Crime Scene Investigator (15 page)

Having examined many suspects for FDRs in the past, I was very familiar with the procedure. The Metropolitan Police Forensic Science Laboratory provided a special swabbing kit for the purpose. The kit was made under specific conditions to ensure that its contents were free from contamination before it was released for use. Its batch and history were monitored. When used, the procedure started with the operator (such as me) obtaining control samples from the room in which the examination was taking place and also from my own hands. Again this was to check and ensure that there was no contamination from the sampling process.

Only once this was done would I then put on a pair of gloves from within the kit and swab, with small sticky pre-labelled tabs, the fingers, back of hands and the face of the suspect. I would then comb the hair of the suspect for residues, using a comb with lint-filled moistened teeth designed for the purpose. The combing was also suitable for fibres and glass examination should that also be required later.

Having completed each swabbing, the items were placed back in the sample tubes, an examination information sheet filled in and all the items, including the sheet, placed in the single bag provided for the purpose which I labelled and sealed. It was marked my Exhibit PFM/1. It was the only exhibit I personally took. I ensured it was entered on the suspect’s custody record and placed with the property seized from him.

Having completed my examination and notes, I left the arresting detective officer present to recover the suspect’s clothing.

It was over a year later that I was called to give evidence at the trial of the suspect and his co-defendants at the Central Criminal Court at the Old Bailey in the City of London.

I probably sat outside the court for a couple of hours, but by then I was an old hand, and, like other expert witnesses, I was only called to the court once my turn was imminent.

The case was obviously being fiercely contested by the defence team. This was evident from the fact that no detectives were allowed in court, with the exception of the exhibits officers in the case (a detective constable from the Barnes office), who was needed to find exhibits when they were called for. The absence of the officer in the case (the leading investigator) was bound to hamper the progress of the case from an investigation point from view but indicated mistrust of the police by the defence.

The court usher called my name and I entered the courtroom, it was one of the newer larger rooms. The witness box was a few paces inside the door with the judge immediately to my left and the jury further left still. A row of lead barristers, one prosecutor and one for each of the defendants, sat in line, with a similar row of junior counsel behind. Then behind them were all the defendants (including the one I had examined) flanked by prison officers.

The fact that I had only taken one exhibit, the swabs for suspected FDRs, during the examination of the suspect did not necessarily mean that my time in the witness box was to be quick, straightforward and painless.

However, it was – so much so that I have little memory of it. I explained what I had done and I identified my exhibit PFM/1 when it was presented to me. What I do remember is the cross-examination by the lead counsel representing the defendant I had examined. He, I was later to find out, was the son of a leading politician and member of the House of Lords.

Defence counsel’s opening remarks to me were unusual. He stated that there were no allegations about my conduct during the investigation. This rather took me aback. That’s very kind of you, I thought. He went on to say that his client had never fired a weapon and that he wanted me to explain how I had sealed the item before I passed it on. From bitter experience in other cases over the last two or so years I then knew I was in for a day or so in the witness box, arguing about when I had sealed the item, whether it had been interfered with and even if it was still in the same bag.

I seized the moment.

I had already had the opportunity to look at the exhibit when presenting my evidence in chief. Before identifying it to the court, I had ensured that it bore all the hallmarks of my original exhibit: the exhibit number, signature, signature seal, date, time, place, suspect’s name and my report number. They were all there. There was no doubt that this was my original exhibit. I had also noticed the single opening and resealing with the signature and name of Dr Geoff Warman of the Metropolitan Police Forensic Science Laboratory. I had many dealings with Geoff and his colleagues, where he was a senior scientist and expert in FDRs. It was apparent to me (although not my evidence) that Geoff had examined the item at the laboratory before resealing it at the end of his examination.

As counsel spoke, I interrupted him and asked His Lordship if I could once again look at my exhibit PFM/1.

It is dangerous to appear clever when giving evidence, but experience and certainly exposure to the way of the courtroom can give you some confidence. I had no wish to stand in the witness box for a day whilst counsel wove a web of doubt about the origin and integrity of my exhibit, because I was sure of certain facts.

Holding the item in front of me I explained that the item bore the name of the suspect, my exhibit number and signature, the date and time it was sealed and also my signature seal. I observed that it contained one opening for which I could not account but also that I noticed the seal and signature across that opening of Dr Warman, who, if asked, might be able to throw light on that subject. I went on to state that when the item left my possession it was sealed and had it been received in any condition other than sealed I would expect the scientist who was asked to examine it to reject it for fear of contamination.

I closed with the statement that if, as counsel was suggesting, someone had interfered with the item after I took the swabs, contaminating or planting FDRs, it would have had to have taken place before I sealed the item at 16.47 as recorded on the item and in my notes on the day in question. I would have had to have been a party to any act of contamination or planting and I was not.

Shocked by my words, counsel said, ‘And that is your answer?’ ‘It is, My Lord,’ I replied. Counsel sat down with a stunned slump.

His Lordship thanked me and I was released from giving further evidence. The court rose for lunch and I walked out of court pretty pleased that I had avoided a prolonged time in the witness box. I was pursued from the court by DC Regan, a real-life namesake of that fictional Flying Squad detective, who was the exhibits officer in the case and the only officer allowed in the court. He had witnessed the whole (but I was pleased to say short) episode and he gleefully and vigorously shook my hand.

I made my way back to the office. ‘Sorted,’ I could hear the fictional Jack Regan say.

The lifeless body of Stephen Reynolds was found at 30 Victoria Buildings, lying in a pool of blood. He had been shot through the head. There were no witnesses to the event and he would have remained undiscovered for much longer had the anonymous call not been made to the emergency services.

The post-mortem examination revealed that he had been drinking and that he had been killed by a single bullet as he lay in bed.

The investigation into his murder was being led by the local detective chief inspector at Bethnal Green Police Station. Most murders at the time were transferred to the Major Investigation Team at Division Headquarters, but such was their workload that they could not take this case, although it clearly fell into their category: difficult to solve cases. The DCI had only a small team drawn from the CID office. Their enquiries revealed that Stephen had a criminal record. Mainly petty crimes in his youth but now in his early twenties he had graduated to armed robbery. He had a conviction for driving a getaway car. He was a wheelman.

Keith Verrals received the call at the Flying Squad office. The DCI wanted to know if we had anything on Reynolds or had any interest in him. We hadn’t, but the circumstances interested Keith and so he asked me to go with him to the incident room at Bethnal Green to have a look at the case.

Keith was a thorough and meticulous detective. A detective constable then, tall and generally a quiet man, he didn’t fit the image of flamboyant, confident lads that typified many of his Flying Squad peers, but he towered above many in his ability, commitment, hard work and success.

Whenever a call came in to a robbery in progress somewhere in north-east London he would be prepared to respond. He and his sergeant, Steve Waller, were a cool but committed team. Getting involved was their lifeblood. No only for solving the immediate crime but gathering intelligence and a database of knowledge about the ever-changing profile of the robberies on our patch and who was committing them.

Keith and I arrived at Bethnal Green, an old Victorian-built police station in London’s East End. The building had long outlived its usefulness with its winding corridors and tiny staircases which would be worthy of a theme park maze. Trudging around the building with bags and armfuls of exhibits was a nightmare.

The CID office was a new addition to the building, a largescale refurbished loft conversion. Quite airy, once you had found your way all the way to the top of the building.

We sat in on a briefing. There were no more than six or seven of us, including Keith and me. I was a little appalled at the size of the investigation team, given the amount of work needed to solve the crime.

The circumstances of the crime were a little unusual. Stephen was a single man, with a criminal history, living alone, well known in local pubs, in fact very well known. He liked a drink. Unemployed, and on state benefit, his only interests were drinking and cars. His pride and joy was a slightly old but special edition Ford. It was a lad’s car. His flat was on the second floor of a block of flats built nearly a hundred years before, the front door opening on to the exposed walkway.

We listened to what was known about the case. There was no apparent motive but, of course, there was that strange call to the emergency services alerting them to the scene. Who was the caller? Were they the last person to see him alive? Were they his killer? The call transcript was short, the voice was male. The original phone call was made from a pay phone a few miles away.

Keith had an intuition about this guy and so we decided to have a closer look. I knew with Keith we were not wasting our time. If you don’t look you don’t find. We decided to visit the scene and then we would look through all the items recovered during the investigations. First of all we reviewed the scene photographs so that we could relate the scene as it was now, some days later, to the day his body was found.

There had been no forced entry, so either the front door was open, or his killer had been let in by Stephen or had a key. The flat was relatively tidy, as tidy as you could expect a flat occupied by single man living in such circumstances to be. There was no sign of any struggle.

Stephen’s Ford was parked outside the block of flats where he lived. Locked and secure.

Looking through the exhibits register and inspecting the sealed items through their bags revealed a few interesting thoughts.

Stephen’s front door key was amongst the items recovered from the scene, but no key to his car. Checks revealed that no Ford car key was found. Those who knew him had already told investigators that his car was his prized possession and he wouldn’t let anyone else drive it. What had been found in his flat was a key to another car. A key to a Volkswagen, and the key was very new. There was no car in the immediate vicinity of the scene which the key fitted and none of his friends or neighbours had seen him with a VW.

This made my and Keith’s ears immediately prick up. We had an interest in VW cars. For the past two months we had seen a series of armed robberies on Post Office security vans. In fact there were two series, which we had thought were one, until a clear pattern emerged which allowed us to separate them.

Both series were attacks by masked men armed with an assortment of handguns and shotguns on Post Office security vans as they delivered or picked up cash at small Post Offices dotted around the East End.

The first team used Ford Sierra cars; all stolen and displaying false number plates so as not to appear stolen. It was only as the series developed that I realised that the plates to each successive recovered car had been reattached with identical-looking screws. The original plastic screws had been discarded in favour of metal screws that I recovered on each car. I had examined most, if not all, of the stolen cars over the past weeks and there was no doubt in my mind that they were linked by this trait of this team.

The second team, also targeting Post Office vans at the same time and in the same geographic area, used VW cars. They also false-plated their getaway cars to hide their true identity. This time the new number plates were each attached with three strips of double-sided rubber tape. Once again, I had examined most or all of the cars at length and a distinct pattern had emerged.

It was only when the two series were compared side by side that we could clearly differentiate between the two teams. The determining factors were the cars they used, Ford Sierra or VW Golf, and how they reattached the false plates, metal screws or tape.