He took out a comb from his pocket and ran it front to back through his hair, making it stand up on end, and then ran his fingers either side of his head.
‘I’ve got quite a way to go, but I’ll finish checking all the notes before I go home.’
‘Finish it tomorrow, but make sure the money is locked away in the property-store safe overnight.’
‘I have the day off tomorrow as it’s my sister’s wedding.’
Gibbs replaced the comb in his pocket, and told her he’d get Kath to finish checking it all in the morning.
‘Are you sure? Only I’m worried DCI Bradfield might disapprove if I go off duty just now.’
‘I’ll sort it out and tell him you got a big day tomorrow. I had to take a week off after my brother got married. Nothin’ to do with the wedding, it was the stag night I had to recover from.’
‘Thank you, I really appreciate it, not that I’m looking forward to the wedding: I’m chief bridesmaid.’
‘Well, better a wedding than a funeral, eh, Jane?’ He walked off playing air guitar and making the sound of the strings playing the wedding march. Jane was quite surprised as it was the first time he had called her by her Christian name.
The property office was closed. Jane knew that Duty Sergeant Harris had a key to the office and the safe, so she would have to get him to open it up for her.
‘What do you want, Tennison?’ Harris snapped as she approached.
Jane explained that she needed the property store opened, the seized money put in the safe and a property-deposit invoice signed.
‘Well, one favour deserves another, so when I’ve done that you can take over on the front desk for an hour while I have my grub.’
She tried to explain that DS Gibbs had said she could go off duty. Harris said that it was busy out on the streets and there was no one to come in and relieve him so she’d better show some willing seeing as he’d allowed her to be attached to the murder team.
Jane knew it was pointless arguing and didn’t want to interrupt Gibbs and Bradfield while they were busy so she did as she was told.
She dealt with two people who came in to report a couple of minor crimes and an elderly woman who’d lost her purse in the street. An hour and a half passed and Sergeant Harris hadn’t returned. Jane suspected he was probably playing snooker, but she couldn’t leave the front desk unmanned.
She’d just sat back down when a civilian courier arrived with the internal mail, which she signed for and then began to sort out into piles.
Jane noticed that an envelope was addressed to her. Opening it she read that there was a place available at the section house, but if she wanted the room she had to reply within forty-eight hours. She immediately started to fill out her personal details on the residents’ form. Knowing that her parents would be upset she was moving out, Jane decided it would be best to tell them after the wedding. She completed the forms and put them in a return envelope addressed to the section house sergeant at Ede House.
As she sealed the envelope and popped it into the internal mail bag Sergeant Harris finally returned.
‘Why’s all that mail on the desk? You’re supposed to put it in the relevant drawer trays.’
‘I was about to but—’
‘Then get on with it before you go off duty,’ he sneered, deliberately trying to antagonize her.
She knew what he was trying to do but smiled. ‘My pleasure, Sergeant. Sadly there’s nothing for you.’
Having dealt with all the mail she returned to the incident room to get her handbag and personal belongings. As she passed Bradfield’s office she could hear him and Gibbs chatting and wondered if there were any further developments, but she had no intention of hanging about to find out. As she picked up her handbag she noticed the open file Kath had left on the desk. She glanced at the mug shot of Kenneth Boyle and suppressed a shudder. There was something about his almost pretty-boy face, with its wide-apart dark hooded eyes and thin mouth that chilled her. No wonder Kath felt so angry about the short sentence: Boyle definitely deserved a lot longer for the stress and fear he’d inflicted. Flicking the file shut, Jane walked out of the office and headed to the bus stop, feeling depressed by the day’s events.
David Bentley tuned the radio to another channel. David Cassidy’s ‘How Can I Be Sure’ filled the van.
‘Turn that Cassidy wanker off,’ John said.
They were at the rented garage and had just finished attaching the advertising logos to the sides of the van: ‘Home Decorating, Painting and Carpentry’, ‘Professionals at Reasonable Prices’ – all of which could be easily peeled off at any time. The back windows were covered with pictures David had cut out from magazines: tins of paint, paper-pasting boards, paintbrushes and ladders. They had earlier purchased two smaller stolen Kango hammer drills for cash from a dealer in Essex and were now loading them into the van, along with the additional equipment needed for the job. John reversed the loaded van into the garage and locked the heavy metal garage door. David was using his walking stick and had not been very helpful due to his lameness, but John had tried to include him as much as possible.
‘We’ll unload the decorating gear in the back yard of the café tomorrow night when we start. Danny will be there to help carry it down to the basement,’ John said, patting the garage door. They walked back towards their estate, and John put his arm around his brother.
‘Don’t look so worried.’
‘It’s gonna be all right isn’t it, John?’
‘Trust me, Dave, we been working on this for weeks, there’ll be no problems.’
David’s stomach tightened as he recalled his father using the same words when they went to the church to steal the lead and he fell off the roof. He was now terrified of heights, scared of ever going back to prison, knowing as a cripple he’d be vulnerable inside.
John started talking about a movie he wanted to see. Theatre of Blood, with Vincent Price and Diana Rigg, which had got rave reviews and was a real British horror movie, but David was not interested. He had a nagging fear in the pit of his stomach and knowing exactly what was going to begin the next night made it worse.
Sitting in her usual seat on the top deck of the bus, Jane put her earpiece in and turned on her pocket radio. By pure coincidence Jimi Hendrix was singing ‘Voodoo Child’. She sighed, remembering the hideous squat they had been to that afternoon and the young kids living rough and taking drugs. She felt pretty certain that Julie Ann and Eddie Phillips had visited or lived there at some time. However, she was uncertain about Terry O’Duncie. For all that she loathed about his existence, he didn’t appear to be a violent person; although he dressed like a pimp, he seemed to be playing at being a tough guy. She felt depressed and turning off the radio thought to herself, What do I know? It saddened her to think how young the girls had been at the squat; even some of the boys looked to be in their teens. She shuddered to think that they could end up like Julie Ann and Eddie, addicted to drugs, turning to prostitution and stealing to pay for their habit. They had nothing to look forward to but a wretched future, so different from her own; she had been raised within a caring family who were always there to love and protect her. Jane forced herself to think of something else. Her mind turned to her sister’s wedding, but this annoyed her as she wasn’t looking forward to it, didn’t relish being a bridesmaid and feared the whole day would be a hideous experience. She turned her radio back on and ironically David Cassidy was singing his hit single ‘How Can I Be Sure’.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Alone in her bedroom on Sunday morning Jane found it difficult to even look at herself in the mirror. The salmon-pink taffeta floor-length bridesmaid dress, now with the waistband and large bow in place, had been difficult to hook up as it was so tight. The corset was even tighter and it was hard to take a deep breath, and she was scared that if she did her bust would pop out as the neckline was so low, and the puffball sleeves kept slipping down her shoulder. The ensemble was topped with a coronet of fresh
white tea roses, which was too large and slipped forward every time she moved. The dyed satin Cuban-heeled shoes matched the dress and all three bridesmaids were to carry a little posy of white roses and wear elbow-length white gloves.
‘Dear God, I look ridiculous,’ she muttered.
The entire family was gathered in the living area along with the other two bridesmaids, who were Pam’s closest friends, although Jane had only ever met them at the church rehearsal.
Her mother shouted for Jane to get a move on as the car had arrived and the car for Pam and her dad was also due any minute. Jane gritted her teeth as she slowly left the bedroom and walked into the room where the other two bridesmaids in identical outfits were shrieking and giggling with excitement.
Her mother was fussing, rushing here and there in a worried state, wondering where she’d put the box of white roses and freesias for the groom, best man and ushers to pin to their morning-suit buttonholes. Her father was sitting nonchalantly reading the paper, his top hat between his knees.
He glanced at Jane. ‘Where’s the bride?’ he asked, folding the paper, then looked up at her.
‘Good God, your dress is a bit low at the front, isn’t it?’
Before Jane could answer Pam came out from her parents’ bedroom, where she’d been for the last four hours fixing her hair and make-up. Her floor-length white lace gown, which had cost a fortune, was bunched up in her arms and she suddenly wailed as the long white train caught in the base of the door. It was panic as Mrs Tennison shouted for her husband to find the buttonhole flowers while she helped Pam. Mr Tennison remembered they were in the hall and, annoyed with all the frantic fuss, took charge of the situation, clapping his hands as he instructed everyone to keep calm and get ready to leave.
‘Bridesmaids go now, first car. Mother, you take the flowers and get them to the groom and the boys, Pam and I will follow at exactly eleven forty,’ he said, checking his watch.
‘Pam, don’t bunch up your dress, it’ll crease.’ Mrs Tennison shook out the veil to straighten it and then rushed back into the bedroom to fetch her hat.
Pam was in a panic. ‘Where’s my bouquet?’
‘In the hall, sweetheart . . . let the bridesmaids go to their car now . . . Where the hell is your mother?’ Mr Tennison sighed.
Jane had by now collected her posy of roses and held them tightly to her chest as she opened the front door and stood to one side as her mother scurried out with her hat on, stopped suddenly, turned and went back to the hall to get the box of buttonholes.
Pam looked at her father. ‘Please don’t get into a bad mood with Mummy – she’s just excited like we all are. Can you get my bouquet, please?’
‘For God’s sake, Pam darling, you’ve got ten minutes before we need to leave. Jane, you keep an eye on your mother and help her hand out the buttonholes at the church – the chaps should all be there by now.’
The journey to the church took five minutes, the three bridesmaids squashed in the back seat and Mrs Tennison sitting nervously in the front. By the time they arrived the groom and best man were standing outside on the church steps looking anxious, and the ushers were showing the last few guests to their seats.
Mrs Tennison fussed round the girls, patting down their dresses, fluffing up their puff sleeves and straightening out their coronets.
‘You all look absolutely gorgeous, and remember, Jane, as chief bridesmaid you take the bouquet from Pam when she says her vows.’
She gave Jane a tearful smile, patting her and leaning close.
‘I hope one day it will be your turn, but you shouldn’t have worn your hair down, I said put it up in a chignon. I’ve got a comb, just let me run it through.’
‘Leave it alone, Mother, just go and sit in your pew.’
It was a waste of time: Mrs Tennison opened her small purse and took out a little comb and started tugging it through Jane’s long blonde hair.
‘That’s better, now push the coronet up a bit as it’s too low down.’ As Jane used her right hand to push the coronet up her mother gasped.
‘Good heavens, your bust is falling out. I don’t know . . . that woman made dresses for Alma Cogan – you’d think it would fit you better.’
Jane was appalled as her mother insisted on hitching up the front of the dress and pushing down her breasts.
Jane stepped back. ‘Enough, Mother, and you need to straighten your hat!’
‘I wasn’t going to go with this one, but your father said the one I liked was too expensive.’ She adjusted the hat. ‘Is it all right now?’
‘It looks lovely.’
Jane sighed with the relief as the groom and best man accompanied Mrs Tennison to her seat and then took up their positions at the front of the church while the bridesmaids went to wait in the small anteroom for Pam and her father to arrive.
The other two bridesmaids’ constant nattering irritated Jane so she stepped outside to wait for her father and sister and saw the vicar at the foot of the steps looking at his watch.
‘Is everything all right?’ she asked him.
‘Yes, we’re just running a few minutes late. I’ve another wedding at one thirty, and then the usual evensong to prepare for as well, so we need to keep everything tickety-boo and on time.’
Jane, annoyed by all the fuss, politely said hello to a couple of guests who were late arriving, though she didn’t have a clue as to who they were.
‘How much older are you than Pam?’ one of them stopped to ask.
Jane turned to face a flushed coiffured woman who she suspected was a friend of her sister from the hair salon, and said that she was four years older.
‘Oh, must seem odd, Pam marrying before you.’
Jane stopped herself from making a sarcastic reply. Hearing the crunch of tyres on gravel, she turned to see the car carrying her father and sister pull into the churchyard. The vicar promptly paced up the steps and into the church and waved his hand at the organist who started playing the wedding march, which caused the other two bridesmaids to hurry out from the anteroom.
Mr Tennison helped Pam alight from the car and the two bridesmaids rushed down the steps to straighten her veil, and pull out the wedding gown’s long beaded train.
‘Right, we all set?’ her father said quietly as they reached the church porch. Standing to Pam’s right he linked arms with her and they proceeded to walk down the aisle followed by Jane and the other bridesmaids.
When they reached the chancel the groom stepped forward and shook hands with Mr Tennison who then gently lifted Pam’s right hand and placed it on the groom’s extended left hand before stepping back behind the bride.
Listening to their vows Jane was surprised to feel quite emotional. Her baby sister was so nervous, and stumbled over a few lines as she gazed at Tony, who had big raw hands and ruddy cheeks.
The ceremony was over within half an hour and after photographs outside the church there was another crushed journey to the Clarendon Hotel for the reception. The further photographs in the hotel grounds took ages, and the speeches, apart from her father’s, dragged on and on. Jane was anxious to escape, but her father had hired a disco for the entertainment so she was obliged to stay. As more guests arrived the two other bridesmaids made a beeline for one of the ushers and the best man. Elderly relatives looked on and cheered as they watched Jane’s parents attempting to do the twist to the Chubby Checker song.
It was an excruciating few hours before Jane decided to extricate herself and ask her father if she could get a taxi home.
‘Don’t be impatient – you can’t leave until the bride and groom do . . . She’s changing into her honeymoon outfit soon and we have to wave them off.’
‘I need to check in with the station in case I am needed.’
He gave a resigned sigh, and leaned close. ‘Don’t make excuses, you’ve had a face all day like you’ve been sucking a lemon, just try and show a bit of enthusiasm. It’s Pam’s big day, and who knows, maybe you could be the lucky one that catche
s her bouquet.’
Jane sighed and returned to her gilt-backed chair at the top table. She sipped at her champagne, which was now tepid. She had stuffed a paper napkin down the front of her cleavage to stop her mother constantly telling her to pull up the bodice. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed an overweight man accompanied by a small blonde woman approaching her table. There is always an embarrassing relative in a family and for the Tennisons it was Uncle Brian, their mother’s older brother. Clinging to him like a limpet was his tiny wife Claire. They both appeared to have had too much to drink.
‘Here she is, our own little Dixon of Dock Green . . . Evening all.’ Uncle Brian snorted as he laughed and gave a salute. ‘Collared any big-time villains yet, or are you still directing traffic?’ he asked.
Jane gave a small tight smile. ‘Dixon’s male and we’re about to crack down on dodgy car dealers, Uncle Brian.’
He laughed loudly and his wife tittered.
‘Well, when you want a nice reliable second-hand motor you know where to come. You know our Barbara’s an air hostess with Dan Air now and travels the world on long-haul flights? She’d have been here today but she’s in New York . . . lovely uniform, wonderful job. It’s the sort of work you should be thinking about.’
‘She’s lost loads of weight, you know,’ Aunt Claire added.
‘Good for her,’ Jane said, recalling Barbara was at least thirteen stone plus and as haughty and objectionable as Uncle Brian. ‘Mind you I’ve always thought an air hostess was a sort of glorified waitress,’ Jane said sarcastically.
‘She’s dating a pilot and having a lovely time,’ Aunt Claire said and gave Jane a sidelong glance.
‘I’d never have let our Barbara go into the police. In fact I was surprised when your mother told us you’d joined, and those hats you have to wear, dear me, they’re so ugly, but each to their own chosen path, I suppose.’
‘I am finding it really fascinating, and I was at my first autopsy the other day. They make this Y-shaped incision that begins with cuts behind each ear and goes all the way down along the neck and chest to the pelvis so they can remove the intestines. The pathologist also peels the flap of skin off the face and over the skull.’
Tennison Page 24