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CAROLINE SEWELL TURNED around and saw Bill Morris holding a gun. She had no idea of the type of gun save it was a pistol he held in the palm of his hand and it pointed at her.
“Armed police!” It was a disembodied voice amplified by a megaphone. It startled Regan. It also made Bill spin around towards the source of the noise. It was a uniformed police officer. The officer spoke again, full of urgency, “Drop your weapon immediately!”
Bill Morris turned back towards Caroline who was frozen in her tracks. She found herself unable to move forward or back, never mind run. Her mind was frozen too, along with all her faculties. She was unable to speak nor scream. He raised the gun once more in her direction. A man in a Stetson with a wild beard jumped out from behind a sycamore tree and fired at Bill at point blank range. Regan recognised him. It was Blue. As Blue pulled the trigger, he shouted, “This is for Rachael.” Bill fired once. Blue dropped like a stone.
John reacted despite what he had just witnessed. He pulled off three rounds from the Browning and all hit the target – Bill Morris. He had been trained to ensure all potential danger was eliminated. His military training also meant he knew the effects of different types of weapon and the different sounds they made. John Barnard had heard the snap of a high velocity bullet and saw its effect on Bill’s body as the impact forced the now dead Bill into an involuntarily leap backwards and a macabre dance. A second high velocity shot rang out. The face of Bill Morris was no longer recognisable as a result of the head shot from the trained sniper on the court house roof.
The officer’s voice rang out once more, “Drop your weapons, now!”
Regan and John Barnard lowered their weapons to the ground and complied with the next amplified order, “Good. Now get face down on the ground with your hands open and arms above your head. Stay like that. Under no circumstances move again until you are told to do so.”
Regan cocked his head to one side to glance at Caroline Sewell. She looked as pale as a ghost. Her bag was at her feet and she was holding her face in both hands. Next, he heard a metallic sound. It was his gun kicked away from where he had laid it, followed by another identical sound of John’s gun dealt the same fate.
He next felt a kick in his ribs. Luckily it was his good side not the gunshot wound. Regan kept his cool and lay there motionless. He knew the drill. Plastic ties were placed around his wrists but not before two officers pinned his arms behind his back. More ties were placed around his ankles. Regan felt like a turkey at Christmas time. He could sense hands patting him down and probing all over. Under his arms, behind his ears, his neck, chest, arm pits, back, inside his belt, groin, buttocks, back of his knees, his pockets then a familiar voice but without amplification.
“My officer is now going to remove your footwear.”
His boots were pulled off one by one. Then the probing hands checked his stockinged feet and dove inside the boots.
It was then he was yanked to his feet in one swift coordinated movement by two male officers who flanked him.
One of the two said, “You are being arrested on suspicion of unlawful possession of a firearm. You don’t have to say anything but ...”
Regan could not resist, “I know the drill.”
The same process was repeated with John Barnard by two other officers but this time they managed to finish the police caution about self-incrimination without interruption. Regan was three yards away. He called over to John, “Don’t say a word. I will explain it all.” For his trouble, Regan was struck by one of the officers with a sly but ferocious dig into his side. Regan spoke no more until they reached Vauxhall Police Station.
Regan refused to give his details when asked by the custody sergeant on arrival in the custody suite. He said, “I am unable to give you my details as to my identity. I am requesting I be permitted to speak to the most senior officer on duty today.”
The burly and surly desk sergeant had seen and heard a lot of things in his day but this was new.
“I’ll ask the Commissioner of the Met to come, shall I?”
“He will do, but a Chief Super, preferably a Detective Chief Super, will do just as well. In fact, make it a uniform boss not a DCS.”
There was something in Regan’s tone and demeanour made the world-weary sergeant take notice. It wasn’t what Regan had said, rather it was the way he said it.
“Put them in separate cells. I’m going upstairs to speak to the guvnor.”
The overweight sergeant was out of breath by the time he climbed four flights of stairs to the boss’s office. He paused before knocking at the door to compose himself. The Chief Super called out, “Enter,” and looked up to see who was at the door.
“What is it, sergeant ? Thought you would have stayed away from here seeing you have only got three months before your pension. You’d better get a bit fitter, too. You know so many coppers drop dead after retiring.”
“That’s it, guv. I don’t want to fuck up now so close to retiring from the job. I got a feeling about this prisoner downstairs. Kind of a sixth sense if you will.”
The sergeant told his boss about the incident at the court house and about the two prisoners.
“The thing is, he’s refusing to give his name or any details and said he must speak to a senior officer. I got this feeling about it all.”
The Chief Super sat back in his sumptuous fake leather chair, then scratched his chin before speaking.
“I’ll tell you what. Arrange for an interview room, the one with the listening device. We should record what he has to say. I’ll listen to his story... it’ll make a change from all this paperwork.”
The Chief Superintendent introduced himself before sitting down on one of the metal chairs bolted to the floor of the sparsely decorated interview room. Regan was seated opposite him.
Regan got straight to the point after the introduction. “I’m an undercover cop. Before I tell you the full story let me tell you this. There is a Customs boss by the name of Marks trussed up in the boot of his car. It’s a maroon Rover saloon parked in Randall Road. Please arrange to have him released.”
The Chief Superintendent weighed up Regan again, displaying the nervous tic of scratching his chin when faced with making a decision.
“No need to tell me the full story, I believe you but you will have to stay here. You know the score. Someone will have to interview you and take a full statement from you.”
“I suppose that has to be right. Okay, please arrange that and let me out of here. One other thing, tell them to leave John alone. He can add nothing.”
