by Iain Cameron
Derek got up and headed towards the little pier, ran down its length and climbed down the worn, stone stairs. Five, maybe ten minutes later, Barry rowed towards him.
Barry and Eric sat there, but Danny was nowhere to be seen.
TWENTY-SIX
Ms Jenner,’ Henderson said, ‘I would like you to go over your story once again if you can, but slowly this time.’
DI Henderson was sitting in an interview room alongside DS Gerry Hobbs, and facing them, Nicola Jenner, a witness from yesterday’s jewellery robbery in the Lanes. She was alone as this wasn’t a formal interview and she wasn’t under arrest.
‘I popped into the shop, Davis and Sons in the Lanes, to see if I could get my mum’s old wedding ring valued. She gave it to me when she died,’ she said looking down, ‘and now I need the money.’
‘I see. How long were you inside the shop?’
‘Ten minutes. No more.’
‘Go on with your story.’
‘I was standing in front of the counter talking to Mr Roberts who told me what he thought it might be worth and he offered to sell it for me. We started talking about his commission and all that sort of stuff when the…the robbers burst in.’ She stopped as she snivelled into a hanky.
‘In your own time,’ Hobbs said, ‘take it nice and slow.’
Nicola Jenner was their only witness to the jewel robbery. The Lanes in Brighton was one of the town’s most popular tourist destinations. The narrow passageways would be busy, even on a Tuesday afternoon in March, but with metal grilles on the window and the windows chock-full of merchandise, it came as no surprise when a request for witnesses didn’t produce anyone else.
Nicola was aged twenty-six, lived with her father in Patcham and worked as a dental receptionist. She had unsightly peroxide-dyed hair with red and pink strands, several rings on both hands, a face covered in too much makeup and perfectly shaped, gleaming white teeth. Now that her employer had sorted out her dental situation, she needed to change jobs and work for a beautician or a hairdresser.
‘They shouted at Mr Roberts,’ Nicola said, ‘to lie on the floor but I think he did something to upset them, as they fired a shotgun above his head. It practically deafened me as they fired it close to my ear.’
‘They fired it to knock-out the CCTV camera behind Mr Roberts.’
‘Oh, I see. Next thing, one of the robbers bashes me with the handle of the shotgun, that’s how I got this,’ she said touching the large bruise on her face, ‘and I fell on the floor.’
‘What sort of shotgun did they use?’ asked DS Hobbs, a keen student of guns.
‘I dunno.’
‘Was it this long?’ he said, spreading his arms wide.
‘God, no. He pulled the thing out from the inside of his jacket. It was a small stubby thing.’
‘Ok. Did it have one or two barrels?’
‘I’m not sure I know what you mean.’
‘Was it this wide,’ he said, opening his fingers, ‘or,’ separating them some more, ‘this wide?’
‘The second one. It was definitely the second one.’
‘Well done, thanks.’
Henderson had received his introduction to shotguns while assisting ghillies on the Ardgour Estate in Scotland as a youth. In grouse and deer shooting, the length of the barrel is important, a short barrel length for hitting close range targets and a longer length for stalking deer or flying birds. A sawn-off shotgun is a commercially purchased shotgun with part of the barrel removed and beloved by many classes of criminal, as it could easily be concealed under a jacket, noisy when fired in a confined space, capable of causing widespread damage, and frightening to those in the line of fire.
‘Did you see anything more?’ Henderson asked.
‘No, as I told you before, a few minutes later they stepped over me and left the shop.’
‘You must have heard something.’
‘I suppose I did hear ring trays being emptied into a bag, muffled voices between the robbers, that sort of thing.’
‘What did they say?’
‘I…I couldn’t hear anything specific.’
‘You couldn’t tell from the voices if they were black or white, British or foreign, or if they spoke with local or regional accents?’
‘Like I say, I didn’t hear too much.’
‘Ms Jenner,’ Henderson said, ‘I’d like to show you something,’
From a folder he removed three CCTV pictures and placed the first in front of her.
‘It’s me,’ she said looking down, ‘where did you get this?’
‘This is a picture taken as the two raiders came into the shop and before the CCTV was smashed. This is you talking to Mr Roberts, yes?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Look closely at your face, what do you see?’
She stared at the photograph. ‘I dunno, nothing much.’
‘Look here,’ he said pointing at the side of her face in the picture. ‘I can see a slight shadow. Can you see it?’
‘Yeah, sort of, but everything looks different in black and white, doesn’t it?’
Henderson knew that if it wasn’t for the heavy face makeup, she would be blushing now.
‘We looked through the pictures until we got a good side view of your face and blew it up.’
He placed another picture in front of her
Her face reddened. ‘The picture’s not right. My foundation must be smudged or something. You’ve doctored it or something.’
Henderson picked up the picture and held it high, comparing it to the face in front of him. ‘I would say the shadow on the picture corresponds almost exactly to the big bruise on your face. What do you think, Sergeant Hobbs?’
‘I agree.’
‘Don’t be daft. I told you, the robbers did it.’
‘That’s not all,’ he said producing the third picture. ‘You can see in this picture, the two men are standing on your left. If they hit you with the shotgun, as you told us in your story, the bruise would be on the left side of your face, not the right.’
‘I dunno, I dunno.’
He slapped the picture down on the table, making her jump. ‘Don’t give me the innocent victim story, Nicola. You had a bruise on your face when you walked into the jewellery shop. I think the robbers did it before the raid. I think you know them, don’t you?’
She started crying. A few minutes later a sorry face looked up at them.
‘I want a lawyer.’
‘We’ll get you a lawyer, you’re going to need one,’ Henderson said. ‘You will be charged with aiding and abetting an armed robbery. Do you know what sentence you’ll receive for a charge like this?’
‘No.’
‘Fifteen years, and if you’re lucky and come before a lenient judge, twelve. Nicola, you’ll be touching forty when you come out.’
The sobs turned to wails. Three or four minutes later she looked up.
‘What will I get if I help you?’
*
Henderson didn’t like driving while wearing a bullet-proof vest as it restricted movement and made him feel hot, but he knew when they reached the destination there wouldn’t be much time to spare, so he put it on in the office before coming out. At least it was dark and any driving mistakes he made on the way to Springfield Road wouldn’t be a problem as there wasn’t much traffic around.
The name of Nicola’s boyfriend, Des Hamlin, rang several bells in the minds of Henderson and Hobbs. A career criminal in the truest sense of the word, he’d started committing offences while still at school and when he left, joined a criminal gang straight away. They believed he now worked for Trevor Frank as one of his many enforcers. Frank was one of Brighton’s biggest drug dealers and the man who took Henderson’s nark Davy Cairns under his wing when he’d found a bag of money belonging to Frank, the proceeds of a drug deal that ended in a shoot-out.
‘You don’t think he’s got rid of the shotgun, do you Angus?’ Hobbs asked.
‘Plan for the worst and hope fo
r the best is what I told Sergeant Briggs. Are they still behind? I can’t see the van.’
Hobbs turned, not easy to do while wearing a stab-proof vest. ‘Yep it’s still there, about three cars back.’
‘Good. No, I don’t think he’s got rid of it yet, as the robbery only happened yesterday and with no witnesses or forensics, we can’t connect it to the robbery or the villains because as you know, one shotgun pellet is like any other shotgun pellet.’
‘You’re right, he wouldn’t get rid of it because if he sold it to someone else and we nicked them, we’ve got a better chance of connecting the gun to him.’
‘Yep, plus if this pair did the job because Franks ordered it, maybe he supplied the tools and wants them back.’
‘Rob and Return, I could start a new business. It would be nice though, to nab that bastard.’
‘It’s not going to happen tonight, my friend,’ Henderson said. ‘Frank is too wily an operator to get so close. If he is behind the raid, he won’t be bothered if we arrest Nicola’s boyfriend and his mate, Ros Vincent, as long as Frank’s name is kept some distance away from it.’
‘Do you think Frank is behind it? What would he gain from it?’
‘Good question, maybe his mother fancied a ring and he didn’t want to pay for it.’
‘Ha, maybe the Police and Crime Commissioner’s brother turned all self-righteous when his brother started hobnobbing with the Chief Constable and refused to pay protection.’
‘Frank is more into drugs than protection. Maybe he snatched the merchandise in payment for goods supplied.’
‘Perhaps we need to take a closer look at the shop owner.’
‘I’m thinking the same thing. Right, this is Springfield Road. Number thirty-seven isn’t it?’
Hobbs looked down at his notes. ‘Yes, sir.’
Henderson watched in the rear view mirror as the black transit van pulled up behind him. They exited the vehicles and walked towards the house. One officer ran around to the back of the terraced house and the rest approached the front door. The banger moved into position and seconds later the front door flew back. Henderson followed three officers as they swept the downstairs rooms while Hobbs and two others clumped upstairs.
An officer pushed open the kitchen door and inside, Ros Vincent, Nicola Jenner’s cousin, was standing at a worktop buttering a slice of toast. Vincent looked up, and on seeing the officers, reached over for a carving knife lying close by. His fingers barely touched the handle when a large gloved hand smacked him in the face. His head bounced off the edge of the worktop and he fell to the floor in a heap.
‘Good work sergeant,’ Henderson said to Sergeant Briggs as he flipped the prisoner over and applied the cuffs. ‘Check he’s still breathing as the crack when he smacked his head was loud enough to be heard next door.’
‘It would serve the little bastard right, he was reaching for a lethal looking blade. Only last week this guy came at me–’
BOOM!
Henderson turned and ran upstairs. He did a quick count as he passed several prostrate officers. ‘Gerry, is anyone hurt?’
‘No,’ Hobbs said from his crouched position in the security of the bathroom. ‘As soon as we tried opening the door he let loose with the shotgun; both barrels. If he’d waited a few seconds, one of us would have been a goner.’
It was an old terraced house near Preston Circus, renovated no more than four or five years ago, judging by the light scuff marks on the walls. To save money, people often used cheaper, moulded doors and one of them wouldn’t stop a child’s baseball bat, never mind a shotgun, but the lack of holes on their side of the door made him think it was made of solid wood. It was comforting to know he couldn’t shoot them through it.
Henderson pressed himself against the wall beside the closed bedroom door, first checking it was made of stone and not plasterboard, important considerations with an agitated gunman on the other side.
‘Des, are you in there?’ he shouted.
‘Course I’m fucking in here. Who else do you think it is, the tooth fairy?’
‘Des, this is Detective Inspector Angus Henderson of Sussex Police. Put the gun down and come out, what you’re doing is stupid.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘If you don’t come out now, every armed officer in Sussex will turn up at this house and I think you know how that story is going to end.’
‘I’ll take my chances.’
‘We know you did the jewel robbery with Ros Vincent, but you don’t want a murder charge added to it as well, do you?’
‘I don’t give a fuck.’
‘You might not, but I bet Nicola does.’
‘She didn’t have anything to do with this.’
‘Oh, I think you’re telling porkies, my friend, because I think she did. In fact, I’m going to charge her with helping you guys. She’ll be lucky to get less than fifteen years.’
‘You fucking bastard, Henderson.’
‘Boss, what are you doing,’ Hobbs hissed. ‘You’re winding him up.’
Henderson held his index finger to his lips.
‘She’ll be in a different jail from you, Des,’ Henderson said to the blank door. ‘She’ll be in Lewes and you’ll be in Wakefield or some God-forsaken place. Fifteen years is a long time, she’ll forget what you look like.’
‘You fucking bastard.’
BOOM!
Two barrels. Henderson heard the tell-tale click of the barrel snapping, reload. He kicked the door open. Hamlin was on the bed, trembling fingers trying to put a cartridge into a shaking gun.
Henderson dived on top of him. They rolled on the floor, Henderson landing a fist in his face but when he tried to do it again, the butt of the shotgun smashed into his. His lights went out for a few seconds but before Hamlin could take advantage and pound him into a pulp or pull the trigger, other bodies piled into him.
A few minutes later, they bundled Hamlin out of the room, the shotgun and cartridges all bagged, ready for forensic analysis which hopefully would prove it was used in the jewellery heist. Henderson sat on the edge of the bed, Hobbs beside him.
‘You’re going to have some bruise on your face in the morning, Angus.’
‘It’s not harming my good looks I’m worried about, I feel drunk.’
A phone started to ring. It didn’t belong to Henderson, or by the look on his face, Hobbs. Henderson spotted the glow on top of the dresser. He reached over, picked it up and handed it to Hobbs.
‘It’s Trevor Frank. You know what Hamlin sounds like. You can do a Brighton accent better than me.’
Hobbs held the phone to his ear, Henderson close by.
‘Yeah?’ Hobbs said.
‘Des, it’s Trevor Frank.’
‘Hi, Trevor.’
‘You get the stuff like I asked you to?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Good boy. No problems?’
‘Nope.’
‘Bring it all to me tomorrow night and make sure you’re not followed. Y’hear?’
‘Yeah.
‘Bring it to my house in Orpen Road in Hove, you know it?’
‘Nope’
‘Now I think about it, you’ve never been here before. Halfway along. It’s called Standen House. See you at eight.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
The car park at Sainsbury’s was busy, but it meant no one would take a blind bit of notice of him. He soon spotted the target’s car, older and shabbier than anything around it. He flicked the toothpick over with his tongue in one movement; five minutes one way, five minutes the other.
He approached it and bent down beside one of the wheel arches. He put gloves on as he didn’t want any of this stuff on his hands, reached underneath and felt for the brake cable. Good, it hadn’t been touched since last night when he’d cut the cable, drained some of the brake fluid and made a temporary repair.
He stood and stretched, as if the car seat had made his back ache, but still no one took any notice of the handsome stranger. He took
a little walk, enjoying the early morning sunshine but hating the sea of concrete and metal all around him, swarming with hordes of greedy shoppers who thought of little else but what could be dumped into their trolleys or rammed into their fat faces.
Five minutes later he saw Eric Hannah, his eyes greedily ogling the pretty girls as he wheeled his trolley full of booze for his not-so-secret stash, destined for his shed. Today, while his wife took the little one swimming and the older girl to hockey, he’d fill the fridge in the shed, a regular weekend ritual which the stupid fool probably believed she didn’t know anything about. After closing the boot, he ambled towards the driver’s door. When the target eased himself inside, he slid into the passenger seat.
‘What the fuck’s this?’
He pulled out a gun, a child’s toy but what did this prick know about guns? ‘Shut the door.’
‘Bloody hell, a gun! Take it easy, mate!’
‘Stop talking shithead. Now drive slowly and easily.’
Away from the car park and the prying eyes of the CCTV cameras he relaxed, but Hannah, perspiring greatly and gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, didn’t.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Just shut your face and drive, slow and careful. No sudden movements or this gun might go off.’
He poked the gun into Hannah’s gut, causing him to sit bolt upright, and as he did so, removed his wallet and house keys from his jacket pocket.
‘Turn left into the next road.’
A few minutes later, he directed his pale driver into a petrol station on the A31 and instructed him to park the BMW close to his van, parked well away from the main building. He poked the gun again into Hannah’s ribs. ‘I’m out of here but I’m going to follow you back to your place where we’re going to have a nice little chat. Understand?’
Hannah nodded.
He leaned over towards him. ‘Listen to me mate, I want no heroics. Drive like normal and you’ll be fine. Don’t forget, I know where you live.’ The dumb fucker nodded up and down, up and down like a parcel shelf dog.