‘What obstacles?’
‘We reached more embedded iron bars. There was a brick wall behind them which we thought would take us into the vault area. Danny cut the bars with the oxyacetylene and when we removed the bricks we’d reached the vault’s concrete base.’
‘Sounds like it’s all goin’ well to me.’
‘It was, until we discovered the concrete was reinforced with thick wire mesh.’
‘So what you’re tellin’ me is the fuckin’ job is going to take longer than planned.’
‘Yeah, we now gotta focus on making the hole wide and deep enough to crawl through with the Kango drills and large wire cutters so we can cut through the concrete and mesh.’
Clifford kept his voice low. ‘You should keep pressing on, John, but I can see you’re knackered. I’ll stand in for David tomorrow night if he’s not better, you go get some more sleep.’
Clifford shut the door and went to get his breakfast. Passing David’s room he could hear the rasping cough. He’d be a liability as a lookout, and it felt good to Clifford that he’d be taking over.
Bradfield and Kath had a midday meeting with the portly and pompous bank manager of the TSB, Mr Adrian Dunbar, who wore a pinstriped suit, red-silk bow tie and matching handkerchief sticking out of his breast pocket. He had a slight lisp and was shocked when given the reason for the detectives’ visit. He said that no one who had come to the bank had been acting suspiciously and there had been no reports of suspicious sounds of any kind, be it machinery or hammering. He was very confident and was not in any way overly concerned.
‘The vault is on a timer and can only be opened during banking hours. Just the assistant manager and I know the code, and if you get it wrong twice it triggers the alarms. In addition, any attempt to cut through the steel vault will cause an inner vibration which will set the alarm off and cause an iron shutter to come down between the outer entry door and the vault itself, making it impossible to exit.’
Bradfield and Kath were shown the vault area. The massive steel door with the big locking wheel in its centre was certainly impressive.
‘As you can see it is impenetrable. The vault is fireproof and airtight, and the air conditioning is turned on automatically when the door is correctly opened.’
‘Well, someone managed to break into the bank in Baker Street a couple of years ago and it was a similar setup.’
‘I am aware of that, Detective, and so were the people who built the vault and installed the security for this bank and I can assure you it is not a similar set-up. Our vault is, as I said, impenetrable. This steel wall is twelve inches thick.’ Dunbar slapped the palm of his hand against it.
‘Well, I hear you loud and clear, Mr Dunbar, but isn’t there a possibility that even with all this high-level security the robbers could be intending to come up beneath the vault?’
Mr Dunbar laughed and dismissed the possibility, saying that when the rebuilding was commissioned they had laid thick wire-meshed concrete and the steel floor was inches thick. Kath glanced at the disappointed Bradfield as it really did appear they had the wrong bank. Even when asked about the contents secured in the vault Mr Dunbar was less than forthcoming and said that over four hundred customers used the facility due to the impressive security measures. His pomposity hardly flagged when he said that the bank took every precaution with regard to their customers’ property and the whole point of the vault was privacy. Each client had a key to their personal secure box and the bank held a second key — both keys were required to open the box. A log book had to be signed and dated by the customer before permission was granted for them to remove and view the contents of their box in private. They would then take it out of the vault and into a small secure room where they could view their valuables, or if they wished to simply place an item in a box there was a table inside the vault to use. A member of staff was always present outside the room, and as the bank manager Dunbar would try and deal with the customers personally.
‘Can you tell us what the deposit boxes contain?’ Kath asked.
‘I don’t know, they are private, but I imagine it more than likely money, jewellery, antiques, private letters and wills.’
‘Could you show us inside the vault, please, Mr Dunbar?’ she asked.
‘I suppose so, but this is all very irregular. Would you both please turn your backs while I press the code to disable the alarm.’
Bradfield glanced at Kath tight-lipped: it was as if the odious little man didn’t trust them.
Dunbar pressed in his entry code to the vault and began to turn the wheel. There were sounds of heavy-duty clicking and beeping before he was able to ease the massive iron door open with the assistance of Bradfield. Kath was transfixed as she looked around the inside of the pristine shiny vault. She’d never seen anything like it before and could understand why Dunbar was rather arrogant about the security. In the enclosed vault his voice echoed and the shiny steel floor made their footsteps resound. There was row upon row of deposit boxes, whose locks and handles glinted in the bright overhead lights. Dunbar assumed a superior attitude, holding both arms aloft as he pointed to the array of precious locked items. There was a large steel safe built into the side almost two feet in height and width, with a locking number dial on it.
‘Excuse me, sir, there appears to be another safe within the vault. What does that contain?’
Dunbar explained the contents belonged to a member of the Saudi Arabian royal family who had paid for it to be built in for his personal belongings.
Bradfield shook Mr Dunbar’s hand, thanking him for his time and patience. It seemed that they were mistaken about the TSB being the target and he apologized for troubling him.
Bradfield looked at Kath as they got in the car.
‘You reckon he’s a woofter?’
‘Who?’ Kath asked.
‘Dunbar. It’s the red bow tie and hanky. They say woofters use hankies as a gay code and he spoke like he had something stuck up his arse.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Kath replied, shaking her head.
Jane ached all over. No one had entered or left the Bentleys’ flat, and sitting hunched up looking through a small hole for hours had given her a cricked neck and terrible headache.
She sat back and stretched as Stanley, who had snored for nearly three hours, stirred himself. She physically jumped when the rear door of the van was knocked on in the standard coded manner.
Stanley scuttled to the double doors to look in a gap of the blacked-out window, then opened one door for Bradfield to jump inside.
‘Jesus Christ, Stanley, it stinks in here! Dear God, don’t you ever toss out your rotting food?’
‘Listen, I was in a static op last night and collected the van from the drug squad this morning, so it ain’t all my mess. Nothing has moved all day, so we don’t even know if the targets are in their flat — and I need a leak,’ he said, leaning over to lift up the hatch for the pee hole.
Bradfield put his foot on the hatch. ‘Not in here, it stinks enough. You can go and stretch your legs and get a bite to eat, Stanley, discreetly — as only an officer so highly trained and skilled as yourself can do!’
‘Very funny, guv,’ Stanley said, and pulled on a donkey jacket. ‘You and Tennison want anything?’ he asked.
Bradfield said he was only paying a flying visit and Jane asked if she could have a cheese sandwich and a bottle of water.
Stanley crouched at the back doors and waited for Jane and Bradfield to give the all-clear before jumping out.
Bradfield sat on the bench close to Jane who was still keeping observation on the Bentleys’ flat, unsure what to say or why he had come. He sat with his raincoat buttoned up and lit a cigarette.