Signal Red

'Hello,' she said in her roughest voice. 'Is that Scotland Yard?'

The police Rover pulled Tony before he had even left London en route to the farm. He watched the light in the rearview mirror of his two-tone powder-blue Ford Capri coupe that he had taken from his showroom. The Capri was nifty, but there was no way he could outrun the Rover.

He slowed, changed down using the column gearshift, and pulled over, then studied the rearview mirror, watching the two uniforms approach.

A knuckle on the window. 'Step out of the car, sir.'

He wound the window down. 'Why, Officer? Was I committing an offence?'

The man crouched down. He had a bruiser's face, square and solid-looking with a five-o'clock shadow you could tell no razor could banish completely. 'Mr Anthony Fortune?'

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 'Yes.'

'Can you step out of the vehicle?'

Tony opened the door and did as he was told.

'Thank you, sir. Could you tell me what is in the boot, sir?'

'Jack. Spare wheel.'

'Mind if we take a look?' The policeman smiled. They were going to take a look come what may.

Tony reached in, pulled the keys from the ignition and handed them to him. 'Be my guest.'

The copper tossed them to his colleague.

'How did you know it was me?' asked Tony.

'Oh, an all-car message, sir. Quite distinctive, this vehicle. Bit of a lady's colour though, blue and white.'

'Bloody hell!' the other policeman yelled.

Tony sighed.

'Derek. Look at this.'

He followed Derek around to the rear and the three of them stared into the gaping boot and its eight cans of petrol and rags. Thank God he'd parked the cash Field had given

him with old Paddy his mechanic before picking up the Capri.

'What's this?' Derek asked, as he picked up a can and shook it.

'Petrol.'

He unscrewed the cap and sniffed. 'I can see that. You going somewhere?'

Tony sighed again. 'On a very long trip, I should imagine.'

'Hello, is that Brill police station? Who am I speaking to? Sergeant Blackman. Look, Sergeant, it's John Marris here. I called Aylesbury the other day and they never got back to me. I know they are busy, that's what I am talking about. The robbery. There is a farm here with a suspicious vehicle in it. And nobody has been around for days. I checked. Leatherslade. You know it? Yes, sold a few months ago. Never seen the owners. You'll send a man down, will you? Good. Because something funny has gone on there. Will you come yourself? Right. Constable Woolley. Tell him I'll meet him at the end of the lane in an hour. How's that?'

Fifty-one

New Scotland Yard, 11 August 1963

George Hatherill lit a cigarette and offered them around to Len Haslam and Billy Naughton. They were looking very pleased with themselves as they took one each. He wasn't so sure they had any right to be smug, not yet.

'So what have you got on this Tony Fortune?'

'Nothing yet,' said Duke. 'We're still questioning him.'

'But you are sure he is in the frame?'

'Tangentially.'

'Tangentially? Big word for you, Len. Did Billy here teach you that?' Hatherill wagged his cigarette at Duke. 'Expand on that.'

'We have two reasons to believe he was involved. One we'll explain in a moment, another from an anonymous tip-off. A woman.'

Hatherill snorted. Anonymous tip-offs didn't count for much, as far as he was concerned. They were often more about setttling scores than the truth. There had been lots of them so far, many no doubt naming the actual villains, but with no proof offered.

'ABC, lads. ABC.' It stood for Assume nothing, Believe nobody, Check everything. 'She give you anyone else?'

'Bruce Reynolds. But we already have him down as a person of interest.'

'And you can't pull him just on some mad bint's word. Got to be better than that. And if Fortune does put his hands up for it, before you charge him in connection with the train you'll have to take him to Aylesbury.'

'We appreciate that, sir,' Billy said.

'And why aren't you taking this to Mr Butler or Mr Millen?'

Because you are the kingmaker in this, Len thought. The Big Cheese.

'Well, as Len says, apart from the tip-off, it's tangential at the moment. Thought we'd run it by you first. You might make connections we can't.'

Hatherill shook his head, well aware he was being flattered. 'I'm not sure why you are wasting my time with this, lads. We've pulled in almost every lowlife. What makes Tony Fortune so special?'

'His wife.'

'I thought you said she had just given birth? I don't recall a pregnant woman being involved at Sears Crossing.'

Len and Billy exchanged glances, confirming to each other that it was time to come clean. Knowing he had Hatherill's ear, Len let Billy do the talking.

'The wife is speaking partly in riddles and nods and winks.'

'That's women for you,' smiled Hatherill. 'Especially after they've had a baby.'

'We think Tony Fortune was offered the job but for some reason turned it down. Yes, I know half the villains in London are claiming that. We also think that the wife's brother knew about it.'

'Where is the brother?'

'Norwich.'

'The prison?'

Billy nodded vigorously. 'Sir. He was the driver on an armed robbery last week. Grafton Street?'

Hatherill waved him on with an impatient gesture of his hand. 'I know about it, yes.'

'Geoff, the brother, is up to his eyes in debt. When the train didn't come off for him, he went with the Clarence Brothers. Big mistake. Now he is looking at ten years.'

'But?'

'Marie Fortune reckons that if Geoff's charge were dropped to being an accessory – just driving, in other words – he might give us some names.'

'But Tony Fortune won't?'

They both shook their heads.

'Tony Fortune isn't stupid.'

'But this Geoff is?'

Len gave a grunt that might have been a laugh. 'He'd have to be, to drive for the Clarences. They make the Richardsons look like The Brains Trust.'

'Does Fortune know you have spoken to the wife?'

Again, they shook their heads in unison. 'He hasn't put anything together yet,' said Billy. 'He's not even sure why he was pulled. We're certain of it.'

'Good. Keep it like that. Wife might come in handy later as a bit of leverage.' Hatherill smoked on, thinking for a moment. 'I am assuming you lads would like to be attached to the Train Squad for this. Should it pan out, I mean.'

Neither of them denied it.

'In which case, I think you can leave this matter to Ernie Millen and me.'

'Sir?' Len asked incredulously. 'What do you mean?'

'Mr Millen and I will travel to Norwich. I'm sorry, but if you are right, this is too important to…' His words tailed off.

'Leave to junior officers?' Billy suggested.

'In a word, yes. You keep quiet about this. It has to be approached carefully. We also have to make sure no word of this gets out, certainly not into the prison population.' He could see disappointment in both their faces. 'In the meantime, drop everything else, report to Jack Slipper, see if he has anything needs chasing up.'

It took a moment for the last sentence to sink in. Slipper was one of the Train Squad. And if they were working for him, they were too.

'Sir.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'Go on, piss off. Go and catch some train robbers, make me happy.' As they were almost out the door, he spoke again, softly. 'And boys, this better be right. I have many ambitions for what little time I have left in the Force. Going to Norwich isn't one of them.'

Ten minutes later the phone rang. It was Brigadier John Cheney, Chief Constable of Buckinghamshire, and what he told him put a big smile on Hatherill's face. He put down the receiver and then called the operator. 'Get me the Forensic Science laboratory. We've found the hideout.'