The Criminal Escapades of Geoffrey Larkin

by R. W. Hughes

  *

  He had played and studied the security tapes from the railway station, along with those from the hotel, several times. He eventually left the police station several hours after the constable and he was feeling quite pleased with himself, with the knowledge of what the contents of the tapes had eventually disclosed, his perseverance had certainly paid dividends.

  *

  For Geoff Larkin he felt he was on a roll. Saturday night was the same as Friday; they used the credit cards on a different set of cash machines in the city although finishing much earlier as he had not had time to check on enough badly lit side streets where machines were situated. This meant that they could catch the last bus back to the town.

  After arriving at the bus depot they went straight to the bed-sit to check all their takings, picking up a stack of canned beer on the way.

  ‘This is too easy,’ said Derek Bolton as they counted the money from the night’s escapade. ‘Why haven’t the credit cards been cancelled?’

  ‘Because they haven’t checked their balances at the banks yet but, when they do, that’s when they’ll stop the cards,’ replied his brother. ‘Until then, we’ve got to milk this fat cow for all it’s worth.’

  This brought a laugh from Sooty who thought John Bolton’s last remark was very funny.

  ‘You’d better put the cash in the bread bin with the other,’ said Geoff to the younger Bolton brother who collected the stack of money from the table taking it across to the bread bin.

  ‘Is that where the expression “plenty of bread” comes from, because people used to keep their money in the bread bin?’ enquired Sooty.

  ‘That’s quite possible, Sooty,’ said Geoff, smiling at his flat mate’s innocent remark.

  ‘What are these papers in the bread bin?’ said Derek Bolton, interrupting the conversation.

  ‘They were in the guy’s briefcase,’ said Sooty. ‘I brought everything that was there.’

  ‘I looked at them and couldn’t make out what they were. They’re in a foreign language, German I think,’ volunteered Geoff.

  ‘They look like bank statements to me,’ said Derek Bolton. ‘On Monday I’ll take them with me and see if I can get anything up on the computer in the shop.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Geoff. ‘Can you also get a list of the cash points in the city? I’ll pick it up at lunchtime then go and check them out so that we can do another run on Monday night. We’ll have to find somewhere else to keep the cash; that bread bin isn’t a good enough place.’

  The lads carried on finishing the pack of beer. All of them were deep in thought contemplating how they were going to spend their newfound windfall of cash.

  *

  Constable Wilson arrived early at the station on Monday morning but not before Sergeant Robinson who was already in the office playing a security tape, after the usual pleasantries with the constable the sergeant came straight to the point.

  ‘These security tapes show a good picture of Mr. X at the hotel. I’m having some prints run off now and records are doing a check to see if he’s on our list. Also, the camera covering the entrance to the railway station at roughly the time the briefcase was lifted shows there was a gang of four youths. I’ve had dealings with them before for a string of petty crimes. This is just the type of thing they would get up to and the main culprit is a local hard case who goes by the name of Sidney Locket.’

  ‘Did the camera show these lads lifting the briefcase?’ asked the constable.

  ‘No such luck. It just covered the entrance but we’ve got them at the scene of the crime! There were also four young men who paid their taxi fare with a forged £20 note. You go and see the desk sergeant and see who’s available while I go and organise some search warrants. We’ll pull them in and see what we can turn up!’

  It was while they were on the way to the last known address of Sidney Locket that he was spotted at his usual haunt near the railway station. He was arrested by Constable Wilson then taken to the police station for questioning.

  Sergeant Robinson carried on and managed to detain two of the three other members of the gang who were also taken to the police station while several teams searched their digs. The sergeant with Constable Wilson was waiting in the office when the teams reported back. They had searched four properties and, although there was no sign of the forged notes, several other items were found that had recently been reported stolen.

  ‘We’ll use that info to hold them for a while Wilson,’ Robinson informed his colleague. Even though when they were brought back to the police station and given a thorough interrogation, the three constantly denied anything to do with forged £20 notes.

  The taxi driver was brought to the station and he was placed in a position to observe the youths as they were moved from the interrogation room. He told the sergeant that those weren’t the same men who he had collected on the early Saturday morning.

  ‘Charge them with receiving stolen property and put out a warrant for the fourth member then let them go on police bail. We don’t have enough evidence at the moment to keep them on any other charge,’ Robinson said despondently to his partner.

  He was sitting at his desk twizzling his pen around between his fingers, wondering what his next move should be, when the desk sergeant popped his head around the door of the office.

  ‘The river police on the Manchester ship canal think they have found your suspect Paul.

  Going off the photograph you had circulated, they want someone to go down to the morgue and identify him!’

  ‘The morgue!’ exclaimed Paul Robinson in surprise.

  ‘Yes,’ continued the desk sergeant. ‘The river police pulled in a body this morning, rather suspicious circumstances from what I can gather.’

  ‘Thanks George,’ he said to the desk sergeant, he was half way down the corridor leading to the police parking area when he met his constable coming in the opposite direction.

  ‘Grab your coat Wilson; we’re off to the morgue,’ he said as they passed, leaving Wilson to hurry for his jacket before following his sergeant.

  *

  The city’s morgue was a dismal building standing at the rear of the hospital. Its front had been blackened by many years of industrial smoke and grime. The hospital was once the centre for accidents and emergencies in the community and, after a great deal of controversy, this had recently changed.

  It was now just a base for out-patients with any emergencies in the area having to be rushed to the nearest general hospital six miles away.

  It was a well-known local joke and Robinson seemed to delight in informing his constable that, ‘You should never be taken seriously ill during the rush hour because, if you are, your chances of survival are reduced by 80%. The ambulance service might as well bring you straight here to the morgue!’

  After showing their ID at the front office, the attendant showed them to the room where bodies were stored in long, chilled horizontal cupboards. Some were awaiting collection by undertakers, others were waiting for autopsies and some were here waiting to be buried in paupers’ graves. Occasionally, there was one that was a suspected murder victim like the body they were going to see today.

  ‘The victim’s clothes have been removed and are being inspected by our team of experts,’ the officer from the river police, who had arranged to meet them there, said as he pulled the trolley out of the cool cupboard.

  ‘There is a written report available but, in a nutshell, the man had been severally beaten around the top half of his body using either a metal bar or, more than likely according to the doctor, judging by the marks left, a knuckle duster. His hands were tied together behind his back, he was gagged and a short rope with three house bricks fastened together was tied around his waist then he was dumped in the river. There were no shoes on the body when it was recovered. If he was still conscious he probably kept himself afloat for a while by kicking with his feet but as he tired the weight of the bricks would slowly pull him down. It was a very slow and sa
distic way of drowning the victim!’ Having finished his verbal report, the officer looked at Sergeant Robinson who nodded. He had seen enough. The officer pushed the trolley back into the cupboard.

  ‘Well, that’s our man,’ said Constable Wilson who shivered as he followed the sergeant out of the morgue.

  ‘I don’t think this was the work of Locket and his cronies, they’re petty thieves, not murderers,’ replied Sergeant Robinson as they both climbed into his car.

  ‘We’ll go back to the station, write a report then submit a request that we take over this murder enquiry. I’ll see if I can persuade the super. I can’t see any reason why we shouldn’t, as we are already involved with this case through the forged notes. We’ll start from the beginning at the hotel. When did Mr. X arrive and what did he arrive in? Did he have any visitors during his stay? We’ll try and trace his movements over the last few days.’

  The constable just listened, he was getting used to the sergeant’s habit of speaking his thoughts out loud.

  After a brief interview with the superintendent, with a very persuasive Sergeant Robinson, it was confirmed that, for the time being, he and his team could continue with the murder investigation alongside the on-going forgery case instead of bringing in a specialist group from the city.

  This delighted the constable and on receiving the news he quickly passed the information on to the rest of the team. They were now involved in a full-blooded murder case instead of the ‘run of the mill’ petty crimes that were the norm.

  *

  Geoff called at the computer shop to see Derek Bolton and to collect the list of cash machines which they had not already used. He also made arrangements for another meeting with Derek and his brother early that evening. He wanted to suggest that they go into the city early and have something to eat there, as he thought it best they were not too late returning. The Bolton brothers arrived before Sooty, just as Geoff had made a pot of tea. They heard the big lad running up the stairs. As he burst into the small bed-sit; Geoff noticed he was wearing his muddy boats, before he could reprimand him he blurted out. ‘You’ll never believe this,’ as they all looked at his red sweat-stained face.

  ‘I’ve run all the way from the depot.’ Geoff winced at the thought of Sooty running through the streets attracting unwanted attention.

  ‘What’s so important Sooty?’ asked the younger Bolton boy.

  ‘I went to the depot early this morning and, luckily, the foreman gave me the job of burning all the cardboard in one of the skips, so I had the chance of ripping up and getting rid of the briefcase but, while I was tearing it apart, these metal plates fell out of the lining.’

  On the table in front of them he placed two engraved plates, each about the size of a £20 note. There was complete silence in the room as each of the lads stared at what was on the table. Slowly it dawned on them. The same thoughts were running through their heads. They could see the possible consequences for their actions over the last couple of days. Geoff was the first to speak.

  ‘Oh! As we’ve made our bed so we‘ll have to lie on it.’

  ‘I’ll second that,’ said Derek quietly.

  John Bolton leant forward and picked up the engraved plates. ‘These are beautiful, really beautiful,’ he commented. ‘The guy who made these was a genius of a craftsman.’

  ‘I think we’ll be in deep deep shit here unless we are really careful,’ said Derek very quietly.

  ‘I agree,’ answered a pale-faced Geoff. ‘We’re well out of our depth. Just keeping low won’t be enough and these guys will keep on searching until they find us!’

  ‘That’s true,’ joined in John Bolton. ‘We’ll end up like that guy they fished out of the ship canal this morning.’

  ‘Which guy was that, John?’ asked an inquisitive Sooty.

  ‘They were talking in the garage at lunchtime about some bloke who had been dumped in the cut with a load of house bricks fastened to his legs. The river police pulled him out this morning.’

  ‘Was he dead?’ enquired Sooty innocently.

  ‘Dead or not they whisked him off to the local morgue,’ answered John Bolton, laughing. ‘But seriously I don’t think we should go out tonight,’ he added.

  ‘I agree,’ said Geoff. ‘We had better stop our operations until we see what’s happening and how the land lies.’

  *

  ‘There was something else as well,’ said Derek. ‘I never thought anything about it at the time but on Saturday afternoon my boss at the shop had a phone call to be on the lookout for forged £20 notes. It seems pretty obvious to me that these plates have something to do with the forgeries that are floating around.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ volunteered Geoff. ‘Let’s check the cash that was in that guy’s briefcase because they were all £20 notes. We’ll check them with the same number as on those plates that Sooty found.’

  It only took the lads a matter of minutes to check and confirm that all the £20 notes that had been in the briefcase all had the same serial number.

  ‘They don’t look the same to me,’ said Sooty looking at one of the forged notes in one hand and one of the plates in the other.

  ‘That’s because,’ said Geoff patiently, ‘it’s back to front. When it’s printed it comes out like the £20 note.’ Sooty returned the plate and £20 note to its pile on the table, the look on his face showing he was not really convinced by Geoff’s explanation.

  ‘I think we’re the ones who’ve been distributing the forged notes!’ continued Geoff. ‘Those men who are looking for these plates, if they didn’t suspect before, it’s bloody obvious to them now that the briefcase was lifted by someone local. One thing that might throw them for a while is the fact that most of the money taken using the credit cards was from the cash machines in the city.’ There was several minutes’ silence while the group absorbed what Geoff had said.

  ‘Also they may think that the forged notes spent in the town were used before the opportunistic tea-leaf went back to his base there.’

  ‘How will this gang know about the forged notes being used locally?’ queried Derek Bolton.

  ‘They’ll know probably as fast as the police,’ answered a very sombre Geoff.

  ‘Does that mean we should carry on using the cash machines in the city?’ asked John Bolton.

  ‘No, I think we should leave it for a while and stay low, keeping our ears to the ground but carry on going about our work as if nothing has happened.’

  The group agreed with what Geoff had suggested. Finally the Bolton brothers left, going down the stairs in their stocking feet and putting on their shoes when they were outside.

  Sooty, who had followed them down, closed the door quietly behind them, leaving them to make their own way through the dark streets.

  Along the route to their accommodation they constantly looked furtively over their shoulders, seeing imaginary figures that were following them in the shadows. Unable to bare the tension any longer, they ran panic stricken the last few hundred yards until they reached the comparative safety of their digs. After locking and bolting their door they wedged a chair under the door handle, they then felt reasonably secure but, as an added precaution, they also decided to place one of their iron-framed bedsteads over the chair and against the door.

  Chapter Twelve

  Earlier that afternoon Sergeant Robinson’s murder team received notification that one of their suspects in the forgery/murder enquiry had been involved in a fight the night before, he was now in intensive care in the city hospital. Constable Wilson was sent there and, subject to the doctors allowing him to do so, he was under instructions to take a statement when the patient regained consciousness.

  It was the early hours of Tuesday morning before Constable Wilson managed to persuade the medical staff on duty to allow him a few minutes with their patient.

  He returned to the murder incident room later that Tuesday, finding Sergeant Robinson in his office sitting at his desk looking through some papers. He looke
d up as the constable entered.

  ‘Did you get your statement constable? Anything useful for our enquiries?’ asked the sergeant, as he carried on looking at the papers on his desk.

  ‘According to the doctors, their patient is on the danger list. In theory, he should not be alive. He has been professionally and methodically beaten to a pulp. He has four broken ribs, a punctured lung, ruptured spleen, bruised liver, a broken wrist, a broken arm, a dislocated knee that has also been drilled with an electric drill, bruising all over his body which is the result of a severe kicking and, oh, damage to his spine. The doctors would only allow me to see him for a few moments as he kept slipping back into unconsciousness. The doctor said that he had seen similar marks on a human body before; they were consistent with the repeated use of a knuckle duster.

  ‘Between lapses in and out of consciousness he managed to tell me what happened. He was approached by two men after he left his local pub on Sunday night. They dragged him into the narrow street at the side of the building. It was there that they beat him up, asking all the time for the plates and the cards. He remembers vaguely being taken in a car to a garage or a lock-up where they fastened him to a chair then carried on beating him and, at the same time, still asking him for the plates. He doesn’t remember anything after they started to use an electric drill to drill into his kneecap, until he woke up in the hospital.

  ‘The doctors reckoned his heart may have stopped for a while and his assailants may have thought they had killed him. He was found by a security guard on night patrol on one of the industrial estates. He administered cardiac massage after calling the ambulance, saving our friend’s life; if he lives that is!’

  The sergeant had stopped looking at the papers on his desk as the constable made his report, leaning back on his chair as he finished, then waiting while he returned his notebook to his pocket.