That Will Do Nicely (20 page)

"I see the problem Inspector. How can I help?"

"I was with Mr. Wilson at the American Express office this morning and he says you might well keep the cheques a week or so before sending them through to the States."

"That's quite right, we clear our che
ques weekly, on a Friday afternoon."

"So by now, those che
ques are already in New York?"

"Quite so, Inspector. If you tell me what you wanted from them, I'll try to help."

"I don't really see how you can, Sir, if you've already sent them to New York."

"There's no mystery to it. It's quite simple really, we microfilm the che
ques before we get rid of them."

"All of them."

"That's right. We've a department that does nothing else."

"What I need from you,
Sir, is a list of the numbers of American Express cheques which you processed last week. If it's any help at all, we're probably only looking for the $100 cheques."

"We'll have that information all on tape. I'll get a copy of it sent down to you."

"Could you manage the microfilm as well, Sir?"

"I suppose I could, but you'll have to wait a day or so for that. I'll get onto the office straight away and have someone put the tape on the earliest train for you. Where shall I send it?"

"Just have it marked for my attention, Sir, care of New Scotland Yard. Thanks for your co-operation, Sir. I'm obliged."

"We seem to be making some progress at last chief," commented Pat.

"I hope so. I certainly hope so. You'd better get onto the Yard and explain what equipment we will need to read the tape and have a word with their boffins to see if somehow we can program all the numbers of the cheques we have into their infernal machine, to cross match with the numbers on the tape."

"How am I supposed to know about those sorts of things?"

"Resources, Pat. Use your resources. You'll have to if you want to move any further up the career ladder. I'll leave you to it and I'll be in the canteen when you've got something for me."

It was well past eight in the evening when the package arrived at St. Pancras Station. Heath had to pick it up himself as his chief had long since gone home.

For Roberts, the next morning started routinely enough, having to skimp his breakfast when Heath called for him a little after eight o'clock, at his Chelsea flat.

"What's so damn important that couldn't wait another couple of hours?" Roberts shouted at his Sergeant, "I didn't get to bed 'til the early hours."

"I got a call from the office saying the Yard's back-room boys had some news for us on the travelers' cheques. I assumed you'd want to know."

"O.K. only do me a
favor and put the coffee on while I take a shower. You know where everything is," said Roberts, pointing in the direction of the kitchen.

"One coffee - black, no sugar." Heath announced, placing the steaming mug of coffee on the breakfast bar. Roberts appeared, towelling himself down,
and grunted his thanks. As soon as he had dressed they made their way to the newly set up Cheque Fraud Department of the Serious Crimes Squad. They were welcomed by Inspector Duncan Forbes, with whom they had worked on a couple of previous occasions. Forbes was one of the new breed of cops. He had not only graduated through the Hendon Police College, but had also picked up a B.Sc. degree at Glasgow University on the way. The Metropolitan Police couldn't afford too many of this new type of copper and so made up in quality what it lacked in quantity.

"I believe you've got something for us on these che
que numbers Duncan?"

"Yes, we fed everyt
hing you gave us into Elsie and..."

"Elsie?" i
nterjected Roberts.

"Yes it's an acronym for our main frame computer."

"Good, I won't dare ask what it actually stands for and don't tell me."

"We gave the information to Elsie yesterday evening. Luck
ily we'd already got a program configured for comparing cheque numbers so it didn't take us as long as it might have done."

"What's the result?" a
sked Heath.

"I'd like to know as well," a
dded Roberts.

"Well it's a negative result really, probably not what you want at all."

"How negative?" inquired Roberts.

"There was no match in the two sets of numbers."

"There must have been. Those cheques have been paid out by American Express while I've been holding the actual cheques."

"I repeat, there was no match between any of them."

"Then bloody well check again."

"I already did, several times. The answer was the same each time."

"Perhaps it’s your computer up the spout."

"Don't be
silly, we run monitor programs all the time to look for glitches in the system - there's nothing wrong with Elsie."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"I think we have all the makings of an intriguing case. How did you first latch onto it?"

Roberts recounted the story as briefly as he could.

"As I see it, it could either be an inside or outside job. If it's being done on the inside, by someone in the Amex Corporation for example, then we'll never find them and they would be beyond our jurisdiction if we did. On the other hand, if it's external and being done in this country, it’s a different ball game."

"You mean we stand a chance of catching them."

"I doubt it. If they're shrewd enough to put this sort of crime together, they're shrewd enough not to wait around for the inevitable effluent to hit the fan. I expect they're long gone, however..."

"However?"

"However, I would like to know how they've done it. Call it professional pride. Did you give me all the cheques from the agency concerned for that time period?"

"No."

"Can you get the rest of them?"

"We'll see. Pat, you'd better get onto them in Leicester and ask them if we can have all the tapes covering that week and chase them up about the microfilms as well."

"Yes, Sir. Inspector Forbes, may I?" Heath pointed to the phone. Forbes gave his blessing for him to use it.

"What do you think Duncan?"

"What were those microfilms you mentioned?"

"Thomas Cook in Leicester, where these che
ques were credited, microfilm all the travelers’ cheques before they repatriate them to the issuing companies. They're sending down copies of everything they handled last week.., might be of some help."

"Yes it might be, but don't raise your hopes. It would take forever to look at the pictures of each che
que. We wouldn't even know what we were looking for, or would we?" It was obvious to Roberts that his colleague had just thought of something.

"What have you thought of?"

"Well, explained Forbes. “This whole game is played by numbers - the numbers in magnetic ink on the bottom of each cheque

They're sorted that way, automatically. They're identified that way within the system. Everything hinges on those numbers."

"What exactly are you getting at?"

"There was a case some time ago concerning the Westminster Bank in 1965. The Bank's client had an account at two different branches of the same bank. He was out of che
ques for the account  he wished to draw a cheques on, so he altered a cheque from the cheque book of his second account to the address of the first account. Subsequently, he countermanded the cheque, but it was passed by the computer which could only read the original magnetic cheque code and not the alterations he'd made in ordinary ink."

"What happened?"

"The court found in the client's favor and the bank had to pay. The court ruled that the method the bank chose to handle its transactions was of their own choosing and therefore their liability if anything went wrong."

"What has that got to do with our case?"

"Consider this. All the cheques we have so far discovered to have been submitted for payment twice, appear to come from American Express, yet no American Express cheques have been found to have the same numbers?"

"That's correct."

"If 'chummy' has in fact played around with the magnetic codes on some of the cheques, then we'll need to check all the T'c's for the last week from Thomas Cook. Not just the American Express ones. Shouldn't take long, once we've got the tapes."

Heath joined in the discussion.

"I've been onto them in Leicester and they tell me the micro film should already be in London and they'll put the other tapes on the train as soon as possible. I'll arrange for a messenger to pick them up."

     
A forensic challenge

They divided the contents of the microfilm packet between them and both Inspectors manned the machines, leaving Heath to peruse the list of cheque numbers. It was soon obvious to everyone that Forbes was outstripping the work-rate of Roberts by a generous margin and when Forbes asked what the problem was, Roberts immediately changed over with Heath on the machine, blaming his lack of speed on his maturing eyesight.

"You're either getting old or going blind, chief," joked Heath, trying to placate his boss.

"Just shut up lad and bloody well get on with it. You'll get to my age one day, if you live that long."

"You're sure it's not caused by a lack of female company?" Heath quipped light-heartedly.

"Are you calling me a wanker, son?"

"Well they say it makes you go blind. Matter of deduction I suppose."

"The only bloody deducing I want you to do right now is with those cheques. Get a bloody move on. I've things planned for today, other than studying the inside of this godforsaken hole." Heath knew his chief well enough to take the hint and went quietly back to his task.

They had been peering at the dim blue screens of the micro-film readers for nearly an hour, jiggling the negative platforms up, down and sideways to give them sight of the different sets of che
ques, when Heath found what they were looking for.

"Got one." He mumbled to himself, then louder, to the others, "I think I've found one,
Sir!" He slid off his bench stool and moved out of the way for Forbes to take a look.

"You could be right. I'll make a copy of it." He pressed the switch at the side of the machine. Soon a hot, slightly warped paper copy of the screen emerged from at slot at the side. Forbes laid the paper on the desk where they could all see it.

"Have you got your list with the numbers?" he asked Roberts and when Roberts replied that he had, started reeling off the cheque numbers. Each number he spoke was verified on the list by Roberts. They need look no further. Each cheque had been issued by the 'Second National City Bank of Dallas'. Now they knew what to look for they adjourned to the canteen to discuss their next moves.

"Any ideas on what to do now?" Roberts asked Forbes.

"It's still a little tricky. We don't really know if the cheques are genuine or not. We'll have to refer to the Americans - their Treasury Department I think - they're bound to have a representative at the Embassy. I'll leave that side of it up to you," he said, looking at Roberts." Meanwhile, I think we should inform American Express and Thomas Cook and all the bureaux-de-change. Tell them to withhold payment on any further examples of these cheques and inform the clearing banks as well. I'll start the enquiries in the States; they'll just be getting up to start the day. Let's meet this afternoon at four for a situation report and take it from there."

"Change of plans Pat," said Roberts as they walked to the car. "I'll go back to the nick and brief everybody on what we've got here and then I'll go and see the Americans at the Embassy. You keep the car and make your way around the major clearing banks. I'll handle Thomas Cook and American Express from the office."

"You're the boss," said Heath, remembering that at least he had the car to himself. Usually he would have been the one left to take public transport.

They each went their separate ways. It took Roberts the best part of an hour to
organize any sort of briefing for the rest of his colleagues at the station and he used the interim period to make the necessary phone calls. The meeting was short and very much to the point. The duty sergeant called the assembled officers together.

"Good morning, ladies, gentlemen and others," started Roberts in his briefing of the assembled officers at Marlborough Street station. A slight ripple of laughter spread through the ranks. "I've just come from the Che
que Fraud Squad at the Yard. It seems that one of our routine arrests the other day has led to something much larger - possibly forged American dollar Travelers' Cheques. I do not intend to go into great detail at this moment, as until our enquiries with our American cousins are complete, we won't know whether we are concerned with forgery, or something altogether different. However, I don't intend to sit by and do nothing until we have that information. So this is what we are looking for." Roberts held up one of the photographic blow-ups of the Dallasbank cheques. "$100 Travelers’ Cheques, drawn on the Second National City Bank of Dallas. Now, so far, we know that more than 60 of these have made their nefarious way through to the Thomas Cook organization. Doubtless, there are similar numbers involved at each of the clearing banks. I want each of you to visit any banks and Bureaux de Change on your beats and ask them to notify their staff that we want to know if any of these cheques are presented for encashment. I've a feeling about this one and I think we might be lucky and get a result. The villains, if there are any, are probably unaware that we're onto them. Any questions?"

"Who's collating the information,
Sir."

"Anything you find you bring to me or Detective Sergeant Heath. We are liaising with the Che
que Fraud Squad on this operation and that means you tell them nothing until you have told me first. I will be the one to tell them of any breaks we get. This one is down to us. I started it and God willing, I'll finish it. There's no good reason to give the glory to anyone else. Clear? Right, off you go!"

The briefing room cleared, except for Roberts who was tidying up his papers and a young P.C who had remained behind. The constable waited until he caught Robert's eye, before approaching him.

"Yes, son? what is it? spit it out." Roberts questioned the young officer.

"The name rang a bell,
Sir."

"What name?"

"The name of the bank, Sir, the "Second National City Bank of Dallas ".

"You'd better start explaining."

" I had someone report the loss of a lot of travelers’ cheques to me about a week ago."

"And you think they might be the ones we're looking for
.., is that it?"

"Yes,
Sir, in a nutshell."

"When did this happen?" The constable referred to his pocket book.

"Here we are, Sir. It was Easter Saturday, just over a week ago."

"I'm quite familiar with when Easter Saturday fell this year son, I didn't have it off in either sense of the word. Get on with it."

"Sorry, Sir. The man came up to me in Soho and reported the loss of $12,000 in Travelers’ cheques. I informed the station and brought him here."

"You think they were the same che
ques?"

"I'm pretty sure,
Sir. The two officers who interviewed him will know."

"What was his name?"

"O'Hara, John O'Hara; an American staying at the Regent's Palace Hotel."

"You've done well son. I'd like a word with Mr. O'Hara. Thanks. You can go now." Roberts dismissed him.

"Sir." The constable snapped to attention, saluted his superior and marched out of the room. Roberts was more impressed with the constable's information than his parade-ground formality. Nevertheless, he mused, the lad had done well.

Roberts left the briefing room and visited the 'front of house' area, populated by the uniformed branch of the species. He wasn't exactly greeted like a long lost brother, as there was little love lost between the uniform branch and C.I.D. The desk sergeant, Joe Bromley - an old timer, who knew him from old, was pleasant enough to deal with, however.

"I need a small favor Joe."

"What brings you down here; slumming it for a change?"

"It's the favor I need, Joe, not your attempt at wit." Roberts replied dryly.

"What do you want then?"

"Can you look in your lost property book for Easter Saturday... name of O'Hara... lost rather a lot of Travelers’ Cheques."

"Half a jiff
... won't take a second." Bromley lifted the large ledger, otherwise known as the 'lost property book' onto the counter and turned over its outsize pages, searching for the date.

"Here we are, 'John O'Hara, c/o the Regent's Palace Hotel
... $12,000 Travelers’ Cheques, drawn on the 'Second National City Bank of Dallas'."

Roberts was out of the door by the time Bromley had finished reading the name of the bank.

"Thanks Joe, I owe you one." Roberts called over his shoulder.

Roberts could feel the adrenalin beginning to flow in his veins. His excitement mounted as he raced upstairs to the C.I.D., offices. At the far end of the corridor on the second floor, he entered into the information
center of the station, a predominantly female area. He thrust open the door to the computer room and was pleased to find one of the machines 'manned' by Jean Danby, a W.P.C with whom he had liaised on a couple of previous cases.

"Hello Jean, long time - no see. I need a
favor in a hurry. Can you help?"

"I'm still getting over the last
favor I did you." Jean said, mildly flirting with him.

"It's nothing like that Jean. This is business."

"Of course, Sir." She replied mockingly.

"I want to find out what records we're holding, if any, on a John O'Hara, an American who was staying at the Regent's Palace Hotel a week ago. Also che
ck for travelers' cheques drawn on the 'Second National City Bank of Dallas'. How long will that take?"

"A couple of minutes."

Roberts waited patiently, hoping his hunch would pay off.

"There you are,
Sir," she said proudly, pleased that the system did occasionally produce results." O'Hara, John... alias Steven Freiburg. Arrested for theft at Heathrow airport by a special squad last Tuesday."

"Did you say theft?"
asked Roberts, puzzled because to him criminals didn't usually indulge in differing types of crime like theft and fraud.

"Yes, he was caught dipping the punters at Heathrow,
Sir."

"Jean, you’re an angel. One more
favor? Can you find out where he is being held or if he's out on bail? I'd like a word with our Mr. Freiburg."

"Certainly,
Sir, but it will probably take a little longer. I'll ring you as soon as I know."

"Thanks Jean, I owe you."

Roberts left the women to their computers and walked briskly back to his own office, humming tunelessly to himself as he did so. The call came through 15 minutes later. Freiburg, alias O'Hara was currently being detained at Wormwood Scrubs prison! 

Pascoe gave the deux-chevaux its head and the little car almost found its own way back to Rennes-le-Bains. They had to be back for the Tuesday evening, to take any messages from Terry. On arrival, they were welcomed back at the Spa Hotel like long lost friends.

Pascoe waited until dinner before he brought up the subject of buying some property. He still hadn't been able to gauge Sam's reaction to the suggestion and now that the scam was finally over he was scared he might lose her.

"Have you thought about my proposition yet?" he asked eventually.

"Which proposition?"

"About buying some property here... and settling down." He watched her face carefully for a reaction, any indication which might tell him how to proceed. There was nothing.

"If you must know, I've thought of little else since you mentioned it the other day," her reply shocked him only because he hadn't read it in her expression.

"And what have you decided?" he asked, hopefully.

“I didn't say I had decided." Her reply was sharp, but it was too late to back away from the subject.

"Is there a chance you will reach a decision by tomorrow?"

"Why tomorrow?"

"Because I shall be phoning Terry after dinner and if he's found some suitable property, I will need to act quickly and I would like to know whether you're going to be with me or not."

"Am I that important to you?" s
he said, a slight knowing smile on her face. The trouble was, he didn't know how serious she was being. For the first time since they'd met, he was unsure of her and of himself. It reflected in his temper. Sam, for her part, studied his face just as intently.

"You know damn well you are. I couldn't have done this without you."

"Of course you could." She teased. "You'd just have found somebody else to run the office in London."

"Perhaps - perhaps not. Anyway, I'm glad it was you."

"If I choose to stay, - to build something here with you - what are the conditions?" she asked, switching to the offence, catching him by surprise.

"Conditions?"

"You heard me.., strings.., conditions?"

"None at all," h
e answered, unsure just what she was driving at.

"I don't believe you. There are always conditions."

"What the hell are you getting at, Sam?" she looked at him intently for several seconds, studying his face for any sign of weakness.