“After being almost run down by those idiots I was sure something’d happened, so once I got to my feet I went and checked the pavilion. That’s when I found them, tied up and knocked out,” Powell answered. Dropping his cigarette to the ground he crushed it into the dirt with his foot. “I revived them, wasn’t easy, they didn’t want to wake up, and Mr Leigh called the cops while I went and got one of the first-aiders.”
“You say you were almost run down, can you describe the car, or the people in it?”
“It was blue, a Vauxhall, Astra I think.” Powell paused to light a fresh cigarette, which he puffed on a for a moment before he continued. “I didn’t see it pull up, I was having a piss, but it was out front when I finished, with the engine running. I didn’t think much of it, I just thought it belonged to someone in the pavilion and they’d brought it round so they could load some stuff up.”
“Did you see the license plate?” Stone didn’t hold his breath; he was sure that even if Powell had seen the license plate it wouldn’t help any. In his experience, the car used by the robbers would most likely have been stolen, perhaps even specifically for this job. “How about the men? Did you see anything of them?” he asked when Powell shook his head in response to the first question.
“Not clearly,” Powell said regretfully. “I did get a glimpse of the driver, though.”
Stone felt his hopes rise as he waited for Powell to continue.
“He had messy brown hair and stubble.”
“Was there anything distinctive about him that you saw? Scars, tattoos, anything like that?”
Powell had to think about that for a moment. “Tattoo, yeah, he had a tattoo on the side of his neck.”
“What sort of tattoo? Can you describe it?”
Powell took a long drag on his cigarette, which was almost finished already, and shook his head. “I couldn’t see it clearly, but it looked like some kind of bird, not sure what sort, I only got a glimpse – I had to dive out of the way when they nearly ran me down.”
3
“Why’d you hit the old guy?” Ben asked, resuming the argument they had abandoned only a short while before as he got out of the car.
Jerry ground his teeth in frustration. “I told ya, I couldn’t miss him. We was on him before I knew ‘e were there.” He’d been through it already, and wasn’t in the mood to go through it again. “Just let it go, it’s done, there’s nowt we can do ‘bout it now.”
“I shoulda been driving,” Ben declared, as if he could have somehow avoided the old man and his dog who had been crossing the road as they raced around the corner. “Now the cops are gonna know where we were after leaving the bloody festival.”
“How the hell are they gonna know that?” Jerry wanted to know. “There’s no way that old geezer had a chance to see anything, and there were no-one else around.” He saw the look on his brother’s face. “What? You think his dog’s gonna tell the cops what sort of car it were run him down? Even if that were likely, it don’ matter; the bloody car won’t exist in another hour.” He spun around as a pair of headlights blazed on, lighting up both the car and the brothers, before relaxing when he recognised the deep-throated chuckle that came from the darkness behind the headlights.
“You two’re worse than a married couple.” A burly, tattooed figure entered the cone of light. “If I didn’t know better, Ben, I’d think you were a woman.”
“How long you been there?” Ben asked sourly, not rising to the bait from the bigger man.
“Long enough,” Ash said with a grin. “Long enough. So, you ‘it someone,” he directed the comment to Jerry.
“Yeah, a silly old bugger out walking his dog at stupid o’clock. It’s not a problem,” Jerry reassured Ash, who was their partner in that night’s activities; Ash showed no concern over the situation, unlike Ben, and Jerry and Ash both knew that Ben’s concern was not caused by any worry over the fact that a man had been run down, only over the possibility that the accident might lead to their arrest.
With an uncaring shrug, Ash peered into the rear of the car at the bulging bag. “How much did we get?” He was far more interested in the result of their night’s caper than anything else, especially old men who were foolish enough to walk their dog so late and get knocked down as a result.
“Hard to be sure,” Jerry answered. “Forty, fifty kay, mebbe. More’n we expected.
Ash was pleased by that - they had only anticipated getting about thirty thousand pounds. “C’mon then, let’s get this shit finished so we can celebrate.” The other two were quite happy to go along with him since they couldn’t relax until they were finished.
Ben retrieved the bag and their shotguns from the back seat of the Vauxhall and carried them to the Ford they had parked down the road earlier that night. While he did that, Jerry got back behind the wheel and, with Ash’s guidance, manoeuvred the car up onto the trailer of the vehicle transporter Ash had brought. It was tricky to manage with only the dim moonlight and the meagre glow from the nearby street lights to aid them, but they got it done with a minimum of trouble and quickly secured the car.
That done, Jerry joined Ben in their Ford. They headed in one direction while Ash drove off in the opposite to dispose of the Vauxhall and remove one possible link between them and the robbery.
4
Still tired after his unplanned and unwanted late night visit to the festival, Stone nudged open the door and walked into his office. Burke was already there, with the coffee machine percolating merrily behind him; Stone wasn’t surprised, somehow Burke nearly always beat him to the office. Stone supposed it was because his partner was single, and had no-one to delay him of a morning, whereas his wife invariably held him up with some last-minute issue that couldn’t wait until another time, and which only he could deal with.
“Is that the witness statements from the festival?” Stone asked with a gesture at the stack of paper on his desk.
“If you can call them that.” Burke poured a mug of coffee for his superior and carried it over.
Stone accepted the mug gratefully and dropped into his chair to start going over the statements; it didn’t take him long. Apart from those he had spoken to at the time, none of the festival crew members, or the others who had been at the site at the time of the robbery, had seen anything; not one of them was able to add anything to what Stone already knew.
Frustrated, he tossed the last statement back onto the desk, where it joined the untidy pile of similarly useless statements. He sipped slowly at his coffee to give himself time to think and then he turned to his partner. “Any CCTV or traffic cameras in the area that might help us?” he asked, wishing they had more to go on than a brief, almost useless, physical description of the two robbers and the belief, expressed by Rose Leigh, that they had a slight accent. The description they had of the car was as helpful as that of the armed pair, leaving them to hope that forensics could come up with something that might lead them to the men they were after.
Burke shook his head. “I’d just finished checking that when you arrived. The nearest camera is three quarters of a mile away; it covers a traffic junction that’s apparently pretty bad for accidents. I’ve requested the footage, but even if we find the car on it we won’t be able to use it in court, it’s too far away to be able to say for definite it’s the same vehicle.”
Stone dismissed that problem with a wave of his hand. Just then he wasn’t bothered about evidence for court, he was more interested in identifying the car and the two armed robbers; proving it was them could wait until they knew who it was. “David Leigh and the others should be in later to give formal statements; with a bit of luck they’ll have remembered something useful. In the meantime, I want to know about any Vauxhalls reported stolen recently, especially if they’re an Astra and they’re blue. We might get lucky and hit on the right vehicle.”
Burke scribbled quick notes on the pad he kept handy by his phone. “How about putting out an alert for a possible abandoned vehicle,” he suggest
ed. “They might have dumped the car somewhere. A patrol might spot it.”
“Let’s get the description out to the local news as well.” Stone suspected that if the car had been dumped, it would have been done in an out of the way place, where it was more likely to be found randomly by a member of the public than by a police patrol. “Just the car, not what we have on the pair, it’s too vague at the moment, and I don’t want to spook them.”
“Okay, anything else?”
“Not unless you can think of something.”
Stone settled on the corner of the desk opposite his subordinate and focused his attention on Detective Sergeant Mason; he didn’t say as much, but since he had had to work during the night, when he was supposed to be off, he was glad to see that Mason was working beyond the end of his shift. “Tell me about the hit-and-run,” he directed the man who had been after the promotion he got.
“Bugger-all to tell,” Mason said, the dislike he felt for the man who had got the job he wanted there, as always, in his eyes, and just beneath the surface of his words. “Old geezer walking his dog got knocked down by some ignorant little prick.”
“Any witnesses?”
Mason snorted. “Are you kidding? It was almost three in the morning on a Sunday, no-one was around, leastways, no-one who’s gonna come forward.” The knowing look on his face suggested that Stone should already have realised that. “I’ve got Chris and a couple of uniforms canvassing the area, just in case someone saw something, and I’m putting together a request for all CCTV footage from the area. I doubt anything’ll come of it, though, it’ll be a complete waste of time. Even if we manage to catch the bugger responsible, it’ll just turn out to be some little punk out for a joyride in a stolen car, and he’ll get away with a slap on the wrist and nothing more.” His expression was one of disgust as he said that.
“Let’s hope that isn’t the case.” Stone was just as frustrated as Mason with the minor sentences handed out to youths, regardless of the damage they did to people and property, who took cars for a joyride. “What’s the old man’s condition?”
“Not good,” Mason said with a shake of his head, his demeanour changing slightly, the animosity he felt towards his superior disappearing, or at least receding. “He was still unconscious when I called the hospital a while ago; he’s got a fractured skull, three cracked ribs, a broken arm and a broken leg. Traffic reckon whoever hit him must have been going at least forty-five, and they didn’t even try to stop.”
“Bastards!”
Mason could only nod in agreement of that sentiment.
“What do the doctors put his chances at?” Stone asked.
“Somewhere between crap, and make arrangements for a funeral,” Mason replied in his usual callous way. “We don’t even know the old geezer’s name since he wasn’t carrying any I.D. when he was found.”
“Try and remember, Justin, he’s not an old geezer, he’s an old man who has had the misfortune to be in a bad accident,” Stone said, though he doubted his words would have any effect on his subordinate. “Now, what are you doing to find out who he is?”
“Is there anything else to report?” Detective Chief Inspector Collins asked of his subordinate.
“Not at the moment,” Stone answered, uncrossing his legs in preparation to leave his superior’s office. “Hopefully, Justin will get a quick response to his appeal for help in identifying his hit-and-run victim, not that it’s likely to help much in finding the person who ran him down.”
“What about the gentleman who reported the accident? Could he possibly have been responsible?”
Stone shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Justin about that.”
“I will. What’s your next step with the robbery?”
Before Stone could answer there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Collins called out.
The door swung open to reveal DS Burke, who quickly apologised for the intrusion. “Excuse me, sir, but I’ve got a possible lead.”
“What is it?” Stone asked.
“I was talking with a couple of the uniforms,” Burke said. “It seems that one of our favourite lags recently got himself some new ink.”
Stone thought about who Burke would include on a list of their favourite lags – it wasn’t a long list – and who would be of interest in regard to their current case. “You’re not talking about the Ice-cream Boys, are you?” he asked, thinking of Ben and Jerry Logan, whose first names had resulted in them being given the most obvious of nicknames. When Burke nodded, Stone remarked. “They’re out on license, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they got out three, four months ago,” Burke said. “I think they’ve both got about three and a half years, a little less maybe, on license.”
Stone didn’t doubt his partner had the information right, Burke was very good at that kind of thing. “So, which one of our pains-in-the-ass got the new ink?” It wasn’t something he wanted to guess at for both seasoned criminals were fans of tattoos and had many adorning their bodies.
“Jerry, apparently,” Burke answered. “According to PC Williams, he gave the Logans a tug the other week for a broken light on their car – not a blue Vauxhall,” he said quickly, seeing the question in his superior’s eyes. “He recognised the Ice-cream Boys and made a note of Jerry’s new ink, he said it’s an eagle, about two inches by three, on the left side of his neck.”
Stone smiled at the news. “Shall we go and have a chat with Jerry then, and perhaps his brother as well?”
“Sure, we probably won’t get much out of them, but it should put the wind up them.” Burke was as keen to speak to the Logans as Stone; nailing them for armed robbery would, he thought, make up for the early releases Ben and Jerry had somehow secured.
5
Stone ascended to the fifth floor of the grandly named Harper Tower two steps at a time, ignoring, as best he could, the smell of urine that filled the stairwell. He would have preferred to take the lift, but it was out of order, and by the time he got to the fifth floor he was out of breath, though not as much as he would have been before he quit smoking.
“Come on,” he said to his partner once he had recovered.
Together, he and Burke made their way along to flat seven, where they took up positions on either side of the door. They didn’t expect trouble, despite why they were there, but they still had sense enough not to stand in front of the door; after all, a shotgun had been used in the robbery, and such a weapon could be fired straight through the door. Neither of them wanted to get shot, if it should turn out that the Logan brothers were behind the robbery, and were reluctant to go back to prison.
“Ben, Jerry,” Burke called out after knocking twice without getting an answer. “It’s the police – open up.”
It was almost two minutes before the detectives heard shuffling footsteps and a voice that grumbled and swore as it approached the door. Finally, the door swung open to reveal a half-asleep Ben Logan. “What the fuck d’you want?” he mumbled in a sleep-filled voice as he held the door and looked from DI Stone to DS Burke.
“Morning, Ben,” Stone greeted the criminal. “Can we come in?” Without waiting for an answer, he stepped forward and eased past Ben, who made no attempt to stop him entering the flat. “Is Jerry here?”
Knowing it would do him no good to protest the intrusion, since he was on license, Ben pushed the door closed behind the detectives and followed them into the living room.
“Is Jerry here?” Stone repeated his question.
“Not a bloody clue,” Ben said with an indifferent shrug. “I was asleep ‘til you buggers banged on the door. If he ain’t in his room, then no, he ain’t.” He dropped gracelessly onto the sofa, where he looked as though he would quite happily go back to sleep.
Stone gestured for his partner to have a look for the absent Logan brother; while Burke did that he settled in the armchair near the door and looked around for any sign that the Logans had been doing anything they shouldn’t. He didn’t really expect to
see anything, Ben wasn’t quite that stupid, but it was always possible that Jerry, who was not as much into thinking as his brother, had left something incriminating laying around.
“Why’re you here?” Ben wanted to know, without seeming all that interested in the answer.
“Why don’t we wait for your brother before we get into that,” Stone suggested.
“What the fuck d’you want?”
The harshly voiced question alerted Stone to the arrival of Jerry Logan, who, like his brother, was clad only in a pair of boxer shorts. “Morning, Jerry,” Stone greeted him. “Sorry to wake you.”
“Yeah, I bet you are,” Jerry said sarcastically. As he dropped onto the sofa next to his brother he asked, “What do these jokers want?”
“No idea, they ain’t said,” Ben told him.
“I see you’ve got a new tattoo, Jerry,” Stone remarked, gesturing at the eagle on the side of his neck.
“I got a few,” Jerry responded. “What of it?”
“Nothing,” Stone said, “except a couple of guys held up a pavilion at the Rock Radio Music Festival last night, and one of them had a tattoo matching that new bit of ink on the side of your neck.”
“Big deal, I’m sure there’s plenty of guys with the same ink; I picked it from the catalogue.”
“But how many of them have it where you have yours, and have a record for armed robbery?”
Jerry shrugged. “How the hell should I know?”
“Is that why you’re here?” Ben wanted to know, amused. “’cause someone saw a tattoo like my brother’s at a robbery.”
Stone didn’t respond to that, instead he said. “Do you mind if we have a look around?”
“What for? D’you think you’re gonna find a stack of cash and a coupla sawn-offs just laying around?”
Stone smiled at Jerry, while his brother scowled at him ferociously. “I never said anything about shotguns, or guns of any kind, did I?” he asked of Burke, who thus far had remained silent.
“Not that I heard,” Burke said. “Why would you think we’d be looking for sawn-offs?” he asked of Jerry, who, with a look at his brother, remained silent. “It’s funny that you should mention shotguns, though, because the pair last night were carrying sawn-offs. Maybe he’s psychic,” he suggested to his partner.