Exposed

by Roberta Kray

  21

  The first thing Eden did after getting back from West End Central was to call Elspeth Coyle’s office and make an appointment. The earliest the accountant could do was Tuesday and she knew it would be a long four days before she could ask the all-important questions about the money that had come from Munich. There had to be a logical explanation, a legal explanation.

  Frustrated by the fact it would be almost another week before she could see Tom again, she thought about writing to him. But what could she actually put in a letter? No, she was better off waiting until after she’d seen Elspeth. She didn’t want to come across as making accusations or doubting his innocence. And wasn’t all correspondence read by the prison censor? There was every chance that Banner would have any interesting information passed on to him.

  Eden hadn’t needed to think much about money since getting married, but she knew this comfortable state of affairs was now at an end. Without Tom’s income it was only a matter of time before the cash ran out. She would have to leave college and get a job. And sooner rather than later. It didn’t take a genius to do the maths.

  She sat down at the table and stared at the mess, at the jumble of paper and books and photographs. She should tidy up but didn’t know where to start. She picked up the letters from Ann-Marie, the airmail envelopes pale blue and light as a feather, the handwriting neat and sloping. She scanned through them again, searching for the name Jack or Jacques, but couldn’t find a mention. There were some words she recognised from her French lessons but not enough for her to properly translate most of the sentences.

  Eden sighed at her own ineptitude. She should have worked harder at school and paid more attention. Tom’s skill with languages was something she’d always envied. He was fluent in German and had enough Italian and Spanish to get by. Clearly he could speak French too – or at least read it.

  She flipped over one of the envelopes and read the Paris address on the back. Rue Bezout. Was there any chance, after all these years, that Ann-Marie was still living there? It seemed a long shot but perhaps it had been the family home – in which case a relative, her mum or dad, might still be around.

  Ann-Marie’s evidence could be the key to the whole case. If she could confirm that Jack Minter had existed, that she’d actually met him, Tom’s story would hold up in court. But would the girl be prepared to help? Eden had no idea how the relationship had ended or if there was any bad feeling on either side.

  Well, she couldn’t just sit around waiting for things to happen – she had to make them happen. This thought was enough to galvanise her into action. She knew she should probably ask Tom first, but he might not want her to get in contact with his ex. Male pride was a complicated thing and if he refused his permission she could hardly go behind his back. This way, if Ann-Marie didn’t reply or wasn’t prepared to get involved, he would never need to know about it. Eden didn’t feel entirely comfortable with what she was doing, but the alternative of doing nothing was even worse.

  She stood up, went over to the dresser, opened the drawer and took out a pad of Basildon Bond. She returned to the table and sat down again. For the next ten minutes she made numerous drafts, trying to keep it simple – she didn’t know how good Ann-Marie’s English was – while at the same time attempting to get across the message that Tom was in desperate need of help. The final result, although less than perfect, was the best she could manage.

  Dear Ann-Marie,

  I am sorry to contact you out of the blue. I am writing about my husband, Tom Chase, who I believe you were friendly with many years back. I’m afraid Tom is in serious trouble due to something that happened in Budapest in the late 60s. Do you remember meeting a man called Jack Minter? If you do, I would be very grateful if you could contact me at the above address or give me a call and I will ring you back.

  Best regards,

  Eden Chase

  Eden read it through again before folding the crisp white sheet of paper and putting it in an envelope. She wrote the address on the front and propped up the letter against the base of the lamp. Now all she had to do was post it. But something was niggling at the back of her mind. If Ann-Marie had met Jack Minter, why hadn’t Tom mentioned it? It could be his way out of this mess.

  She wished that Caitlin was around so she could ask her advice, but unless she got in the car and drove to Greenham there was no way of speaking to her. And really, the sooner the letter was sent, the better. It would probably take four or five days to get to France and then might have to be forwarded to another address. Surely there was no point in waiting? No, she would send it off today and have done with it.

  Before she could change her mind, Eden jumped up, pulled on her coat, grabbed her bag and the envelope and rushed out of the flat. Outside, she walked at a brisk pace, feeling the cold sting her face. The temperature had to be close to zero and the breath escaped from her mouth in white steamy clouds.

  Eden joined the long queue at the Post Office, impatiently shifting from one foot to the other. While the minutes slowly passed, she kept telling herself that she was doing the right thing. Someone had to try and find a way to dismantle the case the police were building up before it was too late. She thought of DI Banner – he reckoned he had it in the bag – and was determined to wipe that smug expression off his face.

  Eden finally reached the front of the queue and passed the letter over. ‘Airmail please, to France.’

  After leaving the post office, she walked to the market and bought some provisions – the cupboards were almost bare – before going to the small supermarket on the corner and adding milk, coffee, bread and pasta. With a carrier bag in each hand, she started to walk home.

  Eden had just crossed Upper Street when the reporter, Jimmy Letts, appeared from nowhere and fell into step beside her. ‘Hey, how are you doing?’ he asked, as if they were old friends. ‘Bit chilly, isn’t it?’

  Eden stared at him, her heart sinking. ‘Go away.’

  ‘How’s Tom?’

  Eden carried on walking, trying to pick up speed to get away from him, although this wasn’t easy when the ground was slippery and she was weighed down by groceries. ‘I’ve got nothing to say so just leave me alone.’

  But Letts was sticking to her like glue. ‘As it happens, I’ve got news. I’ve got something to tell you.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it.’

  Letts threw her a sly glance. ‘Really? I’d want to if I was in your position.’

  Eden stared at him. She knew what he was trying to do and wasn’t falling for it. ‘What don’t you understand about “Leave me alone”?’

  ‘I’m here to help. You might not think so, but it’s true.’

  Eden, stymied by the traffic lights, was forced to wait on the edge of the pavement until they turned red again. She twisted her face away, refusing to be drawn. If she ignored him for long enough, he might eventually get the message.

  But Letts wasn’t the sensitive sort. ‘I’ve heard they’ve moved the squealer, put him somewhere safe. And already there’s rumours flying round the East End that the police have nabbed the guy who did for Paddy Lynch. It won’t be long before Pat gets to hear about it. That’s the son, in case you’re wondering. He’s doing life at Parkhurst – shoved some poor cow out of a moving car – but that won’t stop him from… well, let’s just say he’s not what you’d call the forgiving sort.’ He left a short pause before adding menacingly, ‘Maybe you should think about getting some protection.’

  Eden gave him a glare. ‘And maybe you should think about not trying to scare the shit out of people.’

  ‘Just saying it how it is. You’ve got caught in the middle of something nasty here, Eden. You’ve got to look after yourself, take precautions. Now I could organise a great deal for you with one of the nationals, safe house, nice cash payment, the whole caboodle. And a chance to put your side of the story.’ He dug into his pocket, pulled out a business card and held it out to her. ‘Look, you don’t have to make your mind up
right now. Have a think about it, mull it over. Isn’t it better that you’re in control, in charge? Otherwise they’ll just write whatever they like.’

  Eden ignored the proffered card. ‘I’m not interested, okay? I’m not talking to you; I’m not talking to anyone.’ The lights finally changed and she set off across the road. She was hoping he’d get the message, but he continued to trot along beside her like a stray yappy dog she couldn’t shake off.

  ‘Bit of a mystery, your old man, isn’t he?’

  Eden didn’t reply.

  ‘No one seems to know much about him. Odd that, don’t you think? Makes you wonder.’

  When they reached the other side of the road, Eden turned to him and said, ‘If you don’t clear off right now, I’m going to report you to the police for harassment.’

  Jimmy Letts smirked. ‘I’d have thought you’d had enough of the police for one day.’

  Eden gave a start, surprised that he knew. ‘So what have you been doing? Following me around?’

  ‘No, love. I’ve got my sources, that’s all.’

  Eden wasn’t sure if she believed him. She’d be looking over her shoulder from now on, checking to see if he was on her tail. It gave her the creeps even to think about it. ‘This conversation is over.’

  Jimmy Letts held out the card again. ‘Just take it,’ he said. ‘In case you change your mind. You can call me anytime.’

  Deciding that this was probably the only way to get rid of him, Eden transferred the carrier bag in her right hand to her left, plucked the card from between his fingers and shoved it in her pocket. It was going straight in the bin as soon as she got home. ‘Happy now?’

  ‘Take care,’ he said. ‘And you know where I am if —’

  Eden walked off before he could finish the sentence. She resisted the urge to look back and kept her gaze fixed firmly ahead until she reached the corner of Pope Street. Only then did she turn to see if he was still around, but there was no sign of him. As she hurried towards the flat, she tried to dismiss what he’d said about Paddy Lynch’s son.

  Eden’s hand shook as she put the key in the lock. The creep had just been trying to shake her up, to scare her. The trouble was, he’d succeeded.

  22

  DI Vic Banner looked around and nodded. It wasn’t exactly the Ritz, but it was ten times the size of a normal cell and had a sofa, table, two chairs, kettle, TV and radio. There was carpet on the floor and curtains on the barred windows. There was even a separate bedroom with bathroom facilities. He’d stayed in worse hotel rooms in his life. ‘Not bad, eh?’ he said. ‘A bit more comfortable than your previous accommodation.’

  Archie gave a shrug. ‘It’ll do.’

  Vic settled himself on one of the chairs, reached into the carrier bag and took out a bottle of Scotch. He held it up for Archie to see. ‘Fancy one?’

  ‘I’d prefer a pint,’ Archie grumbled, but he went and got two plastic cups and put them on the table.

  Vic poured out a couple of stiff ones. He could tell from Archie’s demeanour that he had the jitters – hardly surprising as he was in the process of breaking that eleventh commandment, Thou shalt not grass – and needed a drink to take the edge off things. It was too late for the old villain to change his mind, but Vic didn’t want him holding back. He wanted every little detail of what had gone down in 1966.

  Although this case was never going to be in the supergrass league, nothing like the Bertie Smalls revelations which had resulted in twenty-eight men being convicted, it was important in a different way. With the number of armed robberies in London being at an all-time high, the police needed some good publicity and a high-profile result to show that no matter how many years went by they always got their man. And the Epping heist, ending as it had in the gruesome and possibly unnecessary death of Paddy Lynch, was emotive enough to hit the headlines.

  Vic had been passed an opportunity to shine and he wasn’t going to squander it. Over the next few weeks he’d be going over all the details, but today he was going to start with some names. Delving into the carrier bag again, he took out a notebook, a pen and forty John Players. He slid the two packs of fags over to Archie along with a box of matches. ‘You ready, then?’

  Archie looked about as ready as a man on his way to the gallows. ‘How’s my Rose?’ he asked. ‘She still at home?’

  ‘No, she’ll be out of there by now. She’s perfectly safe.’ In truth, she wasn’t being picked up until five, but he didn’t want to give Archie an excuse to stop talking. ‘Have a drink, relax. Everything’s going to be fine.’

  Archie took a few fast gulps of the whisky. ‘You reckon? Only the way I see it, nothing’s ever going to be fuckin’ fine again.’

  Vic had come on his own today, deciding that this first meet at Chiswick might go better if it was just the two of them so he could try and build up a rapport. They were never going to be best mates, but some kind of connection was necessary if he was going to get the right result. ‘Ah, c’mon, Arch, don’t be like that. It’s better than spending the next twenty years at Her Majesty’s Pleasure – and your Rose having to traipse halfway across the country every time she wants to see your ugly mug.’

  Archie drank some more whisky. Already a red flush was creeping across his cheeks as the alcohol entered his bloodstream. He lit up a fag and puffed on it hard. ‘No going back now, I suppose,’ he said dolefully.

  ‘No,’ Vic agreed. ‘The rumour machine’s already started up. You know what the East End’s like.’

  Archie’s face grew tight and angry. ‘What? They know about me already?’

  ‘Course not,’ Vic said quickly. ‘No one’s got a clue about this. There are no bloody leaks in my department. So far as your neighbours are concerned, you’re banged up for the Shepperton job, end of story. No, what I mean is that word’s got out about the guy who left Paddy Lynch for dead. Some poor constable at Cowan Road had Paddy’s missus on the blower this afternoon, screaming blue murder about not being told anything.’

  ‘You sure Rose is out of Kellston?’

  ‘I said, didn’t I?’

  Archie curled his lip. ‘Your lot say anything that suits you.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m not lying, okay? We’re taking good care of her, I promise.’

  ‘And your promises are worth fuck all.’

  Vic shook his head. ‘Not these ones. You can trust me.’ He picked up the pen and looked at Archie. ‘It’s up to you. If you want to pull out, just say the word, but… You know what the deal is. If you don’t cooperate, someone else will. This way you get to call the shots. Those shitbags you worked with on the Shepperton job are queuing up to sell you down the river. They’re not thinking twice about it, Arch. Not what you’d call old school, huh?’

  ‘They don’t know nothin’.’

  ‘They know enough to fuck you over.’

  Archie gave a dismissive wave of his hand, but his face said something different. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

  ‘How about we start with the names of the other members of the crew? We’ve got you, Don, Paddy and Jack Minter. What about the others? How many were there in all?’

  Archie hesitated for a moment. ‘Five.’

  ‘And who was the other one?’

  Another long hesitation. Another drink. ‘Paul Rossi.’

  Vic wrote the name down in his notepad. ‘The last I heard, he was in Spain.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘And that was it, just the five of you?’

  Archie stared at him over the rim of his glass. ‘I’d have gone for more myself, six or seven, but Minter wanted to keep it tight. He reckoned the more people who knew about it, the bigger the chance of something getting out. Paddy wasn’t first choice, that was Charlie Treen, but Charlie broke his leg and so we had to get someone else. We didn’t have much time and Paddy was up for it so…’

  ‘And Minter was all right with that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say he was all right. Nah, he wasn’t happy, but it was eith
er that or wait around for Charlie to get back on his feet again. And we’re talking months here, by which time they could have changed all their routines at the warehouse and we’d have to start from scratch.’

  ‘So tell me about this Minter guy.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Anything. Everything. You said Don met him in the Fox. When did you first meet him?’

  Archie stared down at the table and swirled the whisky around in his glass. ‘I dunno. A few days later, two or three? It was the middle of the week, I think.’ He looked up at Banner. ‘Yeah, Don came round and asked what I thought. Well, I wasn’t so sure – I’ve never liked working with strangers – but Don was keen and him and me go way back so I agreed to a meet. The three of us got together at Don’s house. Can’t say I took to the geezer, but the plans were sound. He’d done the legwork, checked out the place, all the comings and goings. He said it was a one-off, that we were talking big money, maybe four or five million.’