The Blood Soaked Trail of Franco De Angelo: Another Case for Bland and Boyd

Chapter One

Franco

Franco de Angelo stood sullenly in the dock and stared at the judge. He had just been sentenced to more years than he cared to do, or indeed intended to do. He was to be sent to a maximum prison for the maximum time. He scowled at the jury. He would find every last one of those sons of bitches, and they would pay for finding him guilty, especially the women, the miserable little whores looking for their five minutes of fame.

Who were they to pass judgement on him?

The judge droned on and Franco felt himself getting tense, but soon he would be out of here. He was a tall broad man in his early fifties. He was born in London of Italian parents, which explained his olive skin his dark wavy hair, which was now greying at the temples. His face was lined and cruel, and his almost black eyes narrowed when he spoke to you.

He had ruled the criminal fraternity in south London for thirty years, ever since Alfredo Cambora had been tragically killed in a freak car accident. It was suspected by the police that Franco had arranged it but nothing had ever been proved.

There was a big ostentatious funeral with rows of sleek black cars full of mourners, and masses of flowers. Franco paid for everything, and made a big show of how sad he was. He patted the grieving widow’s hand assuring her that he would take care of her and her two small sons. Alfredo had been his closest friend; it was like losing his brother. It had been the worst tragedy ever. In his heart Franco thought that it was a tragedy that he hadn’t have got rid of Alfredo sooner.

Now he stood in the dock, betrayed by those same boys that he had taken care of all these years, well now he was really going to take care of them, as soon as he was free again. He was removed from the court and as he went down the stairs he caught sight of the boys mother, staring at him with hate and loathing. So, he thought, after all these years, well she could also be included in the package, what was one death more or less?

He was shoved in the prison van and it swept out of the yard, through the great doors; which closed swiftly behind them. It went up the slope and turned onto the street at breakneck speed. The photographers were jumping up trying to get pictures through the tiny windows at the top of the van. They were shouting and chased the van up the stree,t but were soon left behind.

One of the police officers took off his cap and laid it on the seat beside him, he then took a large pair of bolt cutters out of a blue bag at his feet and proceeded to cut off Franco’s handcuffs.

Allo Frankie boy didn’t know that you had such a fan club. Welcome to the outside.

Thanks Jimmy, said Franco, rubbing his wrists, "is everything set?

Yes, said Jimmy, me and Terry have done everything just as you said, wont you let us come with you? We have always been together right from the very start. The prison van drove into an old lock-up garage under the railway arches. No one came to this derelict area much these days. They transferred to a fast car and went to a secret address, which the boys had set up while Franco was inside awaiting trial. It was in the same area just across from the lock-ups.

Franco showered and got into his own clothes and he felt much better. Terry cooked a meal for the four of them and they sat and ate in silence. They were waiting for Franco to speak.

Now, said Franco, you boys are now retired. The old bill will be all over the place now looking for me. You are to go to Spain. The villa and the bar are yours. He got up and went to the bedroom and came back with a sports bag.

You had no trouble collecting this from the locker Jimmy?

No trouble Guv’nor, there were lots of people about and I was in and out in a flash.

Good, said Franco, and he got Jimmy to break the lock and unzipped the bag. It was full of money.

A little going away present, he said, It should keep you going for a while, at least until my return.

Thanks Frankie, said Paul the driver, but are you sure you don’t need us. Who is going to drive you?

I wont be using a car where I’m going. There are a lot of people that I have to settle with and I don’t want you involved. Now let’s have a little drink," and he opened a large bottle of sipping whiskey.

Sorry I can’t join you, but I have to go soon and I need a clear head to drive, I have to be well ahead of the police. He charged their glasses,

Cheers Jimmy, Terry and Paul, thanks for all the years,

Cheers, they replied and clinked their glasses, they held up their glasses and saluted Franco, and then downed the contents in one gulp. Franco recharged their glasses.

Sure you won’t have one? asked Jimmy.

No, said Franco, I have to pack.

I’ve already done that, said Jimmy.

Good old Jimmy, faithful to the last," murmured Franco.

Later when Franco was driving away from the flat, he patted the sports bag beside him, satisfied that he had taken care of the boys. He had spiked their whisky, and when they became unconscious he had shot all three of them in the back of their heads. After all, dead men tell no tales. Ah well he thought – off with the old and on with the new, and he sped off into the night.

Chapter Two

Return from Tenerife

Robert Bland stood in his small garden enjoying the warm evening air.

He was staying in his one bedroom apartment in Tenerife. It had been a long time since his last visit, his wife had been alive then, she had died of cancer soon after their return to the U K and he could never bring himself to come back as the memory had been too painful. He gazed to his left and could see the sea with small white sailed sailing boats scudding across the waves in the warm evening breeze.

He had come out to sell the property, but had changed his mind. The agent who had looked after it all these years, letting it out and keeping it maintained and clean had suggested that he have it refurbished. This meant a new bathroom and kitchen, new linen and so on. He was going to leave it to them. New curtains and covers had been ordered and a new television, not that the reception here was very good but you could get four English speaking channels. He thought his sergeant, Darren Boyd and his partner Amanda might enjoy coming here. They both liked the weather hot and breezy.

He had only been here a couple of weeks when he had a call from London asking him to return. His bag was packed and he just had time to have a meal in his favourite tapas restaurant before he left for the airport.

About seven hours later he was landing in Gatwick. He sighed, it was cold and wet and very late. All he wanted was his bed. He collected his bag, went through customs, and came through into the arrivals hall. A young policeman came up to him.

Detective Chief Inspector Bland? he enquired

Yes constable, replied Bland.

We have a car waiting for you Sir,

Good, said Bland.

I’ll take the trolley Sir, he said taking it from Bland and disappearing for a moment. He was soon back carrying the Inspector’s case.

This way Sir, he said and set off at a trot. The car was parked right outside the door in a no parking area, but no one is going to tell a police car to move on. Bland slid into the back seat and found his sergeant, also seated in the back, he had been picked up on the way to the airport. The young policeman got into the front passenger seat and the car pulled away.

Well Boyd, said Bland, what’s this all about?

Franco de Angelo Sir,

What about him? It’s two years since his escape.

He’s surfaced Sir,

When?

Well he hasn’t exactly surfaced, he’s not been seen but eleven of the juror’s that sent him down are now dead.

Eleven, queried Bland.

The twelfth died of natural causes last year. He had bowel cancer.

I wouldn’t call that natural causes, said Bland, natural causes is when you go to sleep and fail to wake up again.

The others were all murdered Sir,

When?

We think within twenty-four hours. Just one day, he must have been planning it for ages.

Well he’s had two years. How on earth did he manage to kill them all in one day? Surely when he killed the first one the police were alerted and warned the others.

It’s a question of timing Sir, The alarm wasn’t raised until the first body was found. Even then it was considered to be an accident, by the time Inspector Bannon and his men realised the connection everybody was dead. I’ve got all the paperwork back at the office. The case was passed to our Governor and he nominated us for the job. Bannon’s not best pleased.

I bet the Cambora brothers are wetting their pants, said Bland, serve them right, the odious pair.

Too damn right Sir their soldiers are everywhere, threatening and bullying anyone and everyone they come into contact with. The casualty departments are full of people they have been questioning. The answer always comes up the same. Nobody has seen Franco in the last two years nobody saw him when he came to London, not even some of his victims He’s just disappeared.

He’s probably gone back to the life he’s been living these last two years, said Bland. He may look different, and taken on another personality, he may have a job or even got married. Bland leaned back in his seat and went over the information Boyd had given him. After a minute or two Boyd said,

Did you sell you apartment Sir?

No Boyd I’m having it refurbished. I thought that you and Amanda might like to make use of it sometime, it’s a good bolt hole.

Thank-you Sir that would be great.

Now Sergeant I want to get home to my bed. Collect me in the morning and we’ll go over this again at the office.

Yes Sir, said Boyd and the rest of the journey passed in silence.

Chapter Three

The Next Day

Bland’s boss was glad to see him back. To his way of thinking Bland was the best kind of copper and Boyd would probably turn out the same way. He hustled into Bland’s office about ten o’ clock to find Bland and Boyd pouring over sheaves of reports.

Morning Robert, he said heartily, Don’t get up. Well this is a right kettle of fish I must say, took us all by surprise. You have to hand it to him it was well planned. Still you’re back now and you handle it anyway you want. You have ‘carte blanch’ to do as you see fit. Just remember to keep me informed. Morning Sergeant, he said turning his attention to Boyd, show him that trail you mapped out.

Yes Sir, said Boyd.

Well Robert, I’ll let you get on. Just nail the bastard before he kills again. And he swept out of the office.

Well, said Bland, what’s this trail you have worked out?

It’s nothing really Sir, said Boyd uncomfortably, I can’t prove any of it.

Come, come Sergeant don’t hide your light under a bushel.

Well Sir, said Boyd turning to his laptop. Bland had no time for computers preferring to use his brain to do the work. Boyd on the other hand was gadget and computer mad, and Bland was happy for him to be so.

See here Sir, I think Mr Johnson the hospital worker was the first to be killed, around three in the morning, he lived on the tenth floor of Lidbury House, a council block. And then he killed the milkman Ray Kennedy; who was delivering milk to the same block of flats. Franco waited for him to come out and slit his throat with a bottle he had taken off the cart earlier. He drove the float down the road and threw the body into the Thames. It was found two days later by the river police.

What time was that? asked Bland

About five o’ clock Sir.

Right, said Bland, What next?

He drove the float to Winston Odega’s flat, he lived alone and at that time in the morning he was out cold, a mixture of drugs and booze. Franco let himself in and injected Winston while he slept. Everybody just thought he had just overdosed by accident.

Until?

Until it was discovered that he had been injected with morphine which was not Winston’s bag.

Bag Sergeant?

Well Winston was strictly a cocaine user, a real snorter and he had only one needle mark and it was in the back of his shoulder, he couldn’t possibly have administered it himself.

What time did he die?

Between half five and a quarter to six, according to the autopsy result.

And then?

Miss Brown, he drove the milk float to her flat in Castle Street and left it in the car park.. He broke into her flat, and she must have woken up and put up a good fight, because she had blood and skin under her fingernails. The flat was trashed where they had been rolling about. He had beaten her very badly and had his way with her.

Really Boyd, you have such a way with words.

Yes Sir, anyway he must have been covered in blood by now so my guess is that he went somewhere to clean up.

When was Miss Brown found?

When the police went to her flat to warn her about Franco.

Jesus, said Bland, What next?

I’m not sure Sir, but I think it was Giovanni Dimachio. He was found in a freezer in his restaurant His throat had been cut and he had been bagged up in plastic and was hanging on a butchers hook, behind a row of joints and carcases.

How long had he been there, asked Bland.

They think it must have been about two days before he was found.

Surely someone must have noticed a body hanging in a fridge, it must have been opened dozens of times in a single day?

No Sir it was not a fridge but a deep freezer, used for long term storage. Where you keep sides of beef, whole lambs and sides of pork. He also had a butcher’s shop and it was not until they sent down for one side of beef and two lambs that he was found..

Didn’t anyone notice that he was missing?

No Sir, he had a bit on the side, and they all thought that he was giving her one, as he often stayed away for a couple of days.

What you mean Sergeant is that he had a lady friend with whom he had a special relationship, and often visited her for a couple of days at a time.

Yes Sir, if you say so Sir, said Boyd.

Next Sergeant?

Peter White, window cleaner, four o’ clock in the afternoon. It was considered an accident because he fell from his ladder and went straight through a greenhouse roof and broke his neck. Death was instantaneous.

It doesn’t get any better does it Sergeant.

No Sir.

Carry on.

Jean Kemp was the next one Sir. There was no performance at the theatre that day. She had a small part in the play, which was about to open; in fact the next day was their last dress rehearsal. Her flat mates said that she had a call from an American producer, and as they hadn’t met before he suggested meeting at the theatre. She was supposed to be auditioning for a part in his new picture. She was really excited.

So what you are telling me is that Miss Kemp was meeting a man that she’d never seen before, a complete stranger in an empty theatre.

That’s right Sir. Bland sighed and rolled his eyes.

And when she didn’t come home, what did her friends think then?

Well Sir, ever heard of the casting couch?

Yes Sergeant I am familiar with the concept of the role that the casting couch plays in the theatre, so how and when did they find her?

The next day Sir, they opened up and found her hanging in the lights above the stage. She had been beaten up and she had been interfered with.

You mean she had been raped Sergeant

Yes Sir.

Don’t be afraid to say it Sergeant, I’m not your maiden aunt, I wont have an attack of the vapours. Let’s move on.

Retired pensioner Andrew Green found in his garden shed. He popped down to his shed after tea to water some seeds and didn’t come back. They thought he had had a heart attack but the autopsy showed he had been injected in the back of the neck with a lethal dose of insulin.

Insulin?

He was a diabetic.

"He really