The Taming of Tango Harris

by Graham Ison

  *

  ‘Good result, guv,’ said Gilroy, ‘but there are still some more of Tango’s soldiers out there.’

  ‘I think there probably are, Jack,’ said Fox.

  ‘Well, for one there’s the snout who telephoned Harris and tipped him off about Percy Fletcher’s visit to Jean Rogers.’

  ‘Oh, that’s easy, Jack,’ said Fox. ‘That was me.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  It is the practice at the Central Criminal Court to list defendants alphabetically on the indictment and that is the order in which the counts are put to them when they are arraigned.

  On the list outside the public entrance to the court, only the name of the first accused appears followed by the phrase ‘& others’.

  Thus the brothers Crombie, Barry Baker, and Cliff Adams were listed as ‘Adams & others’. Which would have done nothing whatever for the self-esteem of the Crombie brothers if they had seen it. However, not being prisoners on bail, they were privileged to have their own personal entrance to Number Four Court at the Old Bailey.

  ‘Put up Adams, Baker and the Crombies,’ cried an elderly screw. And the four were ushered quickly up the steps and into the dock.

  Once the traditional flummery had been completed and the business of dispensing justice had begun, the associate put the counts concerning the long-firm fraud to each of the prisoners in turn and noted their pleas. When the name of Kenneth Christie Crombie was read out, the judge looked up. ‘Were you named after Dame Agatha,’ he asked, ‘or the Rillington Place murderer?’ and received a dutiful laugh from the public gallery.

  Adams pleaded guilty and was put down to await sentence. The same thing happened with Baker. But Gary and Kenny Crombie, having originally intimated that they would follow suit, changed their minds and a plea of Not Guilty was entered. The judge was not amused. He was now faced with a full trial when all he had anticipated were pleas in mitigation and sentencing. And defence counsel made a note of the judge’s remark about the Rillington Place murderer as constituting possible grounds for an appeal if the necessity arose.

  The trial dragged on, but the crux of it was the appearance of the Crombie brothers in the witness box to give evidence on their own behalf.

  By the time that their testimony was over, and despite a valiant effort by prosecuting counsel in cross-examination, the Crombies’ counsel had elicited enough to make a useful closing speech. ‘There is no evidence,’ he said, ‘that Gary and Kenneth Crombie were aware of the unlawful implications of their actions. By offering to assist their friends in what they firmly believed to be an innocent act of kindness, they suddenly found themselves in a police station and charged with a serious crime. Imagine, ladies and gentlemen, your own reaction if, having undertaken to help some friends to load their lorry, you next found yourself appearing in the dock at the Old Bailey. And for what? For helping someone out. I cannot impress upon you too much, ladies and gentlemen, the anguish that these young men have suffered, to say nothing of their recently widowed mother, who was relying upon them for aid and comfort.’

  There was an audible sob from Arlene Fogg, who was sitting in the front row of the public gallery.

  ‘I put it to you, ladies and gentlemen,’ continued defence counsel, ‘that these young men have been the victims of circumstance. Neither will it have escaped your notice that my clients were unashamedly taken advantage of. Their testimony that Adams and Baker, while in custody, had privately admitted to my client.; that they had deceived them and then laughed about it afterwards, should be enough to convince you of my clients’ innocence.’

  And it did. Thirty minutes after retiring, the jury returned a Not Guilty verdict in respect of all the counts against the Crombie brothers.

  ‘Well if that doesn’t beat cock-fighting,’ said Denzil Evans, ‘I don’t know what does.’

  When Adams and Baker were brought back into court for sentencing, the judge, who like the jury had been misled by the bogus testimony of the Crombies, rebuked them sternly on the matter of taking advantage of friends who offered them assistance. Then he sentenced each of them to five years’ imprisonment.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Fox.

  ‘What’s good about that, guv?’ asked the mystified Evans. He had expected Fox to explode at the verdict.

  ‘Once Messrs Adams and Baker have settled in, Denzil — unpacked and that sort of thing — we shall visit them, and talk to them in kindly tones. In the meantime, we shall set Rosie Webster to interrogating Jean Rogers, alias Cheryl, a resting whore.’

  *

  ‘Those bastards have had us over, Mr Fox,’ said Adams.

  ‘Yes, but they’re criminals, dear boy, and criminals tend to do that sort of thing.’ Fox pushed his cigarette case across the table.

  ‘It’s a bloody con, that’s what it is.’ Adams lit a cigarette and leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on the table. ‘Me and Barry’s doing a bloody five-stretch now, and it was their scam.’

  ‘What did you get out of it … apart from five years in the nick?’ asked Fox.

  ‘Bugger all,’ said Adams.

  Fox nodded sympathetically. ‘You have fallen among thieves,’ he said, which Adams would have recognized as a truism … if he had known what a truism was.

  ‘Gary and Kenny said they was going to plead, the bastards. And we was all going to throw ourselves on the mercy of the court.’

  ‘Very unwise,’ murmured Fox.

  ‘But when it comes to it, they put it all down to us. If we’d done what was agreed, we’d’ve scored eighteen months at worst.’

  ‘It’s a funny old world that we live in,’ mused Fox, apropos of nothing in particular, ‘but with your record that is the most optimistic statement I’ve heard in years. However, I have not given up on the Crombies. And as you have nothing to lose but your chains, I suggest that you tell me all about their activities.’

  ‘That’d take a bloody week, Mr Fox, and no mistake.’

  ‘When it comes to screwing the Crombies,’ said Fox, ‘I am a man of infinite patience.’

  ‘In that case, Mr Fox,’ said Adams, ‘you’d better get your clerk in. I’ve got a lot of talking to do.’

  *

  Denzil Evans spent two or three days interrogating both Adams and Baker in some depth. When he had finished, each of the disgruntled prisoners had dictated statements which ran into several dozen sheets of paper.

  Fox read through the statements twice and then looked up. ‘Added to what Sharon Scrope has given us, Denzil, dear boy,’ he said, ‘there is enough evidence there to arrest the Crombie brothers and Arlene Fogg for a start. Off you go and get warrants.’ He laid the statements down and placed a hand on them as if fearing they might escape. ‘I do love it when thieves fall out,’ he added.

  *

  There was a small and exclusive gathering at the Crombie house when the police arrived. Although it was several days since their acquittal, the Crombie brothers had prudently decided to wait until now to celebrate their escape from the clutches of the head of the Flying Squad. It was a mistake.

  Arlene Fogg opened the door. Obviously refusing to recognize that she would never see fifty again, she had adorned herself in a silver lame blouse, cut so wide at the neck that it failed to cover her black bra straps. Her legs were encased in a pair of light-green stretch-polyester trousers, the bottoms of which stopped above her ankles and were only held down by straps under her feet. This unedifying picture was completed by a pair of carpet slippers with pink bobbles on the front.

  ‘Good evening, madam,’ said Fox. ‘We are the police.’

  ‘I know who you bleedin’ are,’ said Arlene. ‘What d’you want?’

  ‘You for a start, Arlene … and your two dear sons.’

  Arlene turned suddenly and shouted down the long hallway. ‘Gary, it’s the law. Scarper!’

  ‘Other officers,’ said Fox, blithely ignoring Arlene’s outburst, ‘are stationed in your garden with a view to arresting any fleeing felons who
happen to spill out of your rear windows.’

  Arlene turned to face Fox once more, her arms akimbo in an attitude of defiance. ‘Then I hope you’ve got a brief,’ she said.

  ‘Of course,’ murmured Fox, withdrawing the warrant from his pocket. ‘Rarely go anywhere without one these days.’ He pushed past the protesting Arlene and marched purposefully down the hallway followed by DI Evans.

  The room at the back of the house which Fox now entered was occupied by Gary and Kenny Crombie and two young women each dressed in Catford uniform: a revealing white blouse and tight black leather skirt which stopped just below her backside. The elder of the brothers was in the act of wrenching back the curtains only to find that a grinning DC Bellenger was standing on the other side of the window.

  Reclining in a black plastic-upholstered armchair was a muscular man in his early thirties, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. His hair was dyed blond and he wore a chunky medallion round his neck.

  ‘Good grief,’ said Fox as his gaze travelled round the room. One wall was covered in pine cladding on which were three brightly coloured ducks in tight formation, and a print of an Asian woman. A cocktail bar stood in one corner behind which were optics and an inset aquarium. A fluorescent light shone down from above. On the opposite wall was a simulated log fire, beneath a shelf crowded with ornaments that vied with each other for lack of taste. Among other equally awful items, there were a brass carriage-clock with a pendulum of revolving balls, a ship in a bottle, a model of a horse and cart, and an electric light that contained some sort of constantly moving ectoplasm. ‘I wouldn’t mind betting, Denzil,’ said Fox, ‘that they have a pine lavatory seat as well.’

  ‘What’s this all about, squire?’ asked the sprawling muscles.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Fox.

  ‘Harry Towler. I’m her feller. What’s it to you, anyway?’

  ‘Splendid,’ said Fox. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’ He turned to Arlene. ‘You didn’t let Billie get too cold before importing a fancy-man, did you, Arlene?’ he said. ‘Now then … ’ He addressed the assembled company. ‘I have a warrant for the arrest of Gary and Kenneth Crombie … and Muzz Arlene Fogg.’

  ‘I think we’d better be going, Gary,’ said one of the girls. ‘Can you call us a minicab?’

  Gary Crombie had taken but one pace towards a Mickey Mouse telephone that stood on a table in the corner, when Fox spoke again.

  ‘Don’t bother. We’ve got plenty of transport outside.’

  ‘Oh, ta,’ said the girl. ‘We live in Forest Hill.’

  ‘Quite possibly,’ said Fox, ‘but you’re going to Catford police station, along with the three stars of this little show … and you,’ he added, nodding at Towler.

  ‘I ain’t done nothing,’ said Towler. ‘What’s this all about, anyhow?’

  ‘How do lorry heists grab you?’ asked Fox. ‘I can give you dates if you want to be awkward.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Towler.

  ‘Who is the owner of this property?’ Fox looked round. ‘I am,’ said Gary Crombie and Arlene in unison.

  ‘No you bleedin’ ain’t,’ said Arlene. ‘Billie left it to me in his will.’

  ‘We don’t know that for sure yet, Ma.’

  ‘Oh yes we do.’ Arlene took a pace towards her son. ‘I’ve seen the bleedin’ will, so don’t you go arguing with your elders and betters.’

  Fox stepped between them. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Gary Crombie will stay. Denzil, remove the rest to the nick before war breaks out.’

  ‘What’s coming off here then?’ asked Arlene.

  ‘We are going to search these premises,’ said Fox, ‘in the presence of the householder who, for the purposes of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, I deem to be Gary Crombie.’

  ‘Well that’s bloody right, that is,’ said Arlene.

  ‘Couldn’t have put it better myself, madam,’ said Fox.

  *

  The attack on Jean Rogers which had been frustrated by her police guard, ably led by Rosie Webster, had convinced the call-girl of two things. Firstly, that she was in danger from Tango Harris, and secondly, that the police were able to protect her from him. If she did not now make a statement telling all she knew of Harris’s activities, she thought the police might lose interest in her and possibly withdraw the officers who were looking after her. But Tango Harris wouldn’t know that she hadn’t made a statement. Would, in fact, have convinced himself that she had. And just to be on the safe side he might be tempted to silence her permanently.

  With a sigh, and a characteristic pushing at her hair, she sat down opposite Rosie Webster and started to talk.

  *

  As Rosie Webster settled down to listen to Jean Rogers’s enlightening tales of Tango Harris, Detective Inspector Gilroy finished taking a statement from Wayne Parish admitting that he had been a willing accomplice in the attempt by Quincey, Nelson, Royce, and Guerrini to hijack Parish’s lorry-load of computers.

  The five of them had now been in custody for some time, but despite frantic phone calls, Tango Harris’s lawyer still hadn’t appeared to help them out of their predicament.

  They didn’t know, however, that Harris, feeling more and more vulnerable as a result of Fox’s relentless attack on his empire, was trying desperately to distance himself from the criminal activities of his accomplices.

  Consequently, the four robbers had reluctantly concluded that they had been abandoned, and started to sing like a quartet of highly tuned canaries.

  Interviewed independently they had each made a lengthy statement which had started, as is usual in such cases, by accusing the other three of being the prime movers in the robbery for which all four had been arrested. But then they had almost fallen over themselves to provide details of killings, savage beatings, robberies, protection rackets, vice rings, and a host of other less serious, but none the less illegal, enterprises.

  And they had implicated Tango Harris in each and every crime they mentioned.

  When they had finished, the statements joined the ever increasing pile of damning evidence that Fox hoped would take Harris out of circulation for a long time.

  ‘Well, Jack?’

  Gilroy sat down in the chair opposite Fox’s desk. ‘They made separate statements about the Carter job, sir, but Quincey, Nelson, Royce, and Parish each put Frankie Carter’s murder down to Guerrini.’

  ‘And what does Mr Guerrini have to say about it?’

  ‘He puts it down to Royce, sir.’

  ‘Looks as though Guerrini wins on points then.’

  ‘Yes, sir, but the evidence of one co-conspirator against—’

  ‘Jack, dear boy, please.’ Fox held up his hand. ‘What we have to do now is find some positive evidence that Guerrini was the one who pulled the trigger … and more to the point, find the trigger that he pulled.’

  ‘Easy, sir,’ said Gilroy with a grin. ‘One of the shooters we found in the warehouse at Greenwich matches the round taken out of Carter’s head.’

  Fox nodded gloomily. ‘That doesn’t surprise me, Jack. That doesn’t surprise me at all. But, given that all four probably had access to the said shooter, how do we tie the weapon in with Guerrini?’

  ‘I think we might be in with a chance there, guv. Ever fired a Walther?’

  ‘Can’t say that I have, Jack.’

  ‘Well, when it’s fired, the recoil carries the slide back. If you’ve got it in a double-handed grip but you let your left thumb stray upwards, the slide’ll take a chunk out of it.’

  Fox leaned forward. ‘And?’

  ‘It’s a slim chance, guv, but the lab found slight traces of dried blood on the underside of the slide. DNA testing might just tie it in with Guerrini … once we get a blood sample from him. If we can.’

  ‘Still doesn’t prove that he killed Carter, Jack. If he injured himself, he might have done it on another occasion.’

  ‘The prison doctor has examined Guerrini and found two parallel scars at the base of his left thumb compatible wit
h such an injury, and is willing to testify that the scar is about the right age for the injury to have occurred at the same time as the murder.’ Gilroy laid a couple of statements on Fox’s desk. ‘That’s the prison doctor’s report, sir,’ he said. ‘And the other one is the ballistics report. If it’s not down to him, guv’nor, he’s going to have a lot of fun talking his way out of it.’

  Fox lit a cigarette and walked across to his drinks cabinet. ‘D’you know, Jack,’ he said, handing Gilroy a glass of whisky, ‘I think you’d do quite well in the CID. Ever thought of making a career of it?’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Mr Adams and Mr Baker are very cross with you,’ said Fox.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Gary Crombie affected a look of gross indifference.

  ‘You will recall that they were convicted of running a long-firm fraud in Twickenham. A long-firm fraud which, incidentally, they seem to think you profited from … in more ways than one. Furthermore, they seem to think that you dropped them in it by pleading not guilty and putting it down to them.’

  ‘Well, we wasn’t, was we?’

  ‘Weren’t what?’

  ‘Guilty.’

  ‘Of course not, Gary, dear boy.’ Fox lit a cigarette and studied the elder Crombie from the far side of the interview room.

  ‘What?’ Fox’s unexpected reply jarred Gary Crombie’s cockiness and put him off balance.

  ‘You see,’ continued Fox, setting off on another stroll around the room, ‘I have the greatest faith in British justice. And if a good old British jury says you’re not guilty, then clearly that’s it.’

  ‘What’s your bloody game, Mr Fox?’ Gary Crombie swivelled round in his chair so that he could keep Fox in sight.

  ‘Oh, it’s not a game,’ said Fox. ‘It’s called letting bygones be bygones.’ He finally tired of walking about and sat down opposite Crombie. ‘It’s the future that interests me, Gary, dear boy. Cigarette?’ He pushed his case across the table.

  ‘Ta!’ Crombie took a cigarette and waited for Fox to produce his lighter. ‘There’s something coming off here,’ he said.