Gawber returned to the car and waited patiently, keeping the entrance under observation in case Glazer’s mob moved on or off the site.
Angel spent forty minutes on top of the mower, cutting the grass, traversing the site so that he could see every single vehicle without arousing suspicion. He worked his way up to the far end of the site where Webster had an area allocated for extra large caravans or RVs, Recreational Vehicles, as Americans called them.
And there they were. The Glazer gang – all five of them – next to a big American chromium-plated monster.
Angel’s pulse raced. He had to steady his shaking hands on the mower’s handlebar. He drove as close to them as he could. They hardly spared him a glance. Eddie, Tony and Kenny were seated on deckchairs at a round table with a big red umbrella over it. Eddie was reading a newspaper. Tony and Kenny were chatting. Oona Glazer was stretched out nearby on a towel on the grass sunbathing, while Kenny was sitting on the motor-caravan step, smoking a cigarette. Within arms length of each of them was a wine holder with a bottle of Bollinger nestled in it.
Angel turned the mower round and pointed it at Webster’s office. He had a chill in his heart and determination in his belly.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was 4 p.m., Monday, 23 July. It was three hours since Angel had discovered the whereabouts of the Glazer gang and, in that time, not a minute had been wasted.
The sun continued to beat down and it was still very hot.
Through binoculars from the veranda of the site office, Angel observed that the Glazer gang was now pulling out chairs and hovering round the table outside their RV. They appeared to be gathering to eat a meal. That was the sign he had been waiting for. He was planning to drive an unmarked 4 x 4 car, towing a touring caravan along a service road slowly towards them, while, at the same time, another 4 x 4 and caravan, was to be driven by Crisp in his shirt sleeves and open-necked shirt, along a different but parallel service road in the same direction. The two cars and vans were to look like two unrelated family caravans moving to pitches to park and set up for the night.
The moment had arrived. Angel got in the cab of the 4 x 4 and started up the engine. He waved Crisp on and they moved off driving at 10 mph along parallel service roads towards the Glazer gang. It wasn’t far. The journey would take only thirty seconds or so.
Many caravanners were in deckchairs or on towels on the grass applying suncream in the still hot sun. Two young girls in swim suits played a simple ball game with rackets across an unoccupied caravan pitch. Angel was concerned for their safety: this was always the worry when trying to arrest an armed gang in a public place.
The slow, short journey was tense but uneventful. When they were about twenty feet away from Glazer’s RV, both 4 x 4’s stopped as planned. Eight police in riot gear piled out of each caravan at speed, their Heckler and Koch G36C assault rifles drawn and cocked. At the same time, from a loud speaker perched on the roof of Angel’s vehicle, his loud, distorted, commanding voice could be heard.
‘Eddie Glazer, this is the police,’ he said commandingly. ‘You are under arrest. So are your friends. Lie down on the grass, immediately. All of you.’
The Glazer gang looked up from their meal, stunned. They saw the sixteen rifles aimed at them, dropped their cutlery and, wide-eyed, looked across at each other.
People sunning themselves nearby heard and saw what was happening. Some of them bustled their children and their families inside their vans for safety. Some others stood up and gaped at the scene curious or astounded.
The police closed further in on the gang and screamed, ‘Get down. Get down. Get down. Hands on your head. Hands on your head.’
There was a sudden move from Glazer’s brother, Tony. From a kneeling position, he reached out to a pocket in his coat draped around the chair where he had been sitting.
‘Leave it,’ a policeman yelled and a warning shot was fired at the chair. A bullet ricocheted from the chair and made a loud metallic click.
Tony Glazer pulled back his hand. ‘All right,’ he screamed, holding up his hands from a kneeling position. ‘All right. I give up. I give up.’
Everybody on the caravan site heard the rifle shot. More sun-worshippers dived into their caravans or cars for shelter.
‘Get down,’ a policeman yelled at the Glazers.
‘Get down. Get down,’ the call was repeated interminably by the police.
The five members of the gang lay close together prostrate on the grass. The police closed in still directing their rifles at them. Two of the policemen dragged the chairs, with coats hanging on them, wine stand, boxes of wine, Oona’s handbag and the loaded table hastily towards the caravan and away from their prisoners.
On cue, a big black police van rocked quickly along the grass through the caravan site towards them.
Angel arrived at his office the following morning at 8.28 a.m. He was as bright as the Chief Constable’s MBE, and ready to supply the necessary evidence to the prosecuting barrister of the Crown Prosecution Service. This man, a Mr Twelvetrees, would use Angel’s information to obtain a remand order at the magistrates’ court next door later on that morning for each of the five members of the Glazer gang.
There was a knock at the door. It was Gawber.
‘I’ve checked the shoe size of each of the men, sir. The only size 10 is Eddie Glazer.’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘No possibility of an error, Ron?’
Gawber shook his head. ‘The others are 11s and 12s, sir.’
Angel nodded thoughtfully. ‘That confirms it then,’ he said firmly. ‘Eddie Glazer’s barrister will have to work damned hard to get him out of that.’ Then he added grimly, ‘Glazer will die in prison.’
‘I’ll push off and check they’ll be ready for court,’ Gawber said.
He went out as Dr Mac had arrived at the door.
‘Can I come in?’
Angel smiled.
‘Ah Mac, you’re always welcome here. Come on in.’
The Scotsman closed the door. Angel pointed to the chair by his desk. ‘Sit down. It’s very early for you, isn’t it, Mac? Worried some tealeaf might have nicked your porridge?’
‘None of your lip, laddie,’ Mac said maintaining a dour face.
Angel grinned.
Mac leaned across the desk and said: ‘I suppose you’d like to hear the result of the DNA comparison between the loose hair found on the body of Alicia Prophet, which SOCO confirmed belonged to Charles Prophet, and the flesh content in the saliva of Carl Gaston’s mouth, taken from that handkerchief of yours, wouldn’t you?’
Angel paid Dr Mac very serious attention. ‘It certainly has a bearing on a case I’m working on, Mac,’ he said expectantly.
‘Well, I can tell you quite positively, that there are enough similarities to prove that Charles Prophet was indeed the biological father of Carl Gaston.’
Angel raised his head.
‘Thank you very much indeed, Mac,’ he said, nodding slowly.
That was the very last piece in the puzzle and Angel felt a warm, comfortable feeling in his chest. An excited shiver ran up and down his arms and hands. He now knew exactly where to find the mysterious Lady Cora Blessington. He considered the position a moment; there was still a lot to do before he could make the arrest.
After exchanging the usual courtesies, Dr Mac left.
Angel rushed down to the CPS office and discussed and determined with Mr Twelvetrees, prosecuting barrister, the charges to be made against the Glazers. They were duly typed up and presented to their solicitors before attending the court. Later that morning, he had the satisfaction of seeing the five of them whisked away on remand in a Group 4 van.