The Dirty Dozen

Chapter Twenty-One

It was 4 a.m. Saturday by the time an exhausted Jane got home. She didn’t even bother to undress, and after setting the alarm for 7 a.m., she collapsed on her bed then fell into a deep sleep.

When the alarm went off Jane reached out with her hand, turned it off and thought she’d have another minute or two dozing before getting up. It was a bad mistake as she woke up again at 8 a.m. and realized she’d have to get a move on to be in work for 9 a.m. She had a quick shower and washed her hair and dried it. She decided to dress down and put on a T-shirt, roll neck jumper, jeans, black Puffa jacket and trainers. She was hungry, but didn’t have time for breakfast, and was about to leave when the phone rang. She was going to ignore it but then thought it might be Tony.

‘What time and where do you want to meet?’ Pam asked.

Jane mentally cursed herself. ‘I’m really sorry, Pam, I totally forgot we were going to go shopping and...’

She also realized that Pam was still unaware of Tony’s arrest.

‘You’ve got to work.’

‘Yes, it’s been non-stop the last couple of days and our DCI said we all have to work the weekend.’

Jane heard a sigh on the end of the line. ‘Thanks a lot, Jane, I’d arranged for Mum and Dad to look after Nathan and told them you’d be round for supper.’

‘Can you apologize for me, please?’

‘No, I can’t — you ring them. I’m tired of being the bearer of bad news where you’re concerned.’

Jane tried to stay positive. ‘We’re only doing eight-hour shifts so I’ll be finished by five and can come over then — I should be there about six-ish.’

‘And if I tell them that and you don’t turn up, I’ll get it in the ear.’

‘All right, I’ll ring them when I get to work.’

‘Make sure you do.’

‘Are you going shopping?’

‘Yes, assuming Mum’s still willing to look after Nathan.’

‘Could you do me a favor and visit a men’s outfitters and—’

Pam’s tone changed from annoyed to amused. ‘Got a new beau, have you? Not another detective, is it?’

‘No, to both questions. One of our suspects in the robbery was wearing a gray newsboy cap—’

‘A paper boy robbed the Securicor van?’

‘No, stupid, it’s a type of cap, which we want to show our witnesses. I’d be really grateful if you could get one for me and I’ll pick it up this evening at Mum’s and pay you back.’

Jane gave her a detailed description of the hat. Pam chuckled.

‘Will that mean I’m on the Flying Squad?’

‘Believe me, you might not want to be... Look, I’ve got to go, I’m running late. I promise we’ll go shopping another time.’

Pam snorted. ‘And pigs might fly.’

As she put the phone down Jane felt as if she had betrayed Pam’s trust by not saying anything about Tony’s arrest. She knew she’d told Tony she wouldn’t, but feared if Pam found out she’d been to the station and then said nothing... Pam would never forgive her.

Jane got to work at just before nine and Teflon was already there. The Colonel and Bax were about to leave to visit Frank Braun, and Cam was sitting at Katie’s desk reading the Sun with a coffee.

‘You look like you’ve had a rough night — knock a few glasses of wine back when you got home, did ya?’ Cam asked.

‘No, I had a dodgy tummy and didn’t get much sleep.’

‘Dabs just rang in and said he forgot to tell you something about a lock last night.’ He rummaged around the desk. ‘Him and Stanley are going to meet outside the snooker hall later—’

‘What did Dabs forget to tell me?’ Jane asked impatiently.

‘Keep your hair on, Sarge, I wrote it down but can’t find the bit of paper...’

She sighed. ‘Try under the bloody newspaper.’

He lifted it up. ‘Oh, right. Here it is!’

‘That’s why he’s only the fucking driver,’ the Colonel muttered as he left the room with Bax.

Cam read out what he’d written: ‘Dabs forgot to tell you that forensics said the lock on the burnt-out garage door was engaged when the fire brigade ripped it off.’

‘OK. Any luck with the children’s home the Wilson twins were sent to?’

‘I’m waiting for Tottenham to get back to me with details of the homes on their patch, then I’ll start ringing them.’

Jane suspected he hadn’t even bothered to call them yet but thought it best not to pull him up on it, unless he didn’t have a result when she got back.

‘Is DI Kingston in yet?’

She needed to get to the bottom of what he’d said last night.

‘He called in and said he had to deal with something at home, but he’d be in later.’

She walked over to her desk.

Teflon nodded. ‘Morning, Jane. I rang Tottenham control room. The Bluebird cafe closes early on a Saturday, so it looks like we’ve got a few hours to spare before we can speak to the owner in private... You look a bit rough — you ill?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said tetchily, feeling a headache coming on from lack of sleep.

She got her pocket notebook out and looked at the notes of the conversation she had had with Helen Clarke, the woman living at 40 Edgar House, then rang and asked her if she’d spoken to her husband about locking the garage. Helen apologized and said she’d forgotten to let her know he’d left the garage unlocked and empty as he didn’t want thieves forcing entry.

Jane finished the call and turned to Teflon.

‘The couple who own the garage where the burnt-out Cortina was found bought their flat through an estate agent’s in Wanstead. The previous owner died, and the flat was sold on by one of her relatives. I’d like to visit the estate agents and see if we can find out who that relative was.’

‘OK, but can I ask why?’

‘It’s a long shot, but the lab said the garage was locked after the Cortina was left in it and the estate agent only handed over one key for the garage to the present owners. It’s possible there were two keys, and whoever has the other one may have used it to lock it after torching the car.’

Teflon nodded, impressed with her thinking. ‘Sometimes the long shots pay off — so let’s get going.’

‘I’ll drive,’ Jane said.

‘We’ll take one of the squad cars — might stand out a bit less.’

‘You don’t like custard tarts, then?’

‘Love ’em... just don’t like being inside ’em.’

The Petty, Son and Prestwich office — ‘Est. 1908’ — was just off Wanstead High Street. As Jane and Teflon entered, a middle-aged man, smartly dressed in a blue three-piece pinstripe suit, white shirt and red tie, got up from behind a desk.

‘Good morning. I’m Peter Petty, the grandson of our founder and current owner of the oldest estate agency in East London. Are you looking to purchase a property or rent?’

‘Neither, sir. I’m WDS Tennison and this is DC Johnson.’ They showed him their warrant cards.

‘Is this about that abysmal O’Donovan family who rent the ground floor flat in Chaucer Road? The number of complaints I’ve had about their fighting and screaming at all hours is getting ridiculous. I’m just the letting agent, not the landlord, officer. I’ve asked them to keep the noise down, but Mrs. O’Donovan always tells me to eff off.’

‘No, it’s nothing to do with that,’ Jane assured him. ‘We are trying to find out who the previous owner of flat 40 Edgar House was. The current resident, a Mrs. Clarke, said that your company dealt with the sale, which was about six months ago.’

‘I don’t recall dealing with that property myself — mind you, we do so many it’s hard to remember them all.’

‘Could you look in the file?’ Teflon asked.

‘Yes, of course. Hang on and I’ll nip and get it.’

As they waited Jane looked at the pictures of the two- and three-bedroom properties for sale on the office walls.

‘Are you thinking of moving, or just browsing?’ Teflon asked.

‘Bit of both, actually, but I don’t fancy Wanstead.’

‘Snaresbrook and Wood Green are just up the road. A mate of mine lives in one of the police accommodation flats in Snaresbrook and says it’s a nice area.’

‘Found it, officers... Julie Lane dealt with the sale but she’s on maternity leave just now.’

Petty held up the file, then invited them to take a seat at his desk.

‘Do you mind taking notes?’ Jane asked Teflon, who got his pocket notebook and pen out of his coat.

Petty opened the file and took out the paperwork, then flicked through it before removing a page.

‘Here we go — the previous owner of flat forty was a Mrs. Elizabeth Smith. It says here she died of cancer and her son, whom I assume inherited her estate, sold the premises to the Clarkes for just under fifteen thousand pounds.’

‘Do you have the son’s details?’ Teflon asked.

‘Mr. Graham Smith, flat 40 Edgar House.’

‘Is there any other address shown for him?’ Jane asked.

‘No, looks like he lived with his mother. There’s a contact phone number if that’s of any use.’

‘Yes please,’ Teflon said.

‘01-808-3503... Wanstead’s on the 989 exchange, so that’s not a local number.’

‘Do you have any previous history of the premises prior to Mrs. Smith buying it?’ Jane asked.

‘Only that it was owned by the local housing association when Mrs. Smith lived in it, and then she bought it from them. I know the manager of the association, so I can make a quick call and ask him to check his files.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Petty, that would be very helpful,’ Jane said.

Jane spoke quietly to Teflon as Petty called the association manager.

‘The neighbor on one side of flat forty said Mrs. Smith lived alone and a man in his mid- to late forties sometimes visited her. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but with what we know now it would be worth revisiting her to get a description of him.’

Teflon agreed and suggested they go to nearby Edgar House when they’d finished speaking to Mr. Petty.

Petty put the phone down and looked at the notes he’d made of the conversation.

‘Mrs. Smith had lived in the flat for a number of years and the association knew Mrs. Thatcher was going to introduce the government’s “right to buy” scheme. They decided to test the waters and offered some long-standing residents the opportunity to buy their flats at a reasonable price — Mrs. Smith being one of them. Her son paid just over ten and a half thousand pounds for it.’

Teflon whistled. ‘That was a nice quick profit.’

‘How did he pay?’ Jane asked, wondering if they could locate him through a bank account.

‘Cash.’

‘All of it?’ Jane and Teflon asked in unison.

‘Yes.’

‘How did Mrs. Clarke pay him?’

‘I don’t know, the final exchange was dealt with by solicitors and they won’t divulge that sort of information.’

‘One last thing, Mr. Petty... Do you know how many keys were given to Mrs. Clarke for the flat?’

He looked at the paperwork. ‘Two flat door keys and one garage key.’

‘Thanks for your assistance, Mr. Petty, you’ve been very helpful.’ Jane smiled. ‘Could I have Julie Lane’s contact details, please? I may need to speak to her.’

‘Certainly. Is Mr. Smith involved in some sort of fraud?’

‘We think so, and we’d be grateful if you could keep what we’ve spoken about to yourself,’ Teflon said.

‘Of course — my lips are sealed,’ he said, handing over Julie Lane’s details.

‘One more thing: do you sell property in Snaresbrook and Wood Green?’ Jane asked.

‘Yes, and beyond. Is there a particular premise or name you’re interested in?’ he asked, thinking it was crime-related.

‘It’s a personal question. I live in a one-bedroom flat in Marylebone and was thinking of looking for a house in those kind of areas — two, maybe three bedrooms with a garden.’

Petty looked pleased he finally had a potential customer on his hands.

‘Please sit down and I’ll show you what we’ve got.’

‘Unfortunately, I’ve got another appointment to go to. Could I take some brochures with me?’

Petty quickly went through some filing cabinets and removed a number of sales brochures, which he put in a folder and handed to Jane.

‘If you’d like to view any let me know and I’ll make sure it’s arranged for a time that’s convenient for you. We can help as well in selling your flat and I’ll halve our normal fees, as we do for all police officers we deal with.’

Jane nodded her thanks and they left.

‘That long shot sounds like it was worth it — you thinking Mrs. Smith’s son might have the other key?’ Teflon asked as they walked to the car.

‘Could be, but if he’s got rid of it there’s no way I can prove he used it to lock or unlock the garage before the fire.’

‘It’s still worth making some more discreet enquiries about him. Sounds like he’s crooked if he can stump up ten and a half K cash for a flat.’

‘I totally agree. Can I borrow your pocket notebook please? I want to ring Cam and ask him to make enquiries with the Post Office and trace the owner and address for that 808 number Mr. Petty gave us.’

He handed Jane his pocket notebook and she used a public phone booth to call Cam.

‘I’ll get straight on it and let you know the result when you next call in or return to the office.’

‘How’s the Wilson twins enquiry progressing?’

‘I’ve got the details of two children’s homes in Tottenham and was just about to ring one of them.’

‘Good — I’ll expect the results to be typed up by the time I get back!’

‘What now?’ Frank Braun asked when he saw the Colonel and Baxter at his front door.

‘We just need to ask a few questions about your car,’ the Colonel said.

He folded his arms. ‘I’ve told you everything there is to know about the Cortina.’

‘Actually, it’s the BMW we’re interested in—’

‘My wife’s out in it with the kids doing the shopping. I can assure you it’s not on false plates or stolen, and it’s insured and registered,’ he said bluntly.

‘We’d like to see the documents,’ Bax said.

‘For Christ’s sake, please have the decency to tell me what’s going on as right now I’m beginning to feel really pissed off!’

Bax looked at the Colonel, who nodded.

‘We’re interested in who you bought the BMW from and how much you paid for it,’ Bax said.

‘An authorized dealer in Essex. It was two years old then and I paid a fair price for it.’

‘We spoke to Paul Lawrence and he told us about your thirty-grand win on the pools. Did you use the money to buy the car?’ the Colonel asked.

‘Sure, and to buy this house — I can show you all the relevant documents to prove everything is legit.’

‘Yes please,’ the Colonel replied.

‘Fine. Give me a moment and I’ll dig them out.’ He left the room.

‘He sounds genuine,’ Bax said.

‘Yeah, looks like Lawrence was right. I’ve a feeling whoever nicked his wife’s car key from her handbag must have seen something with their address on it.’

‘Whoever nicked it must be connected to the blaggers,’ Bax remarked.

‘This is turning out to be a dead end here. I’ll check the paperwork then we’ll be off.’

Braun returned with a blue folder.

‘All the documents for both cars are in here, and this is my bank statement that shows the deposit of the pools money and purchase of the car.’

He handed it to the Colonel, who read out the details of the garage where the BMW was purchased while Bax wrote them in his pocket notebook. The Colonel looked at the inspection for the BMW and noticed the ‘GR Motors Ltd.’ inspecting stamp. He looked through the documents and found the inspection for the Cortina, which was also stamped ‘GR Motors.’

‘Is this a local garage?’ He showed Braun the inspection.

‘Yes, it’s in Lordship Lane.’

‘Do they sell cars?’

‘Yes, second-hand ones. They do repairs and servicing as well as inspections in a garage at the back.’

‘What sort of cars do they sell?’

‘Jags, Mercs, BMWs, Range Rovers — but it wouldn’t surprise me if the mileage was clocked.’

‘Do you know what GR stands for?’

He shrugged. ‘No, I only use the place for MOTs and servicing as it’s a lot cheaper than going to an authorized dealer.’

‘Both MOTs are signed by a G. Smith, who presumably examined the vehicles and passed them as roadworthy. Can you describe him?’

‘I’ve never met him and only used the place twice. Each time I made an appointment over the phone. I dropped the car keys off with the receptionist, Tina, and went back later to get the car.’

‘Do you mind if I keep the Cortina inspection?’

The Colonel handed Braun the documents folder.

Braun shrugged. ‘Feel free.’

‘Is Bruce Grove near the garage?’ Bax asked.

‘Yes, it’s just down the road. You think someone from the garage might have nicked our car for the robbery?’

‘I can’t say. And I’d ask that you keep this conversation between the three of us.’

‘No problem. And should you need me as a witness, I’m happy to make a full statement and attend court.’

Bax showed him the artist’s impression made from Fiona Simpson’s description of the man driving the Cortina.

‘Do you recognize this man?’

Braun squinted at the drawing. ‘No, can’t say I do.’

‘Fair enough. Can I use your phone to call our office?’ the Colonel asked.

‘Help yourself. I’ll put these back in the drawer,’ he said, leaving the room.

‘Looks like this wasn’t a dead end after all,’ Bax said.

The Colonel kissed the inspection.

‘You little beauty. This bit of paper is a bloody gold mine, Bax.’