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  ‘Come on, Russ. Time to go home, mate, see Mum. Get the others.’ He looked round at Pyle, who was now on his feet anticipating trouble. ‘I don’t want to go, guv. I really don’t.’

  Pyle nodded. ‘Course you don’t, son,’ he said. ‘And I’d sooner have Jack Lynn.’

  ‘He was well closed up. You think I didn’t try?’

  ‘Like I said, I think you were too busy on that one out at Sydenham.’ He paused to consider the villain. ‘There is another way to help, son.’ He paused again. ‘Lynn put one up to you, Cliff, didn’t he?’ he suggested, laying a new foundation to put Jack Lynn away.

  Harding waited, giving the appearance of being uncertain.

  ‘What one was that, guv?’

  With a faint smile Pyle said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll find something nice. Something he’ll go for with a little help from you. ’S’up to you, son. It’s what gets you your liberty.’

  A stricken look fell across Harding’s face. He held his breath for a long while, so long that Pyle thought he was going to turn him down. At last he nodded. His liberty was still more important to him than Jack Lynn’s.

  ‘About right,’ Pyle said.

  Leaving Harding to gather up his children, Pyle walked across the playground, smiling to himself. He would take Harding in for now without charging him, instead keeping him dangling, full of anxiety until he found something for Lynn, which Harding would then appear to have given them.

  Eric Lethridge came round the perimeter fence to join him.

  ‘He’s not a problem, Eric,’ Pyle said. ‘He wants his liberty too much.’

  The ds looked at him, but said nothing.

  ‘Checks and balances, Eric,’ Pyle added, feeling the need to justify himself. ‘Putting Lynn away will be one to us, won’t it just? He’ll be well and truly fitted.’ He thought about this and then nodded to himself. ‘He’ll go all right.’

  ‘What about Harding?’ Lethridge asked.

  ‘I can’t see a jury letting him walk – when we get him to court,’ he said without compunction.

  28

  THE LOCK-UP GARAGES IN KIDBROKE weren’t busy at that time of the morning. The busy period, he knew from recent experience, was between seven and nine, when people collected cars and vans for work, and small businesses run from the lock-ups got loaded for work then. People came and went without noticing him parked in the road across from the service entrance. This prolonged inactivity was boring, and sitting there he struggled against sleep, despite the cold and damp inside the van. There was no heat as that would have meant running the engine and maybe attracting attention to himself.

  Detective Constable Matthew Hill worked in Criminal Intelligence, and was alternating this observation detail with another dc on a long twelve-hour shift. Being shorthanded in the department, this was something he put up with. Reaching to the seat next to him, he picked up the video camera there and checked it again, making sure it was ready to shoot, as he had done many times since the start of his shift at six o’clock in the morning. The Sony 8mm camcorder with a new battery was ready to run, all he needed was something to shoot. He doubted if anyone would show up, having sensed lack of interest in this job on his governor’s part. If di McHale believed this was a goer, he would have somehow found sufficient men for a proper observation. Sliding the camera back onto the seat, dc Hill pulled his anorak about himself, paying scant attention to the Ford Escort XR3i that turned into the street and came towards him. The car made a right-hand signal, he assumed, to turn onto the service road. Instead it pulled into the kerb and parked. His interest uncurled as he wondered about the two men who stayed put in the car. They remained seated, checking around as they waited. Sliding lower in his seat, dc Hill reached for the camcorder, in case this was something. Even if it wasn’t, it might relieve his boredom.

  #

  Satisfied at last that they weren’t being followed or watched, Cole Coleman signalled to Philip Hayes, who climbed out of the XR3i with him and locked the doors, then checked the lock was engaged before starting along the service road to the garages. His nervous glances sweeping the street and seeing nothing out of the ordinary. The only thought occurring on noticing the parked van with its passenger window left open was how easy it would be to nick. Another time he might have investigated the possibility.

  Inside the double garage was a Renault 21 estate and a 2-litre Cavalier, each with a key and a spare hanging from the ignition and full petrol tanks. Both had been ‘rung’ for the short journey and he would have no problem with either one. When he drove out in the Cavalier, and Hayes in the Renault, the garages were bare, with not so much as a rag or a cigarette end to identify anyone by later. John Tully warned him time and again to be careful about such things. Cole Coleman liked working with Tully for the care he always took about such details.

  Nosing the Cavalier out of the service road and turning towards Well Hall Road, glancing in his rear-view mirror to make sure Hayes was following, he noticed the van start, but didn’t think anything about it as he made a late turn, concerned that Hayes didn’t lose him.

  There were a lot of traffic lights along his chosen route, each of which seemed red. If one more light on this street was red the job would be fucked – the thought popped into his head at random and he almost shot the next red light. Only the care taken by John Tully and the fear of letting him down made him set aside his anxiety.

  He watched Hayes negotiate the silver-grey Renault into a gap outside the church in Brampton Road like he was one of the congregation. The thought of Hayes ever going to church made him smile. The parking space was exposed, and he felt uneasy about it, but there weren’t any other spaces available. He thought about saying something as he watched Hayes climb out, lock the door, walk to the back of the car and put one of the ignition keys in the petrol-filler housing. It was a precaution. Losing the ignition key during the blag could prove a disaster.

  ‘All right, Cole?’ Hayes said as he climbed in next to him.

  ‘Yeah, that’ll do, son.’

  Coleman glanced in the rear-view mirror, then slipped the car into gear. He took pride in how he glided it away, like he was born at the controls.

  The next stop was at a second-hand dealer’s near Woolwich dockyard, where they collected an old, heavy gas stove that Tully had paid for a few days earlier. The burners were broken and it was caked with grease. The dealer probably thought he had a right result nicking twenty-five pounds for it, which was a lot more than its scrap-metal value, Coleman decided.

  ‘You’ll have a nice cooker there, you clean it up, m’ bruv,’ the dealer commented as he watched them lift it into the back of the car.

  Coleman gave a grunt of appreciation and they were off again. He was conscious of the time, as Tully had made timing his responsibility. He cursed the number of traffic jams along Plumstead Road, and drivers who delayed him by their indecisiveness.

  Tully and Benny Isaacs were waiting for them at a bus stop on Plumstead High Street. Isaacs was carrying a large grip bag. Both men had on an excess of clothes, overcoats, overalls, hats, none of which looked out of place on this cold, damp morning. The clothes were as much for disguise as to keep warm, the bulk altering their appearance. Among the hats they carried was a ski-cap, a flying helmet, a crash helmet and visor. These were the headpieces to be worn, along with scarves on the actual blag, as they hid their faces without being obvious.

  ‘All right?’ Tully inquired, climbing into the car.

  ‘S’been a doddle,’ Coleman replied. ‘Ain’t, Phil?’

  ‘No problems – apart from the pull we got for speeding!’

  ‘Leave off!’ Tully said, not recognising the joke.

  ‘How we doing for time?’ Coleman said, pleased he was on schedule.

  ‘We’re a bit early. Take a run up there and park round the corner,’ Tully told him. ‘We can see it all right as it comes a
long Abbey Road.’

  It was lucky he was early, Coleman noted, as they watched the security truck arrive seven minutes ahead of its earliest time during Tully’s plotting it. He glanced at each of the men in the Cavalier estate, believing this boded well for the job as the truck turned at the T-junction. into McLeod Road. Even so he couldn’t ease away the tension he felt as he started the car. They each adjusted their headgear, more to reassure themselves of their disguise than making sure they wouldn’t fly off as they got stuck in.

  Coleman gunned the car away faster than necessary.

  Tully said, ‘Take your time!’ with apprehension in his voice.

  An old man along the street turned and looked. Coleman shot his partner a look and swung the car into McLeod Road, cruising along to the main entrance of the Gas Board offices, as the security truck was seen turning through the gates into the yard at the rear.

  Inside the building an office worker came through the entrance hall and locked the glass door. She turned to a customer who got locked in and smiled as she let him out and re-locked the door. She glanced across at the blue Cavalier and Coleman held his breath. It seemed like he was holding it still as the security guards came through the hall and up the stairs, soon to descend with the money pouches, by which time Tully and Phil Hayes were out of the van and lifting the heavy old stove out and running up the steps to crash the glass door with it.

  #

  Stopping his van at a safe distance behind the Cavalier, dc Hill noticed how much he was sweating. His hands were soaked and his back was wet and uncomfortable. He felt cut off at that moment and regretted agreeing to this skeleton observation detail, which at the time seemed better than his paperwork, and the overtime was welcome. Watching two of the three blaggers offload the old stove and go towards the glass door, he groped for the r/t handset, praying he was now clear of the radio dead area he was in earlier. ‘Mike Four Zero – where the fuck have you gone – Jamaica?’ He held his breath.

  ‘Go ahead, Mike Four Zero,’ the voice on the Criminal Intelligence frequency responded. ‘Have you been having problems?’

  ‘I’d say! Urgent assistance required at Gas Board, McLeod Road, Abbey Wood. It looks like a robbery in progress.’ He could keep neither his excitement nor the relief out of his voice.

  ‘Message received. You are car to car with local units. Mike 2, 7, 11 and 12 are on the way.’

  He knew more were certain to get in on the act. The Information Room would throw open all channels so that everyone from detectives en route somewhere to traffic patrol units could receive the call.

  Having reached help, he wasn’t about to tackle the villains himself, neither wanting nor needing a commendation in a hospital bed. Tackling robbers wasn’t what was expected of a Criminal Intelligence officer. He was supposed not to reveal his face. Instead, he did what he was there to do: he began turning his video camera.

  The stove seemed too heavy as they carried it up the steps of the Gas Board offices, and for a moment he thought they were going to drop it. One of the blaggers started giggling when at first they couldn’t swing the stove. He wondered what was funny, when they tipped the stove into the glass, smashing out the entire plate. The crash reverberated along the street. They pushed the stove out of the way, then the third robber handed them each a sawn-off shotgun from his bag. At this point people in the street began to realise that what they were witnessing wasn’t someone protesting about the excessive profits of the privatised gas company, but a robbery.

  #

  At the stores end of the Gas Board two dcs from the local nick staggered out of the gates with a new stove their governor had sent them to collect just in time to see the old stove go crashing through the door. They froze, as if not grasping what was happening. The weight of the new stove strained their arms as they glanced back at the security truck in the yard when the more experienced of the two said, ‘I think they’re making one.’

  ‘What’ll we do?’ his less experienced colleague asked, tottering as if about to drop the stove.

  ‘Get this fucking thing into the van, quick!’

  They rushed the cooker into the back of their unmarked police van, then ran in the direction of the robbery in progress, leaving the back of their van open.

  #

  ‘Hold it or I’ll shoot you stone-fucking-dead!’ Isaacs screamed at the two security guards as he ran across the foyer. Both men froze at the bottom of the stairs.

  From the driver’s seat of the Cavalier Coleman watched the other two blaggers rush the guards. Tully, ahead of Hayes, grabbed the first guard and dragged him down for Hayes to deal with as the second guard tried to scrabble away up the stairs, lashing out with his nightstick while Tully grappled with him. A chance blow caught Tully on the shoulder. Coleman could almost feel the pain as Tully retaliated, swinging the shotgun by the leather loop around his wrist and striking the guard on the side of his neck. That unbalanced the guard and he fell towards Tully, dropping his money sack. Tully lashed at him again as he fell. Coleman felt the moisture disappear from his mouth. He wanted Tully to stop beating the guard, they were taking too long.

  Isaacs and Hayes turned on the second guard, who didn’t seem to want to let go of the money bag.

  ‘Leggo, you stupid berk!’ Coleman urged from the car as Isaacs crashed his shotgun into the man’s shoulders. Then he did let go.

  Tully leaped back off the stairs with his sack and gave the guard a final kick. Turning, he saw at the same time as Coleman a crowd of office workers peering down from the landing at what was going on.

  ‘Fuck off!’ he shouted, and raised his shotgun one-handed in their direction. They ran panicking, even before he fired one of the barrels. Coleman laughed at the spectacle as each imagined themselves hit. He knew none of them could have caught lead from the shortened barrel that, combined with shortened cartridges, caused the shot to fan from the muzzle.

  #

  The shotgun explosion caused dc Brett to stop in his tracks on the steps of the building. When first realising a robbery was going off he reacted instead of thinking what he could best do. Now it hit him that the robbers were armed and he wasn’t, and there was little he could do to stop them. Having reached this point, he couldn’t turn and run, even though he wanted to.

  Glancing back to his partner, he shouted, ‘Get the van – get on the radio for help!’

  The second detective hesitated, before running back to the van as the blaggers emerged from the offices.

  ‘cid,’ Brett shouted. It was worth a try. It was doubtful whether it even registered before the gun slammed down across his neck. He was grateful for not being shot.

  A blagger stood over him, shotgun inches from his face, while the others ran to their car. He noticed the man was short and swarthy and wore a long white overall and ski-cap. He waited as the other two men scrambled into the car, his eyes flicking between them and himself. Brett anticipated the kick that landed in his face before the man ran off, but there was nothing he could do other than flinch.

  Despite bleeding from the mouth and feeling groggy, he stumbled to his feet to give chase, not knowing what he would do as he gained on the estate car, feeling relieved as it roared off along the road towards the unmarked van now coming at it in the opposite direction on the wrong side of the road.

  #

  In the van belonging to Criminal Intelligence, dc Hill continued to video the blaggers right up to their taking off. Now he was issuing details into the r/t of the direction they were heading in, their expected destination where the suspects’ changeover car was parked.

  #

  Coleman cornered, not believing the standard of some driving, before realising something else was going on here. The van swerved across the road and braked to block his getaway. He almost laughed when a cooker flew out of the back – as well they weren’t blagging an undertaker’s! He anticipated the move as soon
as he saw the van start to manoeuvre and swung the Cavalier into the opposite lane, avoiding two oncoming buses and passed behind the van which, along with the car that ran into the new gas stove, achieved nothing but a traffic jam.

  29

  SURPRISE AND CONFUSION ASSAILED JOHN Tully, stopping him from thinking clearly about the presence of the cid. If there was anything he could do, these feelings were mixed with elation at having blagged the Gas Board money and got clear. That feeling was short lived. As they sped away towards Plumstead High Street the scream of police sirens filled the air; one, then two, then a third were heard approaching, all from the same direction, and he wondered how they were on them so fast. Perhaps they were grassed. Still no thought came about how to escape their worsening predicament. The police cars, having more acceleration than the Cavalier carrying four adult men, were closing the gap between them with ease.

  He glanced round at Benny Isaacs in the back of the estate car. The thought that entered his head must have flown right into Isaacs’, who knocked out the rear window and poked the short nose of the shotgun through. This wasn’t an idle threat. The Bill had to be stopped if they were to get away. Isaacs fired without warning, causing the police vehicle to swerve off course and hit a parked van and stop. As their car swept on along Bostall Hill, a second police car drew up alongside the first to check that the occupants were all right. The shot probably hadn’t even reached the car.

  The Cavalier skidded to a halt alongside the changeover car, startling Tully. ‘What the fuck you doing,’ he screamed, ‘what’s the point in changing cars with the police up our daily?’ Coleman could drive, but not think on his feet. It was as if he was programmed to head for the changeover car regardless of what was happening. If they’d stayed in the first car they might have put extra distance between themselves and the police.

  He followed the other three out of the Cavalier with their guns and cases, shedding some of their clothing. He and Hayes each threw off a coat and the crash helmet and flying hat. Anxiety ratcheted up at the delay while Coleman was getting the door of the Renault open. The sense of panic was raw as a third police car nosed out of a side turning.