Tennison

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘The underage girl you were with when we arrested you?’

  ‘Yes, but she told me she was eighteen . . . we spent some of the money Julie Ann had given me on a few nights there, expensive meals, champagne, and bought a load of clothes and shoes in Carnaby Street. We were in the hotel room when it was on the news that she was dead, man. I got scared shitless so I just lied cos I honestly dunno what happened to her.’

  Bradfield felt like it was two steps forward and a big hole-in-one going back.

  O’Duncie’s alibi had a ring of truth about it and could easily be checked out with the hotel and young girl. Feeling depressed Bradfield pulled out the photograph of Eddie Phillips from the envelope and pushed it towards O’Duncie.

  ‘So what happened with you and Eddie?’

  The room was stinking from the sweating O’Duncie as he looked at the photograph. He yet again glanced helplessly to his solicitor.

  ‘Just answer the question, Terry,’ Stonex said.

  ‘He’d been at the squat a few times with Julie Ann. They were on the same drug-rehab programme where my sister worked. After Julie Ann died he turned up saying he was scared because you lot wanted him to give the name of the dealer they used.’

  ‘The dealer is the man known as Big Daddy? The man you planned to score off using Julie Ann’s money?’

  O’Duncie reacted, and slowly nodded his head.

  ‘Yeah, all right, yeah, but I never met him, I swear on my life I dunno him and last I heard he got nicked in Manchester. I know he’s a fuckin’ nightmare if you cross him and Julie Ann was terrified of him. I only done business through his sidekick Dwayne, an’ he can get crazy, kicking your head in.’

  There was a pause as O’Duncie swallowed and coughed before he continued.

  ‘Anyway, Eddie was fucked up when he come round to the squat, he was stinking of puke and crying. He said because Julie Ann had been murdered, he was being hounded by you lot, but he swore he’d never mentioned me.’

  ‘Did he say anything about Julie Ann being pregnant?’

  ‘Yes, but I knew it wasn’t mine as I never shag junkies without protection because of hepatitis, and it couldn’t be Eddie’s as he was a right little nerd. I didn’t know she was pregnant till Eddie said so, and Christ only knows whose it was as she was a right slag.’

  ‘Do you know if Big Daddy raped her?’

  ‘Not for certain, but it wouldn’t surprise me, having heard what he’s like.’

  ‘And how did Eddie end up in the canal, Terry?’

  By now O’Duncie’s shirt was soaking wet with sweat, which ran in streams down the sides of his cheeks.

  ‘Look, I admit he was a pest, but he’d done me a favour by not telling you lot she used to stay at my crash pad. He wanted to hang out away from the heat, so I said he could stay for a few days. Someone in the house gave him a pair of my old trousers and a shirt and he left. If they give him any gear it wasn’t from me cos he had no cash.’

  Bradfield sighed and drew back the photograph of Eddie and stacked it on top of Julie Ann’s.

  ‘We will check out your alibi. You will now be charged with drugs offences and be held in custody to appear at the Magistrates’ Court where we will ask for you to be remanded in custody. Kath, go get someone to help you take him down to the charge room with Mr Stonex, but open the fucking windows in here first.’

  A few minutes later Kath returned with a uniform PC to assist her with O’Duncie. As they left the room Cato Stonex remained behind and said he wanted to have a quick word with DCI Bradfield.

  ‘You pulled a fast one and lied about speaking with the allegedly underage girl and her parents.’

  Bradfield shook his head. ‘You’re long enough in the tooth to know how the game’s played, Cato; besides you were only worried you’d fucked up by interviewing a juvenile alone.’

  ‘We’re not so different: all said and done we both have a job to do.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Bradfield paused. ‘Where the hell did you get a name like yours from anyway?’

  ‘It’s a Saxon surname, Bradfield, and whether or not I like my Christian name is none of your bloody business.’

  ‘Right Cato, mate-o, it’s not my business but I don’t take bent money from drug dealers for payment.’

  ‘For what it’s worth I don’t think he killed Julie Ann and nor did Dwayne Clark.’

  ‘What! You met up with Dwayne?’

  ‘He called me. He has a cast-iron alibi. He was in Coventry to meet up with Joshua Richards, but as you know he got arrested. I’ve told Dwayne he’s making a bigger hole for himself by hiding and advised him to come in voluntarily to be interviewed.’

  ‘What about Eddie Phillips? Did O’Duncie or Dwayne kill him?’

  ‘I don’t know and that’s not my problem to solve, but no doubt we will meet again soon,’ Stonex said and left.

  An angry Bradfield went to the incident room to speak with Jane about her interview with A10. She told him that once they saw the retraction statement by O’Duncie they only asked her a few questions and she confirmed his and DS Gibbs’s version of events. They informed her that no further action would be taken and DS Gibbs would be returned to duty immediately. Bradfield said nothing, he didn’t even smile, but returned stony-faced to his office slamming the door shut behind him, too preoccupied with the case to react to the good news.

  It went from bad to worse later that afternoon as the knowledge that O’Duncie’s alibi had been verified quickly spread round the incident room. The Chelsea Hotel manager confirmed that O’Duncie and his girlfriend, who they discovered was seventeen, had been staying there. The initial excitement over O’Duncie’s arrest palled: their killer was still out there.

  Bradfield ordered another search of the squat in Ashburn House on the Pembridge Estate by DCs Ashton and Edwards. He wanted to know if there was anyone else now staying there who had known Julie Ann, or had fresh information about her or Eddie Phillips. It was late afternoon when Bradfield and DS Lawrence, who were going over the forensics in Bradfield’s office, were interrupted by a knock at the door and DCs Ashton and Edwards walked in.

  ‘No one was at the squat, sir, but we found this.’ A sheepish-looking Ashton held up a dirty black bin bag.

  ‘It definitely wasn’t there when we first searched the place,’ Edwards nervously added and Ashton agreed.

  Bradfield and Lawrence looked inside the bag. Amongst potato peelings and dirty used takeaway cartons there was a rucksack.

  ‘It matches the description of the one Julie Ann Collins had,’ Ashton said.

  An angry-looking Bradfield grabbed the bin bag from Ashton and went to the incident room where Jane was sitting at a desk filling out some index cards. Bradfield told her to move and as she got up he cleared a space on the desk. Lawrence laid out some sheets of newspaper, put on some protective gloves and handed a pair to Bradfield who removed the rucksack from the bin bag and began to search through it. First he took out a worn-looking ‘English History’ exercise book, with ‘Julie Ann Collins’ written in large letters on the front, and placed it on the table. Lawrence picked the exercise book up and began to flick through it while Bradfield removed items of clothing from the rucksack and placed them in a pile on the table. Lawrence held the book open for Bradfield and Jane to see. ‘She was a bright girl, and look at her neat and tidy handwriting. I wonder if she was maybe thinking about going back to finish her education.’

  Bradfield retrieved a chopstick from the bin bag and used it to lift and separate the clothes. There was a white cotton bra, a few stained lace panties, two pairs of worn leather ballet shoes, the soles coming away from the stitching, and a frilled Biba blouse that was covered in food stains. Jane could still smell the strong patchouli perfume emanating from the clothing.

  ‘Not much, but she was living rough for some time.’ Lawrence sighed.

  ‘Anything worth taking was probably nicked by the other kids at the squat.’

  Jane just wanted to leave the room: sh
e felt sad seeing all that was left of the dead girl. She pointed at the worn ballet slippers.

  ‘Her father said she wanted to be a ballet dancer.’

  ‘Well, she’s never going to dance any more,’ Bradfield remarked.

  ‘No,’ Jane replied and left him prodding at the clothing with his chopstick. It was obvious to them all there was nothing in the rucksack that would hasten the search for her killer.

  Jane was in the ladies’ locker room putting on her raincoat when Kath came in with a sly grin on her face.

  ‘Spence is back in the office . . . and I’m gonna pay him back for the Vicks prank. All DCs and detective sergeants, and that includes Gibbs, have to do a first-aid refresher test on resuscitation with the St John’s Ambulance instructor . . . ’

  ‘You mean mouth-to-mouth on a dummy?’

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s half a dummy they bring in, she’s called Resusci Anne. The old battle-axe trainer is havin’ a tea break in the canteen so I’ve only got a few minutes.’

  Jane watched, rather confused, as Kath took out a lipstick from her make-up bag.

  ‘This is called “Crimson Blush” and it’s waterproof.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ a curious Jane asked.

  Kath was already on her way out of the locker room. ‘Just wait – you’ll find out soon enough.’

  Jane buttoned up her raincoat, secured her locker, and then after giving her hair a brush went out into the corridor where she saw Kath come running down the stairs.

  ‘Gibbs has just gone in for his test. You’d better not hang about or he’ll think it was you.’

  It was only a few minutes later when Gibbs, who had been irritated by being made to go through the mouth-to-mouth refresher training, stomped down the stairs. He went to the incident room to see if DS Lawrence and Bradfield had discovered anything of value from Julie Ann’s rucksack.

  ‘Anything of interest?’ he asked.

  Bradfield glanced up as Gibbs moved closer.

  ‘Who’ve you been slobbering with?’ Lawrence asked.

  ‘He’ll be wearing a matching blouse and earrings next,’ Bradfield added with a grin.

  ‘What are you two talking about? I’ve been doing mouth-to-mouth on Resusci Anne and I passed, thank you very much for asking.’

  Bradfield laughed. ‘I believe you, Spence, but the rest of the team won’t.’

  ‘I dunno what you’re talking about . . . I’m going to the canteen.’

  ‘Bring me and Paul a coffee, sweetheart,’ Bradfield said nonchalantly to the confused Gibbs as he walked out. He was totally unaware that he had bright red lipstick smudged around his lips. He found out soon enough as there were guffaws from officers in the canteen and Gladys the canteen lady told him she had the same colour lipstick.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Jane’s mother was in tears, her father close to it as they stood outside their Maida Vale flat waiting for the taxi to arrive.

  ‘I’m perfectly happy to get public transport and it won’t be busy this early in the morning, Dad.’

  ‘No, you won’t let us drive you there so I’ll pay for the taxi. I’ll not have you lugging that large case across London, especially Hackney.’

  Mrs Tennison sobbed and wiped her nose on a hanky she kept tucked in her sleeve. ‘I can’t believe you are leaving Daddy and me all alone, Jane.’

  Jane felt quite emotional herself and knew her mother was in some sort of denial, but she was not going to be made to feel guilty about moving out.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Mum, the section house is only half an hour away in the car. Besides, you weren’t like this when Pam moved out.’

  ‘But that was different, Jane: she’d met someone, fallen in love and got married.’

  ‘I’ll visit on my days off and come home for Sunday roast, so . . . ’

  Her mother wafted her hanky as she became more upset. ‘You only get one Sunday off a month . . . it’s deplorable and you must ask for more.’

  ‘I don’t make the rules, Mum, I just do as I’m told. I get days off in the week like today, and one of your roasts will taste just as good Monday to Friday. I’ll even stay the night if possible.’

  Her mother looked slightly calmer. ‘You bring that nice detective that came to see you after the wedding.’

  ‘He’s a senior officer and my boss while I’m assisting the CID . . . to him I’m just a minion.’

  ‘Well, he seemed very nice, very polite.’

  ‘If it makes you happy I’ll ask,’ Jane said, though she didn’t intend to do so.

  ‘That’s the taxi coming,’ her dad said.

  To Jane’s surprise he suddenly stepped forward and embraced her with a loving hug.

  ‘Like I said you always get your own way,’ he whispered in her ear. He squeezed tighter and kissed her on the cheek.

  She whispered back, ‘Thanks for telling her about me moving – you made it easier for me and I will miss you both.’

  ‘I know, she just worries about you. We both do because we love you so much.’

  Jane felt herself welling up and thinking of the loss of her brother Michael. For the first time she wondered if she was doing the right thing by moving out when it came to the effect on her mother.

  As her dad put the suitcase in the back of the cab Jane embraced and squeezed her mother tightly before telling her she’d ring later that day to let them know she’d settled in.

  Arriving at the section house reception Jane introduced herself to the duty warden, an elderly, grey-haired civilian man who sat behind a small desk drinking his morning cup of tea and enjoying a cigarette. He asked to see her warrant card and then asked her to sign in on the residents’ register.

  ‘Do you know your room number, luv?’

  ‘Not yet, but I was told my room would be on the third floor.’

  ‘Oh, slight problem there. The WPCs’ floor is all full up so the only room available is on the men’s floor.’

  Jane was shocked and upset. ‘But I was told that—’

  ‘Got yer there, didn’t I? I do it to all the new residents, even the blokes. Funny thing is none of them ever object to a room on the women’s floor. You’ve been allocated room 308. There’s a black disc on the key ring and you need to hang that on the board number whenever you’re going out the building.’

  Jane thanked him and he explained that if she was out and no black disc had been hung up she’d receive a 10p fine. The warden pointed to a row of six wooden cubby holes behind him stating that the residents’ mail was placed in them and it was her responsibility to check for herself, likewise the message book.

  ‘Right, you nip up to your room and unpack your case while I let Bob Turner know you’re here.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘Section house sergeant and that’s his office just behind you. He likes to show the new ones round and tell them the rules and regs at the same time. He lives in a big room on the top floor so I’ll go and let him know you’re here.’

  Jane’s room was only slightly larger than the one she’d had at Hendon training college in the women’s only tower block accommodation during her initial training, and not as comfortable-looking or big as the one at home. The single bed and side cabinet were on the left as you entered; to the right behind a sliding door was a small metal washbasin and mirror with a strip light, toiletry shelves to one side. Under the sink there was a white towel on a rail.

  She put her case on the unmade bed and opened it. Not knowing how much storage space there would be she had not packed too many clothes. She looked in the far section of the wardrobe for some hangers. Inside there was a chest of drawers, the top of which she noticed had a pull-out section that could be used as a desk. Nifty, she thought to herself.

  As she unpacked Jane realized she would have to get used to doing her own washing and ironing. She put her clothes in the wardrobe and placed her alarm clock on the bedside table, then put the empty case under the bed. She opened the window at the end of the ro
om to let some fresh air in. Her room overlooked the rear courtyard of the building, which she was glad of as the rooms at the front of the building overlooked Mare Street, which was a main through-road and always noisy and busy. She was about to unfold the bottom sheet and start to make the bed when there was a knock at the door. She opened it and saw a balding, dark-haired and rather portly man in his early forties dressed in a white T-shirt, tracksuit bottoms and slippers.

  ‘Tennison?’ he asked bluntly without a smile and said he was Sergeant Turner.

  She put out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Likewise. Follow me, please,’ he said with a limp handshake and gruff manner.

  As they walked along the landing the first thing he told her was that men were not allowed on the women’s floor and vice versa, unless there was a valid reason, and anyone wantonly caught breaking the rule would be asked to leave.

  He pointed out where the ladies’ toilets and bathroom were and opening a door opposite he showed her the small ironing room with two irons and boards.

  ‘Is there a launderette nearby?’

  ‘One downstairs in the basement next to the gym. Two front-load washers and a drying room with clothes racks next to it. We’re hoping to get some tumbler-driers in the near future. There’s a dry-cleaner’s round the corner for your uniform. He accepts police chits and you can get them at work or from me. Canteen opening hours are marked up on the main noticeboard outside my office.’

  Jane couldn’t get over his abrupt, monotonous way of speaking: there was a total lack of emphasis to his words.

  ‘My room is very comfortable and nicely decorated,’ she said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

  ‘Adequate, yes, nicely decorated, no. You can put posters up using that new Bostick stuff, no nails, and no pins.’

  ‘Blu-tack?’ Jane enquired.

  ‘If it’s blue and sticky then that’s it.’

  The tour of the section house was pretty straightforward, and Sergeant Turner said little else other than to point out the TV rooms and canteen. Feeling rather pessimistic, Jane returned to her room. She finished making her bed and neatly arranged all her toiletries before going to the canteen for lunch. It was very different from the police station’s and actually looked like a proper restaurant. She was very impressed but couldn’t help noticing that there were just six people dining and only two of them were sitting together and obviously about to go on late shift as they were in half-blues. She didn’t recognize anyone from Hackney Police Station, but wasn’t surprised as some of the hundred and twenty residents worked at other stations in East London.