With a frustrated sigh, Jack turned off the torch and returned it to the ARV skipper. “Slight problem,” he said unhappily. “The three suspects from the hospital are black. All four of these are white.”
Just then his mobile rang. It was Reggie calling him back. “Boss, I’ve worked out the cell coordinates of the 777 phone and the 989 number it called. They’re not in Newham Way, they’re both in Sussex.”
Chapter 31
Thursday 13th January 2000
The eight o’clock meeting was delayed by half an hour so that all the overnight updates could be collated. Most of the detectives were clad in scruffs – jeans and jumpers – today, in accordance with the instructions that had been given to them by Reg Parker when he had started ringing around the team at six-thirty that morning.
Looking like death warmed up, Tyler sat with his back to the tea urn, with Dillon flanking him on one side and Holland on the other. Carol Keating, looking more like Hattie Jacques than ever, and Susie Sergeant, looking tired and drained, sat quietly next to Dillon.
By the time they had got back to Jack’s place, it had been getting on for one a.m., and he and Kelly had collapsed into bed, too tired to even speak.
Dillon had taken the spare room to save himself from having to do any additional driving. Of course, Dillon being Dillon, he’d woken up looking as rested and refreshed as if he’d enjoyed nine hours of uninterrupted slumber instead of five hours of fitful sleep.
“How do you do it?” Jack had asked when they’d sat down together for coffee before setting off. “Even Kelly looks tired and she’s wearing makeup.”
“It’s because I’m pure of mind and soul,” he’d explained piously, “so I drop off into a deep sleep the moment my head touches the pillow. You, on the other hand, are obviously troubled by the sins of your wicked past and they keep you awake at night.”
Kelly had laughed, but Jack had just sat there and stared at him, feeling too exhausted to even attempt a pithy retort.
“Okay,” Jack said, calling the meeting to order. “Apologies for the delay, but we’ve got a lot to get through, so let’s crack on.”
He began by telling the assembled officers how they had stumbled across Rodent’s car on their way home, and then described the lengthy chase that had ensued. “So, it turns out that Rodney Dawlish, aka Rodent, drove to his friend’s house after leaving the flat in Star Lane. He then borrowed his mate’s work van to drive Winston down to the coast and promised to bring it back in a day or so, leaving his own car behind so the guy had a set of wheels for the weekend.”
“And why did his mate fail to stop?” Wendy Blake asked. “It seems a bit silly to me.”
“Ah, I managed to speak to Norman Crouch – that’s the bloke who lent them the van – before he was carted off to Newham General with an assortment of lumps and bumps and a suspected concussion. He told me that the man who was with Rodent gave him two hundred quid and a big bag of cocaine in return for borrowing his van until Saturday at the latest. To celebrate, Crouch invited some friends over to have a few beers and join him in getting stoned. After a while, he developed a bad case of the munchies and decided to grab a takeaway. Crouch failed to stop because he knew he’d get nicked for driving whilst under the influence of drink and drugs, and because he wasn’t insured to drive Rodent’s car.”
“What a wanker,” Dean observed, drily.
Dillon nodded approvingly. “Couldn’t have put it better myself, Deano.”
“He was also worried that he’d get done for possession with intent to supply as there was a decent sized bag of cocaine in the car with him,” Jack pointed out. “He didn’t trust the lads he’d left back at his place not to steal it, so he took it with him for safekeeping.”
Wendy turned her nose up in disgust. “What lovely friends he’s got.”
Dean nudged her elbow. “Like I said, the bloke’s a wanker.”
“Anyway,” Jack continued, “the long and the short of it is that I’ve got the van details and registration number, and Dean has already circulated it on the PNC. The red Rover, which is now considerably shorter than a Mini, has been taken to Charlton car pound for a proper examination, but there’s no urgency to do that. While we were fannying around chasing the Rover, it turns out that Rodent had driven Winston and the others to Sussex in his mate’s van. Reggie’s been looking at the data we received from the TIU to try and narrow down their current location. Reggie, over to you.”
Parker stood up and circulated amongst the detectives, handing out an A4 Intel bundle he and Dean had put together before the others had arrived.
“Okay,” he said, returning to his seat at the front. “Pages one to three are bios for Winston, Garston, and Marley. They contain custody imaging photographs, a detailed physical description and a synopsis of their offending histories. Page four is a photocopy of a photograph of Rodney Dawlish standing next to his mum – she’s the one on the left. This was found in his flat. Mel Smails, the ward sister who lives in the flat above him, has confirmed it’s an accurate current likeness of Dawlish.”
“You know, I still can’t get over the serendipity of her living there,” Dillon said, only to be met with a sea of blank stares. “It’s a happy coincidence, you bunch of ignoramuses,” he explained with a disappointed sigh. He turned to Tyler. “We really must try and recruit some more intellectuals on this team.”
“Yeah, right,” Reg said. “Anyway, moving on, page five is a photo of a white Ford Transit van of the type being used by Dawlish. The registration is there too, for those
