Unlawfully At Large, page 29
part #2 of DCI Tyler Series
Chapter 22
Jack Tyler was back in the CCTV viewing room talking to Darren Blyth about CCTV from the area where the HEMS bird had been forced to put down. He knew it had been collected but he wanted to know if any of it had been viewed yet.
“Afraid not, gov’nor,” Blyth said in his deep Mancunian voice. “Bearing in mind the murder only occurred yesterday, Mr Quinlan wanted me to focus on the hospital stuff today so that the interview team could show it to that toe-rag, Mullings.”
Jack thought that he sounded overly defensive, “I accept that,” he said, trying not to lose his temper, “but someone else could and should have been tasked to start checking the Canning Town footage for the Red Rover’s index while you were sorting out the hospital stuff.”
“But I’m the CCTV officer,” Blyth protested. “That’s my job.”
Jack knew he could be a hard taskmaster; when a new job broke, he invariably wanted everything done at warp speed. His team was used to the way he worked, and they understood that the first few days of any new case with him at the helm were going to be gruelling, but they didn’t mind because Jack Tyler got results, and he tended to get them quickly. Andy Quinlan seemed to have a very different work ethic, and that reflected in the way his team worked.
“Okay, leave it with me,” Tyler said brusquely, realising that Blyth wasn’t on the same wavelength and was struggling to grasp his need for urgency.
“I’ll get you some help, but I want someone to start looking at that footage tonight to see if they can locate the Rover and get me the registration number. We’ve got the local plod out doing a street sweep for us during the early hours, and it would help them massively if we could at least supply them with the Rover’s index.”
Blyth didn’t look overly happy about this. “But if someone views it too quickly, they might miss something,” he protested.
“I think you’re the one who’s missing something, Darren,” Jack pointed out, tetchily. “I’m asking for flash viewing to get the Rover’s index, not evidential viewing for court. That can be done later.”
“But isn’t that just duplicating work? Surely, it’s more efficient to take a bit more time and do it properly all in one go, the way we usually do?”
“Darren, you need to consider the bigger picture. If the pilot’s information is accurate, we need to find that car within the next couple of days, before they all fuck off to the coast and Winston hops on a boat to the continent. This is a priority –”
Blyth interrupted. “But Mr Quinlan doesn’t like it done that way,” he said adamantly.
Tyler felt his knuckles whiten as he clenched his fists in frustration.
“When Mr Quinan returns,” he said with forced patience, “he can do it any way he pleases but, for now, I’m running the show and it gets done how I say and when I say. Are we clear on that?”
Blyth averted his eyes. “Yes, sir,” he said meekly.
As Tyler stood up to leave, Reg Parker came bursting through the doors. “Got some important updates from the TIU for you, boss,” he said, breathlessly.
“Run me through them on the way back to my office,” Tyler said, and strode out of the room without a backward glance. He needed to get away from Blyth while he could still control the urge to throttle him.
He was aware of Parker rushing along behind, trying to catch him up. “Come on then Reggie, what have you got for me?” he asked.
“Both the 777 and 321 numbers have been on the move during the last three hours,” Reg said, waving a sheet of paper in his hand.
Tyler stopped dead in his tracks, allowing Parker to catch up.
“Are they moving together?” he asked.
Reggie shook his head. “No, they’ve gone in different directions.”
“Shit,” Tyler said, taking the proffered piece of paper and reading Reggie’s hastily scribbled notes. “Do you think they’ve split up for good, or just popped out for a little while, intending to regroup later?”
Parker shrugged. “No way of telling at the moment,” he said.
Tyler considered this. “So, where are they now?” he asked.
Reggie held out his hand and Jack returned the sheet of paper to him.
“Er, according to the latest TIU report the 777 number has been to Mile End and is now near Aldgate, on the outskirts of the City, while the 321 number went over to Barking earlier, but is currently somewhere in the Stratford area.”
“Why weren’t we told they were on the move earlier?” Jack asked, annoyed that there had been a delay.
“The TIU was doing live monitoring for us, but the signals didn’t move all last night or all day today, so they cut us back to three hourly updates. Can’t blame them really.”
Tyler sighed. “No, I suppose not. Will they revert to live monitoring now that they’re on the move?”
“The SPOC’s agreed to continue with live monitoring up until eleven p.m. unless a live kidnap case comes in, but after that, he goes off duty. The TIU only has minimum cover on for night duty so they won’t be able to resume live monitoring again until seven o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Tyler was nonplussed. “Unbelievable, isn’t it? The Met is the biggest police force in the UK, capable of assembling and deploying enormous resources to deal with any threat conceivable – unless it happens at night or during the weekend when we’re running on minimum strength!”
Parker gave Tyler a ‘what can I do’ shrug. “I’ll speak to whoever’s on night duty,” he offered. “They might be able to sort something out for us.”
“Thanks, Reg,” Tyler said, feeling a tad jaded. “Anything else?”
“One other thing,” Parker said. “The subscriber checks I requested on the two unknown numbers 777 called have just come back in. The first belongs to a bloke in East Sussex, and the second is an unregistered pre-pay.”
Jack grunted. “These people do love their pre-pays, don’t they?”
“They do,” Reg agreed. “But just to dot the I’s and cross the T’s, I asked Tom Wilkins to run both numbers through HOLMES. Guess what…?” Reggie stared at Tyler expectantly, waiting for him to ask.
Jack sighed theatrically. “Okay, I’ll indulge you. What?”
“The pre-pay number belongs to Errol Heston’s next of kin.”
Tyler’s jaw tightened with anger. “You’ve got to be shitting me?” he said.
The smile fell from Parker’s face. “No, honestly, guv. It definitely matches,” he said, confused by Tyler’s furious response.
Jack shook his head. “What I mean is, why hadn’t the MIR already run these numbers through HOLMES? They’ve had them all day.”
Reg looked uncomfortable. “Er, I don’t think they’re used to working at quite the speed we do,” he said tactfully.
“Right,” Tyler said, storming off towards Quinlan’s MIR, “I want someone to visit the next of kin tonight to see who made that bloody call to them from the 777 number.”
Parker was left standing all alone in the corridor, feeling dejected. “Well done, Reggie,” he said, lamely reaching over his shoulder to pat his back. “Great job, Reggie, proud of you for using your initiative.” He waved his hands in the air in celebration. “Yaaay Reggie.” If no one else was going to praise him, he figured he might as well do it himself.
◆◆◆
Jack Tyler returned to his team’s general office ten minutes later, fresh from putting a flea in the ear of Tom Wilkins for not running the two telephone numbers through HOLMES earlier. He’d upset him further by ordering the OM to issue a HP action for someone to visit Sonia Wilcox that evening. Just to make sure there were no misunderstandings, Jack made it very clear that he wanted to be told the moment the result came in.
As soon as he entered the room, Dean Fletcher looked up from his desk and thrust the phone he had been speaking into towards him.
“Guv, I’ve got young Dick Jarvis on the blower, said he needs to speak to you urgently.”
Tyler crossed the room, flopped down on Dean’s desk to field the call.
“What is it, Dick?” he asked wearily.
“Guv, we’ve got a bit of a development here. Both Paul and I are confident that the woman who’s just turned up at the squat is our target, Angela Marley. What do you want us to do?”
The news caught Tyler off guard because he really hadn’t expected Marley to return to the squat. “Was she alone?”
“Yes.”
Jack liked that about Jarvis; he was always succinct, like a living advert for the old training school motto: ‘Accuracy; brevity; speed.’
“Did she arrive by car or on foot?”
“On foot,” Jarvis confirmed.
“Okay, here’s what I want you to do,” Tyler said, thinking fast. “If she leaves, follow her until she’s away from the squat and then arrest her. In the meantime, I’m going to get a warrant organised. If either Winston or the bogus doctor turns up, I want to know immediately. Do not engage them without armed back up.”
“Okay boss, but we’re parked a fair way back and if she comes out and turns the other way, I’m worried she might disappear before we could catch up to her.”
Jack considered this. “Alright, hang tight and I’ll rustle you up a couple more bodies to come down and cover the road from the other end.” He wasn’t sure where he was going to find the people to do this, but it was important, so even if it meant dragging officers away from another assignment, he would get it done.
At that moment, Tony Dillon and Carol Keating came in, laughing and joking. Jack signalled for them to go straight into his office. “I’ll join you in a minute,” he said, covering the mouthpiece with his hand.
Dillon gave him a thumbs up and the pair continued walking. As they reached Jack’s office, Dillon did his impression of Sid James’s trademark dirty laugh. Carol responded with her imitation of a Hattie Jacques giggle, clutched her chest romantically and cooed, “Ooh Sid.”
Closing the door behind them, the pair burst into laughter once more.
“Why does everyone feel the need to do Carry On film impressions around her?” Jack asked Dean. To his surprise, the normally taciturn researcher burst out with, “Ooh, Matron,” in his best Kenneth Williams voice.
It was a very surreal moment.
Replacing his reading glasses, Dean turned to his computer and began typing as though nothing unusual had happened.
Tyler shook his head in disbelief. “The world’s gone mad,” he said, standing up.
“Did you know,” Dean suddenly pipped up, “Hattie Jacques appeared in fourteen Carry On films, and played a Matron in five of them?”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “You seem very well informed,” he said.
“Can’t beat a good Carry On film,” Dean said emphatically. “I’ve got all of them on tape at home.”
Before Jack could respond to this useless bit of trivia, Susie Sergeant popped her head around the door. “Guv, can I have a word, please?”
“Of course,” Tyler said, walking over to join her. “What can I do for you, Susie?”
“Tom Wilkins tells me you want someone to go around to speak to Sonia Wilcox tonight, is that right?”
“It is,” Jack said. “Why?” He hoped Wilkins hadn’t gone whinging to Susie behind his back, complaining that Tyler was working him too hard.
“Well, the only person I have available is Kevin Murray, and he’s not exactly the most tactful person for something like this.”
Jack grinned. “Murray’s about as tactful as a brick through a window,” he agreed, “but if he’s all we’ve got…” he left the sentence unfinished.
Susie seemed genuinely surprised. “Well, if you’re sure, I’ll get him straight onto it.”
“Just to add to your woes,” he said as she turned to leave, “Angela Marley has turned up at the squat in Vicarage Lane, and I need you to find me two officers to shoot down to the address to cover it from the other end of the street.”
“But everyone else is tied up,” Susie protested.
Jack shrugged. “Then find out who’s doing the least important task and get them to divert.”
Susie nodded reluctantly. “Okay, leave it to me. I’ll get straight on it.”
Jack felt guilty for burdening her like that, but she was the Case Officer and, unfortunately, organising resources to carry out the SIO’s directives was one of the joys that came with the role.
He recalled something that a wizened old DCI had said to him the first time that he’d performed the role of Case Officer, back when he was still a junior DS: ‘Remember, Jack, your job is to find me solutions, not put more obstacles in my path.’ They had been wise words indeed, and he often shared them with his own Case Officers when things got tough.
“Dean,” he shouted across the office, “before I forget, can you have a word with Reggie. I want you to conduct some urgent research on a man in East Sussex who’s mobile has been in contact with the 777 number.”
“Leave it to me,” Dean said. “I’ll get the details from him and get it sorted.”
“Cheers mate,” Jack said, knowing that Dean would get straight on it. When he returned to his own office, he was delighted to see that Carol had used the time to prepare them all a nice cup of coffee.
“White, with two sugars, if I remember correctly,” she said, handing him over a brew.
“Thank you,” Tyler said, returning to his desk.
“How did it go at the SPM?” Tyler asked her.
“Exactly as expected,” Carol told him flatly. “Cause of death was a single gunshot to the head. The pathologist recovered the slug from inside Morrison’s cranium. It was a .22 calibre, and the pathologist thinks he was shot at point black range. Juliet Kennedy agrees; she said the pillowcase they’d found on the bed next to Morrison’s corpse appears to have been used as a make-do suppressor. It had been shot through, and there were scorch marks on one side and blood all over the other, which supports the working hypothesis that it had been placed against his head just before the shot was fired.”
“Poor bastard,” Dillon said, morosely.
“Any update on Andy?” Jack asked. “Did he get home safely.”
Carol nodded. “I spoke to Alison a little while ago. It took her ages to get him back home. She had to keep pulling over so he could throw up, poor thing.”
Dillon grimaced.
“Let’s hope he makes a speedy recovery,” Jack said. “In the meantime, I need one of you to sort out getting an out of hours warrant, and the other to speak to the Chief Inspector at IR to see if he’ll release a couple of TSG carriers from the Commissioners Reserve for a raid on a squat. If he does, you’ll need to prepare a briefing document for when we execute the warrant.”
“When you say squat,” Dillon said, “should I assume you’re talking about the dive where Angela Marley lives?”
“That’s the one. Dick Jarvis and Paul Evans have been keeping an eye on it, and they’ve just phoned in to say that Angela has returned.”
“Why not just go in under Section 17 of PACE and arrest her? Then we can search under Section 18 or 32?” Carol suggested. “It would be much quicker and it would save a lot of paperwork.”
Jack shook his head. “I’ve considered doing that, but there are too many risks involved. I’m happy we have a power of entry to arrest under Section 17 because the boys have seen someone fitting her description go in. But if we gain entry and she’s not there, we can’t make an arrest, and without that, there’s no power to search. Also, if she is there, but the house is divided into bedsits, then we only have the power to search the room she’s using and any communal areas. I’d rather have a Section 8 PACE warrant in my back pocket, allowing us to search the whole premises.”
“I’ll sort out the warrant,” Dillon offered. “I’ll get on the phone to the Duty Clerk and see who’s available to deal with the application.”
“In that case,” Carol said, “I’ll phone Information Room at the Yard and work my charms on the Duty Chief Inspector, then I’ll knock out a briefing.”
The two Detective Inspectors rose as one to follow out their orders.
“To arms!” Dillon proclaimed with a smile. “I’m off to find myself a friendly Magistrate.”
“To the toilet,” Carol countered. “That coffee has gone straight through me!”
Chapter 23
Inside the squat, Angela had taken a long shower and changed her clothing. The grimy nurse’s uniform had been tossed in the corner. She would come back and burn it as soon as Winston was on his way to Sussex, but for now, it would be fine where it was.
As soon as she finished towelling off her hair, Angela retrieved her burner phone from the bed. She needed to remind Garston that Cribbins was coming around to the flat at some point after nine, and that he needed to be there to pay the embalmer for his services. After making the call, she planned to shoot up with the emergency smack that she kept hidden under her floorboards and then crash out on her nice warm bed while the Golden Brown worked its magic.
She would go back to the flat later this evening, or in the early hours of the morning, depending on how long she slept for. Garston would be furious, but it would be worth it to have a few hours of freedom.
Her face fell as she saw that the battery was dead, and she angrily threw it on the bed, where it bounced on the mattress and then toppled to the floor.
“Shit!”
Angela frantically started searching her messy room for the charger but it was nowhere to be found. “No good bunch of motherfuckers,” she cursed, realising that someone must have come in and taken it while she was out. Was nothing safe in this damn house?
Angela stormed out into the hall, shouting and swearing, demanding to know who had ‘tiefed’ her charger. When her aggressive approach didn’t get her anywhere, she changed tack and went around the rooms trying to sweet-talk the other girls into letting her borrow one of theirs.
That didn’t work either.
This was terrible news. It meant that she would have to go back to Rodent’s flat instead of staying here and getting high. In a foul mood, she marched back to her room, threw a few bits and bobs into a duffle bag, snatched the useless phone from the floor and slammed the door on her way out.
