The Criminal Escapades of Geoffrey Larkin (20 page)

Sergeant Robinson had been at great pains at the meeting to disassociate any of these lads with forged £20 notes, the serious assault on Locket and the murder of Mr. X! He would wait until he had them under lock and key for their own safety, before it became common knowledge of their involvement with the theft of the briefcase.

*

Sergeant Robinson was standing at the top of the stairs outside the door of Geoff Larkin and Harry Sutton's flat. He had just given instructions for the uniformed policeman at his side to break down the door, when a shout from Constable Wilson from the bottom of the stairs caused him to try and restrain the officer.

‘There's a lady here sergeant, with a key to that flat.' Too late, the flimsy door burst open at the first blow from the hand-operated jack wielded by the uniformed officer.

Robinson groaned inwardly. That would be another letter of complaint on its way to the chief constable from an irate landlord about heavy-handed destructive police methods.

A search of the small bed-sit brought nothing of interest to light, there were several items of clothing scattered about and some drawers left open as if there had been a very hurried recent departure.

An old, tarnished spoon wrapped in a linen cloth at the back of one of the drawers in the kitchen cabinet had been found by one of the uniformed constables.

‘It looked like it was placed there for safekeeping sarge,' said Constable Wilson, holding up the long spoon in his gloved hand.

‘It could be theirs or it could well be a previous tenant's. Send it to the lab for prints and check on items stolen in recent burglaries. We'll see what turns up.'

Several phone calls from the other teams informed Sergeant Robinson that the Bolton brothers' room was also empty. Enquiries at their place of work confirmed that none of the three suspects had turned up for work that day.

Geoff Larkin, according to his probation officer, had missed a second interview that had been arranged. Mr. Lovett was definitely putting him on his report this time.

‘I don't think our friend, Mr. Larkin, will be unduly worried about being put on a report at this moment in time!' the sergeant mused to himself as he heard the last telephone message.

‘This is the lady from the bed-sit below sergeant,' said Constable Wilson as he ushered in Mrs. Oaks just as the last of the search team was leaving the bed-sit.

‘Hello, Mrs. Oaks, I'm sorry to disturb your afternoon. Do you know when these two lads left?' he asked, offering the old lady the only chair in the room.

‘Well, it must have been late last night or very early this morning. They pushed this envelope underneath my door, addressed to our landlord,' quivered a nervous Mrs. Oaks, not used to being surrounded by so many large men.

Sergeant Robinson took the envelope offered to him by Mrs. Oaks. It was still sealed but he could tell by the feel that the envelope contained money. He opened the envelope, reading the note addressed to the landlord. Nothing relevant there; of the £20 notes in the envelope none were forgeries. He placed the envelope in a plastic bag then removed the super fine gloves he was wearing.

‘I'm afraid we'll have to keep the envelope for evidence for the time being Mrs. Oaks. My constable will give you a receipt and we'll inform your landlord of the circumstances so you've no need to worry yourself. Did the boys have any visitors that you were aware of?' asked Sergeant Robinson in a kindly tone.

‘Well, there were those two other friends of theirs. They were always here and then there was a Mr. Lovett. He called recently but, apart from them, there has been nobody else. Oh, I nearly forgot, they also left a £20 note. I have it here.' Mrs. Oaks brought out from her pinafore a neatly folded new £20 note. Sergeant Robinson indicated to Constable Wilson to take it from her as he was still wearing his gloves.

A quick inspection was followed by a nod from the constable who mouthed ‘forgery' from behind Mrs. Oaks. ‘I'm afraid we'll have to confiscate this as evidence, Mrs. Oaks. The constable will give you another receipt.'

‘Oh dear,' said a startled Mrs. Oaks. ‘They seemed such nice boys as well.'

‘You have no need to worry, Mrs. Oaks, it's nothing serious,' lied the sergeant.

‘Constable Wilson will see you down the stairs and don't you worry about anything. Just give your landlord's address to the constable and we'll sort everything out with him.'

As Mrs. Oaks and Constable Wilson left the room, Robinson could hear them making their way down the wooden stairs
.
He sat down on the single chair just vacated by Mrs. Oaks trying to visualise what had been discussed and what decisions had been made in this cramped room by the four young men who had found themselves involved in a situation in which they were obviously and completely out of their depth.

He had racked his brain at the name of Geoff Larkin identified by Dave Higgins in the interview room, until he recalled the assistant salesman at the housing estate. It all began to slip into place. Before that, the lad had been cleaning out the cabin where the copper wire had gone missing. Even though the gipsies had been charged and convicted with that offence, they had been most colourfully verbal in their claims of police framing them of the theft of the copper wire.

The attempted theft of the safe from the electric board offices; he was working there then. There was also the theft of the materials from the building site and this young guy, Larkin, had been in a prime position to know the movements of all the personnel on the site.

It had also come to light that he had been employed temporary in the office of the distribution warehouse on the industrial estate where the manager and two associates had been convicted of theft. They also had stringently denied stealing the vast amount of goods they were charged with.

This Geoffrey Larkin was a clever opportunist and didn't let the grass grow under his feet; he was obviously the brains behind this gang of small-time crooks. But he'd certainly dropped himself and his mates into the shit big time with his recent escapade. For their own safety, Sergeant Robinson hoped he could find and apprehend the lads before, what was obviously a ruthless gang with international contacts, did so.

Also to add to the mountain of problems, he suspected there was an informer in this, his own, police station. It seemed the forgers were being kept informed with information just as fast as he was!

The sergeant's thoughts were interrupted by Constable Wilson entering the room. ‘I've settled Mrs. Oaks down in her apartment with a cup of tea. She'll be fine now, sarge,' volunteered the constable.

‘What do you think of the situation, Wilson?' enquired Robinson, leaning back on the rear legs of the chair.

‘Well,' started the constable, making himself comfortable on the edge of the table. ‘I think we both know that this lad, Larkin, is a cunning little bugger having probably been involved in several recent scams where, I reckon, he's skimmed the cream big time then walked away unscathed, leaving the small-time pilferers to carry the can. How I read it, he probably crossed the road to avoid a confrontation with Dave Higgins and his gang just as Mr. X was leaving the taxi. He couldn't resist the opportunity to lift the briefcase, possibly throwing it in the back of his mate's van, who just happened to be working there. He then used some of the cash locally which was picked up by the bank but I think he has something of more importance in his possession belonging to this heavy mob, for them to resort to murder and attempted murder. What concerns me is this heavy mob seem to be getting information as fast as we are.'

Sergeant Robinson smiled to himself. The constable had come to the identical conclusion that he had but had not voiced the fact in so many words. He also suspected an informer in the team.

‘I think that, under the circumstances and for the time being, we keep to ourselves the information about the forged £20 note given to the old lady, Wilson,' said the sergeant thoughtfully. ‘That's why I was not more specific at the meeting; we will keep the information about these lads as suspects of the briefcase theft from Mr. X to ourselves. We'll say our enquiries were connected with the previous scams that Larkin and his gang were involved in. It will possibly buy us a little time and also, more importantly, it could well save their young lives!'

*

Geoffrey Larkin and his three mates had caught the bus heading out of town that night. They had left the vehicle, at Geoff's suggestion, before it reached the city terminal. Also on his suggestion they divided into pairs so as to be less obvious, they did not want to increase the risk of being picked up on any of the many surveillance cameras operating in the city.

Still in pairs, they booked into a back street hotel for a week paying cash, mentioning casually that they were working in the area on a construction contract. It was only Sooty who had a good night's sleep. None of the other lads slept a wink. They were very tense and wide awake at the slightest of sounds.

It was a bleary-eyed trio that met at breakfast the following morning to discuss their future plans.

‘What do we do today, Geoff?' asked a curious John Bolton. His brother also looked at Geoff enquiringly from across the breakfast table while Sooty just continued to butter his fourth round of toast.

Geoff had given it quite a lot of thought through his sleepless night. He had come to the conclusion, rightfully, that the credit cards were being left open so as to enable the owners to try and trace their whereabouts. He had decided to suggest they should spend some of their cash buying some decent clothes; this would keep the rest of the lads' minds off their present situation, for a while anyway. It would also help pass the group off as one of the many thousands who were in the city.

Later that afternoon he wanted to contact his fence, Jock. He decided that while he was doing this, the rest of the team could go to the all-day cinema. There were many in the city centre, all of which were showing the most up-to-date films. He reckoned they reduced the chance of being spotted if they frequented the more heavily populated hot spots.

The telephone conversation that Geoff had with his contact, Jock, was expensive but most productive. The fence could provide the items required at £1000 each.

What he needed from them were passport photographs that could be taken from any of the main post offices in the area plus the age, height, colour of eyes and hair of each individual and some other minor details, and of course, the cash paid in advance.

Geoff met the rest of the team as they appeared from the cinema, taking them into a nearby coffee shop that had outside tables on a promenade with a pleasant view overlooking the canal that passed through the centre of the city. The sight of the canal sent shivers down Geoff's spine as he had visions of the courier who had met a watery grave in similar waters. Still, they could not be overheard where they were seated as Geoff explained to them about the passports.

There was a stunned silence before John Bolton eventually spoke, a hint of panic in his voice. ‘I didn't think it would come to this Geoff. If I'd have known, me and our kid wouldn't have become involved.' His brother Derek didn't contribute to the conversation, just nodding in agreement, leaving all the talking to his older brother.

All that Sooty heard was ‘passports' and that indicated to him holidays abroad. Great!

‘It's only as a precaution,' continued Geoff smiling. ‘We'll probably never need to use them.' He said this with a confidence he did not feel in a vain effort to calm John Bolton whose sense of panic seemed to be spreading to the rest of the group.

‘It's just our escape route if it's ever needed. It's unlikely but I would be letting you, my mates, down if I didn't take these steps, it's to safeguard all our futures. I'm just being prepared for the worst which will probably never happen, planning ahead, that's the name of the game, I'm looking after your interests the same as I've always done.'

After much grumbling from the Bolton brothers and more persuasive talk from Geoff, and as the brothers were not able to come up with a better solution, it was decided they would go along with Geoff's suggestion, for the time being anyway.

They stayed a short while at the cafe, watching a couple operating the nearby canal locks for their brightly painted steel narrow boat.

What an idyllic lifestyle,
thought Geoff.
I wish I could join them and just motor away down the canal and leave all these problems behind me.
But sadly he realised that was just not possible.

*

The following morning after breakfast they made their way to the sub post office near the hotel. Having their photographs taken in the booth was a light-hearted event with the first photographs not being at all suitable. They were all pulling funny faces but, eventually, after several failed attempts they managed to take photographs that were suitable for their passports.

The incident had relieved the tension; consequently, they left the post office in a much more jovial mood than when they had first entered thirty minutes previous.

*

Wilf Norton had left the police station charged with being in possession of stolen goods, the same offence as his mates. He'd been booked then let out on police bail. He decided to make his way to the hospital to see Sidney Locket. He lied to the receptionist saying he was a relative so that they allowed him to see his mate outside visiting hours.

He had to identify himself to a police officer posted outside the room who checked with the police station, they confirmed that Sergeant Robinson had given the okay, before he was allowed to see Sid Locket.

It was a very shocked and pale Wilf that left the hospital grounds half an hour later. He had been informed by the sister on duty that his cousin was still on the danger list. He was also told that Sid did not recognise anyone at the moment and kept slipping in and out of a coma but he was stable and making some progress, slowly recovering from the operations on his internal injuries.

Wilf was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he was not aware of the large saloon car that pulled up alongside him, until the door opened and the bulk of a large man blocked his passage along the pavement.

Before he could turn, his elbows were firmly gripped from behind forcibly manhandling him into the rear of the vehicle, where he was held while his assailant wedged in beside him.

Wilf Norton was already blubbering.

He blurted out as loud as he could, trapped as he was between the two heavies. ‘I know nothing but will tell you anything you want to know.' This was before any of the other four passengers in the car had said a word.

‘Quiet!' the stern command from the man next to the driver stopped Wilf's terrified ramblings in mid flow.

‘We're looking for someone you know. We're looking for Geoff Larkin and three of his friends.' The man's voice was menacing but showed no emotion whatsoever.

‘Larkin's no friend of mine,' uttered Norton, alarm in his voice in case the men thought he was associated in any way with Geoff Larkin.

The man continued, ignoring his outburst. ‘You've no reason to be afraid, Mr. Norton. We want you and your associates to do a little job for our organisation. For which you will be well paid!'

He stopped while he allowed what he'd said to sink in to the frightened young man's brain. He then continued in the same monotone voice, ‘We want you and your friends to find this Geoffrey Larkin and his three companions. Just find where they are staying, do nothing else. Do not be seen, just find them. Do you understand me my friend?'

‘Yes sir, I understand sir. I'll do as you say.'

At that point in time Wilf Norton would have agreed to anything just to get out of the car and away from the four men. He was having difficulty in talking his mouth was so dry.

‘This is for your expenses,' said the quiet voice handing him a thick envelope. ‘My associate will give you a package when you leave this car. It contains mobile phones so that your friends can contact you on these. You will then contact me on this number.'

A piece of paper was pressed into the top pocket of Wilf Norton's jacket. ‘Only use the phones for the job you are paid to do, they are not for silly chit-chat. There will be a good bonus if you produce a satisfactory result. We think Larkin is in lodgings somewhere near the city centre and we want you and your friends to start looking at once.'

The car had stopped now and the man on the near side opened the car door, standing on the pavement holding the door open for Wilf.

As soon as he had scrambled out, the car pulled away leaving a very frightened Wilf Norton standing quivering at the side of the road near to his digs. It was only after the car had been out of sight for several moments and he had gathered his wits about him that he realised he had wet his pants while in the car. As he walked slowly to his accommodation his wet trousers were sticking to the inside of his legs, but his mind was not on this unpleasantness; he was too busy concentrating on counting the wad of notes in the large envelope.

*

While the other three lads were having a meal in a nearby café, Geoff caught the bus to the depot. He then caught a No. 25 bus that would take him to the run-down area of the city and Jock's second-hand shop that acted as a front for his other petty criminal activities.

Under normal circumstances he would not have gone to the old fence in daylight but these were not normal circumstances, the passports he considered to be vital. If they were to have any chance of surviving it was necessary to outwit and out-think the efforts of the characters that were hunting them. Geoff left the bus several stops away from Jock's shop, travelling the rest of the way on foot.

Walking briskly past on the far side of the road everything seemed to be normal. He crossed the road at the junction then walked back towards the shop. He opened the door and entered, placing the photographs and the note containing the information requested plus the £4000 in cash on the faded, varnished, wooden counter. He smiled at Jock who had appeared from a rear room at the sound of the brass bell vibrating above the door.

Turning quickly Geoff left again, even before the door at the shop entrance had chance to close. He looked up and down the road from the doorway; nothing seemed to have changed from when he had first entered several moments earlier.

There were two men erecting scaffolding at the side of a building lower down the road, the old woman who he had overtaken earlier was making her way along the pavement on the far side opposite the shop and a delivery van had pulled up at a grocer's where the driver was busy unloading cardboard boxes.

He relaxed; nothing out of the ordinary was happening. There was no screaming of tyres with cars appearing from all directions as they screeched to a halt in front of him.

All he had to do now was to try and keep the other three lads from panicking. The big problem he knew that was looming would be to persuade them to leave the country once the passports became available. He realised what he had to do; he had to concentrate on overcoming one obstacle at a time as it appeared.

*

The following morning Sergeant Robinson received a phone call from the police laboratory about the notebook sent in from Geoffrey Larkin's bed-sit.

Even though the top pages had been removed it had still been possible to establish enough of the faint numbers and letters to establish that they were from a series of bank accounts, possibly based in Switzerland but, unfortunately, there were insufficient numbers and letters to confirm the exact accounts.

There were also a series of credit card numbers with their four digit pin numbers. Several of these were complete but the vast majority were illegible.

‘This just confirms what we suspected, Wilson,' said the sergeant as Constable Wilson entered the office, ‘I think it's now time to inform the chief constable that we're dealing with the big boys and not a local mob that some small time tea leaves have got involved with. What it does do is it gives us the opportunity to crack an international ring of forgers; that'll go down well on your CV, Wilson.'

The last sentence was said as an afterthought as Sergeant Robinson left the office to make his findings known to the superintendent, leaving the constable to reflect on his previous few words. It would certainly improve his chances of advancement in the force to be involved with a successful prosecution against such an organisation, not only his, but the sergeant's as well, that is, if he was still allowed to carry on in charge of the case. It was most likely they would bring down a team from the city to take over the proceeding, that's what usually happened in a situation like this.