The Secret Hangman

24

‘I f you were planning this raid,’ Diamond said, ‘what time would you go for?’

Keith Halliwell hesitated, wary of hypothetical questions from his boss. ‘The early hours, I reckon.’

‘Say two to three?’

‘Probably.’

‘And when would you pick up the vehicle?’

‘Is that important?’

‘Just that I’m getting edgy. What is it now — eleven twenty? — and there’s been no word.’

‘They don’t need the Range Rover until late, gov. They could pick it up ten minutes before they go.’

‘That would cut it fine.’

‘Eleven, then.’

They were sitting in the canteen at Manvers Street, but not because supper was available. At this late hour the staff were no longer on duty. If anyone wanted a hot pie they would be disappointed. Drinks were on tap, but only from an old machine that made the coffee taste of chocolate and the tea of dishwater. The advantage of being downstairs was that their transport was conveniently close. And it was better than sitting in an office.

At some point in the night the team on watch at Winsley — where the informer Jackman had his repair yard — would radio in, and Operation Fleece, as Halliwell had named it, would take off. The stolen Range Rover with its new colour and new plates — and its homing device — would be tracked by four vehicles at strategic points across the city.

DC Gilbert had been honoured with the Winsley surveillance, using an unmarked car fitted with radio communications. There was no sense in having everyone out there. Better to let Gilbert and his driver report on the pick-up and have the other teams close in as the bugged car moved towards the shop.

‘Fancy a game of snooker?’ Halliwell said.

‘No.’

‘It helps to pass the time.’

‘I think I’ll look into the CAD room again, call up young Gilbert and make sure he’s awake.’

‘He’d better be. I’ll come with you.’ Nothing more was said, but there was a clear understanding that this was Halliwell’s op. He didn’t want Diamond muscling in and taking the glory.

The Computer-Aided Dispatch room was the communications base, in use round the clock. Unknown to Halliwell, Diamond had been in there already to see how the bugged vehicle would be tracked.

He asked an operator to contact DC Gilbert.

The response from Winsley was immediate. ‘Sierra One.’

Halliwell grabbed the microphone. ‘SIO speaking. What’s the scene, Sierra One?’

‘Same as before, sir. Clear view of the four-by-four standing in the lane outside the yard. No one is about. Not yet, anyway.’

‘And where are you?’

‘Also in the lane, five vehicles back and in shadow.’

‘You’ll give nothing away when they come? You don’t need to keep them in sight once they’ve picked up the vehicle.’

‘You told me, guv. We’ve been over it.’

‘Several times. I know,’ Halliwell said. ‘Stay with it, Sierra One. Over and out.’ He spread his hands as he turned back to Diamond. ‘It’s like baking a cake. You have to give it time.’

The mention of cake made him think of his secret admirer. He was trying to forget her. ‘It’s bread,’ he said.

‘What’s that, guv?’

‘When you make bread you give it time to rise.’

Back in the canteen, Halliwell tried another diversionary tactic. ‘I may have thought of a possible connection between the Twining couple and Danny and Delia. When did Delia get the job as a waitress?’

Diamond perked up. There was only so much you could say about an impending ram raid. ‘At Tosi’s, do you mean? Do you know, I don’t think we found out. What’s the point here?’

‘Could she have been working there when the Twinings were alive? They were the kind of people who’d use restaurants.’

‘It’s possible, I guess. But even if it’s true, you don’t discuss suicide pacts with the woman who serves your meal.’

‘Right.’ Halliwell nodded. ‘It wouldn’t do much for the appetite.’

Diamond pondered for a while. Halliwell might have hit on something. ‘Her mother told me she was working as a waitress for some time, certainly when she was living with Danny. She was in other places before she worked at Tosi’s.’

‘Worth checking?’

‘Another job for Ingeborg. Why isn’t she part of this op?’

‘Special dispensation,’ Halliwell said. ‘A date.’

The old blood pressure threatened, and Diamond made himself count to ten and see if it still mattered — a method his doctor had recommended.

It didn’t matter.

The alert finally came from Winsley at twenty past midnight. ‘Two suspects in a white van,’ Gilbert radioed in. ‘Can’t see the registration. One got out and went straight to the stolen vehicle. The van has driven off.’

‘Not the Range Rover?’

‘Not yet. Wait — he’s moving out. We’ll go with him.’

‘Not too close.’

‘Trust me.’

‘I’m trusting you to keep your distance.’

Diamond asked Halliwell if the bug was active, and it was. No reason to rush until they had a sense of where the ram vehicle was heading. They walked to their car and got in and made radio contact with the other teams. Everyone was awake. They tuned to Gilbert’s radio wavelength.

‘Heading west towards the city,’ Gilbert reported. ‘I can see the tail-lights of the van up ahead. They’re in no hurry.’

The van would be the getaway vehicle — for the getaway that wouldn’t be allowed to happen.

‘Crossing the river now and heading up to the aqueduct.’

Diamond knew the route well enough, but he had a map out and was following the progress by torchlight. Seeing it on paper and being reminded of the distances was reassuring. The ram-raiders were moving in his direction and he wanted to make sure they were properly received. Three armed response vehicles in addition to his own were ready to swoop.

‘Would you believe it? They’ve stopped at the traffic lights,’ Gilbert said. ‘We’ve pulled in to the side and dowsed our lights. These are law-abiding villains. OK, we’re all on the move again. Doing a dog-leg and up over Brassknocker by the look of it.’

‘Appropriate,’ Diamond said to Halliwell. ‘That’s where the highwaymen used to operate, the top of Brassknocker Hill.’

‘Until they were collared and hanged in chains. Not much changes.’

Did that sound a tad too smug? Diamond asked himself.

These modern villains were using the more secluded route to Bath, much favoured by the locals, avoiding the busy A36 that looped round the city following the curve of the river. A winding climb over Claverton Down brought you to a long descent down Widcombe Hill. The railway station and the city centre lay ahead.

‘Approaching the T-junction at Claverton Down Road,’ Gilbert reported. He was good at this. Eager to impress, no doubt, but so were all the others and not many of them communicated so well.

‘What’s your money on?’ Diamond asked. ‘Another phone shop or something more ambitious?’

‘They’re after small stuff, that’s for sure,’ Halliwell said. ‘A jeweller’s, maybe.’

‘Turning right,’ Gilbert’s voice told them. ‘Still observing speed limits.’

‘Maybe the judge will take that into account,’ Halliwell murmured.

‘Passing the university campus. The road is straight here. I’m having to stay well back.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Halliwell told him. ‘The bug is working nicely. We can follow the route by radio if needed.’

The white van and the Range Rover took another short cut, down Prior Park Road, avoiding Widcombe Hill. Local knowledge.

‘Crunch time coming shortly,’ Diamond said. ‘Why don’t you radio the others and tell them to have their engines running?’

‘I can do that, but let’s see which way they come in.’

‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? Under the viaduct and over Churchill Bridge.’

‘But then what?’

‘Fair enough. We’ll see.’ He hated chasing around in cars, and waiting to chase around was worse.

Paul Gilbert radioed that he was closing up on the Range Rover now. Then the unexpected happened. ‘Bloody hell. They’re not going into the centre. They’re heading up Wells Road.’

‘What’s up there?’ Halliwell said.

This was the south-west route out of Bath. Diamond knew it well. He’d lived on Wellsway for a time and done the drive every day. The suspects were dodging the trap. ‘Doesn’t matter what’s up there. We’re down here and we’ve got to move. Did you hear that, driver?’

He’d taken charge. Halliwell would have to make his protest later. He put out an instruction to the others to head the same way.

‘It’s mostly small shops,’ he said, answering Halliwell’s question as they accelerated to the end of Manvers Street and swung right in front of the railway station. ‘I can’t think of anything I’d want to rob.’

‘Do you think they spotted Gilbert tailing them?’

‘Must have.’ He was tight-lipped.

‘So do we want to chase them?’

‘We have to.’ He leaned forward to speak to the driver. ‘You’ve got a winker on your roof. Use it.’

They passed through a red traffic light, crossed Churchill Bridge and rounded the elongated island that stands under the railway. A left turn and they were racing up Wells Road.

‘Report your position, Sierra One.’

‘Just passing Bear Flat,’ Gilbert answered.

‘Leaving the shops behind?’

‘Pretty well.’

‘Are they both in sight still?’

‘Yes. Turning left on Milton. Shall I follow?’

Milton was one of several avenues named after poets. The developers had grand aspirations. When built around 1900, the area was known as Poets’ Corner. These days Shakespeare, Kipling, Milton and Longfellow were better known for bumper-to-bumper parking.

‘Yes. We reckon they spotted you anyway. Keep them in sight. Don’t do anything until the back-up arrives. We’re coming up Holloway, only three minutes behind you.’

‘Guv, they’ve stopped,’ Gilbert said. ‘Right in the middle of the road.’

‘Both vehicles?’

‘What do I do — nick them?’

‘No. See what happens.’

‘It’s very narrow where they are. Parked cars either side. Door’s opening. The guy’s got out. He’s left the Range Rover blocking the street and he’s running to the van. There’s no way I can get past. Oh Christ, they’re getting away.’

Diamond studied the map and told the driver, ‘There’s a street called Chaucer that crosses all the others. They’ll use that and double down Kipling or one of the others. If we pick the right one we can head them off.’

‘Which one, sir?’

Shakespeare, Kipling or Longfellow? He’d never had time for fancy writers.

‘Kipling.’

He radioed to the others to block the remaining avenues as soon as they arrived.

Gilbert came on again, saying the van had disappeared fast and he couldn’t see which turn it had taken on Chaucer Avenue. ‘I’m stuck behind the Range Rover. There’s no way I can get round it. Oh my God — it’s on fire! He’s torched it.’

This was turning into a nightmare. Diamond radioed for the fire service.

The car swung at speed into Kipling Avenue. They could see at once that they’d boobed. Nothing else was moving. There were just parked cars stretching to infinity.

Halliwell said, ‘Personally, I would have gone for Shakespeare.’

‘Sod off, Keith.’

There was still an outside chance that one of the other vehicles would intercept the van. But did it happen? This wasn’t Diamond’s night.

They waited ten minutes and drove round to Milton Avenue and watched the firemen dowse the flames. The Range Rover was exposed as a black, steaming wreck. The adjacent cars would be write-offs. ‘The end of Operation Fleece,’ he said.

It wasn’t quite.

While they were returning down Wellsway there was an all-units alert. ‘Break-in reported in Westgate Street. A four-by-four drove into the shopfront of Brackendale’s the jeweller’s. Repeat, Brackendale’s in Westgate Street. Two suspects have left the scene in another vehicle. No description yet.’

‘Suckered,’ Diamond said.