Originally Posted by Kate Kray
No one will ever get to the bottom of Bobby Wren. I can't fathom out whether he's SAS, ex-military, mercenary or just a dangerous bastard. He's an oddbod, a loner. A modest, reserved enigma. Bobby is gadget mad and has sophisticated paraphernalia for just about everything.
I sat in Spencers pup in Hornchurch, Essex, waiting to interview Bobby - he was late. My minder ordered me another orange juice from the bar while I fiddled with my tape recorder. I glanced at my watch and thought to myself, I'll give him another five minutes. At that moment, the saloon door burst open and in scurried Bobby Wren suited and booted, carrying a hold-all. He was sweating profusely and apologised for being late. I asked him if he'd been running for a bus or something. He scowled, "I've just finished training!"
...
[Referring to Ron Kray's funeral incident] I glanced over my shoulder. A man dressed in combat clothes, wearing a wooly hat and carrying a gun appeared from behind a gravestone. His eyes bulged. He fixed me with a steely gaze. He winked and disappeared as quickly as he had arrived - it was Bobby Wren.
...
Bobby paused and threw me a look, a look of contempt, a 'how dare you?' look.
At the end of the interview, Bobby excuse himself to use the toilet. He picked up his mystery hold-all and placed it precariously on the table in front of me. I wanted to have a peek inside but remembered the old saying, 'curiosity killed the cat'.
...Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Bobby Wren standing in the doorway, furtively spying through the window at me.