Read Online Inside the Firm - The Untold Story of The Krays' Reign of Terror by Tony Lambrianou - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tony Lambrianou
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the safe had contained nine grand, which was a lot of money in those days. Before we’d left the store, however, Keeling had picked up a little jewel box with two diamond rings in it. When we arrived back in London, he gave one to me and one to a girlfriend he was having an affair with. She put it on, not realising it was worth £6,000. She was in a café one day when the guv’nor, a Jewish guy called Day, said to her, ‘That’s a lovely ring.’
She said, ‘Phil gave it to me.’
Obviously he knew a bit about jewellery, so what did he do? He picked up the phone.
Just after this I walked round to Great Eastern Street, near the City, where Keeling lived. His wife was in tears, saying, ‘The police have taken Phil away.’
I went home, got my ring and immediately had it valued: it was worth £2,600. I got rid of it through certain channels, and two days later I was nicked. Keeling’s wife had obviously mentioned my name.
They picked me up at my father’s house in Queensbridge Road and took me to Cannon Row police station. I was brought to the Flying Squad offices and from there I was taken by train from Paddington to Taunton, cuffed up to an officer throughout the journey.
I was held at Taunton police station for two days pending an appearance at Ilminster Magistrates Court. Keeling was charged with the explosives side of it, and I was charged with shopbreaking and breaking and entry. Keeling was pleading guilty, which left me nowhere. His girlfriend pleaded guilty to receiving stolen property. I was kept in custody for another week without bail. Then I was granted bail, and finally I was given three years’ probation.
But that wasn’t quite the end of the story. Two officers involved in arresting me turned up at the house not long afterwards in a grey Rover. The heavy one was an out-and-out bruiser who was as bent as a nine bob note, as was publicly proven later.
They said to me, ‘We want you to go and pick up some insurance money.’
What happens when property is stolen is that the insurance companies pay a reward when there’s a conviction. It’s supposed to be paid to the person who gave information to the police, leading to the conviction. In this case I committed the crime, the two officers solved it and now they were putting me up as a beneficiary so I would sign for the money. Then I was expected to hand it over to them.
I didn’t know what was going on at the time. I just went with them to the insurance claims building off Albert Embankment and received an envelope with money in it, which the policemen took off me. They couldn’t claim for it because they weren’t allowed to. They were supposed to give it to the person who put them on to the recovery of the property, but it ended up in their pockets. That’s how naive I was in those days. I didn’t realise what was happening until it was over.
Just before they left me, they said: ‘Thank you very much for your help. You got your result in court….’
And so I walked away from the whole episode a wiser man, at least as far as the law was concerned.
Life carried on as normal with the rackets and the clip joints. I was running around in my own Zephyr, I was always dressed smartly and I was never short of a few bob, but my parents never asked any questions and I never felt that I had to explain where I got my money from.
My mother and father were straight people. My brothers and I, on the other hand, had our fingers in the pie. If my mother had known we were giving her money gained from crime, she wouldn’t have wanted it. Yet she wasn’t a fool. She saw the type of people we were mixing with, she saw that money was coming into the house and she knew that we were up to no good in some way. But she just never said anything about it because I feel, deep down, she didn’t want to know.
I think my Dad knew a little bit of what was going on but, like any father, would tend to ignore it until we brought the problem home. He’d voice his
She said, ‘Phil gave it to me.’
Obviously he knew a bit about jewellery, so what did he do? He picked up the phone.
Just after this I walked round to Great Eastern Street, near the City, where Keeling lived. His wife was in tears, saying, ‘The police have taken Phil away.’
I went home, got my ring and immediately had it valued: it was worth £2,600. I got rid of it through certain channels, and two days later I was nicked. Keeling’s wife had obviously mentioned my name.
They picked me up at my father’s house in Queensbridge Road and took me to Cannon Row police station. I was brought to the Flying Squad offices and from there I was taken by train from Paddington to Taunton, cuffed up to an officer throughout the journey.
I was held at Taunton police station for two days pending an appearance at Ilminster Magistrates Court. Keeling was charged with the explosives side of it, and I was charged with shopbreaking and breaking and entry. Keeling was pleading guilty, which left me nowhere. His girlfriend pleaded guilty to receiving stolen property. I was kept in custody for another week without bail. Then I was granted bail, and finally I was given three years’ probation.
But that wasn’t quite the end of the story. Two officers involved in arresting me turned up at the house not long afterwards in a grey Rover. The heavy one was an out-and-out bruiser who was as bent as a nine bob note, as was publicly proven later.
They said to me, ‘We want you to go and pick up some insurance money.’
What happens when property is stolen is that the insurance companies pay a reward when there’s a conviction. It’s supposed to be paid to the person who gave information to the police, leading to the conviction. In this case I committed the crime, the two officers solved it and now they were putting me up as a beneficiary so I would sign for the money. Then I was expected to hand it over to them.
I didn’t know what was going on at the time. I just went with them to the insurance claims building off Albert Embankment and received an envelope with money in it, which the policemen took off me. They couldn’t claim for it because they weren’t allowed to. They were supposed to give it to the person who put them on to the recovery of the property, but it ended up in their pockets. That’s how naive I was in those days. I didn’t realise what was happening until it was over.
Just before they left me, they said: ‘Thank you very much for your help. You got your result in court….’
And so I walked away from the whole episode a wiser man, at least as far as the law was concerned.
Life carried on as normal with the rackets and the clip joints. I was running around in my own Zephyr, I was always dressed smartly and I was never short of a few bob, but my parents never asked any questions and I never felt that I had to explain where I got my money from.
My mother and father were straight people. My brothers and I, on the other hand, had our fingers in the pie. If my mother had known we were giving her money gained from crime, she wouldn’t have wanted it. Yet she wasn’t a fool. She saw the type of people we were mixing with, she saw that money was coming into the house and she knew that we were up to no good in some way. But she just never said anything about it because I feel, deep down, she didn’t want to know.
I think my Dad knew a little bit of what was going on but, like any father, would tend to ignore it until we brought the problem home. He’d voice his
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