The Brief

by Simon Michael

  ‘Is it off?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If you’ve left tha’ on, and the police arrive, do you understand what’ll happen?’ The other nodded, and then shook his head.

  ‘Imagine this,’ explained Sands. ‘The police are outside, and they’ve got their cars, and their guns, and their blue lights. I’m inside, and all I’ve got is you. How am I to get out? Answer: I use your wee body as a shield, right? If they shoot at me, they hit you first. If they dinnae shoot me, I take you with me, and then I shoot you. So, we dinnae want the police, do we? And that means…?’

  ‘Turning off the alarm, yes, I get it. It’s off, I promise.’

  ‘Good.’ Sands indicated to the door, and Plumber slammed it shut. ‘Now, today’s your turn on the door, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you sit in this wee cabin -’ Sands pointed to a cubicle by the door ‘ – and look at your fancy new camera, and you open the door when the staff arrive.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Get tae work then.’

  Duffle Coat opened the cabin door, and sat on the stool inside. He stared at the gun still pointed at him.

  ‘Do you always sit in your coat?’ asked Plumber. The man shook his head.

  ‘Take it off then,’ ordered Sands. He did as he was told.

  Sands indicated to Plumber and pointed away from the cubicle and into the building. Plumber nodded and turned round. He was in a corridor that ran straight back from the door. He hesitated a second and then set off. A few feet down, to his left, the corridor opened out into a bay into which was set a door, and a glass-fronted cashier’s desk. Plumber peered through the glass. He could make out desks, filing cabinets and a safe. He continued down the corridor. Another door opened off to the right. He opened it – a broom cupboard; a final door marked W.C. on the right, and the corridor ended in swing doors. He pushed the doors open and looked out. Stairs ran upwards to his right. To his left was a lift, and before him, the front door of the building. He turned and made his way back to Sands.

  ‘Okay?’ asked Sands.

  ‘Sweet.’

  •

  STATEMENT OF LORNA WESTON

  Age: 18

  Occupation: Cashier’s Clerk

  Address: 20 Denham Close, Wood Farm Road, Hendon NW4

  This statement consisting of 3 pages each signed by me is true to the best of my knowledge and belief and I make it knowing that, if it is tendered in evidence, I shall be liable to prosecution if I have wilfully stated in it anything which I know to be false or do not believe to be true. I have read this statement.

  At about 7.30 am on Friday 5th. February 1960 I arrived at my place of work, Express Dairies, North London depot, where I work as a cashier’s clerk. I was a bit late because my father’s car would not start and I had to take a bus. I went up to the security door and through the intercom I identified myself, and asked Tim, who was on duty that morning, to be let in. He opened the door for me. As I went through the door, a man wearing a blue donkey jacket and a mask grabbed me from behind and shouted at me to keep quiet. He held me round my chest with one arm and with the other hand (I think it was his right hand) he pointed a gun at the side of my head. It looked a heavy gun, with one barrel, but I was too frightened to notice anything else about it. He pushed me into the cash office. The door to the cash office is usually kept locked, but it was open on this occasion. As I entered the room, I could see all my colleagues lying on the floor. They were in pairs, and were handcuffed, with the handcuffs going round the central heating pipe that ran along the skirting. I was told to lie down, and I was handcuffed alone to the leg of Mrs Webster’s desk. We were all told to keep quiet, or else they would kill us.

  We lay there for about twenty minutes, and then the crew of Round 4 called in on the radio. Tim was operating the radio, and, at the direction of one of the men, he told them that it was all clear. Five minutes later the crew knocked on the door, and Tim let them in. The man who had grabbed me was waiting for them in the same way, and he brought them into the cash office and handcuffed them too. One of the men, I think his name is Trevor, would not lie down at first, and the man who had grabbed me hit him on the side of the face with his gun. Two other crews came in, and they were caught in the same way. I cannot remember the order they came in. I only remember the first crew because Trevor was hurt.

  The last Crew to come in was from Round 3. Round 3 had an extra call on it that day, as a new supermarket had opened, and Bill Wright, the team leader asked Tim to arrange for someone to help them in with the boxes. The robbers would not allow him to go out or to send anybody, and he made up an excuse about there being an inspection from Head Office and that no one could be spared. I was able to see the screen from where I was lying, and I could see that Mr Wright came up to the security door alone. He asked to be let in, but once the door was open, he stayed just outside. The robber who had been standing by the door prodded Tim with his gun, and Tim asked Mr Wright what he was playing at, just standing there. Mr Wright must have suspected something, because he called out to his van ‘Code Red’ which means that the police must be alerted. He ran away from the door. I cannot say in what direction because he went off camera. The two robbers ran out of the door. I do not know if they were running after him, but the next thing I heard was this loud bang. From outside I heard the robber who had done all the talking shouting ‘Go! Go! Go!’ A second later they both came running in, picked up the cash bags they had already accumulated and ran out.

  I was released by the fire brigade about an hour later.

  My description of the two men is as follows:

  (1) The man who did all the talking was about five feet eight inches tall, with a pale complexion. He was quite slim, and had thin, reddish brownish hair. He was wearing a donkey jacket, jeans and sneakers. He wore a balaclava mask and I saw none of his face. He had a Scottish accent.

  (2) The other man was about the same height, but he had a heavier build. I didn’t see his hair because it was completely covered by his balaclava mask. He wore a green anorak, brown trousers and brown leather shoes. He also wore a balaclava mask. I did not hear him speak. He also carried a gun, but I did not see it well enough to describe it.

  I have checked the accounts from the various stores whose money the men stole, and the total taken is £138,530, 16s and 6d.

  Signed Lorna Weston.

  Signature witnessed by P.C. Clarke 517

  •

  ‘Is that you Plumber?’

  ‘Yeh, it’s me. You’ve got a fucking nerve phoning me, Sands.’

  ‘We gotta talk.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you. This time I mean it. You seen the papers? That geezer’s probably going to die, you fucking lunatic! And I swear, I swear Robbie, I won’t swing for you!’

  ‘It won’t come to that, Del. Calm down and listen tae me – ’

  ‘No I fuckin’ won’t! How could you do it, you Scots maniac? You swore they would be imitation! And you go and take a real shooter, without telling me, AND USE IT!’

  ‘Listen Derek, I know you’re upset now, but you’ve gottae mind what I’m saying. We were both there; we’re both in it.’

  ‘No we bloody ain’t! I never took no gun, and I never shot no one. That’s down to you. So it ain’t me who’s going to hang. I’m getting outta London now, and you can do what you bloody like.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool Plumber. We’ve both got form, and I only got out a few weeks ago. The Bill will be round, asking questions. This is no time tae go off on holiday. Stay put, act like normal.’

  ‘And what if they start asking me about shooters? I’m not going down for murder on account of you.’

  ‘You mean you’ll grass me?’

  For the first time, Plumber’s furious flow was halted. He suddenly realised what danger he might be in, not only from the police.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ he prevaricated.

  ‘Now just listen for a sec Derek,’ said Sands, in a soft, alm
ost friendly tone. ‘You know and I know that even if you do grass me, regardless of what that might do to our friendship, the Old Bill will never wear it. They’ll have you for an accessory at least, and that’s assuming they believe you when you say you didnae know I had a real shooter. Whatever you say, you’ve had it. Think about it.’

  Plumber had already thought about it, and he knew Sands was right. ‘I know,’ he whispered, his bluster totally evaporated.

  ‘But I have a solution,’ said Sands with confidence. ‘Are you listening Derek?’

  ‘Yeh,’ he replied wearily.

  ‘They’ll never work out who we were, right? But just in case they do, remember this. I’ve been speaking to a brief I know, and this is what he reckons. The police know there must have been three guns, the two imitations seen inside and the shotgun too, right? If we both swear that we had the imitations, and never knew that the third gun was real – ’

  ‘How could we not know?’ interrupted Plumber. ‘One of us had to carry it to shoot the fuckin’ thing!’

  ‘We didn’t know it was real, ‘cos the third man carried it.’

  ‘What third man?’

  ‘The third man who was the lookout.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, they’ll know – ’

  ‘How will they know? That first geezer was shitting hisel’ so much, he wouldna ha’ known how many there was of us. As for the rest, they never saw anything anyway. Who’s to say we didnae have a lookout outside?’

  ‘They’ll never believe it,’ said Plumber, shaking his head.

  ‘So what if they don’t? They’ve got three guns, and two men, both denying they carried the shotgun. How can they prove which of us it was? How can a jury be sure one way or the other? This solicitor reckons that if we were tae stick to our stories, no jury could convict us of murder.’

  ‘What about the men outside? They saw you running out and shooting their mate!’

  ‘I doubt it. The guard himsel’ was running away, and the two in the van were diving for cover. But, anyway, we both had masks on. We’re near enough the same height and build. Even if they don’t believe the third man story, they’ll never prove which one of us was. It’ll work.’

  ‘Yeh?’ asked Plumber, sceptically.

  ‘Aye. It’s cast iron,’ assured Sands.

  ‘As cast iron as the job was, eh?’

  ‘You get any better ideas, pal?’

  ‘Do a runner, like I said.’

  ‘That’s as good as puttin’ up a neon sign saying “Come and get me”. Use your loaf, Derek, act like nothing’s happened. Okay?’

  The line went quiet while Plumber thought about it. Sands listened to his breathing slow.

  ‘Yeh, okay,’ sighed Plumber, resigned.

  ‘Right. Now don’t contact me for a bit, okay? And for God’s sake Derek, don’t go splashing your money about. Put it somewhere safe.’

  ‘I know. Bye.’

  ‘Bye.’

  •

  STATEMENT OF PETER RODERICK MITCHELL

  Age: Over 21

  Occupation: S.O.C.O.

  Address: West Hendon Police Station

  This statement consisting of 2 pages each signed by me is true to the best of my knowledge and belief and I make it knowing that, if it is tendered in evidence, I shall be liable to prosecution if I have wilfully stated in it anything which I know to be false or do not believe to be true. I have read this statement.

  I am a Scenes of Crime Officer presently attached to West Hendon Police Station. On 8 February 1960 I had occasion to examine a White Commer FC Van bearing registration plates number AHX 458. The van was stationary in a service road at the rear of Corringham Road, Wembley. Its side doors were open and embedded in the brick walls on each side of the road, so that access to and egress from the road was impossible. I examined the tyre patterns left by the vehicle in the road, and concluded that it had been reversed at speed up the road with its doors open, apparently with the aim of blocking the road, the driver making his escape through the rear doors.

  I requested assistance from the Fire Brigade, and the vehicle was moved.

  On 9 February 1960 at West Hendon Police Station together with S.O.C.O Paul Smith I examined the van. Behind the driver’s seat I found a plastic bag, which I produce as Exhibit PRM 1. I sealed the bag in a plastic container and sent it to New Scotland Yard for further examination.

  Signed Peter Roderick Mitchell.

  Signature witnessed by PC Clarke 517.

  STATEMENT OF WILLIAM JAMES BELLIS.

  Age: Over 21.

  Occupation: Fingerprint Officer.

  Address: New Scotland Yard, London SW1.

  This statement consisting of 1 page signed by me is true to the best of my knowledge and belief and I make it knowing that, if it is tendered in evidence, I shall be liable to prosecution if I have wilfully stated in it anything which I know to be false or do not believe to be true. I have read this statement.

  I have been engaged in the identification of persons by means of fingerprints for the last eight years. In that time I have never known impressions taken from different fingers or thumbs to agree in their sequence of characteristics. On 23rd. February 1960 I received a sealed container which held a large plastic bag marked PRM 1 from S.O.C.O. P.R. Mitchell. This bag was examined and chemically treated. Marks were found on the outside of the bag. These were developed. The bag was passed to the Photographic Department and on 17th. March 1960 it was sent to the Fingerprint Department of the Criminal Records Office in Bridgend together with photographs and negatives of the developed impressions. On 11th April 1960 I received from the Criminal Records Office a card containing a full set of fingerprints marked “Charles Reginald Sands” which I produce as exhibit WJB 1. I have examined the ridge characteristics of the marks taken from PRM 1, and I can state that they are similar in sufficient respects for me to be in no doubt that they were made by the same person whose fingerprints appear on WJB 1.

  Signed William James Bellis.

  Signature witnessed by D.I. Wade 334.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The cold morning air of Deptford was shattered by the simultaneous sounds of breaking glass and the splintering of wood, as the rear kitchen window and the front door of the terraced house were breached. Footsteps thundered up the stairs, and three men charged into a bedroom. The first leapt towards the bare mattress that served as a bed, and, arms held in front of him, pointed a handgun at the head of the dazed occupant of the bed.

  ‘Get the blanket!’ he shouted.

  Another man grabbed the end of the blanket and yanked it off the mattress. Sands lay there in his underpants, shivering.

  ‘Mr Robert Sands?’ asked the gunman, rather less excitedly.

  ‘Yeh?’

  ‘My name is Detective Sergeant Franklin of the robbery squad, and this is Detective Constable Pearce and Police Constable Khan.’ The detective flashed his warrant card at Sands.

  ‘So?’ asked Sands, calmly pulling the blanket back round him.

  ‘You are under arrest on suspicion of robbery at the Express Dairies depot, Wembley. You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, but anything you say will be taken down and given in evidence. Do you understand?’

  Sands did not reply. He lay back, careful to leave his hands where they could be seen.

  ‘Note “No Reply”,’ said the sergeant to the two young officers with him, ‘at…’ he looked at his watch, ‘…6.28 am.’

  ‘How long you been in?’ asked Sands of Franklin. Franklin ignored him. ‘You did that very nicely; very correct, very polite. One of the prettiest arrests I’ve seen.’

  ‘Do you want to put some clothes on, sir, or are you coming to the station in your Y fronts? Stay with him while he gets dressed, would you Bruce?’

  •

  Sands sat at one side of a table in the small room, his back to the wall. Opposite him were two officers in plain clothes. One, Detective Sergeant Franklin, had some sheets of paper in front
of him and a pencil. Sands could see that some at least of the papers were witness statements, but he had tried, and failed, to read them from where he sat. The other officer was older, greyer, and sour-looking. He had small black eyes and a sharp pointed nose, and he wore a short bristly moustache that seemed only tenuously attached to his top lip. He reminded Sands of a shrew. His name was Detective Inspector Wheatley, and he and Sands knew one another of old.

  Wheatley was bent. Not bent in the sense that you could bribe him – no, that had been tried. Bent in the sense that there wasn’t a rule he wouldn’t bend or break into small pieces to get a conviction. He had form for planting evidence, fabricating confessions and threatening witnesses. More than one of his suspects had suffered accidental falls down the cells steps before reaching the safety of a Magistrates’ Court. One had actually died “assisting the police with their enquiries.” But judges and juries loved him, this decorated war hero, with his spine of steel and clipped no-nonsense style of giving evidence. Sands knew he’d have to be on his guard.

  ‘Well, Robbie, I think you know everyone present,’ started DS Franklin. ‘I’m going to be questioning you about a robbery that occurred at the Express Dairies depot in Wembley on Friday 5 February this year. I will make a note of my questions and your answers. Before I start, I remind you that you are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so but what you say may be put in writing and used as evidence. Do you understand?’

  Sands flicked a glance at the older detective who was yet to speak. This formality was unusual, and it worried him.

  ‘I can tell you now,’ he answered, ‘that I refuse to answer any questions until I have seen ma solicitor, and only then in his presence. That’s my answer now, and that will be my answer from now on.’