The Criminal Escapades of Geoffrey Larkin (10 page)

‘No sir,' was Geoff's prompt reply, ‘but I ran the library at the school and worked in the offices at the electricity board distribution centre as you can see from the reference letter,' while indicating the letter on the table in front of the three directors.

*

He had used his own skills and the computer knowledge of his mate, Derek Bolton, to rewrite the reference which had been given to him for the short period he had spent on their work experience scheme, as well as doctoring the reference given to him by the principal of the school, Mr. Tattersall.

‘I'm quick to learn sir, and I'm available to start at once.' The interview carried on for another ten minutes. Geoff could sense he was making an impression on one of the firm's directors. It was when the senior figure at the table looked at his companions and nodded, that he knew he had clinched the position, even before the man spoke. He considered it was his new smart looking clothes that had probably swung it in his favour.

Geoff's duties were as advertised, assisting the senior property sales woman. The firm was building and selling luxury private three and four bedroom houses all with double garages.

Their senior sales lady was a middle-aged woman named Mrs. Pauline Grant. Her original assistant had been rushed to hospital with a burst appendix and, as there had been complications, she would not be available for work for approximately six weeks, hence the temporary position which Geoff had acquired.

His duties consisted of answering the phone, making appointments with the prospective purchasers in Mrs. Grant's diary, opening the door of the show house when the clients arrived and following behind Mrs. Grant making notes.

It was also his responsibility to vacuum and dust the show houses between the regular cleaning ladies' visits, a job which he didn't mind as he also cleaned the bed-sit shared with Sooty and he liked everything kept nice and tidy wherever possible. At first it was under the supervision of Mrs. Grant and then, as he showed he was quite competent, he was left to do the work on his own.

He found Mrs. Grant a pleasant woman to work for. She taught him the correct and polite way in which to use the phone, coaching him in his approach and grammar in a nice way that did not make him feel in any way inferior.

After a month under Mrs. Grant's guidance, he was full of confidence as he dealt with the many different types of people that showed interest in the houses, so much so that, on occasions, when they had several clients to show around at the same time he was given the responsibility of showing couples around on his own, even taking and recording their details for the firm's records.

On Saturday at lunchtime, Mrs. Grant always took the keys to the two bedroom show house, which was much nearer the road, leaving Geoff in charge of the main three bedroom property, which was further along on the estate.

Rumour had it amongst the staff that Mrs. Grant and one of the directors of the construction company were having an affair after he had been seen on a regular basis entering the two bedroom show house by the rear door on Saturday lunchtime.

Opposite the three bedroom show house was the site compound where all the equipment was stored. All the houses on the site were sold with fitted carpets and a fitted kitchen with all appliances. These were installed to entice and encourage people to commit themselves to one of the firm's properties.

The low wages Geoff earned were barely sufficient to cover the cost of his weekly expenditure as Sooty and he were now sharing a bed-sit in a large, rambling Victorian house.

He'd approached the school principal before he left to try and persuade him to purchase the old book that he'd left in his care but, unknown to him, the principal was a member of the book club and he received a regular circular which, amongst other things, contained an article on the very theft of this rare first edition book.

Geoff was quite confident as he was shown through to Mr. Tattersall's study by his secretary, Miss. Weatherhall. ‘Ah yes, nice to see you Larkin, you look very smart my boy. What can I do for you?' this polite explanation met Geoff as he entered the room. ‘That will be all for the moment Miss. Weatherhall, thank you,' he continued, looking past Geoff at his secretary who was still standing in the open doorway. She turned, with a flick of her head, and left, closing the door behind her.

‘It's about my mother's book sir,' started Geoff.'

‘Mmm, this book,' interrupted Tattersall, ‘you realise of course that we will have to check on its authenticity before it could be sold. Also, a book of this age will need to have a proper bill of sale and a list of its previous owners.'

Mr. Tattersall was pleased, his last statement had wiped the smug smile from the face of the ex-pupil now standing in front of him. He waited, smiling pleasantly at Geoff, whose initial confidence had suddenly deserted him
.

The crafty old bastard, he knows the book's hot so he's going to keep it for himself and put it in his silly collection,
he was thinking as he spoke. ‘I realise that Mr. Tattersall, as you can appreciate, a lot of my mother's papers were lost when she was in the old people's home, so I will need a little more time until I can obtain copies of the proper documentation.'

‘You can rest assured it will, Larkin,' replied Tattershall, still smiling. ‘Until you obtain all the necessary documents and we can advertise the book for sale I think for its safekeeping I should keep the book for the time being.'

Tattershall visited the bookshop in the town on a regular basis. He'd heard it first hand from one of the staff there the full, detailed story of the rare book theft and the two young men who had been involved. He was also aware on the same day of the condition of the PE instructor's clothes along with the absence from the school of two of the students for part of that day. It had not taken him long to put two and two together but that little incident had now all blown over. He was still in possession of a very rare and valuable first edition. For all intents and purposes he was simply looking after a pupil's close relation's possessions following her death.

Geoff shook the principal's hand and then left his office saying a polite goodbye to his secretary, Miss. Weatherhall. All the time Geoff had forced himself to smile; he had learnt a long time ago that it didn't do to show your true feelings to the opposition.

Geoff and the rest of the lads had been constantly dibbing into the wad of £20 notes and they were now down to just £300, but the seeds of a scheme were forming in his over-active brain, whereby he could hopefully, with the help of his mates, re-build their cash float.

On the building site where he worked, next to the compound, was the shell of a new three bedroom house, intact with its windows and doors but un-plastered with no internal fittings. This was used as a temporary store for the fridges, washing machines, dishwashers and central heating boilers for the houses on the building site.

Geoff noticed that there were many different vans that delivered equipment, some to the compound and some to be stored in the locked store house. On Mrs. Grant's bunch of keys was one to both the compound and the nearby house. On the odd occasion there were deliveries on a Saturday afternoon when no workers were on the site and on these occasions the deliveries and unloading were overseen by the very efficient Mrs. Grant. Geoff had taken an imprint of the keys when they'd been left in one of the kitchen cupboards in the three bedroom house they were presently using as an office.

John Bolton had no trouble making duplicate keys from the wax imprint Geoff delivered to him. Now that he had the keys he decided that on his way to the lodgings he would take a diversion and call in on Jock the shopkeeper.

When he arrived outside the grimy building there was a sign swinging on the inside which said in large letters ‘Closed'. He walked past on the opposite side of the street but he noticed a faint glimmer of a light from the rear of the building.

Checking that nothing seemed unusual in the vicinity he returned and tried the shop door, it was locked. He pressed the bell at the side for a full minute; he could hear the bell ringing inside the dark interior of the shop.

‘Come on you fat slob answer the door,' he muttered under his breath as he nervously looked up and down the empty street.

The light was turned on in the shop front and about a minute later a voice spoke from the other side of the locked door in Jock's broad Scots accent, ‘Who is it? What di yea want?'

‘It's me, Geoff Larkin,' said Geoff as loud as he dared without shouting.

‘What is it yer saying?' came the reply.

‘It's me! Geoff Larkin,' said Geoff now speaking into the open letter box. There was a long silence and then came the reply from the other side of the door.

‘Are yea on ye own and what di yea want?'

‘I'm not talking to you through the letter box Jock, let me in I've something that'll interest you,' he whispered loudly. Jock thought for a few seconds, this Larkin lad probably had some cheap junk he was trying to offload, most likely what he'd picked up from the station, that's where he was operating from the last time he'd called, but that was a good while ago.

Geoff had given up hope on his fence opening the door and had started to leave when there was the sound of heavy bolts being drawn. The door was opened slightly but still held on a security chain. A face appeared at the gap looking Geoff up and down.

‘You've grown a wee bit lad since ye were here last,' the face said before the chain was removed, allowing the door to open just sufficiently for him to squeeze through before being quickly closed behind him. Fifteen minutes later, his business with Jock concluded, he slipped out of the front door of the shop, which was closed quietly behind him.

As he quickly made his way through the quiet streets back to his lodgings he was mentally working everything out stage by stage, when he had finished it gave him a great feeling of satisfaction; he had a spring in his step, feeling quite content with his evening's work and was smiling as he let himself into the bed-sit he shared with Sooty.

Sergeant Paul Robinson CID sat down at his desk and looked at the pile of folders in front of him. He had been in the police force since leaving the RAF in which he had served for seven years. There he had reached the rank of senior flight controller and liked his position and the responsibility that went with it. He would possibly still have been there now if he'd not managed to get a WRAF, who he was courting at the time, pregnant. After his marriage, he and his wife with their newly born daughter lived in married quarters. With the poor conditions in this sub-standard accommodation he eventually succumbed to the ultimatum from his wife that he either left the RAF or she would leave him. This, over a period of time, stretched their relationship to breaking point.

The police force, which at that time was advertising for applicants, seemed an ideal solution, so he had applied and been accepted. After his initial training P. Robinson had made steady but not spectacular progress in the force, starting on foot patrol as a rooky constable.

After several years doing the rounds his first application to be transferred to CID was surprisingly accepted, possibly helped by the fact he had kept his nose clean, scratched the right backs and was also a member of the local branch of the Freemasons' Association.

Over the years Robinson built up a reputation as a clever copper and for the last three years had been in the top four for the most number of convictions. He had been a sergeant for five years, just recently passing the exams for inspector, but he knew it would be many years before he would be considered for that position if and when a post became vacant at that level.

He placed a file in the closed tray. The gypsies that had been convicted of the theft of copper wire and tools from the electric company had been placed on bail to appear for sentencing in a week's time.

Paul Robinson knew they would just simply disappear, as did the magistrates and it was one way of getting these travellers to move on to the next county without going to the messy business of obtaining a court order to evict them and their families from the private land where they had made their camp. There were several files on unsolved burglaries and some petty opportunistic thefts, a lot of these could be put down to the gypsies and went in the file headed ‘No Further Action at Present'.

He was undecided what to do with one of these files, wavering before looking at the contents once again. This was no opportunistic theft, it had definitely been a well-planned operation, and the rare first edition book valued at over £700 had possibly been taken to order. The youngsters involved did not fit into this category, and it was unlikely but not impossible that regular criminals would use them in this type of theft.

The customer who had first asked to see the book had been investigated and was beyond suspicion. Sergeant Robinson placed that dossier in ongoing enquiries with the case file concerning the attempted theft of the safe from the electric company. In this case, he did not believe the reports in the local paper of an organised gang from the city; he felt those involved were more local. The police had also drawn a blank with their enquiries into this crime. That file too went into ongoing enquires.

He looked at his watch, there was just time to have a cup of tea then he would have to be off for an appointment with a fellow freemason. He was a local town councilor and one of the directors of a large house building firm that had its main offices in the town. Apparently, they had opened their local building site on Monday morning to find their main compound and storage shed had been entered and stripped of a number of expensive appliances like central heating boilers, electric cookers, fridges and washing machines.

His constable pulled the unmarked police car up at the show house at the entrance to the private estate as had been instructed on the telephone; there would be someone available who would direct him to the site's compound.

‘More than I could afford Willie,' he said to his companion as he looked around at the luxury properties with their large double garages and manicured front lawns.

‘Me too Sarg,' Constable Wilson replied as he pressed the fob on his bundle of keys and locked the car doors.

The door to the show house was opened by a smartly dressed young man who directed them over thick, fitted carpets into the kitchen where the floor surface changed to light oak boards which matched the fitted kitchen units.

‘Good morning Sergeant, my name is Mrs. Grant; I'm in charge of house sales on this site. I am the person who contacted the police station on the instructions of the chairman of the board of directors Mr. Goodier. Mr. Daniel Goodier.'

Mrs. Grant did not have to emphasise the name. Paul Robinson already knew that the chairman of this building firm was a major figure in the local Lodge. To solve this case quickly would be a feather in his cap.

‘I have a list here of all the missing equipment that was taken from the compound over the weekend,' continued Mrs. Grant, irritated that this sergeant was not giving her his full attention, but showing more interest in looking around the show house. She had some prospective customers coming for their second viewing, which was always a good sign, and she did not want these police officers hanging around, it could gave the wrong impression of the area.

‘You certainly install some very good equipment in these houses, Mrs. Grant,' ventured the sergeant as he opened the door of the dishwasher.

‘Yes, we only install the very best and the workmanship is of the highest standard,' replied Mrs. Grant irritably, handing the list to the sergeant's assistant, Constable Wilson.

‘And what do these properties sell for Mrs. Grant?' queried the sergeant. Mrs. Grant did not reply but went and opened a drawer in the kitchen, taking out three colored brochures.

‘All the details are in these brochures,' she said haughtily, making a point of handing the papers not to the sergeant but to his constable.

The Sergeant could not help but notice the gesture.

‘Thank you for your time, Mrs. Grant,' he said curtly. ‘We'll go now and have a look at the compound. If I need to speak to you again can I get hold of you on the number you left at the station?'

‘Yes! The telephone number I left at the police station is the number of this show house. It also doubles as our sales office for this site and I can be contacted here at any time during office hours or you can leave a message on the answering service.'

She opened the door for the two men and shouted, ‘Geoffrey, could you please show these two gentlemen to the site compound,' the instructions were directed to the young man who appeared from an adjoining room at the shout of his name.

It was while they were walking along the pavement, with the newly occupied houses on either side, that Sergeant Robinson attempted to open a casual conversation with the young, slightly built man in front of them. ‘Have you worked here long, Geoffrey?'

‘No, sir,' was the polite reply.

‘Where did you work before Geoffrey?' continued the sergeant.

‘This is my first job, sir,' was the instant reply.

‘Apparently, the compound was not broken into but the thieves opened the gates. Do you know who has the keys to the compound, Geoffrey?' queried the sergeant.

There was several moments silence before the youth in front of him replied.

‘No, sir, but I will ask Mrs. Grant and she will let you have a list.'

The young man had stopped in front of a high fenced compound that was at the end of the completed houses and the beginning of the second phase of new houses on the site that were under various stages of construction.

‘This is the compound, gentlemen. Mr. Goodier is here to meet you. I'll take you and introduce you to him.' Sergeant Robinson had already met Daniel Goodier on several previous occasions through his membership of the Freemasons but he was racking his brain about where he had seen this youth before. He was hoping the longer he was in his company the quicker it would click in his memory.

All three entered a long, wooden shed situated in the compound. The sergeant immediately recognised the man standing in the middle of the empty building.

As they entered, Daniel Goodier walked over to the small group standing beside Geoff.

‘I hope young Geoffrey has been of some help to you and your constable, Paul,' he said looking at Sergeant Robinson and then placing his hand around the shoulders of the youth at his side in a friendly gesture.

Sergeant Robinson was not slow to observe the slight stiffening in the posture of the young man. ‘You'll have to excuse me, I've a lot of other duties to perform,' said Geoff as he skilfully disengaged himself from the clutches of the long arm of the older man and left the wooden shed.
That was well done,
thought Sergeant Robinson. He had had his suspicions for a while about Daniel Goodier and the rumour of his homosexual tendencies. It was clear to him that this youth was not a willing partner in his advances.

It was also obvious to the detective mind of Sergeant Robinson that previous clumsy approaches had also been made towards the young man, and in view of the present reaction, these had also been just as skilfully rebuffed.

‘Well as you can see, Paul, they have cleaned out the shed. They came during the weekend, picked the lock of the security gate and then emptied the shed of its contents.'

‘They certainly seem to be very professional,' answered Sergeant Robinson. ‘Do you have a security firm patrolling this site Mr. Goodier?'

‘Yes! They come on several occasions during the night and always at a haphazard time. The firm's name is on the papers that Mrs. Grant gave you if you wish to contact them.'

‘Thank you, we will. In the meantime we'll see if anyone in these occupied properties saw anything unusual over the weekend while it's still fresh in their minds. Thank you for your time, Mr. Goodier. I'll contact you if I have anything to report or if I need any further information.'

‘That's fine Paul. You don't mind if I call you Paul do you Sergeant?' replied Goodier, smiling – showing a set of yellow stained teeth. After all it's not as if we're strangers.'

Sergeant Robinson did not like it when clients tried to get on a personal familiar level; from previous experience they were usually the ones that caused problems at a later stage in the proceedings if things didn't go their way. In Sergeant Robinson's mind things were not adding up. The theft had been discovered at 7.30am; the phone call reporting it at the police station had not been made until 9.30am, and yet within an hour of that phone call a full list of the missing equipment had been prepared. It was also strange that the storage shed had been stripped of everything. In his experience of this type of theft the thieves were in and out as quickly as possible, taking only the most valuable items, as they did not know when the security firm would visit the site or if any one of the occupied properties could have phoned the police to report unusual activities, especially as this had happened over the weekend when the site was closed.

There was only one of the properties that overlooked the compound that answered to the police officers ringing their door bells. ‘The owners of the other properties are probably working their socks off to pay the high mortgages they must have taken on to buy one of these luxury dwellings,' commented the constable dryly.

The old lady who did answer their door to door enquiries was the mother of one of the owners. Her daughter, with her husband, had applied for a mortgage for one of the three bedroom luxury properties and the mother had made up the shortfall they needed from the sale of her bungalow. All this came to light as they sat drinking tea in the kitchen, the window of which overlooked their large, rear garden and, further on, the fenced-in compound.

The old lady, who was a widow, was glad to talk. She rarely saw anyone during the day as both her daughter and son-in-law were away working in the city at the central offices of one of the country's national banks. They did not arrive home during the week until late in the evening.

As Sergeant Robinson engaged Mrs. Holland in conversation, cleverly steering her on to subjects that were relevant to the case in hand, Willie Wilson made notes, he had just finished a course in short hand and was quite thrilled that the opportunity had arisen to put it into practice. He had only recently been assigned to Sergeant Robinson and this was the first time he had seen the senior officer at work. He was immensely impressed by the subtle way the sergeant interviewed Mrs. Holland without the old lady realising that she was, in fact, being interviewed. He was able to obtain all the details he required then gently bringing her back to the relevant story when she wandered on to other subjects, which she did quite frequently.

It turned out that on Saturday afternoon her daughter had been away shopping whilst her son-in-law had been away from the house playing golf. She had noticed that there had been a large, white van parked in the compound for a short time. This, in itself, was not unusual as she had seen goods delivered on a Saturday afternoon before, but what was unusual was the fact that Mrs. Grant usually supervised these Saturday afternoon deliveries. On this occasion Mrs. Holland had not seen her, only the driver and two assistants in brown store man's smocks.

There had been no deliveries or any van there on Sunday. As it had been a nice day she, along with her daughter and son-in-law, had spent most of the day working on the rear garden so they would have noticed. On Monday morning at about seven thirty, after she had seen her daughter and son-in-law off to work, she noticed there was a lot of activity in the compound. Mrs. Holland also said that several workmen were moving a lot of equipment, encased in cardboard on those wooden bases they place things on nowadays, across to one of the nearby nearly completed houses. ‘They all seemed to be under the supervision of the man with the big fancy car who is always very smartly dressed; I think his name is Goodier or something very similar.'