“Can you ask him to come and see me when he reappears?”
“Will do.”
The sergeant went back to making his enquiries.
Returning to the garages, Jane saw the crew manager helping his colleagues reel in the hoses they had used to put out the fire.
“Are you off now?” she asked him.
“Yes, we’re all done here. I’ll type up my report when I get back to the station and get it delivered to you. Sorry, I forgot your name,” he said, taking out a pocket notebook and pen.
“Detective Sergeant Jane Tennison—two n’s and one s.”
“Do I address the envelope ‘The Sweeney’ or ‘The Flying Squad’?” he asked, trying to be funny.
“Flying Squad, 12 Rigg Approach, which is just off Lea Bridge Road.”
“I loved that TV series, The Sweeney. I don’t recall any policewomen working on the squad with Regan and Carter—they were right hard nuts who loved giving the villains a slap. Is it like that in real life?”
Jane ignored his remark.
“Can you tell me if the garage door was locked or unlocked when you got here?” she asked, recalling what the uniform sergeant had told her.
“I don’t know, we used some hooks attached to a winch to pull it from the frame. Hang on a minute.”
He walked over to the burnt and buckled garage door, which had been placed up against a high brick wall, and examined the lock.
“I’d say it was locked—”
“Are you sure?” she asked him, realizing the investigative importance of his observation.
“Reasonably. Then again, it could have been unlocked and ripping it off somehow re-engaged the lock. Either way I can’t be certain and I’ll have to say the same in my report.”
As the crew manager left, Jane checked the garage door for herself but couldn’t tell if it was locked or unlocked as the metal pulley wire that would have been attached to it had been ripped off. She called out to Dabs, who was examining the interior of the car, to join her.
“Can you remove the lock from the garage door?” she asked as he approached.
He lifted the door from the wall, so he could see the exterior and interior mechanism of the lock.
“It’s held in place by rivets that will need to be broken off with a hammer and chisel.”
“Don’t damage the lock—”
“I’ll get the traffic officer to help me as he’s got the right tools for the job, but why do you need it?”
“It might be useful if we arrest a suspect and find a key that fits it.”
Dabs grinned. “Bit like Cinderella and the shoe . . . I have to say, Jane, you’re a good lateral thinker.”
“Like I said before—Paul Lawrence taught me well.”
“I doubt that it’s all down to him.”
“Where’s PC Turner gone?” she asked, looking around.
“He’s on his car radio about the chassis plate. He’s really into his work and it’s actually quite interesting how much a chassis plate can tell you. He managed to clean a lot of the burn damage off and used . . . Actually, ask him to show you how he got the details from the plate—it’s quite simple but ingenious.”
Jane did as Dabs had suggested and Turner held up the chassis plate for her to see.
“A good rub down with a few chemicals allowed me to record some of the details, then to get the rest I used this.” He held up a lump of plasticine. “Although you can’t read some of the numbers and letters on the top side of the burnt plate, the original stamping leaves marks on the underside. I pressed it into this plasticine and got most of the numbers and letters missing from the top—simple but effective, don’t you think?”
“And I thought Play-Doh was just for kids.”
“Actually, I made this myself, with flour, water, salt, boric acid and mineral oil.”
“Have you got enough detail from the plate to identify the registration and owner?”
He handed her a bit of paper on which he’d written down the information on the chassis plate.
“The details provide information on things like the manufacturer, country of origin, body style, engine type, model year, assembly plant, and production number.”
“And the owner is—?” Jane asked, wanting him to get to the point.
“I’m waiting for Traffic Control to radio me back with that. There are eleven figures in the code, and the last six are a number unique to that vehicle, which control are checking out.” He pointed to the Cortina, then the chassis plate he was holding. “The first five figures break down like this. B is the country of origin, obviously Britain in this case. The second letter A is the assembly plant and the code for Dagenham. The next two numbers are for body and gear change type, then the following two are the year and month of manufacture, which is February 1976.”
“Oscar November two, from control, receiving . . . over?” a voice said over the traffic car radio.
PC Turner picked up the radio. “Oscar November two, receiving. Go ahead . . . over.”
“We’ve got a match to the chassis plate number. It comes back to a brown 1976 Mark 4 Ford Cortina sedan reported lost or stolen two weeks ago by a Mr. Frank Braun of 19 Mount Pleasant Road, Tottenham N17. He’s owned the vehicle from new.”
“Did you get all that?” the PC asked Jane, who nodded as she jotted down the details in her pocket notebook. “All received, control, out.”
She flicked back a page in her pocket notebook.
“The plate of the car seen outside the bank was SLM 273R, with a registered keeper in Sussex.”
“If, as it would seem, the burnt-out car is the one they used during the robbery, then they must have changed the plates to a matching Cortina just after the car was stolen. That way it wouldn’t come up as LOS if you did a check on it.”
She had already considered the possibility but didn’t say so.
“Thanks for your help, PC Turner. Identifying the owner of the Cortina so quickly is a step forward for the investigation.”
“There is something else of interest I noticed about the car I’d like to show you.”
“Certainly.” Jane followed him to the driver’s side of the vehicle.
“I examined what’s left of the car’s steering column and couldn’t see any signs that the ignition system was bypassed to steal it.”
“Do you mean it wasn’t hot-wired?” she asked.
“Yes. The plastic covering around the ignition barrel has melted in situ and that means it wasn’t removed, which you’d need to do to get access to the wires. To be sure, I cut away what was left of it and there were no signs that any of the wires connected to the ignition barrel had been cut or tampered with.”
“Are you saying the Cortina wasn’t actually stolen?”
“It’s possible, but you can easily start these types of cars by pushing a screwdriver into the ignition keyhole and turning it.”
“Has that been done in this case?”
“Because of the fire damage it’s hard to say without physically removing the ignition barrel.”
“You have my permission to do that.”
“Thanks, but I’ll need to take it back to the station where I can clean it up and take it to bits, so I can examine it under a microscope for any damage or screwdriver marks. Then I can give you a definitive answer.”
“That would be great, thanks. If it turns out the ignition is undamaged, then whoever was driving the Cortina must have had a key, which also suggests the owner of the car may have made a false report about it being lost or stolen.”
Chapter Six
Jane helped Dabs hold the garage door while PC Turner removed the rivets from the front of the lock.
“You should button up your coat. Your clothes are getting soot on them from the garage door,” Dabs told her.
She looked down and saw black streaks on her white blouse, blue jacket and skirt. She knew there was no point in trying to brush them off as it would only make the marks worse. She’d have to wait
until she got back to the station to try and clean them off.
“It’s about time the job issued some sort of protective clothing for this type of work,” she remarked.
“As Scene of Crime Officers, we’re issued with waterproof leggings and a coat, but they make you sweat so much it’s not worth the bother of wearing them. I always keep a change of clothes at work in case I get dirty at a crime scene.”
“As this is my first day on the squad I didn’t think to bring in any casual clothes.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Apart from the governors, no one dresses smart on the squad—it’s not the type of work where you want to stand out as a detective.”
“Do they have a women’s locker room at Rigg?”
Dabs laughed. “There’s a locker room, men’s toilets and a shower in the basement, as well as a small gym area with some weights, a punchbag and boxing gloves. Some of the lads like to keep fit with an early morning workout, especially the Colonel, as you probably noticed from his physique. Personally, I’m not into all that keep fit stuff. Snooker’s my sport and I play for the Met team.”
“No ladies’ toilets then?” she asked, not relishing the thought of sharing with the men.
“There’s a loo on the top floor that KP has labelled ‘ladies only.’ ”
“Who’s KP?”
“Katie Powell, the office clerk, also known as ‘Nuts.’ She thinks it’s because her initials are the same as the peanut brand, but some of the lads think she is nuts.”
“Why’s that?” she asked, deducing KP was the woman she’d spoken to over the intercom when she first arrived at the squad office that morning.
“KP’s pedantic about the office being neat and tidy, she checks every bit of paperwork to make sure it’s written up, filed and labelled correctly. If you’re one penny out on your weekly expenses claim, she’ll make you type the whole form out again instead of just using Tipp-Ex to correct the error. You’d think the money was coming out of her own bank account, not the Commissioner’s.”
“A good filing system isn’t a bad thing if you’ve got a big investigation running; it makes the paperwork easier to find.”
“Don’t get me wrong, she’s good at her job but likes to think she knows best all the time—and she’s a bit of an arse-licker around the governors.”
“How do you mean?”
“Yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir—especially with Kingston, who she worked for as the CID clerk when he was at Tottenham nick.”
“How long’s Kingston been on the squad?”
“Since he was promoted to DI, which was just over a year ago, but he was also a DC and DS on the squad before that. He’s as hard as nails, knows his stuff and is well respected. He was a good boxer in his day and won the Met’s Lafone Cup.”
“To be honest, I’m not into boxing. I don’t see the point in two men trying to knock each other out.”
“Are you the first woman to be attached to the Flying Squad?” PC Turner interjected.
“Yes, and no doubt you are amazed as everyone else seems to be—but please, I’m not in the mood for any more wisecracks about it.”
“Actually, I was going to say you’ve done well for yourself.”
Jane was surprised. “Oh, thank you—”
“My wife’s a WPC in the job at Plaistow on K division. She was in the Women’s Police before it became integrated with the men in 1973, so I know first-hand how hard it is for women to get on in the police force. She’s applied three times for the Advanced Driver Course and been turned down. I’m an advanced driver myself and have given her lessons, so I know for a fact she’s up to it, and as capable as any male drivers—it’s just prejudice because she’s a woman.”
Jane smiled. “I’ve no doubt you’re right, PC Turner.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I say give as good as you get. My wife does—even at home!” He laughed as he prised the garage door lock off and handed it to Jane. “Good luck with your investigation and I’ll ring your office in the morning with the result of my examination on the Cortina’s ignition barrel.”
She and Dabs thanked PC Turner for his help. As he left, the low-loader turned up to take the burnt-out Cortina to the car pound. While Dabs spoke to the truck driver, Jane decided to have a look in Selsdon and Felstead Road, to see if there were any parking restrictions and if the robbers could have parked a changeover car there.
As she walked off the estate into Blake Hall Road she noticed a four-storey block of flats opposite, called the Mallards, of which at least forty overlooked the entrance to Edgar House. Similarly, there was also Harley Court, next to the Mallards, which was a three-storey block of about forty flats on the corner of Blake Hall Road and Selsdon Road. She could see that some of the flats also overlooked part of Felstead Road and realized that the house-to-house enquiries would have to be widened, in case anyone in the other flats had seen the two men with a duffle bag or anything suspicious that might help the investigation. She made some notes in her pocket notebook to give PC Murray, beginning to wonder why he had been told by Kingston to organize the house-to-house enquiries.
Jane crossed over into Selsdon Road and saw there were fourteen garages at the rear of Harley Court, and none of them were numbered. She spoke to a middle-aged male resident she saw coming out of the rear of the flats, who said the council owned the garages and rented them out, some to people who didn’t even live in Harley Court. Jane made another note in her pocket notebook that this would also need to be followed up with the council, as any changeover car could have been left in one of these garages.
As Jane crossed Blake Hall Road towards Felstead Road she noticed the position of the bus stop, and an island in the middle of the road. She thought to herself that if the two men had parked a changeover car at the rear of Harley Court, they would have crossed the road before passing the bus stop and not been in the position they were when the elderly lady saw them. The first five meters on either side of Felstead Road had double yellow lines and then the parking was unrestricted. The sides and back garden fences of numbers 21 and 23 Blake Hall Road ran along Felstead Road for about thirty meters on either side, which meant that stretch of the road was not really overlooked, other than through a couple of side windows at 21 and 23 Blake Hall Road. Jane thought it seemed a likely place to leave a changeover car parked inconspicuously, as a short distance up the road there were rows of large semi-detached Edwardian style houses with driveways and street parking that was overlooked by the residents.
She remembered the sergeant mentioning the witness thought one of the men was smoking a cigar, and looked around for any recently discarded cigar and cigarette butts. There was no sign of any cigars, only a few butts from different cigarette brands that looked quite old.
“I thought you wanted me and my officers to do the house-to-house in Felstead Road.”
Jane looked up and saw the sullen-faced uniformed sergeant and three of his officers standing behind him.
“I do—I was just checking out the street to see what it was like for parking access as it’s possible the robbers had a changeover car.”
“Some of my lads needed to get off home, so there’s just the four of us left to do the house-to-house until the late turn lads show up. It might take a bit longer than three hours’ overtime—”
She knew what he was after.
“All right, make it four hours, but just do as much as you can at Edgar House and the houses on this side of Blake Hall Road for now. I’ll need to speak to DI Kingston about extending the house-to-house to cover the flats at the Mallards and Harley Court. I take it you’ve finished at Edgar?”
“Not yet, and there’s been no reply at quite a few flats.”
“Did anyone say anything of interest or that’s worth following up?” she asked, wondering if the sergeant was being intentionally difficult.
“Nope—except for an old woman who saw the two men in Blake Hall Road.”
“I know, you already to
ld me about her. Did no one you spoke to know who owned garage 29?”
“Yeah, a lady one of the lads spoke to said she thought the man at number 40 owned it, but she hadn’t seen him about for a while.”
“Did anyone knock on his door?”
“I don’t know—”
Jane was amazed at the sergeant’s incompetence.
“You don’t know? Did you even bother to get a description of the man at number forty?”
“If you’d let me finish, I was going to say I told ADC Murray about him—”
“It’s PC Murray. Where is he now?”
He held up a blue folder. “I don’t know. If I did I’d have given him these completed house-to-house forms.” He handed Jane the folder. “I’m not responsible for Murray. He’s on your squad—so you are . . . Unless there’s anything else I can help you with, I’ve work to do.”
Jane was getting frustrated by his nonchalant attitude. She looked at her watch and saw it was nearly two o’clock.
“Seeing as the late shift officers should be here soon, we’ll make that two hours’ overtime, Sergeant. Just do the houses in Blake Hall Road—late shift can do Felstead and Selsdon.”
As she walked off towards Edgar House, a disgruntled PC shook his head.
“Well done, Sarge. A poxy two hours’ overtime is hardly worth the effort.”
Approaching Edgar House, Jane could see Murray sitting in the squad car. She tapped on the window, but he wafted the radio mike in his hand at her to indicate he was talking to someone. She went around to the passenger side, and as she got in the car she recognized DI Kingston’s voice over the radio.
“Well done, Cam—the lads have finished taking the statements from the Securicor crew, so we’ll head back to Rigg. Tell Tennison to get the uniform lads to continue with the house-to-house for now and I’ll decide what more needs to be done down there after the office meeting.”
“Will do, Guv . . . out.”
“What was that about?” she asked, wondering why Kingston said she was to speak to the uniform officers.
“The woodentop sergeant was getting a bit stroppy with me giving him orders, so the Guv thought it’d be better if you spoke to him.”
The Dirty Dozen Page 7
