“Thank you,” Stedman said, looking relieved.
“Communications,” Tyler said, moving swiftly on. “The TSG will use their own back-to-back channel until the premises are secured. If it all goes pear-shaped, switch straight to Kilo Foxtrot’s radio link and call for support.”
Tyler turned to Susie. “This is DS Susie Sergeant. She might not be all that as an artist, but she is a cracking detective, and she’s the Case Officer for this investigation. All paperwork goes through her, and no one goes off duty until released by myself or one of the DIs. Right, I’ll hand you over to DI Dillon and DS Sergeant to go over the route we are all going to take to the venue, the way the vehicles will line up for the convoy, and what everyone is going to be doing when they get there. Thank you for your attention, and good luck everybody.”
◆◆◆
At 1 a.m. a six-vehicle convoy – two TSG carriers, two unmarked AMIP pool cars, one marked Immediate Response Vehicle and a marked station van left Arbour Square for the four-and-a-half-mile journey across East London to the squat in Vicarage Lane.
They travelled on blue lights, with the unmarked cars sandwiched between the carriers and the IRV. Turning left into Commercial Road, they headed for the Limehouse Link Tunnel, their route taking them through some of the City’s less salubrious areas. Emerging from the tunnel, they sped along West India Dock Road and Aspen Way, taking the exit for the Royal Docks and City Airport. Cutting onto the A13, they continued to make good progress, ignoring the flashing speed cameras, and took the A1011 exit for Stratford and Canning Town.
They drove along Plaistow New Road until the junction with Densham Road came into sight. At that point, the convoy killed their blue lights and pulled over against the nearside kerb as had been agreed before they set off.
Dillon was travelling in the first pool car with Tyler and Susie Sergeant. While Tyler got out to have a final word with the TSG skippers, Brent and Beach, he used the time to ring George Copeland, who was with Kelly Flowers in the car that Susie had dispatched down to the scene earlier to cover the other end of Vicarage Lane.
“George,” he said as soon as the Yorkshireman’s bored voice answered, “we’re almost with you. Can you and Kelly relocate to outside the house in Evesham Road that backs onto the target address, just in case there are any runners.”
“We can, but I’m no Linford Christie, so you might want to send someone else. Otherwise, I’ll probably be lagging way behind Kelly if anyone has it on their toes.”
Dillon grinned as he imagined the comical sight of the overweight exhibit officer trying – and failing – to climb over garden fences in pursuit of a fleeing suspect. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m sending an IRV around to back you up. They can do all the footwork if it’s required.”
Copeland sounded relieved. “In that case, as soon as it joins us, we’ll move into position. I’ll call you back once we’re set up. Make sure the TSG doesn’t go in until we say so, just in case we have any problems working out where we need to be.”
He terminated the call and dialled the number he had for Paul Evans. “Taff, Dillon here. We’re just around the corner in Densham road. Any sign of movement out the front?”
“No, quiet as the grave here,” Evans replied. “Three white females came out about half an hour ago, and there’s been no other activity since.”
“Are you sure Marley wasn’t amongst them?”
“Absolutely positive.”
“Silly question, but do you reckon the three who left were hookers?
Evans laughed. “Well, they were all dressed as you’d expect prostitutes going out to work on a cold winter’s night would be: low cut blouses under flimsy jackets, short skirts, fishnet stockings and suspenders, high heels. Poor cows will end up with frostbite in their nether regions if they’re not careful.”
Dillon heard Jarvis chuckle in the background. “You can laugh, young Dick,” Evans scolded him playfully, “but it can’t be pleasant having hyperthermia of the muff.” That only creased Jarvis up more.
“Never mind their frozen fannies,” Dillon snapped, attracting a puzzled look from Susie, “how many people do you think there are inside?”
“At least seven, possibly eight. There’s Marley and whoever let her in – that could have been one of the three girls we saw leave or someone else entirely – and there’s also the two hookers and four punters who arrived after her. When you rang to say you were setting off from Arbour Square, Dick took a stroll past the address to see if there were any signs of life inside.”
“And…?”
“There was loud music playing inside, along with some raucous singing. Dick thought it sounded as though they were having a bit of a party.”
“Okay mate, I’ll let the TSG know. We’re going to be working off their back-to-back channel so you’ll need to change to that.” He gave Evans the frequency and rang off.
“So,” Susie quizzed him, “who’s got a frozen fanny?”
Dillon grinned. “You’ll have to ask Paul Evans, I’m far too shy to discuss such things.”
Susie snorted, derisively. “Shameless, yes. But shy? Definitely not.”
“It’s the new, sensitive me,” he told her, and before she could ridicule him, he nipped out to join in the little huddle outside the lead carrier, where Jack was still talking to the TSG skippers.
“Guys, I just spoke to the DC who has eyeball on the address. All quiet in the street outside, but it sounds like a bit of a party going on inside the squat.”
“Any idea how many are inside?” Beach asked.
“They reckon at least seven or eight,” Dillon said.
“Is that going to be a problem?” Jack asked.
Beach shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Have you had enough time to let the two units you’ve already got on plot know we’re about to effect entry?”
Dillon nodded. “They’ve been updated, they’re now
