‘OK, what’s going on?’ Paul enquired as Sam, guarding the doors, watched on.
‘This bloke just tried to rob us,’ a suited gentleman wearing a Lloyds Bank name badge replied.
‘What, him?’ Paul queried incredulously.
‘Yes, he tried to rob one of the quick tills. We jumped on him as he walked away. He had this.’ The gentleman suddenly brandished what was clearly a toy gun, the red stopper in the muzzle giving it away. Paul grabbed it.
‘Bloody hell,’ Paul muttered as he pulled the crushed robber to his feet.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked, sensing he was not dealing with a top-level gangster.
‘Gus Chiggers,’ came the frightened reply.
‘Well, Gus Chiggers, I’m arresting you on suspicion of armed robbery.’ Following the caution, the hapless gunman was handcuffed.
By now back-up had arrived and Paul’s colleagues had started to identify witnesses, close off the till area and secure CCTV. Paul took the opportunity to search Gus and the holdall lying at his feet.
The bag was heavy and from the feel of it contained an object that seemed to have a long barrel-like structure.
Cautiously, Paul unclipped the flap and peered in. Firstly he saw a Tesco carrier bag that seemed to contain a few handfuls of 1p and 2p pieces.
‘Whose is this?’ asked Paul.
‘It’s what they gave me,’ said Gus.
‘Who?’
‘The bank.’
‘Is that it?’ queried Paul.
‘Yes, they said they didn’t have any more money as they had a rush on.’
Paul held Gus’s gaze in disbelief then gently removed the structure he had felt from the outside, still not guessing its identity.
‘That’s my bike seat,’ volunteered Gus just as Paul was inspecting it.
‘Your bike seat?’ asked Paul, now aware that he could be the target of an elaborate Candid Camera stunt. ‘Why is your bike seat in your bag?’ he continued, fearing a bizarre answer.
‘It’s off my getaway bike,’ Gus explained.
‘Your getaway bike? You’ve got a getaway bike? Why isn’t the saddle on this getaway bike, then?’
‘It might get stolen.’
‘What, the saddle?’
‘No, the bike. There’s a lot of crime in Brighton and it’s a nice bike. I’ve padlocked it outside and taken the saddle off so no-one nicks it.’
‘Won’t that slow your getaway down?’ Paul could hardly believe he was having this conversation.
‘Not as much as if it was nicked,’ came the obvious response.
‘Right, out to the car, you,’ demanded Paul, tightening his grip on Gus’s arm.
As they emerged into the blinding sunlight, watched by dozens of onlookers, Gus pulled back slightly.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Paul, fearing an escape.
‘That’s my bike,’ announced Gus proudly, indicating the very machine that Paul had nearly tumbled over on his way into the bank. ‘Can you look after it? I don’t want it stolen.’
‘For God’s sake. Yes, yes, get in the car,’ muttered Paul, realizing how bad he must have been in a previous life to deserve this.
Back at the police station, DC Peter Smith and I were the only detectives available as there had been a major incident in East Sussex and everyone else had been seconded over there just hours before. We were gutted that we had been told to stay back and hold the fort.
Word had reached us about an armed robbery at a major bank in the city centre. We were salivating with excitement, hoping this would help us get over our disappointment at being left behind. With an arrest already made, this was not only looking interesting but also, with luck, a nice little overtime earner.
Paul, who would later become a fine detective in his own right, was usually able to talk up any job to get the CID to take it over but, for once, the look on his face took the wind out of our sails.
The fact he was starting with an apology didn’t bode well and as he recounted the whole story a feeling of ‘why us’ engulfed me. I was still in my first year in CID but even I knew this was never going to be an investigation to tell my grandchildren about.
Reluctantly Smith and I took the job on and sloped off to the bank to take some statements and seize what evidence there was.
Despite the seriousness of the offence, Gus’s modus operandi just got more comical the more people we spoke to.
Gus had entered the bank about ten minutes before he struck. It was, as we had already established, incredibly busy. The queue for the quick tills was almost out of the door. Not wishing to upset anyone, Gus did the British thing — he stood at the back of the queue and patiently waited his turn.
As he shuffled his way towards the counters he drew no-one’s attention. After all, he was behaving like everyone else, quietly queuing in line.
As he reached the front the tannoy announced that cashier number five was now free. So, with his hand in his bag he stepped up to the counter. With no hint of drama, he slipped his red-stoppered pistol from the satchel and pointed it at the young man waiting to serve him.
Terrified, wondering what was going to happen next, the cashier discreetly pressed his alarm button under the desk and waited for the demand to be bellowed at him.
Silence. Gus just stood there.
The young man sensed this was not the normal type of stick-up he had been trained for.
‘Are you robbing me? Would you like some money?’
Gus nodded.
Recognizing the dissipating threat, the cashier took a chance.
‘I haven’t got very much left. I’ll give you what little I have. Have you got anything to put it in?’ he asked, spotting some senior colleagues closing in. A scrunched-up Tesco bag was placed on the counter into which he put some small change. Gus stepped away, still not having said a word, whereupon he was pounced on by the waiting crowd.
Back at the nick, we were so looking forward to the interview. Surely Gus had a reason for being such a cautious, considerate, polite robber. Perhaps this was some kind of social experiment, albeit one which would certainly see him jailed.
Peter, being the more senior detective, took the lead. With a wicked personality, he was a vivacious joker. Having a sense of humour drier than the Gobi Desert and being infinitely better than me at keeping a straight face were two other reasons why he was best placed to ask the big questions.
We implored Gus to get a solicitor but he thought we were a nice couple of blokes and would help him if he got stuck — we were and we would, of course.
Any chance he had of finding a psychiatric excuse for his peculiar behaviour was dashed by his incredibly lucid, detailed and consistent explanation. He said he needed some money, treasured his bike, didn’t want to upset anyone in his native London so came here and then wanted to make as little fuss as possible. On hearing this, despite his eccentricity, no doctor would have certified him as mentally ill.
We had no choice but to charge him with robbery and a number of other linked offences and let him take his chances in court.
True to form, in front of His Honour Judge John Gower, a fearsome but fair man I had crossed previously, Gus pleaded guilty at the first opportunity. Peter and I did not feel the need to attend court as there seemed nothing contentious about the case, but word soon reached us that our presence would be required at the sentencing hearing a few weeks later.
‘I want the officers to bring the gun along so I can determine a proportionate sentence,’ the judge commanded.
Well, this should go in Gus’s favour, I thought as I entered Lewes Crown Court on the day the prisoner would learn his fate. He was a poor excuse for a robber, he had admitted the offence at the very first opportunity, he had stolen just pennies and no-one really believed he would harm them. Although armed robbery was very serious and attracted long prison sentences, Gus must pose a comparatively low risk.