by Jim McGrath
Monday 30th September 1968
Handsworth, 11.43hrs
Clark burst into the CID office carrying a large bundle of photocopies. ‘Yam never going to guess who oversaw the investigation into Simpson’s suicide. I’ll give yow a clue. It were handled by Central.’
‘Sodding hell. You’re not telling me it was…’
‘Yowr mate and mine, Chief Inspector West.’
‘That’s all we need. We better tell Hicks. Flames will be shooting across the bloody sky once West gets wind of us looking at one of his cases.’
‘True. But at least wi can be bloody near certain that it weren’t a suicide. West has never knowingly arrived at the right conclusion in his life.’
‘What else have you got?’
‘Newspaper reports and a full transcript of the inquest. Plus, a picture of Adam Strong.’
‘Who the feck is Adam Strong?’
‘The bastard that screwed Mrs Simpson at the Belgravia. The same man who happens to be on the Golden Model Agency books. From memory his description said, “Adam is six feet one and measures forty-two, thirty-two, thirty-eight.” The only thing missing from his profile was the size of his dick and I imagine that information is available on request.’
‘Are you sure it was him?’
‘Oh yeah. The photocopies I have here are poor, but the originals were good ‘uns and they match what I saw in their models’ book.’
‘Well, he’s certainly someone I’d like to speak to. How do you want to play it?’
‘I were thinking Marie might give the Golden Model Agency a ring and say that Adam was recommended to her by a friend.’
‘Meeting place the Belgravia Hotel by any chance?’
‘How did yow guess? I’ll call Marie.’
‘OK. We should have a look at what you’ve found and draw up a plan. I was also thinking we should talk to Robbins and Mr Hastings, the Chief Auditor today.’
‘That sounds like a decent day’s entertainment.’
‘After that I have an appointment with Mr Sidney Steptoe.’
‘Who the hell is Sidney Steptoe?’
‘I’ll tell you on the way to see Robbins.’
‘OK, but wem taking my car.’
‘Well go and wind the bloody thing up then, while I ring the Council and see where the good Councillor is.’
Collins was informed by a very posh-sounding woman that, “Councillor Robbins was at home and was not expected to be in the Council House until Thursday when he would be attending the Housing Committee meeting.” Collins asked if she could give him the councillor’s home phone number and address.
Sliding into the passenger seat Collins said, in a fairly good imitation of the woman he’d just been speaking to, ‘My good man, you may drive on. The councillor’s residence is off the Newton Road, Great Barr.’
‘I keep telling ya, no matter how much yow practice yow’ll never be as good as Mike Yarwood. If yow want to go on Opportunity Knocks why don’t yow try sword swallowing?’
‘Bollocks,’ replied Collins and settled into his seat for the fifteen-minute drive.
Robbins lived in a large five-bedroom detached house with a three-tier front garden and views of the open countryside from the rear. Clark rang the doorbell, which chimed out two bars of “Jerusalem”. Before the tune was repeated for a second time a woman in her late fifties with gray hair, a plump face and dark blue eyes opened the door.
‘Yes?’ she said. ‘Can I help you?’
‘We’d like to talk to Councillor Robbins, please.’
‘What about?’
Collins found his warrant card and showed it. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Collins, and this is Detective Constable Clark. We think Mr Robbins may be able to assist us in our enquiries.’
‘Oh my. Dear me. I do hope that he hasn’t done anything.’ The worry in her voice was obvious to both men.
‘No Ma’am. We just think he may be able to help us with some information.’
The woman stepped aside and allowed the men into the hall. ‘If you’ll follow me, my husband is in his study on the third floor.’
‘Oh, we wouldn’t put you to any trouble, Mrs Robbins. We can find our own way.’
‘Very well. His office is directly in front of you at the top of the stairs.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Robbins, you’ve been very helpful.’
Collins and Clark walked up the first flight of stairs as normal but crept up the second. Stepping up to the door Clark rapped on it, said, ‘Police’ and Collins immediately opened the door. Councillor Robbins’ head jerked up from the magazine he was looking at and tried to conceal it by pulling a Council report over it.
‘Sorry to disturb you, Councillor Robbins. Your wife said you were busy with Council work. My name is Detective Sergeant Collins and my colleague is Detective Constable Clark. We’d like to talk to you about corruption in Birmingham City Council, and your ownership of the Golden Model Agency.’
‘Which wi understand is up for an award as Best Knocking Shop in the Midlands, 1968’
‘What the hell do you mean by bursting in on a private citizen in his own home.’
‘Na don’t start that, mate. Yow see Councillor Hill tried that and ended up slipping on the floor and busting his nose on the edge of his desk. Blood everywhere, there were.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘Na, just telling yow about the accident that your mate had, is all.’
‘Well I know nothing about corruption in the Council. And as for the Golden Model Agency that is an entirely respectable modelling business.’
‘So why is it that Councillor Hill and the manager of the Pure Gold Modelling Agency say it operates a side-line in supplying young ladies to discerning gentlemen?’ asked Collins.
‘We supply escorts, not prostitutes. What two adults agree to do after they meet is not something we have any control over.’
‘Are these escorts anything like the ladies you were looking at when we came in?’ asked Collins.
‘I was reading a Council report.’
‘’No yow weren’t, mate. Yow were looking at a dirty magazine,’ said Clark as he pulled the pile of papers from under Robbins’ folded arms and pulled out a Swedish porn magazine entitled Forced Sex. ‘Now how would yow like me to show this to yowr wife on me way out?’
Robbins didn’t answer Clark. Instead he turned towards Collins and said, ‘Ask your questions and then get out of my house.’
‘Why did you choose Claire Lafferty to attend the reception of the Saudi prince?’
‘Men from the Middle East are known to prefer small women.’
‘So why did you ask her to bring along a blonde girlfriend?’
‘Just in case the prince preferred big blondes.’
‘But we’ve been told that the prince left with one of the waiters.’
‘Well, no one told me that he was queer before the reception.’
‘Isn’t it true that your real target for that night wasn’t the prince but Councillor Endbury? You knew he liked the larger women, which is why you asked Lafferty to find a friend who might interest him?’
‘And why might I be interested in satisfying Endbury’s sexual tastes?’
‘So that you could blackmail him into changing his mind on the Birchfield Road planning application.’
‘What utter tosh, Sergeant. If you repeat such a calumny in public, I will sue you for slander. Now if you have finished your questioning, I would like you to leave, and next time you want to question me please give me notice of the date, time and place of the interview and I’ll be there with my solicitor.’
‘Before we go can I ask which evening paper do you read?’
‘The Birmingham Mail. Why?’
‘It’s just that the Mail has been full of Claire Lafferty’s murder since Thursday last. But you didn’t mention it once. That seems odd to me.’
Robbins face turned bright red, but he said nothing.
Walking back to the car,
Collins said, ‘He was a cool customer.’
‘Yeah, real annoying, the lying toerag.’
‘We’ll get him. We’ve got two people saying that he’s the joint owner of a knocking shop and one who says he asked for Claire Lafferty.’
Birmingham, 15.09hrs
The Audit Office for Birmingham Council was situated at the back of the Council House on the first floor. However, the plush red carpet which covered the floor in the corridor outside the committee rooms was missing here. Instead, cracked lino covered the wooden floor and the cream walls looked in need of painting. Anything was good enough for the hired help.
The Audit Office was nearly twenty yards long, with fifteen desks arranged in two rows. There were only two people present when Collins and Clark walked in, a middle-aged man, and a young woman busy trying to add up a ledger page of entries. They walked to the far end of the office and asked the man, who was enjoying a cup of tea, where they could find the Chief Auditor. ‘Through that door,’ he replied and pointed at the door to his left.
Clark knocked on the door and without waiting for an answer pushed it open. The office was large, and the desk was the biggest that Collins had ever seen. Behind it sat a man of medium size, slim, balding and in his fifties. Looking up he asked, ‘Who are you?’
‘Wem the police, that’s who wi am, Mr Hastings. This is Detective Sergeant Collins and I’m Detective Constable Clark. We’ve come to ask yow a few questions about John Simpson, a one-time member of yowr staff.’
Hastings adjusted the round rimless glasses he was wearing and tried to clear his throat. When he spoke, he sounded terrified, as if he’d been dreading this meeting. ‘I thought that was all settled at the inquest. He committed suicide.’
‘Why do you think we’re interested in how he died?’ asked Collins.
‘Well I just assumed …’
‘I would have thought that an auditor was a bit like a copper. Someone who never assumed anything but always looked for proof,’ said Collins.
‘I don’t know why I thought it was about his death,’ said Hastings, his voice rising higher. Imperceptibly at first, Hastings’ hands and body started to shake. Opening his desk drawer, he took out a bottle of pills, selected two and swallowed them quickly.
‘I think you’re lying, Mr Hastings. And I think you want to tell me what you know about his death and the report he was writing on Trent Tower. The report he gave you, but you denied under oath ever seeing.’
To the surprise of Collins and Clark, Hastings bent his head and started to cry, his shoulders heaving, a low wailing sound coming from his lips. After two or three minutes the crying stopped. Hastings took out a clean white handkerchief and wiped his eyes and blew his nose. His face was mottled with red patches. Finally he said, ‘I’ve been expecting you. I knew you would come some day. I’ve not slept since I gave my statement to the police about Simson. He was a decent young man and a good auditor. But they had pictures of me and a young woman, and my wife has a bad heart,’ and he started to cry again.
Collins exchanged looks with Clark, and the little man said, ‘Why don’t I make yow a cup of tea, Mr Hastings and yow tell us what happened?’
Hastings was unable to speak but nodded his head and pointed towards a small table near the window. Clark checked the kettle had enough water for three and switched it on. Meanwhile Collins went to the door and turned the key in the lock. They had struck lucky. An honest man blackmailed into lying had found it impossible to live with the lies and now he wanted to unburden himself.
His tea in front of him, Hastings asked, ‘Where do I start?’
‘At the beginning. When were you approached?’ asked Collins.
Taking a drink of tea, Hastings tried to compose himself. Finally, he started, his voice low, ‘I received a telephone call, late evening, the night that John died. I recognised the voice. It was Thorne, Reece’s attack dog.’
‘How did you recognise the voice?’
‘He was the one who threatened to send pictures he had of me and Claire to my wife. He told me that John had jumped off the fourth floor of a car park, but before he had died, he’d said that he’d given me a copy of his report. They wanted me to give them the report or else my dalliance with Claire would be revealed to my wife. He told me to watch for a packet of photos in my office post.’
‘Would that be Claire Lafferty?’ asked Collins.
‘Yes,’ said Hastings flustered that his train of thought had been interrupted. ‘I knew the game was up when you found her body. Poor thing. I loved her; you know.’
After a pause he continued, ‘Well, it was Friday night and it would look suspicious if I went into work on Saturday, so I waited until Monday. A photocopy of Simpson’s report was in my safe,’ he said and nodded towards an old pre-war safe that sat opposite his desk against the wall. ‘I’d known from the first time that Simson spoke to me about Trent Tower that Reece would never allow the report to see the light of day. I told Simson that he was not to speak of the report to anyone and that he should report to me directly on all matters connected with it.’
‘And he didn’t see that as unusual?’ asked Collins.
‘I told him his report was really important and would bring down senior officers, councillors and contractors. He was far from stupid. He knew the effect that the report would have once it became public, so he stayed quiet. I should have told him to send the report to the Fraud Squad, but I was afraid. I know what Reece and Thorne have done over the years. I told him to save a copy of the report and put it in a bank security box. I don’t know if he followed my advice.’
‘You mean there might be a copy of his report sitting in some bank?’
‘Yes.’
‘How could we trace it?’
‘It’s untraceable. You’d need the bank address and his account number.’
‘OK. I can’t promise anything, Mr Hastings, but I’ll try to keep you out of any court case in exchange for your continued co-operation. I’ll speak to the Fraud Squad and suggest that they start their investigation by talking to you. In the meantime, it’s essential for your own safety that you don’t tell anyone of our visit or the content of our conversation today. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, perfectly,’ said Hastings. ‘I wish to God I’d kept a copy of the report, but I was afraid.’
‘But you did read it, right?’ asked Collins.
‘Yes.’
‘OK then I want you to write down as much as you can remember of the report and send it to me at Thornhill Road Police Station ASAP. OK?’
‘Yes.’
Handsworth, 16.53hrs
Clark’s phone was ringing as they entered the office and he picked it up. It was Marie. ‘Hello, Clarkee. I thought you’d like to know. I just called the Agency and I’ll be having an intimate meeting with Adam Strong starting at eight tomorrow, in room 606 of the Belgravia Hotel.’
‘Yam a star, Marie. Yow do know, yow don’t have to be there if yow don’t want to.’
‘Are you mad? This may be the closest I ever get to a ringside seat on the Welcome Wagon. I wouldn’t miss it for all the tea in China. Room 606 at eight. Bye.’
As Clark hung up, WPC Kennedy knocked on the door and led a small man into the room and introduced him to Collins, ‘This is Sidney Steptoe. He says he has an appointment with you Sergeant Collins.’
Sidney was everything his voice had promised. Small and slim, he was about forty-five, with greying blond hair and a suntan. He was dressed like a twenty-five year-old with more money than taste, in bright blue hipsters and jacket, and a white shirt with a blue cravat. When he spoke, his voice was high and very camp. ‘Well, two policemen for the price of one. How lucky can a girl get?’ he asked.
Collins smiled and held out his hand and was surprised by the strength of the man’s grip.
‘Well you know who I am, Sidney Steptoe, poof of the parish who has a thing for men in uniforms.’
Collins made the introductions and Clark commented on Sidney
’s bright blue jacket. ‘I like your jacket. Yow should give my mate here the name of yowr tailor. I’m constantly telling him he needs more colour in his wardrobe.’
‘Never mind him, Sidney. He’s just being daft as usual. Have a seat while I get the typewriter.’ Collins went to the bottom drawer of the third filing cabinet and lifted out the Remington and placed it on his desk. ‘The ribbon is brand new. I rewound it to the start.’
‘What was it you typed over the text?’
‘Just my name, Michael Collins. I thought the ribbon had never been used and I tried to type my name with my eyes closed.’
‘OK. Let me have the ribbon, please,’ said Sidney as he sat down in Collins chair.
Collins took it from his pocket and handed it over. Sidney examined the ribbon from both sides then dived into his bag and extracted a glass perfume dispenser with a rubber tube with a glass ball filled with fine white powder attached. He gently dusted both sides of the ribbon and blew the excess away. He then placed it on the near-pristine green desk blotter and taking a book, he covered it and pressed down hard. Removing the book, he lifted the ribbon clear of the blotter where two separate strings of letters had appeared. It took him less than a minute to write out what had appeared transposed on the blotting paper.
Handing the foolscap pad to Collins he said, ‘That’s the best I can do. It doesn’t look like a code to me. It’s just looks like someone checking the alignment of a new ribbon.’
Collins picked up the pad which read ii;6wq r5 t1x.q5 17954 and looked at the string of meaningless letters and numbers. Another false lead. ‘Well thank you for coming, Sidney but it looks like the user was just testing the alignment.’
‘Oh, that’s quite all right. You never know when you might need a policeman,’ he said with a smile.
Thirty minutes later, Sheba was waiting to greet Collins as soon as he opened the door and he caught her in mid-flight as she leapt into his arms and tried to lick his face. As he crossed the hall with thirty pounds of muscle and bone wriggling in his arms, Collins heard Marjorie and Anabel talking in the kitchen. Agnes emerged from the lounge and beckoned him over, ‘Don’t go in the kitchen.’