The Dirty Dozen

Chapter Thirty-Four

Jane tossed and turned in her sleep, dreaming that she was walking through London Fields late at night, when suddenly a man in a stocking mask jumped down from a tree with a knife in his hand, and held it to her throat.

‘Don’t scream or I’ll cut your throat,’ he said, unzipping his trousers.

Terrified she was about to be raped, Jane kicked as hard as she could towards his groin, and the sudden jerking of her foot woke her up. Her heart was beating fast as she switched the light on, then went to the living room, picked up the phone and called Paul Lawrence.

‘I’m sorry to bother you, Paul...’

‘For Christ’s sake, it’s four o’clock.’

‘I know, but this is really important.’

He let out a deep sigh. ‘Go on then.’

‘You remember years ago when I was a decoy and arrested that rapist Peter Allard?’

‘Yeah, he got off the rape but pleaded guilty to assaulting you.’

‘That’s right, then we nicked him for the murder of Susie Luna.’

‘I’m not really in the mood for war stories—’

‘Was his barrister a guy called Tony Nichols?’

‘Let me think... Yeah, he was Queen’s Counsel, but got disbarred about three years ago for false legal aid claims.’

‘Do you know what he’s doing now?’

‘I haven’t a clue.’

‘Thanks. Sorry to bother you.’

‘Wait a minute... What frying pan have you got yourself into now?’

‘It’s a long story, but Nichols is tied up with the Ripleys and our other suspects.’

‘Did you get the message I left for you yesterday afternoon?’

‘No, I was at a wedding.’

‘The RUC got a match on the Chubb key to a Patrick O’Dwyer. He’s got a criminal record for violence and was in the same UDA unit as Aidan O’Reilly. Looks like you were right about Fiona Simpson’s death being linked to your investigation.’

‘I’ll let Murphy know. Thanks again, Paul.’

She put the phone down.

Jane thought about why she had failed to recognize Tony Nichols. She had only seen him once before the wedding, when he had cross-examined her for half an hour at the Old Bailey. Although it was six years ago, she now remembered he was chubby-faced, had greying dark hair with a side parting, and wore thick-rimmed gold glasses. Since then he had undoubtedly lost weight, dyed his hair black and, she assumed, replaced his glasses with contact lenses. It didn’t seem to her to be a deliberate effort to disguise himself, more the act of a vain man who wanted to look younger.

Jane arrived at the office just after 9 a.m. Bax was the only one there, working at a desk catching up on his reports.

‘How was the wedding?’

‘A right den of thieves. I saw the Jensen — a disbarred barrister called Anthony Nichols owns it.’

‘Makes sense.’

‘I’ve got the registration for the Jensen. Can you do an owner check, please?’ She gave him the details. ‘Is Murphy in yet?’

‘He was, but he got called out. There was an armed robbery at the Security Express depot in Shoreditch yesterday morning. The security guards were tied up and no one found them until this morning.’

‘I didn’t hear anything on the radio about it.’

‘That’s because the press haven’t been informed yet.’

‘What? Does Murphy think it’s the Ripleys?’ Jane asked with alarm.

Bax laughed. ‘If it is, the whole squad will be back pounding the beat. Luckily Stanley and the Colonel were watching our four suspects play golf when it went down.’

‘That’s a relief. What happened at the depot?’

‘All I know so far is four tooled-up blokes with dodgy Irish accents forced their way in there, tied up the guards and stole the money from the vault.’

‘How much?’

‘Four or five million, they reckon — in non-traceable notes.’

Jane let out a whistle of surprise. ‘That’s twice as much as they got away with in the Great Train Robbery. Is anyone with Murphy?’

‘Just Teflon,’ Bax said.

‘Do you think they’ll need some help?’

‘I wouldn’t bother. It happened on our patch, but Murphy said he’s going to hand the job over to the Tower Bridge team since we’re tucked up with the Ripleys.’

‘I may as well catch up with my paperwork, then.’

Jane went to her desk while Bax did the vehicle check.

‘The Jensen’s registered to Nichols. The address is fourteen Westbury Lane, Buckhurst Hill, which isn’t far from George Ripley’s house.’

Murphy and Teflon returned to the office just after midday.

‘Well done on identifying our Camel Hair Coat Man.’

She looked at Teflon, realizing he must have said something to Murphy.

‘Could I have a word with you in your office, please, sir?’

‘Yes, if you make me a black coffee first.’

She was putting the coffee powder in a cup when Teflon came over for a quiet word.

‘He asked me what happened at the wedding on the way to the Shoreditch robbery. I told him you’d ID’d Nichols, but I didn’t mention he might have sussed who you are.’

‘I’m now positive he did.’

She poured the hot water in the cup.

‘Shit. Why are you so sure?’

‘Six years ago he was the defense barrister in a murder trial when I gave evidence. He’s changed so much I didn’t recognize him.’

‘Then the Ripleys definitely know we’re on to them.’

Jane nodded, picked up the coffee, and took it into Murphy’s office. He was on the phone, but waved her in and pointed to a seat as he continued the conversation.

‘One of them was dressed as a bloody priest and all the guards said they had Irish accents, which might have been faked. It was clearly well planned and executed, and they had insider information as they clearly knew the guards’ routine. Anyway, I’ve got some statements I’ll fax over to you now, then you can get one of your team to pick up the originals.’

Murphy put the phone down.

‘That was the DCI at Tower Bridge. Tell me all about the wedding, then, and how you got the name of our Camel Hair Coat Man.’

Jane got straight to the point and told him about Anthony Nichols being a disbarred QC who knew she was a police officer.

‘I had to come out when I saw Nichols speaking to George Ripley. Ripley was looking daggers at me.’

‘I appreciate you being up front and honest, Jane. If I was in your shoes and a lone officer among the Ripley gang, I’d have been out of there in the blink of an eye.’

‘I’m sorry if I’ve ruined the whole operation, sir.’

‘Look, Jane, you did your job and got the information I asked for. Against the advice of some members of the team, it was my decision to send you in there alone, so the reality is I’m responsible for what happened — not you.’

What he said was reasonable, but she still didn’t understand why he wasn’t more pissed off about the way things had gone. They were never going to nick the gang on the pavement now.

‘I’ve got an address for Nichols in Buckhurst Hill.’ She handed him the details.

‘As I see it, we’re left with two options,’ Murphy said. ‘Nick them all now, or carry on with the surveillance for a few days and see what happens.’

‘Paul Lawrence said the fingerprints on the Chubb keys matched a UDA man called O’Dwyer.’

‘I know, I spoke to the DI investigating. His team are trying to locate O’Dwyer, but even if they do, I can’t see him implicating O’Reilly in anything.’

‘There’s always Betty, the old woman who saw the getaway driver close up.’

Murphy nodded. ‘DI Kingston spoke to me about her.’

‘She’s sharp as a tack and would make a good witness despite her age. I’m convinced she’d pick out Smith on an ID parade. Then there’s Abby Jones...’

‘That’s a non-starter after the fiasco with her father.’

‘But if we arrest the suspects and you spoke to him, he might be more willing to let Abby be a witness.’

‘I’m aware of all the ifs and buts, thank you. I need to speak to the Commander. In the meantime, get Bax to call everyone in and ask Teflon to fax the statements over to Tower Bridge.’

Bax was gloomy as he picked up the phone.

‘Sounds like he’s going to arrest them today if he’s calling everyone in. If we don’t find some solid evidence connecting them to the Leytonstone robbery, I can’t see how Murphy can charge them.’

‘How’d he take the news about Tony Nichols?’ Teflon asked her.

‘I thought he was going to scream blue murder, but he basically said it was his fault.’

‘Bloody hell, that’s a first. I take it you didn’t tell him about the date with Carl?’ he whispered.

‘No, and I’m not going to,’ she whispered back. ‘Carl Winter’s not involved and doesn’t have a clue about what George or the others have been up to. Can I have a read of the statements for the Shoreditch job after you’ve faxed them?’

He nodded. ‘Wait till you see what they did to the supervising guard — it’ll give you nightmares.’

Jane was sitting at her desk reading the statements in chronological order when Bax answered the phone.

‘Jane, it’s Paul Lawrence for you.’

He transferred the call to her.

‘Hi. You still mad at me?’

‘I wasn’t mad... just bloody knackered. I made some enquiries about Anthony Nichols with a QC who’s prosecuted a few murders I’ve given evidence in. He didn’t know him personally, but made some phone calls. Apparently Nichols is working for a dodgy firm of solicitors—’

‘I thought he was disbarred?’

‘He was, but that doesn’t stop him from overseeing cases or attending a police station as a suspect’s advisor. He just can’t appear in court as a legal representative.’

‘The law’s an ass. Did your friend know which firm?’

‘Russell and Cartwright — they’re in Curtain Road, Shoreditch.’

‘Did you say Curtain Road?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK. Thanks, Paul.’

Jane grabbed the office Yellow Pages. She flicked through the directory to the solicitors section and found the address for Russell and Cartwright, then phoned City Road Police Station and spoke to the duty sergeant. Her hunch was right: the offices of the solicitors’ firm Tony Nichols worked for overlooked the Security Express depot.

She read through the statements slowly, making notes as she went. She thought the statement lacked fine detail and realized a local detective must have taken it, as the officer’s name wasn’t familiar to her. She wrote down the heights of the robbers as given by each guard. They all fitted within the range of the Ripley brothers, Graham Smith and, most notably, Aidan O’Reilly, who was six feet four. The supervisor said the man who threatened him had a deep voice, like George Ripley.

‘Teflon, I need your help.’

He walked over to her desk. ‘What with?’

‘These statements. There are details here that make me think the Ripley gang may have done the Shoreditch job.’

Teflon laughed. ‘You’re becoming obsessed with them, Jane. They were all playing golf.’

‘The heights of the men all fit, one had a deep voice and repeatedly used the word “son” in a colloquial manner — just like George Ripley does.’

‘So do lots of people, Jane.’

She wasn’t going to be put off.

‘The supervising guard said in his statement that the tall man who was watching the TV monitor kept scratching his face through the balaclava. At the wedding I was in a group photo. Tommy was standing next to me and Smith and O’Reilly were directly behind me. O’Reilly had a red rash all over his face and Smith made a joke about it, then Tommy said, “Now we know why he prefers the soft touch of nylon.”’

Teflon looked bemused. ‘What’s your point?’

‘We know Aidan O’Reilly wore a stocking mask in the Leytonstone robbery — stockings are made of nylon and balaclavas of wool,’ Jane explained. ‘If O’Reilly’s allergic to wool, he would get a rash on his face.’

‘So why would he wear a balaclava this time?’ Teflon asked dismissively.

But Jane knew she had the answer to that.

‘He had a cut to his head that would be visible through a stocking mask. A balaclava doesn’t give away any features apart from eye color, and both the supervisor and the guard, Archie, said the man with the sawn-off had blue eyes... just like—’

‘Tommy Ripley,’ Teflon said.

‘Bax, how long did it take our suspects to play their round of golf?’

Bax looked in the observation log.

‘They teed off at seven a.m. and were on the eighteenth at 10:50. Stanley said Smith was a shit golfer, so I would have thought they’d take a bit longer than that.’

‘That’s if they were actually playing golf,’ Teflon said, catching on to Jane’s idea. ‘Does the Royal Epping golf club have woodland on it?’

‘It’s called the Royal Epping Forest — the clue’s in the name,’ Bax replied sarcastically.

‘Can you look in the A-Z and see if there’s any roads by the course that you could get to through the woods?’ Jane asked Teflon.

‘I’m on it.’

‘What are you two doing?’ Bax asked.

‘Jane’s on to something big,’ Teflon said as he opened the A-Z.

‘What?’

‘I think the Ripley gang did the Shoreditch job,’ she said.

Bax started to laugh but Teflon was on her side.

‘She’s serious, Bax, and there’s evidence in the guards’ statements that backs her theory up.’ He looked at Jane. ‘There are three roads with sections of woodland that lead to the course where they could have left and returned.’

‘I reckon it would take about thirty to thirty-five minutes to get from the course to the Security Express depot in Shoreditch on a Saturday morning at seven o’clock,’ Jane said.

‘How could they leave the course and return nearly three hours later without other golfers seeing them?’ Teflon asked.

Bax grinned. ‘Easy. You just need to make sure there’s nobody playing behind you when you go back on. When I was younger, we used to sneak on and off the local course and never got caught once.’

‘Then they must have had someone in a vehicle parked up nearby waiting for them,’ Teflon said.

‘That makes five robbers, and the guards all said there were four,’ Bax remarked.

‘The driver would have stayed in the van while the others did the robbery,’ Jane suggested. ‘If they did, my guess is it’s a guy called Patrick O’Dwyer. He’s connected to O’Reilly and his prints were on Fiona Simpson’s keys.’

Jane did some calculations on a piece of paper.

‘The robbery started at eight o’clock, when the guard arrived at the depot. If they cut through the woods and got in a van on the second hole it would be about 7:15, which means they’d get to Shoreditch before eight and had at least two hours to do the robbery. If they left the depot at ten, they’d be back at the course by, say, 10:30 at the earliest to 10:45 latest.’

‘Which would mean they’d have to sneak back on the course at the seventeenth or eighteenth to finish at 10:50,’ Bax said.

Jane looked on the back of the supervisor’s statement to check the provider’s address and phone details. She picked up the phone and called him.

‘Hello, is that Mr. Bridge?’

‘Yes, speaking.’

Jane turned on the speakerphone for Bax and Teflon to listen in.

‘It’s WDS Tennison from the Flying Squad. Some of my colleagues were with you this morning.’

‘What can I do for you, officer?’

‘I’m sorry to bother you after such a traumatic experience. I just need to ask you a couple more questions about the robbery.’

‘Certainly — I’ll do whatever I can to help catch those bastards.’

‘You said in your statement that the man with the deep voice, the one who threatened you, had a gold-colored lighter in his hand.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Was it butane gas, or a fluid lighter like a Zippo?’

‘Definitely gas — I watched the bastard light it in front of me,’ he said, a tremor in his voice.

‘How did he light it?’

‘The way you do any lighter — by flicking the spark wheel with your thumb.’ He sounded bemused by the question.

‘And was the spark wheel on the top or side of the lighter?’

‘The side.’

‘Could you see if it had any writing on it?’

‘No, his hand was covering it.’

‘Can you describe the lighter to me in detail?’

‘It was about two or three inches long, an inch wide and chunky-looking.’

‘Thanks for your time, Mr. Bridge.’ She put the phone down.

‘What was that about?’ Bax asked.

‘I’ve seen George Ripley use a gold lighter with his initials in the cafe.’

‘That doesn’t mean the man who threatened the supervisor was him,’ Bax replied.

‘George’s lighter also had a spark wheel on the side.’

‘It’s just a bloody lighter — it doesn’t prove anything.’

‘I know it was George Ripley,’ Jane said tersely.

Bax sighed. ‘No, you don’t. They all wore masks, so none of the guards can identify them. Everything you’ve said is valid, Jane, but it’s guesswork — not bloody evidence.’

‘Bax is right, Jane. If no one saw them leave or return to the golf course, then Stanley and the Colonel have unwittingly given them the perfect alibi.’