‘Not to worry, let’s have a look in the keyholders’ cards to see if it’s registered.’
He walked over to the index trays.
Jane knew that many businesses which were fitted with alarms registered with the local police. The keyholder was usually the owner, or an employee, who could be called out of hours, in case of a break-in, and reset the alarm if it went off by accident.
He pulled a card from the tray.
‘The bingo hall’s main keyholder has been the manager for the last two years, the secondary is a woman. There’s two people for the Grove snooker hall. The primary holder is shown as the assistant manager, Aidan O’Reilly, of 94A Seven Sisters Road N7, which is on Wood Green Division, and probably above a shop, as that’s a main road. There’s a phone number for him as well.’
Jane stopped writing in her pocket notebook.
‘Sorry — did you say O’Reilly?’ She recalled Rachel mentioning the name ‘Riley.’
‘Yes.’
He handed her the keyholder’s card. She recorded the details in her pocket notebook.
‘Have you got an Aidan O’Reilly in your criminal index cards?’
He looked through the ‘O’ section and pulled out some cards.
‘There are five O’Reilly’s, none with the first name Aidan, and two of them are from the same family.’ He pointed to the computer on his desk. ‘I could run a criminal record check on the PNC, but you’ll probably get hundreds of hits from all around the country.’
Jane knew she’d need a date or year of birth to narrow the search down on the PNC, and said she’d wait until she had more details about O’Reilly. The secondary keyholder on the card was a Maria Fernandez, with an address in Stamford Hill and a phone number, which she also recorded in her notebook.
‘There’s no mention of the owner or manager on here.’
Jane handed him the keyholder’s card. He put it back in the tray.
‘That’s not unusual — often they don’t want to be woken up in the early hours of the morning if the alarm goes off, so they get a member of staff registered as a keyholder. Fernandez isn’t on my index cards.’
‘I suppose she might be the barmaid or some sort of hostess at the snooker hall.’
‘Possibly. What were the other names?’
‘Judge and Webley, that’s all I’ve got, but to be honest I can’t be certain about those names either.’
Bottomley stroked his chin. ‘They don’t ring any bells for me—’ He looked in the index trays. ‘I’ve got two with the surname Judges and one Judge, but they’re either black or juveniles — and there’s no Webley on record. It could be that none of the names you’ve given me live on the Tottenham police manor so they’re not on my cards.’
‘Thanks for your assistance, and I’m sorry if I’ve made you late for your doctor’s appointment.’
He put his coat on. ‘My pleasure, Sarge, and don’t worry about the doc’s. It might be worth phoning Companies House. If the snooker club is a limited company, the owner should be registered with them. If not, the tax office might be able to help — if they pay any!’
‘That’s a good idea. Do you have their number?’
‘It’s in the address book on my desk, along with the reference code, which you need to give them, then they’ll know you’re police. They close at five, so feel free to use my phone. I could put some feelers out about the snooker club for you, on the pretext we think there’s illegal gambling going on — which wouldn’t be unusual for those types of places.’
‘Thanks, but I’d rather do a bit more digging first and see if Companies House or the tax office can help.’
‘Feel free to call me if there’s anything else I can assist you with.’
‘What’s your poison?’
‘Jameson’s Irish Whiskey, but you don’t need to bother—’
‘I want to. Where shall I leave it?’
‘The bottom drawer of that filing cabinet over there is fine,’ he said with a grin as he walked out.
Jane remained in the collator’s office and got straight on the phone to Companies House. The result was positive and encouraging. The Grove Snooker Hall was a limited company set up seven months earlier by Thomas Anthony Ripley, aged forty-six, of 12 Connington House, Hatch Lane, E4. Although the recorded age was slightly older than Rachel thought, Jane considered that M1, who was likely called Tommy, might look younger than he was. She checked the Rs in the criminal index cards, but there were none for Ripley. She looked in the A-Z on the collator’s desk and estimated that Hatch Lane, which was on Chingford Division, was about six miles from the snooker club and just over four from Barclays Bank in Leytonstone High Road.
Jane phoned Chingford Police Station and asked to be put through to the collator’s office. When he answered, she said who she was and asked if he could check his index cards for a white male named Thomas Ripley aged forty-six, and gave his address. She nervously tapped her fingers on the desk, awaiting his reply while he checked the cards. A minute later he was back on the phone.
‘I’ve got two Ripleys — one’s twenty-six, the other is eighteen, and neither is called Thomas. The electoral register for that address shows a Thomas Ripley as the sole resident at flat 12.’
‘Have you heard the name before?’
‘No.’
‘He owns a snooker club in Bruce Grove, Tottenham.’
‘Still doesn’t ring a bell.’
‘What sort of properties are in Connington House?’
‘It’s a block of privately owned, and rented, one- and two-bedroom modern flats off Hatch Lane, built a few years ago by a property developer in a middle-class residential area. Anything else I can help you with?’
‘Have you got access to a PNC?’
She was unable to use the one on the desk in front of her as she’d never done a PNC authorization course.
‘Yes, there’s one here in my office.’
‘I don’t have a date of birth for Thomas Ripley, but from his age and the date he registered with Companies House, he was probably born in 1934 or ’35.’
‘I’ll run the name with a four year spread on the birth year.’ He held the receiver between his shoulder and chin as he typed. A few seconds passed before he spoke. ‘There are a few possibles with that name and years of birth — you got a middle name for him?’
‘Yes, it’s Anthony.’
‘Got one. Thomas Anthony Ripley, born tenth of August 1934, height five foot nine inches. Last recorded conviction was twenty-one years ago for GBH — he pleaded guilty and was sentenced to five years in the Scrubs.’
‘Any details about the commission of the offence or co-defendants?’
‘No, but that’s the norm for really old cases on the PNC. I can request his criminal record file be sent to you at Rigg Approach.’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Any other names you’d like to run a check on?’
‘I’m interested in an Aidan O’Reilly. I haven’t a clue about his age or description, but I’d guess he’s anywhere between thirty to fifty and may live on Seven Sisters Road.’
Jane could hear the collator typing the details on the keyboard.
‘There’s over sixty on here from all over the country. I can print them out and put them in a dispatch envelope to be delivered to you.’
‘It’s OK, I can get our clerk to do it when I return to the office later. You have anything on the card index for a Maria Fernandez?’
‘Let’s see... No, nothing on her.’
Jane thanked him for his assistance and decided to contact Wood Green Police Station. She was told by the control room officer that the collator had gone off duty. She asked the officer if he could check the name Aidan O’Reilly and 94A Seven Sisters Road against the collator’s cards and electoral register.
‘I would if I could, Sarge, but the other radio operator has gone for refreshments and it’s really busy here just now.’