“Yes, sir.” Jane replied, wondering apprehensively how much damage might be caused to the flat above if she was in it when a bomb went off. She thought of her mother and the state she’d be in if she was listening in on the briefing. The thought made her smile and she knew that her nervousness was caused by adrenalin.
Crowley explained that once the suspects were arrested and the premises secure, no one was to touch anything in the flat. Dexter would then search for any explosive devices, or bomb making parts, and Lawrence would deal with the forensic aspects of the search.
The duty sergeant entered the room with a box full of radios. He spoke with DCI Crowley, who didn’t look pleased as he picked up a radio and talked into it.
“Oscar Papa One from Gold, receiving, over.” The radio hissed and there was no reply. Impatiently, Crowley repeated his call to the officers watching the suspect’s address.
“Oscar Papa One, receiving . . . go ahead . . . over,” came the reply.
“I’ve just spoken to the duty sergeant . . . is the situation still the same? Gold over . . .” Crowley asked.
“Yes . . . nothing further to report . . . over . . .”
“Keep me updated.”
Crowley banged the radio down on the table.
“This could be a long night, gents. I had two of my officers enter the second floor flat next door at 59 Caversham with listening devices while we were grouping up here. At present the lights are on at 61 but they can’t detect any movement. It looks like we sit and wait in obo vans and unmarked cars for now.”
There was an air of despondency in the room.
“It’ll be just our luck if the ASU’s out planting a bomb,” one of the bomb squad officers said.
“It’s a possibility,” agreed Crowley. “We’ll know soon enough if they have: it’ll be all over the radios.”
“How long do you intend to wait, Guv?” Dexter asked, knowing that Crowley was in an awkward position. If a bomb did go off the ASU might not return to the premises, and might get out of town.
Crowley was silent, apparently thinking about his next move. Instead of replying, he walked over to Jane. “Tennison,” he said. “A word with you in private.”
Church followed them out into the adjoining office.
Crowley looked at him. “I want a private conversation with Tennison.”
Church shook his head. “Not when she’s one of my officers. Her safety is my responsibility. If you want her to stay, I stay as well.”
Crowley didn’t have much option other than to agree.
“I was thinking that Tennison could go up to the second-floor flat alone and speak with the Jamaican couple, find out what they know about the recent movements at the suspect’s flat. She’s young, like them, and doesn’t stick out as old bill like the rest of us. Anyone watching would think she was just a friend visiting.”
Church looked apprehensive. “And what if it all goes pear-shaped? You seem to forget that when she saw the suspect at Covent Garden, he also saw her. You’ve had a surveillance team protecting her and now just to satisfy your own ambition you’re willing to risk her life? No. It’s not on. We sit and wait, or go straight in. Those are the only viable options, and you know it.”
“This is not about me, Church, it’s about arresting a bunch of murderers. The people in the flat above may be able to tell us more.”
Jane was fed up with the two of them bickering. “I’ll do it. I’ve got a scarf in my bag and a different coat from the one I wore at Covent Garden. I can tie up my hair, and take off my makeup so I look different and keep my head down.”
Church was adamant that it was too risky but Jane stood her ground.
Crowley said he would have her fitted up with a covert radio and asked if she knew how to work one.
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Right, let’s get this show on the road,” Crowley said, rubbing his hands together.
Within half an hour everyone was in position on the nearby streets. Stanley’s Silver team had gained entry to the builder’s yard from the rear of the opposite premises and were hidden, ready to go when the order was given. Jane had done everything she could to make herself unrecognizable and Dexter, ever the charmer, said she still looked attractive even without makeup. She tested the covert radio before getting out of the obo van and walking slowly down Caversham Street toward the block of flats. The light rain had given a yellow sheen to the pavement. She was wearing sensible low-heeled shoes and found her own footsteps sounded loud to her.
Crowley gave her the landlord’s keys so she could just let herself in through the front door and go straight up to the first-floor flat.
Jane felt nervous, particularly when someone walked toward her. She kept her head down and didn’t make eye contact in case the person was the IRA bomber she had seen. Her heart was pounding as she walked up the worn flagstone path and stepped up to a dirty, sodden doormat. There were two empty milk bottles on the doorstep. The front door had peeling paint with four mottled glass panes. She opened the front door then placed the key under the mat for Crowley. As she carefully walked up the threadbare, carpeted stairs, some of them creaked. There was a yellowing plastic lampshade around a low wattage bulb hanging from what had once been an elegant ceiling rose. Outside flat 2 she got her warrant card out and knocked on the door. It was eventually opened by a young, attractive Jamaican woman in a night dress. Jane held up her warrant card and put her finger to her mouth to indicate to the woman to be quiet. To Jane’s relief she remained silent and let her in. Jane then introduced herself and the woman looked distressed, speaking in a strong West Indian accent.
“We done nuttin’ wrong! We only just come here from Jamaica. You can check me passport and visa, and me husband’s. He got a job in de baker’s.”
Jane gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s OK, there’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s the downstairs flat I’m interested in, and anything you or your husband can tell me about the residents.”
“Me husband’s not here at de moment. He’s still out lookin’ for de cat. But he should be back soon.”
Crowley sat impatiently in the obo van with Church, Dexter, Lawrence, and the rest of the Gold team.
“She’s taking her bloody time. She should have radioed in by now.”
Lawrence was quick to defend Jane. “Give her a chance. She’s only been gone a few minutes. If any of us were in her shoes we wouldn’t be in a rush.”
The radio hissed. Everyone sat upright waiting for Jane’s update, but the call was from the neighboring flat.
“Oscar Papa One to Gold. We just heard movement in target premises, over.”
“You sure?” Crowley asked.
“Yes, certain. Someone just dropped a glass and we heard it shatter.”
Crowley spoke over the radio. “Silver team go, go, go to rear of target and notify when secure. We’ll drive down closer, then go in when you’re in position.”
Dexter said he and Lawrence would wait outside on the street while they made the arrests and secured the scene. It took only seconds for Stanley’s team to climb the garden fence and radio Crowley that they were in position. Crowley and his team were out of the obo van in an instant, crouching down like panthers stalking prey as they moved up the steps, guns held ready.
Crowley retrieved the key from under the mat and quietly opened the front door. He and Church took up position in the hallway either side of the ground-floor flat door. A detective with a large metal rammer stood in front of the door and Crowley raised his hand to give a countdown of three using his fingers and silently mouthing the number “one” as he did so.
“No! Don’t do it!” Jane screamed as loudly as she could from the top of the stairs. Everyone froze for a split second, apart from the officer with the rammer, who raised it backward. Again Jane screamed as she ran down the stairs.
“STOP! It might be booby-trapped. They’ve left already!”
Crowley raised his palm in the nick of time to stop the
officer ramming the door open. Dexter and Lawrence, who had heard Jane’s screams, came running in. Jane’s voice was trembling as she spoke.
“The woman upstairs said she was looking out of the window a quarter of an hour ago, and saw three men leaving the premises. She recognized the Irishman who occupied the ground-floor flat. They were carrying a suitcase, holdall and rucksacks and got into a black cab. It looks like they’ve moved out.”
There was a unanimous groan.
“All of you shut it! And back off. I need to check the door for a booby trap. Stand back, stand right back!” shouted Dexter. Using a crowbar he forced open the front window to access the premises and it wasn’t long before he opened the front door. He was holding a scruffy-looking cat in his arms and stroking it.
“The doors are not rigged to explode. The place is empty, apart from this little bugger, who, it would seem, is the culprit that knocked a glass off the table.”
“Oh t’ank you, sir! You find Bob Marley!” the Jamaican woman said, as she walked down the stairs. “He must ha got in d’ere when de men leave.”
Dexter handed her the cat. “He very nearly used up one of his nine lives, luv.”
Crowley looked furious, but the absurdity of the moment was not lost on the others, who started to laugh. Dexter congratulated Jane on her quick action and said that if the door had been rigged she would have saved a lot of lives.
Crowley wasn’t impressed. “The Commander is going to be livid, and I’m the one who’s got to tell him the suspects moved out before we even got here. He said he wanted to know the result right away so I’m going back to the yard to call him.”
Crowley told everyone to stand down over the radio and asked Dexter to check the rest of the premises with Lawrence for explosives before they carried out a full search.
“Could I assist with the search of the flat, sir?” Jane asked.
“No, I don’t want too many people in there, just the two experts.”
“I could take a statement from the Jamaican couple.”
Crowley was on edge. “Their statement is far too important for someone with your lack of experience to take. Just go home, Tennison!”
As Crowley stomped off Lawrence saw Jane’s crestfallen face. “Listen you can help me with the exhibits. Is that all right with you Dexter?”
“Fine by me so long as Crowley doesn’t find out.”
Jane gave a small smile of thanks to Lawrence as he radioed in to Kentish Town and asked them to call the Control room at Scotland Yard to make a request for at least four night-duty SOCOs to attend the scene and carry out a fingerprint search.
The flat had a small living room, kitchen and two small bedrooms. In one of the bedrooms the bed had been placed upright against the wall to make room for a large work table, on which there were a number of small pieces of cut wire and globules of burnt solder wire. All the cupboards and drawers were empty and it was clear to Lawrence that the suspects had used cleaning cloths to remove fingerprint traces. Lawrence took out his camera and started photographing the bedroom and the work table.
“They may not have been as smart as they think about cleaning up their fingerprints . . . any idea why?” he asked Jane, testing her crime scene abilities.
She paused. “If they’ve taken the time to remove them, it could mean they have a criminal record and could be identified by fingerprints.”
“Yes, but there’s something else. Sometimes we miss what we can’t see.”
Lawrence pointed to the table.
“That table must have been carried in here as it wouldn’t fit if the bed was in its normal place. So . . .” He paused and Jane twigged where he was going.
“You lift a table with your hands on the underside and leave fingerprints that you can’t see.”
“Exactly. Likewise with the bed and chair. You heard of a mechanical fit?”
Jane nodded. “Yes, on the forensic module during my CID course. The tutor tore a piece of paper into six pieces and put it back together like a jigsaw. Because each part came from the same paper each bit was a unique mechanical fit and therefore considered conclusive evidence that all the pieces were of the same origin.”
“You’ve got a good memory.”
“I only did the course two months ago, so it’s still fresh in my mind.”
“Nevertheless, you obviously paid attention and that will stand you in good stead as a detective. See the bits of cut wire on the table? If we can trace the wire cutters that were used to a suspect’s possession, then that is another possible mechanical fit.”
Jane was confused. “How?”
Lawrence explained, “Often wire cutters and similar implements wear over time and unique nicks or marks are created on the cutting edge. When they are used to cut wire, the striation mark from the edge of the cutting implement is transferred to the wire. We then do test cuts with the suspect’s pliers and compare the test wires against those on the table here. If there is a match with the cutting marks, bingo! We have evidence that the same cutters were used.”
Jane watched, fascinated, as Lawrence took a small glass bowl out of his forensic kit, together with some small bottles of liquid. He placed the bowl on top of his kit bag and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves.
“I’m going to do what is called a Griess test for traces of explosives.”
Jane watched as he rubbed a piece of white filter paper on an area of the table, then placed it in the glass bowl.
“The test involves taking a sample with the filter paper then adding sodium hydroxide to the bowl followed by the Griess reagent. If the paper turns pink within ten seconds, that indicates the presence of nitrites.”
Jane was rather lost with the terminology of the procedure but was engrossed with what Lawrence was doing. When one of the filter papers turned pink within three seconds she knew that Lawrence had got a positive result. He grinned, but appeared quite calm.
Jane, in contrast, was excited. “Is it nitroglycerine?”
“It’s only a preliminary test. The explosives lab will carry out the more sensitive thin layer chromatography on further samples from the table top. But for my money, you can be 99 percent sure it’s nitro.”
Lawrence handed Jane a pair of rubber gloves and some small exhibits bags and asked her to help him bag and list each bit of wire. Dexter called out from the kitchen, asking Lawrence if he could have a word.
“You found something?” Lawrence asked, as he entered the kitchen.
“There’s more wire in the bin, along with the remnants of a remote-control car and the shell of an alarm clock. If they had planned to move on, then I’d expect a more thorough clean up.”
“I agree. The attempt at cleaning off fingerprints looks rushed, and I got a positive for nitro on the work table.”
Lawrence looked around the kitchen and noticed a large cooking pot on the stove with some stew in it. He picked up a soup spoon and dipped it into the pot.
Dexter looked shocked, “You’re not actually going to eat that shit, are you?”
Lawrence moved the spoon up to his mouth, making Dexter cringe, then with a cheeky grin stopped and dipped his finger in the spoonful of stew.
“It’s still lukewarm. If they were planning on moving out tonight, then why not eat this first?”
“The bastards must have been tipped off. They knew we were coming!” Dexter punched a kitchen cabinet with his fist.
Lawrence spoke calmly. “Well, it can’t be anyone on the raid. None of us knew where we were going until Church briefed us.”
“My bet’s on a leak within the Intelligence Services. Keep this between us. I’ll go back to the yard and tell Church.”
“Rather you than me. I’ll finish up here with Tennison, then the SOCOs can work through the night on the fingerprinting and I’ll arrange for uniforms to guard the premises until everything’s been examined.”
“How long will it take to get results if you find any prints?”
“A week or two.”
&nb
sp; “What? Why so bloody long?”
“Because the suspects are probably all paddies, and if they have a criminal record their fingerprints will be held with either the fingerprint bureaus of the Royal Ulster Constabulary in the North or Garda Síochána in the South. We have to search them manually here first, then send them over to Ireland and that takes time.”
“And time’s something we haven’t got. I can feel it my blood. The IRA are planning something big in London.”
Jane arrived at the lab expecting to be given some menial tasks or asked to type up reports. She perked up when Lawrence told her that she could help him with the items recovered from the flat in Kentish Town.
“They’re running further tests on the samples I took from the table tops. So far it’s looking pretty sure that it’s nitroglycerine, but the final chromatography result takes a while, and they’ll need to do a second test to be sure.”
“It’s all very intricate and time-consuming work,” Jane remarked.
“It has to be. We can’t afford to get it wrong, especially when it comes to a trial. Defense scientists will be allowed to examine everything and check our reports. If they can find the slightest error, they will be on it like a rash. They’ll allege our tests weren’t carried out properly or that there was contamination to try to discredit us.”
“I was in court on a case once where that happened over the signing of a confession statement. The defense alleged that the defendant had been tricked into signing a doctored page of the notes admitting the crime.”
Lawrence looked surprised and Jane realized he thought the allegation was against her.
“It wasn’t me they were accusing; it was the DI I was working with, though I did get a hard time when I gave evidence. I was accused of being part of the fit-up.”
“So what happened?”
“The confession evidence was ruled inadmissible by the judge. Luckily there was other evidence and the jury convicted.”
“Well, take my advice, Jane: fixing or tampering with evidence or forensic results is never worth it. You could lose your job, pension and even end up in prison. Gather the evidence and present your case with honesty and integrity, then let the jury make the final decision. Even then, you’ll lose some cases, but it’s all part of learning on the job. You move on to the next case.”
Good Friday Page 23