Robbery with Malice

by Barrie Roberts

  ‘Talk to Freddy Hughes. Find Miss Callington. Talk to Sheila’s suspect — the security chappy. See what comes up.’

  27.

  It started coming up altogether too fast for me.

  We had seen our guests off, chucked the dishes in the dishwasher and shared a last Talisker while we chuckled over our careful attempts to entrap the wrong pathologist.

  ‘Penny for them?’ I said.

  ‘I was thinking about what Mac said about the other bloke — Gaythorne. That terrible story about the boyfriend. I still find it hard to believe that coppers do things like that.’

  ‘It’s hard to believe that anyone could do things like that,’ I said, ‘but you know what Saffary tried to do to me last summer and you know how your grandfather died.’

  She nodded. ‘Right,’ she said. She kicked off her shoes and stood up. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s to bed.’

  ‘Aren’t you afraid?’

  ‘What of?’

  ‘Vagal inhibition.’

  ‘I’ve told you before, Chris Tyroll — South Australian girls are totally free of inhibition.’

  If I’d ever doubted that proposition, she proved it for me again and we collapsed into sleep. For about an hour.

  There are many privileges attached to being a solicitor of the Supreme Court in England. Apart from an endless stream of people with problems there are the opportunities to be hassled by the Law Society, the Solicitors’ Complaints Bureau and the Legal Aid Board, together with the chance to deal daily with stroppy and unhelpful magistrates, their clerks, court officials, policemen and other lawyers. Then when you get to bed and dream about retirement to the Seychelles, you get woken up in the middle of the night and asked to go to a distant police station and deal with a client who has got himself arrested.

  When I dragged myself out of sleep, Sheila was sitting up with a glazed look on her face and the phone in her hand.

  ‘It’s Stoke police,’ she said. ‘They want you.’

  I took the phone, wondering dully how the call had come to me. Out of hours calls to my office are diverted automatically to the member of staff delegated to deal with them. That night it was Alan. Any police call to my home must originate with one of the few people who knew my private number.

  ‘Mr Tyroll?’ said a voice on the phone.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This is Sergeant Mayhew, custody officer at Stoke on Trent police station. We have a client of yours in custody — a Mr Gordon Rains.’

  Gordon Rains? Better known as Claude the Phantom! How had Claude got himself nicked?

  ‘I know him,’ I said. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘He has been detained at the request of another force, and we are waiting for officers of that force to arrive and interview him. He wishes you to be present at that interview.’

  ‘It’s forty miles,’ I said, ‘and there’s snow on the road. I hope you don’t want to interview in a hurry.’

  ‘That’s all right, sir. The interviewing officers have further to travel.’

  ‘What’s this about?’ I asked. ‘What’s he being questioned about?’

  ‘I don’t think I can discuss that with you on the phone, sir.’

  ‘And you expect me to drive forty miles in the snow without knowing why?’

  ‘I expect nothing, sir. Mr Rains has asked for you and I have passed on his request. Shall I tell him you won’t come?’

  Oh, a smart Alec. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I shall be there. In the meantime, can I speak to Mr Rains now?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. I’ve been instructed by my super not to permit that.’

  I was still too sluggish to rise to that. I simply told him I’d be there as soon as circumstances allowed and put the phone down.

  ‘It’s Claude,’ I explained. ‘He’s been arrested in Stoke on bloody Trent.’

  ‘And you’ve got to go?’ she said.

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘I’ll drive you,’ she announced.

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  I know that. Get your kit on, while I put some coffee on and fill a flask.’

  I thought about arguing. It was quite unjustifiable to expect her to come out in the circumstances. An eighty-mile round trip in vile weather with who knows how long in a police station in between. Then I thought about doing it alone and shut my mouth.

  Less than half an hour later we were joining the motorway at Junction 10. The road was covered in a mixture of hard ice and soggy slush and fresh snow was beginning to fall. The only advantage was that no one else was daft enough to be on the road at that time in those conditions.

  We made Stoke without any problem. The custody sergeant, as I expected, turned out to be a man in his thirties. The older ones are more polite and helpful.

  I introduced myself and Sheila as ‘my associate’ and asked when and why Claude had been arrested. I am so used to calling him ‘Claude’ I had to keep forcing myself to refer to him as ‘Mr Rains’.

  The sergeant consulted the Person in Custody sheet, on the clipboard on his desk.

  ‘Your client was detained at 2200 hours last night,’ he said.

  Ten o’clock! And it had taken four hours to ring me.

  ‘Why was I not informed earlier?’

  ‘You will be aware’, he said (an introduction that is always followed by something pompous and unhelpful), ‘that we have discretion in certain cases to deny access to a solicitor.’

  ‘Yes,’ I snapped. ‘Serious arrestable offences. Are you stating that this is such a case?’

  ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘But on Mr Rains’ arriving here, it became evident to me that there are aspects of the case that caused me concern, so I referred them to my superintendent. He agreed with me that, initially at least, Mr Rains should have no access to a lawyer.’

  ‘Why has Mr Rains been detained?’ I asked.

  He looked at me levelly. ‘I don’t think I’m at liberty to tell you that, yet, other than that he was detained at the request of another force.’

  ‘You have an obligation to provide me with that information,’ I said.

  ‘It is, I think, my place to decide on my obligations, sir,’ he said.

  I shook my head. ‘Your obligations — and I remind you that they are personal obligations — are laid down in the Police and Criminal Evidence Act and the Codes of Practice. Please show me the Person in Custody record.’

  He looked at me without speaking for a moment, evidently wondering how far he might push it. Then he swivelled the clipboard round on his desk so that I could read the form.

  It’s a large form on which are recorded all the personal details of an arrested person and it contains an area in which a record of the suspect’s detention is supposed to be kept, each entry being timed and signed.

  The first entry said:

  *

  2218 Arrived at Station in custody of PC 2318 Means and PC 576 Riley. Detained in Greenlow Street when officers observed that

  *

  The next two entries read:

  *

  2230 Detention authorised to obtain evidence by questioning. Interview will be by Central officers when relevant officers are located.

  2232 Details of detention reported to Supt. Lomas who confirmed above actions. PIC denied access to solicitor by Supt. Lomas.

  *

  Those entries were signed and the last one countersigned by Lomas. After five hours at a police station, a suspect is supposed to have his custody reviewed by a superintendent when he is given the opportunity to make any representations or complaints which he wishes. It was now well past the first review time. I looked for the review entry:

  *

  0258 Custody reviewed. Further detention authorised to await arrival of Central officers for interview.

  *

  That was in the handwriting of and signed by Lomas.

  I copied the entries into my notebook and swung the clipboard back.

  ‘This record is incomplete and not in co
mpliance with the Act,’ I said. ‘No reason for his arrest is recorded nor any reason for denying him a solicitor.’

  ‘With respect, Mr Tyroll,’ he began (another introduction which presages unhelpful sarcasm), ‘the reason for his detention is sensitive. Furthermore, when detained he explained his presence in this city by reference to enquiries which he was carrying out for you. It was felt that, when he asked for you to attend, there might well be a conflict of interest on your part. A large part of the delay in contacting you was caused by Mr Rains’ refusal to accept the services of the duty solicitor.’

  ‘Sergeant,’ I said, ‘the Act requires you to record the reason for arrest in all cases, regardless of sensitivity. As to conflict of interest, that is a matter for me to decide and for the Law Society or the Solicitors’ Complaints Bureau to take up if I am wrong. Is Superintendent Lomas still on duty?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Please let me see him, immediately.’

  Without further word he picked up the phone and punched out a number. As he made his call he kept a wary eye on us, as though he expected us to pinch the ballpens from his desk.

  ‘Superintendent Lomas will see you shortly,’ he said and waved us to a bench.

  Five minutes later the door opened and the superintendent appeared. He was a short, plump man with a rosy complexion and a neatly clipped moustache as white as his hair and his uniform shirt.

  He led us up to the first floor and showed us into his office. When we were seated he rubbed his hands, nervously I thought, and smiled.

  ‘A filthy night to be called out,’ he said. ‘Can I get you tea or coffee?’

  When a policeman you don’t know offers you tea or coffee, it usually means they’ve got something to hide, but we accepted and he ordered by phone.

  Turning from the phone he rubbed his pink hands again.

  ‘I understand you’re here about Mr Rains,’ he said, as if there was some doubt.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And your sergeant, who refused to tell me on the phone why my client has been arrested, has now refused that information again. In addition to which, the Person in Custody Record has been improperly left incomplete. May I now ask why Mr Rains is in custody and what is so sensitive about the matter that you have permitted a blatant breach of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act?’ I said it evenly, but I was furious.

  He lifted both pink, well-manicured hands. ‘Now, don’t let’s get off on the wrong foot, Mr Tyroll. Firstly, Mr Rains was detained by officers on mobile patrol in Greenlow Street at about ten o’clock.’

  ‘Where and what is Greenlow Street and why was he detained?’

  ‘It’s a residential street, quite good class, and the officers were routinely patrolling when they spotted Mr Rains’ car. They detained him because the registration number of his car was on their orders as a vehicle to be looked out for and its driver detained.’

  ‘For what reason?’

  He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was rescued by a constable arriving with the coffee. He made a great performance with the sugar sachets, then asked, ‘Where were we?’

  ‘We were wandering why Mr Rains was detained.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Well, there is a little difficulty there. The reason for his detention is sensitive.’ He paused.

  ‘So am I, Mr Lomas. If I hear the word sensitive again, I shall scream.’

  He stared unhappily across my head, as though the answer to his problem was written on the wall. Then he seemed to come to a decision. He hunched forward and clasped his hands on his blotter.

  ‘You are familiar with the work of the Special Branch?’ he asked, dropping his voice as though there was a spy at the keyhole.

  I nodded. The Special Branch are Britain’s political police. They do the legwork in this country for the government’s intelligence agencies. They also deal with immigration matters and anything that smells of politics. What the hell had Claude got himself into?

  ‘Well, the Branch keeps its activities very secret — quite properly, of course — but they do call on us ordinary coppers for assistance in certain ways.’

  I nodded again and he seemed pleased.

  ‘From time to time we receive from the Branch lists of vehicles that interest them. Normally the request is merely to observe and report those vehicles if they are seen on our patch. Occasionally we are asked to detain the driver. Mr Rains was detained as the result of such a request from the Central Special Branch.’

  He sat back, as though he had explained everything.

  ‘For what offence?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied, looking quite surprised.

  ‘Superintendent Lomas,’ I said, ‘you must know that there are only two justifications for an arrest — either the possession of a valid warrant to arrest or reasonable suspicion that an arrestable offence has been committed. You seem to have neither.’

  He spread his hands again. ‘I feel that the Special Branch request provides me and my officers with reasonable suspicion,’ he said.

  ‘With reasonable suspicion of what, Mr Lomas? Mr Rains was entitled to be told the reason for his arrest. He cannot have been. He has been falsely arrested and wrongfully imprisoned. Please release him — immediately.’

  ‘Now be reasonable, Mr Tyroll. I have to act on the lawful request of another force, which I have done. Now, when we first contacted Central after Mr Rains was brought here, they said they’d send officers, but they haven’t done so. I have phoned them again and they seem to be uncertain as to who issued the request to us in the first place. Now, as you have pointed out, that puts me in a difficult situation so I have faxed Central asking for clear further instructions immediately, failing which I shall have no option but to admit Mr Rains to bail.’

  He finished this announcement with a triumphant smile, as though he were the only man who was doing the right thing.

  ‘You cannot’, I said, ‘admit Mr Rains to bail without his consent, which I can assure you you will not get, and you cannot hold him without reasonable suspicion which you have not got. If he is released immediately I shall merely advise him to sue the Chief Constable. If you delay, I shall advise him to sue you, your sergeant downstairs, and PCs Means and Riley.’

  ‘He can, if he wishes, sue the Chief Constable, of course,’ he replied stiffly.

  ‘And you and your subordinates personally, Superintendent. Now — are you going to release him?’

  ‘Suppose I allow you to see him and explain the situation, while I try to get a clear answer from Central?’ he said.

  I stood up and looked at my watch. ‘I’ll give you thirty minutes,’ I said. ‘After that I shall deem it necessary to wake a judge in the middle of the night and apply for a writ of habeas corpus.’

  He picked up the phone and told the custody sergeant we were on our way and were to be allowed to see Claude.

  Claude was sitting in a small cell, feet up on the bench, looking entirely at ease with the world and as crisp as usual.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’d been on the track of your Miss Callington. I found out that, when she left Belstone Lane, she came to live with relatives up here and I finally tracked them down. Now they were a bit suspicious at first, but eventually they told me that she’s still alive, still compos mentis, but she’s bedridden and permanently resident in a nursing home near Stafford.’

  ‘Great,’ I said, ‘Well done. But how did that get you arrested on a tip-off from the SB?’

  He looked bewildered. ‘The Special Branch? Still, I suppose that’s right.’

  ‘Why? What have you been up to?’

  ‘Well, the arresting officers just said that they had orders to arrest me.’

  I nodded. ‘That seems to be true, and those orders came from Central Midland’s Special Branch.’

  ‘When I got here, the superintendent implied, without stating it, that it was a terrorist enquiry.’

  ‘If it was a Prevention of Terrorism
Act arrest, they’d have kept you incommunicado,’ I said. ‘That’s a guaranteed reason.’

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘But he didn’t say it was a PTA arrest. He managed to suggest that it was an enquiry from Interpol.’

  ‘Interpol! This gets more bloody bizarre every minute.’

  The cell door rattled and the custody sergeant appeared with Lomas at his back. The superintendent almost swaggered into the cell, thumbs tucked under the pocket-flaps of his shirt.

  ‘Well now, Mr Rains,’ he said, affably. ‘You will be pleased to know that I’ve sorted it all out with Central Midlands. They’d got it all wrong somehow. It wasn’t you they wanted at all, so you can go your way. May I say how sorry I am that you’ve been inconvenienced? If you have any complaints about your treatment while in our custody I shall be pleased to hear them.’

  Claude’s normally impassive face was a picture. He swung his legs off the bench and stood up so that he towered over the portly superintendent in the close confines of the cell.

  ‘The only complaints I have’, he said, ‘are that I was arrested without a valid reason, unlawfully confined in a cell and denied access to my solicitor for hours and I have no doubt Mr Tyroll has already expressed his views on that.’

  Lomas became brusque. ‘Then we’d better return your property and see you out,’ he said, leading the way out of the cell.

  28.

  We left Claude at the desk, recovering his property and signing to certify that Sergeant Mayhew hadn’t stolen his small change. Outside we saw that there was no fresh snow on the car’s roof. With luck, we might be home before the next fall.

  As we pulled out of the police station car-park Sheila switched on the windscreen wipers, then cursed loudly. Both wipers were bent at odd angles and rattled uselessly against the glass. She pulled to the roadside.

  ‘Look at that!’ she exclaimed. ‘Vandalised in a police station car-park., while the guardians of law and order are arresting the innocent! I’ve a good mind to go back in there and tell Superintendent bloody Lomas just what I think of him!’

  ‘Don’t do that!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he will stop us travelling in an unsafe vehicle and we’ll be stuck here until we can get a cab to make a forty-mile trip in the snow.’