Tennison

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘What happened, Spence?’

  ‘I need to get back to the station as I’ve got things to do.’

  Jane felt more optimistic. Although Gibbs was injured he had survived. She followed him out of the mortuary and could see he was wincing and gritting his teeth as he walked. She stepped closer.

  ‘I’m confused, Spence, and really need to know what’s happened.’

  He stopped and looked at her. His voice was sad.

  ‘Kath and Len didn’t make it—’

  A shocked Jane shook her head as she interrupted him. ‘But you were with them, how did you . . .?’

  ‘I was behind the thick vault door with the bank manager when the explosion occurred so our bodies were protected from the fireball and flying debris. Our injuries are just heat-blast burns.’

  Jane felt her legs begin to shake as she feared the worst.

  ‘They were standing by the entrance to the vault and took the full blast. They didn’t stand a chance, Jane,’ he said, welling up.

  ‘They’re dead?’ she asked disbelievingly.

  ‘Yes. I’m really sorry as I know how close you were to Kath.’

  Jane felt as if her legs were going to buckle under her. Gibbs took hold of her arm to support her as they walked slowly back to the station.

  ‘For what it’s worth some of the suspects died. We don’t know exactly who yet due to the injuries, but from what’s left I think it could be John Bentley and the Greek. It seems Danny Mitcham escaped over the roofs and I’m going out to look for Clifford Bentley later.’

  As they walked across the station yard Sergeant Harris approached them and told Gibbs that DCS Metcalf had been asking the surveillance officers and other team detectives awkward questions, wanting to know the ins and outs of Operation Hawk and why, once the suspects were in the vault, it was so long before they went in to make arrests.

  ‘Bastard’s looking for a scapegoat to blame already. I ain’t gonna let him blacken Len Bradfield’s name so I’ll take the rap.’

  Harris took him to one side. ‘Are you sure that’s wise, Spencer? Metcalf hasn’t the bottle to blame a dead man who everyone respected and who had an unblemished career. If you say it was in any way your fault he’ll blame you publicly for Len’s death and that’s your career screwed. Do you really think Bradfield would want it to end that way?’

  Gibbs shook his head and realized Harris, for all his many irritating faults, spoke with experience and sense.

  ‘You should go home, Spence, you look awful.’

  ‘I’m all right and I want to make the NOK call before Metcalf does.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea? He is the senior officer investigating this now.’

  ‘I was his friend so I’ll make the call, and if Metcalf doesn’t like it then tough.’

  ‘Don’t lose your head, you got to stay in control,’ Harris said.

  Jane heard bits of what they were talking about but didn’t know what a NOK was and didn’t want to appear nosy or irritating by asking. She interrupted with a light tap to Gibbs’s arm.

  ‘Can I do anything to help?’

  ‘No, I got to do this myself,’ he said and walked off into Bradfield’s office.

  Harris turned to Jane. ‘Canteen’s closed as it’s a bank holiday so make him a nice cup of tea,’ he said, and looked her up and down before continuing. ‘What’s that yellow stuff on your clothes? You look a mess.’

  She apologized explaining that she had been off duty, but had come in after seeing the news. She asked him if she could stay on and work.

  ‘Yes, but put your uniform on as this station is going to be the focus of press and top-brass attention for a long while yet.’

  She said she would make Gibbs a tea and then return to the section house to change.

  Jane went into the small kitchen and put the kettle on before unthinkingly washing the usual array of dirty mugs that had been left in the sink.

  When she took DS Gibbs a cup of tea he was sitting behind Bradfield’s desk, leaning forward with his arms on the table, his head resting between them. At first she thought he was asleep. He looked up and took out a handkerchief to wipe his nose.

  ‘Two sugars, right?’ Jane asked with a smile.

  ‘Thanks,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Did your NOK call go OK?’ she asked out of politeness, still unsure what it meant.

  ‘I don’t think she could really take it all in, but I’ll go over to be with her later.’

  ‘I’m sorry, who do you mean by “she”?’

  Spencer sighed. ‘Len’s wife. It was awful as I could hear their two small kids playing in the background, and now I gotta do Kath’s NOK call.’

  Jane suddenly realized that ‘NOK’ was short for ‘next of kin’ and couldn’t believe what Gibbs had just said. Was Bradfield married? It wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be true, she thought to herself before speaking as calmly as possible under the circumstances.

  ‘Married. I didn’t know married officers could live at the section house.’

  Gibbs sipped his tea, and gave a small shrug of his shoulders.

  ‘His wife was finding it hard to cope with all the late hours he worked. She’d get anxious, wondering if maybe he’d been hurt as he hadn’t come home when expected. Len told me she would often sit up waiting for him. He spoke with the section house sergeant who said he, and a few others, could use a spare room when things got busy. Len reckoned it would help stop all the anxiety at home and then a rumour goes round that they were splitting up. It didn’t bother him as he always felt that his private life was his own personal business and nothing to do with anyone else and . . .’ He bowed his head trying to stifle a sob. ‘God help me, I loved and respected that man so much and now I gotta tell poor Kath’s mum and dad she’s dead.’

  Jane had to take deep breaths to steady herself. She gently patted his shoulder.

  ‘Sorry, Spence, so sorry.’

  She turned away, knowing she was going to break down. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms. She hurried out of the office, down the stairs and out to the rear entrance of the station in a state of denial.

  With no handbag, warrant card or money she walked to the section house and had to ask the ‘old buzzard’ to let her into her room. She gasped for breath as she shut the door behind her. She stared at the big poster of Janis Joplin with her wild hair and the silly feather boa, her arms lined with bracelets and rings on her fingers. The scream came from the pit of her stomach.

  ‘No, no, no, no!’

  She tore the poster down and began ripping it to shreds as the song that had constantly been running through her mind seemed to drill into her heart:

  Didn’t I make you feel like you were the only man – yeah!

  An’ didn’t I give you nearly everything that a woman possibly can?

  Honey, you know I did!

  And each time I tell myself that I, well I think I’ve had enough,

  But I’m gonna show you, baby, that a woman can be tough.

  I want you to come on, come on, come on, and take it,

  Take it!

  Take another little piece of my heart now, baby!

  Oh, oh, break it!

  Break another little bit of my heart now, baby . . .

  Still crying Jane took off her stained clothes, changed into a clean pressed shirt and skirt, then brushed her hair and tied it back with an elastic band. Hard as she tried she couldn’t stop the floodgates opening as she remembered Bradfield tossing the elastic band onto her desk and calling her Veronica Lake.

  She splashed cold water over her face and held the towel against her eyes until her sobs quietened.

  ‘Take control, take control, do it.’

  Jane picked up her hat, put it on and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her uniform suddenly felt like a protective armour. As she returned to the station she gritted her teeth and knew that, whatever anguish she was feeling or had to face in the future, she would now be able to
contain it inside her.

  Sergeant Harris saw her sitting at the front counter desk looking pristine and calm.

  He paused briefly and spoke softly. ‘Good girl.’

  ‘Thank you, Sarge.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  A team led by Metcalf had raided Clifford Bentley’s flat that afternoon. He was asleep in bed and the officers had to wake him. When asked where their son John was Renee said she hadn’t seen him since the previous afternoon when she had left to go to a funeral and Clifford said it was the same for him. He maintained that he paid his respects to the passing funeral procession, and then returned to the flat without John to spend the afternoon and night caring for his very sick son David. He didn’t know what time his wife got home from the funeral as he had already gone to bed and was in such a deep sleep he didn’t hear her come in.

  Whilst Metcalf spoke with Clifford and Renee two officers searched David’s room only to discover he was not there and there were signs that he had taken clothes and a number of personal belongings with him. This was news to Clifford, who was now totally dependent on Renee to confirm his alibi and back him up. He then said John had taken David away for a few days as a surprise break to help him get better.

  When Metcalf said that it was a trip that John would not be coming back from there was a look of horror in Clifford’s eyes and Renee demanded to know what he meant. She listened wide-eyed and motionless as Metcalf explained about the explosion, and the certainty that John had died in it whilst Clifford had done a runner.

  The fact that John was dead, as a result of a plan probably hatched by Clifford, was too much for Renee to comprehend. She could not, as she had done so often in the past, protect her husband again. With her hands clenched in an attempt to control herself Renee told Metcalf that Clifford had not been at home on the Sunday afternoon or evening, and had definitely not been there when she got back from the wake sometime after midnight. She added that David was at home when she left for the funeral. When questioned about the whereabouts of her youngest son Renee claimed that she had no idea where he was, but he had left home on the afternoon of the funeral to get away from his brother and his father who had always manipulated, bullied and controlled him. She gave Metcalf details of a taxi firm David had used to book a taxi to take him to Heathrow Airport, but she was adamant that she had no idea where he was going from there as he hadn’t wanted her to be put in a position where Clifford or John could force it out of her.

  Clifford was enraged when he was arrested, and demanded to know why Renee didn’t tell him about David. Renee had just smiled cynically, asking why he was suddenly worried about a son he’d never cared for or shown any real love to. She told him she hoped that David would at last find a decent and happy life.

  It was early evening when a live press and TV news conference was held at Hackney Police Station in the main CID office. The packed room fell silent as DCS Metcalf entered and Sergeant Harris closed the doors behind him to stop anyone else entering the already crammed room.

  Metcalf stood firm and upright next to a large projector screen. Harris turned on the projector and a picture of the Metropolitan Police Force Crest and the two fallen officers came up on the screen.

  Metcalf cleared his throat. ‘It is with deep sadness that I have to inform you of the tragic loss of Detective Chief Inspector Leonard Bradfield and Detective Constable Kathleen Morgan during the explosion at the Trustee Savings Bank in Shoreditch. Our thoughts and sympathies are with their families at this time of loss. I have only the highest praise for DCI Bradfield: his professionalism and leadership were beyond reproach, as was the devotion to duty of all the officers who took part in Operation Hawk, some of whom were badly injured. They are all examples of police officers who, on a daily basis, display outstanding courage in the face of danger.’

  The flash of cameras was relentless. As Metcalf paused to take a breath he was met with a flurry of questions from the journalists, who wanted to know more about the case and the suspects.

  He held his hand up. ‘The incident is under investigation, so as I’m sure you all appreciate I am restricted in what I can say. However, I can tell you that two suspects were killed in the explosion, but their identities have yet to be confirmed.’

  Yet again there were further interruptions from the journalists, who wanted to know if there were only two bank raiders, and if more why and how had they escaped.

  Again Metcalf held his hand up. ‘We believe that at least two suspects escaped during the aftermath of the unexpected explosion. One man, who was a lookout, has since been arrested and is being interviewed as we speak.’

  Metcalf nodded to Sergeant Harris who put up a slide of the last arrest photograph of Daniel Mitcham. Metcalf said that Mitcham was still at large, gave a full description and warned the public not to approach him if they saw him, but to dial 999 immediately. Lastly he told them that another suspect by the name of David Bentley was also on the run, and though not believed to have been present at the scene of the crime during the explosion he was wanted for conspiracy to commit robbery. He apologized that there was no current photograph of David Bentley, but gave a full description of him and emphasized that he was disabled, walked with a limp and used a walking stick or wheelchair.

  Jane was working at the front desk during the press conference and knew it had finished when she saw Sergeant Harris escorting journalists and camera crews out of the station.

  He joined her at the desk and said she could take a break.

  ‘I don’t mind staying on here, Sarge.’

  ‘No, love, you take your break. I’ll look after things here.’

  She went to the canteen. Usually it would have been alive with chatter and officers clattering around with their trays. Tonight, though, there was an almost eerie silence, and when the officers did talk to each other it was in whispers.

  Through the evening more details of what the teams had uncovered circulated round the station. Jane was told what was left of John Bentley’s burnt and dismembered body had been recovered from inside the vault and identified by matching the teeth of the deceased against dental records. Silas Manatos had to be dug out from the tunnel underneath the vault. Although intact his body was burnt beyond facial recognition by the fireball that engulfed the tunnel between the café and bank. No dental records could be traced locally for Silas, but his owl pendant had in effect welded to his body. His medical records showed that he had broken his right leg three years ago and the post-mortem examination found evidence of an old break and subsequent healing. Combined with the police evidence that Silas was part of the gang, and in the café at the time of the explosion, this was enough for the coroner to confirm and publicly release the identifications to the press.

  With the assistance of Scotland Yard’s Special Branch it was quickly discovered that a David Bentley had flown on a Boeing 747 flight from Heathrow to Miami Airport on the Sunday evening. The British Overseas Airways Corporation ticket was one way and had cost him £150. The FBI were informed and said the chances of finding him now were slim as he had not stayed at the hotel he had shown on his landing card and could now be anywhere in Florida or the East Coast of America. DCS Metcalf considered sending a team to the States to look for him, but decided against it. He knew that where families like the Bentleys were concerned blood was thicker than water and David had spent many years being cared for by his mother Renee. One day he would return to Hackney, and when he did they’d arrest and charge him with conspiracy to rob the TSB.

  In the days that followed, Jane felt Kath’s presence daily, often hearing her voice and laugh, and was grateful Kath had taught her how to handle discrimination and have the strength to stand up for herself. Jane had even put a couple of dents in the roller towel herself at times of frustration, but she had come to learn that the nature of a police officer’s work was often to remember but move on, so no one really talked much about Kath or Bradfield’s deaths, or how much they were missed. Any reference to Bradfield
was quietly dealt with, but she knew she was not the only one to feel a dark sadness that he was gone and no longer storming out of his office, barking orders. A new DCI was sent to Hackney to take over the day-to-day running of the CID and Kath Morgan was replaced by another officer waiting to be made detective.

  There was some light relief after all the tragedy. It was discovered that the officers who had already paid for and received their suits from Mannie Charles were all wearing hot property. They weren’t in fact ‘off the rail’, but classy suits that had been stolen from Aquascutum in Regent Street by the Horne Brothers warehouse manager and Mannie’s wife had removed the labels and substituted them with their own. DS Gibbs had been tipped off by a mate who worked in the CID office at West End Central and arrested the Horne manager and Mannie whilst investigating the break-in. It had everyone laughing and wondering if they should return the suits or keep quiet, until Gibbs brought in the suit ordered by Bradfield that was still hanging in his office in a plastic wrapper. As Bradfield had been six foot four there were few men it would fit, or who would want it. With gallows humour one detective lightened the gloom by suggesting he might like to be buried in it, but many couldn’t hide just how much Bradfield was missed.

  Jane found that sinking herself into her daily work helped keep her emotions in check. It was only at night, in the privacy of her room at the section house, that she found the horror overwhelming. She would constantly remember Kath, and sometimes break down in tears. Other times she would fall into an exhausted sleep and wake with the nightmare of the explosion, and then it was Bradfield who dominated her every thought. Had he tried to protect Kath? She was certain that he would have, but then the thought of him left her bereft and unable even to cry.

  Daniel Mitcham was finally arrested when he tried to use a false passport when boarding a P & O Ferry at Dover destined for Boulogne in France, from where he intended to make his way to Spain. Although he had changed his appearance by cutting his hair and wearing glasses and a cap, it was the burn to the nape of his neck that made one of the Customs officers suspicious. When the holdall he was carrying was searched it was found to contain a false bottom. Hidden inside was £10,000, mostly in soon to be unusable £5 notes, a quantity of valuable jewellery and a large stash of drugs.