Tennison

by Lynda La Plante

  He gave her his lopsided smile and stuck another cigarette in his mouth.

  ‘You also smoke too much.’

  ‘Mind your business, Kath, and don’t push your luck, not if you want to be present when we make the arrests. Now get out, go and get some kip.’

  Kath said goodnight and made a zipping motion across her mouth before leaving the room.

  Bradfield sighed. He did smoke too much and knew he’d already crossed the line with Jane, but he’d been unable to stop himself. He decided once the arrests had been made he’d send Jane back to uniform shifts and make it clear there would be no Sunday lunches at her mother’s.

  Jane arrived at the station just before 6 a.m. and went to the ladies’ locker room to get changed. She’d found it hard to sleep during the night: every time she closed her eyes she couldn’t help picturing Bradfield’s handsome face with his unruly curly hair and brilliant blue eyes. She kept wondering what would have happened in his office if they hadn’t been interrupted by the call from Gibbs on the radio.

  Putting on her jacket she looked at herself in the mirror. The murder inquiry had been fascinating, and often emotionally draining, but the adrenalin rush she felt being privy to Operation Hawk was even stronger. Before working with Bradfield, Jane hadn’t considered becoming a detective but for her Bradfield epitomized what being a good detective was all about: compassion where needed and the ability to instantly change approach where necessary; always keeping in mind the forensics and fine details of an investigation, no matter what it might be. Being a detective and dealing with serious crime was more stressful than uniform work but Jane thought it beat working with Harris on the front desk any day.

  Jane looked in the mirror and adjusted her bow tie. She touched her face recalling the way Bradfield had pulled her close and touched her cheek as he was about to kiss her. She was suddenly awoken from her thoughts by the sound of Kath’s voice.

  ‘That’s the last time I sleep with Spencer Gibbs – I hardly got any kip at all.’

  ‘You slept with DS Gibbs?’ Jane asked, looking rather stunned.

  ‘He didn’t even have the decency to let me use the bed . . . I had to kip on a mattress with a blanket on the floor. At first he started singing rock songs and keeping a drum beat on his thighs, then when he did fall asleep like a log he snored like a foghorn!’

  ‘Was it your place or his?’ Jane asked, somewhat confused.

  ‘We shared an empty cell to grab a few hours’ kip before going back on duty,’ Kath explained as she started to undress to have a shower.

  ‘I’m so excited about Operation Hawk I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to come in early. Is Bradfield back?’

  Kath hesitated and nodded her head. ‘Yeah, he’s crashed out in his office, you know how obsessive he is.’

  ‘I’ll see if he wants a coffee and some breakfast,’ Jane said with a smile.

  Kath saw through Jane’s smile but felt apprehensive. ‘Don’t go disturbing him – he was so tired and moody earlier he’ll bite your head off.’

  ‘Oh right, I won’t,’ Jane said, looking rather dejected.

  Kath knew she’d promised Bradfield to keep her mouth zipped, but out of concern she felt she had to say something. ‘Listen, Jane, don’t think I’m poking my nose in, but is there anything going on between you two?’

  Jane flushed, leaned closer and whispered, ‘Please don’t tell anyone, but we spent the night together.’

  Although she didn’t show it Kath was stunned and needed time to think about what she should say to Jane. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t. Right now I need a shower to freshen up so I’ll see you later, darlin’,’ she said as she wrapped a towel round her and walked across the room to the showers, muttering to herself, ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ She stopped as she heard Jane singing.

  ‘Have another little piece of my heart now, baby . . . You know you got it, if it makes you feel good.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Renee had pretended to be asleep when she’d heard Clifford enter the bedroom. He got into bed beside her and was snoring loudly as soon as his head hit the pillow. She had heard the bath water running and then the banging of John’s bedroom door closing. She turned over onto her side and clasped her hands beneath her chin. Hanging on the wardrobe door was her best dress, and on the dressing table was the hat that she had only ever worn once.

  It was a Sunday morning and she’d usually have a lie-in, but she just couldn’t get back to sleep so she decided to make herself a cup of tea. Slowly easing herself out of bed so as not to wake Clifford, she put on her old dressing gown, picked up her slippers and crept out, closing the door silently behind her.

  She put the kettle on the stove and popped two slices of bread into the toaster. There was no margarine left so she took out a bowl of dripping from the fridge and spread it onto her toast. She sat down and started to write out a shopping list, licking the lead of the pencil as she decided what she needed. She’d still got some leftover stew so they could have that for their dinner, but she was out of potatoes. The kettle boiled and she looked at the filthy clothes left by the washing machine. John’s jeans and T-shirts were covered in grey powdery dust and his boots were caked in soil beside them. She put the clothes in a plastic bag, picked up the boots and placed them back down on an old newspaper. She decided to take them to the launderette later, but it would have to wait until after the funeral of Nancy Phillips’ grandson. She went into the bathroom to wash her hair.

  Half an hour later Renee went into the kitchen where a bleary-eyed John was sitting in his dressing gown reading an old paper. He was exhausted, and every muscle in his body ached from being cooped up in the cramped tunnel lifting the Kango drill. He’d poured himself a mug of tea from the teapot, but it was tepid and he piled in the sugar stirring it hard. He looked up and saw his mum with her hair still wrapped in a towel. She hardly spoke to John as she fried bacon and eggs, made a fresh pot of tea and set the table around him as he slurped the dregs from his mug.

  ‘How’s David?’ he asked.

  ‘Not well. He’s still got bronchitis and by the looks of it a high temperature. I’m worried stiff about him and in two minds to call the doc again. ’

  ‘Just keep givin’ him the medicine,’ John grunted, and poured a fresh mug of tea. She finished the fry-up and put two platefuls of food with thick wedges of fried bread on the kitchen table along with a bottle of HP sauce.

  Clifford walked in and sat opposite his son. Picking up the HP sauce he slapped the bottom twice and a large splodge fell onto his plate. He ate with his mouth open, making a terrible chewing sound. Some egg yolk dribbled down the side of his mouth which he wiped away with the back of his hand.

  ‘Nothin’ beats a fry-up.’ Clifford spluttered, his mouth full.

  ‘Go dry yer hair, Ma,’ John said, and as Renee left the kitchen he got up and kicked the door closed behind her.

  Despite being pleased when Clifford had said he’d take over from David, John felt his father hadn’t done a very good job as lookout. His dad had stunk of brandy when he picked him up, and John was afraid of him falling asleep on the job because of the booze.

  ‘Mum says David’s still pretty bad so I can’t risk takin’ him as lookout. You’ll just have to fill in again, Dad, but lay off the brandy this time.’

  ‘Bollocks to that, it’s freezing up there at night and the brandy is the only way to keep warm. In fact get Danny or Silas to be lookout and I’ll help out in the café.’

  It was something John had considered, but the last thing he wanted was his father looking over his shoulder all the time and nagging him.

  ‘Your guts are too big for the hole we dug and Silas has to be at the café as owner in case anyone comes calling. Danny’s younger and fitter, plus he’s kosher with the electrics and will check for any alarm system we might have overlooked. If we start earlier today I reckon we’ll be in the vault by late evening.’

  ‘Are you sure of that? Seems a bit quick after where
you left off this morning.’

  John was certain they would break through into the vault, and because the area was quiet at the weekend they would have more opportunity to use the Kango drill without being overheard. He knew that once the job was done the break-in would not be discovered by the manager until the bank opened for business on Tuesday morning, after the Monday bank holiday.

  ‘I told Silas and Danny I wanna work during the day as it’s a Sunday. All the shops round there are closed and there’s very little foot or vehicle traffic.’

  Clifford looked surprised as he gulped down a mouthful without chewing it properly. ‘I’ll stand out like a spare prick at a wedding in daylight.’

  ‘No you won’t, only if you stand up all the time. Did you not notice the gaps in the wall for the rainwater to drain away? Just look through them till it gets dark.’

  ‘Fuckin’ brilliant and what about daytime security, or anyone who comes up to the top floor to park?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. According to Silas, because that patch borders the City, all the local businesses are closed at weekends so it means there’s nobody to use the car park and no attendant on duty in the pay kiosk. If anyone did drive in there’s loads of room on the ground floor so why go all the way to the top.’

  ‘I was thinking that now I’m the lookout, as well as one of the persons who put the job up, I deserve a slightly bigger cut than I’m getting, don’t I?’

  ‘You’re a greedy old sod, Dad. OK, I’ll slip a bit extra on the side for you.’

  ‘Shake on that, son,’ he said, putting out his hand.

  ‘But don’t say anything to the others or they’ll start kicking off,’ John said, shaking his father’s hand.

  Clifford laughed, coughed up some phlegm and, pulling a dirty handkerchief from his pocket, spat into it.

  ‘If we finish the job by early Monday morning there’ll be plenty of time to stash the stolen goods. I’ve already rented another lock-up nearby in Dalston to count out the proceeds.’

  ‘Good thinkin’, son, the filth will be crawling all over the place.’

  ‘I know, and Silas is likely to be the first person the police will be looking for. I’ll give him his cut of the cash so he can make his getaway and fly out to Greece.’

  Clifford smiled. ‘Make sure he’s loaded with the dodgy fivers.’

  John laughed. ‘There’s a secluded area in nearby woodland where I’ll bury our cut of the money for a few days while the heat dies down, but I’m not sure yet what to do with any jewellery we find.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I know a good fence who can take it off our hands. What you gonna do with the van, son?’

  ‘Take it to some wasteland and set light to it, along with anything else that might lead the police to any of us.’

  Clifford patted John’s back. ‘Good lad, looks like you thought of everything.’

  ‘Well, I was taught well, wasn’t I, Dad?’ John pushed his chair back and checked the time.

  ‘OK, we go in half an hour at just after eleven.’

  Clifford nodded and poured himself another mug of tea.

  ‘I’ll be ready, son, just finish me breakfast and then put some long johns on under me jeans and shirt and a couple of jumpers on top as well.’

  John left the room to speak with his mum. Clifford took the opportunity to quietly fill his hip flask with the remains of the bottle of brandy, sticking the flask into the inside pocket of his donkey jacket which was hanging in the hallway.

  Renee had changed into her dress and was in the lounge drying and brushing her hair in front of the electric fire when John walked in. He told her that he and his dad were off down the bookie’s for a flutter and then the pub. She asked when they’d be back and he said he didn’t know and she wasn’t to wait up.

  ‘What you want for tea? There’s some stew left over,’ she said, as she sprayed lacquer on her hair, making it stiff.

  John replied that they’d get something from the chippie and as he turned to leave he stopped and looked at his mother.

  ‘What you all dolled up for?’

  She pulled on her white gloves and put on her hat, looking at John in the mirror as she adjusted it.

  ‘Ma Phillips is burying her grandson today. Half the estate is going and everyone’s given money for flowers and beverages.’

  ‘On a Sunday? You are fuckin’ havin’ me on. Besides he was a pitiful waste of space, and what have I told you about not going out the flat?’ John shouted.

  Clifford heard them talking and walked in with his donkey jacket slung over his shoulder.

  ‘Leave it out, son. It’s always good to show respect.’ Clifford turned to Renee. ‘But don’t you go on the lash or blabbering with your bingo mates, you come straight back home, right?’

  ‘I heard you the first time, Clifford. It’s sunny out, so what you want your big heavy coat for?’

  ‘Because, you nosy cow, we might be doing some night fishing for carp on the Lea tonight. Me mate Chaz has invited me and John along.’

  She laughed and took another look at herself in the mirror. She’d even put a bit of lipstick on. She wanted to see how David was doing before she left for the funeral, so she went out across the hallway and popped her head around his bedroom door.

  ‘How are you feelin, son?’

  ‘Not so good, Ma. I’ll try and get up later.’

  ‘I won’t be gone long, love.’

  ‘You look real nice, Ma. That’s a very pretty dress and hat you’re wearing.’

  He gave a sad smile and blew her a kiss as she said she’d see him later and closed the bedroom door.

  After a minute John looked in on David who was lying with the eiderdown pulled up to his chin.

  John spoke quietly and told him their dad was going to be filling in for him again.

  ‘I’m sorry to let you down, John, but I’m still feelin’ really rough.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s sorted. But he’s gonna take your cut of the wedge for the two nights,’ he said, and moved a little closer before continuing. ‘I reckon we’ll get through to the vault by midnight and have the divvy-out done by morning. Come Tuesday the whole of the Met will be turning over London lookin’ for who done the bank so I’m gonna torch the van and bury our cut in the woods till things die down.’

  David looked worried. ‘They won’t catch us, will they, John?’

  ‘No bloody way. They haven’t got a clue what’s going on or they’d have nicked us by now. By this time tomorrow we’ll be fuckin’ rich.’

  As David smiled and coughed he saw his dad standing behind John.

  ‘Froze me bollocks off last night. It’s the wind that whistles round the effing place. It’s no wonder yer come down with a bad cold, son.’

  ‘Sorry, Dad, and thanks for taking over from me.’

  Hearing the front door close and realizing they had all gone David eased himself to a sitting position on the bed and tried to get to his feet. He had to sit back down again as he felt so sick, but it was his nerves more than still feeling ill.

  DC Stanley had switched from Op One and was now down at the far end of the estate with a colleague watching the garage where John Bentley’s van was parked. He was distracted by a call over the radio.

  Oscar Pappa Five from One receiving, over.

  ‘Yeah, go ahead, over,’ Stanley replied.

  Eyeball on Targets One and Two leaving premises with female occupant, all on foot towards you.

  Stanley looked up the road and in the distance could see John, Clifford and Renee coming from the estate and heading in his direction.

  He turned to his colleague. ‘It looks like they’re taking Renee with them now!’

  ‘Maybe she’s going to be lookout,’ his colleague said.

  ‘Well, she doesn’t look dressed for it,’ Stanley replied, and heard the sound of a number of vehicles passing the observation van.

  ‘Holy shit, I don’t believe this!’ He turned to his mate and gestured for him to look thr
ough the peephole.

  His colleague crouched down and peered through. ‘It’s a funeral cortège and they’re parking up in front of the garages. If the Bentleys are going to a funeral they can’t be working on the bank job during the day.’

  ‘Or tonight – round here there’s usually a big piss-up afterwards.’

  ‘Clifford and John don’t looked dressed for a funeral,’ his colleague remarked.

  ‘Shit, I don’t know whether to inform Bradfield or wait and see what happens,’ Stanley added, rubbing his head.

  Floral tributes adorned the sides and front of the old gleaming hearse. Written in carnations almost ten inches high were the words ‘Grandson Eddie’, and more flowers were lying on top of the coffin. There were two more Daimler funeral cars parked behind the hearse. The drivers, wearing black suits and ties, stepped out of the vehicles for a quick smoke and to stretch their legs whilst they chatted with the funeral director, who was wearing a black top hat and carrying a long black traditional undertaker’s stick.

  John and Clifford followed behind Renee thinking she was going to Nancy Phillips’ flat, which was near the garages, and therefore wouldn’t see them getting in the van. They both froze on the spot when they reached the point where they could see clearly along the row of garages.

  ‘Jesus Christ, this is a fuckin’ joke, how the hell are we gonna get the van out?’ John whispered in disbelief through gritted teeth.

  ‘Can’t we get them to move?’ Clifford whispered back, sweating profusely as he had so many clothes on.

  ‘Oh yeah, that’s very bright, Dad. They all watch us drivin’ out in a van with false logos and copied number plates – that’s just what we need. We got no option but to bloody wait.’

  Renee turned and saw them both whispering. ‘I thought you two were going fishing?’

  ‘We were, darlin’, but Dad thought we should pay our respects to Ma Phillips and her grandson,’ John said lamely, unable to think of a better excuse.

  ‘You’ve changed your tune – the lad was a waste of space not five minutes ago,’ Renee said, knowing they were up to something.