The grip on their weapons became tighter. Their features took on a tautness that betrayed the adrenaline coursing through their veins as they anticipated a kill-or-be-killed firefight. Their bodies tensed as they took up tactical positions to give them dominance, intended to overwhelm their targets the second they breached the doorway. They hoped beyond hope that, like with so many operations before, their precautions would prove unnecessary and they would not be forced to take a human life.
The four occupants of the side ward were bonded by a common silence, a shared fear. Only two knew exactly what was going on; the others tried to pick up and read any signs given away.
Suddenly, a stunning array of firepower and fast cars exploded onto Eastern Road, below them. From nowhere, three plain but high-powered police vehicles raced up to the bandit car. In a flash, twelve heavily armed police officers clad from head to toe in black surrounded the targets, their weapons a frightening reminder that they had not come in peace. With no choice but to surrender the villains clamped their hands on their heads, awaiting the ignominy of being dragged onto the cold tarmac, cuffed, searched and dragged off to custody. The meticulously planned and executed high-threat arrest had neutralized the suspects.
‘Got ’em,’ was all Mick Richards said. They could all unwind. Except Sherry, that is. His relief could only be temporary; he was now an even more marked man.
Other officers dealt with the aftermath of the arrests, the securing of evidence from the car and the searches of various properties long into the night.
The next day, as Andy arrived on the ward just as Sherry was being wheeled off for yet another operation, he found an argument going on between the patient and a porter.
‘Tell him, Andy. I need my tissues with me,’ demanded Angus, holding a box of man-sized Kleenex.
‘Your tissues? What on earth do you want those for? You will be sparko. If your nose needs wiping, I’m sure the NHS can find someone to do that for you.’
‘For Christ’s sake. Well, you look like you need one. You’ve got a bogie.’
‘What’s all this about bloody tissues, Angus?’ replied Andy, subconsciously wiping his nose.
‘Just take the fucking tissues,’ was the patient’s last word as he was rolled from the ward.
Andy took the box from him and, still puzzled, casually glanced inside. Expecting to see a bed of snow-white paper handkerchiefs, he was perplexed when he tried to make out the strange objects wedged beneath a couple of tissues in the carton.
He probed in through the slot and pulled out half a dozen sealed bags, all containing paper bills.
‘Good God,’ was all he could mutter as he laid them out on the over-bed table. Each contained thousands of pounds of crisp, new, unsigned traveller’s cheques.
How on earth did they get there?
Only one person could spill those beans and he was sleeping like a baby while the National Health Service’s finest strived, once again, to fix his broken body.
Hours later, when Sherry returned from the operating room, Andy quizzed him on the miraculous appearance of the cheques.
It seemed that the guards posted on the room weren’t up to much. When one had disappeared to answer a call of nature, a mysterious visitor — a local pub landlord — slipped in to see Angus. In that short visit he brought him the box of tissues with its very valuable contents. As the officer returned he made polite excuses and scurried away.
He was a runner for the man Angus had entrusted with the cheques. Angus had previously lodged at his pub, hence police had spoken to the landlord soon after Angus took his tumble. He had denied all knowledge of anything but clearly alerted the handler who, while keen to get the cheques back to Sherry, was too scared to turn up at the hospital himself.
The plan was for Angus to hand over the cheques in exchange for his life if the gang made it to his bedside. As that clearly was not going to happen now, with great reluctance he made sure that they ended up in the safe hands of the police but trusted nobody except his new mate Andy to deal with them properly.
Following interviews of all four men — Angus’s taking place in the hospital — they were charged with a string of robberies of travel agents across the south east of England.
In a bizarre twist, as yet another uniformed police guard became too confident that the patient’s plaster casts would frustrate any escape attempts, Angus managed to disappear from under the officer’s nose. Having arranged it through many unsupervised telephone calls, he fled not to evade justice but the consequences of being a grass.
He hobbled out of the ward on crutches, employing the ruse of needing the toilet. His accomplices were waiting and wheeled him right out of the hospital explaining, to the few who bothered to ask, that they were taking him out for a smoke.
There were countless red faces as we scoured the city, fearing the worst. As Andy wasn’t available, I was charged with leading the hunt and, despite my very clear assertion on BBC TV News that a uniformed officer had been guarding him, most of my friends and colleagues preferred to believe that I was the clumsy cop. They saw no reason why the truth should ruin an opportunity for a wind-up.
A couple of days later I tracked Sherry down to an address close to the city centre.
‘For Chrissake,’ he said, disgusted, ‘you’re useless, you lot. How d’you let a cripple get away from you? I thought you were supposed to be looking after me!’
He had a point.
Such was the geographic span of their crimes, the gang eventually appeared for their trial at Luton Crown Court in Bedfordshire as that is where they had committed the most offences. Once again their spell in custody had been bungled as some bright spark had put them all in the same holding cell. The cuts and bruises that adorned their faces as they stepped into the well of the court were evidence that they still hadn’t found it within themselves to kiss and make up.
Angus couldn’t resist sly smiles in Andy’s direction, nodding his head at his co-defendants, indicating his satisfaction at the revenge he had exacted. The swift convictions and heavy sentences that followed were as inevitable as they were celebrated.
Despite the months that had passed since they’d last spoken, Andy felt a trip to the Isle of Wight prison where Sherry was serving his time might prove fruitful in squeezing more intelligence from him.
As Angus was frogmarched into the dark prison interview room by two stern-looking warders, Andy stood up, his outstretched hand indicating that he had come on a friendly assignment. Sherry took it and shook it warmly. However, his opening statement made his intentions crystal clear.
‘Andy. Thanks for coming to see me. Nice you should take the time. However, whatever you want you’re going back empty-handed. I told you much, much more than I should have back then in the hospital. That was to save my life. No-one can protect me in here, not even these goons. I speak, I die. You are getting nothing from me. Not one more word. You’ve had a wasted trip. But, before you go, I don’t think I ever thanked you for what you did back in Brighton. Despite all this, you saved my life.’
With that he stood up, turned round and disappeared into the greyness beyond, to a soundtrack of scraping locks and slamming steel doors.
Andy, feeling slightly melancholy, made his way back to the ferry port reflecting that the further intelligence that he sought would have been wonderful but was not to be.
However, he consoled himself with the knowledge that it was his copper’s nose which had started all this that Sunday when he saw Sherry’s broken body in the hospital. The events that followed were intense and sometimes scary. But with four extremely dangerous people being locked up, the recovery of thousands of pounds and countless cashiers saved from becoming future victims, he rightly felt very proud.