would be welcome to stay there free of charge. Charlie didn’t relish the thought of going back to the Elbow Rooms – on previous occasions he had gone there with Gary, so it would have been an emotional journey for him to return. However, his partner Judy encouraged Charlie to go, telling him that it would get his mind off things to be amongst friends and have a good time.

  Charlie relented and travelled to Birmingham. After settling into his room, Charlie went to meet Patsy Manning who was waiting downstairs in the hotel bar. When he arrived, there were two men with Patsy who were introduced as George and Dino from Newcastle. George, it turned out, was the man who had driven Patsy down to Gary’s funeral in his Jaguar. Shortly after Dino and George were introduced to Charlie, two more people entered the bar. One was a girl named Lisa and another was a man named Jack. George introduced them to Charlie as his friends. After a few minutes, Dino called out, ‘Quiet for a moment.’ He then presented Patsy with a present from himself, George, Jack and Lisa. When Patsy opened the small package, it contained a Simply Red CD. Feigning delight, Patsy thanked them all. However, Dino started laughing and said, ‘That is only part of your present.’ Then a very large package was brought into the room and given to Patsy.

  When Patsy unwrapped it, he was pleasantly surprised. His ‘friends’ had bought him a top-of-the-range music centre. The ‘generous’ foursome spent the night plying Patsy and Charlie with alcohol and refused to let them buy a single drink in return. During the evening, Charlie gave Patsy a knowing look: he had noticed Jack had a Rolex watch on his wrist which was probably worth about £12,000. These new ‘friends’ had money, a fact which warmed Charlie to them. When Charlie went to the toilet, he got talking to Dino, who was also visiting the Gents. Charlie confessed to Dino that he didn’t have the money to keep up with him or his friends, saying he was financially embarrassed. Dino laughed and gave Charlie £50. Smiling broadly, Charlie took the money and thanked him. He really thought he had landed on his feet with these people, but like the fools who approached the Krays with ludicrous schemes and business ideas, Charlie really had no idea who he was dealing with or what their motives were.

  Once Charlie was suitably drunk and relaxed, Jack said to Charlie that he had been ‘left a bit dry’ after the guy he had been trading with was killed in Amsterdam. Instinctively, Charlie knew that Jack was talking about drugs and said he had a mate who could help out. T
he truth is Charlie was lying. Charlie was just doing what the Krays had always done. As soon as someone said anything that could lead to money, they would say, ‘Yes, we can help you with that,’ regardless of whether they could or couldn’t. It was to be a grave mistake on Charlie’s part.

  Over the next few weeks, Jack kept in touch with Charlie by telephone. Keen to keep Jack on board, Charlie told his ‘friend’ that he was having a charity event at a friend’s pub in Kent to raise money for St Christopher’s Hospice in Crystal Palace where his son Gary had died. Jack was his usual enthusiastic self, saying he would get a football signed by the Newcastle United team for Charlie to raffle.

  He said he would ‘pop down’ with a pal of his named Ken and give it to Charlie personally. The men from Newcastle arrived for the event and stayed at a hotel near Charlie’s home in Sanderstead, Surrey. They went to a couple of nightclubs together, where once again Jack would not let Charlie put his hand in his pocket. When Charlie was drunk, he put his Kray hat on and started to boast about his family’s mythical criminal empire. Soon the subject turned to drugs. Jack and Ken asked Charlie about people who could supply them and Charlie, in a barely audible mumble, said he never went near drugs, he only put people together. ‘Cause there’s too many eyes on me,’ he said.

  The men were disappointed but not deterred. When Charlie told Jack that another friend of his was putting on a variety show at the Mermaid Theatre in Croydon in memory of Gary, he was as enthusiastic as he had been about the pub charity event. He told Charlie he would love to attend. ‘It would be nice to show some support and meet some of your friends,’ he said. Gullible Charlie thought it would be nice too. The event was a huge success. Three hundred people attended, amongst them the actor Bill Murray, Charlie’s old friend Freddie Foreman and his actor son Jamie Foreman, all of whom Charlie introduced to his ‘friends’ from Newcastle. He also introduced them to two other friends, Ronnie Field, and a man named Bobbie Gould. Charlie had mentioned his ‘friend’s’ interest in drugs to Gould and Field and they had said they might be able to help. A few days later, Jack telephoned Charlie and invited him and Ronnie Field to Newcastle, adding, ‘We might be able to sort out some business.’

  He told Charlie not to worry about his travelling expenses as he would send Charlie two airline tickets and meet him and Field at the airport. ‘It’s easier and quicker to fly,’ he said. Charlie couldn’t believe his luck and the words ‘sort out some business’ rang in his head. These weren’t the sort of fools who had sat at the visiting table with Reggie and Ronnie, talking about security companies, one-armed bandits and dodgy car deals. These people had serious money, money that Charlie desperately needed.

  Ronnie and Charlie flew to Newcastle and were picked up by Jack and Ken at the airport in a Range Rover and driven to a five-star hotel. Jack then introduced Ronnie and Charlie to Brian, another of his friends. As usual, Jack proved to be a faultless host, plying Charlie and Ronnie Field with drinks. Charlie couldn’t remember the number of free Scotch and Cokes he drank. In his inebriated state he felt he had to live up to his gangster image and once more began to brag about his drug contacts. He said he and Field could supply Jack with five kilos of cocaine every two weeks for two years, adding that the first exchange would take place in Croydon the following week. The truth of the matter was he didn’t have enough money in his back pocket for a shandy, let alone enough money to buy five kilos of quality cocaine.

  The following few weeks were an emotional period for Charlie. It would have been his son’s 45th birthday on 3 July and Charlie’s 70th on the 9th. His friends in Birmingham insisted on having a party for him, but money was still an issue for Charlie and he didn’t think he would be able to go. He didn’t have a car, couldn’t afford the train fare or even two £15 economy coach tickets for himself and his partner Judy. Jack rang him the Sunday before the party and Charlie asked him if he could borrow £500.

  Jack told him that it wouldn’t be a problem. He immediately put the money in a jiffy bag and sent it by registered post. The Geordie’s generosity totally convinced Charlie that he was onto something good.

  When Charlie and Judy arrived at the same hotel Charlie had previously stayed at, they were told the manager was aware of Charlie’s financial situation and therefore there would be no charge. Charlie was surprised to find that Brian and Jack were also staying there. As usual, the champagne and drink flowed freely all night for Charlie. His ‘friends’ also presented him with a gold-plated cigarette lighter and Charlie appeared lost for words.

  On Saturday, 20 July, Jack rang Charlie, asking him to tell Ronnie Field to contact him. Four days later, he rang again to tell Charlie that he would be in London the next day. He asked Charlie to book him into the Selsdon Park Hotel in Croydon. Without thinking, Charlie did so. Ronnie Field and Bobbie Gould were due to hand over two kilos of cocaine to the Geordies at the hotel in return for £63,000 and Charlie had just roped himself into the conspiracy by booking the room on their behalf. On the day Jack arrived, Charlie had been working on a book called Me and My Brothers at the home of Robin McGibbon, the co-author, near Bromley in Kent. Charlie received a telephone call from his partner, Judy, who told him that Jack wanted him to pop into the hotel and have a drink with him, Brian, Ronnie Field and Bobbie Gould.

  Charlie didn’t really want to go, but as he was passing the hotel anyway and the Geordies had been so good to him, he decided he would have a quick whisky. As had happened previously, Jack tried desperately to get Charlie to drink more but he insisted on having just a single whisky. Charlie explained that he couldn’t stop as he wanted to get back to Judy and his children.

  The exchange did not happen that night but the following Wednesday the deal was back on. Charlie was not present when the drugs were delivered, as he had driven to Kent again to work on his book and afterwards went to pick up Judy from work. Charlie was in good spirits and looking forward to the release of his book, which he thought might help ease his financial worries. At 7 p.m. that night, Judy had cooked dinner and Charlie settled down to watch television when there was a firm knock at the door.

  Judy answered and came back into the lounge followed by four policemen – two uniformed and two plain-clothed detectives. As they came in, two other detectives came in through the patio doors. They gestured for Charlie to get up and then informed him that he was being arrested on drugs charges. Charlie was ordered upstairs and the police searched his bedroom. When the search was completed at 9 p.m., Charlie was asked if he wanted to change out of his tracksuit bottoms and into something more appropriate. Judy asked, ‘Are they taking you away, Charlie?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘they’ve arrested me.’

  Charlie kissed her goodbye and then walked to the waiting police car. The car took him to Ilford police station in Essex where he was put in the cells.

  At 10 p.m. that evening, Judy was allowed to see Charlie. She brought him fresh clothes as he had been warned that he would be appearing in court the following morning. Charlie asked if he could have a few moments alone with Judy and was told he could spend five minutes alone with her in an interview room. As Judy entered, Charlie stood up and put his arms around her. He said, ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ and, almost crying, whispered to her, ‘That lovely guy, Jack, he’s an undercover policeman. He’s been tape-recording me talking about cocaine.’

  It must have been obvious to the undercover policemen that Charlie Kray was no big-time drug dealer. In my view, it cannot be right that police officers can use a man’s son’s funeral to infiltrate his circle of friends. It is equally distasteful that police officers using taxpayers’ money can spend large amounts of cash on presents, hotels, aeroplane flights, champagne and get you so drunk you would say anything they want. I felt deeply sorry for Charlie. The following morning, the deception in full was outlined to Charlie by his solicitor.

  Charlie was told that Jack, George and Brian – his Geordie ‘friends’ – were all in fact undercover police officers and had been
taping all the conversations that had taken place over a two-month period. Charlie knew that he had been snared by their elaborate trap as he had said incriminating things about drugs, not because he was able to supply them, but because he thought that these people would continue to buy him drinks and supply him with money so long as he acted out the part of Kray the Gangster. Later that day, Charlie appeared at Redbridge Magistrates’ Court in Ilford. The shoes he was wearing as he stood in the dock had holes in them. He had a ten-pound watch on his wrist and not a penny in his pocket, yet, on the front page of The Sun was the headline ‘Charlie Kray in £78 million cocaine sting’.

  The police estimation of the value of the drugs he had promised to supply was a little more charitable. Charlie Kray, Ronnie Field and Bobbie Gould were each charged with conspiracy to supply three kilos of cocaine worth £63,000 and conspiracy to supply 520 kilos of cocaine. Charlie and Field were also accused of conspiracy to supply 1,000 Ecstasy tablets worth £20,000. The magistrate refused all three men bail.

  Charlie, not surprisingly, was sent to Belmarsh, a top-security prison situated in Woolwich, south-east London. In case anyone missed the point that police had arrested one of the most dangerous gangsters in the country, armed police in flak jackets manned the rooftops of the magistrates court for the next hearing. Charlie Kray was driven there from Belmarsh Prison at high speed, with police motorcyclists riding ahead to clear the traffic. The only part of the circus that was missing was the deafening klaxons and the circling helicopters that accompanied him, his brothers and their so-called firm to the Old Bailey in 1969.