Tennison

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘Well, I’ll be out soon enough to check yer mother over and decide what’s best for her . . . but keep her indoors, and for Chrissake don’t let her have so much as a smell of the decorating job. There’s a pal of mine in here who’ll need a slice of bread. He’s got eight more years but he wants his missus and kids to have it while he finishes his stretch.’

  ‘What’s he got to do with it?’ David asked.

  ‘Let’s just say he put the decorating job our way and don’t question my decisions, son.’

  ‘Sorry, Dad,’ he said, looking dejected.

  ‘Are you going to be able to handle it, David?’ Clifford asked, having no worries about John.

  David swallowed and nodded as he clasped his hands tightly together beneath the table. His leg was really throbbing and he started to rub his thigh.

  ‘We need him,’ John said, then leaned close to his brother and ruffled his hair.

  ‘He’s gonna be just fine, Dad. That’s right, isn’t it, Dave?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll be fine. We’ve not got all the gear yet but I’ll help John work on it.’

  Clifford nodded and then looked directly at John. ‘You take care of him, understand me? I want him taken good care of – don’t want the smell of paint gettin’ on his chest, do we?’ He gave a crackling laugh, and then looked round the room.

  ‘Do you need anything, Dad?’ John asked.

  ‘Yes, son, a nice hot tart.’ Again he laughed, then with the roll-up now just a small thin wet paper he flicked it into the ashtray.

  As the visit continued he asked John about Sandra and if they were going to get back together or divorced. John said he didn’t want to even try to move back in with his wife: he’d had enough of her whining and moaning and was better off unattached so he could plan for the future.

  His dad frowned. ‘So, John son, who are you shaggin’ now?’

  David sat silent, still rubbing at his throbbing leg. To him John and his dad were not like father and son, but more like two blokes swapping sexual banter and conquests. He’d always known his father had other women and never really even attempted to hide it from their mother. John was laughing about a woman who ran a local brothel in Chatsworth Road and had two black chicks who were turning tricks faster than a greyhound out the traps. The prison officer passed by their table and their father gave him a cordial nod as he leaned close to his sons, whispering that the bastard was on the take as he had a wife and four kids to support. He rubbed his thumb and fingers together to indicate the officer took money for illegal goods.

  David was eager to leave and glad when he heard the bell, indicating that visiting time was over. They watched their father strutting away, turning to wave to them as the officers herded him out with five other inmates. You could tell by the way the other inmates gave their father distance that he was a king pin inside. God forbid if any of them nudged him or invaded his space.

  John took hold of his brother’s arm and helped him out of his seat to the security gates where he was handed his walking stick. It wasn’t until they were sitting in the van that John opened the box of matches his father had so cleverly switched. The Izal toilet paper was folded and refolded into a thick wedge under a row of matches. John eased out the paper and David glanced at his dad’s small neat handwriting as his brother slipped the note into his breast pocket.

  ‘Ain’t you going to read it?’

  ‘Not here, I’ll wait till we’re home. We can pick up a few beers with fish and chips on the way . . . yeah?’

  David nodded, staring from the window. John didn’t mention the ‘decorating job’ but spoke about football and his favourite team, West Ham. David wasn’t really listening, he was just thinking about ‘the job’ and it made his stomach churn.

  John slowed down and pointed across the road. ‘There it is.’

  David looked up: it was as if his brother had read his mind. He was frozen to the spot, his eyes transfixed on the small Trustee Savings Bank in Great Eastern Street.

  ‘That high-rise car park there has a 360 view from the top . . . You don’t mind heights, do ya, Dave?’ John said, and smirked as he drove on across Great Eastern Street and turned the van radio on.

  Somewhat ironically the DJ announced the Adam Faith song ‘What Do You Want’. John looked at his brother and began to sing along, deliberately substituting one of the words:

  ‘What do you want if you don’t want money?

  What do you want if you don’t want gold?

  Say what you want and I’ll give it to you, DAVEY,

  Wish you wanted my love, baby!’

  John had a big grin on his face as he turned and looked at David, who couldn’t help but smile as well.

  Everyone on the murder team gathered together in the incident room and listened attentively as Bradfield brought them all up to speed concerning the discovery of Eddie Phillips’ body and the post-mortem.

  ‘As you can see, exactly how he died is still up in the air and we need to bottom it out fast.’

  The detectives in the room looked surprised and DS Gibbs spoke out.

  ‘We’re busy with the Collins case and strapped for staff already, guv – can’t another team take the Phillips case?’

  ‘I’ve said exactly that to DCS Metcalf, Spencer, but he says we’re to investigate both cases as in his opinion they are linked, but he’s giving me five more staff.’

  ‘It’ll be like a sardine tin in this poky office,’ one detective said, to Bradfield’s annoyance.

  ‘If you don’t like it, son, then piss off back to uniform and deal with shoplifters!’

  There was complete silence in the room as everyone realized the DCI was not in the mood for frivolity or to be argued with. He lit a cigarette and told DS Gibbs that he was to concentrate on the Phillips case, get a team together to spend up to midnight working a mile stretch of the Regent’s Canal, both directions from where the body was found. He wanted every stroller and dog walker stopped and shown a picture of Eddie Phillips in case anyone recognized him, and they were to be asked if they had seen anything suspicious on the canal path in the last two days.

  Kath mentioned the markets at Camden Lock and the possibility of drug dealers.

  ‘Good call, Morgan. Spence, cover the markets as well and get as many uniform as you can from the local nick to help you.’

  Gibbs glared at Kath. Even though he knew she’d made a good suggestion it meant more work for him.

  ‘Did the drug squad guys have anything useful for us to go on?’ Gibbs asked.

  ‘Yes and no. They did some digging around and it’s believed Big Daddy originates from Moss Side in Manchester. No name for him as yet, but he’s black, about six foot four and built like a brick shit house – wears a draped blue suit and fedora, with two-toned brown-and-white shoes. We got no address as apparently he keeps on the move. He’s Jamaican like his sidekick Dwayne Clark, who’s known as “Shoes”, not because of the surname connection to the well-known brand, but because he apparently takes delight in stamping on people’s heads. A search on criminal records on his name was also negative, but the drug squad did get an address.’

  Gibbs asked if they should get a warrant and spin Dwayne’s place, but Bradfield informed him the drug squad had done it early that morning. ‘It was a squat in Chalk Farm, clean as a whistle drugs wise – not even a bottle of aspirin. Dwayne’s girlfriend and her three young kids were at the address; our suspects weren’t. Apparently she was a right gobby cow and said Dwayne, and a black bloke called Josh, ran a window-cleaning business together . . .’ He paused to let the laughter in the room die down before continuing.

  ‘You may laugh but the drug squad found a load of new ladders, sponges and buckets at the address – even an MOT for an old van, but nothing for a Jag.’

  Everyone in the room knew the window cleaning was probably a front for dealing drugs.

  Kath commented that Chalk Farm was a stone’s throw away from Camden Town and Jane asked if Dwayne’s girlfriend knew wh
ere the two of them were. She heard some sniggers in the room and someone whisper, ‘She’s so naive.’

  ‘Yes she did,’ Bradfield said, and frowned at the whisperer, which brought a chuffed smile to Jane’s face.

  He continued, ‘She said they were both in Coventry and had been there for well over a week, which conveniently puts them both out of town during Julie Ann and Eddie’s deaths. And before you ask, she doesn’t know where this Josh lives and was adamant he’s not Big Daddy, but the drug squad officers said it was obvious she was talking a load of bollocks.’

  ‘What the hell are they doing in Coventry?’ Gibbs asked.

  For the first time Bradfield smiled. ‘Apparently the window-cleaning slash drugs business is doing so well, they are looking to expand and set up there as well. Big Daddy is most probably this Josh, and if originally from Moss Side that’s a real tough drug area, so my guess is he still has contacts there and he runs drugs from Manchester to London, with drop-offs in Birmingham and Coventry on the way – all whilst cleanin’ windows, haw haw.’

  ‘What a load of cock,’ Gibbs replied.

  ‘I know that, Spence. Dwayne’s tart is obviously lying through her teeth about the alibi, but we’ve no bloody evidence to disprove it at the moment. The drug squad showed her a picture of Julie Ann, but she said she’d never seen her and, “Dwayne don’t mix with white trash”. She’d never heard of Eddie Phillips either.’

  ‘If she’s been primed as to what lies to tell us maybe they know we are looking for them, which means Eddie Phillips must have blabbed,’ a detective commented.

  ‘Stop telling me the bloody obvious as it’s really beginning to piss me off! What I want to know, but clearly don’t, is exactly where Big Daddy and Dwayne are right now,’ Bradfield said, and lit another cigarette from the one he was just finishing.

  ‘Are the drug squad making enquiries in Coventry?’ DS Gibbs asked.

  ‘No, Spence – you are. Go up there and—’

  ‘I thought you wanted me to cover the canal?’

  ‘I said organize a team to do it, then you can link up with the Moss Side and Coventry drug squads. If you find Big Daddy, Dwayne and or this Josh bloke, nick ’em and transport them back down here for questioning.’

  Gibbs sighed. He didn’t fancy schlepping all the way to Coventry, but he had no choice.

  Bradfield told everyone that now the drug squad knew about Eddie’s suspicious death they’d put pressure on known hard-drug users and informants in and around a square mile of where his body was found, in an effort to get more on ‘Josh’ and Dwayne Clark. They had also organized a team to keep surveillance on Dwayne’s flat and Bradfield had agreed that if any drugs were seized when they were arrested the drug squad boys could deal with that after he’d interviewed them.

  ‘So far we’ve got Jack Shit on this case and I’m getting it in the ear from the DCS to get results. You need to start pulling your fingers out of your backsides and work harder. I want those two black bastards found and banged up in a cell downstairs within the next twenty-four hours. Overtime is not a problem – now get out there and graft.’

  As everyone went about their business Bradfield approached Jane.

  ‘I need you with me this afternoon now that Spence is off to Coventry,’ he said irritably.

  ‘May I ask where we are we going, sir?’

  ‘It’s a memorial service for Julie Ann.’

  Jane thought he may have made an error. ‘Do you mean funeral, sir?’

  ‘If I did I’d have said funeral, wouldn’t I, Tennison? Her parents were informed that it’ll be at least eight weeks, maybe more, before the coroner releases the body. So they decided to have a memorial service in the meantime. Get yourself spruced up then meet me in the yard in ten minutes.’

  Jane grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and a roll of Sellotape from the desk before hurrying down to the cloakroom. She wrapped a load of tape round her hand so the sticky side was facing out and brushed down the back of her jacket removing the bits of fluff and cotton. Having put the jacket on she did the same with the front and then combed her hair. She was about to retie it back with an elastic band when it suddenly snapped.

  ‘Shit, shit.’

  She didn’t have another one so grabbed her hat from her locker and putting it on pushed her hair up inside it, but strands of it slipped out. Frustrated, she recombed it and tucked it behind her ears before giving her cheeks a pinch and doing up the buttons of her jacket. She did a quick check of her tights, and with her handbag over her shoulder scurried out towards the station yard where Bradfield was waiting impatiently in the driver’s seat of an unmarked red Hillman Hunter. She opened the passenger door.

  ‘Get in, get in,’ he said tetchily.

  She was still shutting the front passenger door as he pulled away at speed.

  ‘We are just going to make an appearance out of respect, sit at the back, give our condolences and be visible for as long as necessary. Then we get back here – I’ve got a lot to do.’

  Bradfield drove in silence and Jane wondered if she should make some polite conversation or if it was best to keep quiet. Eventually Bradfield started talking, not turning towards her but staring directly out of the windscreen.

  ‘God, I hate these things. Whoever killed Julie Ann and her baby is still out there. If I’d got something to tell them like we’d caught the bastard responsible it might have helped soften their grief. I don’t know – pregnant and a junkie at her age: I’m surprised she didn’t want an abortion.’

  There was an awful pause, before Jane decided to say something.

  ‘Apparently drugs can disrupt menstruation, especially heroin. So even if she missed some periods she might not have connected it to being pregnant. Then there was that phone call Anjali O’Duncie overheard. If Big Daddy was her dealer and the father, maybe she was asking for money for an abort—’

  Bradfield turned and stared at her. ‘You think he’d give a shit? He’s got kids littered all over the place by God knows how many women. Why would he bother to help a teenage hooker who was passed round to his cohorts to feed her addiction? All she cared about was the next fix.’

  There was another lengthy pause before Jane tried again.

  ‘Do you think that Eddie was murdered because he’d told you about this Big Daddy character?’

  Bradfield sighed and ruffled his hair. ‘I dunno. The toxicology results might show he overdosed on heroin which caused him to accidentally fall into the canal and drown. Who knows – maybe he was so high he thought he’d swim upriver and sneak into London Zoo,’ he said with a hollow laugh.

  Jane continued, ‘It’s another no-witness case like Julie Ann. Although it is different because we know he was at the station the day before and if this Big Daddy did kill Eddie then I guess you have a possible motive. Eddie was the last person to see her two weeks before her body was found. Professor Martin said she had bruises from a bad beating prior to her murder, so if we could find out where she was for those two weeks it would really help because—’

  He interrupted her. ‘Thank you, WPC Tennison – I’m aware of the time frame and have been doing everything possible to trace her movements and whereabouts during that missing period.’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ Jane said, deciding it was best to keep her opinions and thoughts to herself.

  The church was already half full of mourners by the time they arrived. Bradfield and Jane were surprised to see a white coffin on a plinth in front of the altar. It had a long plaited wreath of white lilies and a picture of Julie Ann on top of it. Mr and Mrs Collins entered arm in arm. They glanced towards Jane and Bradfield who were standing side by side in the back row. As they passed Mr Collins gave a small bow of his head to acknowledge their presence and then continued along the church aisle to sit in the front pew. A vicar in a black cassock, white surplice and black tippet that hung down to his knees entered from the vestry and stood at the lectern as the organ played an unrecognizable short piece. He gave
a light cough before he began the service.

  ‘I’m sure you are all aware that the body of Julie Ann cannot, for legal reasons, be here with us today and a full funeral service will be held at a later date. However, we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen; for the things that are seen are transient but the things that are unseen are eternal. I welcome George and Mary Collins, family and friends, to this special service for God’s beloved child Julie Ann, who is here with us in spirit. A regular at our Sunday service she enjoyed singing with the church choir, a delightful spontaneous young girl, who was blossoming into a beautiful young teenager. We all share the grief of her parents at a young life so tragically cut short.’

  The vicar continued and Jane could sense Bradfield’s impatience as he stood beside her sighing and shuffling his feet and twice looking at his watch. The vicar announced the hymn ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’, which they sang before Mr Collins stepped up to the lectern.

  ‘I thank you all for coming today. My wife and I have been touched by the care and kindness so many of you have shown us. Your words, cards and letters of sympathy are helping us both come to terms with our tragic loss, although I am unsure if we will ever recover fully from losing our only daughter. We have been able to recall and keep in our minds the joy Julie Ann brought to us. She was an adorable little girl, always full of fun and with so many gifted talents. She especially loved to dance and we were proud beyond words to watch her progress through her dance classes and grade exams, but the sadness that . . . ’ He faltered and took a moment before he continued, recalling how much hope they had had for her future and how they believed that one day she would dance professionally on stage.

  Bradfield turned over the page of the order of service card, trying to estimate in his head how long it would be before it ended. Two more hymns and a psalm to be read by a relative, and a solo hymn by one of the girls in the choir. Jane kept on flicking glances at him and he leaned close to her.

  ‘I reckon we won’t get out of here for at least another half-hour!’