As Jane, Cam and Dabs got out of the squad car, a uniform van pulled up behind them and a sergeant and five PCs got out. The sergeant walked straight up to Cam.
“Are you from the Flying Squad?” he asked, and Cam nodded. “The duty inspector told us you needed some assistance with house-to-house enquiries regarding the armed robbery at Barclays. Will someone be briefing us on what needs to be done?”
“Yes, I will. DI Kingston asked me to sort it out for him as he’s still at the bank.”
Jane was getting fed up with Cam’s attitude and thought he should have had the decency to introduce her and Dabs.
“I’m WDS Tennison and this is Dave Morgan, our senior SOCO on the squad—”
Cam cut in, “They’ll be doing the forensic work on the burnt-out motor. DI Kingston wants enquiries made at all the flats to find out who owns the garage, and to see if any residents noticed any suspicious activity around the garage the car was found in during the last two weeks.”
“No problem, I’ll let my team know.” The sergeant started to walk off.
“It might help to see how many garages there are first and if they have corresponding numbers to a flat,” Jane remarked.
Cam looked flustered. “I was just going to do that”
Jane hadn’t finished. “Have you got any house-to-house forms for the sergeant and his officers to fill in?”
“There should be some in a box in the boot of the car,” Cam muttered.
He went to the boot, opened it and rummaged through the box, which contained plenty of statement forms but no house-to-house ones.
“There don’t appear to be any left,” he said, red-faced.
Jane moved over to Cam’s side and spoke quietly.
“Have you led a house-to-house enquiry team before?”
“I know what I’m doing—someone obviously forgot to restock the box with them,” he whispered.
“I take it that would normally be the driver of the car’s responsibility?” she asked, but he didn’t reply. “I thought as much.” She turned to the sergeant. “Would you mind contacting your station and asking if someone could kindly drop off some house-to-house forms, as we seem to have used them all in Woodville Road. Can you also ask for some copies of the Edgar House electoral register to be printed off for each officer, then they can check the residents’ names against the register.”
The sergeant contacted the station on the radio and the operator told him they’d get the forms and copies of the register sent down right away. When he finished Jane continued.
“If any residents did see anyone acting suspiciously on the estate, or near the garages, today or recently, we will need a detailed description of what they saw and the person or persons they saw. Please notify me right away in case urgent follow-up action is needed—the same goes for the owner of the garage when you identify them. If there are any flats where you get no reply, then you still need to fill in a pro forma to that effect and leave a note asking them to contact us at the Flying Squad office—ADC Murray will give you the squad details. When you’ve finished, give him the completed forms and we’ll go through them later.”
The sergeant was confused. “I thought you were with forensics?”
“No, I’m a WDS on the Flying Squad,” she replied firmly.
“Really?”
The sergeant looked surprised, as did his uniform colleagues next to him. Jane looked around, then leaned closer, as if wanting to speak to him in confidence. The sergeant leaned forward, but she spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“Keep it to yourself, but I’m actually making it up about being on the Flying Squad just to shock every male officer I come across—and so far, it’s working a treat.”
She turned sharply, stepped over the fire engine hosepipes, and strode off towards the garages, followed by Dabs.
“Is she always so touchy?” the sergeant asked Cam.
“It’s her first day on the squad so she likes to think she’s ‘the big cheese.’ ”
“She seems to know how house-to-house should be done,” the sergeant remarked.
Cam shrugged. “There’s nothing difficult about house-to-house. Truth is she hasn’t a clue about how we work on the squad.”
“You reckon she’ll last long?”
“Doubt it. She’s already pissed off the Governor.”
At the far end of the flats there were thirty numbered brick-built and asbestos-roofed garages in two rows of fifteen facing each other. The burnt-out garage 29 was at the far end of the row, and five fire brigade officers were present. Two firemen were still hosing down the roof and the inside of the garage, while one was working on the Cortina, which had been winched out onto the concrete driveway by a red fire brigade Land Rover. A cloud of steam rose from the car as the cold water hit the hot metal, and the acrid smell of burnt rubber from the tires filled the air.
Jane approached a young uniform PC, who was encouraging some residents who had gathered to return to their flats as the smoke and burnt tire fumes were not good for their lungs. Jane introduced herself and he told her what had happened so far and gave her the details of the occupant who had made the original 999 call to the fire brigade.
“He was going to go out in his car, which is parked in a garage at the opposite end, and said he saw smoke coming out of garage 29, so he ran back to his flat and dialed 999. I spoke to him and asked if he saw anyone in or around any of the garages before the fire, but he said he didn’t. A few residents were coming out to see what was going on and I asked them to return to their flats for their own safety. Also, knowing you’d probably want to do house-to-house, I thought it was best they were indoors.”
“You’ve done a good job. Are the properties council-owned flats?” she asked.
“No, they belong to a housing association who rent them out to the tenants, most of whom are forty-plus. The flats and grounds are well maintained, and the majority of the residents are friendly and pro-police—you always get a cup of tea and a biscuit when you walk round the estate.”
“Sounds like crime is a rare event round here?”
“Pretty much. Problems only occur when the little buggers from the estate down the road come up here causing trouble. There’s the occasional burglary and criminal damage but that’s about it.”
“Would you mind manning the scene while SOCO Morgan and I deal with the forensic examinations?”
“Not at all. If you need a hand I’m more than happy to help out.”
Jane thanked him and walked over to one of the fire brigade officers who, unlike the others, had two black bands on his yellow helmet and was giving orders to his colleagues. She showed him her warrant card.
“I’m WDS Tennison and this is Senior SOCO Morgan. We’re investigating a bank robbery and believe the burnt-out Cortina might have been used as a getaway car.”
“I thought the Flying Squad dealt with bank robberies?”
She frowned. “We do and that’s why I’m here. Are you the senior brigade officer in attendance?”
“Yes, I’m the duty crew manager. I’d say the car was deliberately set alight as the smell of petrol was strong when we ripped the garage door off with the winch. It’s fortunate the garages are brick-built with asbestos roofs otherwise the fire could have spread quickly along the whole row.”
“I’m surprised the petrol tank didn’t explode,” Jane remarked.
The crew manager grinned. “It’s extremely rare for that to happen, other than in the movies. As you can see the petrol cap’s still in place, which suggests your bank robbers wanted time to get away without attracting attention from a petrol tank explosion.”
“They probably had a changeover car hidden in the garage,” Dabs added.
The crew manager said the car would need hosing down for a few more minutes, then it should be cool enough for SOCO Morgan to examine. Jane looked inside the garage, but it was now just a wet, sooty shell with nothing in it other than a large pool of black water. The interior of the c
ar was so badly damaged, that just the bare metal frames and springs of the seats were left, and both number plates had been destroyed. Dabs took some photographs of the car and pointed to the back footwell.
“From the shape of it and small remnants of red paint, I’d say that burnt metal object is a petrol can.”
“Are you going to get the car towed to the lab for examination?” Jane asked.
“I’d like to do it here, if possible, then have the vehicle taken to one of our car pounds for closer examination if it’s needed. They get a bit touchy about burnt-out cars being taken up to the lab as they make such a mess.” He turned to the crew manager. “Could you open the bonnet and boot for us, please?”
The crew manager used the hooked end of his fireman’s axe to force the boot open. Inside they could see the congealed remnants of badly burnt clothing, which they agreed were probably what was left of the outfits the robbers wore.
“They’ll sort out what’s what and take fiber samples at the lab,” Dabs said as Jane held open an exhibits bag for him to put the bits of burnt clothing in.
The crew manager was having difficulty prising the bonnet open with his axe and asked one of his colleagues to assist him. As Jane watched them, she suspected the car was probably stolen and knew that identifying the owner would be an important part of the investigation. She recalled her attachment to Traffic Division, near the end of her uniform probation, and learning how a small metal plate riveted to the chassis under the bonnet contained unique details about the car and its origin, which could be used to identify the registration and the owner.
“You know much about chassis plates, Dabs?”
“A bit, but don’t ask me what all the numbers and letters on them mean.”
“We could get a traffic officer to examine it here and now,” she suggested.
Dabs nodded. “Chassis plates are stamped metal and pretty resilient to fire.”
The crew manager and his colleague finally managed to open the bonnet and used the prop to hold it up. The engine compartment was badly burnt, with heat-buckled metal parts, molten plastic and burnt wires. Dabs leaned forward and pointed to the fire-damaged chassis plate, which was barely readable.
“On second thoughts, it’s probably best I remove the plate and send it to the lab for examination.”
Jane knew that would take even more time for a result.
“A traffic officer might be able to give us something positive here and now. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
Dabs agreed and asked the uniform PC guarding the scene to contact a traffic vehicle examination unit and ask them to attend Edgar House. Jane thought about the scene at Woodville Road.
“Will the car’s door sills have been damaged by the fire?” she asked the crew manager.
“Not if the seal between the sill and the door is tight enough.”
“Will it be all right to open the car doors now?”
He held up his right hand. “I’ve got heavy-duty gloves on, so best I do it in case the handle’s still a bit hot. I’ll retrieve the burnt petrol can for you as well.”
“Thanks. Could you open the front passenger door first, please?”
“What’s the interest in the door sills, Sarge?” Dabs asked as the crew manager opened the passenger door.
“It’s to do with the blood we found on Woodville Road.”
She stepped forward to get a closer look at the sill, as did Dabs, who now realized what she was hoping to find. Jane smiled as she pointed to two drops of blood on the sill.
“A young witness called Abby said the man who shot at the police car got out of the front passenger seat and back in it when the car left. I think the blood drops on the sill and in Woodville Road might be from an injury he sustained.”
Dabs was impressed with her thought process.
“I’ll bet you’re right, Jane—to be honest I hadn’t thought about checking the sill. Sorry, I meant to say Sarge.”
“It’s OK to call me Jane when we’re in a one-to-one situation, but obviously not in front of the team.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but you might have a problem there. No one calls Stanley ‘Sarge,’ and the DI and DCI are both referred to as ‘Guv.’ In fact, DI Kingston doesn’t mind you calling him Stu or Stewart, off duty.”
“I don’t have a problem with Christian names off duty, but I think you should always show respect for rank at work. I’ve even told DC Gorman I expect to be addressed as Sarge when I’m on duty.”
Dabs winced. “And how did the Colonel take that?”
“He didn’t say anything, but he seemed all right about it.”
Dabs wanted to give Jane some words of advice about how different things were on the Flying Squad compared to a normal CID office, but he decided it was best to let her find out for herself. He changed the subject and said he’d take swabs of the blood on the sill, then get it tested at the lab against the blood at the Woodville Road scene to see if the samples were the same blood group. The crew manager retrieved the burnt can from the back seat, sniffed the inside and said it smelt of petrol, then handed it to Dabs, who put it in a large nylon exhibits bag to prevent the evaporation of any fluid left inside it.
Jane entered the details of the can and burnt clothing in the exhibits book while Dabs photographed the burnt-out garage. She looked up and saw a traffic patrol PC walking towards her.
“I’m PC Turner from the vehicle examination unit. A DS Tennison from the Flying Squad wants us to examine a car. Is he about?”
Jane sighed as she raised her eyebrows.
“You’re talking to him,” she replied tersely.
Turner looked embarrassed. “Sorry, I was expecting—”
“I know—a man. You’re not the first to be surprised by me today.”
“How can I help you, Sarge?”
She told him about the bank robbery and the discovery of the burnt-out car.
“It’s possible the Cortina is stolen, and the registration plates were copied from a similar make and model. The chassis plate has burn damage, but I’d appreciate it if you’d have a look at it and see if you can glean any info from it.”
“No problem.”
He walked over to the car, followed by Jane, and looked in the engine compartment.
“A bit buckled and charred,” Turner observed, and rubbed his finger on the plate, removing some of the soot. “I’ve got chemicals in the car for cleaning off burn damage. If it’s all right with you I’d like to remove the plate, because the details are stamped in the underside like a mirror image and often less damaged in arson cases.”
Jane could sense his enthusiasm as he spoke.
“Fine by me, PC Turner. You’re the vehicle expert so do whatever you feel will get the best results.”
“I’ll go fetch my equipment,” he said and walked off at a brisk pace.
Having finished updating the exhibits book, Jane decided to speak to Cam Murray and ask how the house-to-house enquiries were going. She could see the uniform sergeant and some of the PCs speaking to people on their doorsteps but there was no sign of Murray. She walked over to the sergeant when he’d finished speaking to the resident.
“How’s the house-to-house going?” she asked.
“No reply at a lot of the flats—so they’re probably residents who work during the day. I’ll arrange for some of the late turn officers to attend the no replies this evening.”
“Anything of interest so far regarding the owner of garage twenty-nine?” she asked, hoping to hear something positive.
“The garage numbers don’t directly relate to a flat number and you pay extra to rent one. My officers have got details of some of the garage owners, but not twenty-nine so far.”
“Is there not a resident caretaker?”
“Yes, but he’s on holiday. I spoke to the relief caretaker—he doesn’t know who uses what garage. He also said some of them are vacant and left open all the time to avoid break-in damage.”
“When will th
e regular caretaker be back?”
“Next week. I also spoke to a lady who’s sixty-two and lives at flat 14 Edgar House. She’d been out shopping and got off at the bus stop in Blake Hall Road. From her timing I’d estimate it wasn’t long after the bank robbery occurred. She saw two men walking towards Felstead Road and one was carrying a large black duffle bag in his right hand. They caught her attention because the duffle bag was like the one she bought her grandson at Christmas.”
“Any description of the men?”
“Not really, she was on the opposite side of the road and only saw them from behind. She thought they were about five feet eight to five feet ten in height, one was dark-haired, the other lighter colored. Both were smartly dressed in casual clothes and she thinks one of them was smoking a cigar.”
“Which one?”
“She didn’t know.”
“Then what made her think it was a cigar?”
“I didn’t ask, but I guess from the smell.”
Jane felt he could have gone into more detail about the clothing and the cigar with the witness, but didn’t want to be critical as she knew the woman could be interviewed again.
“She didn’t say they were acting suspiciously or looked nervous,” he remarked.
“Where’s Felstead Road?” Jane asked, suspecting the men may have been involved and changed clothes.
“Left out of Edgar House, then first left again.”
“When you’ve finished at Edgar could you make enquiries in Felstead Road to see if anyone saw two men, or one carrying a black duffle bag?”
The sergeant looked at his watch. “Well, my lads are all early shift and off duty at two, but if you’re prepared to authorize some overtime we could.”
“Three hours max, that’s all—get what you can done and hand the rest over to the late shift.”
“You’ve also got Selsdon Road, which is off Blake Hall and directly opposite Felstead. The two men could have crossed the road before they got to Felstead—”
“If you get nothing of use at Felstead then do Selsdon as well. Have you seen ADC Murray?”
“Last time I saw him he went into the ground floor flat at the far end of the block there.”
The Dirty Dozen Page 6