LOOT & I'M WITH THE BAND: The DCS Palmer and the Serial Murder Squad series by B.L.Faulkner. Cases 5 & 6 (DCS Palmer and the Serial Murder Squad cases Book 3)

by Barry Faulkner

  ‘He’s a magician,’ Mooney explained.

  Angela was none the wiser.

  ‘A magician?’

  ‘I make things disappear,’ Dennis explained. ‘People mostly.’

  Angela covered her mouth.

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘So when we got shot of Finlay, Patrick filled me in on what was happening.’

  ‘As soon as we got to the airfield and Dennis came out I recognised him,’ Mooney explained. ‘And knowing his trade, I understood what Harry and Finlay had planned for me and Mark. I signalled Dennis to be quiet, not to give away that he’d recognised me. We weren’t going to be flown to Spain or somewhere safe to hide like Finlay had told us on the journey down; we were going to be killed and pushed out of a plane somewhere over the ocean.’

  ‘With twenty kilo weights tied to their feet,’ added Dennis.

  Angela was taken aback.

  ‘I thought that kind of thing only happened in films?’

  Dennis laughed.

  ‘Oh, no… How do you think people like Robson get to where they are in the criminal pecking order? They don’t politely ask others: ‘move over and let me have your business’. Anyway, as we were saying, we keep our heads down for a little while, and then we’ll book separate trips to wherever you decide you want to go. Book a genuine holiday flying out of Bristol or Birmingham – one of those cheap Thompson or Monarch package things. Once there, you disappear; or I can pull in a few favours and get something set up for you in Spain. I’ve got a few mates out there.’

  ‘And the, err… chocolate bars?’

  Angela could see that that whatever plan they chose it would cost.

  ‘Well…’

  Dennis sat back and became serious.

  ‘There’s two hundred and thirty-two of them chocolate bars, so I reckon the odd thirty-two would cover the… shall we call it, resettlement costs; the rest you can do with as you like once you get sorted. Current spot price is thirty-two grand a kilo, so you’ll have about six and a half million – more than enough to buy a bar or something in Spain and stash the rest away. It’s very cheap out there at the moment. Good time to do it.’

  ‘And you? What will you do?’

  ‘Nothing, absolutely nothing – just carry on as I am. Launder the gold slowly and put it in an ISA, eh?’

  They all laughed, and then Dennis grew serious again.

  ‘What about this Fenn woman, I thought she was involved?’

  Angela sighed.

  ‘Sylvia? Yes, she was. I feel a bit bad about her.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, it was her husband who first told Finlay about the gold. He’d been asked by a mate of his who was a dodgy bullion dealer in Brighton – he was the one cutting and selling the bars to help launder the money, as he was an auctioneer and could put it through as legit sales bit by bit. He’d been doing the same scam for Finlay Robson on other stolen items and told him – stupid thing to do, really. Anyway, to cut a long story short, Finlay and Harry Robson got themselves involved and leaned on the owners of the gold – some rich couple in Brighton – and upped the ante, wanting more of it fenced quickly rather than dripping it out slowly like Fenn had been doing. Then Fenn and the bullion dealer wanted a bigger cut, saying it was a bigger risk; and with Finlay and Robson knowing where it was originating from, they were… shall we say, ‘expendable’.’

  Dennis nodded slowly.

  ‘Harry Robson never did like sharing. Mind you, the tight bastard never gave me that job. He got a couple of bloody amateurs to do it, so I’m told.’

  He looked from Mooney to Hilton with raised eyebrows, and they all laughed. Hilton nodded ruefully.

  ‘Perhaps he should have given you the job; we made a pig’s ear of it, which started off all the police interest.’

  Angela continued her story.

  ‘Anyway, as I was saying, Sylvia Fenn was having an affair with Finlay; Fenn had taken Finlay to their house a couple of times, and things happened. I only knew what was going on between them because she came into the office a few times to meet him there, when her husband was away up country doing one of his auctions. We got on quite well, and it was obvious what was happening between them. And she knew all about the gold; Finlay must have told her, or perhaps her husband. She was quite open about it, and her relationship with Finlay. She was fed up with scrabbling to make ends meet with her husband and wanted a better life.

  ‘She didn’t seem at all upset when her husband was killed. It dawned on me later that she probably knew it was going to happen; she might even have planned it with Finlay. Let’s face it, a future with a criminal who’s got a few hundred thousand quid in gold is better than one with an auctioneer who’s scrabbling to make ends meet. She knew I was with Patrick, so when he and Mark disappeared Finlay must have dropped a hint. She rang me, told me she suspected Robson and Finlay were involved in Patrick and Mark’s disappearance; said she knew they were definitely behind her husband and the bullion dealer Plant’s deaths, and that she was just biding her time. I couldn’t tell her that Patrick and Mark were okay, that Patrick had phoned me and filled me in on the whole story, so I went along with her by pretending to be upset. She said knew where Finlay kept a couple of hundred thousand grand, and she was going to get it when he was arrested. She was sure that copper Palmer was onto them, and if they went down she’d be sitting pretty with the money.’

  ‘Which we assume she’s now got?’ Dennis asked.

  ‘Yes, which is why I’m not feeling too bad about ditching her.’

  ‘Ditching her?’

  ‘Well, sort of. Finlay must have told her the gold bars were in the office safe; she told me they were there, and we had a plan to get to them at the first sign of trouble, split them and Finlay’s cash and run. I knew the combination for the safe; I’d watched them open it enough times but I didn’t have a key, so I got Finlay’s off his key ring in his jacket pocket when he was occupied up the yard for a morning, made an excuse about running out of coffee, and went and got a copy made. We were going to plan to take the bars on a Friday evening, so we’d have all weekend to get away. Anyhow, Robson being taken in for questioning changed all that.’

  ‘How?’

  Dennis was following the story intently.

  ‘She rang me that evening; said Robson had been arrested and Finlay was going bananas. He was sure that Robson would lose his bottle, that he’d get bail and take the gold from the safe and scarper while he still could. So Finlay was going to get to the safe first, and seeing that I had the key, I should go and get the gold before either of them did, take it back to her place, split it and we’d disappear. Easy, eh?’

  ‘Sounds like it. What happened?’

  ‘Well, I got there as fast as I could, but the light in the office was on. I thought Finlay was already there, but I was so angry about what they’d tried to do to Patrick that I picked up a heavy wrench outside and strode in bold as brass with it behind my back; and there was Robson, kneeling at the safe with the door open. He said something, I said something; he turned to close the safe door and I hit him, hard. He went down, and I think I hit him again. I was so angry. I was going to put the gold into bags when I heard a car pull up outside; so I hid behind the counter and Finlay came rushing in like a bull in a china shop. He saw Robson on the floor and the safe door partly open and said something like ‘they got to you first.’ Then he knelt to pull Robson away from the safe so he could open it, and I rushed out and hit him too. I didn’t check whether they were dead as it didn’t matter; yhey were both laying still, and all I could think about was to get the gold into bags and into my car, which I did. It seemed to take an age, it was so heavy – I didn’t realise how heavy. I had to use four bags, and even then I could hardly lift them. Then, when it was all done and in my car, I was starting to think straight again. I pulled Robson and Finlay out and dragged them into their cars, doused them with paraffin and set them alight. I’ve never been so scared in my life.’

&nb
sp; ‘Very professional job though.’

  She gave a small laugh.

  ‘Not really, just that every time you hear about a crime on telly they say the getaway car was found ‘burnt out’. No clues.’

  Dennis was worried.

  ‘And the wrench?’

  ‘I threw it into Finlay’s car.’

  Mooney took hold of one of her hands reassuringly.

  ‘You’re shaking. It’s okay, it’s over now.’

  ‘Then I drove to your place and stayed the night. I couldn’t sleep. I went to work in the morning as normal and feigned shock when I got there and saw the police all over the yard and in the office. The burnt-out cars were there, with blue and white tape all round the place. The bodies had been removed, thank God. They took a brief statement and said I could go home and they’d be in touch, and would I like Victims Support or a WPC to stay with me – ironic, eh? I said I was okay and went back, threw a few things into the car and drove here.’

  ‘You’re a very brave lady.’

  Dennis was impressed.

  ‘I’ll get your motor put through a crusher soon as I can. Life goes on just as normal; you two lads will be a couple of helpers I’ve taken on temporarily over a busy period, and Angela will be an agency secretary I’ve hired, so wander around and look busy now and again. It’s easier to do that than try to keep out of sight, ‘cause somebody is bound to see you and start to ask questions. So, I’ll just put it about to the other people on the airfield that business is good and I need a hand.’

  He raised his glass again.

  ‘Here’s to us.’

  ‘To us.’

  Angela’s mobile rang. Mooney stayed her hand as she went to answer it.

  ‘Don’t. Don’t answer it. Probably the police wanting to know where you are, so they can interview you. Let it ring; we don’t want them tracing the call.’

  Dennis nodded in agreement.

  ‘Turn it off and give it to me later, and I’ll make sure it goes through the crusher with your car.’

  Chapter 29

  Across the road from the Chinese restaurant, a figure stood deep in the shadows of a shop doorway and watched as the four diners looked at Angela’s mobile. The figure looked down at the lit screen of the mobile phone in its hand as it rang out Angela’s number. It rang off after twelve rings. No answer.

  Sylvia Fenn put it back into her coat pocket, pulled the coat hood further over her face and slipped unnoticed from the doorway, making her way along the road to her parked car. She was tired and needed to find a hotel. It had been a long day.

  Having rung Angela the evening before to warn her Finlay was on his way to the office because he was sure Harry Robson would go there, take the gold and run, she had waited for an update back from her; Angela had said she would go to the office and see what was happening, get the gold if she could, and ring back later. But no call came. Sylvia had a sleepless night wondering whether Angela was alright. Perhaps she should get away now, take Finlay’s hidden money and run. Why hadn’t Angela rung? She wasn’t answering her mobile either. Had Robson or Finlay found her at the office and realised she knew all about the gold, and decided to silence her too?

  In the morning the TV news was full of the double murder at a cement works, with pictures of the burnt-out cars and naming Harry and Finlay Robson as the victims of a violent robbery gone wrong. Camera shots of the inside of the office showed an open and empty safe. No mention of Angela – she must have got the gold. Still no answer from her mobile, so Sylvia decided to drive to Mooney’s place, as she knew Angela stayed there with her boyfriend and not at her flat. No need to worry about taking Finlay’s money as he wouldn’t be coming back for it, so she left it hidden.

  As she drove to Mooney’s all sorts of scenarios flashed through her mind. Had Angela seen the carnage and run? Surely she couldn’t have killed the Robsons? But if not her, then who had? Was there another person in the game, maybe a gang? People like Robson and Finlay must have made enemies in their circle of associates over the years; it seemed very professional, with the cars and bodies being burnt afterwards.

  As she got near Mooney’s she was amazed to see Angela hurriedly putting armfuls of clothes into the boot of her car parked outside. She pulled up the hood of her coat, drove past and parked further up the street and watched. Two more armfuls of clothes, and then Angela locked the front door of the flat and drove off, straight past Sylvia who ducked as she did so. Was the gold in the boot with the clothes? She was angry now. When Finlay had hinted that Mooney and Hilton had been killed, she’d told Angela.

  They had made a plan together; she’d worked it all out and they’d agreed to it. She’d even put herself at risk squirting petrol through Palmer’s letter box; she’d come up with that after Finlay had told her about Robson’s previous run in with Palmer, and the threats he’d made against him in court. He’d have to be chief suspect for the petrol attack, and if the police pulled him in on remand they’d just have Finlay to worry about, and he wouldn’t be much of an opponent. They would take the gold from the safe and Finlay’s money and go. But giving Harry Robson bail, and Finlay getting very uptight about his uncle maybe doing a runner with the gold, had changed that plan.

  She followed Angela’s car south of the Thames and towards the M4. Angela pulled in for petrol just before the M4 at Hammersmith, and Sylvia thought she’d better fill up too, just in case a long journey was ahead. She slid her motor to the pumps at the back of the petrol station. It was busy, and Angela was three lanes away and in front of her. When Angela went in and queued at the counter to pay, Sylvia used her card at the pump and was all paid and back in the driving seat when Angela returned. Up onto the M4 they went, Sylvia keeping a good distance behind.

  So intent was she on keeping Angela in sight, she completely missed the green Jaguar a few cars behind her that had followed the pair of them from Mooney’s flat. Just past Bristol they turned on to the M5 north, and then off on the A40 towards Gloucester, before finally Angela turned off along a side road and into the Staverton Airfield. Sylvia pulled into a small layby in the verge and watched as Angela’s car skirted the main buildings and pulled up outside a double hangar at the back of the field. The large sign across the hangar told her it was the South Western Air Taxi Company. She couldn’t really tell who they were, but three men came out; one hugged Angela, and they took the bags from the car’s boot and all went inside.

  Four hours later, as evening was drawing in and Sylvia Fenn was getting rather tired of watching executive jets and helicopters landing and taking off, they all came back out. They got into a large 4x4 and came out of the airfield gates straight past Sylvia, who hit the floor as they did so.

  She followed them at a discreet distance into Gloucester and pulled up and parked fifty yards behind them, on a street that seemed to be a row of ethnic restaurants. Sylvia was very hungry, and the smells assailing her senses made it worse; but she pulled up her coat hood and found a dark shop doorway opposite the restaurant the four had chosen to eat in. She recognised Mooney and Hilton with Angela, but not the third man. So, Mooney and Hilton weren’t killed after all. She wondered whether Angela knew that all along. Had Angela taken her for a ride? Used her to get to know Finlay’s next moves?

  She watched, pondering her own next move. They all looked to be in a good mood, laughing and jolly. The anger welled up inside her. Let’s give them something to think about then. She dialled Angela’s number, using the ‘no caller information’ button just as they all raised their glasses for a toast. Sylvia watched as their laughter turned to silent concern and their glasses slowly returned to the table as Angela held up the ringing phone.

  Chapter 30

  ‘That’s really amazing. How do they do that?’

  In the office, Claire was looking at her computer screen where a listing of telephone numbers was scrolling down.

  ‘How do they do what?’

  Palmer stood with Sergeant Singh, their backs to Claire as they upd
ated the progress chart, putting ‘deceased’ under Robson and Finlay’s pictures.

  ‘How the hell do Forensics manage to retrieve the phone numbers of the calls Robson and Finlay made from a pair of melted mobiles?’

  ‘They don’t.’

  Gheeta turned and went to look over Claire’s shoulder at the screen.

  ‘They retrieve the mobile number and then get the call record from the mobile company it’s contracted to. Anything interesting?’

  ‘Well, both made plenty of calls to each other and the office. The only other number that stands out is a Gloucester code.’

  Palmer joined them.

  ‘Gloucester?’

  ‘Yes, all on the same day, which was the day you visited their office: one call from Robson and three from Finlay, all to the same Gloucester number.’

  ‘Can we trace who it is?’

  ‘No, it’s a mobile number.’

  ‘Could ring it, guv?’

  Gheeta picked up her mobile and held it in her hand questioningly. Palmer gave her the go ahead with a nod of his head. She tapped in the number from the screen, and it was answered at the other end. Gheeta raised her eyebrows to Palmer before talking into the phone.

  ‘Oh, I am sorry – I’ve dialled a wrong number. Sorry to trouble you.’

  She clicked off the phone.

  ‘Well?’ Palmer said impatiently.

  ‘South Western Air Taxis.’

  ‘South Western Air Taxis?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Claire was on it and had already put the name into Google.

  ‘Internal and European Air Taxi service for business and urgent deliveries. Flies out of Staverton Airport near Gloucester. There’s a picture here of three planes and two hangars. It looks very smart.’

  Gheeta settled herself in front of another computer.

  ‘I’ll do a company search and see what we can find out. You key into the Civil Aviation Authority and take a look at the South Western Air Taxi flight record.’

  Palmer was surprised; he shouldn’t have been, as Sergeant Singh’s expertise at computer hacking had been used by his office many times, but he felt obliged to make his usual comment to cover his back.