The Black Widow

by Linda Calvey

  “My God!” he exclaimed. “You shouldn’t be carrying all that cash on you! You could get robbed!”

  Chapter 19

  On The Pavement

  1983-85

  The first time I held a gun, I forgot to breathe.

  Somehow, through all the years I’d been around them, I’d never actually touched one myself.

  My thinking was that it would be too real, make the whole robbery thing seem less of a joke, and more of a serious crime. Keeping my distance made it all seem like harmless fun, a case of “us against the law”, more of a Bonnie and Clyde set-up or a Robin Hood adventure. We stole from the wealthy banks and businesses, and though we didn’t freely pass it round, we considered ourselves as working class, and therefore entitled to squander rich people’s money.

  That all changed when I went to collect some shotguns for our next raid.

  We had the guns, now we had to keep them out of sight of Neil and Melanie, who were returning from my mum’s the next morning before we went out on the pavement.

  I put the bag onto the table. It was heavy. I took out one of them, its shortened body fitting into my left arm as I gripped the trigger and looked down the 18-inch barrel. The end had been sawn off, because no robber can walk around with a great big long gun. You’d be arrested before you got a chance to use it. It was an odd feeling, knowing Mickey had done this, knowing Brian and the boys would carry on doing this. It felt surprisingly normal, like a tool of our trade, but it had power. Already, I knew how to stand with it, how to hold it, the effect it would have on anyone looking down the wrong end of it. I shuddered and put it back. My mind was whirring. This was normal life, and the weirdest thing about it was that it didn’t feel strange.

  I knew that guns were a risky business, and we all hoped we’d never be forced to use them. The dangers they brought with them were driven home when I went out with Carl and Brian on a job one afternoon. While I headed home, Brian and Carl had gone back to the garage to dump the gear. We’d agreed to meet up at mine later.

  When the knock at the door came an hour or so later, I was surprised to see Carl standing there in the doorway, looking sheepish. He scratched the back of his head warily.

  “Bit of an issue, actually, Linda. I accidentally shot Brian.”

  “What?” My heart leapt out of my chest.

  “I tripped and my gun went off into his back. He’s fine, but there are pellets all over him. Can you come help me get ’em out?”

  Carl drove me back to Brian’s garage, where I spent the next few hours delicately picking shotgun pellets out of Brian’s bloodied back. They didn’t do any lasting damage, but it was a severe warning for all three of us.

  But not long afterwards, I decided that I would join the robberies and go out with a gun myself. It seemed like the logical next step. The first time I properly went on the pavement, it was just me and Brian. It was usually unimaginable to go out just the two of us without a driver, but this job was in such a quiet corner of London that we knew we would be ok. I wore my red wig and a balaclava, with two thick jackets to bulk up my small frame. The wool hood felt scratchy and hot against my skin. It was late evening, and Brian and I had chosen a little out-of-the-way place. I suddenly felt nervous as we packed up our gear and got in the stolen car. I’d planned many robberies, but this was different. I was going out and doing it myself. I wondered what Mickey would think of me, tooling up and preparing to carry on his legacy.

  “Come on,” Brian said, kindly. He could sense my hesitation. The journey passed in a blur of nerves and excitement.

  “Don’t you speak,” Brian ordered. I nodded. My mouth was so dry I don’t think I’d have managed a word anyway.

  I followed close behind him. My heart was thumping, literally beating against my ribcage. I was crossing a line. From this point there was no turning back, no pretence of innocence. It was me, Brian and the guns in our hands.

  “Nobody move! Give us the money. NOW!” Brian’s voice boomed.

  There was a brief moment of silence. Then someone, a woman, started screaming.

  I stood close, holding my gun up high to make sure the staff could all see it. The woman behind the counter, who was cashing up, said something, but I couldn’t make it out. I felt like a wild animal, on high alert, every sense quivering, ready for anything to happen.

  Brian stuffed the money into the bag until it was full. At that point, he signalled to me it was time to go. We turned and fled. It was as simple as that.

  The car was outside, though it was reckless to leave it unguarded. I jumped into the driver’s seat and started the ignition, every second feeling like a million years.

  “Come on, Linda, just keep hold of yerself. Let’s get home.”

  The engine fired, I crunched into first gear and we were off. I was dizzy with the adrenalin rush, but we made it back without a single siren following us.

  I couldn’t believe I’d done my first raid. It was a huge buzz, a hit. The feeling of holding a loaded gun and escaping with vast amounts of money was like nothing else I’d ever experienced. I understood everything now – the lure for Mickey, the promise of easy money – it all became crystal clear.

  Soon enough, we were joined by another contact of mine called Lee, and we had a solid group to choose from. The main players were still me, Brian and Carl, but we’d occasionally hire Brian C, Winston or Lee if we needed an extra man. Before I agreed to take anyone on, I had two questions to ask them.

  1. Are you prepared to carry a gun?

  2. Are you prepared to use it?

  If the answer to either of those was no, they couldn’t work with me. I already had this group of six blaggers, and we all trusted each other, so we were well set for any job.

  So I was infuriated one day when the others recruited a new man without consulting me. I came home from the shops to find Brian, Carl and Lee in deep conversation. We were in the middle of planning a four-person job, and, unknown to me, Lee had asked Brian and Carl if his brother, a market trader, could come along on this job. Lee’s brother was having a hard time, and was in danger of having his house repossessed, so he needed a bit of extra cash.

  Brian and Carl had agreed before I knew a thing about it. They told Lee that, as it was only a four-person job, one of them would drop out to make way for Lee’s brother.

  I was incandescent. “That’s not how it works! We need to know who this guy is, whether we can trust him! How can you go out on the pavement with a man you don’t know?”

  Brian and Carl apologised, but insisted they had already agreed it with Lee, so couldn’t go back on it now.

  I couldn’t believe my ears. “Fine,” I snapped, staring at them. “But if that’s how you feel about it, you can do the job yourselves. I’m sitting this one out. You four can get on with it yourselves.”

  Then another thought occurred to me. “Is he prepared to carry a gun?”

  “Yes, of course,” Lee said with absolute confidence.

  I steered well clear of the rest of the planning for that job, but on the day of the robbery my curiosity got the better of me. I knew the target was a security van in Hornchurch, and there was a little café opposite that I knew and liked. So I headed there to watch the action unfold from across the street. I ordered a cheese sandwich and a coffee and sat by the window.

  After a while, I saw Lee’s brother stationing himself in the shadows, holding a small old-fashioned shopping bag, the sort we used to hide guns in. He looked nervy and I was instantly glad I wasn’t in on the job with them. I felt vindicated already. Carl was waiting in the car over the road, while Brian and Lee were poised nearby with their guns at the ready to cover Lee’s brother and the cash.

  As the guard came out with the money, the security van pulled up. Lee’s brother leapt out, but he wasn’t carrying a gun. I couldn’t believe it. Was he trying to rob a bank with his bare hands? I wa
tched, wide-eyed, as he charged towards the security guard and swung the bag up into the air. It hit the guard squarely in the side of the head, and I looked on incredulously as the guard stumbled backwards dizzily and dropped the bag. Lee’s brother snatched it up and dashed back to Carl’s car, and Lee and Brian leapt in as they raced off.

  When I got back to my house about half an hour later, I still couldn’t work out what on earth had happened. Where was the gun? If it was in that bag, what had Lee’s brother been playing at? Soon enough, they all turned up at my door.

  I ushered them quickly into the house, slammed the door and spun round on Lee’s brother.

  “What the hell happened there then?” I asked. I told them I’d been sitting in the café opposite, and had seen it all.

  Lee’s brother spoke up. “We got away with the money, here it is, let’s split it up.”

  I stared fiercely at him. “Not until you explain yourself.”

  He looked at the ground. “I lost my nerve, I didn’t want to take the gun with me. So I just left it at home and put a brick in the bag instead. I thought I could just as well take the guard out with that.”

  I could hardly contain my rage. I looked hard at Brian and Carl. “Now d’you see why I don’t let just anyone join in?” I spat. “If something had gone wrong, this have-a-go hero would have put you all in danger.”

  Lee’s brother sheepishly agreed, saying it was the worst experience of his life and he didn’t know how any of us could do it for a living. He haughtily declared that he would never do it again. It was already clear to me that he’d certainly not be working with us again. On the plus side for him, though, he was able to get his mortgage and bills sorted, and had even made enough from the robbery to take his family on holiday to Spain for a week. So he couldn’t have too much to complain about.

  Ron hadn’t forgotten me or my promises to him. I dreaded going to see him. He kept asking me how I was managing money-wise, and each time I told him not to fret, I was fine.

  Lying to Ron wasn’t usually an easy task. Despite his prison garb, his reduced circumstances, he was still a powerful man, and I had no way of knowing how far his influence stretched outside of prison. But he didn’t question me any further about my financial position, and I didn’t care to tell him.

  I’d kept my relationship with Brian a secret, but we were living together now, and I was very aware, each time I was with Ron, that it would only take a wrong word or a clumsy lie to expose the truth about our “friendship”. Ron was a possessive, controlling man. He would never have given me licence to see anyone else, especially his oldest friend. I was taking a huge gamble, but I’d found happiness with Brian and I was of the opinion that what Ron didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

  He also didn’t know I’d bought myself a posh new home. That was another secret I had to keep. I had sold the Hornchurch house opposite Brian C, and bought a beautiful three-bedroom mock Tudor home in Squirrels Heath Road, Harold Wood. I bought it entirely with the money I’d made from robbing.

  Everything was going my way. Ron was still in the dark about how I was funding my extravagant lifestyle, and who I was spending it with, and I finally had a house of my own that my children loved. Neil and Mel had settled into the local schools, and seemed happy too. We had an au pair and a gardener. They adored Brian, and he loved them back.

  Funnily enough, it was Mel who almost exposed the web of deceit that I had created. Mel was 13 years old and already a bit of a livewire. One Saturday, when Neil was only 10, I asked him, “Where’s your sister? I can’t find her and I need to speak to her about school.”

  Neil looked up at me, his gorgeous brown eyes so innocent, and replied, “She gave me this, she’s gone to buy toys.” He held up £50, and I nearly fainted.

  “She’s done what, darlin’?” I repeated, thinking he was making up stories.

  “She found all the money under your bed and she’s gone to buy toys.” The room really did swim at that point.

  Mel had found the £2,000 stash of stolen money I’d hidden under my bed. I had to think fast. I was frantic with worry, and had no idea where Mel had gone.

  Half an hour later, the phone rang. It was the police. 13-year-old Mel was at Romford police station. The hotel she’d booked into had naturally wondered why such a young girl would book in with lots of cash. They had called the Old Bill, though not before they’d accepted the booking and taken payment! I went straight there, my story ready in my head.

  “I’ve been savin’ for a whole year to take us on holiday,” I wailed to the copper on duty, “and now it’s been spent. Mel, how could you do that to me?” I pretended to break down in sobs. “It’s my own fault, I should never have hidden that money.”

  Mel was distraught by now. “Can I at least keep the toys?” she begged as we left the station. She’d been to Hamleys with some friends, and spent a fortune on toys and games without anyone from the store saying a word to her.

  “No, you can’t,” I said. “They’re goin’ to a children’s hospice to teach you a lesson.”

  When I told Brian what had happened, he was appalled. “You can’t fob her off like that, Linda. You’ve got to tell her where that money really came from.”

  I realised he was right. I’d been so worried about the police not believing me and finding out the real reason why I had so much money in cash in my house, I’d forgotten the impact my lies might have on my daughter.

  That night I sat Mel and Neil down.

  “This isn’t easy to tell you,” I started, “but that money wasn’t me savin’ for a holiday. It was there because your mum does what your dad used to do…”

  There was silence as they both took in what I was saying.

  Mel was the first to speak. “You mean, you’re a bank robber?” She said the words slowly, like she was still catching up with her own thoughts.

  “Yes, darlin’, and what you did could’ve got me locked up and put in prison.”

  “Does Brian do it? And Carl and Brian C?” Neil said.

  “Is that why you’ve got all them wigs?” Mel chipped in. Upstairs in a special cupboard in my wardrobe, I had a blonde afro, a long red wig, a dark brown shoulder-length one, and different pairs of glasses and scarves.

  Both were giggling now. They saw it as a joke. I think we all did.

  But I had to keep a straight face. “Yes it is, and yes they do,” I replied.

  Little Neil shrugged. “I knew already, Mum. Last week, I came in from school and Carl was playin’ with a gun in the lounge. He told me not to tell ya. And you ’ave different cars out the back and Carl changes the number plates, I’ve seen him.”

  I looked at Neil, stunned. He really did know what was going on. Brian and Carl were stealing cars, changing their plates and using them as getaway cars. I’d sometimes point out a car to Brian as a likely target. One night we were coming out of Hornchurch station and there was a single car at the far end. “Go and get that one,” I said to him. He walked over, got his keys out and managed to open the door, but instead of jumping in, he slammed it shut and ran back in a fluster.

  “Oh my God, what’s happened?” I asked, perplexed. It was a perfect target, solitary, abandoned for the night most likely.

  “There’s a couple havin’ sex on the back seat! Quick, drive off before he gets his trousers on!”

  Another time, Carl was getting a van ready for a raid, when his bank manager neighbour leant out of one of his upstairs window and called down that he’d been looking for him, because he wanted to ask a favour.

  “Could you take a mattress down to the tip for me?” the bank manager asked.

  Carl thought of every excuse under the sun not to do it. He tried to keep the bank manager as far away as possible from the stolen van, which still had one of its original number plates and one fake one that didn’t match. But the bank manager insisted that he should come al
ong and help Carl – it would only take a few minutes.

  Carl was sweating through his shirt as he drove this man and his mattress to the dump. The van had only been stolen that day, the number plates didn’t match, and it was an absolute no-go to drive around in a stolen vehicle so soon after taking it. But off they went, bank manager and bank robber side by side.

  Later, the bank manager said to me, “Oh Linda, never get in a car with Carl. He drives so fast!”

  Carl and I had a good laugh about it afterwards. “I had to drive at record speed,” he said, “because if that number plate at the front was clocked by police, I’d have been nicked!”

  Normal life had become completely abnormal, but we were too far in to realise. We stopped hiding the preparations for the robberies from the kids. Every time we went out on a raid, the men would do their good luck rituals, just like Mickey used to do. Mickey always used to keep a £10 note in his pocket to make sure he could get home – it was his “lucky note”. They had found it stained in his blood in his pocket when he died. One of Brian’s more peculiar rituals was to watch the film Arthur, and announce he was ready at the end. Carl would play Bruce Springsteen’s song ‘This Gun’s For Hire’ on an air guitar in the front room.

  Even Mel’s little trip didn’t wake me up to the perils of the life we were leading. I was thriving on the risk, the thrill of the easy money, the robberies and the excitement. My garage was filled with props that we used on raids: workmen’s clothing, hard hats, Road Closed signs, a striped hut that the utility boards used to use. I even had a temporary bus stop sign that we’d used on one job, planting it at a strategic spot on the side of the road to help our getaway. I was reckless. I was playing a dangerous game, but I felt like, at last, I was in control of my destiny.