Murphy laughed. ‘All right, all right, you all deserve a bit of R and R. Sort it out among yourselves, but I want at least three of you in the office both days – the rest of you, be near your home phone in case I need to call you in. Otherwise it’s six a.m. Tuesday and noses to the grindstone.’

Chapter Thirty-Two

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The Royal Epping Forest Golf Club was in Forest Approach, Chingford. It was 6.30 a.m., and the Colonel and Stanley sat in the back of the OBO van, which had JB Plumbers written on the side, spy holes and a one-way rear-view window. They were parked at the rear of Chingford Masonic Hall, opposite the club entrance, and had a good view, with binoculars, of the first tee and the eighteenth green by the club house.

‘I’ll bet the Ripleys are Freemasons,’ the Colonel remarked.

Stanley agreed. ‘And so are a few senior detectives, but thankfully none of them are on our squad. The rubber heelers and Countryman think any officer who’s a Freemason must be corrupt.’

‘Anybody that says I’m corrupt can kiss my Porsche!’ the Colonel joked.

Stanley had to put his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter from being heard outside the van. He nudged the Colonel.

‘Look up, here comes George in the Merc . . . He’s got someone with him.’ Stanley took a photograph.

‘It looked like Tommy,’ the Colonel said, looking out of the rear window.

Five minutes later Stanley saw a dark blue Mark 3 Capri Ghia approaching the golf club.

‘I don’t bloody believe this – the Ripleys are playing golf with Smith and O’Reilly.’

The Colonel looked out of the window. ‘Jesus, I thought you were taking the piss. I’ll call it in.’

‘They might just be having a meeting in the car park. Let’s wait until we see who George actually tees off with.’

Just before 7 a.m. the four men approached the first tee, two men carrying a set of golf clubs each, the others pulling theirs along on a trolley.

‘Do you reckon they’re just socialising or discussing a robbery again?’ the Colonel asked.

‘How the hell should I know? I’m not Rachel Wilson, I can’t bloody lip-read.’

They watched as George teed off and hit a decent drive down the middle of the fairway, as did his brother Tommy. Aidan O’Reilly was next to tee off.

‘Gold from KG, receiving . . . over?’

‘Yes, go ahead, over,’ Bax replied.

The Colonel told him who was playing golf and asked how long a round took, as he’d never played the game.

‘Depends if it’s nine or eighteen holes they’re playing, how good they are and if there are any hold-ups by the golfers in front of them.’

‘There’s no one in front of them.’