The Razor Gang Murder

by Simon McCleave

  Standing by the main entrance to the clubhouse, Gaughran saw that the sky was full of rain and could feel that the temperature had dropped. He didn’t fancy traipsing around a hundred-acre course and getting soaked. He walked over to the reception area and looked at the young man behind the desk.

  ‘I’m trying to find Arthur and Les Gaughran. I don’t suppose you know what time they teed off?’ he asked.

  The man shrugged. ‘Sorry. I saw them arrive, but I didn’t see what time they started.’

  A middle-aged man in golfing gear looked over. ‘If you’re looking for Les, he’s on the driving range.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Gaughran turned and jogged towards the driving range as the rain began to fall. He soon spotted his Uncle Les in a bright yellow jumper smashing a ball with a golf club.

  ‘Les?’ Gaughran shouted as he approached.

  Les frowned and looked at his watch. ‘What are you doing here, Tim?’

  ‘Looking for dad.’

  Les pulled a face. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Sort of. I just need to have a chat with him about something.’

  ‘Sounds ominous,’ Les said.

  ‘I thought you two were playing golf today?’

  ‘Yeah. We decided to come to the driving range instead. Then he got a phone call and said he had to go. To be honest, he was acting strange.’

  Gaughran shook his head. ‘I’ve been home, and he’s not there, so where did he go?’

  ‘He told me the phone call was from your mum. She wanted a few days away, so they were going to jump in the car this afternoon and head down to the caravan.’

  Gaughran immediately knew that was bullshit. His mum would have mentioned it. ‘What’s he talking about? I’ve just seen mum.’

  Les looked worried and put his club back in his bag. ‘Yeah, I knew he was lying. What’s going on?’

  He had known Les all his life and trusted him implicitly. But Les had worked as a copper for thirty-five years before retiring. Like his father, Les wouldn’t have a bad word said against any police officer and had made some inflammatory comments about the Stephen Lawrence case.

  ‘There’s some stuff about that old case I’m working on. It might be to do with that,’ Gaughran said, unwilling to reveal much more.

  ‘He didn’t mention it. And you know your dad, he tells me everything.’ Les snorted. ‘Sometimes I wish he wouldn’t.’

  ‘Did he ever mention anything about the 211 Club over in Balham when he first worked as a DC?’

  ‘Bloody hell, Tim. We talked about that the other day. That’s over forty years ago. Your dad had only just started to shave. You got a suspect yet?’

  ‘No. Do you remember it? Alfie Wise going missing?’ Gaughran asked.

  Les shook his head. ‘Not really. I was still at school. I remember that kid he killed down on Balham station. That was all over the papers.’ Les looked directly at him. ‘If I were you, I would leave all that well alone.’

  Gaughran frowned. ‘What does that mean, Les?’

  ‘You might wanna encourage the investigation not to look too hard at any police involvement. The Met’s taken enough of a bashing over that fucking Lawrence case.’

  ‘Are you telling me that dad was involved in something?’

  Les looked at him. ‘I’m not saying anything, son. What I am saying to you is that you’ve only got one dad, so you’d better remember that.’

  CHAPTER 33

  Even though it was only dawn, most of the CID officers were in and working. Taking a sip of her hot coffee, Ruth was looking through a paper trail of faxes and documents, some of which she had requested be sent over from Companies House the previous day.

  Lucy, who was holding a pile of papers, came over and sat down next to her. She had already told Ruth about the events with Karen last night.

  ‘You okay?’ Ruth asked kindly. Lucy looked tired and Ruth was worried about the amount of stress she had been under in recent days.

  ‘Yeah, fine. The hospital where they took Karen rang to speak to Harry just now. They’ve sectioned her and sent her over to Springfield Hospital,’ Lucy explained.

  ‘That’s awful. But not surprising after what’s happened this week. How do you feel?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Relieved, actually. She clearly needs help and now she’s in the best place to get it. Harry seems to be blaming himself.’

  ‘Now this has happened, maybe you and Harry can sort things out?’ Ruth suggested.

  Lucy forced a smile. ‘Yeah. I’m sure we can.’

  Hassan approached them looking slightly troubled. ‘Anyone seen Tim this morning?’

  Ruth shook her head. ‘Not yet. He doesn’t really blend into the background, so I would have noticed if he’d been in.’

  ‘I can’t find him anywhere.’

  ‘You all right, Syed? You look very worried,’ Lucy said, her voice full of concern.

  Hassan held up a folder to show them. ‘This is Arthur Gaughran’s police service record.’

  Ruth could see how anxious he was. ‘What’s the problem?’

  He glanced around to make sure that no one else was in earshot. ‘Arthur Gaughran joined CID in January 1956 and was a DC in the South London Murder Squad by April 1956.’

  Ruth and Lucy looked at each other – he was lying to us!

  ‘What? But he told us he was just a bobby on the beat back then,’ Ruth exclaimed – she was feeling very uneasy about what Hassan had just told them.

  ‘And why would he lie to you unless he had something to hide?’ Hassan asked. ‘There’s no way he would have forgotten something like that.’

  ‘Have you told Brooks?’ Lucy asked.

  Hassan shook his head. ‘No. I wanted to give Tim the heads-up first, but I can’t find him.’

  ‘You need to take this to Brooks right now,’ Ruth said with urgency. It wasn’t something that they could sit on for any length of time.

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ Hassan nodded. ‘The only thing is, I’m pretty certain that I saw Tim looking at this file last night. And now he’s not come in.’

  Brooks came into CID and, when he saw Ruth, Lucy and Hassan together, he approached them.

  Ruth said in a low voice, ‘Guv, we need to talk to you about something.’

  Brooks looked at the file that Hassan was holding. ‘Is that Arthur Gaughran’s service record?’

  Hassan nodded. ‘Yeah. That’s what we need to talk to you about, guv.’

  ‘I know all about it and so does Tim,’ Brooks said. ‘I’m dealing with it right now.’

  Lucy could see the stress in his eyes. ‘We need to pull Arthur Gaughran in here this morning.’

  Brooks smoothed his hand over his chin, looking angry. ‘I know that, Luce. You need to let me deal with it in the right way. It’s all in hand.’

  Hassan frowned. ‘Is that why Tim isn’t in this morning, guv?’

  Brooks didn’t say anything.

  AS GAUGHRAN SHIFTED on the back seat of his car, he opened his eyes and realised it was dawn. He sat up, rubbed his face and stretched, remembering that he was now in the Fairlight Caravan Park, just south of Hastings on the East Sussex coast.

  Having arrived just after midnight, he had spotted his father’s car parked up outside their caravan and banged on the door. There had been no answer. Gaughran knew his father was naturally a light sleeper and sometimes took sleeping pills so it might be difficult to wake him. There had been little option but to sleep in the car until the morning.

  Gaughran had spent much of the journey down wondering who had phoned his father at the golf course and why he had then headed to Hastings on his own. As far as Gaughran knew, he’d never been to the caravan without his mother. Did his father have some inkling that they were looking at his service records or that they had spoken to Michael Fisher and now had an incriminating photograph? Is that what the phone call was about? Had someone inside Peckham nick rung to warn him he was under investigation, after which he’d disappeared down to Hastings?


  Opening the car door, Gaughran got out and blinked in the early morning light. He glanced over at the luxury static caravan, and was alarmed to see that his father’s car had gone.

  Bollocks!

  What concerned him even more was that Gaughran had deliberately parked his car directly outside the caravan. There was no way his father could have left without spotting his son’s car.

  Where the hell has he gone and why didn’t he wake me? The thought made Gaughran feel very uneasy.

  He went to the door of the caravan and peered through the glass.

  ‘You looking for Arthur?’ came a voice. It was an elderly man walking a dog.

  ‘Yeah, he’s my dad.’

  ‘You must be Tim. He talks about you a lot,’ the man said with a smile.

  Gaughran pointed to the car parking space at the side of the caravan. ‘His car’s not there so he must have gone out.’

  ‘Yeah. He sometimes drives down the coast to walk the dog.’

  ‘Do you know where?’ Gaughran asked.

  ‘He likes walking over the cliffs at Seven Sisters – you could try there,’ the man said.

  Gaughran nodded as he got back in his car. ‘Thanks.’

  He knew exactly where the cliffs at Seven Sisters were. He’d been there a few times with his dad when he was younger. They were spectacular white chalk cliffs that were five hundred feet above the sea.

  However, they were also only a mile from the cliffs at Beachy Head, the most notorious suicide spot in Britain.

  CHAPTER 34

  ‘I’ve got something!’ Ruth said loudly as she circled the words Cavendish Travel on the document in front of her.

  Lucy grinned as she came over. ‘Oh God, well don’t come near me, I don’t want to catch it.’

  Ruth rolled her eyes. ‘You’re hilarious.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Lucy pointed to her notepad. ‘By the way, the manager from the Chelsea Arts Club rang. Charlie Wise was in there until well after midnight.’

  ‘Not a big surprise. If he had anything to do with Walsh’s murder, he’s bound to have a watertight alibi.’

  Lucy indicated Ruth’s paperwork. ‘So, what have you got?

  Ruth looked at her. ‘Guess who owns Cavendish Travel?’

  Lucy frowned. ‘How many guesses do I get?’

  Ruth ignored her and tapped the company documents that were in front of her with her finger. ‘Right, so Cavendish Travel is owned by an offshore parent company called Hanover Leisure. However, with a bit of digging, it turns out that Hanover Leisure is a subsidiary of Stanmore Holdings.’

  Lucy’s eyes widened. ‘Which is owned by Charlie Wise.’

  ‘I rang the London branch that we went to the other day, and it also turns out that Cavendish Travel has eight more branches throughout the UK.’

  ‘Okay, I know you’re going somewhere with this but at the moment I’m not sure where.’

  ‘Guess where else they have a branch?’

  Lucy rolled her eyes. ‘What is this, CID quiz night? I don’t know.’

  ‘It was a rhetorical guess.’

  Lucy smiled. ‘I don’t think you can have a rhetorical guess. Rhetorical question, yes. Rhetorical guess, no.’

  ‘Lucy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Shut up.’ Ruth pointed to her pad. ‘Belfast. Cavendish Travel has a branch in Belfast.’

  ‘Right. And you’re wondering whether they were involved in arranging Damian O’Connell’s travel from Belfast to London?’

  Ruth nodded. ‘I rang them already. They’re looking for any bookings for a Damian O’Connell or a Daniel Keane. They’re going to fax me if they find anything.’

  ‘You think Charlie arranged for Walsh to be murdered? Why?’

  ‘Walsh was seen in the car with Charlie and Alfie on the day that Alfie was supposed to have gone missing,’ Ruth said. ‘And so Walsh might have been present if anything had happened to Alfie that night.’

  Lucy nodded. ‘He might have even helped Charlie.’

  ‘We know Charlie paid Walsh a retainer every month. He said it was for odd jobs like driving. What if it was just hush money? Walsh knew that Charlie killed Alfie and was being paid for the last forty years to keep quiet,’ Ruth explained.

  ‘Why did Charlie kill Alfie?’

  Ruth shrugged. ‘He threatened to go to the police if his brother didn’t go straight. Maybe he was worried that his big brother was going to end up in prison or dead?’

  Lucy frowned. ‘So he just shot and buried Alfie? I’m not sure I buy that.’

  Their attention was distracted as Brooks marched into CID and came over. ‘Anything on O’Connell?’

  ‘We could have a lead on the company that might have booked his travel. There’s a paper trail that shows Cavendish Travel is technically owned by Charlie Wise.’

  Brooks’ eyes widened. ‘Jesus.’

  ‘They’re going to fax over anything of interest,’ Ruth said.

  Putting down the phone, Hassan looked over. ‘Guv, the tech boys gave me a list of numbers dialled from the mobile phone that we found on Damian O’Connell.’

  Brooks raised an eyebrow. ‘Anything interesting?’

  Hassan nodded. ‘Yes, guv. O’Connell rang the same mobile phone number twenty three times in the week leading up to Trevor Walsh’s murder.’

  ‘And you’ve got that number?’ Lucy asked.

  Hassan smiled. ‘Better than that. The phone is registered to an Emma Maddocks. Home address in Fulham. She set the phone up with a standing order so I was able to trace her bank account. It seems that she has a monthly salary paid by Stanmore Holdings ...’

  ‘... which we know is owned by Charlie Wise,’ Brooks added.

  Ruth and Lucy locked eyes.

  Hassan continued, ‘It gets even better! Turns out that Emma Maddocks is Charles Wise’s PA.’

  As the fax whirred nearby, Brooks looked at them all. ‘Right, we now have a direct link between Charlie Wise and the man who probably murdered Trevor Walsh.’

  Ruth went over to collect the incoming fax and saw that it was from Cavendish Travel in Belfast. ‘Guv, this is what I was waiting for.’

  Taking it from the machine, Ruth read it and looked over at them all. ‘This is it. Cavendish Travel arranged flights, a hotel, and a rental car for a Daniel Keane. He flew from Belfast to Heathrow the night before Trevor Walsh’s death.’

  Brooks was suddenly energised as he looked around the CID office. ‘Right, everyone, listen up! I’ll go upstairs and get an arrest warrant signed off. Then I’ll talk to the CPS. Syed, see if you can get a Section 18 Search Warrant for Charlie Wise’s home and offices ... Lucy and Ruth, I want him arrested and brought here as soon as you can.’

  CHAPTER 35

  Even though the sun was burning away the early morning clouds, the wind that lashed across the tops of the Seven Sisters clifftops was icy and biting. Gaughran pulled his jacket around him, but he was still chilled to the bone. He had been walking for about fifteen minutes and there was still no sign of his father, or his car.

  The ink-blue English Channel stretched away to his left. It was less than sixty miles across the water to the French mainland. Gulls swooped and squawked with a relentless urgency, which only added to Gaughran’s anxiety. He had no idea if his father had come for a bracing morning walk with the dog, or for a much darker purpose. There was no mobile signal, so there was no way of contacting him.

  For a moment, he was reminded of the cold windy days playing football for East Peckham United when he was a kid. His father rarely missed a match and would shout encouragement from the touchline. Some of the other fathers would swear and berate their sons for their mistakes, but his father was always encouraging and positive. He remembered winning a Man of the Match trophy and his dad taking him to McDonalds to celebrate. The thought of it brought a lump to his throat.

  Marching on against the wind, Gaughran spotted a lone figure up ahead, close to the cliff’s edge. At that distance, he couldn’t make
out much more than it was a man. Moving closer, he joined a muddy pathway that led along the clifftops. He could see the vast white cliff faces reflected in the shallow water and the jagged rocks below.

  As the wind grew stronger, it howled unnervingly. He squinted to see ahead as a dark cloud moved across the sun, throwing an inky shadow across the clifftops. As he got closer to the man, Gaughran saw a dog running back and to. It was Jack, his father’s German Shepherd.

  And so the man on the cliff’s edge was his father.

  Picking up speed, he couldn’t tell if his father was merely peering out to sea or on the verge of throwing himself into a dark oblivion.

  ‘Dad!’ He shouted at the top of his voice, but it was lost in the roaring moan of the wind. ‘Dad!’

  His father moved closer to the cliff edge and looked down.

  Oh, God! Please don’t jump!

  Gaughran began to run. ‘Dad! Dad! he yelled.

  Even though he was only thirty yards away, his father didn’t react. Either he didn’t hear him or he was ignoring his shouts.

  His father was now only two feet from the cliff edge.

  Pumping his arms as he ran, Gaughran sprinted until he was only ten yards away. ‘Dad!’ he screamed breathlessly. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  Arthur averted his eyes. ‘You found me then?’

  ‘What are you doing here, Dad?’ Gaughran asked as he came beside him.

  ‘Good question.’

  ‘I need to talk to you about something.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘How do you know?’ he asked with a confused expression. ‘Someone tip you off from our nick?’

  For a few seconds, Arthur just gazed down at the waves that were rolling onto the rocks five hundred feet below. ‘You remember when I brought you and Steve up here to fly your kites?’

  Gaughran nodded. ‘Yeah. Steve let his go and it flew down into the sea. I thought you were going to go mental, but you didn’t. You just bought him a new one.’