Good Friday

by Lynda La Plante

  Maynard pushed her gently on the shoulder. Jane turned back to him sharply.

  “Would you please stop pushing me!”

  Maynard was holding up her warrant card.

  “Is this yours?”

  Jane looked confused and hurriedly unzipped her handbag to discover that her warrant card was missing. As Maynard handed it back to her Stanley asked, “What’s the time?”

  Jane glanced at her left wrist and found that her watch was missing.

  Everyone laughed as Stanley held up her watch, swinging it like a pendulum.

  “Tick tock . . .”

  Jane was shocked. “How did you get that . . . and my warrant card?”

  Church took her watch from Stanley and pulled up her shirt sleeve to replace it on her wrist.

  “Your mind can only properly focus on one thing at a time. Clever pickpockets distract their marks while simultaneously lifting their wallet, purse or a watch. The targets don’t notice at the time because they’re too focused on the distraction. It takes a thief to catch a thief, Tennison, and we practice what the bad guys do . . . but only on each other. It keeps us on our toes. I like to think of myself as Fagin, and these reprobates are my little pickpockets.”

  There was unanimous groan from the squad. Stanley jovially twanged his red braces and launched into the song “Consider Yourself” from Oliver! Church gave him a good-natured swipe across the head.

  “All right, all right, Dodger, just calm down. I’m going to need you all to step out to the yard and do a little bit of ‘bump and lift’ work for Tennison to observe. I’ll organize some teas all round and a few sandwiches while we’re out there.”

  Jane was, in fact, observing how attractive DCI Church was, and noticed how much respect he had from the squad.

  As they herded out the room a tall, baby-faced officer stood beside Jane.

  “Don’t worry, I’m pretty new to all this as well. I’m DC Dunston, but they all call me Blondie.”

  Jane thought he might be trying to distract her, and held her handbag tight to her side and checked her watch.

  “What’s bump and lift?” she asked.

  “Sounds like a dance, doesn’t it? It’s the action Stanley and Maynard pulled on you earlier. Maynard distracted you with the push and when Stanley stopped you falling you thought he was helping you. He put pressure on your upper arm, again distracting you, then with his free hand he flicked your watch strap undone and slipped it from your wrist. At the same time, Maynard unzipped your handbag and took your warrant card.”

  “It all happened so quickly.”

  “That’s the way the dippers operate on the streets. This type of theft is a combination of distraction and misdirection, which gives the pickpocket just enough time to make the lift and walk away. If you think Stanley and Maynard were fast, the real dippers are like lightning . . .”

  Jane nodded. “I’m certainly going to be wary when I’m out shopping from now on.”

  They headed up a heavily worn stone staircase toward the back exit to the station yard.

  Blondie continued, “There’s a lot to learn about the different distraction techniques and hand movements they use. There’s bump, grab and slip, fake lifts, oops sorry, and—”

  “Is there some sort of manual that I can read?” Jane asked.

  “No manual, as such, but I’ve made my own list of distraction techniques and methods that the pickpockets use. You can have a copy if you want,” Blondie offered as he held the back door open for her.

  “Thanks, that would be really helpful.”

  “The difficult part to follow is when one of the gang makes a lift and passes the goods to a runner, who then makes off with the property . . . sometimes they’ll pass a wallet or purse three or four times . . . it can be like a ‘guess who’ game, and sometimes you end up stopping a suspect who’s empty-handed.”

  They reached a small, stone-flagged yard surrounded by a high red-brick wall, with paint-peeled double gates and a run-down bicycle shed next to a row of aluminum dustbins.

  “It’s all much more complicated than I ever imagined. Do the suspects resist arrest?”

  “Sometimes. You need to be careful of the pickpockets who carry small razor blades, to cut a rear pocket or handbag open. The cut is made against a wallet or handbag so the mark usually doesn’t feel a thing.”

  Jane remembered an old case she’d been involved in.

  “At my previous station we had a bag-slasher who was using a switchblade. Is that the kind of weapon your pickpockets would use?”

  “Most pickpockets avoid using switchblades or flick knives . . . I know of only one occasion where an officer was cut, and that was just on his hand, by a razor blade. All in all, it’s interesting work and nicking a good team of pickpockets is really rewarding. Keeps Church happy if we get good results.”

  An officer appeared with a tray of polystyrene cups and shouted “teas up.” Maynard started to hand Jane a half-filled cup of tea. As she reached out to take it, he said.

  “We’re all having a break now, but here’s a word of warning: when you’re out working never be caught with a cup of anything in your hand. Let me show you why.”

  Maynard gently bumped into Jane, causing some of the contents of her teacup to spill out. She immediately reached into her pocket for a tissue to mop it up, but Maynard produced a large handkerchief and started to pat down her jacket.

  Stanley interjected. “Oh come on, Maynard. Let’s get on with the real demonstrations. Tennison, just take it that you never carry any drinks while you’re on the job . . . it’s the easiest way for a pickpocket to distract, and pinch the contents of your coat or jacket pockets while they are patting you dry.”

  Church clapped his hands saying that the break was over, and it was time to demonstrate the various methods of distraction and misdirection. Although he was serious about the training there were several funny moments when officers, who took turns playing the mark, were oblivious to the fact that their wallet had been stolen. This was usually achieved by Stanley, who was the most adept at “dipping,” concealing his hand movements with a folded newspaper.

  Jane was not the only victim. The team seemed to take great pleasure in removing Blondie’s wallet not once but three times. When Stanley accidently dropped some loose change on the ground Jane, without thinking, bent over to help pick up the coins. While she was kneeling on the ground, Maynard stole Jane’s purse from her handbag.

  “I know what you’ve done,” Jane said, raising her eyes upward.

  Maynard held his huge hands up, saying, “Search me! Search me!” Jane watched as Stanley made a rugby pass of her leather coin purse across the yard, to be caught by Church on the other side. He held it up.

  “OK, fun’s over. Let’s get back inside.” Church handed Jane her purse.

  Inside, Church showed her a covert radio, which they would be using when they went out on the streets.

  “You have to learn how to listen. Stick with Stanley today to learn the basics. Here’s a list of the radio terms you need to memorize for future jobs.” Church handed her a rather dirty page of typed radio terminology. Jane barely had time to glance at it before he continued.

  “You’ll be going on a surveillance operation this morning. We work it that when the suspect is in position and looks ready to jostle and do the business, such as nick a wallet or whatever, we move in so he’s surrounded and nicked as soon as he commits the theft. But, in this instance this is an ongoing case, we’re looking out for our suspect’s pals as they’re working in a team and we need to act fast to see who he’s palming off the gear to. I won’t be satisfied with just bringing in one of them. We all have concealed radios, so we cross communicate during the follow and when the arrest takes place, we’ve got a wagon on standby. If it’s a good arrest often the intended victim hasn’t a clue what just happened. Are you with me?”

  “Er, yes, sir I do understand . . . I had to study powers of arrest in my probation. I’m just wondering
if you’re going to use me as some kind of decoy, being that I’m the only female on the team?”

  Everyone laughed at Jane’s remark as Church picked up the report sheet he had been handing out.

  “Before we can use you as a decoy, you need to get up to speed on exactly how we work, Tennison. I hope there’ll be plenty of opportunities in the future for us to use your feminine attributes . . .”

  “We’ve got this guy in our sights and he’s been nicking gear left, right and center. Yesterday, Stanley was able to confirm that it’s a three-man unit. So, we’re going to use all our tactics to nab the lot of them. First up, we need to find today’s victim. The thieves seem to work around midday at Oxford Street underground station or during evening rush hour. That means access to shoppers with money . . . you got that big exclusive store Liberty on the corner, and tourists shelling out big money all along Regent Street.”

  “Do you have any surveillance pictures or mug shots of the suspects I can have?” Jane asked.

  Again, there was laughter amongst the team.

  “That’s not how the Dip Squad works, Tennison! There’re loads of mug shots in that big album on the desk, far too many to carry round with us. It takes time, but we memorize photographs and descriptions, then go by eyeball on the street. You’ve got to understand that these guys work in a team. You can see them stalling or distracting a victim . . . they could have a newspaper concealing their hands, or you can have one of them acting like a helpful stranger while their mate is nicking gear out of the victim’s handbag. They can get a watch off your wrist and you wouldn’t feel a thing. Give her a description of the bloke you got a look at Stanley.”

  “I’d say he could be Spanish or Italian. He had dark, greasy, hair, with shifty eyes and bad acne. He wears a big double-breasted overcoat and thick crepe-soled shoes. He can move like lightening.”

  Church clapped his hands. “OK, Stanley take our new girl out with you and your guys, and meet up back here when you’ve got them bang to rights.”

  Accompanied by Stanley, Maynard and two other officers, Jane left the squalid office. She thought they would be using a patrol car to drive to their destination but instead they caught a bus. She was now beginning to have severe doubts about what she had got herself into. The Dip Squad acted like day trippers. They laughed and joked with each other at the bus stop, and when they got on board and herded up the stairs to sit on the top deck Stanley squashed into a seat beside her. He had overpowering BO and looked so scruffy that Jane had a moment of horror that someone she knew might get onto the bus and wonder what on earth she was doing sitting beside a tramp.

  “You seen anything of Spencer Gibbs since his Hackney days?” Stanley asked, rolling a cigarette.

  “Not for a while. He was at Bow Street, we worked together on a murder, but he was transferred while I was on my CID course.”

  “I heard he was getting pissed every night.”

  “No, he wasn’t. I mean, you were there . . . you know the terrible events at Hackney hit him badly. He was very close to DCI Bradfield.”

  “Yeah, that was a bad time—and as for that lovely Kath Morgan . . . At least we got the bastards. Clifford Bentley went down for thirty years. He’ll die inside. Good riddance.”

  Jane nodded as Stanley licked his cigarette paper.

  “So, what brings you to the Dip Squad? What fuck-up got you foisted on us?”

  She straightened in her seat.

  “No fuck-up, actually . . . I asked to be transferred. I was told that it could be a way in to the Flying Squad.”

  Stanley laughed. “Yeah, and pigs might fly, sweetheart! You’re only with us because we need a good-looking stooge to attract dippers. Added to that the blokes on this unit are ahead of you in the pecking order. Well, most of them. Some got moved to the Dip Squad from the Flying Squad because of one screw-up after another . . .” He saw the disappointment on her face and added in a gentler tone, “We get better overtime in the Dip Squad anyway.”

  Stanley lit his roll-up, then stuck it in the side of his mouth as he checked his radio’s speaker and told Jane to double check hers.

  “A lot of our equipment is bloody useless and outdated. Flying Squad gets the new gear and we get their hand-me-downs.”

  Jane glanced at him. “How come you’re with the Dip Squad?”

  “Rapped over the knuckles, darlin’, for being a naughty boy. Besides, I like Jimmy Church—I rate him. But a word of warning: don’t get on the wrong side of him . . . and his sidekick, DS George Maynard, is also a piece of work. You think it’s his duffel coat makes him look well built, but he’s solid muscle underneath it, and he can throw one hell of a punch.”

  Jane was desperately trying to take it all on board, and wasn’t sure how to respond. Stanley turned away from her as if he didn’t want to talk anymore, his roll-up cigarette still stuck between his lips, getting damper and smaller. Why on earth had she left the relative comforts of Bow Street?

  After half an hour, they piled off the bus in Regents Street and made their way toward Oxford Street underground station. Jane thought they could have walked there faster. The four of them kept their distance from one another as they looked up and down the street for any suspects. Stanley was next to Jane when he spoke over his radio.

  “Looks like a male suspect from our mug shots heading down into the underground. Early twenties, tanned face, dark-haired, unshaven, wearing a leather coat.”

  Jane pressed her radio ear piece further into her left ear, and checked the mouth piece was securely attached to her wrist, the wires were hidden along her jacket sleeve and attached to the radio in her pocket.

  Stanley nudged her. “Radios are bloody useless in the underground, we go by hand signals, just stick close to me, okay?”

  Jane nodded as she followed Stanley down into the underground. They flashed their warrant cards to the ticket guard, who let them through, and moved on to the escalator, with the other two officers close behind. The southbound Central Line platform was crowded with passengers waiting for the next train, and it was hard to see through the throng of people as they moved along the platform, keeping their distance from the suspect.

  Jane glanced around cautiously and saw the suspect moving in behind a well-dressed man in an unbuttoned camel coat, carrying a briefcase. The man had just taken out a thick wallet and checked something before replacing it inside his coat pocket. Stanley looked at his colleagues, nodded, then touched his eye with his index finger and discreetly pointed to the suspect.

  One of the other officers repeated the same signals to Stanley and Jane as a young, tanned, dark-haired man with acne wearing a leather coat slipped in casually to stand beside the target. Jane spotted him glance almost imperceptibly to his right, where an older, gray-haired man in an expensive-looking black raincoat was also moving slowly toward the target. Each undercover officer discretely confirmed they had eyeballed these three men as possible dippers.

  Even though she was watching for it, Jane almost didn’t see the dip. As the unshaven man in the leather coat jostled the victim and lifted his wallet, his two side-kicks moved in, ready to palm it. Stanley and his team stepped in to collar them. The victim, surprised by their sudden appearance, dropped his briefcase. An approaching train screeched in the tunnel, and Jane found herself being pushed backward by the crowd toward the tracks. She teetered on the edge of the platform as a train thundered toward her. Stanley saw her at the last minute and dragged her to safety.

  As the train came to a halt and passengers began to stream onto the platform, it became clear that the pincher move had gone astray. The other officers chased after the two younger suspects but the gray-haired man in the black raincoat managed to get onto the train. The doors closed behind him before Stanley or Jane could fight free of the crowd.

  Stanley turned to the badly shaken Jane.

  “What the hell do you think you were doing? Haven’t you got any bloody sense? You should never stand with your back to the tracks!”
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  “I’m sorry. I thought they were going to steal his briefcase when he put it down on the platform . . .”

  “They were after his wallet, Tennison! I thought after seeing all those demos in the yard earlier, you’d understand what we were doing. Thanks to you, we’ve now lost the guy was probably running this show . . . that gray-haired man in the black raincoat was our prime suspect.”

  Stanley ran his hands through his hair, then went still and listened to a report coming through on his radio. His expression cleared a little. “Well, the team have arrested the other two, and have retrieved the stolen wallet. No thanks to you, Tennison. DCI Church is not going to be a happy man.”

  Jane was crestfallen. “Sorry Stanley.”

  “Get the victim back to the station, and take his statement.”

  The pickpockets’ mark, Clive Hughes, was from a wealthy family. His wallet held over a hundred pounds, as well as quite a few credit cards. Jane asked him to tell her exactly what had happened, but he hadn’t noticed anything untoward, or felt a thing, and he had no idea how they had managed to steal his wallet.

  “Can you describe any of the men who were standing next to you just before the train arrived and we moved in to make the arrests?”

  “No.”

  “Did you feel anyone bump into you?”

  “Not really. The platform was busy and people were all squashed together.” He paused, then smiled.

  “There was an attractive girl in a mini skirt and low cut top in front of me. She turned to look at me as if I’d done something to upset her. I felt rather embarrassed . . .”

  “Embarrassed? Why?”

  “Well, it was as if she thought I had deliberately brushed up against her . . .”

  “Did you brush up against her, Mr. Hughes?”

  “No! I didn’t. I don’t know why, but I said I was sorry and she gave me a warm smile.”

  Jane thought about the incident at the underground station. Church had said at the briefing that the dippers usually worked in groups of four to six, yet they had only seen three men acting suspiciously and jointly making the theft. She wondered if the team had been distracted by concentrating on the three men.