Signal Red Part 33

New Scotland Yard, 11 August 1963 George Hatherill lit a cigarette and offered them around to Len Haslam and Billy Naughton. They were looking very pleased with themselves as they took one each. He wasn't so sure they had any right to be smug, not yet.

'So what have you got on this Tony Fortune?'

'Nothing yet,' said Duke. 'We're still questioning him.'

'But you are sure he is in the frame?'

'Tangentially.'

'Tangentially? Big word for you, Len. Did Billy here teach you that?' Hatherill wagged his cigarette at Duke. 'Expand on that.'

'We have two reasons to believe he was involved. One we'll explain in a moment, another from an anonymous tip-off. A woman.'

Hatherill snorted. Anonymous tip-offs didn't count for much, as far as he was concerned. They were often more about setttling scores than the truth. There had been lots of them so far, many no doubt naming the actual villains, but with no proof offered.

'ABC, lads. ABC.' It stood for a.s.sume nothing, Believe n.o.body, Check everything. 'She give you anyone else?'

'Bruce Reynolds. But we already have him down as a person of interest.'

'And you can't pull him just on some mad bint's word. Got to be better than that. And if Fortune does put his hands up for it, before you charge him in connection with the train you'll have to take him to Aylesbury.'

'We appreciate that, sir,' Billy said.

'And why aren't you taking this to Mr Butler or Mr Millen?'

Because you are the kingmaker in this, Len thought. The Big Cheese.

'Well, as Len says, apart from the tip-off, it's tangential at the moment. Thought we'd run it by you first. You might make connections we can't.'

Hatherill shook his head, well aware he was being flattered. 'I'm not sure why you are wasting my time with this, lads. We've pulled in almost every lowlife. What makes Tony Fortune so special?'

'His wife.'

'I thought you said she had just given birth? I don't recall a pregnant woman being involved at Sears Crossing.'

Len and Billy exchanged glances, confirming to each other that it was time to come clean. Knowing he had Hatherill's ear, Len let Billy do the talking.

'The wife is speaking partly in riddles and nods and winks.'

'That's women for you,' smiled Hatherill. 'Especially after they've had a baby.'

'We think Tony Fortune was offered the job but for some reason turned it down. Yes, I know half the villains in London are claiming that. We also think that the wife's brother knew about it.'

'Where is the brother?'

'Norwich.'

'The prison?'

Billy nodded vigorously. 'Sir. He was the driver on an armed robbery last week. Grafton Street?'

Hatherill waved him on with an impatient gesture of his hand. 'I know about it, yes.'

'Geoff, the brother, is up to his eyes in debt. When the train didn't come off for him, he went with the Clarence Brothers. Big mistake. Now he is looking at ten years.'

'But?'

'Marie Fortune reckons that if Geoff's charge were dropped to being an accessory - just driving, in other words - he might give us some names.'

'But Tony Fortune won't?'

They both shook their heads.

'Tony Fortune isn't stupid.'

'But this Geoff is?'

Len gave a grunt that might have been a laugh. 'He'd have to be, to drive for the Clarences. They make the Richardsons look like The Brains Trust.'

'Does Fortune know you have spoken to the wife?'

Again, they shook their heads in unison. 'He hasn't put anything together yet,' said Billy. 'He's not even sure why he was pulled. We're certain of it.'

'Good. Keep it like that. Wife might come in handy later as a bit of leverage.' Hatherill smoked on, thinking for a moment. 'I am a.s.suming you lads would like to be attached to the Train Squad for this. Should it pan out, I mean.'

Neither of them denied it.

'In which case, I think you can leave this matter to Ernie Millen and me.'

'Sir?' Len asked incredulously. 'What do you mean?'

'Mr Millen and I will travel to Norwich. I'm sorry, but if you are right, this is too important to . . .' His words tailed off.

'Leave to junior officers?' Billy suggested.

'In a word, yes. You keep quiet about this. It has to be approached carefully. We also have to make sure no word of this gets out, certainly not into the prison population.' He could see disappointment in both their faces. 'In the meantime, drop everything else, report to Jack Slipper, see if he has anything needs chasing up.'

It took a moment for the last sentence to sink in. Slipper was one of the Train Squad. And if they were working for him, they were too.

'Sir.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'Go on, p.i.s.s off. Go and catch some train robbers, make me happy.' As they were almost out the door, he spoke again, softly. 'And boys, this better be right. I have many ambitions for what little time I have left in the Force. Going to Norwich isn't one of them.'

Ten minutes later the phone rang. It was Brigadier John Cheney, Chief Constable of Buckinghams.h.i.+re, and what he told him put a big smile on Hatherill's face. He put down the receiver and then called the operator. 'Get me the Forensic Science laboratory. We've found the hideout.'

'Mrs Clark, is it?'

The fifty-year-old woman who had opened the door looked Roger Cordrey up and down and seemed relieved, probably because he wasn't Irish, black or a dog. 'You've come about the garage?'

'I have.' Sitting in the little Austin van behind him was his old pal Bill Boal, who had come along to help with the next stage of the job, stas.h.i.+ng the money and starting a legitimate enterprise to account for it. For which they needed a garage. 'Yes. I telephoned.'

'Just that I've had some very strange people ringing. It's only around the corner. Would you like to see it?'

'Yes, please,' Roger said politely. 'But I am sure it will be fine. Just as long as it's dry.'

'Oh, very dry. My husband was a stickler for keeping it clean and dry. There are no oil stains and you could eat your dinner off that floor. Come in, I'll get you the keys and the rental agreement. Would your friend like to come in?'

Roger looked back over his shoulder. 'No, he'll be fine. We are going into business together.'

'Locally?'

'Wimborne. But we'll base ourselves in Bournemouth.'

'Well, come in, come in.'

Roger stepped inside a house crammed full of china ornaments. He kept his hands pressed to his sides in case he inadvertently sent a windmill or a doe-eyed flower-seller cras.h.i.+ng to the floor. 'What line of work are you in?'

'Flowers.'

'Lovely. Come through to the kitchen.'

Roger walked down the hallway. The kitchen wasn't any less hazardous, as every inch of the wall seemed to have decorative plates hanging on it.

'If you'll just put your name, address and telephone number down here. And I'll need a month's refundable deposit and a month in advance. There are two keys. I'll keep one. Don't worry, I won't go in. It's just in case you lose yours.'

Roger hesitated. 'Two of us will be using the garage, so

we'll need both keys. My friend outside in the car, Bill - we share the car.'

Mrs Clark's face seemed to fold in on itself. She wasn't happy.

'It's unlikely we would both lose them, but we'll copy the serial numbers just in case. And pay for any replacement.'

She looked partially mollified. 'Very well.'

'And I can give you the deposit plus three months' rent now. In cash.'

Her face unfurled. 'Oh, well. How rude of me - would you like a cup of tea while you count the money out?'

'Yes, that would be very nice.'

'Then I'll walk you round and show you which one it is. Nice blue door, only just painted before . . .' She put a hand to her throat. 'Sorry, before my husband pa.s.sed away.'

'I'm sorry to hear that.'

'It's why I don't need the garage, you see.'

'We'll take good care of it.'

'I'm sure you will.'

She watched while he counted out the rent in one-pound notes. She looked at the tower of cash sitting on her kitchen table, and at the impressive roll he had peeled them from. (lash. Bundles of it.

As her husband used to say after a few pints, 'If it looks like s.h.i.+t, smells like s.h.i.+t and feels like s.h.i.+t. . . it's probably s.h.i.+t.' She hated the crudity, but William hadn't risen to Sergeant in the police force without a good nose for a wrong 'un. And he would say this one stank to high heaven.

'Here are the keys. Why don't you walk round, take a look and we'll have the tea when you get back and sign if you are happy?'

'Very well.'

'Fourth one in. Blue door.'

As soon as he had gone, Mrs Clark went to the telephone in her hall. She didn't pick it up until she heard the engine of the van they had arrived in start up. She watched its blurred image through the gla.s.s of the front door as it pulled away and executed a U-turn.

Picking up the receiver, she was about to dial, then she hesitated. She was probably imagining things. Bucks was a long way from Bournemouth, after all. Still, 'report anything suspicious' they had said. She dialled.

'h.e.l.lo, operator? Can you get me the Desk Sergeant at Poole police station?' This was her husband's old station. She would get a sympathetic hearing there. And wouldn't it raise a smile in his former canteen if William Clark's widow were responsible for capturing the Great Train Robbers?

Bruce was the first to arrive. He parked his Austin Healey in the gravel car park of the cafe, just off the North Circular Road. It was five days since the robbery, and the news was still full of bl.u.s.ter and exaggeration.

Roy pulled in next in his Mini Cooper, with a scowling Charlie in the seat beside him. Just Buster now and they had the quartet who would travel back to the farm. Charlie hoped Buster would bring a larger motor so they could all fit inside in comfort. He wished he'd used the big Rover.

Bruce stepped out, careful not to scuff his new elastic-sided boots. When he saw the other two he had to laugh. 'Christ, we look like a b.l.o.o.d.y Freeman's catalogue.'

Roy looked down at his new clothes, the roll-neck and cardigan combo and dark blue slacks. 'Speak for yourself. This lot cost some serious dough.'

Charlie had on a dark but well-cut suit that wasn't Burtons either.

'You lads been putting it about?' Bruce asked, only half- joking.

'Is that a Huntsman?' Charlie asked by way of reply, pointing to Bruce's suit.

'Davis. And I had it on order months ago. It's not off the f.u.c.kin' peg.'

They walked towards the cafe, one eye open for Buster. 'Speak to Field?' Charlie asked.

'No, his missus. He was out.'

'He's always out.'

'Has it been done?' Roy asked.

Bruce shrugged. 'That's why we have to go and check. I can't get hold of Tony Fortune, either. What's in the farm that might cause us grief?'

'Buster left some clothes behind,' Roy said. 'We couldn't burn them all because of the smoke.'