The Dirty Dozen

by Lynda La Plante

  “No sign of the rozzers.”

  He then put the shotgun under a towel in the travel bag, which also covered the cash box. The Irishman got out and opened the end garage for the Cortina to drive in. Once the vehicle was inside he closed the garage door and all four men quickly removed their donkey jackets and blue coveralls, under which they were wearing casual clothes. The driver opened the boot and removed a petrol can, then he and the others threw their robbery outfits into the boot. The man who had led the robbery got the travel bag containing the cash box from the rear seat. He opened it and the Irishman placed his Luger under the towel.

  The Irishman opened the garage door and the leader, along with the man who had fired the shotgun, walked slowly off the estate and down the street. When they were out of sight, the driver waited for a minute before pouring petrol over the discarded clothes and the interior of the Cortina. He then removed a Zippo lighter from his pocket, opened it and flicked the spark wheel to ignite the wick. He threw the lighter into the boot of the car, causing a loud woomph as the coveralls and donkey jackets caught light, then shut the boot lid and closed the garage door. He and the Irishman left the estate on foot and, once in Blake Hall Road, walked off in the opposite direction to the other two men.

  Jane approached the young white girl, who was in floods of tears and clutching a mixed-race baby to her chest. Her face was pale from shock, she looked about seventeen and her blond hair was tied in a side ponytail. She was wearing a black Puffa jacket, white T-shirt, bell-bottomed jeans and brown boots.

  “Hi, I’m Detective Sergeant Tennison. Are you OK?”

  “The police car nearly hit me and my baby.”

  She wiped her nose with the sleeve of her jacket. Jane sat beside her on the wall, got a tissue out of her pocket and handed it to the girl.

  “What’s your name—and your baby’s?”

  “Mine’s Abby Jones, and he’s Daniel. He’s only eight months old and got a rash, so I was taking him to the doctor’s in the High Road.”

  Jane got her pocket notebook and pen out of her jacket pocket and started asking questions. Abby said she’d just turned seventeen and lived with her parents at 6 Leybourne Road, which was off the bottom end of Woodville Road. She explained to Abby that the men in the car the police were chasing had just committed an armed robbery at Barclays Bank in the High Road.

  “Did you see what happened here before the police car crashed?” Jane asked.

  “Yeah, some of it.”

  “I don’t want to keep you too long if your baby’s not well, but it would be helpful if you could tell me what you saw.”

  Abby explained she was walking up Woodville Road to the doctor’s surgery when she heard a car crash and tires screeching. She’d looked up and saw a brown car coming towards her, which was swerving from side to side down the road.

  “Did you see how many people were in the car?”

  “Three, maybe four people, I think, but I don’t know for sure—they passed me so quickly. The car hit that parked car over there, then skidded to a halt. A big tall man got out of the front passenger side, then I heard the police siren and saw the police car coming down the road—”

  “Sorry to interrupt you, but can you describe the man who got out of the car?”

  “Not really. He had a mask on his face.”

  “When you say a mask, do you mean a balaclava?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Did this man have a gun?”

  Abby nodded and trembled as she clutched Daniel to her chest.

  “When I was looking at the police car I heard some bangs and looked back down the road. I could see the man in the mask holding up a gun and shooting at the police car. I was terrified I might be shot and screamed, which made Daniel start to cry, then I heard a loud bang like a firework going off and saw the police car skid across the road towards me . . . I just managed to pull Daniel’s pram out of the way in time—the police car was inches from hitting him.”

  “Can you describe the gun, and which hand the man held it in?”

  “Only that it was black, and I think in his right hand.”

  “Do you know how many shots he fired?”

  Abby thought about it before answering.

  “Three, I think, but maybe four. It all happened so quickly I can’t be sure.”

  “Did you see anyone else with a gun?”

  “Yes, there was another person who got out of the car—his gun was longer, with two holes at the end.”

  Jane knew from the description that this man must have been holding a sawn-off shotgun, and what Abby thought was a firework going off was the shotgun being fired.

  “Can you describe him?”

  “No, he had a black mask on as well, but he was shorter than the man who shot at the police car.”

  “An officer in the crashed police car was on the radio at the time the shotgun was fired, and I heard the bang on our radio. It must have been terrifying for you to be in the middle of it all,” Jane said to console Abby.

  “It was, but I don’t think the man in the balaclava fired his gun.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Jane wondered if Abby was so frightened she’d become confused about what had happened.

  “I didn’t see him until after the police car crashed—so he must have got out of the car after that happened.”

  “What did the man with the shotgun do?”

  “He followed behind the man with the small gun, who was walking towards the crashed police car with the gun raised towards the policemen.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “The smaller man held his bigger gun towards the big man’s back. I think he said something as the mouth hole on his mask moved, but I couldn’t hear what it was. Then they got in the car and it drove off.”

  “What do you think made the loud bang you heard?”

  Abby shrugged and put Daniel in the pram.

  “I don’t know . . . Can I go now?”

  “I’ll need to speak to you again to take a more detailed statement, which you’ll need to sign. Can you give me your home phone number, please, then I can call you to arrange an appointment time?”

  Abby looked apprehensive. “Will I have to go to court and give evidence?”

  “Possibly, if we catch the men responsible for the robbery.”

  “No, I’m sorry, no way, I’m not giving evidence against people like that. My life and Daniel’s would never be safe.”

  “There’s ways we can protect you and make sure your details are not revealed. I’ll come and see you tomorrow, but in the meantime would you like me to get someone to contact your parents?”

  “No, I need to take Daniel to the doctor’s now.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?”

  “Yeah . . . I hope those two policemen that were in the police car are all right.”

  “I’m sure they will be, Abby. You can call me at work any time if you want to talk.”

  Abby frowned. “I won’t change my mind about making a statement.”

  “If you did, would you contact me if I give you my office number?”

  “I’ll think about it,” she replied with a big sigh.

  Jane was about to write it down on a bit of paper when she realized she didn’t know her new office number.

  “Can you hang on a minute and I’ll just get the number from one of my colleagues—?”

  “No, I gotta go to the doctor’s now,” Abby said as she walked off without looking back.

  Chapter Three

  As Jane watched the ambulance leave with the injured officers, she thought about the loud bang Abby had heard; if it wasn’t the sound of a shotgun, it had to be something else near the scene of the incident. As she walked towards the damaged house she noticed skid marks and bits of shredded car tire on the road. It reminded her of the time she was driving on the motorway and a tire on the car in front of her burst, leaving shredded bits all over the road. It struck her as unli
kely that a tire on a police car would suddenly blow out, especially as the vehicles were checked daily by a civilian garage hand, but she suspected a bullet penetrating a tire could cause a blowout.

  About eight meters past the crash site Jane saw a distinct skid mark veering from right to left across the road, which stopped just short of a parked car. She realized, from what Abby had told her, that the skid mark might have been caused when the getaway driver braked hard and came to an abrupt halt. She decided to inspect the area more closely and was walking towards it when she heard Kingston’s voice.

  “What are you doing, Tennison?”

  She turned around. “I was just following up on something a witness to the incident told me.”

  “As the DI in charge of this case I’d prefer it if you consulted me first, then I’ll decide what action should or should not be taken by my officers.”

  “Sorry, sir. I thought I might find some evidence for the investigation.”

  “Are you a forensics expert?”

  “No, but I’ve dealt with a number of murders and rapes during my service and have a good knowledge of major crime scenes—”

  “But no real experience with armed robbery scenes, firearms or GSR.”

  “No, sir.”

  She didn’t know what GSR was but didn’t want to appear uninformed by asking.

  “What did the woman you spoke to have to say?”

  Jane told him the woman was a young mother called Abby who had just turned seventeen. She got out her pocket notebook and started to brief Kingston on what Abby had told her, but he interrupted her again.

  “Did the girl see their faces?”

  “No, she saw two armed men get out of the car, but both were wearing masks. She’s a bright young girl and saw everything—”

  He interrupted again. “Is she willing to make a statement and give evidence in court.”

  “Not at the moment, but—”

  “Then she’s not a lot of use to us, is she?”

  “I think I could persuade her to make a statement, and we could always consider witness protection.”

  Kingston shook his head. “I’m not gonna waste time wet-nursing some kid with a baby. Move on and see if you can find an adult who saw what happened.” He started to walk off.

  “Something she said about the two men with guns was interesting—”

  Kingston spun around. “What part of move on don’t you understand, Tennison?”

  “Sorry, sir, I’ll see if there’s any adults who got a closer look than Abby did.”

  “Don’t be flippant, Tennison. I’ve heard a few stories about you—some good, some not so good. I don’t doubt your enthusiasm, or abilities as a divisional detective investigating murders—but when it comes to the Flying Squad you’ve a lot to learn. We’re a specialized close-knit unit, not just because of the work we do, but also the dangers we face together. As you can see from the carnage of this morning’s events, the villains we deal with don’t play games and they hate the police with a vengeance—to them the only good cop is a dead cop.”

  “I’m a quick learner and I believe I can be a positive addition to the squad, sir,” she said in her defense.

  “That remains to be seen. Everyone of sergeant rank and above served on the Flying Squad as a DC prior to promotion . . . unlike you. Right now, you’re the rookie, not to mention the first female officer we’ve ever had.”

  “I appreciate that, sir, but I don’t see my gender as a hindrance—”

  “Take my advice—if you want to fit in and get on, then best to just look, listen and learn for now.”

  Jane suspected he was being polite, and what he really wanted to say was to keep her eyes and ears open and her mouth shut.

  “Yes, sir, and thank you for the advice.”

  He forced a smile. “Good, and cut the ‘sir’ crap, please. It’s ‘guv’ or ‘guvnor’ when we’re on duty and ‘Stu’ in the pub.”

  The Colonel came over and spoke to Kingston.

  “Stanley just radioed in—no one’s been able to find the Cortina. Looks like the robbers have gone to ground.”

  Kingston sighed. “Any of the Woodville residents see anything?”

  “Uniform lads have knocked on all the doors and spoken to the people who gathered in the street. No one saw what happened here, though some heard the crash and bangs before it, which was probably the guns going off.”

  Jane wanted to say that Abby was the only witness, so trying to get her to make a statement would be beneficial, but she didn’t want to incur Kingston’s displeasure again. Kingston looked frustrated.

  “They probably had a changeover vehicle nearby. Get on the radio and instruct the uniform cars and foot patrol officers to check the local estates and back roads for the Cortina. Call Stanley as well and tell him to drop Dabs off here to deal with this scene.”

  “Shall I call a SOCO out to the bank scene if Dabs is coming here?”

  Kingston nodded and told the Colonel to make sure it was a senior SOCO who had experience of examining armed robbery scenes. Jane assumed the nickname “Dabs” must have originated from the police slang for fingerprints. She asked Kingston if she would be going to the bank with him and the Colonel to take statements, but he said no as he wanted her to help Dabs.

  “I take it you know how to fill in an exhibits book?” Kingston asked her.

  “I’ve done it a few times, but on big cases like murders the Lab liaison sergeant did everything.”

  “Well, we work differently on the Flying Squad, as time is of the essence at a crime scene. Dabs, our SOCO, is permanently attached to the team and one of our DCs always works alongside him at a robbery scene, helping to gather evidence and listing the exhibits. Even though you’re a DS it would be beneficial for you to assist Dabs on this case.”

  Jane said she’d be happy to assist Dabs and Kingston walked off toward the squad car.

  “Would you like me to brief Stanley when he gets here, guv?” she asked the Colonel.

  “No, he and his crew will be joining me at the bank to interview the Securicor guards and other witnesses there,” he said without looking back.

  She waited for him to leave and went to have a look at the area where the skid mark stopped just short of the parked car. As the sun broke through the clouds she noticed something glint by the side of the road next to the pavement. On closer inspection she could see it was a brass cartridge case, which must have come from the handgun the tall man had fired at the police car. Looking around she could see another cartridge case a couple of feet away, by the rear nearside tire of a parked car. Crouching down, she tilted her head to one side. Looking under the car, she could see two more cartridge cases. As she stood up and looked around she noticed two trails of blood drops, running between the skid mark and the middle of the road, where there were a number of drops confined to a small area, which meant the bleeding man had stood there.

  “This is a crime scene, ma’am, you shouldn’t be this side of the tape,” a male voice said.

  Jane saw a small man wearing glasses, whom she recognized as one of the passengers in the other Flying Squad car with Stanley. She knew he must be Dabs, as he was wearing latex gloves and carrying a scene of crime case and a camera over his shoulder. He was about five feet six inches tall, early thirties, with dark brown collar-length hair and long sideburns. He was dressed casually in a white shirt, blue jumper, gray trousers and black windcheater.

  Jane held out her hand. “I’m WDS Jane Tennison. I’ve just started on the Flying Squad today.”

  He shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Sarge. I’m Dave Morgan. DS Stanley mentioned you in the car earlier. We were all a bit surprised as no one knew you were joining the team—especially as you’re a woman.”

  “Well, speaking as a woman, the day’s been quite a surprise for me too,” she said, forcing a smile and wondering if his “woman” remark was intentionally derogatory.

  “Have you found something?”

  She point
ed to the two visible cartridge cases and told him there were another two under the car and blood drops on the road.

  “From what a witness told me, the skid mark there is where the Cortina stopped sharply, then a man with a handgun got out and shot at the police car. If he was injured the blood trails might have come from him getting out and returning to the car.”

  “Good spot, Sarge.” He got a swab out of his pocket and dabbed it in one of the blood spots and the end turned red. “And they’re fresh. I’ll take some photos and swabs of the blood. From the nearby position of the cartridges to the blood drops I’d say the gun was a semi-automatic. Do you know much about firearms forensics, Sarge?” he asked politely as he put his case down.

  Jane knew a semi-automatic pistol ejected cartridges each time it was fired, but six-chamber Smith & Wesson revolvers, which the Flying Squad used, didn’t.

  “A bit. I’ve dealt with major crimes involving guns, including a shooting murder scene—and post mortems where I assisted the lab liaison sergeant.”

  “Who was the lab sergeant?”

  “Detective Sergeant Paul Lawrence.”

  Dabs’s eyebrows raised. “He’s a legend when it comes to crime scene examination. I met him at a lecture he did at training school, but sadly never had the privilege of working alongside him.”

  He bent down and picked up one of the cartridge cases.

  “Looks like a nine-millimeter Parabellum,” he observed.

  “What’s a Parabellum?”

  “It’s a type of bullet cartridge and Parabellum is Latin, meaning ‘prepare for war,’ which is appropriate considering what happened here today.” Dabs showed her the base of the cartridge case. “See the markings on the bottom—that’s what we call the head stamp.”

  Jane looked closer and could see the number 43, ST+ and DNH. She asked what the numbers and letters meant.

  “The 43 is the year of manufacture, which is 1943. I’m not sure what ST+ means, but DNH is where the bullet was manufactured. However, the firearms section at the lab will be able to tell us more.”