Body of a Girl (22 page)

“The dispute will come before the court in due course, and it will be alleged that systematic and fraudulent evasion is involved. Meanwhile, however, it has come to our knowledge – and this will be one of the principal allegations in the case – that the tax payer has been making regular deposits of money, over a considerable period, in a safe deposit at Slough. The Revenue asks for an injunction preventing the tax payer from having access to this safe deposit until the matter has been decided.”

The judge pondered. He said, “It seems an extreme step, Mr. Attorney General, to deprive a citizen of access to his own money. Particularly since your application being
ex parte
he is not here to argue against it.”

“I appreciate that, my lord. In the circumstances I would only ask for an injunction effective for seven days. This will afford ample time for the tax payer to be represented and to put any counter-arguments before your lordship.”

Mr. Justice Arbuthnot said, “Very well.”

At the back of the court, Superintendent Morrissey breathed a sigh of relief.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I suppose we've got to make the best of it,” said Clark.

“You won't have to put up with me for long,” said Mercer. “A week at the most, would be my guess. You know they're promoting Tom Rye. He was lined up for this job anyway. I've just kept him out of it for a month.”

“It seems more like a year,” said Clark. It was a backhanded offer of peace, but Mercer accepted it gladly enough. “I hear you had some trouble last night.”

“Not as much trouble as we'd planned for, I'm afraid. They left one man behind, very dead. And one of them won't walk for a few months.”

“What's the next move?”

“They'll fight that injunction, no holds barred. They're not short of money. They'll put leading counsel up next week, and I think they'll probably win. The judge wasn't at all anxious to give us even a temporary stop.”

“And after that?”

“Bull will try to move the money somewhere else. We'll have to play it as it comes.”

“Suppose he ignores the court order, and shifts it now?”

“He's not going to hear about it until later today. By that time I shall have fixed the safe deposit. I'm going over there right away.”

The receptionist at the Southern Counties Safe Deposit depressed a red switch in the gadget on her table and said, “Detective Inspector Mercer is in the waiting room for you, sir.”

“What does he want now?” said Mr. Nevinson irritably.

“He said his business was urgent.”

“No doubt. It hasn't perhaps occurred to him that other people might be busy, too.”

“There's another gentleman with him.”

“Another policeman?”

The receptionist hesitated. The truth is that she had been impressed by the second man, a military type of early middle age with a red-brown face and formidable eyebrows, tufts of greying hair which stood out horizontally over a pair of angry brown eyes.

“I think he might be, sir.”

“Did he have a name?”

“It's a Mr. Michael Robertson, sir. Do you know him?”

Mr. Nevinson said, “Oh, yes. Please show them up at once.”

The Chief Constable came straight to the point. He said, “Show Mr. Nevinson the office copy of the injunction, Mercer.”

Mr. Nevinson read it carefully. He said, “It's effective for a week, I see. After that, I imagine I cannot refuse Bull access to his own strong-room.”

“It's not what happens after the end of the week that's bothering us. It's what might happen now.”

“I'm afraid I don't follow you,” said Mr. Nevinson. “Naturally, any application for access during the next seven days will be refused.”

Mercer said, “I'm not sure if you quite understand the sort of people we're up against. The money in that strong-room doesn't belong to Bull. It represents the proceeds of half a dozen highly successful robberies by a powerful, violent and very well-organised group of criminals.”

Mr. Nevinson's face went first red, then white. He said, “I can assure you—”

“It goes without saying that you knew nothing about it,” said the Chief Constable. “The point is that the men it belongs to will stop at nothing to get it back. I'll go further. They
must
get it back. If they don't, they're finished.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Mercer said, “Last time I was here, you were explaining to me the steps you took if a key was lost. You had some system of knocking out the lock.”

“Yes. We can do that. It takes a bit of time.”

“How quickly could you remove the existing lock and put in a new one?”

“If I gave the orders now, the old lock could be drilled out in about three hours. A new one could be put on in two.”

“Then,” said the Chief Constable, his eyebrows coming together with an almost audible click, “give the orders right away.”

Mercer went next to call on Superintendent Ferraby of the Slough Police. There he made arrangements for a twenty-four-hour watch to be kept on the safe deposit. Two squad cars were to be available on immediate call, with two more from Stoneferry.

“If we want anything heavier,” said the Chief Constable, “we'll have to get soldiers from Windsor. I'll do it if I have to, but I don't like calling out the army. Bad for public relations.”

“Do you think it might be necessary?” said Superintendent Ferraby, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“I'm not taking any chances. And I'm going to give you the necessary authority, in writing, now, to arm the crews of the stand-by cars. Pick the men yourself. And don't issue a gun to anyone who doesn't hold a Firearms Proficiency Certificate. We don't want them shooting each other.”

Mercer was back in Stoneferry by midday, and at a quarter-past twelve he was letting himself in at the front door of Mr. Weatherman's offices in Fore Street. The young lady behind the reception desk seemed worried about something. Her worry increased when she understood that Mercer wanted to see Mr. Weatherman.

She said, “I'm sure I don't know if he can see you.”

“Suppose you were to ring through and find out?”

“It might be a bit difficult. You couldn't come back this afternoon, I suppose?”

“It's rather urgent,” said Mercer. “Has something happened?”

The girl looked even more worried. Then she said, “We had Mr. Bull here, about half an hour ago. He was in a terrible state. I don't know what it was all about. I could hear him shouting from down here.”

“He must have been shouting very loudly.”

“Oh, he was. When Mr. Bull came down he looked terrible. And Mr. Weatherman told me he wasn't seeing any clients this morning. I had to put off Colonel Watterson. I don't like to interrupt him.”

“Quite right,” said Mercer. “It's always better to obey instructions. But there's nothing to prevent
me
interrupting him, is there?”

The girl started to say something, but Mercer was already halfway up the stairs. He went into Mr. Weatherman's room without knocking. The solicitor was seated behind his desk. He looked up as the door opened and Mercer thought he had never seen a face in which fear and anger made a more ugly mixture.

Mercer said, “You know what I've come for?”

Mr. Weatherman said nothing.

Mercer said, “You're to give instructions to your partners, and your staff, that no papers are to be taken out of this office until further notice. And you are to hand over your passport to me.”

There was a long silence.

Then Mr. Weatherman said, “I presume that you imagine you have some right to make such an outrageous request.”

“Whether I have the right or not isn't important. I can offer you an alternative. I have a warrant for your arrest on charges of criminal conspiracy and fraud. And I have a warrant to search this office. If you don't do as I say, without further argument, I shall execute those warrants.”

There was another long silence. Mr. Weatherman said, “I have no alternative.”

“None at all. And may I say that of all the people involved in this matter, I have least sympathy for you. I can get along with ordinary crooks, but a crook in striped trousers turns my stomach.”

On his way out of the office half an hour later, Mercer ran into Willoughby Slade. The young man looked embarrassed, but resolute. He said, “I say.” Mercer said, “Hullo.” Willoughby said, “I gather—I mean—my sister told me that you tried to discourage her from coming out with you last night.”

“I tried to throw her out. But she wouldn't be thrown. How is she this morning?”

“She's all right. She's pretty angry with you. I can't quite make out why.”

“Girls aren't logical,” said Mercer.

He spent the rest of the day at the station. There was a lot to do. Sergeant Gwilliam went over to Slough in the afternoon, and reported that the lock on Bull's strong-room was proving difficult to shift. Also, that he had made contact with his opposite number in the Slough force, Sergeant Harraway, who thought that Stoneferry were getting the breeze up about nothing.

Mercer said, “Tell him to read Confidential Information File thirty-six stroke sixty-nine. There'll be a copy at his headquarters station.”

At half-past three, and again at four o'clock, Bull telephoned the station and was told that Mercer was in conference.

At five o'clock Gwilliam came through again. He said that the lock had responded to treatment and the new one was now going on. And Sergeant Harraway had read C.I.F. 36/69 and had changed his mind.

At seven o'clock the conference in Superintendent Clark's room broke up. He said to Mercer, “Well, that's all we can do for the moment. I suggest we have two of the four of us on call on alternate nights for the next few weeks.”

Mercer nodded. It was, he thought, the first time since he had arrived at Stoneferry that Bob Clark had referred to the uniform branch and the C.I.D. in the same breath as ‘we' and ‘us'.

“Medmenham and you stand by tonight. Rye and I will take tomorrow. There's no need to hang round here. Have a line put through to your digs when you leave and have your cars on stand-by with a driver.”

When Clark got home himself he found Murray Talbot drinking his sherry and chatting up his wife. When Pat had departed to see to the dinner, Talbot said, “How did it go?”

Clark stared at him. Then he said, “Oh, that. Yes, well, it seems we were on the wrong tack.”

“The wrong tack?”

“I'm afraid I can't say any more.”

“If it's confidential,” said Talbot stiffly, “I can't, of course, press you.”

He finished his sherry and got to his feet. At the front door Clark said, “And, incidentally, I should tip-off that cashier friend of yours, Derek Robbins, that he may be looking for another job.”

Pat, who had come out into the hall, said, “What's wrong with Murray? He looked a bit huffed.”

“He'll get over it,” said Clark. “What about that dinner you were promising me? I only had a sandwich for lunch and I'm ravenous.”

“Come and get it.”

Halfway through the first course they heard the telephone ring from the drawing room.

“Take no notice,” said Pat. “Pretend you're not here. If it's important they'll ring again.”

But Clark was already in the drawing room.

It was Mercer on the line. He said, “We've had a message from Slough. It was Mrs. Nevinson. Her husband's the manager of the safe deposit. He hasn't come home!”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“We'll be over right away,” said Clark. “Please alert the crews.”

“They're standing by,” said Mercer. “Might I suggest we fix a preliminary rendezvous at one of the local stations? The Windsor Road sub-station is nearest to the safe deposit.”

“Why not go straight there?”

Mercer said, in the slow way which never failed to irritate Clark, “If they've picked up Mr. Nevinson, it's clear they're already in the building. They'll have used the key to his private back door and got into his office. But that's only the start. They can't open the grille, which leads from his office down to the basement strong-rooms, until they've got hold of the head commissionaire, Beale.”

“Better warn him.”

“I spoke to Ferraby. He's sent a man round. But I rather hope he gets there too late.”

“You hope—”

“Where I want them is down in that basement. They can't do a lot when they do get there, because we changed the lock on Bull's strong-room this afternoon, and I've got the only key.”

“All right, all right,” said Clark. “You've made your point. Let's get cracking.”

At the Windsor Road sub-station they found Superintendent Ferraby holding a council of war. There was one civilian present. He was wearing white shorts, gym shoes, a singlet and a club sweater. This was young Mr. Jenner, the assistant manager of the safe deposit, who had been hauled off a squash court in the middle of a game, and had not been given time to change. He seemed more excited than alarmed.

“Have you got hold of that commissionaire yet?” said Clark.

“We tried to. No reply, and no one at the house. One of his neighbours says he thought he noticed a big car – one he hadn't seen before – outside the house. That was about seven o'clock. When he looked again the car was gone.”

Clark happened to glance round at this moment. The smile on Mercer's face disturbed him.

“If they've got Beale,” said Ferraby, “they've got both keys. That gets them into the basement. Right?”

Young Mr. Jenner nodded.

“When they get there, they'll find that Bull's key no longer fits the lock. Let's suppose they've brought along the necessary equipment. How long to cut open the strong-room door?”

“We had to do it once, with a thermal lance,” said Jenner. “It took us all of two hours.”

Clark said, “For God's sake! They've had nearly an hour already.” He was fidgeting with anxiety. “What are we waiting for?”

“There's a snag,” said Superintendent Ferraby. He was a big, solid West Country man. “You know we had a man in observation on the place. Constable Pike.”

“I'd forgotten.”

“As soon as we got the message from Mrs. Nevinson, we sent a man down to contact Pike. He couldn't find him. But he found his motorcycle. In a passage between the two office blocks opposite the safe deposit. It was lying on its side, and was damaged. He thought that Pike had noticed something, and had started back to report.”

“You think they're holding him as a hostage?”

“That's what I'm thinking,” said Ferraby. “And that's what I'm hoping.”

“Hoping?”

“There's an alternative, isn't there?”

There was a short silence, whilst they thought about it. Superintendent Clark made an impatient noise in the back of his throat. Mercer said, “I agree. Anyone who gets between the Crows and what's in that strong-room is going to have to be quick and lucky, if he wants to come out on his feet.”

Clark said, “We shan't solve anything by talking. And time's going past.”

“Before we go any further,” said Ferraby, “let's get one thing straight. We're on my territory, and I'm in charge.”

“Of course,” said Clark hastily.

“Then here's what we're going to do. We'll bring all our men, and all yours, to this point.” He demonstrated on the street map. “We'll leave the cars in Canal Street, and come in on foot. We'll have one portable radio with us, netted to the car. We'll try the simple approach first. Mr. Jenner has supplied us with a key of the main door. If we can get inside the building, that's a big step forward. After that we play it by ear. If anyone has any suggestions, let's have them now.”

He looked politely towards Superintendent Clark, but he had nothing to say.

Mercer peered cautiously round the corner of the Southern Counties Safe Deposit. Ahead of him was a short, completely deserted and silent stretch of street. On the far side were the two office blocks, divided by the alley in which Constable Pike's motorcycle had been discovered. On the near side loomed the bulk of the safe deposit building. The overhead lamps threw a cold blue light down on the scene.

The two superintendents were standing beside him, talking in low tones. Behind them, he could hear the occasional click as a policeman handled a rifle. He hoped they knew how to use them.

The whispered conference behind him reached a conclusion.

“I'll go first,” said Ferraby, “with Sergeant Harraway.”

“I'll come with you,” said Clark. “If you don't mind.”

Ferraby looked, for a moment, as if he was going to say no. Then he nodded abruptly. “Keep as close as possible to the building. If they've got men upstairs, they won't be able to sight us too clearly.”

Mercer said, “If there is a covering party, I guess it'll be in the office block opposite.”

“What makes you think that?”

“It would be the natural place to put it.”

“We can't guard against every possibility,” growled Clark. “Let's get going.”

“At least have some of our men covering those windows.”

Ferraby said, “That's sensible,” and gave the orders. Two men moved up behind them. “All set? Then let's go.”

He walked forward, followed by Sergeant Harraway. They had covered half a dozen yards when the shot-guns opened up. Ferraby was hit at once. Clark ran forward, grabbed him, and started to drag him back into shelter. By this time their own riflemen were firing back. They were making good practice at the office windows. Mercer ran out to give Clark a hand. As he started he saw Clark go down. Sergeant Harraway had got hold of Ferraby and was helping him round the corner. Mercer, assisted by Sergeant Gwilliam, dragged Clark back into shelter.

The shooting stopped as suddenly as it had started.

Mercer stood looking down at the two men on the pavement. Ferraby seemed to have collected a blast of shot in his legs. His trousers were black with blood, and his face was distorted by pain. Clark was unconscious. His right shoulder was a mess where the jacket was torn away. There were other, probably more serious, wounds lower down. The dragging along the pavement hadn't done him a lot of good.

Mercer realised that he was the senior police officer on the spot, and that a lot of people were looking to him for orders.

He took a deep slow breath to steady himself, and said to Sergeant Harraway, “Get on the radio, Sergeant, and whistle up an ambulance. Then post men with rifles at both ends of this street. They can get to the other end quite safely if they circle round behind the office block. Next, do the same in the street at the back. There's a private entrance there, which they'll very likely try to use. I want it covered from both sides. If anyone does try to get out, don't argue. Shoot!”

Sergeant Harraway said, “They won't need telling.”

When he had detailed the men and sent them off, Mercer said, “Next thing, could you move up two spotlights. Put one at the end of each street, focused on the door, but not switched on. That's in case it occurs to them to shoot out the street lights, and make a run for it in the dark.”

“Can do,” said Sergeant Harraway and disappeared.

“Now, could someone with a bit of local knowledge tell me where I can get hold of a ladder?”

One of the Slough policemen said, “There's a window-cleaner's not far from here. He's got one of those metal expanding jobs on top of his van.”

“Knock him up,” said Mercer.

The ladder arrived at the same moment as the Chief Constable, who said, “Just put me in the picture, would you?” And when Mercer had finished, “You say there are men giving covering fire from the office block. We'd better clear them out first.”

“If we've got enough men to do it,” said Mercer. “It's worth a try. But I doubt if they're still there. These men aren't heroes. They're strictly smash and grab, shoot and scarper. The better plan would be to locate their getaway cars. They'll be parked somewhere handy.”

“We've got plenty of men to cover both jobs. What next?”

“It's only the ground-floor windows of this building that are barred. We can get in at any of these side windows at first- or second-floor level. If they've left any men on guard in the upper storeys of the safe deposit, we can flush them out easily enough. Mr. Jenner here can come with us. He knows the lie of the land.”

“And then?”

“If we don't find anyone upstairs, we know exactly where they'll be. In the sub-basement, busy cutting open Bull's strong-room door. They're the people we want.”

The Chief Constable considered the matter for a long minute. It was not the plan which he mistrusted. What was worrying him was the look on Mercer's face.

He said, “Will they have heard the firing?”

“They wouldn't hear it themselves. They're two storeys down, underneath a three-foot concrete and steel floor. If they've left a link-man in the upper part of the building, he might have warned them. Unless he's run away too. Like I said, they're not heroes. In fact the only real cards they've got to play are Nevinson, Beale and Pike. When it comes to the pinch, they'll try to use them as hostages.”

The Chief Constable considered the matter. He said, “Take it as far as you can. But no unnecessary heroics. Whilst you're operating inside, we'll clean up out here.” He looked at his watch. “I've got some heavy stuff coming from Windsor. It should be here very shortly. Meanwhile, I'll keep the top brass off your neck.”

Mercer looked round. There certainly seemed to be a lot more senior officers on the spot than there had been five minutes before.

The ladder was now in place. He went up it carefully.

Mercer had a poor head for heights, but a ledge under the first-floor window gave him something to put his knee on whilst he wrapped a scarf round his hand and broke the glass. Then he opened the catch, and slid forward into the darkness of the room. It was, as far as he could see, an office, and it was empty.

He tiptoed across, eased the door open, and peered out. A blue night-light showed a length of passage, also empty. There was no sound of any sort from inside the building. Then a black shape moved at the far end of the passage. Mercer's grip on the door jamb tightened, and relaxed as the light was reflected from a pair of green eyes turned in his direction. He said, “Good hunting, puss.”

The room behind him was filling up steadily. Mercer gave his orders in a low voice. “Six of you go with Mr. Jenner. He'll show you which rooms to search. No shooting if you can help. It's the party below we're after. And Jenner—let me impress on you that you're a guide. Not the spearhead of a forlorn hope.”

Mr. Jenner said, “I can look after myself.” He sounded aggrieved.

“I don't doubt it,” said Mercer, “but we don't want civilian casualties. They come heavier on the rates than policemen. One of you stop here, as contact man to pass reports. Gwilliam and Prothero, come with me.”

He moved off down the passage, and located a flight of stairs which took him to the ground floor. Here the passage was close-carpeted. The manager's office, he knew, was at the far end. There was an interior window giving onto the corridor at head height. A light was shining through it, diffused by the frosted glass. The three men stopped to listen. There was someone in the room. They could hear a curious muffled sound, halfway between a whine and a snuffle.

Mercer touched Gwilliam's sleeve, and as the big Welshman bent forward, breathed in his ear, “See if you can find two tables and a lightish wooden chair. Should be something in one of the offices. Quick and quiet as you can.”

Whilst they were gone Mercer bent his head to listen. The noise inside the office worried him. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't place it.

Gwilliam loomed up. He was carrying a typist's desk. Mercer positioned it carefully opposite the right-hand side of the window, and about a foot away from it. When Prothero arrived with a second desk he put that opposite the left-hand side of the window, close up against the wall. By this time Gwilliam was back again. He had a wooden chair, a heavy affair with arms. It was bigger than Mercer had intended, but Gwilliam looked as if he could handle it. He whispered to him, “Get up on that table. Take the chair by the legs. When I give the signal, smash the window. I don't mean knock out a pane of glass. I mean smash it. Frame and all.”

Gwilliam nodded to show that he understood. Mercer climbed onto the left-hand table, took the police automatic out of his shoulder-holster, and held it loosely in his right hand with his left hand raised and his eye on the window.

Then he brought his left hand down.

The chair flailed round in a semi-circle and the window dissolved inwards in a cascade of broken glass and fractured wood. And Mercer saw Jack Bull.

He had just come up the stairs from the basement, and was closing the door. He had his back to the room, and the crash made him jump round. For one frozen second they faced each other. Then, as Bull's right hand moved up with a gun in it, Mercer shot him. The heavy bullet caught him in the face, just above the mouth. He spun round under the impact, and dropped. As he fell, the left sleeve of his jacket jerked out of his pocket and fell across the back of his head, as though he was trying to protect himself with an arm that was no longer there.