by Graham Ison
‘Mr Fox, there’s no way—’
‘On the other hand,’ continued Fox relentlessly, ‘you could join the lads in the dock.’
‘But, Mr Fox—’
Fox held up a hand. ‘I haven’t finished yet. Tango Harris and five others claimed that they had a meal here on Friday the twelfth of October, at about seven thirty.’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps they did.’
‘I’m sure they didn’t, Morrie. And I’ll tell you why. You see, Tango — or perhaps one of his little friends — came here, probably on the Saturday following, to impress upon you that Tango had been here the night before. Now you must remember that, because I’m sure that they promised you violence if you forgot. But he wasn’t here that night, was he?’
‘He’ll kill me,’ said Isaacs.
‘Quite probably, but I have foreseen that, Morrie.’
‘You have?’
‘Oh yes. And in order to avoid that unfortunate situation arising, Morrie, I’m arresting you.’
‘What for?’ Isaacs paled and started picking at the edge of the tablecloth.
‘Shall we say conspiracy to pervert the course of justice?’
‘That’ll never stick.’
‘Possibly … but something will, Morrie.’
*
‘It’s all highly irregular, Mr Fox,’ said the Crown Prosecution Service solicitor. ‘And I’m not sure that we’ll be able to manage it anyway.’
Fox lit a cigarette and blew smoke round the office to the obvious displeasure of the young lawyer. ‘I’m not asking for much,’ he said. ‘The Crombies, Adams, and Baker are up before the beak tomorrow — first remand — and I can see no reason why they can’t be committed for trial at the Crown Court straight away. Then I can get on with frying my bigger fish. Oh, and no bail, of course.’
‘But there are no grounds for opposing bail, Mr Fox.’
‘Yes there are,’ said Fox. ‘They’re villains and may interfere with witnesses. Apart from which, other more serious charges may follow,’ he added ominously.
‘Such as?’
‘How does murder grab you?’
The solicitor shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘The defence are bound to ask for more time to prepare their case.’
Fox scoffed. ‘Defence? They haven’t got one. We nicked them bang to rights.’
The CPS solicitor winced.
Chapter Eleven
Fox’s plan to catch his fish one by one started with his decision to put a twenty-four-hour surveillance on the four villains known to be members of Tango Harris’s gang. It was demanding of manpower, but the result would, in Fox’s opinion, be well worthwhile.
Now that Billie Crombie was dead and his two sons were in custody, Harris believed he had a clear run at the lorry-hijacking business. But he had calculated without the Flying Squad, doubtless encouraged by the fact that Fox had appeared unable to make a charge of murdering Gina West stick. In other words, he had become cocky … which was exactly how Fox had planned it. Consequently, teams of detectives kept watch on Royce, Guerrini, Quincey, and Nelson, waiting for them to strike.
It took two weeks.
Tango Harris didn’t know for certain that Fox had obtained permission to place an intercept on his telephone line, but he wasn’t prepared to chance it, and he drove from his house to a nearby telephone box. He knew that would be safe. The watching detectives, to whom he had the audacity to wave, couldn’t tell who he was calling, obviously … but they had a damned good idea. Fox hadn’t hoped to learn anything from watching Harris, of course, and had mounted that blatantly overt observation just to annoy him.
Two days later, at ten o’clock at night, Fox’s strategy was rewarded when Harris’s four villains assembled at a warehouse in Greenwich. Ten minutes later a Ford Granada drove out, followed by a Vauxhall Carlton, and the registration numbers of each were quickly checked on the police national computer. The Ford’s number was allocated to a motorcycle in Exeter, and the Vauxhall should have been a motor-mower owned by the Department of the Environment for use in the Royal Parks.
‘Those bastards don’t deserve to succeed, Joe,’ said DS Buckley. ‘They obviously don’t know anything about computers.’
‘They’re getting cocky, skip,’ said DC Bellenger.
The two cars, travelling within the speed limit, made for Shooters Hill Road and then turned south on to the Rochester Way.
‘You know what this team’s up to, don’t you, Joe?’
‘Yeah. Nicking lorries.’
Buckley grinned in the dark interior of the car. ‘It’s the method, Joe. The idea is that if they pick off a lorry making for the Dover ferry, no one will notice it’s gone until it doesn’t get there … if you see what I mean. Gives them time to get to the slaughter, unload, and make tracks.’
Numbers Three and Four teams of the Flying Squad — Gilroy’s and Evans’s — had been alerted by radio to the movement and were rapidly closing on the two cars containing the four robbers. About half a mile past Falcon-wood railway station, the Granada and the Carlton fell in behind an articulated lorry clearly heading for Dover. The leading car — the Granada — flashed its headlights three times and the lorry pulled into a lay-by, to be followed by the Granada and the Carlton.
‘The driver’s in on it,’ said Buckley. ‘They’re not tooled up.’
Sure enough, the four villains had alighted from their cars without any weapons.
Within seconds, eight Flying Squad cars had stopped, completely blocking the carriageway, and more than thirty detectives — and their drivers — had leaped out and surrounded the lorry.
Too late, the robbers realized their error. One of them, Guerrini, raced back to the Granada and was in the act of pulling out a sawn-off shot-gun when DC Bellenger hit him across the back of the neck with his truncheon. The remaining three, seeing that they were surrounded by a seemingly vast number of police officers, some of whom were holding pistols in an extremely menacing fashion, raised their hands.
‘You’re nicked, the lot of you,’ said Denzil Evans. ‘Attempted robbery.’
There are very few operations in the annals of the Criminal Investigation Department where there has not been a monumental cock-up of some description. And it was now that the latest one occurred. The driver of the artic, appreciating that something nasty was afoot, put his lorry into gear and pulled out of the lay-by, secure in the knowledge that any attempt by a Flying Squad car to stop him forcefully would be doomed to failure.
‘Attempting to rob what?’ asked Danny Royce, and laughed.
‘Jesus Christ!’ said Evans, which seemed to sum up the thoughts of all the Flying Squad officers present. His anguish was not alleviated when Danny Royce laughed again. ‘You just watch your bloody self, Royce,’ Evans shouted, his Welsh accent suddenly very pronounced. He turned to Buckley. ‘Why wasn’t there a car blocking that lorry?’ he demanded, adopting the usual police ploy of thrashing about for someone else to blame.
‘Wouldn’t have done much good, guv,’ said Buckley.
‘Well don’t stand there,’ screamed Evans. ‘Get on the bloody radio and get the damned thing stopped. Tell Kent as well, in case he makes it over the border.’
In fact, the articulated lorry was stopped two miles down the road by a resourceful Traffic Division officer who had picked up the All Cars message. He overtook the vehicle in the Range Rover, tucked in front of it and then reduced speed, finally forcing the artic driver to slow right down and stop. His wireless operator advised the Flying Squad and the traffic men were soon joined by three Squad cars, one of which contained the irate Evans.
Evans leaped from his car and ran to the driver’s cab. ‘Come out of there, you bastard,’ he shouted.
The lorry driver dismounted. ‘What’s up, guv?’ he asked innocently.
‘Well, well,’ said Evans, recovering his composure. ‘Wayne Parish. What a coincidence.’
By now, DS Buckley, with the aid of the traffic officers
, had opened up the back of the lorry. ‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘Stacked full of personal computers.’
‘I thought you said they knew nothing about computers, skip,’ said Bellenger.
‘They were obviously hoping to learn,’ said Buckley.
*
Fox, who for once had decided not to interfere with the actual operation, could not resist joining in the interrogation. He had been delighted when he heard that Royce, Guerrini, Quincey, and Nelson had been arrested, along with Parish, and the following morning he made his way to Rochester Row police station in Westminster where the five prisoners were being held in the high-security accommodation there.
‘There’s one thing that puzzles me, guv,’ said Evans.
‘Only the one, Denzil?’ said Fox.
‘If Mr Dorman had got Parish under protective surveillance, how come there was nobody watching him when he got pulled with the lot we nicked?’
‘Simple,’ said Fox. ‘I told Mr Dorman to take it off. Sharon Scrope told me that Parish had worked as the inside man on the job where Frankie Carter was topped, but that might have taken a bit of proving. I therefore assumed, following that cock-up, that he had almost certainly been recruited by Tango Harris and I thought that we would wait until we caught him at it. And we did.’
‘Bit risky, though, guv, him having his lorry blagged twice.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Fox. ‘But not risky for Tango. Only for Parish. He’ll very likely get the sack,’ he added and walked through to the interview room.
Wayne Parish looked up when Fox entered. ‘I’ve got nothing to say,’ he said.
‘I have,’ said Fox. It was not going to be a long interview and he didn’t bother to sit down. ‘Apart from last night’s little fiasco, Wayne, dear boy, you are going on the sheet for conspiracy to murder one Frankie Carter who, you may recall, got nastily shot the last time your lorry got hijacked.’
Parish sat bolt upright. ‘That was nothing to do with me.’
‘Then why, I have repeatedly asked myself, did you say nothing about it when you were first interviewed? You may remember that I had to drag it out of you. Anyway, it’ll be something for you to dwell on in the confines of your flowery dell, won’t it.’ Fox strode to the door and paused. ‘On the other hand, you may feel inclined to tell me all you know about the activities of Tango Harris.’
‘That’s bloody duress,’ said Parish, by now thoroughly alarmed.
‘Yes,’ said Fox, ‘I do believe it is.’
*
Fox did not interrogate the four principals who had been involved in the great computer hijacking. He assembled them in the interview room and made them an offer. ‘Tango Harris is not best pleased with you lot,’ he began.
‘Who?’ they chorused.
‘Oh dear,’ said Fox. ‘He’d have done better employing the string quartet that used to play in Lyons Corner House.’
‘Nothing to say,’ said Guerrini, who had apparently appointed himself spokesman.
‘The situation is this, gentlemen … ’ Fox beamed at the prisoners. ‘Tango Harris is sitting in his luxurious drum at Buckhurst Hall, laughing like a drain. And if you think that he will send one of his best lawyers down here to defend you — which would be a waste of money anyway — you can think again. As things stand, I am mindful to charge you all with the murder of Gina West, Frankie Carter, and Billie Crombie. Mr Harris, of course, claims he had nothing to do with any of them.’
All four started talking at once, but Fox held up his hand. ‘You do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so,’ he intoned, ‘but what you say may be given in evidence.’
*
Detective Inspector Gilroy entered the warehouse at Greenwich and gazed around. ‘They’ve been well at it,’ he said.
‘Looks like Aladdin’s cave,’ said Fletcher.
‘Right, lads,’ said Gilroy to his team. ‘Get to it.’
One detective seated himself at a table and started to list the property which the warehouse contained. There were television sets and video recorders in profusion. There were cases of whisky, cartons of cigarettes, and a vast array of electrical goods. And a substantial amount of uncut cocaine. By the time they had finished, Gilroy reckoned that there must be close to half a million pounds’ worth of goods … and that didn’t include the drugs.
‘D’you know what, guv?’ said Fletcher, laughing. ‘I reckon this was Billie Crombie’s slaughter and they just took it over when they topped him.’
‘Could be right, Perce, but it’s not all that funny.’
‘Oh, but it is, guv. I can’t wait to see the Crombie brothers’ faces when we pop into Brixton and tell them.’
‘OK to banjo this, guv?’ DS Crabtree, Gilroy’s other sergeant, was standing by a metal cupboard secured with a large padlock.
Gilroy walked across and pulled at the padlock. ‘Yeah, give it a go, Ernie. Got the tools?’
‘Never go anywhere without them, guv.’ Crabtree walked out to the boot of his car and returned, seconds later, with a long case-opener. ‘That ought to do it,’ he said. Placing the tip of the jemmy in the hasp of the padlock, he wrenched hard. The padlock flew off and clattered on to the concrete floor.
Being careful to open it by its edge, Gilroy swung the door wide open. ‘Now there’s a sight for sore eyes,’ he said. Inside the cupboard was an arsenal of weapons. Several hand-guns were laid out neatly on a shelf above a row of shot-guns, the barrels of which had been shortened to an illegal length. But next to the shot-guns was a rifle with a telescopic sight. ‘That,’ said Gilroy, understating his find, ‘might be just what we’re looking for.’
The ballistics expert at the Metropolitan Police Forensic Science Laboratory was in no doubt. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is the weapon which was used to kill Billie Crombie.’
*
The sixteen-stone figure of Kevin Rix was tied securely to a chair in Tango Harris’s warehouse in Wanstead. He had put up a good fight when Alfie Penrose and a few other members of Harris’s gang had seized him outside a pub in Dulwich. But they had eventually subdued him and bundled him into the back of their van.
Now, looking both desperate and terrified, Rix strained against his bonds, all the time mouthing obscenities at his captors. His self-esteem was not helped by the fact that Penrose and company had divested him of all his clothes.
‘You wanna watch your mouth,’ said Penrose. ‘There’ll be a lady here in a minute.’
Rix’s only answer was a further string of profanities. Penrose laughed.
There was a sudden noisy commotion from immediately outside the warehouse before the door was opened to admit a further four members of Harris’s team carrying the struggling and gagged figure of Arlene Fogg. With obvious relief they tied her securely into a chair facing Rix, but on the other side of the warehouse.
‘If you bastards lay a finger on her—’ began Rix.
‘You’ll what?’ Tango Harris sauntered slowly out of the small office in one corner of the warehouse, drawing on a pair of leather gloves as he walked. ‘You and your boys have been damaging my property, Kevin,’ he said. He glanced over his shoulder. ‘You and the beautiful Arlene, that is. Done one of me video shops, ain’t you? Drove a bleedin’ van into it and set fire to it. Now I don’t call that friendly, Kev. Not at all friendly.’
There was a loud groaning noise as Arlene tried to shout through the sticking plaster over her mouth.
Harris ignored her. ‘Now I don’t like that sort of thing, Kevin,’ he continued. ‘And I don’t like Tommy Fox and the bleeding Heavy Mob breathing down my neck because someone’s topped one of Billie’s bloody toms, neither. ’Specially when they try to put it down to me.’
‘That video job wasn’t down to me,’ said Rix. ‘And Billie never topped the tom.’
‘No? Well, who was it down to, then?’
‘Haven’t a clue,’ said Rix.
Harris turned to Penrose and nodded. Penrose struggled across the warehouse with a small portabl
e generator and taped two bare wires from it to Rix’s genitals. At a further signal from Harris, he started to wind the handle.
Rix let out a scream and arched in his chair. ‘Bastards!’ he yelled from between his clenched teeth.
Harris gestured for the torture to stop. ‘Who torched my video shop, Kev?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know.’
Harris nodded and the power began to flow again, Penrose winding the handle more vigorously.
‘All right, all right,’ shouted Rix, the sweat rolling down his face. ‘It was Gary and Kenny and a couple of others.’
There was a further loud groaning from Arlene that sounded very like a protest of some sort. Harris grinned at her and then turned back to Rix. ‘Was it really? Well, that’s very satisfactory, Kevin. So glad you were able to help.’
‘You bastards.’
Harris walked across to Arlene. ‘If I have any more bother from your little firm,’ he said, ‘you’ll be the one getting that treatment next time. So be warned. But just to show that we’re into equal opportunities here, we’ll give you a little something to take home.’ Harris walked across to the corner of the warehouse and picked up a hose. ‘Stand her up,’ he said. Then turning the water on full, he saturated Billie Crombie’s common-law widow from head to foot.
Harris threw down the hose with a laugh. ‘Take the lady home,’ he said and watched as Arlene was dragged out to the van that had brought her to Wanstead from Catford. Then he walked across to Rix and stared at him for a moment or two. ‘Randy,’ he said without looking away.
‘Yes, Mr Harris.’ Randy Steel, a tall, gangling black man, detached himself from the wall he had been leaning on and strolled over.
‘Kill him,’ said Harris and peeled off his gloves.
*
‘The situation is this,’ said Fox, gazing round the conference room. ‘So far, we’ve nicked the two Crombie brothers, together with Adams and Baker. They can have the LF job, at the very least. But I’ll be disappointed if we can’t find evidence of further wrongdoing on their part. We also have Morrie Isaacs in custody, more for his own good than ours. And we have the computer cowboys, Messrs Royce, Guerrini, Quincey, Nelson, and Parish.’ He perched on the table at the front of the room and lit a cigarette. ‘The ballistics man has tied in the rifle that Jack Gilroy found with the murder of Billie Crombie. But there’s a snag there. It seems likely that the slaughter where it was found could have been Billie Crombie’s. And that means that either the Crombie brothers could have blown their old man away, or Tango Harris’s mob did so after they’d taken it over. Or at least, put the rifle there after they took it over. Either out of carelessness … or to fit up Gary and Kenny Crombie.’
