Authors: Roger Forsdyke
The Perfect Crime (14 page)
Monday 11th March 1974
Early evening, Tittensor, a small village on the main A34 road between Stafford and Newcastle-under-Lyme. The postmaster had already locked up for the night and taken the safe keys upstairs to hide them in his usual place. His wife, Jean however, wanted some savings stamps for the schools savings group and insisted that he get them out of the safe. Grumbling, he retrieved the keys and unlocked the safe. After the stamps were been handed over, he locked up again, but hearing the news starting on ITV, went through and sat down.
They went to bed at their usual time – shortly after 11 p.m. and did not wake until 6:15 the following morning, when the cat jumped up on the bed.
“What are you doing up here, puss?” Jean said, shaking her husband awake. “Didn’t you shut him in the kitchen like usual?”
“Of course I did.”
“Well what’s he doing up here?”
There was growing publicity about the post office raids, both in the news and in the Post Office’s own internal publications, not to mention the £5,000 reward offered following the murder of Donald Skepper. The postmaster leapt out of bed and ran downstairs. His wife knew something was wrong. There was an odd quality to the silence that followed.
A few moments later he bellowed, “Jean!”
Cautiously, she put on her slippers and dressing gown and went downstairs to join her husband. The side window was partly open. The jars that usually stood on the windowsill were outside in a neat row on the ground. In the post office, all the drawers were open and the steel safe empty. The contents had been removed and trays and folders were stacked neatly on the table in the toilet. They saw three holes bored through the window frame. Frantically, they started checking everything left behind by the thief.
“Oh, Jean – more than £1000 cash, nearly £2000 in postal orders. I reckon it must be over £4000 altogether. What are we going to do?”
“Call the police, that’s what.”
“I already have.”
“That’s all right then.”
“All right, what’s all right about it? We’ve lost all that money. It’s your fault, making me open the safe last night, after I’d already locked up. I must have left the keys downstairs.”
She frowned. “Remember that poor man in Harrogate?”
“What poor man?”
“That other postmaster, Mr Skepper.”
“What about him?”
“This was the same thief, I’d bet a week’s wages. If you hadn’t left the keys downstairs he would have come looking for them. If he’d come upstairs…” She shuddered. “It doesn’t bear thinking about.”
He thought about it anyway. Their ten year old son’s bedroom would have been the first the raider came to. He too, felt as though someone was walking over his grave. “Well, I don’t suppose…”
“We might have been hurt, you could have been shot, the same way.”
“Harrogate’s miles away,” he blustered, “I don’t suppose for one minute…”
“I could be sitting here, this morning, a widow.”
“Oh, come on.”
She fixed him with that look of hers. “You really don’t get it, do you. Last night I saved your life. All our lives.”
Groat started to organise the great extrication.
He phoned Ted. “Got a job for you.”
“But I’m working on this project for Commander Morrison.”
“Not exactly full time, is it?”
“No, but…”
“Well get your arse over here. It’s a good one.”
“I can’t just up and leave.”
“I’ve already cleared it with your DCI. It’ll only take a few days.”
“Well, what…”
“Can’t talk about it on the phone – very hush hush and all that.”
Later that afternoon, over a pint in an establishment not usually frequented by the old bill, Groat briefed his old friend and colleague. After Ted exclaimed, “Bloody hell!” For about the fiftieth time, he continued, “I don’t know how you get them. Where did you find this? I mean, where did you get the information? And how did Mr Van Lesseps get involved?”
Groat tapped the side of his nose, raised his eyebrows. “And who got promoted DCI to get the job done?”
“You always were a jammy sod. Well, you needn’t expect
me
to call you bloody sir.”
“Just ‘sir’ would be nice.” Groat grinned ferociously.
Ted drained his glass. “So what’s the plan?”
Groat was torn between making the sting last as long as possible and getting it over as soon as he could. If he dragged it out a bit, he could be a detective chief inspector a little longer and continue the rare treat of being called ‘Guv’ by the troops and ‘Sir’ by the woodentops. It also meant that he could delay relinquishing the delights of Olivia’s company for a little longer. On the other hand, he did not want the DAC to think he was taking advantage and needed a glowing report to hasten his (hopefully imminent) permanent elevation to senior officer rank. They were ultimately driven by Olivia’s own timetable, so he would continue to associate with her long enough to establish who she was asking for what, and what the individual arrangements were to collect.
Groat was also discovering a little of how life was as a DCI. As a sergeant, particularly in the CID, one could have a foot in both camps. You could act as a senior DC most of the time, as long as you were able to don the supervisory hat when necessary. You could still have a moan with the troops about life in the job, the management (or more often complete lack thereof) and most of all, the crass decisions made by the hierarchy. This was a luxury not afforded to the inspecting ranks. Another Groat lesson. At least being only temporary he could really appreciate what a joy it was to have a moan, when and if he reverted to being a sergeant, but it was worth knowing.
Forewarned
and
all
that
, he thought. Another benefit of being a lowly sergeant was that he could always go to the DI for guidance. Now, as the DCI – and especially in his present position – there was nobody to refer to, especially on the day-to-day. He could hardly trouble the DAC on such trifles as who to submit his expenses through, or who was to authorise annual leave. He would have to think for himself.
Paradoxically, Groat tended to shine in circumstances like these. It was only when there was time to think about matters, that he would cock up big style. The trouble started when Ted asked him about his plan. That set him thinking. Everything would have been so simple if only Olivia would have listened to him. They would know when she sent out the blackmail demands, as Groat would be in on it up to then. They could have arranged for observations to be kept and as soon as one or two of her gentlemen were seen going to the flat, they could have pounced and caught them together with the money. They would promise the victims anonymity and immunity from prosecution and that would have been job done. Olivia would be arrested and charged and all Groat would have to do, would be to ensure that details of all her gentlemen victims (especially Mr Van Lesseps) were quietly disappeared. When and if Olivia ever made any protestations about Groat’s part in the process, he could simply claim that it was all part of the plan. Now, because of her stupid cloak and dagger ideas and stone wall intransigence, they were faced with not knowing exactly when the demands were being made and when and where the drop points were to be.
Nightmare.
Not having anyone immediately (and readily contactable) senior to him, completely by accident, Groat discovered a revolutionary management technique. Instead of using rank as his yardstick (as was usual police practice) he would use knowledge and experience. In fact he only framed this as a concept some time later, after he consulted with Ted, because he was the only one there.
They chewed the matter over. One issue they agreed on, was that Groat must keep his relationship with Olivia ticking over as normally as possible, to achieve their objectives. One, so that they would know when the demands were sent out and two, crucially, when and where the drops were to be made. They wrangled and bickered about when best to blow the whistle and who should be co-opted to assist. Ted took the position that it would be safest if they pounced as soon as the demands were issued. His argument was that the offence was complete at that point, that it did not matter if it brought about the desired consequences. She would have made an unwarranted demand with menaces. Groat could not deny that technically he was correct, but pointed out a couple of weaknesses.
“What if the intended victim doesn’t react; doesn’t pay up? She could argue in court that it was only an attempt. What happens if the letter is not delivered? A slick lawyer would probably say that his client may have intended to make a demand, but because of the postal system, it was effectively never made. No offence – or at worst, a botched attempt.” He looked at Ted unhappily. “I do wish I had never started this.”
If
only
I
hadn’t
volunteered
for
those
stupid
house
to
house
enquiries
.
Ted looked puzzled. “How can you say that? It’s a wonderful idea and the boss is bound to promote you substantively afterwards – if it comes off.”
“Thanks, mate. Your confidence, as always, is boundless. No, the only course we can possibly take to ensure we get everything – and get the maximum conviction – is to show the court the full extent of the crime. Let it run its course and make sure we get all the cash and return it to the victims.”
Ted appeared horrified. “But it’s so risky.” He said, “Anything up to thirty odd locations and thousands and thousands of pounds. Remember the three Ps?”
Groat grimaced and closed his eyes in silent, excruciated remorse. Through gritted teeth he growled, “How could I forget.”
“Well, we’ve got all three here. A prostitute, loads of property – all that cash – and a prisoner. Triple chance of cocking the job up.”
Groat was adamant. He couldn’t say it to Ted, but the fact was that he could not run the risk of Olivia getting out in a few months, he needed her away for years. Blackmail carried a maximum of fourteen. That would be a result, but as a first time offender she wasn’t likely to get anywhere near that. Five or six would do. Then, if she did ever fling accusations he could laugh it off as all old stuff, fantasy, a deranged woman just bent on revenge. He would think of something if the time ever came. He did not dare allow himself to skate across the thin ice possibility of a not guilty verdict, that simply could not be allowed to happen.
“We’ve got to be careful, that’s all. We’ll get some troops in for a couple of nights, cover all the drops.”
He forced himself to sound as confident as possible, far more certain than he actually felt. After all, at some point he would have to sell it to the DAC.
In his trouser pockets, he crossed his fingers.
“Safe as houses. You’ll see.”
Not for a long time had Ted worked closely with Groat, but they quickly slipped into a routine and their respective roles and responsibilities seemed to complement each other perfectly. Ted was pleased to have his friend on hand to support and advise him on his project and Groat would not have been able to contemplate undertaking the sting, without someone who’s competence and discretion could be relied upon absolutely.
There was one development that was to surprise them. Results started to flood through from their CID course contacts around the country. Collators from many areas were reporting series upon series of house burglaries with specific and sometimes peculiar MOs. One collator in Nottinghamshire reported dozens of domestic burglaries over very short periods, where the offender would take a radio from each of the attacked premises which would then be abandoned nearby. The crimes then stopped completely, with no one ever being arrested or convicted. Collators from West Yorkshire reported house burglaries in their areas, Pudsey, Cleckheaton, Shelf and Shipley and others – always with the same characteristics. Some variation – for example, all the drawers pulled out, others where the place was trashed for little or no apparent reason – but always the common thread. Domestic burglaries, very specific MO, nothing but cash stolen, many committed over a short time period, followed by a sudden and complete cessation. None were ever detected. One collator commented, ‘The individual or individuals involved appear to be very forensically aware.’
By the time the reports slowed to a mere trickle again, they had amassed a tally of close on to four hundred offences.
“Think it’s our man?” Ted asked.
“Let’s see what Dee makes of it.” Groat replied, “She’ll have her work cut out with this little lot.”
*
Groat cudgelled his brain. How to find out where all the drops were to be made? He knew who all the victims were, as he had gathered information about them in the first place. One thought was to intercept the letters somehow, or go to each intended victim, tell them about the sting and ask them for sight of their demand. He did not much like that idea. It involved third parties, introduced unknowns and complications into the process and he recalled what the DAC said about heavy, high rollers involved. He would avoid them and their denials if at all possible.
The Groat luck held. He went to see Olivia that evening with a half formed idea of getting her out of the flat for a meal and so allowing Ted the time to gain entry and search for copies of the letters. He had borrowed a key a while back to have a duplicate made, so no problem there. The silly cow hadn’t even got a copy of her little black book, so what chance of copy letters?
He suggested a restaurant some ten minutes away.
“It’s a bit expensive – for you,” she demurred, “What’s the occasion? Anyway, won’t Gloria be suspicious?”
“One answer to both questions. Gloria has buggered off to her auntie’s for a few days. She’s away, so there’s your reason for celebration and no, obviously she won’t even know. I could even stay the night – if you’re not expecting a paying guest, of course.” He felt simultaneously jealous, bitter and disloyal as he said it.
If she sensed any hidden agenda Olivia didn’t show it. She smiled, “For you, anything. Few others could afford it.”
Groat was carrying a personal radio in his inside pocket, and would have to create an opportunity to call Ted and tell him that he was free to carry out their plan. As they went to leave the flat, Olivia picked up a thick pile of envelopes from the hall table.
“Can we stop somewhere and post these?” She raised her eyebrows and gave a conspiratorial grin.
One
of
the
prime
,
basic
qualities
required
of
a
good
police
officer
, Groat thought,
observation
skills
.
Nought
out
of
bleeding
ten
. How come he hadn’t seen them on the way in? He passed Olivia the keys to the Capri.
“You go, I’ll be down in a sec,” he said, “just got to pop to the loo.”
He waited until he could hear her high heels clacking down the external steps, dived back into the flat, closed the bathroom door just in case, switched on the PR. Told Ted to cancel, he’d thought of another way.
*
Groat was enjoying himself.
“How the hell?” Ted asked, looking at the pile of envelopes on the desk in front of him.
“Like candy from a baby.” Groat replied.
On their way out the previous evening he’d volunteered to post the letters. He parked up a short distance from the post box, on the opposite side of the road and whilst pretending to post them, secreted the lot in his inside pocket. He even managed a wave to her as he was accomplishing his sleight of hand. Mind you, with his Burndept personal radio in one inside pocket and twenty eight blackmail letters in the other, he’d felt a bit like a pumped up body builder.
“No, go on,” Ted pleaded, “how did you get them?”
Groat tapped the side of his nose, “Need to know basis,” he said, “and you do not need to know.”
They opened each letter and having carefully noted the requested drop point, time and date against each victim’s name, placed each letter in a newly addressed envelope. In spite of his previous denigration of her qualities (apart from bedroom skills, of course) Groat now admitted that her organisational and logistical abilities were not as lacking as he previously thought.
*
The first drops were to be made in three days’ time.
They arranged the manpower to watch all the drop sites. He told Ted that he would have to be in charge of this phase of the operation, he could be seen nowhere near it, even less anywhere near Olivia. He saw the DAC and apprised him of the plan. The DAC saw what was to be achieved and it was good.
All systems go.
*
For the next two days, Bonehead watched Groat assiduously, noting every movement. On the evening of the second day, he witnessed him visit Olivia again. He was confident, as Groat was – but for totally, diametrically different reasons – that this was to be his one last time.
Game on.
