Where Memories Are Made (31 page)

‘Don't you see, that's where they thought they were being clever when they planned their getaway? Not hiding themselves in some isolated place but amongst a huge crowd of people, the last place the police would think to look for them. They obviously booked several chalets under different names to cover a certain period of time. After their fortnight's stay in one, they pretended to leave with the rest of the campers, then must have hidden somewhere until the coaches arrived bringing the new campers, then one of them would turn up in reception to book in under the name they booked the next holiday in.

‘While I was in the chalet, apart from the fact that it stank and it was obvious from the state of the place they hardly went out, I noticed an open suitcase at the foot of one of the beds. It had several wigs on top of a pile of clothes. Each time they went out to re-book into their next chalet or fetch food, shower or whatever, they used different disguises. They were obviously shocked when I turned up unexpectedly as they weren't in disguise. Had the man with the nose not been so nasty to me, I might not have taken any notice of him … after all, we get all sorts of people coming here with disfigurements, don't we? A broken nose isn't so out of the ordinary even if his is the worst I've ever seen. But he was aggressive with me and now I can recognise him from the newspaper photograph.'

Ginger was looking shell-shocked. Scraping her fingers through her thick corkscrew locks she issued a long, ‘Phew! If it turns out these men are part of the bank robber's gang, then we'll be heroines, won't we?' Her eyes lit up with excitement. ‘I can just see the headlines in the nationals. “
Bank Robbers' Hideout Uncovered by Eagle-eyed Anita Williams and Jacqueline Sims Doing the Job the Police Couldn't
”. We'll be asked to open fêtes and all sorts.'

Jackie did a double take. Ginger's only contribution to all this was her fear of mice bringing to light a discarded chip wrapper carrying the report of the bank robbery and the photographs of the suspects. Jackie cared for Ginger too much, though, to deny her her moment of fame, albeit she would make sure the newspapers printed her own name first! She said sardonically, ‘Before you start planning what dress you're going to wear when you're honoured by the Queen, let's see what the police make of all this.'

An hour later, inside Harold's office, Inspector Clayburn, a portly, ruddy-faced man with a mop of grizzled grey hair, sat in a chair before the desk, deep in thought.

Harold sat behind the desk, hands clasped tightly, looking expectantly at the inspector as did Jackie, both of them anxiously awaiting his verdict on her story. Ginger, sitting by Jackie, had temporarily forgotten the reason for them being in the office at all as her attention was focused on the fresh-faced, gangly PC sitting next to Inspector Clayburn, his helmet in his lap, notepad and pencil poised ready to add to the notes he had already taken of proceedings so far. She was thinking what a gorgeous specimen of manhood he was, and just her type. Had he a girlfriend? Hopefully not. But was she the type of girl he found attractive enough to ask out … she dearly hoped so. She saw that the young man, who had been introduced to them by Inspector Clayburn as Constable Paul Nuttall, kept glancing at her now and again and going red in the face when he saw she was looking back at him. Ginger hoped this was a good sign.

The waiting finally proved too much for Jackie. Deciding that he doubted her story she broke in, ‘I'm not wasting your time, Inspector. I'll stake my life on the fact that the two men I pointed out to you in that newspaper article are staying here at Jolly's and have been for weeks. If you …'

Inspector Clayburn then seemed to rally himself out of his trance-like state and cut in. ‘Oh, I don't think for a moment you're wasting our time, Miss Sims. We police rely very much on observations by the public. Many of our most dangerous criminals would never have been brought to justice without tip offs we received from people like you. What you've told me most definitely warrants investigation. It's just that …' He suddenly stopped his flow and turned to address PC Nuttall. ‘You don't need to note this down, lad. It's off the record.'

He turned his attention back to Harold and Jackie. ‘Well, Scotland Yard is heading up this case and it's my duty to inform them of this new lead. We'll be ordered to observe the situation in the meantime and they'll take charge when they arrive up here, which will probably be in about four hours. The lads in Scotland Yard consider us all to be country bumpkins north of Watford Gap. Admittedly we don't get the level of crime in these parts that they do in the smoke – we've mostly petty thieving, stolen tractors, that sort of thing. So this is a great opportunity for us to show them that we're as good at law-enforcing as they are. One in the eye for us, so to speak.'

He shifted position in his chair. ‘I retire at the end of December after thirty years in the service, and what a way to end my career – by arresting the Dolan Gang, or at least two of them. The man with the broken nose is Finbar Dolan. He got it years ago when he was a bare-knuckle fighter, and a nastier character you couldn't wish to meet. The man you saw shacked up with him is Roddy Jenks, who was just a petty crook until Dolan saw his potential and took him under his wing. Dolan is suspected of being responsible for a number of murders, including those of the two security men shot during the bank raid, along with a list of crimes longer than your arm. Scotland Yard has been after him for years but he's always managed to slip through their net so far.' The inspector scowled and said with conviction, ‘But not on my watch. It's just how I go about it without blotting my copy book with the chief and putting my men or anyone else in danger …'

Ginger, in an attempt to impress PC Nuttall, offered, ‘Those chalet doors aren't strong so why don't you just charge in the place and catch them by surprise?'

He shook his head gravely. ‘You don't surprise men like Finbar Dolan. Even though he's been holed up here for weeks and thinking that by now he's got away with it, his guard won't have dropped. His hand won't ever be far away from one of his sawn-off shotguns, and as soon as we burst through the door he'll have it aimed at whoever's first in and blast them to Kingdom Come. A shoot out is the last thing we want.' As the seasoned copper he was, it hadn't escaped his notice that Ginger had taken a shine to his young PC and her suggestion was made purely to impress him. As the kindly man he also was, to save her any embarrassment, he added, ‘Good suggestion, though, and thanks for volunteering it.' He heaved a deep sigh. ‘We need somehow to entice Dolan and Jenks out of the chalet, away from their firearms, so that we can arrest them without fear of a repetition of the Gunfight at the OK Corral. And another thing. We'll need to get the people in the surrounding chalets out of danger without alerting Dolan and Jenks that something is going on. Far easier said than done. Anyone got any suggestions?' he asked them all hopefully.

Harold did have one, but although his confidence had built up significantly recently it wasn't yet strong enough for him to risk making an idiot of himself in front of a police inspector so he remained silent.

Ginger had no more to offer than she had already and neither had PC Nuttall. An idea was forming in Jackie's mind, though, but she needed to explore it a little more before she volunteered it.

Not coming up with anything either, Inspector Clayburn saw his opportunity to show up Scotland Yard fizzle out. He asked Harold, ‘All right to use your telephone, Mr Rose, to call London and alert them to this development? Get their instruction on how they wish us to proceed.'

Harold was just about to respond when Jackie piped up. ‘Inspector, er … I might have a plan that will get those men out of their chalet without their guns.' She then told a very receptive inspector what it was.

They spent a while pulling the plan apart to uncover any pitfalls. Having resolved all they thought of, Inspector Clayburn eyed her, impressed. ‘Could just work, Miss Sims. Yes, it's definitely worth a try. We just have to hope that they fall for it.' He then eyed her in concern. ‘The success of this will rest on you. Do you understand the danger you'll be putting yourself in?'

Harold was inwardly fighting with himself to undertake the part in the plan that Jackie had offered herself up for, but knew that should his nerves get the better of him he might give the criminals a hint that something was afoot and be responsible for a possible bloodbath.

Jackie was terrified of what could happen to her, but something had to be done to apprehend those dangerous men and get them off the camp before innocent holidaymakers and staff could come to any harm. She nodded her head.

Inspector Clayburn rubbed his hands together. ‘Let's get this show on the road then.'

At just before nine that night, having received the go ahead from Inspector Clayburn, reminding herself that the success of this operation now depended on her, Jackie, dressed in a Stripey's uniform, pushed the heavily laden trolley down the dimly lit path to park it at the entrance to chalet 824. Thankfully, most of the occupants of the surrounding chalets were out enjoying the evening's entertainment and those that had stayed in had been moved to a safe place without alerting the occupants of the chalet in question. Taking another deep breath, Jackie stepped the short distance to the door and rapped on it. She heard movement through the thin walls of the chalet and saw the curtain inch slightly aside at the window to the right of her.

Pretending she hadn't noticed, she rapped on the door again, calling out loudly, ‘Mr Green, I'm here to tell you that you have won the chalet raffle, and to give you your prize.'

She had already heard Finbar Dolan's voice and the one that responded wasn't his. It had to be Roddy Jenks'. His tone was suspicious. ‘We ain't entered no competition, we can't have won anything.'

This had already been anticipated and Jackie had an answer ready. ‘You were entered automatically when you checked in earlier. At the Paradise, during the band interval, all the chalet numbers of new arrivals are put in the bingo drum, given a good few turns, and the Head Stripey pulls one out. Tonight your chalet number was the winner. As you obviously weren't at the Paradise, I was asked to bring it to you.'

She could hear voices inside, though not loud enough for her to make out what was being said. Obviously Roddy Jenks was relaying to Finbar Dolan what was transpiring. Shortly his response came back. ‘We ain't got any use for no cheap knick-knacks. Let someone else have the prize.'

It was a good job they had all agreed the prize had to be something irresistible to the villains, in order to lure them out of the chalet to claim it. ‘Oh, I can assure you, at Jolly's our prizes are far better than cheap trinkets. You've won three bottles of spirits and three boxes of chocolates. I've brought along a selection for you to choose from.' Surely these were enough to lure them out of the chalet? Her plan had centred around the men wanting something for nothing, then she worried that neither of them drank spirits or ate chocolates. She quickly added, ‘The spirits can be exchanged for a crate of beer. Newcastle Brown, Pale Ale, Guinness … whatever your preference.' Afraid she was being overzealous in her efforts to get them out and praying they did not take her literally, she said, ‘If tonight isn't convenient, you can always come and collect your prize from reception tomorrow.'

She saw the curtain move aside slightly again. She was being checked out. Thankfully she had managed to park the cart where lamplight shone on it so it could be seen from through the window. The curtain fell back into place. Nothing happened again for several long moments although meanwhile Jackie could hear movement inside. She heard a key turn in the lock … they'd obviously taken to keeping the door locked since she'd unexpectedly burst in on them a few weeks back … and the door started to swing open.

And that was when it hit her like a bolt of lightning just what serious danger she had voluntarily put herself in. What if the men inside had not fallen for the ruse to get them to come out and these breaths she was taking were her last? Just as she was leaving on her mission, Ginger had grabbed her arm, warning her that she'd better come back in one piece as she was impossible to replace. As she had tightly hugged her back, Jackie had promised that she would. She was worried now she should never have made that promise.

To her the door seemed to be opening in slow motion. All her mind's eye could envisage was the barrel of a gun appearing around it and the loud bang as it was fired. She felt her legs begin to buckle, a scream of terror threatening to escape. But, no. She could not be responsible for that. She had volunteered to do this and must keep her nerve and see it through.

Forcing a smile to her face, a light tone to her voice, she greeted the opening door with, ‘Oh, thank goodness you've decided to take your prize now. I didn't fancy hauling this heavy trolley all the way back to the Paradise again. Come and have a look to see what you want.'

It was Roddy Jenks' head that appeared round the door. He had a quick scan around, presumably confirming she was on her own, before the door opened wide enough for him to step out. He was wearing the same disguise that he had worn earlier: a ginger wig and matching droopy moustache. She was grateful to note that he wasn't carrying anything in his hand. Obviously, though, their offer had not been enticing enough to get Dolan out to make his choice of the goodies and he'd sent Jenks out to make it for him. For all Jackie knew Dolan was inside with a gun trained on her as a precaution.

Jenks stepped over to her and began looking at the bottles of drink and boxes of confectionery on the trolley. Jackie was desperately hoping he did not sense that beneath her calm exterior was a mass of jangled nerves and a heart beating so thunderously she feared he would hear it.