anybody know?’
‘No,’ Brock said.‘I think we have to assume that it’s well and truly disposed of by now. But we certainly need to search their compound at Shooters Hill. Virginia’s right. Let’s concentrate on Ricky.We have a witness who saw him use that gun in 1986. He’s the one to start with.’
‘Mm.’ Sharpe stared at the ceiling.‘The way my thoughts are going is this. Given the publicity surrounding the case, it would make sense for criminal proceedings to be instituted by the DPP, would it not?’
‘By us?’ Virginia looked sharply at him. ‘Rather than the police? By laying an information?’
‘Yes.With our full resources behind you,of course.’
Brock saw that Sharpe had been doing some homework and probably taking advice. If ‘an information’, as the case for an arrest warrant was called, was laid by the police, it would be done not in the name of the police force as a body, but in the name of an individual officer, a chief constable or someone designated by him. Commander Sharpe didn’t want his name on that document.
‘Well,’ Virginia said. ‘I’ll take it to the boss, shall I?’ She shot Brock a deadpan look as vivid as a wink.
‘Yes, why don’t you do that, Virginia,’ Sharpe said, getting to his feet.‘Excellent idea.’
Ricky Roach sat facing Bren Gurney and another detective across the table. He was much plumper and sleeker than in the old photographs, with more scalp showing through the well-groomed hair, but with the same contemptuous curl to his mouth. Beside him sat Martin Connell.
Brock, not wanting at this point to disclose that they had made the link of Brown Bread between the Cockpit Lane murders and the shooting of Mr Singh, had decided not to carry out the interview himself and was sitting at Kathy’s side. Virginia Ashe was also there, keenly watching the screen.
Bren opened the proceedings with the standard preliminaries, then said, ‘We’re investigating a series of thefts of luxury cars during the 1980s.’
Roach looked at him in disbelief.‘Oh yeah? The 1980s? Are you serious?’
‘Perfectly.You were in the car business at that time, I believe. You had a sales yard and workshop in Lewisham, yes?’
‘I don’t believe this.’ Roach turned to look at his lawyer. ‘The 1980s?’
‘I thought the charge was attempted murder,’ Connell said.
‘We’ll come to that. The matters are related. We want to examine your business records for the period 1979 to the present.’
Roach laughed.‘No way.’
‘They don’t seem very worried, do they?’ Virginia said.
Bren was laying three documents on the table in front of Roach and Connell.‘These are copies of warrants to search your business premises at Eltham, your accountant’s offices in the City, and your home at Shooters Hill. Officers are executing these warrants as we speak.’
Roach picked up one of the sheets. ‘You’re searching Ivor’s office? He won’t like that.’ He smirked.
Connell had picked up another of the warrants and had turned away from the camera, pulling out his mobile phone. After a short conversation he snapped it shut and turned back to face Bren.
‘My client’s wife is asleep.’
Bren looked mystified.‘What?’
‘Don’t you know the rules? “In determining when to make a search, the officer in charge must always give regard to the time of day at which the occupier is likely to be present, and should not search at a time when the occupier or any other person on the premises is likely to be asleep.” I quote. My client’s wife is recuperating from recent surgery and is currently at home asleep. I have advised her sister,who is with her,not to permit entry to her home. Then there is Mrs Adonia Roach, my client’s sister-in-law, also resident at The Glebe, who is recovering from a street robbery in which she was seriously hurt. I suggest you advise your officers to withdraw.’
There was a moment’s silence, then Kathy said flatly, ‘They knew. They were expecting this.’
Brock’s phone rang. He listened, then turned to the others. ‘The team at Shooters Hill. They’re being refused entry to The Glebe. It seems the construction of the perimeter gates and wall is more problematic than they anticipated. They’re going to have to bring in heavier gear.’
Virginia Ashe stared at him.‘He’s right,you can’t break in.It’s our warrant, Brock. Tell them to back off.’
For a moment it looked as if Brock wouldn’t agree.
‘Please,’ she said.
Brock nodded and spoke into his phone.
On the screen Bren was questioning Roach about his movements and operations in the mid-eighties. To every question Ricky replied,‘Don’t remember.’This went on for some time,the same reply given again and again until Bren’s exasperation began to show. Then Connell broke in.
‘This isn’t getting us anywhere. Can we cut to the quick? These warrants mention the evidence of a witness as grounds for a search.Who is this witness?’
‘We’re not prepared to disclose their identity at this stage.’
Connell sat back, fingers laced across his belly. ‘I think we’re wasting our time here, don’t you?’
Brock had persuaded Mr Singh and his wife to take a holiday with cousins in Birmingham. The witness had become increasingly anxious after his first conversation with Bren, and was on a variety of medications against panic attacks and hypertension. Brock had noticed the way he unconsciously fingered his side where Roach’s bullet had hit. When the couple finally agreed to leave London, Brock made arrangements with the police in Birmingham to keep watch on the cousins’ home.
On the day of Ricky Roach’s arrest,the patrol car parked across the road watched a white Volvo registered to Mr Singh’s father draw up outside the cousins’house.This was expected,as the police had monitored a phone call that morning from the older man to his son saying that they would drive up from London to pay him a visit.The elderly couple got out of the car and entered the house. An hour later a second patrol saw two people return to their car and drive off.
When Brock phoned later that day to speak to Mr Singh, his cousin answered and said that wouldn’t be possible, as he was lying down with a severe migraine.When Brock asked to speak to his wife, that also was refused on the grounds that she was in the bath. There was something about the conversation that made Brock uneasy and he called the Birmingham police.When officers called at the house they found the cousins and the elderly parents, but no sign of the Singhs.
Brock got a fast patrol car up the motorway with lights and siren going.When he arrived at the suburban house there were already three police cars there, and West Midlands detectives were questioning the four occupants of the house. Brock chose the elder Mr Singh, who had so far refused to say a word.
‘Are they safe, Mr Singh? That’s our first priority.You must tell us that.’
The old man, back straight, very dignified in his black turban, blinked at the clock on the mantelpiece and murmured,‘I believe they are, sir, yes. But I can say no more.’
At that moment a detective hurried into the room and glared at the Indian.‘They took a flight to Paris, sir, five hours ago.We’ve just heard.We found the Volvo at the airport.’
It was another hour before it was established that in Paris the Singhs had transferred to an Air India flight to Mumbai.
‘It was too much to ask, sir,’ Mr Singh said sadly to Brock.‘You don’t know what it was doing to him. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. He lost eight pounds in a week.’
‘He didn’t receive any direct threats though, did he?’
‘No, he didn’t.’
‘What about you? Did they threaten you, Mr Singh?’
‘As to that, sir, I cannot say.’
Brock regarded him carefully. It was as if the man couldn’t bring himself to tell an outright lie.
‘I understand. But it would help me to know when this unspoken event took place.We arrested the man who shot your son at nine this morning, and you and your wife must have left for Birmingham at, what, nine-thirty? Not much time for a visitor this morning.’
‘There were no visitors this morning.’
‘We can trace telephone calls, discover when tickets were purchased . . .’
‘There’s no need to trouble yourself, sir. There have been no strange telephone calls. I myself purchased plane tickets for my son and his wife last night, on the internet.’
