11
WE HAD a casual conversation at the corner table of the café, just talking about life and what we were up to. Kevin seemed a bit down, as if he was struggling, so I held back on telling him how well things were going in Spain. It wasn’t really his business and could have sounded like I was boasting.
The conversation drifted on until he asked if I was interested in some work. I shook my head.
‘Nah, don’t need to mate.’
‘But I’ve got a few bits. Good earners too.’
‘Nah, I’m fine.’
He looked really downcast.
‘What’s wrong with you, Kev?’
His words came in a rush, like someone had pulled the stopper out. ‘I’ve done all my money. I’m on my arse and I really need to go to work. I had this wingman lined up, but had to let him go. He was a clown, an attention seeker. I need someone who knows what they’re doing.’
I felt for him. It’s never nice to see an old mate in need, but I really didn’t want to get involved. I had the party in two days and then a flight back to Spain booked for the following week. That was that, as far as I was concerned. I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket and pulled out a roll of notes.
‘You can have this,’ I said. ‘Not 100 per cent sure but I think there’s five or six hundred quid there. That’ll keep you going for today at least. It’s all I’ve got on me, but give me a while and I’ll find you some money. Just pay me back whenever you can.’
‘I don’t want handouts. I’m a grafter John, you know that. And I’m not talking about pocket money anyway. You know what I mean. Are you sure you don’t want to come to work?’
‘Definitely not mate. That’s not why I’m here.’
‘Okay,’ he sighed. ‘Fair enough, I won’t keep asking. Can you do me one favour then?’
‘Of course mate, what?’
‘You know that security depot down in Dartford? Can you take me down there and give me a run-down on it? I’ve got a couple of ideas but I don’t remember exactly where it is.’
Dartford had been one of my favourites in the old days, located just under the Queen Elizabeth II Bridge, next to the Hilton Hotel. I had calculated that most weeks it was holding about £3.5m.
‘Okay,’ I said, a little reluctantly. ‘I’ll take you there, but nothing else.’
As far as the police tracking our every move were concerned, with those words I had already committed conspiracy to rob. I had no idea about any of that, but something tingled in the back of my brain. As we walked to his car I turned to Kevin.
‘Are they on you?’ I asked.
‘No,’ he replied.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely mate. I wouldn’t ask if they were.’
Kevin had a reputation as wily and very hard to catch. He had beaten more counts than anyone else on the scene. I took him at his word.
We drove down to Dartford. I showed him the depot then we headed back to London. Kevin dropped me off at the end of my Mum’s road and asked if I wanted to meet for breakfast again the following morning. I didn’t want him to think I was brushing him off.
‘Of course mate. See you tomorrow.’
Neither of us were aware, but police had followed us all day. After I got out of Kevin’s car they watched to see which house I went into. Once they ran an address check and the intelligence was shared, their operation absolutely exploded. Now that two convicted armed robbers had been seen casing a job, the green light was lit.
A team of more than 100 officers were called to a meeting overnight and allocated roles geared toward observing and ultimately intercepting our activities. Of course I went to bed in blissful ignorance.
It had been nice seeing Kevin. He’d always been a good guy, but the haunted look on his face bothered me. He seemed like he was having a tougher time than he was letting on. Could I have done more to help him? Billy would have wanted me to – look after your own. The following morning we met at the same café.
‘Look,’ Kevin said. ‘I know you said no yesterday, but I think I’ve got something quick and easy for £300,000. Are you interested?’
He pleaded me with his eyes. Maybe a quick one wouldn’t hurt, just to help him out.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘There’s a cash delivery in Sydenham, next to a Sainsbury’s. There are four cash machines there and they take in ten to 12 boxes every time.’
It was good money and I didn’t have much on for a couple of days. There was no harm in earning a few quid while I was home, was there?
‘All right.’
For the second day running I drove down to a potential robbery site with Kevin. He showed me what his idea was and I got drawn in. It looked so easy.
We checked possible escape routes and decided the best option would be a motorbike parked up in an alleyway on the other side of the car park. About a mile of riding would bring you to the Pool river, where the bike could be dumped. There was a bridge there and a car waiting on the other side would take you off towards Beckenham and away.
‘It looks good,’ I told him. ‘But I wanna watch it.’
The next delivery was due for the following day. Again I travelled there with Kevin and we scrutinised the security team delivering boxes of money for the cashpoints. My curiosity was satisfied, but that afternoon, as we went to double check on part of the escape plan, I started to get a bad sense. Something was awry. As we scoped the area a Vauxhall Omega drove past with four blokes in it. The one in the passenger seat eyeballed us then looked away when I returned his gaze.
‘I’m telling you mate, that was Old Bill,’ I told Kevin.
‘You’re paranoid,’ he replied. ‘You’re thinking like them! We’ll never get anywhere like that.’
Later on the same day Kevin wanted to show me another potential job. We parked up opposite a different supermarket with four cashpoints. I noticed a transit van sitting on the other side of the road.
‘That’s sore mate,’ I said, pointing. ‘Look at it. It just looks wrong sitting there.’
‘Fucking hell, John, it’s just a van!’
In the past, whenever my instincts had told me to back away from a job I always had, but Kevin was a big name and one of Billy’s most trusted associates. His certainty and need for assistance kept me from bailing out altogether.
‘Honestly Kev, I’m not waiting around for this,’ I told him. ‘I’m going back to Spain.’
‘Okay,’ he pleaded. ‘I’ve got something else, a van job. Its super easy and we could do it tomorrow.’
I nodded slowly. He was a mate and mates should support each other, but it was still the worst mistake I ever made.
The idea was a petrol station cash delivery where the van would have to pull up on the forecourt. It was the first drop after leaving the depot, so it should have been well loaded with cash. It was simple. Kevin would jump in the van and drive it off. I’d be waiting on the other side of the fence in a car parked at the end of a cul-de-sac. When Kevin took the van, I’d follow. We would take it to a nearby rugby ground, cut it open, dump it and disappear. With an expected haul of £250,000 it was not as good as the other job but looked a doddle.
Something else I could not know at the time was that in the two months they had been monitoring Kevin, he had come very close to committing robberies on several occasions. They had literally watched him pull on a balaclava and prepare himself to smack a van five or six times, only to duck out at the last minute. By the time of my arrival they were champing at the bit.
Having invested so much manpower in the operation since I got involved, the Sweeney had to get a result soon, so they decided to act, no matter what. The minute we tried anything they would jump, filing a charge of conspiracy to rob if necessary, rather than wait and wait in case we did nothing.
On the morning, the van pulled up. It was warm and I wiped some sweat from my forehead as the guard got out. I zoned in, focused on what I had to do, not afraid, but aware of the danger, calm, prepared and ready. A loaded pistol rested on my lap.
Nothing happened.
I radioed Kevin on the walkie-talkie, trying to find out what was going on. Nothing came back. I fumed. What was he up to? I had put myself on offer and he was letting me down.
Cautiously I drove out of the cul-de-sac to get a view of the rest of the petrol station. There didn’t appear to be much taking place. The van was still there, while the guard was inside the forecourt shop. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, three cars roared around the corner and tore down the cul-de-sac I had just left.
Knowing it was Old Bill I put the car into gear and drove away from the robbery site, all the while trying to get Kevin on the walkie-talkie, with no success. I found a quiet street, out of view from the petrol station and parked.
‘What do I do?’ I thought. I could get out of the car and run, jump over some fences and try to put as much distance between myself and them as possible. That made the most sense. By the time the police found the car I would have been gone for ten minutes. I would find someone to hide me, then smuggle myself back out to Spain somehow.
I switched the engine off, opened the door, stepped out and broke into a jog. My conscience pulled me back. Before I had taken five strides from the car I stopped. An overpowering feeling of guilt overcame me. I had been on the job with Kevin. Now I was effectively abandoning him. Anything could be happening back there. He had guns on him and if he was unaware the police were on us, things could get serious very quickly. He could even be killed.
With every cell in my brain screaming at me to do the opposite, I walked back to the car, climbed in, did a U-turn and drove back to the petrol station. As I turned on to the road where we intended to carry out the robbery, a car spun out from the side of the kerb, came tearing forwards and swung behind me, trying to box me in. Two other cars joined in from nowhere, one on the side and one in front. On the back seat of the car in front of me, one of the coppers twisted himself around and raised a gun. They had caged me in like an animal. I had no choice.
‘Fuck this,’ I thought.
I threw the car into first and put my foot down, smashing into the rear corner of the car in front, pushing it to one side. I mounted the pavement, grazed a lamppost and sped off down the road, managing to squeeze between the other two police cars. All three realigned themselves and came after me.
‘I’m not going back to prison,’ I thought. ‘I’m not going back to prison.’
A feeling of déjà vu came over me as I tore through the back streets of Eltham. There were so many similarities to that day back in 2001 with Paul. Again, I knew that before long they would call out a helicopter. Again I knew that sooner or later I would have to bail.
I could not shake them off, so I drove into a large housing estate full of walls and gardens. It was as good a chance as I was likely to get. They would come after me but at least there was the possibility of outrunning them or hiding.
Acting on sheer adrenaline, I burst out of the door, but as I emerged, one of the police vehicles smashed into the back of my car. My seatbelt looped around my arm and the impact pulled me back into the driver’s seat, smashing my elbow on the window. It exploded with pain but I ignored it, released the seatbelt and ran.
Expecting to hear gunshots that never came, somehow I got away. I sprinted off through the alleyways between the blocks, turning this way and that. After a minute of frantic helter-skeltering I allowed myself to look back and was amazed to see there was no one directly behind me. Out of sight, even if only temporarily, I had some sort of chance. I just had to find a way out of the estate, or somewhere to hide.
I was hemmed in by two tall tower blocks and as I emerged from between them, out of breath and sweaty, into the courtyard beyond, my heart sank. A dead-end confronted me, full of high-doored garages, with trellis fencing on top. The only way out was to do an about-face and return from where I had come.
I turned to go back and stopped. Between the two buildings, a heaving pile of police charged towards me through the narrow passage, some with guns up, scrambling over each other in their eagerness like the Keystone Cops.
‘Get down on the floor, get down on the floor!’ one screamed.
I did not comply, but had a last look up at the sky, which was very blue, with small wisps of cloud like cigarette smoke. I stood there and waited for the wave of law enforcement to crash upon me. And crash it did.
The first officer rugby-tackled me to the ground and the rest pounced like hounds on a fox. They absolutely battered me. Boots flew in from all angles and I lay, pinned to the concrete, absorbing the pain. As I did, I kept seeing a brown shoe swinging backwards and forwards into my face.
At last a voice said, ‘Stop, there’s a window cleaner up there. He’s watching.’
‘You lucky little cunt,’ said another.
They handcuffed me and pulled me up. Through my swollen eyes I saw that the owner of the brown shoes was a woman. She had a blonde fringe.
‘You fucking slag,’ I hissed.
She smiled. ‘You shouldn’t go out robbing, should you?’
They bundled me into the back of the closest police car as my mind worked overtime, coming up with possible solutions to this mess. They had given me a hell of a beating and if I pretended to be concussed they would have to take me to hospital. It would be far easier to escape from a ward than a cell.
I began lolling my head around, closing my eyes and pretending I was drifting in and out of consciousness.
‘Are you all right?’ one copper asked.
‘No, I’m nauseous and I’m seeing things floating in front of my eyes.’
All the while I listened to everything going on. It came through their radios that Kevin had not yet been arrested. I looked up and through slitted eyes, saw them go to the boot of my car and open it. The copper pulled a carrier bag out and all the others crowded around to see what he had found. He opened the bag and pulled out a towel. Then he pulled out a pair of gym shorts.
A few of the police gave each other worried looks. After that he took out a pair of trainers and a vest.
One of them put his head in his hands. Another visibly said ‘shit’. They had been expecting guns.
The conversation on the radios resumed.
‘Have you nicked Barnes?’ one said.
‘No,’ came the reply. ‘He’s in Sidcup high street.’
‘What the fuck?’ I thought. ‘What’s he doing there?’
Minutes dragged by. I prayed that Kevin understood the gravity of the situation and had the sense to dispose of the weapons. Without firearms, there wouldn’t be much of a case. The worst they could do me for would be theft. I maintained my act of losing consciousness for a while.
Then one of the police received an update.
‘He’s screaming “fit-up”,’ he shouted.
Kevin had been caught and in desperation was claiming police harassment. The jig was up.
I felt someone climb into the driver’s seat of the car. I had my head down, eyes drooping.
‘John,’ a voice said.
I ignored it.
‘John!’ Rougher now, more insistent, it sounded familiar and I opened my eyes a crack. Sitting in the front, craning his neck around, grinning from ear to ear, was none other than DCI Currie. I sat up a little.
‘So, we meet again! You haven’t learned your lesson have you, John?’ He allowed himself a little chuckle. ‘I don’t think Kevin’s going to get you out of this like Paul did. Nah, I just can’t see it. You’re going to have to answer for this one.’
I mumbled something, still trying to feign concussion.
‘Listen me old mate and listen well. You are fucked. Well and truly. You do know that, don’t you?’
With every gloating word he sucked a bit more life out of me. I sank into the seat, knowing he was right. Soon all three cars formed a convoy, taking me to Bromley police station. Currie drove my car, while I sat sandwiched between two meathead coppers in the back. My brain churned and churned, scrambling for possibilities.
‘I’m not going back to prison. Got to do something. I’m not going back to prison.’
Currie broke my trance.
‘Look out the window John,’ he said, fixing my eyes in the rear-view mirror.
I looked. We were passing through Bromley town centre at 10am on a Wednesday. There were supermarkets, buses and a few gap-toothed old drunks smoking outside Wetherspoons. One of them was on a mobility scooter. Never had it all looked so beautiful.
‘You won’t be seeing this for a very long time.’
A lump rose in my throat. I looked down, attention suddenly drawn by the gearstick and handbrake.
‘If I time it right and kick those,’ I thought, ‘when we’re going at speed, there’s a chance the car might flip. If the car flips, maybe I can get out.’
The copper next to me seemed to sense what I was thinking, sidled closer and locked his leg over mine. I had to accept it. There was no point struggling. It would just make it worse.
My elbow throbbed but I tried to ignore it, to relax and let the tension out of my body. I thought of Elodi, waiting for me back in Spain, of Aaron and our grand plans, the shining Mediterranean, the parties. Had it all just been an illusion? I looked down at my knees and waited.