TEFLON ANNY.
By Bob French
It was 6 o’clock on the morning of 21st November
2021, the second anniversary of the death of Mandy Hamilton’s
mother. She sat quietly at her kitchen table, staring at the photograph
of her mum and thought of the good times they had spent together.
They had attended a wedding of a good friend, but
during the reception, her Mum said that she felt ill and was going to go
home. But ten minutes into her journey, her mum decided that she felt
really ill, and decided to go to A&E. As she drove down a poorly lit
street, an old woman stepped out into her path and was killed.
Mandy’s Mum was duly arrested and
when she appeared in front of the judge, the evidence given by the police was
that she was high on drugs. Her solicitor, in her defence, stated that
she was on special medication and should in fact be in hospital this very
afternoon. He even presented an expert witness to confirmed the
solicitor’s statement, but the judge dismissed the plea and sentenced her to
five years. A year into her sentence, she died.
Mandy, a Detective Inspector with
the Met, wiped away her tears, stood, drained the dregs of her cold cup of
coffee, then made her way towards her front door. ‘Got to keep busy.’ She
thought, knowing that it was the only way she could get through the day.
Just as she got to work, her phone
rang; It was John, a promising young constable who had been tasked with going
through the evidence lockers before the old case files were sent off to Feltham
for long terml storage.
“Boss, you asked me to tell you if I
found anything interesting.”
“Thanks John. Give me a minute
to grab a coffee and I’ll join you.”
Ten minutes later Mandy entered the
Evidence Room, in the bowels of Old Scotland Yard. “Hi John, what have
you found?”
“This note book in the evidence box
of a Miss Wendy Drew who died mysteriously last year. I think you should
read it.”
Mandy noticed the expression on
John’s face and realised that he was telling her something important. Just then
her phone rang. It was her Sergeant.
“Sorry John, must dash. The chief’s
just called a meeting, but thank you for this.” She slipped the book into
her pocked and hurried away.
She got to the meeting just as her
Boss summed up the situation.
“So, in the last three months, this
particular protest group has interfered with traffic on fourteen different
occasions, causing complete mayhem, resulting in a substantial dent in my
budget and some pretty poor PR for the force. It is led by a real piece
of work; Dame Ann Vetch-Smyth, AKA Teflon Anny, a retired judge. Now I’m
getting it in the back of the neck from upstairs to sort this group out.
So, for the next two weeks, I want each division to concentrate their resources
on bringing an end to Teflon Anny’s reign.”
As they left the conference room, a
call came through saying that the protesters had struck again on the South
Circular. From what Mandy knew of this group, Teflon Anny and her
followers would all be released without charge by the end of the day.
That evening as she sat at her kitchen
table, Mandy began to read the book John had given her, making notes as she
went.
The following morning on the way up to
the fifth floor, she popped into Fred Mason, an ex-Sweeny Todd Commander.
“Fred, do you still have contacts
with the old team?”
Fred, a good friend grinned. He
detested being a desk jockey and would do anything to get out onto the streets
again.
“Your wish is my command love.”
Mandy showed him the list of people
she wanted to speak to. “Leave it with me. I’ll get back to you by this
evening.”
Just as she was getting ready to
leave, Fred called her. He didn’t say much, just; “Meet me at the Turks
Head at nine.”
As usual the place was packed as
Mandy pushed open the door to the bar and allowed the warm familiar smelling
air to wash over her. Fred called her over and as she sat down, a
mysterious hand appeared with a rum and coke, her favorite, and placed it down
in front of her.
“We could only find three out of the
five. Two died of old age. One is in a hospice in
At ten o’clock on Monday morning,
Mandy entered the public library in Brentford and asked to see Mrs. Fay
Jillingham. She was pointed in the direction of a serious looking
grey-haired woman who was cataloging some library cards.
After talking quietly with her, she
discovered that she had worked with two other women; Wendy Drew and Millie
Shilling, all three were legal secretaries to Ann Vetch-Smyth, and was happy to
confirmed certain details Mandy had read in the book. When Mandy informed
Mrs Jillingham that Wendy Drew had passed away under mysterious circumstances,
Jillingham simply said that she was not surprised, and when pressed, Mrs
Jillingham refused to comment. Mandy thanked her and said that she would
be in touch. Her next appointment was with Mrs. Mille Shilling who,
unlike Mrs. Jillingham didn’t want to talk of the time she was employed by Ann
Vetch-Smyth for fear of retribution. Mandy stood and said quietly that
she fully understood, then left.
She called Fred that night and asked
if he could help with some more addresses?
“Cost you a drink love.”
Five days later, she met Fred in the
Turks Head again and received the list of address. “What you up to then
love?”
“Can’t say just yet Fred, but I may
need your help later on, if that’s OK?”
During the following month Mandy,
with the help of John, visited the people whose names appeared in the book to
corroborated the details concerning them and to obtain a statement to
exactly what happened when they came into contact with Ann Vetch-Smyth.
Upon return to their office each day, they compared the details taken from
those they visited with the notes on the police case files.
When she met Fred for a third time,
she asked him if he could find out where and when the protest group that Teflon
Anny led was going to strike next.
Fred called her a few days later.
“They are going to be at the junction of the B4557 and the north Circular just
outside Wembley Stadium on Tuesday night, just before the
“Thanks Fred. Now I am going
to speak to my DCI, but can you get the serious crime boys ready to do a snatch
job?” She heard him chuckle.
“Just give the word love.”
At ten the next morning, Mandy
walked into her Bosses office. “I know you are busy Sir, but I may have a plan
that may interest you.”
Her boss sat back, and invited her
to sit.
After half an hour her Boss had made
three phone calls and had invited Mandy to take the overall lead in the
operation.
That evening Fred called her and
said he owed her a large drink. Her boss had just tasked him to lead the
SCS, The Serious Crime Squad, on the operation.
At ten to six on Tuesday evening, a
couple of scruffy looking mini buses made their way into Wembley car park
nearest to the junction of the B4557 and the North Circular. The SCS, who had
been scattered around the area quickly identified the protesters as they
started to move towards the junction. Fred had made the point to the rest
of his team that he wanted to be the one to collar Teflon Anny.
Just as the protesters were getting
ready to strike, the SCS pounced. Fred, who had recognized Ann
Vetch-Smyth quickly approached a group of protesters who were trying to protect
their leader. He pushed them aside then grabbed Teflon Anny by the scruff of
her neck, spun her around and informed her, in not so many words. “You love,
are kicked.”
She just smiled at him. “Don’t worry
love, I’ll be out by half time.”
Ann Vetch-Smyth spent the night in
the cells and the following morning, was escorted up-stairs to the magistrate’s
court.
The judge simply asked her to
confirm her name and address, then remanded her into custody until her case could
be heard in the Crown Court. Ann instantly protested her innocence,
demanding to know what she was being tried for.
The judge looked down at her papers;
“Perverting the course of justice, tampering with evidence, falsifying statements,
Abusing the office of a magistrate, taking bribes and leaking evidence to
persons considered a threat to the state.” The judge looked up.
“And that’s just for starters. Take her down.”
Fred and his group had been tasked
with rounding up all those whose names had appeared in the little book that
John had found in the evidence box belonging to the late Wendy Drew who, it
appeared, had threatened to betray Judge Vetch-Smyth.
It took Mandy over an hour to slowly
reveal the facts surrounding the evidence being presented, based on the details
contained in the little book and the statements of those interviewed along with
the Metropolitan police case files. It showed that judge Vetch-Smyth had
imprisoned those she was asked to by gangland friends or business colleague for
large sums of money, Mandy explained that she could connected these events with
the large sums of money paid into Vetch-Smyth’s bank account; to instances
where people were imprisoned, including those whose evidence had been altered
to protect her associates and the fee she was paid; evidence that she had
intimidated her staff to alter statements and lastly, bribes she had paid to
judges who, when she and her group of protesters appeared before them, had
their cases dismissed.
Members of the press were sent
scurrying from the public gallery once they heard the judge sentence Teflon
Anny to thirty-five years with no remission.
She met up with Fred that evening
just as she was leaving for home.
“Well done love, you got some real
low life off the streets today. Should be proud of yourself.
Mandy looked at Fred and shook her head. “I
didn’t do it to keep those people off the streets Fred, I did it for
revenge. You see Ann Vetch-Smyth was the judge who ignoring the pleas of
my Mum’s solicitor, and knowing that she was very ill, still sent her to prison
where she died.
Copyright Bob French
Great story well thought out & written.
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