The Dirty Dozen

Chapter Ten

Jane knocked on the door of flat 40 Edgar House and looked at her pocket notebook to check the name of the owner. The door was opened by a woman in her late sixties, wearing a floral kitchen apron over a white blouse and grey skirt with slippers on her feet.

‘Helen Clarke?’

‘Blimey, you’re quick off the mark — I only rang you a few hours ago,’ she said, looking pleased.

‘We haven’t spoken before, Mrs. Clarke,’ Jane said, confused.

‘Haven’t we? Who are you then?’

‘I’m Detective Sergeant Jane Tennison,’ she replied, holding up her warrant card.

Helen looked embarrassed. ‘Silly me, I thought you were from the insurance company about the fire in our garage.’

Jane smiled. ‘As it happens I would like to speak to you about the garage fire—’

‘An officer whose name I can’t remember already spoke to me earlier about it, dear.’

‘That was ADC Murray.’

Helen looked confused. ‘He told me he was a detective.’

‘He works with me — he’s a driver on the Flying Squad and helps us with our enquiries.’

‘What’s the Flying Squad?’

‘We investigate bank robberies. I’m here in connection with one that occurred at Barclays Bank in Leytonstone this morning.’

‘I don’t know anything about any bank robberies, dear,’ she said, looking worried.

‘Did ADC Murray not tell you why he was asking about your garage?’

‘He said the garages had been set alight and ours had been badly damaged and the police were investigating it as a possible arson. He wondered if our car was in the garage and I told him my daughter has it. When I left the flat to go and see my husband in hospital I saw the fire brigade and police next to a burnt-out car. I thought it might be some of them hooligan kids from the estate down the road who’d done it — they come up here breaking into the flats and stealing stuff from cars.’

Jane realized that Murray probably hadn’t wanted to stress Helen unduly, so he didn’t mention the possible connection to the armed robbery, but she decided it was time to be honest with her.

‘It wasn’t kids who did this, Mrs. Clarke. We have reason to believe a getaway car used in the bank robbery was dumped in your garage and set alight with petrol.’

‘I honestly don’t know anything about a bank robbery or the fire,’ Helen said, looking more distressed.

‘I don’t think for one minute that you do, Mrs. Clarke, but knowing a bit more about your garage, and anyone who used it, might help the investigation.’

Helen opened the door. ‘You’d better come in then. I just boiled the kettle — would you like some tea?’

Jane said she would and followed Helen into the kitchen, which was the first room to the left of the ground floor two-bedroom duplex. The small kitchen was spotless, and three silver containers marked coffee, tea and sugar were neatly laid out next to a round Swan electric kettle. Helen made a pot of tea and used a small strainer to catch the leaves as she poured the tea into two bone china cups. She let Jane pour her own milk while she got some custard cream and Bourbon biscuits out of a round floral decorated tin and placed them neatly on a side plate.

‘Your officer Murray likes his biscuits and ate a plateful himself,’ Helen remarked with a smile.

Jane carried the two teas as she followed Helen through to the living room at the end of the short hallway.

‘Excuse the mess, I haven’t had a chance to hoover and dust in here today.’

Helen opened the door to the living room, which in fact was just as neat and tidy as the kitchen. The room was bright, with white painted Anaglypta wallpaper, a light brown carpet and a cream-colored three-seater settee with matching armchair. The electric fire was on and the room was warm and cozy. On the mantelpiece above the fire there were pictures of Helen with a man, whom Jane assumed to be her husband. There was a family picture next to it with a couple in their thirties and a young boy and girl, as well as individual pictures of the children and a man in his early twenties.

‘What lovely pictures,’ Jane commented as she looked at them.

‘That’s my husband Ronald with me. The picture next to it is our daughter June, her husband and their eight-year-old twins.’ She picked up the picture of the young man. ‘This is our son Robert — he died some years ago after a motorcycle accident.’

‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

Helen took a moment to compose herself.

‘Me and Ronald didn’t like him riding motorbikes, but he was headstrong and loved biking. He used to go out for long day trips with his friends — they were all safety conscious and wore the proper leather clothes and crash helmets, even though you didn’t have to back then. He was going to Brighton for the day when someone pulled out in front of him and he came off his bike. There was hardly a mark on him, but he suffered a bad brain injury and died two days later in the hospital.’

Jane could see how upset Helen was getting and tried to move the conversation forward.

‘Do you know if your husband kept the garage locked?’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t, but I can ask him tomorrow morning when I visit him at the hospital.’

‘It would be helpful if you could, then I can ring you in the afternoon.’

‘I don’t have a phone, but my neighbors do and I’m sure they’d let me call you, or there’s a phone box down the road I can use.’

‘Whatever’s easiest for you.’

Jane wrote down the office number on a back page of her pocket notebook and handed it to Helen, who put it in her apron pocket. Jane looked at the house-to-house form for number 40.

‘My uniform colleague noted that you have lived here for six months and haven’t been using the garage as your husband can’t drive due to his eyesight problems.’

‘That’s right, Ronald suffers from cataracts, so he gave the car to our daughter to use until his eyesight’s better.’

‘Do you know who used the garage before you?’

‘I assume it was the lady who owned the flat before us. When we were buying the place the estate agent said there was a garage with it.’

‘Do you know her name or have a forwarding address for her?’

‘We never met her. As I recall, the estate agent said her name was Mrs. Smith. She’d been terminally ill in a hospice and after her death the flat was sold by one of her relatives.’

‘Do you know the name or address of the relative?’

‘No, but after we moved in we had some mail delivered for a Mrs. Elizabeth Smith. We didn’t have a forwarding address for any relatives and the neighbors couldn’t help, so I gave it to the postman and told him the previous resident had died. I doubt Mrs. Smith had much use for a garage if she was terminally ill... Do help yourself to a biscuit, dear.’

‘That’s a good point, though she might have rented it out. Do you know the details of the estate agents who dealt with the sale of the flat?’ Jane picked up a Bourbon and took a bite.

‘I think it was Petty something... I can’t remember the full details as my husband always dealt with them. Mind you, I’m sure he kept the sales brochure.’ Helen got up and rummaged around in the side cabinet drawer. ‘Ah, here it is,’ she said, waving it in the air.

She handed it to Jane, who noted that Petty, Son and Prestwich had their offices in Woodbine Place, Wanstead.

‘I was told the flats were owned by a housing association and most of the residents were tenants.’

‘Most of them are, but I expect Mrs. Smith bought hers under a “Right to Buy” scheme. We were very lucky that it was up for sale — but for her illness I doubt we’d be here now.’

Jane nodded. ‘How many keys for the garage did your husband have?’

Helen got up and walked over to the side cabinet, where she picked up a Winston Churchill Toby jug and tipped out two small keys onto the palm of her hand.

‘Just the two.’

She held them up for Jane to see.

‘May I have a quick look?’

Helen handed Jane the keys and she could see that although they were both silver, one looked more tarnished than the other.

‘Did the estate agents give you both these keys when you moved in?’

‘No, just one of them. Ronald said it’s always best to have a spare key and asked me to take it down the hardware shop and get a spare one cut — the shiny one’s the new one.’

Jane wondered if the previous owner of the flat had also had two garage keys and had given one to someone else.

‘Do you know if your neighbors were friendly with Mrs. Smith?’

‘I’ve never really spoken to them about her, but I got the impression she was quite frail and kept herself to herself.’

‘OK, that’s all for now, Mrs. Clarke. Thanks for your assistance and I hope your husband makes a speedy recovery.’

Jane finished her biscuit and took a last sip of her tea.

‘Thank you, dear. I’ll remember to ask Ronald your questions, and like I said I’ll ring you after I’ve visited him in hospital.’

After leaving Helen Clarke’s flat, Jane spoke briefly to both neighbors. One couple said they had moved in just after Mrs. Smith was admitted to the hospice, just over a year ago, and had never met her. The other couple said they had lived next to Elizabeth Smith for five years, had never been in her flat, and only occasionally spoke to her by way of saying hello, and she often ignored them or just nodded. As far as they knew Mrs. Smith was in her mid-seventies, a widow, though there was a man in his mid- to late forties who sometimes visited her, and it could well have been her son or other close relation. The neighbors didn’t even realize she had owned garage twenty-nine.

It seemed to Jane that Elizabeth Smith had been a bit of a loner and not very sociable. She hoped contacting the estate agents who dealt with the sale of her flat might reveal more about who she left the property to in her will and thereby help to trace her extended family. It was also possible they might know more about the garage, and if anyone was using it prior to the sale of the property.

Jane then went to 14 Edgar House to speak to Rita Brown, who shortly after the robbery had seen two men walking along Blake Hall Road towards Felstead Road, carrying a large black duffle bag. The door was opened by a short rotund man who must have been in the middle of his dinner, as he had traces of food in his grey beard. He looked to be in his early to mid-sixties and was dressed casually in a blue shirt, black trousers and white socks. Jane showed him her warrant card and explained why she wanted to talk to Mrs. Brown.

‘I’m Peter, her husband. Rita’s in the living room watching Nationwide.’

‘I’m on the team investigating the robbery in Leytonstone—’

‘Funnily enough, we’ve just been watching the news and the robbery was mentioned. Reporter said they shot an off-duty officer and at a police car, causing it to crash. Scum of the earth, these bank robbers!’

Jane nodded. ‘I’d like to speak to your wife about the two men she saw in Blake Hall Road just after the robbery.’

‘We were discussing the two men she saw and I went over everything with her in detail — as a result she’s remembered something else that caught her eye.’

‘What was it?’

‘Best Rita tells you herself, Sergeant Tennison. It would only be hearsay evidence coming from me.’ He stood back to let her in. ‘I used to be in the police myself, you know,’ he added proudly.

‘In the Met?’

‘No, the Royal Parks Keepers, which became known as the Royal Parks Constabulary in 1974. We trained alongside regular police officers, though, and wore a uniform. We had full powers of arrest and could instigate criminal proceedings for offences committed in the Royal Parks.’

He helped Jane out of her raincoat and hung it up on the hallway coat rack.

‘Are you still serving?’ she asked.

‘I did twenty years, then had to retire after a serious injury on duty. I’m a security guard manager on a big building site now.’

Jane noticed his limp as she followed him to the living room.

‘How did you injure yourself?’

He stopped and turned around before they reached the living room, then started speaking in a formal tone, almost as if he was giving evidence in court.

‘I was night patrol in St. James’s Park when I heard a load of quacking at two a.m. I instinctively knew the ducks were distressed and went to investigate, only to discover a man thieving the ducks. On seeing me he started to run, carrying a sack full of ducks in his right hand and one by the neck in his left. I had a flashlight, but it died on me and there was no moon or park lights, so it was really hard to see. The next thing I knew I ran into a low metal fence, fell over and smashed my right knee to bits on the pavement — it left me with a gammy leg ever since.’

‘Unfortunate way to end your career.’ Jane was trying not to laugh.

‘I got an ill-health pension and a commendation certificate for the suspect’s arrest and saving the ducks,’ he said, beaming.

‘You did well to arrest him with a smashed kneecap.’

‘Thank you, but as luck would have it he fell over the same fence and knocked himself out. He was a little Chinaman and wanted to sell the ducks to a Chinky restaurant in Soho for crispy duck pancakes.’

He sighed, and Jane found it even harder to keep a straight face.

The living room was the same shape and size as the Clarkes’, with similar decor, but not as bright. Rita Brown was sitting on a brown sofa eating a plate of ham, egg and chips covered in HP Sauce. Peter explained the purpose of Jane’s visit and offered her a seat. His own half-eaten tea was on a tray resting precariously on the edge of the armchair. A small Yorkshire terrier was standing on its hind legs with its paws on the armchair, sniffing at the food.

‘Get away, Spud!’ Peter ordered, and the terrier instantly lay down in front of the electric fire.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your meal. I can come back a bit later if you like,’ Jane offered.

Rita patted the sofa. ‘No, we’ve nearly finished — and there’s some ham left if you’d like a sandwich.’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

Jane sat on the sofa, opened the house-to-house folder and got out the form.

‘Do you think the two men I saw were involved in the robbery?’

Rita handed her plate to her husband, who used his fork to push what was left onto his plate.

‘We don’t know for certain yet, but it’s possible. Your husband just mentioned you saw something else of interest.’

She nodded. ‘When I spoke to the sergeant, he told me about the armed robbery in Leytonstone and that a possible getaway car had been set alight in one of the garages, which I didn’t know about at the time I saw the two men in Blake Hall Road.’

Jane instantly realized the significance of the timing between her seeing the two men and the fire.

‘Did you see or smell any smoke when you returned to your flat after your shopping trip?’

‘No, not a thing, until I heard the fire engines. I went outside, and the firemen were putting out the garage fire. I asked a PC who was with them what was happening, and he advised it was best I return to my flat as inhaling the smoke wouldn’t be good for me.’

‘How long after you got home was it you heard the fire engines?’

‘A matter of minutes, but it wasn’t until I was discussing what happened with my husband that I remembered about the other two men I saw. Being a former Royal Parks Keeper, he went over everything with me in detail and he thinks these men might be involved as well.’

‘I was going to phone the station after tea, but now you’re here you can hear it from the horse’s mouth... so to speak.’

Peter put his food tray on the floor next to his armchair. Spud jumped up and started licking up the scraps of food. Jane knew there were four men who robbed the bank, but there was a strong possibility that after dumping the car they’d split up. She got out her pocket notebook and pen.

‘Can you tell me about these other two men, please? Firstly when and where you saw them.’

‘Well, I’d just got back to the flat and put the shopping in the kitchen when Spud started scratching at the door, so I knew he was bursting for a tinkle. I took him out on the lawn at the front of the flats. He was lifting his leg when I heard something behind me. I turned around and saw two men walking and talking quietly together.’

‘Rita told me she couldn’t make out what they were saying,’ Peter added. ‘But they stopped talking when she turned around, which is rather suspicious.’

‘Did you see where they came from?’

Rita shook her head. ‘No, but they were walking away from the estate towards Blake Hall Road.’

Peter sat up. ‘They could have come out of the flats at the far end of the estate if they’d been visiting someone, I suppose, but remember the garages are at the back of those end flats.’

Jane knew perfectly where the garages were and wished he’d shut up and let his wife speak, but managed to hide her irritation.

‘She didn’t get a good look at them, did you, luv?’ Peter prompted.

‘Not really — it was only a quick glimpse as Spud started yapping and chasing a squirrel, so I had to go after him and didn’t see them again.’

‘I need as much detail as you can recall about them, please, starting with their height?’ Jane asked, eager to get the details down in her pocket notebook. ‘Sometimes it helps to close your eyes, take your time and think about the moment you saw them.’

As Rita closed her eyes Jane could see her husband was about to say something. She politely put a finger to her lips and he reluctantly sat back in his chair.

Rita opened her eyes. ‘The man nearest me was just a bit taller than my husband and the other one was about this much taller.’ She held up two fingers, about eight inches apart.

Peter couldn’t help himself. ‘I’m five foot eight, which would make the taller man Rita saw six foot two or so.’

Jane smiled tightly as she wrote the men’s heights in her pocket notebook.

‘How old do you think they were?’

‘The shorter man was maybe in his mid-forties and the taller one quite a bit younger.’

Peter sat up and leaned towards his wife. ‘How much younger, luv?’

‘Eight, ten years, maybe.’

‘What about their clothing?’ Jane asked quickly, to stop Peter calculating their likely ages.

‘The tall man had on a dark blue waist-length jacket and the smaller one was wearing a long black raincoat. I’m sorry, but I can’t remember much about their trousers or shoes other than they were a dark color as well.’

‘Don’t worry, Mrs. Brown, you’re doing really well. This is all very helpful for the investigation.’

‘You forgot to tell her about the newsboy!’

Peter stood up and limped off into the hallway.

‘Was someone delivering papers at the time?’ Jane asked, wondering if there was another potential witness she could speak to.

Rita laughed. ‘No, it’s what the smaller man was wearing. Peter’s got one just like it.’

Peter quickly returned with a black cloth cap, which he handed to Jane. Jane remembered that Kingston had spoken to Fiona Simpson, who’d said the driver of the getaway car was wearing a gray cloth cap.

‘Was it black like this one?’

Rita shook her head. ‘No, it was gray.’

Peter took the cap from Jane.

‘This isn’t a flat cap, it’s called a newsboy cap. They both have the same overall shape and stiff peak in front, but the newsboy is rounder and made up of six or eight triangle-style panels with a cloth button on top.’

He pointed out the differences to Jane as he spoke.

‘And you’re sure it was a cap like this?’ she asked Rita.

‘Yes, Peter’s got some other style flat caps as well, that’s how I know the difference.’

‘This is really helpful, Mrs. Brown. Is there anything you can remember about the smaller man’s facial features?’

‘No, like I said I only got a quick look at them, but I think the taller man had dark blond or brown hair.’

‘How long was it?’

‘Above his jacket collar, I think.’

Jane told Rita she’d like to go over the details of the men she saw in Blake Hall Road when she got off the bus, then read out what the uniform sergeant had written on the house-to-house form.

‘You were on the opposite side of the road and only saw them from behind. They were both white men, about five foot eight to five foot ten in height, one had dark hair and the other lighter colored hair. Both were smartly dressed in casual clothes and the one who had a green jacket was carrying a black duffle bag.’

Rita agreed that what the sergeant had written was correct.

‘The one with the duffle bag, can you describe his clothing in any more detail?’

Rita thought about it before answering. ‘His jacket was thigh-length and dark green, like the ones posh people wear, and his trousers were gray.’

‘When you say like posh people wear — what do you mean, exactly?’

‘Like the ones that Audrey Forbes-Hamilton and Richard DeVere wear in that TV show.’

Peter sighed. ‘She’s talking about To the Manor Born with Penelope Keith and Peter Bowles.’

Jane had watched the comedy show a couple of times.

‘Do you mean a green waxed Barbour jacket?’

‘Yes, that’s what they call them — Prince Philip and Charles wear them as well.’

‘You also told the sergeant that you thought one of them was smoking a cigar — how sure are you of that?’

‘It was definitely a cigar,’ she replied without hesitation. ‘I saw the thick smoke and could smell it when I crossed the road from the bus stop.’

‘Did you actually see either of them holding a cigar?’

‘No, but when I worked as a secretary my boss smoked cigars, so I know the smell.’

‘Can you describe the other man’s clothing?’

‘His jacket was black and waist-length, and his trousers were the same color. You certainly ask a lot more questions than your uniform colleague,’ she remarked.

‘That’s why she’s a detective, dear,’ Peter said, nodding sagely.

‘Did you tell the uniform sergeant what you’ve just told me?’ Jane asked, wondering why he hadn’t written it down on the form.

‘He never asked and said he had a lot of flats to visit, then left.’

Jane wasn’t surprised about the sergeant’s behavior, having experienced his lousy attitude for herself.

‘Did you happen to notice if there was anyone else in Blake Hall Road at the time?’

‘I know the postman was. I saw him come from Felstead Road and walk past the two men towards the estate. I stopped to wait for him and asked if he had anything for number 14, but he didn’t.’

‘Did you see where the two men went while you were waiting for the postman?’

‘Into Felstead Road, but since you’ve made me think about everything in detail, I’ve a feeling I might have seen them again.’

‘Where and when was that?’

‘While I was talking to the postman.’

She wondered if Rita was getting confused.

‘You saw them twice in Blake Hall Road?’

‘Well, I think it was them.’

‘Did they still have the black duffle bag?’

‘I don’t know, but it might have been in the car.’

‘So, you saw them in a car?’

‘Yes, but only briefly. It was a fancy sports car — it caught my eye as it came up the street and went past me.’

‘What makes you think the two men were in it?’

‘The man driving was wearing the same green butcher jacket and there was a man in the passenger seat.’

Peter sighed. ‘Sergeant Tennison already told you it’s a Barbour jacket.’

‘Did you get a better look at their faces this time?’

‘No, they went past quite quickly, and it was the car that caught my eye, not them.’

‘Can you describe the make and color of the car?’

‘I don’t know much about cars, but it only had one door on the driver’s side and was gold.’

‘Close your eyes again and think hard, Mrs. Brown,’ Jane encouraged her.

She opened her eyes after a few seconds. ‘It had one of them black cloth roofs that you can put down in the summer and a big upside-down silver Y in a circle on the front grille bit.’

‘Sounds like a Mercedes 450SL convertible,’ Peter said.

Jane didn’t know much about cars herself, though having heard Peter suggest it was a Mercedes, the ‘upside down silver Y’ now made sense. To be sure she asked Rita to draw the emblem exactly as she remembered.

‘What about the registration plate on the car? Can you recall any of the letters or numbers?’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t.’

‘There’s no need to apologize, you’ve given us a lot of information already. Do you know if the postman saw the car?’

‘He might have done when it went past, but he had his back to it as it came up the road.’

Jane asked Rita if there was anything else she could remember, but Rita was certain she’d told her everything.

‘Will you be getting Rita to help with an artist’s impression of the men?’ Peter asked.

‘I’d have to ask my DI first. Mrs. Brown didn’t get a good look at their faces, so an artist’s impression may not help much.’ She looked at Rita. ‘What you have told me could be crucial to the investigation. The men you saw may, or may not, have been involved in the robbery, but either way we need to trace and interview them. If you think you see them again, on or off the estate, don’t approach them. Just dial 999, say it’s about the bank robbery, and uniform officers will attend and deal with them.’

Peter accompanied Jane to the front door and held her coat open while she put it on.

‘Rita did well, didn’t she?’

‘Yes, she did, and you going over everything with her again before I got here certainly helped.’

‘I like to think I can still do my bit for Queen and country. You know, I’d love to have been a detective like you — it must be so much more interesting than pounding the beat.’

‘Well, it’s each to their own, and uniform work is very rewarding as well. Do the Parks Police have a central CID?’

‘We didn’t have a CID at all. If anything major happened the local Met detectives dealt with it.’

Jane wondered if Peter regretted not applying for the Met, but thought it was probably just as well he hadn’t. She thanked him again for his help and left.

Walking to her car she mulled over the information she had gathered. Surely it was more than just coincidence that four men, all with similar builds to the robbers, should be seen on or near the estate shortly after the robbery and close to the time the fire was discovered. Most striking for her was the fact that one of the men was wearing a newsboy cap like the one described by Fiona Simpson, who had seen the driver of the Ford Cortina.