Tennison

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘Thanks for your help. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t instigating a wild goose chase, but now with the added info from Spence I think we may be on to something. The lads checking out Great Eastern Street said there’s a Trustee Savings Bank next to a café and a tailor’s shop nearby that’s had a light on all evening, so I’m going there now to check it out.’

  ‘Do you need me with you?’

  ‘No, sweetheart, I’m bringing Kath in as I’ve put her on acting detective duties. Besides, we gotta make further enquiries. Go and get some sleep as you’ve got uniform early shift in the morning.’

  She felt insulted, as if he was treating her like a child, but he was gone before she had the opportunity to say anything.

  Untroubled by events above ground, the frustrated and exhausted threesome in the basement of Silas’s café were working harder than ever before. The tunnel was progressing well and was secured with wooden supports.

  From his vantage point David could see with his binoculars there were lights on in the tailor’s shop near the café. The main window had a curtain pulled across it, so it was impossible for him to see directly inside the shop. A small blue Morris Minor van pulled up outside the tailor’s and a short, stumpy-looking bald man got out of the driver’s side. He then opened the rear doors and lifted out two armloads of what appeared to be plastic-wrapped dry-cleaning. As he approached the front of the tailor’s a woman opened the door and took some of the items from him. A few minutes later the man left in the Morris Minor van and returned half an hour later with another bundle of plastic-wrapped clothes, which he took inside the shop.

  David was concerned and pressed the button on his walkie-talkie to make contact with his brother in the café. Silas answered and listened as David told him about the activity outside the tailor’s shop, but as it was four shops down he was not unduly worried. John came on the radio and told David to keep contact to a minimum, unless it was something really important.

  It was coming up to almost 10 p.m. when David saw a man wearing a baseball cap and raincoat walking arm in arm with a woman along the street. They stopped by the tailor’s and the man pressed the bell. After a while he saw the blind on the entrance door lift and the short stumpy man let the couple in before closing the door behind them. It didn’t appear suspicious, even at that late hour, and David just assumed it was someone who had arranged a fitting or was picking up some clothes.

  However, Mannie Charles, the shop owner, was totally freaked out when DCI Bradfield and Kath Morgan showed their warrant cards and asked to have a chat with him.

  Bradfield, in case of a lookout in the vicinity, had parked the unmarked CID car down a side street and walked to Mannie’s shop. Bradfield knew who Mannie Charles was, but had never actually met him until now.

  ‘Oy vey, you’re giving me heart failure. I done nothing wrong, I swear on my son’s life – it’s all kosher,’ Mannie pleaded nervously as Bradfield followed him in.

  Bradfield calmed him down. ‘Nothing to do with your business, Mannie. I just want to ask a few questions you might be able to help us with.’ He looked around the dimly lit shop which was stacked with rolls of fabric on shelves lining the walls. On the counter there were more rolls of fabric and some swatches, along with two tailor’s dummies draped in a pinstriped wool material.

  ‘I’ve only just collected the suits from the Horne warehouse manager, but I should have all the alterations done by mid-week and ready for delivery,’ he said, and pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket before continuing. ‘Let’s see. Ah, Mr Bradfield, I got you down for dark navy with silk lining, double-breasted and very good quality, a forty chest, thirty-four waist, thirty-six inside leg. Is that right, Mr Bradfield?’

  Kath was puzzled, wondering exactly what Mannie was on about as Bradfield smiled and said he had ordered a new suit, but that was not what he had come about.

  ‘My wife’s out the back. She’s working on the suits I’ve just brought in. I can fit yours now, make sure it’s just right.’

  Bradfield said he was sure the suit would be fine and his wife might be able to help with their enquiries, though this just seemed to worry Mannie even more and he said she was a bit of a klutz. The three of them headed through a door with mottled-glass panels which led into the sewing and fitting room. It was larger than the shop front, with a tall window at the back that had brown paper plastered across it and metal security bars. Next to it there was a heavy metal door that was padlocked, which obviously led to the back yard of the premises. Two big electric sewing machines dominated the room, and there were tables and more stacks of wool and linen samples. Mrs Charles, a diminutive woman with a curved back, was sitting by an old-fashioned pedal-operated sewing machine. She peered over the rim of her half-moon glasses as they entered.

  ‘What do vey want?’

  Mannie gestured for her to get on with her work. Using a small pair of scissors, she was removing labels from a heap of suit jackets and tossing them into a bin.

  ‘Voz iz the matter, bubbee?’ she asked her husband.

  Bradfield reassured her. ‘Nothing to concern or worry you, Mrs Charles. We’re just here to have a chat with Mannie about some suits we want made up,’ he said, deciding it was best not to involve her for the time being.

  Mannie told his wife to go and make herself a cup of coffee. She took off her glasses and had to clutch the end of the table to stand. She was badly hunched and shuffled her way into a small kitchen area and closed the door.

  ‘OK, Mannie, I’m wondering if you have seen anything suspicious happening around here recently.’

  His eyes and mouth widened. ‘Like what, Mr Bradfield?’

  Bradfield asked if Mannie had seen anyone watching or asking about any of the nearby banks, or heard any sounds that were out of the ordinary, like heavy machinery or digging perhaps. Mannie shook his head.

  ‘Have any of the other shop owners mentioned anything unusual?’

  ‘I don’t really have anything to do wiv ’em, Mr Bradfield. I just get on with my business and my customers are mostly regulars that book an appointment for fittings. Passing trade is very poor.’

  ‘Who runs the store on the corner?’

  ‘A bunch of Indian schmucks. They sell electric tools and machinery, but we never talk.’

  Bradfield smiled. ‘Do you get on with anyone in the street, Mannie?’

  ‘The woman who owns the shoe shop is very nice and bought a coat and matching skirt from me.’

  ‘What about the Greek guy who runs the café?’

  ‘Silas, yes, he’s always pleasant and friendly.’

  ‘I take it he bought goods from you as well.’

  ‘No. Why would he wear a suit in a café? He always gives me a little discount, which is kind considering he doesn’t do much business apart from the bank staff next door to him. You should try his Greek coffee with a sweet honey and nut baklava. I love it, but the nuts always get stuck in my teeth.’

  ‘Have you heard any noises coming from the café at night – drilling or stuff like that?’

  ‘No, but I don’t usually work here late at night. Me and the wife just wanted to get all the detectives’ suits done.’

  Bradfield asked about the back yards belonging to the shop owners in the street and Mannie told him he rented his out to a carpenter. He was unsure about the others, but as far as he knew most shop owners used them for their vans or storage.

  Mrs Charles returned with her coffee in a chipped mug and sat at her sewing machine. She began altering the waist on a pair of suit trousers, and twisted the cloth expertly, working at unbelievable speed.

  ‘Do you have a cellar, Mannie?’ Bradfield asked.

  Kath waited upstairs with Mrs Charles as Mannie led Bradfield down the narrow stone stairs to a large cellar the size of the entire space of the floor above. Racks of wrapped material were stored amongst cardboard boxes and old sewing machines. The walls were red brick and in many areas worn and in need of repointing. They could h
ear the sound of Mrs Charles on the sewing machine as it echoed through the floorboards.

  Bradfield couldn’t see any reason to remain there and asked Mannie to have a chat with his wife and let him know if she could add anything of interest. Walking back into the sewing and fitting room Bradfield saw Kath standing with her arms stretched out and Mrs Charles holding a measuring tape round her chest.

  ‘What you doing, Morgan?’

  ‘Well, now I’m working in the CID as an acting detective, sir, I thought I’d get a nice two-piece skirt suit for work.’

  ‘Do it in your own time, not on the job. We’re done here.’

  Kath thought this was rather ironic as it was obvious he and a few other detectives were getting new tailored suits, but she said nothing.

  Mannie unlocked the front door, and was ushering them out when he tapped Bradfield’s arm.

  ‘There is something a bit odd. I mean it might not mean anything, but we’ve all been given our marching orders by the council as they is going to knock this row of shops down. The leases are up in six months. Me and Mrs Charles can’t work from home as the house is small and not big enough for all the materials and sewing stuff, so we looking for a new place to set up business.’

  ‘What’s odd about that?’ Bradfield asked.

  ‘Well, the Greek café, they got notices up that he’s doing refurbishing, so to me it’s a waste of good money if the place is gonna be pulled down, understand what I mean?’

  Bradfield made no comment about the information, but asked Mannie for an empty suit-bag to be padded out with paper and old useless cut-offs. A puzzled Mannie did as he was asked and Bradfield thanked him for his time. ‘We’d appreciate it if you kept quiet about our chat, Mr Charles.’

  Mannie nodded. ‘Mazel tov, Mr Bradfield – and, Miss Morgan, my wife will have the lady’s suit ready for you in good time,’ he said, and closed the door.

  As Bradfield and Kath walked to the car she said, ‘Do ya not want to take a look at the café?’

  He put his arm around her shoulders. ‘If they got a lookout positioned somewhere round here I don’t want them getting suspicious. That’s why I asked for an empty suit-bag that looks full – we just move on nice and casual.’

  On the way back to the station Kath sat in the passenger seat as Bradfield drove. It was almost midnight: she was really tired and had been in bed suffering from an almighty hangover when they had called her in.

  ‘There was something going on that I thought was rather odd,’ she said, yawning.

  He turned and frowned at her. ‘I know, so that’s why we’ll check out with the council in the morning about the lease and see what we can get on this Silas geezer.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t about the lease, it was Mrs Charles cutting out labels from the suits and binning them. There was another stack of labels next to her with “Mannie Charles” on them.’

  He said nothing as he was more concerned about the fact the café was next door to the bank. But he made a mental note to have a word with the detective who had been taking the orders for the suits. He had assumed it was just a few off-the-peg, cut-price Horne Brothers suits for some of the Hackney CID officers, and that Mannie was altering them to size, but judging by the amount of suits in the back room he suspected half of East London’s CID were being kitted out and was curious as to why the labels needed to be changed. He sighed to himself as he realized the last thing he needed was A10 breathing down his neck again over a load of hooky suits.

  David had watched the couple exit from the tailor’s, confident he had been right and they were customers, as the tall man was now carrying a suit-bag. An hour later Mannie and his wife locked up their shop and drove off. David was shivering again with the cold, his back ached and his leg was throbbing. It was going to be yet another long freezing night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘I let you out on the streets and you go stirring up a hornet’s nest, which results in Bradfield giving me another dressing down for not taking some nutter’s call seriously,’ Harris barked at her.

  Jane had arrived for early turn the following morning only to find once again she was posted to the front desk by a furious Sergeant Harris who started shouting at her before she’d even removed her coat.

  She didn’t bother to say anything back to him, and when he asked what was going on she simply said DCI Bradfield had told her she wasn’t to discuss it with anyone. This angered Harris more, but she was actually quite pleased that it did.

  ‘I dunno what this place is coming to. She’s not got either the experience or know-how and gets lucky with some banknotes, and the next minute she’s been bloody promoted. I’ve thirty years’ hard graft under my belt that seems to mean F-all to some people.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘WPC Kathleen Morgan. She’s like a Cheshire cat now she’s been made acting detective. She’s always put it about and used her equipment to get what she wants, and as for her stinking perfume . . . ’

  Jane let him rant on, and he didn’t even seem to notice her walk off to deal with someone at the front counter. Just after ten o’clock, Jane went for her break and popped into the incident room to find Kath.

  It was already a hive of activity and there were numerous officers she hadn’t seen at the station before. From the way they appeared, some with long hair and scruffy clothes, others smart but casual, and a couple in workman’s clothes, she guessed they were probably surveillance officers.

  Jane noticed the index carousel was empty and Kath was boxing everything to do with the now-solved Julie Ann Collins case.

  ‘Congratulations, Kath, on your well-deserved appointment as an acting detective.’

  ‘I am over the bloody moon. I couldn’t believe it when the boss said it was in recognition of the Kenneth Boyle arrest and my work matching the banknotes, which cracked the Julie Ann murder case.’ She breathed on her nails and rubbed them on her jacket.

  ‘Well, I am jealous. I mean it’s going to be a long time for me to be even considered for the CID as I’ve got to complete my probation.’

  Jane looked around at everyone. ‘What’s going on?’

  Kath gestured to all the new officers.

  ‘They’re taking over the incident room for the John Bentley investigation and Bradfield has called for everyone to attend the briefing. I heard him tell Gibbs he wants you in on it as well.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Jane asked excitedly.

  ‘Yeah, anyway, I hope they don’t stick me in that stinking surveillance van. One time the buggers left me on my own while they went to the pub – I was in it for four hours sweating like a pig and bursting for a pee.’

  DS Gibbs walked in wearing his long black worn leather coat and black ankle boots.

  ‘Morgan, can you head up to the canteen and tell everyone on the team to come down in five minutes as Bradfield wants to get the meeting under way sooner rather than later.’

  When Kath left he took Jane to one side.

  ‘You may be right about Bentley being up to something.’

  She blushed and admitted that at one point she had been terrified she might be wrong.

  ‘You may still be, but fair dues, you stuck to your guns, even under pressure from me,’ he said smiling.

  She thanked him and leaving the room felt downhearted that he hadn’t said anything about her being back on the team. Kath had obviously misheard.

  She walked past Bradfield’s office and paused.

  ‘Where you off to, Tennison?’ she heard Bradfield shout from behind her and stopped.

  ‘The canteen for refs,’ she said without turning, not wanting him to see the disappointment on her face.

  ‘Get me a coffee and a pack of Bourbons while you’re there.’

  God, he’s got a cheek, she thought to herself.

  ‘You got three minutes so get a move on.’

  Annoyed, she turned sharply and stood with her knuckles dug into her hips. ‘Well, I’m very sorry but I’m busy
on the front desk YET AGAIN, and only have one pair of hands, so for once you’ll have to get your own coffee and Bourbons.’

  He cocked his head to one side and knew instinctively why she was upset.

  ‘Hold on, Tennison. Hurry up with the coffee because I want you on the investigation and in the office for the meeting. Didn’t DS Gibbs tell you?

  She suddenly wished the ground would swallow her up and mumbled an apology for her petulant behaviour.

  ‘It’s all right, this time. Besides, you look kinda cute when you’re angry,’ he said, and looked at his watch. ‘You got two minutes now.’

  Jane was up the stairs like a shot.

  Everyone was gathered. Jane stood at the back of the office as all the chairs were occupied. Bradfield had given Kath big sheets of paper to stick on the wall, with street and building diagrams drawn on them and notes neatly written in black felt tip. DS Gibbs had set up the reel-to-reel tape player in one corner of the room.

  Bradfield looked refreshed and energized, even though he’d had only about three hours’ sleep. He handed out copies of Jane’s report detailing her visit to Ashley Brennan, and a transcription of the tape. He told DS Gibbs to start the tape and they all remained still and silent as they listened to the recording. The tape finished and Bradfield, perched on the edge of a desk, stood up and walked to the front of the room.

  ‘Right, listen up. Anything you have read, heard or are told about this investigation stays within this team and these four walls. Do I make myself clear?’ He looked round the room, staring everyone in the eye. ‘If as much as a peep gets out, then believe me I will personally destroy the career of whoever’s responsible.’

  Jane had never seen him so serious, and by the expression on the faces of the others in the room neither had they.

  ‘You’ve heard the tape and read Tennison’s report so I won’t repeat what’s in it. Clearly our suspects are using walkie-talkies and we believe the man referred to as Brushstroke is John Bentley. He’s a hard nut who’s done time for a very nasty GBH as well as other serious crimes,’ he said, pinning up John’s mug shot on a cork board.