The blueprint for the raid was immaculate: Harry Rawlins would not have had it any other way. He was a wealthy antique dealer specializing in high-priced artwork, silverware and jewelry, and he and his wife Dolly made a formidable couple. But there was another side to Harry Rawlins. An accomplished criminal and money launderer, he drew from his men a deep respect and loyalty—but he was a cold, calculating and lethal enemy. And although the police suspected him of being heavily involved in crime, Harry Rawlins had never spent a single day behind bars.
The plan was simple and, as ever with anything Harry Rawlins led, had been rehearsed over and over again in detail. Four of them, wearing balaclavas, would hold up a security wagon at a pre-set marker on the dual carriageway underpass. A bread truck in front of the security wagon, driven by one of the gang, would act as a blocker by slamming on its brakes. As soon as the security wagon ahead halted, the three men following in a Ford Escort van would take up position. One would hold up the traffic behind at gun point while the other two, using blasting gelatin with a wired detonator cap, would blow open the back doors of the security wagon. The driver of the bread van would join them and each man would fill the others’ rucksacks with money bags before three of the armed raiders ran the last fifty yards to the exit of the underpass to a waiting getaway car. The fourth raider, covering their escape, would then drive the bread truck to a pre-arranged hideout.
As the bread truck, the security wagon and the Ford Escort van entered the Strand underpass, everything seemed to be going to plan. The raiders, all seasoned villains, were prepared for the next phase. But then, suddenly—the unexpected happened. A short distance behind them, a police car appeared, heading down the underpass in pursuit of two young joyriders.
As the sirens blared, the driver of the Ford Escort van turned to look behind him in panic—and in that same split second, the driver of the bread truck, continuing with the raid as planned, slammed on his brakes, forcing the security wagon to do the same. By the time the driver of the Ford Escort van turned back, it was too late. He plowed into the back of the security wagon and the joyriders plowed into the back of him.
The almost simultaneous impacts caused the raider in the front seat to lurch forward. The blasting gelatin flew out of his hand and hit the dashboard, setting off an explosion and fireball that engulfed everything inside.
The three armed raiders were trapped inside their own vehicle; the flames and smoke making it impossible for anyone to wrench open the driver’s door. No one could reach them, no one could help them, but everyone could hear their screams as the petrol tank finally exploded and blew what remained of their van apart.
In the awful confusion that followed, no one noticed the driver of the bread truck. He watched in disbelief for a few seconds, then ran back to the bread truck and drove out of the underpass.
All three charred bodies from the Ford Escort van were taken to Westminster Mortuary. Two days later, the forensic pathologist completed his examination and identified them officially as Harry Rawlins, Joe Pirelli and Terry Miller.
As the driver of the Ford Escort van, Harry Rawlins’s body had taken the full impact of the gelatin explosion. The upper part of his body had been literally blown to pieces, the skull so badly fragmented it couldn’t be reconstructed, and both legs were charred down to the bone. However, still attached to the wrist of a burned and mutilated left forearm was a gold Rolex watch with the now-blurred inscription: To Harry—love, Dolly—2/12/62
Although police had suspected from the first that the second body was Joe Pirelli, the face was too badly burned down one side to be 100 percent certain. He had a criminal record, but no fingerprints could be taken, as neither hand was found intact. In the end, a forensic odontologist had to be brought in and eventually identified the body from dental records to within reasonable doubt.
With three previous convictions, Terry Miller was identified by a partial thumb and forefinger print on what remained of his burnt left hand.
All three men had been married. All three wives were now widows.