Murphy's Heist Read online

  “It is as close as that, Mr Smith. Would the bank be willing to increase the loan?”

  Smith managed an incredulous expression. “I don’t think you expect me to answer yes?”

  “Well I had to ask,” said Bobby.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Inspector Nolan sat alone in his office. He had a few files on his desk, but was doing no work.

  He had been stupid to get into a job with Murphy. He remembered when he had first met him. It was in Belfast, and Nolan was five years old, and proud to be accompanying his eldest brother to play along with his friends. James Nolan’s brother, Danny was ten, as were his friends, Eamonn Murphy and Bobby Bell. To be part of a gang made James, who then was known as Jimmy, feel grown up. They roamed the streets of east Belfast. It was before the troubles began. They played in the parks, pretending to be cowboys, and Murphy had made up the game of safari hunters, and they had chased cats, and if they weren’t too big and vicious, dogs as well. Murphy hadn’t been content just to chase, either, and if he caught a cat, he would kill it, if he could. Murphy always wore dirty, ragged clothes, and often turned up soaking wet if it had been raining. It was rumoured that his mother didn’t let him in the house until bedtime, whatever the weather. Maybe that had given him his mean streak. Nolan now knew, and had known since he was in his late teens, that Murphy’s mother had been on the game, and was entertaining a succession of customers when she wouldn’t let Eamonn in the house. Murphy also had a succession of ‘fathers’, men who lived with his mother, usually only for a week or two. There was also a succession of pimps, who hung around. It was not a very good atmosphere to be growing up in.

  He could be a vicious bully to boys he didn’t like. Jimmy was careful to keep on the right side of him, and in that case he could be a good protector to young Jimmy. Despite Murphy’s faults, young Jimmy had idolised him. When Nolan was fourteen, his family had moved to Liverpool, where his dad had got a job. When Nolan was twenty-five, after a series of dead end jobs, he had entered the police force. He had heard some of Murphy’s exploits with the provos, from his brother who was still in Belfast and from other friends there When the troubles were over, Murphy was at a loose end, and moved to England, and settled in Nolan’s patch. They had met for a drink on one or two occasions, to reminisce on childhood exploits. One night, out of the blue, Murphy said: “What would you do with a million, or a million and a half quid, Jimmy? That would be fine for your retirement, eh?” And from then on, life had become a nightmare.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The surveillance had started at twelve noon, and Dusty Miller had drawn first shift. He elected to go on foot, since it was a warm cloudless day. He watched from the back of the trees on the hill top where McBride had done the painting. From there apart from seeing the outbuildings at the back, he had a fairly good view of the street outside the house. He had taken the binoculars with him

  He knew that when you spend six hours doing nothing, time drags. Most of the time he had spent in the army, was waiting. Only ten percent was excitement. He vowed to take a book with him the next time, but that McBride might object on the grounds that it would take his mind off the job in hand.

  During his shift, he saw, briefly, Murphy pottering in the yard by the outbuildings. Other than that, nothing stirred. At six o’clock, he watched McBride approach him across the field, on the public footpath.

  Miller stood and stretched. “Nothing to report,” he said.

  “Good, didn’t expect anything for a day or two. But we have to be prepared. I’ve got the car along the road, quite a good place to spot what happens, if anything does. Keep your mobile on, because I’ll call you if necessary. Until midnight, then. Don’t forget, okay?”

  They walked back down the path together, and McBride parted to walk past Murphy’s house, having found a place beyond, where he had parked in a small public car park not much used outside of shopping hours.

  Slumped down in the front seat of his car, in the shade of a tree, where the street lights didn’t penetrate, passers-by on the street would not even notice that the car was occupied.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Murphy drove into the pub car park in his tatty old Ford Mondeo, never even bothering to lock it up, then strode over to the pub door that was open and spilling a buzz of voices into the evening air.

  Having met Jim before in pubs, he strode straight into the public bar, and there the man was, a big fellow, in a plaid woollen shirt and jeans, standing at the bar with a pint half-drunk. He was talking to a group of three other men, and judging by the laughter, had just said something funny

  When the laughter had finished, Murphy called his name, and Jim turned from the bar looking in the gloom for him. Murphy beckoned, and Jim said something to his mates, and then came over.

  “Is there somewhere we can talk? In the lounge, f’rinstance?”

  “Sure, it’s this way.” They pushed through a pair of swing doors into relative silence. The lights were on; nobody else there. The bar was part of the central common bar. Murphy went over, called for the barman who was serving in the public bar.

  “Give me a couple of whiskies, will yar.”

  Eventually the drinks were there, and Murphy paid the barman, and went over to the table with them, offered one to Jim.

  “No, I’m drinking beer, thanks.” He had brought his drink through with him. Murphy shrugged, poured one glass into the other, took a swig and sat down opposite him.

  “As I said on the phone, it’s an easy job. But it’s a matter of timing. I would need you on site at nine in the morning, Thursday. You’ll be finished at ten thirty. Payment now in cash, one grand.”

  Jim looked at him, eyebrows raised. “It was one hour on the phone. Now it’s two, including the set up time, finding the lines, chopping them and so on…”

  “Christ, you arguing over half an hour?”

  “Where’s the job, and what do I do?”

  “You just cut the phone lines, and tap them. When it rings, you say: ‘Northern Bullion, how may I help you?”

  “Jesus, you’re going to rob Northern Bullion? And I only get a grand? The pigs will be crawling all over Cheshire, and everyone with a sheet will get pulled in.”

  Murphy pretended to look surprised. “My, my, Jim, you’re not known to the polis?”

  “I need ten grand minimum, or count me out.”

  “Too dangerous for me to let you out now, you know what I mean? Accidents happen to people who know too much about my business.”

  “So you’ll pay me ten grand?”

  “Two grand tonight. That’s all I’ve got with me. The rest by the weekend, okay?”

  Murphy reached in his jacket pocket, pulled out two envelopes. Facetiously counted them on to the table: “One, and two.”

  “You knew I’d ask for more, so you brought more.”

  “No, the other’s for my bookie, but now he’ll have to hang on for his money.”

  Jim looked at Murphy across the table, not knowing whether he was joking. “Okay. So I’ll have to sit in the street with a handset answering the lines. There’s bound to be more than one, a company of that size.”

  “You can fob off most of the calls. Tell them there’s a hitch with the phones, and that you’ve got people working on the problem, pretend to take down their numbers, or ask them to email.

  “The call you’ve got to answer, if you lose the others, is Secure Express. They’ll phone about half past nine, maybe a bit later. They’ll tell you that they can’t pick up the cargo today, due to a van problem. Will tomorrow be okay? You tell him yes, you’ll reschedule the flights, need them same time on Friday. Understand?”

  “I can guess the rest, but I won’t say.” Jim forced a smile. “I can leave as soon as that call’s come in?”

  “Sure can. You’ll be well clear of the area before anyone’s the wiser,” assured Murphy. “But you know what happens to people who let me down. They’re not around to do it twice.”

  Murphy
stood up, pushing the chair back as he did so, swigging the rest of his double whisky and striding out of the pub without another word.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  McBride, out in the car park, his car close to the entrance, saw Murphy walk out of the pub. He had been inside less than half an hour. He had an uneasy feeling that he might be a decoy, and the real business had started elsewhere. But he was committed now. He hadn’t told Miller where he was. No need to disturb him yet. He had looked at his laptop while Murphy was in the pub. The van, according to the bug, was still at Murphy’s home… unless Murphy had discovered it, and left it on but removed from the van. Unlikely, McBride thought, he guessed the van was not being used yet, Murphy still fixing up the job.

  He watched Murphy sweep out of the car park, and go back the way he had come. Miller had to assume he was returning home, and he needed to look in the pub.

  McBride went through the door Murphy had used, found himself in the public saloon. He walked to the bar, waited to order. There was a group of four men further down the bar talking in loud voices, swilling pints. The tall man in the checked shirt, called the barman, who was about to serve McBride. The barman turned back. Better to look after a regular, rather than some stray newcomer.

  “Pints all round,” said checkshirt, pulling an envelope from his pocket, and extracting a twenty. Judging from the thickness of the envelope McBride judged there might be a grand or more inside it. He tuned into the conversation. The rest were ribbing the guy who had bought the drinks. “That was a good job you just fixed up, then,” said one, and another, “Got money to burn now then.” Checkshirt grew angry. “Cut it out.”

  Miller turned away from the bar when he had his drink, sat at a table next to one with a sole pensioner, pint in front of him.

  “Noisy crowd at the bar,” McBride observed.

  “Often in here,” said the pensioner. “Got money, the kids these days. Don’t always earn it honestly, especially the ones who do technical things, like computers and such.”

  McBride smiled to himself. ‘Kids’ – these guys by the bar were all in their thirties, at least. They were hardly youngsters, except from a pensioner’s viewpoint.

  “Does the man who’s just bought the drinks, do technical things?”

  “Telephones. Got his own company he says. Called Manchester Tele… something… Means telephones, anyways. Lots of new words made up, to sound posh. We didn’t need new names, in our days.” He started rambling: “Do you know how much this pint is? More than a week’s wages, when I started work. Disgusting.”

  McBride drank the remainder of his own pint. “Cheerio,” he said taking his glass to put on the bar. He said to the barman, “Give the old man another drink.” He put some coins on the counter.

  On the drive home, he had an idea that might narrow down the target of Murphy’s criminality. He would search tonight on his computer. When he returned to the small car park, his watch base, it was still only half past nine.

  Having made sure that nothing else was happening at Murphy’s house, he powered up his laptop, and googled Secure Express. He clicked on their website. There were boastful claims of a fast growing reliable business, with vans being linked at all times with the headquarters, and tracked constantly by GPS, monitored by specialists. There was a section called recommendations. Another word for the section might have been ‘testimonials’. He clicked on the button. This was what he was looking for. A list of customers, neatly broken down by area. He scrolled to ‘Northwest’ and there was a list of thirty or so companies, each with a line of testimonial, such as ‘have used Secure Express for ten years with complete confidence…’ and other quotes in similar vein. There was a company called Northern Bullion on an industrial park not far out of Manchester. Everything else in fifty miles didn’t seem to involve easily fenced products, although he could be completely wrong.

  McBride closed the website and googled a map of the area, so that he could work out a likely route between Secure’s base and Northern Bullion He was engrossed in this task, when there was a tap on the window. Miller was outside, grinning down at him. He opened the door, climbed into the front passenger seat. “This is what you call surveillance?”

  “Careless, I should have seen you coming, even though you are the spirit of the night, and a mercenary of high skill. Baden-Powell would have been proud of you. Anyway, I was just working out what Murphy’s target might be.”

  “And?”

  “Northern Bullion. It’s one of Secure Express’ largest customers in the area. It seems to offer easily exchangeable products. Don’t suppose Murphy would want a load of microchips, for instance.”

  “Murphy could fence most things through ex-members of the IRA. I always expected that he would head over to Ireland if he gets away with a haul. Still, it doesn’t harm to investigate likely targets.”

  McBride said: “Oh, tonight Murphy was out, and I followed him. He met with a man at a pub, retained him for some telecoms work.” He ran through what he had learned.

  Miller said, “He needs to intercept any calls from Secure Express when he knocks out their van. If you leave me your car, I’ll take over. It’s a nice night for a walk. See you at 6am.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Nothing happened during Miller’s shift, but when McBride took his next turn, he saw a taxi turn into Murphy’s yard. It was an airport cab, with two passengers in the back.

  Obviously reinforcements, thought McBride, so we can’t be far away now. As Miller had guessed.

  Nothing more happened on McBride’s shift nor on Miller’s next shift, but McBride had no longer, settled down at six o’clock that evening, than Murphy’s old car came sailing out of his driveway, and McBride could clearly see that he had two passengers. He couldn’t not follow them. It was difficult in full daylight, but he had an advantage, he guessed in which direction they were heading. Sure enough they headed south west, over the motorway on a B-road. McBride was so over-confident that he almost lost them. The Mondeo took a left, which luckily, McBride saw because the road was straight. Murphy was going further south than McBride expected. In a mile or so, Murphy took a right, followed by another left a mile or so further. This was a narrow lane, with passing places. As traffic was very sparse, McBride had to drop even further back A mile or two on, there was a cross roads with a halt sign. Murphy paused momentarily, then signalled right. When McBride, took the same right handed turn on to the major road, he was shocked to see Murphy walking towards him with his two passengers. McBride quickly recovered from his surprise and pretended to ignore them, completing his manoeuvre, and driving off. He looked into his rear view mirror. The three men had vanished into the road he had just left. McBride immediately saw Murphy’s Mondeo, which was parked front into a gated farm track. Within a few hundred feet, McBride was able to leave his car in a lay by. He jogged back down the road, slowing as he approached the junction, fearful that Murphy and his men might emerge from the lane. McBride was afraid to turn into the lane, not knowing whether Murphy and his men might still be just round the corner, perhaps even waiting for him. If they were, and had guns, he had no chance. He weighed up the terrain. At the nearside of the lane was a small copse, which looked as though it might give him cover. It was surrounded by a low fence. He found it easy to climb. He ran across the copse, crouching low. Now he could see the lane, and see up it maybe a hundred feet. No sign of Murphy. The copse actually ran along the lane for a fair way, so McBride followed it, keeping several trees between himself and the road. The copse ended about four hundred yards along, but the land was rising now, the road running in a narrow valley. The light was going, and if he crawled on the grassy bank, McBride reckoned he would be next to invisible from the lane. He crawled for another hundred yards, and heard Murphy’s voice, and the excitable chatter of his companions. Cautiously raising his head he saw all three on the grass verge, examining a rivulet, which apparently ran in a pipe under the road. One of the men crossed over to check, and called out.
“Yes. That will do.” They turned, and started back the way they had come. McBride turned on his back and lay on the grass feeling relieved that he had not been seen.

  After a few minutes to let Murphy get clear, he went back, not on the road, but through the copse. There was no sense in taking chances. Just before he reached the cross roads, he saw Murphy’s car shoot past.

  When McBride reached his car, he dug a road atlas out of the seatback pocket, switched on the interior light, and found where he was situated. The B road he was on, would eventually join an A road, and eventually the trading estate, home of Northern Bullion, could be accessed. Finding the position of the Secure Express premises, he saw that travel along this quiet B road was the logical route to reach Northern Bullion. Whether this had been researched by observation on previous occasions by Murphy, McBride didn’t know, but guessed it probably was.

  When Miller came on duty at midnight, McBride told him the news.

  “It’s either tomorrow, or Friday,” speculated Miller. McBride had to agree.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The sound of his mobile ringing woke up McBride. He opened his eyes, at first not knowing where he was. He sat up in bed, Helen was beside him, and the phone was on her bedside table. He reached across, trying not to disturb her, pressed the answer tab. It was Miller.

  “Have you overslept, John? It’s nearly seven, and the action’s started. Meet me down here, in your car, quick as you can. If I’m not here, I’m following the van.”

  Putting the now silent phone on his side table, McBride leapt out of bed and dressed hurriedly.

  “What’s happening?” said Helen sleepily.

  “Action at last in the Murphy case, we hope. I should have met Dusty Miller at six, and now it’s seven. Got to dash. I’ll phone you, or meet you tonight.” He kissed her, and ran out of the door.

  Miller was standing outside his car, which was parked in the usual car park. “Sorry I slept in,” said McBride. “What’s happening?”

  Miller pointed. “That old pickup has come down to the bottom of the driveway, presumably so they can get the Secure Express van ready in the yard.”