tagging breaches, mainly due to the number of false alarms caused by faulty tags, or by wearers deliberately testing the range of the tag.
Nonetheless, Nick found himself outside the flat belonging to Dennis Grierson and he could not believe hi s eyes. Twenty-four hours earlier, this had been a comfortable, if not luxurious flat, but now it resembled a bomb site. The door hung loose on one hinge, all of the contents had been stripped and gang graffiti had been scrawled all over the walls. The place looked as though it had been abandoned for years. Over in the corner, the monitoring unit still flashed red and so Nick disconnected it and placed it in his bag. Dennis Grierson had gone and it didn’t look as though he was ever coming back.
Nick call ed the Metropolitan Police bail monitoring unit and reported his findings. They didn’t seem particularly bothered. He also called Haringey Council and suggested that they might want to secure the flat before some lout torched it.
As he walked back to his van, teenage boys in purple hoodies, with the arms cut off at the elbows, watched his every move. “I’d resign and go on the dole before I came out here in the dark,” Nick thought, counting himself lucky when he returned to find his van untouched.
Chapter 15
Trafalgar House Fl ats, Broadwater Farm, Tottenham.
Tuesday 16 th August 2011; 6:45am.
Dennis Grierson was in a world of pain when he awoke from a fitful night of sleep. Sophie was lying beside him on the only clean bed in the flat. Without make-up she looked plain and very young, just the way the clients liked them. Den wondered how he would control his girls from outside the manor. Perhaps it was time to retire. Other gangs would already be homing on his drugs operation, and before the week was out his girls would be looking for better protection than he could offer.
In the lock-up the gang had been holding close to a quarter of a million pounds ’ worth of high value electronic goods, counterfeit tobacco and spirits and drugs. According to his storekeeper, Ron, the TH Crew had looted the whole lot. Morons. They had left over a hundred grand’s worth of cocaine in the car when they torched it. Amateurs.
A series of late night phone calls had culminated in the plan that was about to be executed. The TH Crew were patrolling the flats, and it was going to be impossible for Den to leave by the normal routes, and so Ron had suggested that at around six thirty in the morning he would cut a hole in the back security fence and he would park his car on the main road, well away from the flats. It would then be down to Dennis Grierson to get himself through the fence and to the main road. In normal circumstances that would not be a problem, as the TH Crew were not known for early rising, but with Den’s leg it would be a slow journey even though the distance was less than half a mile.
Squeezed into a grey tracksuit made for a size 14 woman, Den pulled the hood over his head and grunted his thanks and a brief goodbye to Sophie, who had already ensured that the escape route was clear. The flats were quiet as the grave, and Den limped his way to the steel security fence. He walked alongside the fence, testing every vertical steel paling until he found three that had the bottom welds broken. “Thanks, Ron,” he muttered to himself as he squeezed through the narrow gap. It took the injured gangster another fifteen minutes to cover the few hundred yards to the main road, stopping every twenty yards to try to alleviate the pain in his leg. As he looked down he could see blood flowing freely from the stitched wound and seeping through the jogging bottoms. He hadn’t trusted his usual nurse or the doctor enough to ask them to treat him. He felt certain they would rat him out to the Crew and then both he and Sophie would be history.
Just a handful of people were walking along the main road, and none paid him any attention. Almost as soon as he appeared, a red
Nonetheless, Nick found himself outside the flat belonging to Dennis Grierson and he could not believe hi s eyes. Twenty-four hours earlier, this had been a comfortable, if not luxurious flat, but now it resembled a bomb site. The door hung loose on one hinge, all of the contents had been stripped and gang graffiti had been scrawled all over the walls. The place looked as though it had been abandoned for years. Over in the corner, the monitoring unit still flashed red and so Nick disconnected it and placed it in his bag. Dennis Grierson had gone and it didn’t look as though he was ever coming back.
Nick call ed the Metropolitan Police bail monitoring unit and reported his findings. They didn’t seem particularly bothered. He also called Haringey Council and suggested that they might want to secure the flat before some lout torched it.
As he walked back to his van, teenage boys in purple hoodies, with the arms cut off at the elbows, watched his every move. “I’d resign and go on the dole before I came out here in the dark,” Nick thought, counting himself lucky when he returned to find his van untouched.
Chapter 15
Trafalgar House Fl ats, Broadwater Farm, Tottenham.
Tuesday 16 th August 2011; 6:45am.
Dennis Grierson was in a world of pain when he awoke from a fitful night of sleep. Sophie was lying beside him on the only clean bed in the flat. Without make-up she looked plain and very young, just the way the clients liked them. Den wondered how he would control his girls from outside the manor. Perhaps it was time to retire. Other gangs would already be homing on his drugs operation, and before the week was out his girls would be looking for better protection than he could offer.
In the lock-up the gang had been holding close to a quarter of a million pounds ’ worth of high value electronic goods, counterfeit tobacco and spirits and drugs. According to his storekeeper, Ron, the TH Crew had looted the whole lot. Morons. They had left over a hundred grand’s worth of cocaine in the car when they torched it. Amateurs.
A series of late night phone calls had culminated in the plan that was about to be executed. The TH Crew were patrolling the flats, and it was going to be impossible for Den to leave by the normal routes, and so Ron had suggested that at around six thirty in the morning he would cut a hole in the back security fence and he would park his car on the main road, well away from the flats. It would then be down to Dennis Grierson to get himself through the fence and to the main road. In normal circumstances that would not be a problem, as the TH Crew were not known for early rising, but with Den’s leg it would be a slow journey even though the distance was less than half a mile.
Squeezed into a grey tracksuit made for a size 14 woman, Den pulled the hood over his head and grunted his thanks and a brief goodbye to Sophie, who had already ensured that the escape route was clear. The flats were quiet as the grave, and Den limped his way to the steel security fence. He walked alongside the fence, testing every vertical steel paling until he found three that had the bottom welds broken. “Thanks, Ron,” he muttered to himself as he squeezed through the narrow gap. It took the injured gangster another fifteen minutes to cover the few hundred yards to the main road, stopping every twenty yards to try to alleviate the pain in his leg. As he looked down he could see blood flowing freely from the stitched wound and seeping through the jogging bottoms. He hadn’t trusted his usual nurse or the doctor enough to ask them to treat him. He felt certain they would rat him out to the Crew and then both he and Sophie would be history.
Just a handful of people were walking along the main road, and none paid him any attention. Almost as soon as he appeared, a red
Similar Books
