Elephants can't hide forever (15 page)

“One of your PCs is only talking to a known blagger about a late Tax Disc, who happens to be on the patch,” he blurted out.

The general hubbub ceased, everyone realised this could be the lucky break they needed.

“Right” said the officer in charge. “Find an excuse and let’s get him in.”

Frank Carter was now in his element, and he flew back downstairs to the incident room and took over the radio to PC Evans:

“Constable,” he instructed in a very calm voice. “This is Frank Carter of the Flying Squad, I want you to listen carefully, stay calm and show no reaction to what I’m
about to say.” Frank continued: “I want you to explain to Mr Gallagher that the car in his possession has been reported stolen this morning, and until we ascertain who he is and to whom
the car belongs, he should accompany you to the station where further enquiries will be made so we can eliminate him from the suspected theft of the car and clear up the matter. Apologise, and tell
him it will probably be sorted by the time you both get here, do not spook him and be relaxed, can you handle that Constable?”

“Leave it to me Sir” replied the somewhat perplexed officer.

As Frank switched the microphone off another call came in from a member of the public. As Frank seemed to have taken charge, the operator turned directly to him.

“Excuse me Sir” she said, “it may be nothing but a local farmer has just reported a suspicious van which appears to have been abandoned up a small lane in Harpenden.”

This was turning out to be a good day, thought Frank; first Gallagher appears in Harpenden then a dumped van, what next? Frank knew a lucky break when he got one and this was staring him right
in the face.

“Tell the farmer to stay nearby, but on no account to go near the vehicle,” he instructed. “How do I get there?” he demanded, and with that he flew out of the station,
into his car and arrived in Harpenden as PC Evans and Danny were making their way to St Albans nick, in the “stolen” Honda, with the officer at the wheel.

As PC Evans opened the rears doors of the Police Station to show a very pensive Danny Gallagher into the building, Frank Carter was opening the rear doors of the abandoned van up the track in
Harpenden and he was very pleased to find that, hidden under an old blanket, were three sawn off shotguns and three hand guns. Frank, being old school, knew exactly what he needed to do.

Frank returned to the station behind the wheel of the Renault van which he had hot-wired, fortunately the car park at the rear was deserted, apart from a couple of squad cars and the Honda with
no tax.

Several minutes later Frank Carter entered the interview room that was housing Danny Gallagher.

“Afternoon, Danny” said Frank “Fancy meeting you here.”

Danny couldn’t disguise his astonishment, but nonetheless, in the time he had been alone in the interview room, he had convinced himself there was nothing tangible they could hold him for,
even if they had discovered who he was.

“Goodness me, Mr Carter what a surprise, still that’s a bit handy you being here and all that, can you tell the local plod who I am? Madge will be getting worried, or are you the new
traffic warden?” he quipped.

“Of course I will Danny,” replied Frank nonchalantly, “just a couple of questions first. What brings you up to this manor?”

Danny explained the reason for his being in the area, he was looking to buy a fruit and veg store and had heard there was one up for grabs in a prime location, so on a whim, he had driven up to
have a look.

Frank just nodded with a wry smile that Danny found quite disconcerting.

“So Danny, can you confirm the Honda that our local Bobby stopped you with does in fact belong to you, or rather to Madge?” Frank asked. “And can you confirm that’s the
vehicle you drove from Kent in this morning?”

“That’s absolutely right, Mr Carter” replied Danny. “Now do you think we could get on with whatever you need to do, so I can get going?” he asked with as much
confidence as he could muster.

“Certainly, Danny, could we have a quick look at the vehicle first?” enquired Frank.

For the life of him Danny couldn’t make out what game Carter was playing, but he needed to get out now, so he replied: “Of course, can I go then?”

“Yes you can, Danny, and I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you.” Danny was starting too really worry now.

Frank led Danny out of the interview room and along the corridor past the Sergeant’s office. As they passed it, Frank, this time politely, knocked the door.

“Sorry to trouble you Sergeant,” he said, “I’m about to send Mr Gallagher on his way, would you accompany us to his car, I just need to have a quick look around
first?”

The Sergeant looked puzzled.
Why the fuck waste my time looking at this bloke’s banger when the shit has hit the fan
, he thought, still he was a Chief Super, so not much he could
say apart from, “Yes Sir.”

The three men walked into the car park. Frank enquired if Danny had the keys, which he had, as PC Evans had given them to Danny once they had arrived at the station, after all the car
wasn’t impounded and Danny was hardly going to bolt for it.

“Just open up the boot please” asked Frank.

Dannys stomach flipped, did as he was requested and as the boot was raised, all three men saw there in the well of the car, three sawn off shotguns and three hand guns.

“I think,” said Frank “You had better tell Madge you’re going to be late.”

Frank Carter had had one of the best days of his illustrious career He had apprehended a major villain, (the fact he had fitted him up with a cast iron piece of skulduggery was of no
consequence), and certainly Frank didn’t feel a tinge of remorse, he knew Danny was involved in the blag, and all Frank had done was a good old fashioned piece of Policing. However, best keep
it to himself, he thought, in the old days he would have been the hero of the saloon bar and the whiskey chasers would not have stopped all night.

The criteria now was to get to Danny to spill the names of his accomplices. Frank was aware this was going to be no easy task. Danny, like himself, had been round the block on more than one
occasion, and the only way to get him to cough was to offer him a carrot he couldn’t refuse.

Firstly though, they needed to get Danny moved to a secure location, His team would by now have realised Danny had been collared, so there was always the possibility that they might have a go at
getting him out of the Police Station; unlikely, but these were ruthless people. That had been established earlier in the day. So Frank had organised a local Magistrate to issue a warrant to remand
Danny in custody that same night, and Danny was whisked off to Paddington Green Police Station, the highest secure nick in London and the Home Counties.

As for Danny, his world had fallen apart in those few short hours since the raid. He knew Carter had fitted him up, but he also knew the more he protested the harder it would go for him. He was
also canny enough to know that he had some small bargaining power left, and that he was bang to rights with the shooters, but there was no direct evidence linking him with being on the blag-
circumstantial, yes, but a good brief could sow doubt in a Jury’s mind, and thank God that the British Judicial System did not accept circumstantial evidence. Things were bleak, but they
could have been worse.

The following morning Frank Carter had his first, and as it happened last, interview with Danny.

Overnight Danny had been charged with armed robbery and various other offences all relating to the previous day. Danny had spoken first.

“I’m not going to fuck about, Carter, you bastard, this is the deal and I’m not negotiating. If I grass up anyone I think may have been involved in that blag, I’m dead,
no ifs or buts, I’m destined for the pigs” (a well known method of disposing of unwanted bodies by the Essex pikies). He continued: “so I need twenty four hour protection, a new
passport, a new identity and enough money to start a new life”

“Danny, in all honesty, I would think about your proposition, to me it would be worth getting those other three, you clear off and they’re banged up for the rest of their natural,
that’s four dangerous bastards off the streets and where they belong. However this is the new world and the Chief Constable would have none of it, he’s never done a days policing in his
short life, he wouldn’t get it, so there’s no chance.”

“OK then” said Danny “If that’s the way it is, no deals, let’s go to court and see what my Brief has to say to the Jury.”

That wasn’t exactly how Frank had hoped it would go, and he tried one last tactic.

“Then you’ll be doing the bird for everyone,” he threatened.

“So be it” was Danny final comment.

The Honourable Mark Handford sat in residency for the trial of Crown v Gallagher. The Judge had been hand picked for this role by the Lord Chancellor. Mark, a previous
Queen’s Councillor and Crown Prosecutor, was known for his right wing views; he was a product of bygone days, and thought that young offenders would benefit from the birch, and more serious
felons deported to a land they could do no harm in, the Arctic Circle for instance.

The criminal fraternity were well aware of his Honour’s reputation; however, unlike a suspicious juror, they had no recourse to complain or object and have him changed. If they got him, it
was just hard luck.

It was most unusual for a case of this magnitude to have come to court in such a quick time; the Director of Public Prosecutions had been under no illusion that it was in the public interest to
have this one dealt with in the utmost haste, and he in turn had put the necessary pressure on the Crown Prosecution Service to fast track the legal paperwork to get Gallagher in the dock. There
was some nervousness on the part of the prosecutors that a good brief might swing it for Gallagher; after all, apart from the shooters, the evidence was circumstantial. However, the orders had come
way up from the top of the food chain, and so the case, such as it was, was ready.

Danny Gallagher was in remarkably good spirits considering the magnitude of the charges; he had the best defence lawyer in the business and was, quite frankly, expecting a not guilty verdict on
all charges. His mood changed somewhat as he was escorted from the holding cells into court- he knew of the Judge’s reputation, so when one of his custodians mischievously whispered in his
ear who the Judge was today, he inwardly groaned.

Danny stood in the dock and observed his surroundings; the public gallery was packed, mainly with the press, both local and national- this was a big case, and one the public at large would
follow with interest. The court usher summoned the gathered ensemble to rise as the Honourable Mark Hanford made his way into the chamber. Fourteen charges were read out, and after each one Danny
was asked how he pleaded. He replied, “Not guilty” to each one.

The Judge instructed the Prosecution to begin, but in a moment of madness Danny addressed the Judge:

“Excuse me, Your Honour” he said, “You are accusing me of all these grave crimes, of which I am innocent, and yet the one charge I am guilty of in this case you have not
bothered to mention.”

The judge was not impressed by this breach of protocol, nonetheless he spoke:

“And what might that be then?”

“Failing to display a current tax disc” Danny quipped.

A ripple of laughter broke out in the Courtroom, and Danny studiously watched who on the Jury laughed. They all did; he had broken the tension that the Jurors must have been feeling and he
considered he had just made a very smart move. However; his Honour was not of the same opinion.

“Mr Gallagher, during the course of this trial you will speak when asked, and only then, one more interruption and you will be further charged with contempt of this court,” he said
slightly red faced.

For the next three days, witnesses came and went: bank staff, the police, the public, forensic experts, PC Evans, the tractor driver and any one the Prosecution felt might add a blow to the nail
they were driving into Danny’s coffin.

At the end of the prosecution, it was Danny’s lawyer’s turn to address the jury. His speech was eloquent and well presented, he disseminated all the evidence that had gone before,
and demonstrated the thread running through the prosecutor’s case was one of circumstance- there was not one single piece of evidence that put Danny at the scene of the robbery, and therefore
under the law of the land Danny could not be found guilty. The members of the Jury might believe Danny was guilty, but it was not their job to second guess, they had to know Danny was involved by
the evidence presented to them, and this had not been the case.

The Right Honourable Mark Handford summed up, and in his usual jaundiced way, just fell short of instructing the Jury to return a guilty verdict on all counts. With that, he instructed the eight
men and four women of the Jury to retire to the ante room and discuss the case. When they had reached a unanimous verdict, they would inform the court Bailiff, who would bring them back to deliver
their decision.

Before Danny was taken back to the cells, he was allowed a few minutes with his brief.

“Well, Michael” he asked “What do you reckon?”

“In the bag, dear boy,” came the reply. “I watched their faces as I spoke, and I’ve been reading Juries for two decades, and they’re not sure. Danny you’ll be
a free man by sunset.”

Those in the know at the Courthouse were confident this was going to be a long haul; they were fully expecting a couple of over nighters, followed by a return of the Jury failing to reach a
unanimous decision, and then being ordered to return to their deliberations to consider a majority guilty verdict at best. So when after barely three hours, the Courthouse tanoy announced the Jury
in the trial of Danny Gallagher was returning, and all participants were to return to court no 1 immediately, it was quite a surprise.

With all seated, the court usher instructed the foreman of the Jury to stand.