FANCY THAT!

‘This is how it works. My mate Marv – sorry, my associate Mr Cooper – works in a fancy dress shop in the posh end of town.

‘A customer comes in and hires a costume for a party; they give Marv their name and address, and Marv engages in a bit of banter, finding out if the costume’s for a party or whatever.

‘In the evening, we follow all the likely leads on FaceSpace, find out which of their friends has a birthday for when the costume’s been hired, cross-reference against other recent hirers on our spreadsheet, go through any photos, biographies etc.

‘On the night of the party, I put on my costume, waltz in with a bottle of Blue Tower and chat to the guests.  If anyone asks, I know Tom from Leicester Uni, I used to work with Claire at HSBC – that sort of thing.  If the party’s not themed, I usually go as a burglar – striped jumper, mask, flat cap, gloves, bag labelled ‘swag’, the works – once I’m comfortable and the other guests  have had a bit to drink, I start filling my sack. It’s that easy.

‘Any problem – I mean if the cops are called – I’ve got Marv on one-touch dialling in my pocket.  Two minutes later, Marv and Jim (Marv’s brother) knock on the door in police costumes and arrest me.’

‘These people have serious mon…’

Click!

‘Hold on a minute; I need to turn the tape over.’

Dave looked around at the bare walls of the police interview room. He regretted now the deep sea diver suit that had slowed down his escape.

‘Ready to continue with your confession?’

Dave nodded.

‘Interview recommenced at 14:39 on tape one, side two.  Interviewing officer, Detective Sergeant Briscoe; also present, Constable …’

‘Peters, sarge’ said the tall youngster in the doorway.’

‘Also present, Constable Peters. Please continue, Mr Berwick.’