by Graham Ison
At half-past seven, Swann sauntered into the pub and ambled across to where Fox and Gilroy were sitting. ‘Up and running, guv,’ he said mournfully. ‘Mr Evans says they’re loading.’
Unhurriedly, Fox finished his Scotch and followed his driver.
Ten minutes after the delivery had been completed a pantechnicon had arrived, and it was that which had excited Evans’s interest. Flying Squad cars had immediately taken up station at all the entrances to the industrial estate so that there was no way the villains could escape with their loot.
Fox, flanked by Evans and Gilroy, strolled up to the large van and peered in. A man had just wheeled in a trolley stacked with videos. He dumped his load and turned to come out.
‘Well, well,’ said Fox. ‘If it isn’t Gary Crombie. You’re a long way from Catford, my son.’
Crombie dropped the trolley and brought up his fists.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Fox.
Being inside the van with three Flying Squad officers outside, Crombie realized that there was no escape and let his hands fall to his sides. Familiar with the ways of the Flying Squad, he knew that there would be more of them about. ‘Hallo, Mr Fox,’ he said with a sickly grin.
At that point, Kenny Crombie came out of the warehouse carrying a television set. He took one look at Fox and the combined teams of Gilroy and Evans — some twenty-five officers in all — and promptly let go of the set. It fell with a crash of splintering glass as the screen disintegrated.
‘Hope that’s insured,’ said Fox. ‘In the van, my son, there’s a good chap.’ Kenny Crombie climbed in beside his brother. Seconds later, two more men appeared. ‘And you’ll be Mr Adams and Mr Baker, I presume.’ Fox was starting to enjoy himself. ‘In the van, my lovely lads.’
‘Who the bleedin’ hell are you?’ Adams looked apprehensively at the circle of detectives. But he knew the answer.
‘Thomas Fox … of the Flying Squad. And you’re nicked. Official.’
Chapter Ten
‘They won’t say anything, Denzil,’ said Fox, surveying the four prisoners now sitting disconsolately on a bench in the custody area of Twickenham police station. ‘Just do the business and put them on the sheet.’
‘But what about the fire-bombing of Morrie Isaacs’s place, guv?’ asked Evans. He couldn’t believe that Fox wasn’t going to bother about the murder of the barman.
Fox shrugged. ‘We’ve only the word of some little tart from Catford that it’s down to the Crombie brothers, Denzil, dear boy,’ he said and lit a cigarette. He smiled at the custody sergeant, whose only censure of a chief superintendent smoking in the administrative part of a police station could be to frown slightly. ‘We’ll let them think we don’t know anything about that. Makes them over-confident, you see. It’ll fall into place, dear boy. Never fear. In the meantime, Jack and I will go and interview Mr Siegfried Hoskins in our constant seeking after truth.’
‘What are you going to see him for, guv?’
‘To rattle his bars a bit, Denzil. And possibly to close down a certain insalubrious establishment known to everyone but the Inland Revenue as Siggy’s Club.’
*
As Fox had predicted, Siggy Hoskins was not at all pleased to receive a visit from the head of the Flying Squad. Over the years, many of the habitués of his club had related stories of Fox’s activities, and nothing that Siggy had heard made him want to be the subject of a personal Fox interview. So far, he had avoided such a confrontation, but his luck finally ran out at about half past ten on the evening of the Crombie brothers’ arrest.
The same blue-chinned bouncer who had admitted Fletcher the previous week responded to Fox’s sharp rap on the door and opened the wicket. The aperture was filled with a warrant card. The bouncer opened the door. ‘Can I help you?’ he enquired.
‘When were you last nicked?’ asked Fox conversationally.
‘Dunno what you mean,’ said the bouncer, taking several paces backwards.
‘Be so good as winkle out your Mr Hoskins, dear boy,’ said Fox.
Within seconds, the perspiring figure of Siggy Hoskins appeared in the entrance hall nervously wringing his hands. ‘Welcome, gentlemen,’ he said.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Fox, nodding at Hoskins’s anxious hands, ‘I didn’t realize you were having a wash. You have an office, I presume?’
‘Of course, gentlemen. Please come this way.’ And Hoskins led them into the same dowdy office in which he had been interviewed by Fletcher. With an elaborate gesture, Hoskins indicated the worn settee.
Fox looked closely at it and remained standing. ‘One of my sergeants spoke to you recently,’ he began.
‘Yes, indeed. A Mr Fletcher. Very nice gentleman.’
‘Really?’ said Fox. ‘Must have been one of his off-days. Probably a bug of some sort.’ He turned to Gilroy. ‘Would you not think so, Jack?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Gilroy. ‘Lot of bugs about at this time of year.’
‘Yes,’ said Fox, switching his gaze back to Hoskins and staring hard.
‘Perhaps I may offer you a drink, gentlemen.’ Hoskins hovered near his drinks cupboard.
‘Good gracious me, no,’ said Fox. ‘That would be most improper. But don’t let me stop you.’
Hurriedly, Hoskins poured himself a large whisky and took a gulp. ‘How can I help you, gentlemen?’ he enquired.
‘I am Thomas Fox … of the Flying Squad.’
‘So I believe.’
‘You’d better,’ said Fox. ‘Now then … ’ He changed his mind and sat down. ‘My sergeant tells me that you gave him a graphic account of an assault that occurred on your premises some weeks ago involving a Miss Gina West and Billie Crombie. He went on to say that Billie Crombie was accompanied by his son Gary and three other undesirables.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ Hoskins fidgeted with his whisky glass.
‘And when did this fracas take place?’
‘The eighteenth of August,’ said Hoskins promptly.
‘Interesting,’ said Fox and leaned back slightly as if carefully considering Hoskins’s reply.
‘Is there a problem?’ asked Hoskins nervously.
‘Only for you. I have to say, Siggy, that I am not greatly enamoured of little schlemiels like you who go about telling wicked lies to policemen.’
‘P’raps I got the date wrong.’
‘Yes, I think you probably did, Siggy.’ Fox smiled at Hoskins. It was unnerving. ‘But what I think is probably nearer the truth is that you made the whole thing up.’
‘It’s not true, Mr Fox.’ Hoskins started to sound desperate.
‘I just said that, but on second thoughts, I think that Tango Harris made it up. Then he passed you the script and you learnt it. In exactly the same way as Mr Daniel Royce and Mr Anthony Guerrini learned it. In case you’ve forgotten, they’re the two nasty pieces of work you propped to Sergeant Fletcher as reliable witnesses.’
Gilroy, who had been leaning on the filing cabinet throughout this exchange, now shifted his position.
Fox held up a hand. ‘No, Jack,’ he said. ‘Don’t hit him … not yet.’
Hoskins took another slurp of Scotch and sat down heavily in the chair behind his desk. ‘I’m in the middle here, Mr Fox,’ he said.
‘Indeed you are, dear boy. Indeed, you are. However, I shall do my level best to assist you in extricating yourself from that difficult position.’
‘How?’
‘By persuading you to tell the truth. Furthermore, I shall start you off. Now then, you pay exorbitant sums of money to Tango Harris in order that he protects you from the scum that not infrequently enters this establishment for no better purpose than to cause you grief and aggravation. Am I right?’ Hoskins remained silent. ‘Good. I can see we’re going to get on famously,’ continued Fox. ‘And in view of the fact that the alleged assault never took place, you will, I’m sure, readily agree with me that your story was a complete fabrication. Yes?’
‘Yes,’ said Hosk
ins miserably.
‘There is another factor as well.’
‘There is?’
‘Oh yes. You say that Royce and Guerrini were in here that night and that they too witnessed this outrage. So that, in turn, can’t be true, can it?’
‘I s’pose not,’ said Hoskins.
‘And in fact, they weren’t in here at all, were they?’
‘No.’
‘But they usually were. So how come they were missing that night?’
Hoskins was looking increasingly anguished. ‘This could get me topped, Mr Fox. It’s serious.’
‘Where were they?’ growled Fox.
‘They was doing a job and they wanted me to alibi them … but I don’t know nothing about the job, so help me.’
‘Excellent.’ Fox smiled. ‘Now let us turn to the twelfth of October.’
‘What about it?’ Hoskins was stunned by Fox’s rapid change of direction.
‘Mr Thomas Walter Harris, aforesaid, better known as Tango, maintains, as do two other low-lifes, that he was here on that date.’
Hoskins spread his hands. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. It was all getting too much for him. ‘I can’t remember everyone who comes in here.’
‘Must be a problem. But this is easy. Tango Harris claims to have been accompanied by Terry Quincey and Des Nelson. Now they run with Tango and are probably members of your club. But it’s unlikely that the two slags who were with them, namely Tracey Ogden and Cindy Lewis, are members. With me, so far?’
‘I don’t know what this is all about, Mr Fox, honest.’
‘Therefore, Siggy, given the stringent regulations covering the sale of alcohol in this country, their names will appear in the records as guests of the said member or members.’ Fox was far from certain that he was right. He was the first to admit that he hadn’t quoted licensing law for years and was probably hopelessly out of date, but he was also pretty certain that Hoskins wouldn’t know either.
‘Oh my Gawd!’ said Hoskins.
Fox turned to Gilroy. ‘I take that as a definite maybe, Jack,’ he said. He realigned his gaze on the unfortunate Hoskins. ‘I wouldn’t want you to get into any sort of trouble here, Siggy,’ he continued. ‘But the problem is that Miss Gina West was murdered on that night, and if Tango Harris was here he will doubtless require you to appear in Number One Court at the Old Bailey and give evidence. You know how to get to the Old Bailey, do you? Under your own steam, I mean.’
Hoskins lurched towards the filing cabinet and started an intensive search of its contents. Eventually, he produced a book. ‘Visitors’ Book,’ he said triumphantly. Quickly he riffled through its pages until he found the entries for the twelfth of October. ‘There’s nothing here,’ he said. There was a panic-stricken look on his face.
‘That’s all right then,’ said Fox. ‘So instead you’ll be able to appear for the prosecution and swear that according to your records, Miss Ogden and Miss Lewis were not in the club that night, and to the best of your recollection, nor were Tango Harris, Terry Quincey, and Des Nelson. And just so that you don’t forget it all again, my inspector here will take a statement to that effect. Oh, and if I were you, I wouldn’t mention this little conversation to anyone. They might get cross. Of course, if you feel vulnerable, I could arrange to have a policeman in here at all times to guard you.’
‘Oh my Gawd!’ said Hoskins again.
‘Religion’s a great comfort at times like this,’ said Fox.
*
‘It’s got to have been those bastard Crombies, Alfie. Can’t have been no one else. They’re bloody hooligans.’ Tango Harris was marching up and down the side of his pool with savage intensity, hands thrust into the pockets of the terry robe he wore over his swimming trunks. ‘D’you mean they just drove a bloody van into one of my video shops and set fire to it? In broad bloody daylight. I mean, what are the police doing, Alfie, eh?’
‘It was quite dark actually, Mr Harris,’ said Alfie Penrose.
Harris stopped his restless pacing to stare angrily at Penrose. ‘Don’t get bloody clever with me,’ he said. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘Well, I don’t reckon they’d have had time, like.’
‘Why not? What else have they been doing, then?’
‘They’ve been nicked, Mr Harris. The day after the fire as a matter of fact.’
‘What for? For torching my bloody shop?’
‘No. They got captured for a long-firm fraud down Twickenham.’
Harris broke into a cackling laugh. ‘Oh dear me, Alfie. They’re bloody amateurs, those lads. Who nicked ’em?’
‘Tommy Fox and half the bleeding Sweeney.’
Harris stopped laughing. ‘Oh, did he. That bastard’s getting too close for comfort.’
‘No skin off our nose, Mr Harris, is it? I mean all the time he’s having a pop at the Crombies, he’s leaving us well alone.’ A note of doubt crept into Penrose’s voice. ‘Isn’t he?’
‘You stupid sod, Alfie. Can’t you see what he’s up to? Once he’s got the Crombies bang to rights, he’s going to turn all his bloody artillery on us. And I do mean artillery.’
‘Yeah,’ said Penrose. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Well you’d better start thinking … right now,’ said Harris. ‘Who’s that tosser that used to be Billie Crombie’s right hand?’
‘Kevin Rix?’
‘That’s him. What’s he up to now, now that poor dear Billie’s gone and got hisself topped?’ Harris grinned.
‘Still in there. In fact, he’s got alongside Arlene and the pair of ’em are trying to take over. Wouldn’t mind betting she shopped Gary and Kenny to the Old Bill over the LF job.’
‘Could be down to them, then,’ said Harris thoughtfully. ‘Got a little job for you then, Alfie. Listen carefully.’
After a few minutes of intensive briefing, Penrose walked away across the lawn towards his car, and Harris sat down on a sun-lounger and picked up the Daily Telegraph.
‘Tango?’
‘What?’ Harris dropped his newspaper to look at Melody, now emerging from the pool.
‘I do wish you’d tell me when people are coming in here.’
‘Why? What’s it got to do with you?’
‘I’ve got nothing on, Tango. You’re always doing it to me these days.’
‘Yeah, well, these is trying times, babe,’ said Harris.
*
‘Just imagine,’ said Fox, ‘that I have one or two large fish, and a number of tiddlers, confined in a rather small tank.’ He gazed round at Brace, Dorman, and Blunt, the three detective superintendents who between them were investigating the murders of Gina West, Harry Dodge, Frankie Carter, and Billie Crombie. ‘And that I can reach in and take any one of them whenever I want to.’
The superintendents waited patiently. They had been summoned to Fox’s office at New Scotland Yard for a briefing, only to be given a homely chat about fish tanks. But they knew enough of Fox to know that he would get to the point of it all sooner or later.
‘What I want you to do,’ continued Fox, ‘is nothing.’
‘Nothing, sir?’ Nick Dorman, the youngest of the superintendents, had met Fox for the first time at the beginning of the Carter murder enquiry and didn’t know his ways as well as the other two.
‘Well, not quite nothing.’ Fox smoothed the cloth of his trousers over his knees. ‘Get all your case-papers together and make sure that the scientific evidence is collated, so that we’re ready to go when we have a body.’
‘And when’s that likely to be, sir?’ asked Brace.
‘Won’t be long,’ said Fox airily. ‘The murders of West, Carter, and Crombie are all down to Tango Harris’s little team. The murder of … ’ Fox paused. ‘Who was the barman at Morrie Isaacs’s place, Gavin? Harry something, wasn’t it?’
‘Harry Dodge, guv.’
‘That’s the fellow. Are you doing that one as well?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. That one’s down to the
late Billie Crombie and his two naughty boys, Gary and Kenny. But I don’t want any enquiries made. All that will happen is that potential witnesses will go shtum, Tango and the brothers Crombie will get to hear that we’re after them, and it’ll be much harder to screw the bastards.’
‘What about the Romford hijacking, sir?’ asked Dorman.
‘Glad you mentioned it,’ said Fox. ‘That’s Tango Harris’s as well. How’s the guard going on Wayne Parish?’
‘We’re managing, sir … just.’
‘Knew you would. It won’t be for long. I’m just trying to make up my mind when to nick him.’
‘What for?’ asked Dorman.
‘He was Crombie’s inside man, Nick.’
‘How the hell did you find that out, sir?’
‘Informants,’ said Fox mysteriously. ‘You should get some. They’re very useful at times.’
*
‘Morrie, dear boy, you don’t look at all pleased to see me.’ Fox stood in the refurbished entrance bar to Morrie Isaacs’s restaurant and gazed approvingly at the new decor.
‘Every time I look up there’s a policeman in here, Mr Fox,’ said Isaacs.
‘That’s what happens when you carelessly allow your barman to get murdered, Morrie.’
‘It wasn’t my fault, Mr Fox.’
Fox put an arm round Isaacs’s shoulder and steered him towards a table in the corner of the restaurant. ‘That, Morrie, is a matter of opinion. You see, I have reason to believe that you’ve been paying protection money to Tango Harris for some considerable time now. But because there’s a bit of a war between Tango and the firm that used to be run by the late and unlamented Billie Crombie, you were picked out for a bit of a singeing. Unfortunately, Harry Dodge got fried. Unfortunate for Harry, that is. Then along comes a representative of Crombie Inc. and suggests that in future you’d be much better off paying the Crombies instead of Tango Harris.’
‘I don’t know anything about that, Mr Fox, I swear.’
‘Witnesses for the prosecution will appear in a forthcoming attraction at the Central Criminal Court and testify to this astonishing set of circumstances, Morrie. And you will be joining them … on our side.’