Authors: Douglas Stewart
Brighton & Hove, Sussex, England
Despite Ratso’s protests, Dr Hudson would not release him for two days and even then he was reluctant. Around noon on 27 December, Ratso was driven along the seafront in an unmarked Sussex Constabulary vehicle. The Christmas decorations now looked sad and redundant, swinging and swaying in the rain-flecked north-easterly wind.
After two days cooped up, he had asked the driver to take the scenic route along the Prom so he could rekindle some old memories and enjoy the power of the sea. The skies were dark with low clouds scudding not far above the water. The restlessly leaden look of the Channel’s swell was brightened only by the froth and foam of the crashing waves as they broke around the pier and onto the shore.
Both the ACC and Chief Inspector Uden had visited with booze and fruit and Longman had given him a potted history of England’s glorious day in the field in the Melbourne Test but that was a poor second to actually seeing the Aussies get a pasting in their own backyard. A rerun of an old Bond movie was no recompense.
The pier now behind him, Ratso’s thoughts turned to when he had been twenty-two and had spent the weekend in a small hotel on Regency Square with a raven-haired nympho from Dagenham. She had pillioned as they sped down the A23 on his 250cc Honda Rebel. The Aurora Hotel was still standing but to his disappointment, it was currently obscured by scaffolding blighting its frontage, blurring the memories. Then the driver turned into the residential hinterland as Ratso flicked through Cricinfo to check the Close of Play score for the second day. Overnight, England had piled on the runs, He was still smiling when the driver parked up in the spacious yard of Rudi Tare’s home.
In contrast to the eerie darkness of Christmas Eve, this morning the yard had five cars in it, all neatly parked. A constable guarded the gate. Men in white outfits could be seen moving around inside the property. Tosh Watson appeared at the door, looking as if he had eaten more than a few Christmas puddings. Ratso got out of the vehicle, his movements slow and stiff.
“You look happy, Tosh! Found a burger under the sofa, did you?”
“Just glad to have you back, boss.” For a moment their eyes met and Ratso felt the sincerity in his sergeant’s words. As they headed very slowly toward the portico over the front door, Jock emerged, looking about as pleased as his crumpled face would permit.
“Fancy a cuppa, boss,” he offered. “The kettle’s on.” A few minutes later, the three men were seated on tubular steel chairs round the glass-topped kitchen table, mugs of tea to hand.
“How aboot this, boss.” Jock gave Ratso a list running into three pages of his spidery writing.
Ratso flicked through it. “Two cars worth over twenty-five grand each. Over ninety thousand in cash.” He rubbed his hands. “We can confiscate all that under the Proceeds of Crime Act. That I like!” He nodded with satisfaction. “Three handguns, a shotgun, a semi-automatic rifle, ammunition, a nine-inch Bowie knife, eighteen kilos of presumed cannabis, four sets of digital scales, sixty-two small bags of coke, cutting and packing equipment, amphetamines, Ecstasy, Poppers, Speed, thirteen pay-as-you-go phones, a laptop, two Blackberries and a radio scanner.”
“Tuned in to police bands,” volunteered Tosh.” But boss we want to hear about arresting Rudi Tare—Wensley Hughes called your plan a masterstroke. Give.”
Ratso allowed himself a nod of satisfaction as he changed position, switching from one buttock to the other, his stomach, leg and thighs aching. Being back in Rudi Tare’s kitchen was kick-starting a flood of memories. “Not being caught in a shoot-out between the gangs was a must.”
“But ye had to comply with Osman.” Jock added with a nod.
Ratso marshalled his memories starting with the evening he had shared shepherd’s pie with Uden. “Get this—I remembered a Reg Uden who had played in goal for Fulham. Amazingly, it had been Uden’s old man. Of course, that changed everything! Before then, Uden had been tolerating me just because of Longman but this was a clincher. Sport’s a great glue.”
“Lucky, muttered Tosh.
Ratso did not retort that his memory of a Fulham player twenty-seven seasons back was more than luck. “With a detective constable from the TFU, we went over to Flinders. There were no security gates. I guess they would have stood out in even in this neighbourhood.”
“And the place was only rented,” Jock chipped in.
“Interestingly, parked on the drive were a Lexus saloon and a Lexus 4x4—yet there was a double garage. So anyway, I chucked a handful of gravel into the front-drive. The security lights came on immediately, flooding the courtyard from at least five different locations. We hoofed it behind a privet hedge of the house opposite. This big guy appeared with a Doberman and a hefty metal bar. He called the dog Bonzo. You can imagine—that sod was straining on its leash but they toured the drive only half-heartedly.”
“Aye, they’ll be plenty of false alarms with stray cats.”
“And urban foxes,” Ratso agreed. “After he went back inside, the lights soon went out. I wanted to test the trips so I clambered over the low wall surrounding Flinders and skulked around among the thick shrubs and trees that surrounded the place.”
“Needed brown trousers for that, eh boss.”
Ratso grinned before continuing. “The DC was a trained marksman. But anyway I never triggered the sensors. That was the clincher and so over a couple of jars at my hotel, we completed my plan, much of the time taken up with how to neutralise Bonzo.”
“Know what’s black and brown and looks good on a lawyer?” Jock waited, taking a slurp of tea while he watched. “A Doberman.”
After the chuckles died away, Ratso turned serious again. “We arrived at Flinders long before dawn on Christmas Eve.”
“So ye mean aboot sixteen hours before the Hogan mob were due.”
Ratso nodded. “Danny Hogan would have still been snoring off the previous night’s booze.” His injuries were troubling him, so he stood to pace the room. “The TFU guys had shoot to kill orders and Uden had fixed a trained handler with a fire extinguisher, a long pole and lasso. Besides that we had the full works in support. The TFU team hid in the shrubs. I was with Uden near the front door. Nothing happened till 7:15 a.m. when a light appeared in the hall followed by another at the back. I guessed someone was now in the kitchen.”
—
Jock poured more strong brown tea and then clasped his hands behind his head. “Go on. I’m with ye.”
“Uden radioed Tom Alleyne, a young West Indian detective constable to enter the drive. Dressed like a yob in a black hoodie, his task was to trigger the sensors and set off the 4x4’s alarm.”
“Brave lad,” murmured Jock.
“All hell broke loose. The yard was immediately flooded with light. As he rocked the 4x4, its alarm started blaring and its lights were flashing.”
“You weren’t padded up?”
“None of us were except Alleyne. The door opened seconds later. I was bloody terrified when Bonzo appeared, snarling. The guard had his iron bar but only the dog bothered me. As planned, Alleyne then broke cover from behind the Lexus. Just as well he did or that Doberman might have sniffed out me and Uden just a few leaps away. Alleyne ran like hell for the gate, looking just like a car thief in his hoodie. Both dog and handler hurtled across the drive to catch him, Bonzo now unleashed.”
“Uden gave the order over the two-way—all units from Silver. Attack, attack! Three of Uden’s men then cut off the thug from returning to the house as Uden and I raced to the front-door—all behind the thug’s back.”
“Did Alleyne make it okay?” Tosh finished his Snicker and stuffed the wrapper into his North Face jacket.
“I didn’t see much after my sprint to the house. The last I saw was Alleyne a few steps in front of the dog and running like …
“Like he had 40 kilos of snarling dog chasing him,” laughed Jock.
“With shouting now from all sides, I saw the minder falter, It was only then that he looked round and saw he was surrounded. As I slipped inside, he was flailing his iron bar at the cordon. So Uden and I were into the hallway. Stinking dump too for a posh place like that. A tousle-headed man, unshaven and aged around forty was coming down the stairs. He was unarmed and wearing a navy singlet over boxers and mauve silk dressing gown that flapped open at the front. Uden warned he was armed and let the guy come down one step at a time. Outside I could hear shouting, barking, screaming and then a single shot. The noise died and I assumed Bonzo had been silenced but who might have screamed or why I didn’t know.”
“So what had happened?”
“I had no time to be concerned for young Alleyne.”
“Sounds a bit harsh,” It was Tosh who chipped in,
Ratso shook his head. “We had to be gone by 8:45 a.m. latest. Flinders had to look undisturbed. Remember, it was your snout who said the Hogans were monitoring the place each day starting at nine. We had a shit load of stuff to do before then.” Ratso saw the nods of understanding and continued. “That’s why we planned to get the minder and dog into the yard. We needed to walk into an open house. No siege, No doors smashed down.” Ratso sat down again and saw the listeners were impressed.
“So then you had to search.”
“I started in the garage while Uden had the guy cuffed. He admitted his name was Rudi Tare of course.” Ratso laughed as he changed position. “I was bursting to tell him I’d just done him the biggest favour of his life.”
“Aye, the Hogans widna’ have been so gentle.”
“What about the neighbours—all dialling 999 or calling the local TV crews?”
“All fixed. Total news blackout till Christmas Day. No media allowed in the area, neighbours all being reassured.” Ratso led them out to the garage, With each step, he could relive the heart-pounding excitement as he had started his search. Now the place was pretty much stripped. “That morning, like now, it felt bloody cold.” He found the light switch and everywhere was lit by powerful overhead lamps. “That morning, there was a long trestle table and two chairs. I spotted a box of five hundred small Ziploc bags, digital scales and a substantial polythene bag filled with powder for cutting with pure cocaine. There were traces of white powder on the table top and a cardboard box with fifty to sixty small filled bags, ready for sale.”
Tosh looked round the barren garage. “I heard there was a safe.”
“Right! The walls were lined with boxes, trash, holdalls and suitcases all randomly stacked. In that far corner were about ten rolls of carpet, almost reaching the flat roof. Hidden behind them was the safe. Around it was more white powder.”
“Big bugger was it?”
“I’ll say. If it had landed on your foot, Tosh, you’d have had to give up ballet-dancing for keeps.”
“Och no, boss. He could still have been the Sugar Plum-Pudding Fairy, surely.”
Tosh joined in the laughter as Ratso continued. “And the safe had a sophisticated lock too. No way could we get into it quickly. But I wanted to leave everything for the Hogans. Seeing as how Danny’s boys’ brains would fit on a pinhead, we didn’t conceal it too well! That’s when Uden appeared—chuffed to hell when he saw the evidence to arrest Tare and the guard. That’s pretty much it—the Scenes of Crime boys swooped, photo’ing everything and we left Flinders looking undisturbed with nineteen minutes to spare. Sure enough someone did a drive-by at precisely 9 a.m. All serene.”
As he was talking, Ratso had been walking slowly back into the spacious kitchen. He downed a painkiller with the last of his tea. “I went outside to ask about Alleyne. The TFU had gone; so had the ambulance and back-up vehicles. Uden told me Alleyne had made it into the van. But he owed that to one of the lads who had intervened. Bonzo had leaped a couple of meters through the air at him and struck his shield, knocking him flying. Then it had tried to tear him apart while he was on the ground.”
“He’s okay I heard.”
“Uden reckoned he’d be fine till he lowered his bruised arse onto the bog-seat. Bonzo was shot. No choice. The handler couldn’t get the lasso round the dog’s head and couldn’t use the extinguisher while the dog was attacking the youngster. He reckoned it was like the Hound of the Baskervilles, snarling and dribbling.”
“So you and Uden became Sherlock and Watson, I suppose?” Jock’s raised eyebrow showed he expected no answer.
“With you as Watson,” chimed in Tosh—a comment which produced high-fives between the sergeants and a smile from Ratso.
“Better than being compared to a certain Tosh Watson, anyway.” This time Ratso and Jock exchanged high-fives to hoots of laughter.
Jock sliced into three and then pushed around slabs of Christmas Cake that he had brought wrapped in tinfoil. It had thick marzipan and a generous coating of white icing. Ratso took a bite with relish until for a second it reminded him of Charlene and the Christmas Day he had never had. And of the problems she presented. “Yeken we picked up Jerry Hogan. The little sod was about to do a runner. We nicked him with his bags all packed and tickets for Dublin.”
“Dublin, eh?” Ratso looked suitably pleased but Tosh seemed concerned, his hands restless.
“A quick thought before I take a leak, boss. If you were JF, wouldn’t you be shitting yourself now that we’ve nabbed Rudi Tare?”
“Dog’s dinner, isn’t it!” Ratso agreed as he scooped up the last crumbs before pulling out his Juicy Fruit gum. He offered it round, restlessly drumming his fingers on the table. “My take—JF must have read the papers or heard on TV about the raid.” He paused to assess the position, playing with the cheap biro he was holding. “You heard that Terry Fenwick’s brother is Adrian Julian Fenwick. If he is JF I’d bet he’s a cool one and won’t panic.”