“We’ve got to be careful, that’s all. We’ll get some troops in for a couple of nights, cover all the drops.”
He forced himself to sound as confident as possible, far more certain than he actually felt. After all, at some point he would have to sell it to the DAC.
In his trouser pockets, he crossed his fingers.
“Safe as houses. You’ll see.”
THIRTY FOUR
Not for a long time had Ted worked closely with Groat, but they quickly slipped into a routine and their respective roles and responsibilities seemed to complement each other perfectly. Ted was pleased to have his friend on hand to support and advise him on his project and Groat would not have been able to contemplate undertaking the sting, without someone who’s competence and discretion could be relied upon absolutely.
There was one development that was to surprise them. Results started to flood through from their CID course contacts around the country. Collators from many areas were reporting series upon series of house burglaries with specific and sometimes peculiar MOs. One collator in Nottinghamshire reported dozens of domestic burglaries over very short periods, where the offender would take a radio from each of the attacked premises which would then be abandoned nearby. The crimes then stopped completely, with no one ever being arrested or convicted. Collators from West Yorkshire reported house burglaries in their areas, Pudsey, Cleckheaton, Shelf and Shipley and others – always with the same characteristics. Some variation – for example, all the drawers pulled out, others where the place was trashed for little or no apparent reason – but always the common thread. Domestic burglaries, very specific MO, nothing but cash stolen, many committed over a short time period, followed by a sudden and complete cessation. None were ever detected. One collator commented, ‘The individual or individuals involved appear to be very forensically aware.’
By the time the reports slowed to a mere trickle again, they had amassed a tally of close on to four hundred offences.
“Think it’s our man?” Ted asked.
“Let’s see what Dee makes of it.” Groat replied, “She’ll have her work cut out with this little lot.”
*
Groat cudgelled his brain. How to find out where all the drops were to be made? He knew who all the victims were, as he had gathered information about them in the first place. One thought was to intercept the letters somehow, or go to each intended victim, tell them about the sting and ask them for sight of their demand. He did not much like that idea. It involved third parties, introduced unknowns and complications into the process and he recalled what the DAC said about heavy, high rollers involved. He would avoid them and their denials if at all possible.
The Groat luck held. He went to see Olivia that evening with a half formed idea of getting her out of the flat for a meal and so allowing Ted the time to gain entry and search for copies of the letters. He had borrowed a key a while back to have a duplicate made, so no problem there. The silly cow hadn’t even got a copy of her little black book, so what chance of copy letters?
He suggested a restaurant some ten minutes away.
“It’s a bit expensive – for you,” she demurred, “What’s the occasion? Anyway, won’t Gloria be suspicious?”
“One answer to both questions. Gloria has buggered off to her auntie’s for a few days. She’s away, so there’s your reason for celebration and no, obviously she won’t even know. I could even stay the night – if you’re not expecting a paying guest, of course.” He felt simultaneously jealous, bitter and disloyal as he said it.
If she sensed any hidden agenda Olivia didn’t show it. She smiled, “For you, anything. Few others could afford it.”
Groat was carrying a personal radio in his inside pocket, and would have to create an opportunity to call Ted and tell him that he was free to carry out their plan. As they went to leave the flat, Olivia picked up a thick pile of envelopes from the hall table.
“Can we stop somewhere and post these?” She raised her eyebrows and gave a conspiratorial grin.
One of the prime, basic qualities required of a good police officer, Groat thought, observation skills. Nought out of bleeding ten. How come he hadn’t seen them on the way in? He passed Olivia the keys to the Capri.
“You go, I’ll be down in a sec,” he said, “just got to pop to the loo.”
He waited until he could hear her high heels clacking down the external steps, dived back into the flat, closed the bathroom door just in case, switched on the PR. Told Ted to cancel, he’d thought of another way.
*
Groat was enjoying himself.
“How the hell?” Ted asked, looking at the pile of envelopes on the desk in front of him.
“Like candy from a baby.” Groat replied.
On their way out the previous evening he’d volunteered to post the letters. He parked up a short distance from the post box, on the opposite side of the road and whilst pretending to post them, secreted the lot in his inside pocket. He even managed a wave to her as he was accomplishing his sleight of hand. Mind you, with his Burndept personal radio in one inside pocket and twenty eight blackmail letters in the other, he’d felt a bit like a pumped up body builder.
“No, go on,” Ted pleaded, “how did you get them?”
Groat tapped the side of his nose, “Need to know basis,” he said, “and you do not need to know.”
They opened each letter and having carefully noted the requested drop point, time and date against each victim’s name, placed each letter in a newly addressed envelope. In spite of his previous denigration of her qualities (apart from bedroom skills, of course) Groat now admitted that her organisational and logistical abilities were not as lacking as he previously thought.
*
The first drops were to be made in three days’ time.
They arranged the manpower to watch all the drop sites. He told Ted that he would have to be in charge of this phase of the operation, he could be seen nowhere near it, even less anywhere near Olivia. He saw the DAC and apprised him of the plan. The DAC saw what was to be achieved and it was good.
All systems go.
*
For the next two days, Bonehead watched Groat assiduously, noting every movement. On the evening of the second day, he witnessed him visit Olivia again. He was confident, as Groat was – but for totally, diametrically different reasons – that this was to be his one last time.
Game on.
THIRTY FIVE
Groat sat at his desk. He quietly congratulated himself at extricating himself from the catastrophic predicament that had threatened to exterminate him. He considered that the shimmering sterling inlay in this particular cumulonimbus – testing though it had been at times – was his powerful new ally, the DAC, Mr Van Lesseps. The only shadow on his personal horizon was sorting out this drivel about buying properties abroad with Gloria and his life would be back on an even keel. Then it was promotion and ever onwards and upwards.
“Mr Groat?”
Call me sir… He looked round, “What the...”
He had seen them before – or something very like them. They came in two versions. Young bucks trying to make a name for themselves, taking the soft option, clawing their way up the promotion ladder by nailing errant policeman instead of real criminals, or older officers, jaundiced by the ever present perception of corrupt police officers spoiling things for the good guys. This time there was one of each.
“What is it?” he continued, “I’m busy. Important busy, if you get my drift. Not some non-operational crap dreamed up by Complaints and Discipline.”
The older officer was a doppelganger Herman from the 1960’s TV show ‘The Munsters’. He spoke in a slow, measured fashion. “I am Superintendent Humble of the Complaints and Discipline Department. This is Acting Chief Inspector Bright. As a senior officer, you will appreciate that complaint matters take precedence over operational business. However, in this case it really makes no difference, as we have been tasked with investigating a serio
us criminal offence.” He paused. “You will also appreciate that we only get involved in criminal allegations if police officers are involved.”
“Yeah, yeah. So what poor sod’s getting stitched up now? And why are you telling me?”
“It’s you.” Bright blurted.
“I know it’s me,” Groat snapped irritably, “I’ve been here all morning.”
Superintendent Humble said, “What Acting Chief Inspector Bright is trying to tell you, is that you are the subject of our enquiry.”
“Me?” Groat squeaked.
Humble bore on, “Lester Edwin Groat, I am arresting you for the murder of Suzie Wong. You are not obliged to say anything but…”
“Suzie Wong?” Groat spluttered, “Suzie Wong was a Chinese prostitute in that film with William Holden, years ago. What are you on about? Are you trying to get me going, or what? This is a joke, isn’t it. Well, I’m telling you, it’s a fuckin’ bad one.”
“No sir.” Already, Bright was not living up to his name. He had clearly failed to do his homework, as he and Groat were basically the same rank. “A prostitute who called herself Suzie Wong was murdered last night. You were seen leaving the premises and…”
The superintendent cleared his throat in a stentorian and imperative manner, drowning out his colleague, before he could give away all their evidence to the suspect.
“Prostitute?” Groat shouted, “I’ve never been with a prostitute in my life.” He fell silent, adopting a gradually glowing shade of pale crimson.
“Mr Groat,” the older officer said, “people are staring. Shall we go somewhere a little more private?”
“Fuck your private.” Groat said, only a little less loudly.
Prior to joining the police, Bright had completed a short service commission in the army. “I’ll have you know I’m an acting chief inspector.” He said angrily.
Groat said, “Well anything you want to say to me, you can say here. I’ve nothing to hide and I’ve certainly not killed anyone.”
The second of these statements, at least, was true.
Witnessing the commotion, Ted Pearson now approached, his face a picture of concern. “What’s up, Guv?”
Groat told him, “This shower is trying to suggest I murdered a prostitute last night.”
“Guv?” Ted radiated alarm.
“Someone called Suzie Wong.”
Ted frowned, “Wasn’t Suzie Wong a Chinese girl in that film with William Holden, years ago?”
“Exactly what I said.”
“They’ve got to be joking.” Turning to Humble and Bright, Ted said, “You’ve got to be joking. Just what is going on here?”
The superintendent had been trying to get back into the conversation for some little while. “I’m sorry, but I am not at liberty to discuss the case with unauthorised persons.”
“Unauthorised persons?” Groat yelled, “He’s my fucking D/S.”
Bright was also feeling left out and considered that Complaints and Discipline ought to have the upper hand. “Whatever.” He said. “You’ve got to come with us.”
Superintendent Humble said, “Mr Groat, you will have to come with us. Now, are you going to come quietly?”
Groat had never actually heard anyone say that – apart from on the TV. He certainly never used the phrase himself. In spite of what was happening, a part of him was still detached enough to think, well, I suppose he’s toward the end of his service now, so he started in the 1940’s. And he sounds like he’s still there.
Tosser.
“No I bloody well won’t.” Groat gathered himself for a crescendo, “Look everybody – the DCI is being arrested by Complaints and Discipline.” He went head to head with the superintendent – not easy, as Humble had barely scraped over the height requirement – “You will regret this, big time. Egg. All over your face. I have friends y’know.” He gritted, “You’ll pay for this.”
He intended to sound mean and dangerous. He was certainly close to the edge, as he said, “Wait ‘til DAC Van Lesseps hears about this. Your feet won’t touch the fuckin’ ground.” He turned to Ted who stood there looking concerned – for any number of reasons – and said to him, as much for Humble and Bright’s benefit as anyone’s, “If I am not back at my desk by nine o’clock sharp in the morning, call my solicitor and make as much fuss as you know how – oh, and call Deputy Assistant Commissioner Van Lesseps and let him know, as well.”
Bright went to take hold of his arm. Groat wrenched away from his grip and turned on him. “Take your hands off me, you snivelling little shit.” He glared, “You realise that this is your career finished, don’t you.”
The Acting Chief Inspector wanted to retort, “So what about yours, then?” But thought he’d just end up sounding bitchy, so he kept quiet and just looked the brightest he’d been all day.
*
Humble and Bright took Groat to the interview rooms in the Complaints and Discipline department. He was relieved that they hadn’t seen fit to take him straight to police cells, which, on the grounds he had been arrested for, they would have been quite entitled to do. They’d cautioned him again and Bright stacked pads of lined paper in front of him, making notes as they talked.
“So where were you last night between the hours of, say, eight p.m. and four am?” Humble enquired.
“Where d’you think.” Groat retorted sourly.
“With your wife…” Humble picked up a pad and scanned it rapidly, “Mrs Groat, er, Gloria, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Well, that is, no. She’s away at the moment.”
“Marital problems?” Bright smiled, winked and nodded with gratuitous understanding.
Humble continued, “So you were at home all night?”
“Yes.”
“And you came straight to work from your home address…” he again consulted his pad, “in Loughton?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“And was there anyone else there who can verify that?”
“No.”
“Mmm.” He paused, “Can you explain how, then, you were seen at Cadogan Mansions, off Old Street, at seven forty five a.m. this morning?”
Groat suddenly felt as though his knackers were being painfully squeezed between two huge lumps of supercooled ice.
Shit.
There was no one about. Some bloody nosy curtain-twitcher. He started to colour up, then thought, He’s bluffing. I’m not falling for that. It’s the oldest trick in the world. Idiot.
“Bollocks. Nobody’s seen me anywhere.”
Humble shuffled papers, located a witness statement and read, “Mrs Ethel Shorter, 325, Cadogan Mansions. I quote – ‘he’s very tall, average build, in his mid thirties and drives a newish metallic blue Ford Capri. He often visits number 337 where Olivia lives alone, since her Mum died. I’d got the milk in, about seven forty-five this morning when I saw him leaving the flats, right by number 315. I would recognise him again and I would be prepared to attend an identification parade if required to do so’.” Humble cleared his throat. “Three one five was where the murder took place, although I expect you already know that.”
“…already know that.” Bright repeated as he scribbled.
Groat tried to ignore Bright and concentrated hard on keeping his thoughts together, not allowing them to divide into strands. He really would lose his way if that happened. He was aware that he would be totally home, free, if he declared his visit to Olivia’s place and explained it to be part of a sting, but he could not do that yet. The operation was still in full flow, with the first of the drops to be collected tonight. He’d opted out of this part of the job and trusted Ted to do a good, solid piece of work. It wasn’t helping him in his current predicament, though. He would have to ride it out. They would have to release him sooner or later, so he would bide his time until the damning information from Olivia’s little black book was secured. Until then he could not tell them anything; after that nothing would need explaining.
THIRTY SIX
Hu
mble and Bright took a break, leaving Groat guarded by a woodentop. He was offered sandwiches, so dried up they were curling up off the plate and threatening a walk out. He refused, but accepted a mug of tea.
When they returned, they reversed roles. The superintendent prepared to take notes; Bright was being given a chance to ask questions. In spite of his circumstances, Groat grinned to himself.
Bright began, “I will remind you that you are still under caution.”
“Acting chief inspector, is it?” Groat said.
“Yes, now…”
“And how many murder enquiries exactly have you worked on?”
Bright’s complexion again promised to emulate his name. “Er, enough.” He said, looking uncomfortable.
“I worked on the A6 murder, remember that? James Francis Hanratty, when I was barely out of my probation…” He ran through a string of other high profile enquiries. “What is your experience exactly? How many did you say you’d been involved with?”
Bright’s colour deepened. “One.” Barely more than a whisper.
“So what makes you qualified to work on this one? Especially when you decide to interview a fellow senior officer?” He laid heavy emphasis on Senior.
“Bright.” The superintendent barked. “Are you actually going to ask the man some questions?”
“Well, as I said, you are still under caution, that is, you are not obliged to say anything…”
Groat spoke over him again, “For god’s sake, I know the bloody caution. Used it more times than you’ve had hot dinners, probably. If you are actually going to ask me some questions, for chrissake get on with it.”
“Right. You told us that you were at home, alone all last night. We know that is not true because Mrs Shorter saw you at Cadogan Mansions this morning, so that was a lie. Can you explain why you were there?”
“No. Not at the moment. And for your education, if something is not entirely correct, that does not necessarily render it totally untrue. It certainly does not make it a lie. Got that?”
“But you admit that you were there?”
The Perfect Crime Page 13