The Dirty Dozen

by Lynda La Plante

  “Can you fucking believe it? Going to the wedding with Carl Winter? Either she’s mad or she thinks I am.”

  Murphy slugged down a mouthful of whisky and offered the bottle to Kingston. Kingston filled his glass.

  “She’s got plenty of spunk, that’s for sure.”

  “It’s not funny, Stewart. I’ll admit she’s better than I ever imagined she’d be and as tenacious as hell, but she acts on impulse without thinking about the consequences.”

  “Tell me about it . . . But letting her go to the wedding might not actually be a bad idea.”

  “Whose side are you on?” Murphy scowled.

  “Yours, of course, Guv. But don’t go cutting off your nose to spite your face. Pulling her out of the cafe is going to look suspicious if the Ripleys turn up again and find she’s not there.”

  Murphy had to admit he was right.

  “For fuck’s sake, get Cam to ring her and tell her to get her pinny out again.”

  Jane decided on a pastel floral midi-dress, which had a pleated skirt and loosely nipped-in waist. She chose a chunky brown belt to go with it, and a blue jacket as there was a slight nip in the air. She knew if she’d managed to tell Murphy about the drink with Carl he’d have said no to that too, but Murphy hadn’t given her the chance. She was on thin ice, but her anger had made her reckless.

  Leicester Square was busy, with a crowd of people outside the Empire Ballroom watching some street entertainers doing a juggling act. She looked at her watch: it was nearly 7:45 p.m. and she wondered if Carl wasn’t going to show up, then about fifty meters away she saw him jogging towards her. He was smartly dressed in a blue blazer, white open-neck shirt, black trousers and black ankle boots.

  “I’m really sorry, I had to get a bus, and then it got stuck in traffic.”

  He was out of breath and Jane could see a few drops of perspiration on his forehead.

  “It’s all right, I’ve only just got here myself.”

  “You look lovely,” he said with a nervous smile.

  “Thank you, and you look very smart too.”

  “Would you like to go for a drink or something to eat?”

  “I’m quite hungry as it happens.”

  “Anything you especially like?”

  “I love Chinese.”

  “Well, we’re spoilt for choice with Chinatown around the corner.”

  “Let’s go then,” she said, slipping her arm into his.

  “Did you have a busy day at work?” she asked as they walked up Wardour Street.

  “Same as usual, really: running errands for my stepfather George, picking up car parts and working in the garage.”

  “Are you a mechanic, then?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How long have you been doing that?”

  “Since I left school at sixteen. George owns a car sales showroom and his mate Smudge runs the repairs, servicing and inspection side of it. If you’ve got a problem with your car, whatever it is, I can fix it for you.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “Shall we try this one?”

  He pointed to the Lotus Garden.

  Inside, the waitress led them to a table for two and Carl pulled out a chair for Jane to sit on before gently easing it forward. Carl ordered a pint of lager and Jane said she’d have a half. They looked through the menu in silence as the waitress served their drinks.

  “Cheers,” he said, raising his glass.

  “Cheers.” She clinked her glass against his.

  “Do you want to choose your own or have a set meal for two?” asked Carl.

  “Meal B looks good to me.”

  “Some crispy duck pancakes to start?”

  “My favorite!”

  He called over the waitress and she took the order.

  “So, you’ve just started at Nick’s cafe?”

  “I’m only there for a week or so, just helping out until he gets a new waitress.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame. What do you do otherwise?”

  “I work for my father as his secretary. He’s an accountant, but I used to do waitressing during my school holidays.”

  Carl made a sour face. “I hope he’s nicer than my stepfather.”

  “I have to say, I didn’t like him. He was really rude, and I thought the way he spoke to you in front of me was appalling.”

  “He does it all the time, he’s an ignorant bully.”

  “Why don’t you work somewhere else?”

  “I can’t afford to just now. He bought a shitty one-bedroom flat to get me out of the house and charges me a nominal rent to live there. I’ve been saving every penny I can as I’d like to start a garage of my own, or maybe buy a van and do mobile servicing and repairs.”

  “That’s a brilliant idea.”

  The waitress served the crispy duck.

  “Tuck in.”

  He offered Jane a pancake.

  The food was delicious, and Carl behaved like a perfect gentleman. There was a part of her that felt bad about what she was doing, but it was her job. Now Jane knew Carl disliked George, she wondered if he would say more that might be useful.

  “Your uncle Tommy seemed a bit nicer.”

  “He’s OK, but him and George are as thick as thieves, like my father and Smudge, which is another reason I want to get away from the garage.”

  “You make it sound like they’re up to no good.”

  He hesitated for a moment. “George and Smudge were in prison together.”

  “What for?” she asked, feigning surprise.

  “I didn’t know at the time, but I later found out it was for robbing a jeweler’s. I was seven when George went in and fourteen when he got out. Prison changed him. He was a bitter man and I was on the wrong end of his anger on a regular basis.”

  “He beat you up?” Jane asked, genuinely shocked.

  He nodded, clearly disturbed by the memory. “Usually with a leather belt and sometimes his hands. It stopped when I was about eighteen, but the verbal abuse didn’t.”

  “Did your mother know what he was doing to you?”

  “Yes, but he also knocked her about, just not as often. She told him to stop or she would leave—but in the end she likes the good life too much: nice car, big house and plenty of money.”

  “Does he hit your sister?”

  “God, no, he treats her like a princess. What Tina wants, Tina gets.”

  “If he was in prison how did he end up doing so well for himself?”

  “I don’t know, and I definitely don’t ask. George likes to make out he’s the bad boy done good, but once a criminal, always a criminal, I reckon. He sells high-end second-hand cars like Jags, Mercs and BMWs. I’m pretty sure Smudge clocks the mileage. I’ve seen people hand over cash when they buy them.”

  Jane wondered if other criminals were laundering the proceeds of their crimes by paying cash for George’s cars.

  The waitress served them their set meal of chili beef, chicken with cashew nuts, stir-fried vegetables and egg fried rice. The food was so good they didn’t talk much as they ate. Jane was already convinced that Carl was nothing to do with the robbery or part of the gang. He clearly suspected the Ripley brothers and Smudge were still committing crimes, but for his own self-preservation turned a blind eye to it and didn’t ask questions. She wanted to probe Carl more and ask about Tommy’s snooker hall to see if he knew anything about Aidan O’Reilly, but worried she might be pushing her luck and making him suspicious.

  Jane changed the subject to daily life, and as they spoke about films and sports they liked she realized they had a lot in common. They had another drink and spent nearly two hours in the restaurant. He seemed much more relaxed when he wasn’t speaking about his family, and had a sharp sense of humor. When the waitress gave Carl the bill, he insisted on paying and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “Would you like to go for a drink somewhere?”

  “I’d love to, but I’ve got to be up early and be at the cafe by seven.”

>   “How are you getting home?”

  “On the Tube from Charing Cross.”

  “I’ll walk you to the station.”

  He got up and removed her jacket from the back of her seat and helped her put it on.

  As they cut through Leicester Square a busker playing a guitar was singing “Lyin’ Eyes” by the Eagles. Carl took some change out of his pocket and dropped it in the busker’s guitar case.

  “That song reminds me of my last girlfriend.”

  The song, about a woman who cheats on her husband, also hit a nerve with Jane. She wasn’t cheating on Carl, but she was certainly lying, and her smile was a thin disguise to get information out of him. As they walked to the station, Jane wondered if she should make an excuse and tell him she couldn’t go to the wedding. Standing him up on the day would be really hurtful. She had to remind herself that, nice bloke though he seemed to be, she was doing this to help catch the robbers.

  “Would you like to go out again before the wedding?” he asked.

  “Sorry, I’ve got to do some typing and filing for my dad in the evenings. He was a bit miffed that I went out tonight, actually.”

  “Sure, I understand.” He took a bit of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Jane. “I did a little map of where the wedding and George’s house are. The service starts at three. I could come over and pick you up—”

  “It’s fine, I’ll make my own way to the church and meet you there,” she said, forcing a smile.

  He leaned forward, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and nervously stepped back.

  “Thanks for a lovely evening, Jane.”

  He turned around and walked away.

  Jane put her hand on her cheek where he’d kissed her. She didn’t feel offended; it was a nice gesture. Part of her wanted to call out to him to stop, so she could tell him the truth, but she knew it was too late for that.

  Sitting on the Tube to Baker Street, Jane felt miserable. What she’d thought would be nothing more than a fact-finding evening had turned into something she’d never expected. Once she’d stopped trying to get information out of him and relaxed, she’d found herself genuinely enjoying Carl’s company.

  You really know how to mess things up when it comes to men, don’t you? she thought to herself wryly.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It was Tuesday morning and the surveillance operation was up and running again from 6 a.m., with all officers in their allocated positions. All the suspects left their premises and went straight to work, arriving at about the same time as they had the previous day.

  Jane got a call from Cam at 6 a.m., telling her that Kingston had persuaded Murphy to put her back in the cafe. Cam also said he’d tried to contact her the previous evening but she must have been out.

  Driving to the cafe, she couldn’t stop thinking about her date with Carl and what a fool she’d been to go over Murphy’s head. She’d discovered nothing that might implicate the Ripleys in the Leytonstone or any future robbery, and clocking the mileage on motor cars was hardly a serious offence. There was no way she was going to tell Murphy what she’d done, and she hoped to God he never found out as he would undoubtedly throw her off the Flying Squad.

  She got to the cafe just after 7 a.m., and by 8 a.m. it was very busy. Rachel came in just after 9 a.m. and Jane slipped her a thank you note for her information while serving her. Neither of the Ripley brothers came to the cafe, but Carl unexpectedly walked in at midday.

  “Hi, I was just passing by and thought I’d drop this off for you. It’s an official invite to the wedding. I didn’t know your surname, so I just put Jane.”

  “Thank you. It’s a beautifully designed card.”

  “Like I said—only the best will do for Tina.”

  “Would you like something to eat and a drink?”

  “No, I can’t stop. I’ve got to pick up some engine parts and get them back to the garage. Thanks again for last night, I really enjoyed your company.”

  He leaned forward to kiss Jane’s cheek and she pulled her head away.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “It’s OK. It’s just that people are watching us and I’m quite shy about things like that.”

  “I understand, I won’t do it in public again,” he said, then walked out.

  Jane sighed. Reaching across a table to pick up a dirty plate, she knocked a half-full coffee cup, spilling some onto a customer’s lap.

  “Watch what you’re doing, you silly cow!”

  The young man grabbed a napkin and started wiping himself down.

  “I’m really sorry. It was an accident. I’ll get a clean cloth for you.”

  “These are my best jeans and you’ve fucking ruined them!”

  Nick strode over, a look of anger in his eyes, and picked up the young man’s plate of half-eaten food. Jane thought he was going to tell her off.

  “Getta out of my cafe!”

  “What for?” he asked.

  “No one a speak to my staff like that! Now vaffanculo.”

  Jane assumed that was “fuck off” in Italian. As the man walked to the door, Nick told him never to come back.

  “Thanks,” Jane said.

  “Is OK, accidents they happen, and I no like ignorant bastardi in my place.”

  The day passed without any movement by the suspects from their work, until they returned home at the same time as the previous evening. The phone taps were also uneventful, with most calls being made by a stressed Maureen Ripley trying to organize the wedding. The man in the camel hair coat had not as yet been seen or identified.

  Murphy wasn’t troubled. He knew that surveillance was often a long drawn-out waiting game, but he also knew Tommy Ripley needed money to pay his debts and George was greedy. He was certain they were planning something big after re-reading Jane’s report of what George said to Tommy after the man in the camel hair coat handed over an envelope.

  “. . . champagne and caviar for life.”

  Murphy was already aware that over the next few weeks several security vans in London would be transporting large amounts of money, some with over a million pounds in them. He strongly suspected one of them would be the Ripleys’ target, and they might already have done a recce of the place they would hit. He knew that surveillance was a waiting game, which required the utmost patience, but when the day came his team would be ready to pounce, without fear, and take the Ripleys and their gang down.

  It was Wednesday, April 30, and all the suspects went about their business as usual, arriving at work at the normal time, not making any suspicious detours or discreet phone calls. Although the members of Murphy’s team and officers from CO11 were feeling tired, they were buzzing with adrenaline, knowing that today could be the day.

  Murphy and the surveillance teams, working on a lone radio channel, were blissfully unaware when, at 11:30 a.m., six heavily armed members of the Arabs of KSA group stormed the Iranian embassy in South Kensington. The gunmen quickly overpowered the armed police officer guarding the embassy and took twenty-six hostages. They demanded the release of Arab prisoners in Khuzestan and their own safe passage out of the United Kingdom.

  Cam ran into Murphy’s office.

  “Guv, the shit’s hit the fan. The CO11 commander wants his officers back at the Yard right away.”

  “Why, what’s happened?”

  Cam explained about the embassy siege.

  Murphy picked up the phone.

  “We’ll see about that—I’m not having a bunch of towel heads ruin my operation.”

  It wasn’t long before a solemn-looking Murphy walked into the main office and spoke to Cam.

  “Stand the CO11 officers down and tell them to go back to the Yard.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes, apart from the CROPS officers. The Anti-Terrorist Squad want as much support as they can get to locate where the KSA cell were staying and anyone connected to them.”

  “What about the guys listening to the phones?”

  “Them a
s well. They’re going to put listening probes in the embassy walls, so they’ll be needed for that. Tell the rest of the team I want them to come back here for a meeting when the Ripleys get home.”

  “How are we going to man our OPs and carry out surveillance without CO11 support?”

  “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  He went to his office to think.

  When she’d finished at the cafe, Jane went to the Co-op in the High Street to speak to Emma Wilson.

  “Are you sure?” a doubting Emma asked.

  “Yes. I spoke to the PC myself after my colleague told me. Your Uncle Asil was never part of your father’s criminal activities. Some people thought he was and were out for vengeance for what your father had done to them. According to Customs and Excise, his current importation business is genuine and they don’t suspect him of being involved in any criminal activity.”

  “But he still abandoned us to save his own skin.”

  “Maybe he was worried about what might happen to him, or he feared for your and Rachel’s safety if he looked after you. It could be that he put you in the care of St. Cuthbert’s because he felt, at the time, it was the best thing to do.”

  “If he wants forgiveness, I can’t give it to him—not after all these years.”