Law & Order

by G. F. Newman

  ds Lethridge caught hold of her as she lashed out and he pushed her towards the kitchen. ‘Shut up, for fuck sake – go and look after your kids.’

  Lynn became animated now. ‘Don’t you start!’ he warned him pointing his finger.

  ‘You fancy some?’ Lethridge said, swinging round. ‘I reckon I could manage you, and your old lady.’

  ‘Worrying the life out of innocent people, ’s all you sods are good for.’

  ‘You’d better tell her to calm down, or she’ll be done for assault,’ Pyle advised.

  ‘About your flicking mark,’ Dolly screamed. The two girls at the end of the hall were screaming as well. Lynn caught hold of his wife and held her close.

  ‘Come on, Dolly, be a bit sensible, love. It’s all right. S’misunderstanding, s’all.’

  Lynn kept hold of her like he didn’t want to let her go: But he went when the detective laid hands on him. Pyle glanced along the hall at the two girls hanging round the kitchen door. Both were in tears. Lynn’s gaze followed his fleetingly.

  Glancing at the villain, Pyle said, ‘Is it worth it, Jack, all the grief you cause them?’ From the look on Lynn’s face he knew what he was thinking.

  #

  ‘What a blinding result!’ Lethridge said when he got back from visiting the garage that Lynn was holding receipts for. He told Pyle about the armoury of blaggers’ tools that were neatly laid out. There were three sawn-off shotguns, cartridges, a handgun, hammers with handles drilled and looped for easy handling; axes, pinchbars, a bunch of about a hundred assorted car keys, liquid ammonia, teargas canisters, gloves, masks, and rope – for tying up victims.

  ‘Nothing like being prepared,’ Pyle said, ‘is there?’

  ‘Yeah, he must have been a boy scout.’ Lethridge shook his head in amazement. ‘I left Humphries there waiting for the photographer and fingerprints – bit of luck there might be a few prints.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought there was much chance that Lynn will even attempt to say we planted that lot, Eric,’ Pyle said. ‘Go and see the owner of the garage. See if he can identify Lynn.’

  True to form Lynn denied all knowledge of the contents of the garage. He also denied any knowledge of the Gas Board blag. Pyle wasn’t about to allow either denial to gain ground.

  ‘S’not what we’ve got, Jack. You were there all right, doing that blagging with John Tully.’

  In the interview room at Abbey Wood nick with them was one of his dcs and a local uniform man working the recording equipment.

  ‘Shut up! I told you where I was Friday morning. I was in bed rumping my old lady, that’s where,’ Lynn said.

  ‘S’that right?’ Pyle said reasonably. ‘What sort of alibi’s that?’

  ‘We could take a swab, guv,’ Jenkins interjected drily, ignoring the tape recorder. ‘Check how old the semen is.’

  That amused Pyle, but Lynn didn’t share his sense of humour. However, he had more sense than to retaliate.

  ‘That was where I was, I tell you.’

  ‘I thought you’d come up with something better than that, Jack. I’m almost disappointed.’

  ‘I won’t deny I know John Tully. But I ain’t seen him in months.’

  ‘Well, don’t worry about it. You’ll be seeing a lot of him over the next few months.’

  ‘Someone’s getting you right at it, sticking me up.’

  ‘You think that’s all there is to it, son? If that was the case, a couple of dcs would have called round at a reasonable hour. You wouldn’t have been picked up on an armed raid like this. Be sensible.’

  ‘You definitely got the wrong fella,’ Lynn said, pitching his words in a low, appealing tone. ‘That blag wasn’t down to me. I wasn’t even near Abbey Wood.’

  ‘What about the fifteen hundred pounds we found at your gaff, Jack?’

  ‘That? Oh, that was just a bit of dough I keep by me. Rainy-day money, that’s all.

  ‘Where d’you get it, Jack?’

  ‘How d’you mean? It’s mine.’

  ‘You had it tucked away all right,’ Pyle allowed. ‘So how’d you come by it?’

  Looking like a man being driven into a corner, Lynn said, ‘It’s just bits and pieces what get tucked away. S’all. It’s m’cush’.’

  ‘I wish I could afford to put that sort of money aside. I’d say that came out of that Gas Board. Wasn’t a bright place to hide it, was it? I thought most villains had bank accounts with the TSB nowadays.’

  ‘He probably wouldn’t have had time to put it there, guv,’ dc Jenkins pointed out. ‘What with giving his old lady such a rumping on Friday.’

  ‘No, I s’pose not.’ Pyle paused and looked at the suspect. ‘All right, Jack, stop playing games now. Put your hands up to it. Get yourself a bit of help from the court.’

  ‘I tell you what, if I was involved, the first thing I’d’ve done was made you an offer. That’s the most sensible move.’

  ‘That might seem logical,’ Pyle said, ‘but it doesn’t prove a thing.’

  Slowly and carefully, point by point and taking care not to say anything improper on the tape, he took Lynn through everything again. But nothing changed. Finally, he said, ‘Wasn’t that just lucky for you that this celebrated bunk-up coincided with that blag?’

  ‘Lucky for you, you mean,’ Lynn replied angrily. ‘You got one in hand, and I’m the body – I saw the papers. They made right mugs of Old Bill, that little team, didn’t they?’

  ‘Nothing to do with me. We just got word it was down to you – simple as that. The evidence all points that way, Jack. I’d say there was a good chance you’re going down for this one, son. You’re well overdue.’

  The interview ended with Pyle giving the time and the place, his name and rank and the person being interviewed. The uniform policeman removed the tapes from the machine and got Lynn to sign for the copy he gave him.

  32

  HAVING DECIDED THAT JACK LYNN was the fourth man on the Gas Board robbery, Pyle wanted nothing left to chance when it came to getting him convicted. Too often villains got a result because detectives took their evidence for granted or were arrogant about the process, assuming because they had nicked someone the courts would endorse that action with a conviction. Courts could no longer be relied on as a matter of course, so Pyle always made sure there was extra help.

  In the front office at Abbey Wood nick, he approached the custody officer, whose basic workload, like most policemen, was paperwork.

  ‘Where’s the blaggers’ clothing that was recovered from the Gas Board blag?’ Pyle wanted to know. ‘Has it gone for forensic examination yet?’

  ‘No, sir,’ the sergeant said. ‘It’s waiting to go up now. It’s all in the cid property store.’

  There would have been little point in its going up sooner as the forensic labs only operated nine-to-five, five days a week, unless it was something urgent.

  ‘Could I have a look, skip?’

  ‘No problem.’ From one of his desk drawers he removed a key with a lead weight attached.

  ‘I won’t be walking off with that in m’ pocket,’ Pyle said as he took the key.

  The ‘large-property’ store was a small, windowless room on the ground floor. Goods such as lead off church roofs and confiscated girlie magazines were stacked around the place; a bicycle, a lawnmower, some tins of paint, stuff held onto by the police until the case in which it was involved was dealt with by the court, before being returned to the rightful owner.

  Pyle stepped inside and locked the door after him. He found the pile of clothing tied in a neat bundle, each item bearing an exhibit label. The leather flying helmet was the only item he was interested in at this stage. After breaking the seal and easing the hat from the bundle, he removed an envelope containing Lynn’s comb and freed some hairs from it. These he placed inside the helmet, crumpling the hat to work t
hem into the lining. He stuffed the hat back into the bundle, reset a new seal and went out, switching off the light.

  #

  ‘Morning, Frank,’ Pyle said to the local di as he stepped into his office on the first floor.

  ‘I hear you nicked the fourth blagger,’ the di said. ‘How does it look?’

  ‘Not bad. Could you get your people to organise another parade?’ He could have asked the reserve inspector himself, but his relationship was with the local di.

  ‘When were you thinking?’

  ‘This afternoon’ll do it – Lynn’s not going anywhere. I have a couple of other things to do before then.’

  One was to get the banknotes found at Lynn’s place checked by the cashier at the Gas Board. There was just a chance the money could be identified. Also he needed to see Clifford Harding, who would help him convict Lynn.

  There wasn’t anyone who worked for banks, security firms or money-in-transit offices who wouldn’t co-operate with the police on this type of investigation. The reason being they knew that without the police they couldn’t function as free from worry over potential assault as they did.

  The cashier at the Gas Board was no exception. Fat-jowled and dandruff-flecked, he strove with obsequious delight to ingratiate himself when Pyle was shown into his office. Pyle knew he was a million to get a result here, regardless of whether the notes he had taken from Lynn were part of the Gas Board money. The cashier agreed to co-operate in any way he could, adding what a fine job he thought the police were doing, how splendid it was that they had caught the robbers. Pyle let him say his piece, knowing that time spent here was an investment. At one point he wondered if this man wasn’t at it himself.

  ‘It’s a simple matter, inspector,’ the cashier said, examining the banknotes. ‘I’m sure I’ll be able to identify these.’

  He seemed to accept that the money was part of the Gas Board take because Pyle had told him it was. ‘Yes. I can identify some of these notes as part of the money made up for our cash collection. We each have our own individual way of marking notes,’ he explained. ‘The same as tellers in banks do. Yes, I would say these were from that cash collection, sir. Several of the notes have my mark on them.’

  ‘Are you definite about that?’ Pyle asked.

  ‘Oh I am. I’m certain of it.’

  Pyle nodded. He would take a short statement, have the cashier sign an exhibits label, then move on to tie up his next witness.

  Pyle took two detectives with him for the visit to Clifford Harding. He wanted the villain in an anxious frame of mind and ready to co-operate. This was achieved by Harding believing he was going to be arrested.

  Pyle waited in the blue Ford Sierra outside the house while the two dcs brought Harding to him. One of the detectives pushed the villain through the door and climbed in after him. The other went in the front next to the driver. Harding’s protests ceased on recognising Pyle, but started again once he was over the surprise.

  ‘What the fuck’s going on, guv? I mean, what the fuck’s it all about? I mean, I’m getting more pulls than enough.’ Harding was distressed.

  ‘Your name keeps coming up, Clifford. Whenever we seem to look at anything, there you are, son.’

  ‘Leave it out. I mean, what chance would I have, keep being pulled like I am? I mean, I thought we was s’posed to have a deal. I give you a bit of help, you give me a bit.’

  Pyle nodded. ‘That’s right, son. What I want now is more help. Frank,’ he said to the driver.

  The car started away.

  The suspect was taken to the local nick and put into an interview room. Pyle followed him in, shutting the door. Having got Harding to his present agitated state the other two detectives weren’t needed.

  ‘Right,’ Pyle said. ‘What I want from you is a statement saying how your pal Jack Lynn put that blag at Abbey Wood Gas Board up to you. Okay?’

  ‘Fuck!’ Harding exclaimed, unprepared for that.

  ‘You want to pull yourself free of that bit of trouble of your own, right? This is what does it.’

  Harding hesitated. Pyle was sure he found the prospect sickening, but offered no sympathy. Instead he watched him swim around the room like he was under water and couldn’t get air. Then he stopped and said, ‘What have I got to say?’

  ‘Just tell it like it happened,’ Pyle explained. ‘How Jack phoned you, and you had a meet and he put this blag to you.’ Pyle nodded. ‘Sit down, son. Make yourself comfortable.’ He laid a sheaf of statement papers on the small table and uncapped his pen.

  Harding remained standing. ‘What about that bit of trouble of mine, guv? I mean, it is gonna be dropped out? You know, dropped right out?’

  ‘It will be, Cliff, like you never even saw that gun and weren’t ever thinking of making one with it.’ Pyle sounded convincing, but still pressed his point. ‘You give the right sort of statement, help nick the other fella, it’ll be like you never even had form, son.’

  Little by little Harding was reassured. He sat at the table and picked up the pen. ‘The thing is,’ he said with alarm, ‘what happens if it comes on top? I won’t be able to do nothing, will I?’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Pyle asked.

  ‘I mean, I won’t have to go up in court and stick that up? I mean, I can’t do that, can I? That’d not only make me a grass – I’m fitting one for you.’

  ‘No, you’re not, Clifford – he phoned you, didn’t he? You won’t have to go into the witness box to give evidence,’ Pyle lied. ‘We’re entitled to protect our sources of information – stand by what I tell you.’

  Harding looked at him, then nodded. ‘You’d better tell me what to write.’

  ‘First, we want your full name, address and a declaration that you’re making that statement of your own free will without threat or favour.’ There wasn’t any trace of irony in his words as he watched Harding write.

  Following the confusion at the scene of the robbery, there were many contradictory impressions from the witnesses who attended the first identity parades. Pyle was determined there wouldn’t be any when Lynn was put up. From the earlier statements he knew who among the witnesses would prove of most value. The security man who was beaten gave only a vague description of the blaggers, while his colleague who received a worse beating was less clear. Pyle intended to help both security men to clarity this time around.

  After exchanging a few pleasant words with the solicitor who arrived at the nick to look after Lynn’s interests – Mrs Lynn, he said, picked him from the phone book – Pyle went and spoke to each of the security guards in one of the interview rooms.

  ‘You won’t have any trouble identifying the fourth man,’ Pyle said to the guard. ‘He was the one wearing the flying helmet – dark wavy hair that’s starting to recede.’ Lynn would be seen without a hat on.

  ‘It’s surprising how difficult it is, inspector. You have a clear picture until you walk down that line. Then your mind somehow goes blank.’

  ‘I know how difficult it is. You won’t go blank with this one. You’ll recognise his crooked nose. He was a bit of a fighter – he got a whack from a security guard’s stick on the blag before this one.’

  Apprehension edged in on Pyle as the guard turned and looked at him. For a moment he thought he was going to raise some objection. He didn’t.

  ‘I remember him all right,’ he said.

  Pyle nodded. He could rely on this man, along with the second guard who remembered too. They would be enough to help put Lynn away, along with the forensic evidence he would have. He stayed at the id parade only long enough to see his witnesses pick Lynn out, and departed feeling satisfied.

  dci Simmons was satisfied too when he got the reports the following day.

  ‘Those witnesses id’ing him will wrap it up,’ Pyle said in the dcis’ office. ‘Lynn’s a stone ginger.’

  ‘I’d say so
– with what was found in his lock-up. Is the forensic report in yet?’

  ‘No. I’ll chase them up. What about charges for all that stuff in the garage? We putting them all to him?’

  ‘It’ll look good when it goes up: conspiracy to rob; possessing prohibited weapons without a firearms certificate. Let’s have everything in, Fred. What about the blags at Bromley and Wimbledon that were supposed to be down to him?’

  ‘I still reckon they were. There’s no evidence,’ Pyle said.

  ‘Pity. Nor any from Catford?’

  ‘Only what we found in his lock-up, unless you want me to stick it up on the word of my grass?’

  ‘No, not much point. Why don’t we see if we can tie him into any of our unsolved major blags – now we’ve got him. Get a warrant, check his bank accounts. There may have been some heavy deposits around the time of those robberies.’

  Pyle gave a doubtful look.

  ‘Silly as can be, some of these villains, Fred. S’worth a try. Put what we can on him. Let the CPS throw it out if they want to.’ He turned his attention to two thick pink folders on the desk in front of him. ‘There are a few discrepancies creeping into these statements.’

  ‘There won’t be any concerning Lynn,’ Pyle reassured him.

  ‘It’s these others given by local police officers. What kind of idiots are they over there? Don’t they corroborate their evidence before committing it to paper?’

  Pyle shrugged. ‘Uniform branch,’ he said, as if that explained everything. ‘You think they’ll make a difference, guv?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so, Fred.’

  Pyle nodded and went out.

  33

  THEY WERE FITTING HIM AND there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. Nothing he said or did made any difference. The situation both oppressed and depressed him. He was becoming frustrated and getting ready to explode. If that happened someone would get hurt. How he checked his anger Lynn wasn’t sure.