The Taming of Tango Harris

by Graham Ison

  ‘Jagger’s obtained the application form from the credit-card people. There’s an outside hope that we might get something from that,’ said Brace. ‘But I shouldn’t hold your breath, sir.’

  ‘What about the sample?’

  ‘It’s been confirmed that there was semen in Gina West’s vagina, guv’nor, but of course we’ve not been able to take any intimate samples as yet. If we can get those, we can put them up for DNA comparison.’

  ‘Bit late to get one from Billie Crombie’s body. But does a DNA test work on a post-mortem sample?’

  Brace shrugged. ‘I don’t know sir, but I’ve asked the lab to look into it. I suppose the best we can hope for is a clear-up. But it would mean an exhumation.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No, sir. None of the staff at the hotel can make a positive ID. The receptionist had the best view of Mr Phillips, but her description would fit Tango Harris, Billie Crombie, and the BBC Symphony Orchestra … all of them. The fingerprint on the dressing table was a blowout, and those on Gina West’s briefcase and in her flat at St John’s Wood are all hers.’

  ‘Don’t know what you’ve been doing,’ muttered Fox. ‘Nick?’

  Nick Dorman glanced at his notes. ‘As good as wrapped up, sir. I’m willing to give Tony Guerrini a run for the murder of Carter.’

  ‘Refresh my memory, Nick,’ said Fox, lighting a cigarette and leaning back in his chair.

  ‘Jack Gilroy found a shooter in the slaughter at Greenwich which the ballistics people say was the one used to murder Frankie Carter. There were traces of blood on the underneath of the breech slide, and Guerrini had an injury compatible with having got his thumb in the way of it. I’m willing to put him up on that and let him try and talk his way out.’

  ‘Have you been able to obtain a blood sample from him?’ asked Fox.

  ‘Yes, sir. Gave it quite willingly, but then he didn’t have the benefit of one of Harris’s high-powered lawyers.’

  ‘Has he said anything?’

  ‘Only that if he goes down, he’ll take Tango Harris with him, guv.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Fox. ‘We’ll have to see if we can’t help him.’ He glanced across at David Blunt. ‘And how’s the great Catford Stadium outrage getting on, Dave?’

  ‘We drew a blank on the buildings near the stadium, sir. The main one’s a school and was locked up at the time. There was no sign of a breaking.’

  ‘That’s unusual for Catford,’ murmured Fox.

  ‘But we do have a witness … of sorts.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘There’s a railway line on each side of the dog track. But the one on the right as you go in has two footbridges over it from Doggett Road. One at each end of the stand. And it’s opposite the stand where Crombie was when he was shot.’

  ‘You’re not going to tell me he was hit from a passing train, I hope,’ said Fox.

  Blunt grinned. ‘Doubt it,’ he said. ‘But we have a witness who saw a man run down from one of the footbridges and leap into a car. He said he thought he was carrying a snooker cue. And believe it or not, sir, he got the number of the car. It was nicked at Dulwich and abandoned in Hither Green. Enquiries are continuing.’ Blunt grinned again.

  ‘Ye Gods!’ said Fox.

  ‘The interesting thing is that the footbridge where chummy was seen is closed off. It doesn’t lead anywhere.’

  ‘Not even to a billiard hall?’ asked Fox and got a laugh.

  ‘No, sir,’ said Blunt, ‘but then you don’t expect people to play snooker wearing a ski mask.’

  ‘Depends on the climate,’ said Fox drily, and got another laugh.

  ‘But the pathologists and the ballistics officer both say that the shot that killed Crombie could well have come from the footbridge.’

  Fox nodded slowly. He knew that the evidence that Blunt had collected so far did not get them very much closer to finding the killer. ‘These experts didn’t tell you who pulled the trigger, I suppose, Dave?’

  ‘No, guv,’ said Blunt, ‘but I’m working on it.’

  ‘Right,’ said Fox, suddenly standing up. ‘I think I shall now talk to Alfie Penrose regarding the dastardly murder of Billie Crombie.’

  *

  The weaselly figure of Alfie Penrose limped into the interview room shepherded by a large constable.

  ‘Nasty limp you’ve got there, Alfred,’ said Fox.

  ‘I s’pose you think that’s funny,’ said Penrose, lowering himself painfully into the chair opposite the chief superintendent. ‘I’ve got a complaint.’

  ‘I can see that,’ said Fox. ‘Still, I’m sure that a successful businessman like you has got private medical insurance.’

  ‘I’m talking about you hitting me on the knee.’

  ‘You always did have a vivid imagination, Alfie. I, and three other officers, saw you trip and fall in your haste to escape from that nasty scene last night. As a matter of interest, what were you doing there? Long way from home, weren’t you?’

  ‘Entitled to go out and enjoy myself, ain’t I?’ Penrose glared churlishly at Fox.

  ‘You were there, dear boy, for the sole purpose of repelling boarders. Except that you didn’t anticipate that Tinsel Walters’s lot would be tooled up. You underestimated them, you see. Tinsel Walters is coming up in the world. Least he was. As a matter of fact, the last time I saw him, he was coming down, very hard, thanks to a charming young policewoman who was trying to teach him the cha-cha-cha. I don’t suppose Tango Harris is very pleased with you, Alfie.’

  ‘It weren’t nothing to do with me,’ said Penrose. ‘I was just having a quiet drink with me bird when them hooligans come in busting the place up.’

  Fox paused and looked expectant. ‘Ah!’ he said eventually. ‘I thought for one moment you were going to ask where the police were when you needed them. But, of course, you know the answer to that, don’t you?’

  ‘I want to know why I’ve been nicked,’ said Penrose.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Fox. ‘Didn’t the officer tell you? How remiss of him. I shall have to have a word. You have been arrested, Alfred, for the common-law offence of conducting yourself in a noisy, disorderly, and turbulent manner to the annoyance of firm and courageous citizens.’

  ‘What are you going on about?’

  ‘I distinctly saw you rolling about on the floor, shouting and screaming and thereby disturbing the peace.’

  ‘Course I was. You’d just hit me with your truncheon. Anyway, I won’t be joining the lifers in Parkhurst for that, will I?’ Penrose smirked and lit himself a dog-end which he withdrew from the recesses of his East End suit.

  ‘Not for that, no,’ said Fox. ‘But … ’

  Penrose sat up. ‘What d’you mean by that?’

  ‘I have it in mind to charge you with the murder of Billie Crombie at Catford Stadium, Alfie.’

  Penrose’s face went white and he gripped the edges of the table. ‘That’s not down to me,’ he gasped.

  ‘Oh yes it is.’

  ‘You ain’t got no evidence.’

  ‘Yes I have.’ Fox took out his cigarette case and opened it. Carefully selecting a cigarette, he lit it and blew smoke into the air.

  ‘You can’t have. I wasn’t there.’

  ‘Wayne Parish says you were.’

  ‘That little tosser. He’s only been with the firm five—’ Penrose suddenly stopped, realizing that he had said too much. ‘Anyway, his word’s—’

  Fox held up his hand. ‘Don’t presume to give me a lecture about the evidence of one co-conspirator against another, Alfie.’

  ‘Well it’s true. My brief told me that the last time—’

  ‘Because,’ interrupted Fox, ‘Parish will not be charged on the same indictment as you. Therefore, he’s not a co-conspirator. Clever that, isn’t it?’

  ‘I swear I never had nothing to do with Billie Crombie’s topping.’ Penrose was starting to sound desperate now. Desperate but unconvincing.

  ‘Well who did then?’


  At last Penrose saw Fox’s ploy. ‘Are we talking a trade-off here?’ he asked.

  ‘Trade-off?’ Fox contrived to sound appalled. ‘Perish the thought. No, Alfie, it’s quite simple. I put you on the sheet for Crombie’s murder and I put Parish in the box. He tells a sorrowful tale, does our Wayne. How he was press-ganged into working for Tango Harris, made to take part in all sorts of villainy. Dear me, he’ll have the jury crying their eyes out. He’s very convincing, you know.’ It was all untrue, of course. Fox hadn’t yet got around to suggesting to Parish that he might benefit from telling police what he knew of Tango Harris’s activities.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re asking, Mr Fox.’ At last it came. The whingeing, respectful tone, and the realisation that the police held all the cards, and that Penrose’s only hope was to try offering them something they wanted … in exchange for his liberty.

  ‘Well?’

  For a moment or two, Penrose lapsed into deep thought, his chin sunk on his chest. Then he looked up. ‘He’ll bloody kill me, Mr Fox.’

  ‘Who will?’

  ‘Tango. He’s a vicious bastard and if I grass him up, he’ll have me.’

  ‘Won’t get the chance,’ said Fox, ‘because the minute I’ve finished talking to you, I’m going out to Buckhurst Hill to nick him. And this time it’ll stick … all of it.’

  Penrose stared at Fox with baleful, unbelieving eyes. ‘What will?’

  ‘Murder, conspiracy to murder, robbery, conspiracy to commit robbery, living on immoral earnings.’ Fox paused. ‘Well, that’ll do for a start,’ he added.

  ‘Billie Crombie’s murder was down to Randy Steel.’ Penrose spoke slowly and distinctly.

  Fox scoffed. ‘You’re joking. I never had Randy Steel down for a marksman.’

  ‘Don’t have to be with the weapon he used. Telescopic night-sight an’ all.’

  ‘Mmm! Lucky I’ve got him banged up next door. But tell me, Alfred … ’ Fox leaned across and stubbed out his cigarette. ‘He didn’t just take Billie Crombie out because he was bored, surely?’

  ‘Course he never. Tango set it up. He reckoned Billie Crombie was overreaching hisself. Had to be taken out. Then he was going to take over Billie’s empire.’

  ‘What about Gary and Kenny Crombie … and Arlene Fogg?’

  For the first time in the interview, Penrose laughed, a grating cackle. ‘Those two wankers couldn’t run a whelk stall down Southend,’ he said. ‘And as for Arlene, the old bag, she’s well past it. All wind and piss.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound too promising,’ said Fox. ‘All I’ve got so far is your word that Randy Steel was the hit man.’

  For a long time, Penrose remained silent, staring down at the table and picking at the wooden surface with a grubby fingernail. Then he looked up. ‘If I give you the SP, Mr Fox, will I get some consideration?’

  ‘You know better than to ask that, Alfie,’ said Fox, ‘but if it’s worth it, I’ll see what can be done. But it’d better be good.’

  ‘What if I turned Queen’s Evidence?’

  ‘I have to warn you about that, Alfie,’ said Fox. ‘If you make admissions to the court and offer to give evidence against your accomplices and the court doesn’t believe you, you’ll go down anyway.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about that, Mr Fox. They’ll believe me. I’ve got chapter and verse. I know it was Randy Steel, because I drove the motor. I parked up in Doggett Road alongside Catford Stadium and kept the engine running. Randy nipped up the steps of the footbridge — the one that’s shut off — done the job and away.’

  ‘Whose car was it?’

  ‘Nicked,’ said Penrose. ‘And we dumped it down Hither Green.’

  ‘What’s Steel’s alibi?’

  ‘Dunno.’ Penrose shrugged. ‘You’ll have to ask him that.’

  ‘And what happened to the rifle?’ asked Fox.

  ‘We give it a couple of days, then we went down Greenwich and bunged it in Billie Crombie’s slaughter. Well, Tango reckoned it was his by then anyway.’

  ‘I’ll have to put this up to the Crown Prosecution Service, Alfie,’ said Fox. ‘If you’re prepared to take the chance.’

  ‘That’s not all, Mr Fox.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Kevin Rix’s murder … ’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘That was down to Randy Steel an’ all. I was there, along with Tango Harris. An’ it was Tango what give the order.’

  ‘Well, well,’ said Fox. ‘Any more?’

  Penrose looked at Fox with a lopsided grin on his face. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I can tell you something about the topping of Gina West, an’ all.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘They tell me that Billie Crombie’s two lads are after your blood, Randy,’ said Fox.

  ‘I’m worried sick.’ The tall, lithe figure of Randy Steel was sprawled on the bunk in his cell.

  ‘But there’s worse. Arlene Fogg’s very upset … to the point that she might do something quite nasty. I should take to wearing a cricket box if I were you, just in case you bump into her.’ As all three were in custody, Fox knew that there was little chance of such a confrontation, but he couldn’t resist piling on the agony.

  ‘I don’t know nothing about Billie Crombie. So if you’re thinking of fitting me up with that job, I should just have another think.’ Steel’s long, bony finger traced the spaces between the brickwork on the wall near his head.

  ‘Well if that’s the case, you won’t mind telling me where you were on the evening of Billie Crombie’s murder, will you?’

  ‘I was down my local boozer, having a drink with the lads.’ Steel stared up at the ceiling and yawned, a contemptuous look on his face.

  ‘That’s all right then.’

  It was only when he heard the cell door slam shut that Steel realized Fox had gone.

  ‘One Randolph Steel is in custody at Dagenham police station,’ said Fox.

  ‘Is that a fact?’ The licensee of the pub placed the

  Scotch that Fox had ordered on the bar and turned to the till.

  ‘He says that he spent the whole of the evening of Friday the nineteenth of October in here.’

  ‘If that’s what he said, then that’s right.’ The licensee banged Fox’s change down on the bar.

  ‘And that he left at closing time.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And you can give me exact details of times? What time he arrived and what time he left? And who else was here?’

  ‘Yes, I can. He came in here at just after six.’ The licensee gave the middle distance a reflective stare. ‘He played the one-armed bandit for about a quarter of an hour. Pulled a jackpot, too. Then he had a few games of bar-billiards.’

  ‘Bring his own cue, did he?’ Fox asked mischievously. ‘Are you joking?’ asked the licensee. ‘It’s not the world championships, you know. Not in here.’

  ‘And he was here until closing time, was he?’

  ‘One of the last to leave, but he was out by twenty past. We’re very careful to observe the law here, you know.’

  ‘Are you absolutely certain that it was Friday the nineteenth?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘But he wasn’t in here on Saturday. Is that right?’

  The licensee pondered that question for only a moment. ‘If he said he wasn’t, then he wasn’t.’

  ‘Yes, but are you certain that he wasn’t in here on the Saturday?’

  ‘I’m bloody positive, mister. What d’you want me to do, swear an affidavit?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Fox, ‘but in the meantime, I take it you’re willing to make a statement to that effect?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good,’ said Fox.

  ‘How are we going to break that alibi, sir?’ asked Rosie Webster in the car on the way back to the Yard.

  ‘Don’t have to,’ said Fox. ‘Billie Crombie was murdered on the Saturday, not the Friday. But our friendly neighbourhood licensee back there was so busy remembering what he was
supposed to say that he didn’t notice I’d got the dates wrong. Very careless of me, really.’

  ‘That’s not playing the game, sir,’ said Rosie with a grin.

  ‘Neither’s killing people,’ said Fox. ‘Even people like Billie Crombie.’

  *

  The time had come. Tommy Fox, accompanied by Three and Four Teams led by Detective Inspectors Gilroy and Evans respectively, drove out to Buckhurst Hill.

  Back at Scotland Yard there were piles of statements cataloguing Tango Harris’s criminal activities in full. Teams of Flying Squad officers had spent hours patiently interrogating prisoners and chronicling Harris’s wrongdoings over the past five years. There were details of his nefarious business enterprises, the crimes he had committed, or had arranged to have committed, and lists of establishments and prostitutes who paid large sums of money for protection they rarely, if ever, received. There were horrifying details of the brutal treatment he had meted out to those who didn’t want to co-operate: beatings, electric-shock treatment, savage torture, and gangland killings that were reminiscent of the 1960s.

  Harris’s former associates who, one by one, had been arrested by Fox and his men, were suddenly anxious to have Harris put away … ideally for a very long time.

  It was not the same security guard who had been on duty at the time of their last visit, but Fox persuaded him that unless he wished to be the first of the day’s prisoners, he would admit the police without advising Tango Harris beforehand. The security guard, quick to grasp the basic principles of self-preservation, swung the gates wide.

  Having deployed his officers so that the large house was surrounded, Fox made his way to the swimming pool, convinced that Harris spent most of his time there. He pushed open the sliding doors just as Melody emerged from the pool. She put her hand to her mouth and emitted a tiny scream. Obviously embarrassed by the seemingly constant flow of unannounced visitors over the preceding weeks, she had covered her usual nakedness with a black and yellow striped one-piece swimsuit.

  ‘Good gracious!’ said Fox. ‘You look like a Colorado beetle. Where’s Tango?’