‘In Tottenham High Road near the junction with White Hart Lane — a lot of the Spurs players use it.’
‘Well, I doubt one of them would nick a handbag.’ Baxter smirked.
‘I’d like you to tell me exactly why you’re both here, because I’m sensing it’s not just to tell me my car was found,’ Braun demanded.
The Colonel looked him in the eye. ‘We had a vehicle examiner go over what was left of your car. In his expert opinion nothing was forced into the ignition barrel to start the vehicle and it wasn’t hot-wired either, which means—’ He paused to let Braun answer.
‘A key was used to start it... and you think I might be involved in some way.’
‘Are you, Mr. Braun?’ the Colonel asked.
‘No, I’m not. The car was stolen from outside my house while I was on holiday in Mauritius with my wife. My neighbor noticed it was gone, but he didn’t realize it had been stolen.’
‘All sounds a bit fishy to me,’ Baxter remarked.
‘Do I look like someone who’d be involved in a bank robbery?’
The Colonel grinned. ‘Believe me, they come in all shapes and sizes—’
‘This is ridiculous, I’ve got a holiday booking receipt and a dated Mauritian entry stamp in my passport.’
He walked towards the cabinet to get them.
‘It’s OK, I don’t doubt you were on holiday, but who’s to say the theft of the key and being on holiday isn’t a set up alibi?’ the Colonel suggested.
Braun was struggling to remain calm. ‘I can put up with you calling me a liar — but don’t you dare insinuate my wife is!’
‘Where were you yesterday morning?’ Baxter asked.
‘What time did this robbery occur?’
‘About 9:45,’ Baxter said.
‘I was at work until eleven o’clock Thursday morning, then drove home and didn’t get back here until about half past. You can check it out with my work colleagues—’
‘You got two cars then?’ Baxter asked.
‘Yeah, my wife used the Cortina mostly, for shopping and running the kids to and from school.’
‘What’s your other car?’ Baxter asked.
‘A BMW 323i, which I now keep in the garage, for obvious reasons.’
‘Then what’s your wife using now?’ the Colonel asked.
‘My car if I’m not using it, and public transport if I am.’
‘What do you do for a living?’ the Colonel asked.
‘I’m in the London Fire Brigade, as a senior fire investigator based in the West End. I’m night shift this week and was called out to a residential arson at two o’clock Thursday morning. Someone poured petrol through a letterbox, thankfully no one was hurt, and I worked the scene with a scientist and one of your lab liaison sergeants.’
‘Who was the sergeant?’ Baxter asked, ready to write the name down.
‘Paul Lawrence. I’ve worked a few arson scenes with him before and socialized with him at forensic conferences.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us you were a fireman earlier?’ the Colonel asked.
‘I would have done if you’d asked, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with why you came to see me.’
‘Well, it certainly puts things in a different light... Was there anything in your wife’s handbag with your address on it?’
‘She didn’t think so at the time, but it’s possible. Our bloody house keys were in her handbag as well, so I had to have the front door locks changed — which wasn’t cheap.’
‘Can I have a look at the vehicle registration certificate for the previous keeper?’
‘I bought it off the station officer on Red Watch at Soho where I work. Mick Goddard — he lives in Romford.’
Braun got the document from a drawer in the kitchen and gave it to Baxter, who wrote down Goddard’s details in his pocket notebook.
‘Look, my car was obviously started with a key, but from personal experience in dealing with burnt-out cars I have known cases where a different, but similar, key has been used to start a stolen car.’
‘It’s possible that’s what happened, and I’ll discuss it with the traffic officer who examined your car,’ the Colonel said.
‘Can you tell me where the car is now? I’ll need to inform the insurance company.’
‘It’s at the Met lab in Lambeth undergoing examination. You know where that is?’ Baxter replied.
‘We submit our fire investigation exhibits there for examination, so yes, I know where it is.’
‘Give them a ring and they’ll let you know when they’ll be finished with it,’ Baxter suggested.
The Colonel shook Braun’s hand. ‘Thanks for your assistance. I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot, but I’m sure you understand we have a job to do.’
‘It’s OK, no harm done.’
‘Just for our records, what’s your wife’s name and occupation, please?’
‘Elizabeth — she’s an assistant teacher at a local school.’
Baxter made a note in his pocket notebook, then tore out a page with his details and the office number on it and handed it to Braun.
‘If there’s anything else you think of that might be of help to our investigation, then ring us on this number.’
As they got into the unmarked police car, Baxter, who was driving, turned to the Colonel.
‘What do you reckon about Braun?’
‘He’s dodgy. It wasn’t that long ago the brigade got pissed off about the Edmund-Davies report recommending a forty-five percent pay rise for police and they went on strike wanting more money.’
Baxter laughed. ‘I remember that. Each nick had to have a dedicated fire patrol car and the army were called in to attend fires — it was a shambles. But what’s that got to do with him being dodgy?’
‘Yeah, well, they only got a ten percent rise — their pay and pensions are shit so a lot of them moonlight to earn more money.’
‘You think he’s moonlighting as a criminal?’
‘The theft of his wife’s handbag might be legit, but he could have given his spare key to the robbers and made sure they nicked the car while he was on holiday.’
‘You reckon?’ Baxter said skeptically.
The Colonel looked at Baxter as if he were a fool. ‘Braun’s got a nice three-bedroom semi and a BMW 323i, which happens to be the most expensive model in the range — it only came out last year — plus he can afford a holiday in Mauritius. Think about it, Bax. He’d have to do a lot more than a bit of honest moonlighting to afford all that on a fucking fireman’s wage.’
‘His wife might have a good job.’
‘Don’t you listen? He said she was an assistant teacher. They get paid a pittance — probably not even half of what he does. For my money, Mr. Frank Braun’s a wrong ’un and we need to do a bit more digging. Let’s go to Tottenham nick and check out the crime report about the theft of Mrs. Braun’s handbag.’
The Broadwater Farm estate had 1,063 homes consisting of one-, two- and three-bed flats and duplexes, in twelve blocks named after Second World War airfields. Aside from Tangmere House, there were eight other six-storey blocks, adjoined by a lower four-storey duplex block and two 19-storey towers. They housed 3,400 people from different ethnic backgrounds, with a substantial black population, whose relationship with the police was one of mutual hostility and mistrust.
Cam parked the unmarked squad car by Tangmere House.
‘I’ll bet you have to use the stairs to get to number 68.’
‘You reckon the lifts will be out of order then?’ Jane asked.
‘Either that or full of piss and shit — so you’ll definitely be using the stairs, but I can guarantee they won’t smell much better. If you aren’t back here in half an hour, I’m calling in the cavalry.’
‘If 68 is on this side facing you, I’ll wave out of the window to say we’re in the premises and fine,’ Teflon said.