Good Friday

by Lynda La Plante

  “Detective Tennison, I have been giving your request for a transfer some serious thought. You are, as I have said to you before, far too inexperienced a detective to join an elite squad like the Flying Squad. But they have a sub-division known as the Dip Squad. If you do well there, it could be a stepping stone toward the Flying Squad. They’re quite keen for a female to join them, and I can get you up on an attachment, if their DCI agrees.”

  “What exactly is the Dip Squad, sir?”

  “Well, they deal with professional pickpockets . . . there’s shed loads of them descending in force from overseas, most notably Italy, Chile and Colombia. The Dip Squad are working right now with teams along Oxford Street, Regent’s Street and Piccadilly, as well as teams covering underground stations at Victoria, Embankment and Oxford Circus. So, how does that sound to you?”

  Jane wasn’t at all sure, but at the same time if this might be a possible route to the more glamorous Flying Squad then she knew she should accept.

  “Thank you very much, sir.”

  Shepherd stood up, dismissing her. “Good. I’ll let you know as soon as I get confirmation.”

  Jane was beaming when she went back into the CID room and Edith swiveled around to look at her.

  “I may be transferred to the Dip Squad.”

  Edith shrugged and turned back to face her typewriter. “Rather you than me, dear . . . it’s a dreadful, dirty little office and they don’t even have any clerical staff. Oh, by the way, I meant to show you this.”

  Edith handed her an advert from The Job, the Met’s official newspaper.

  “I think it sounds really interesting . . . an ex clerical worker based in Scotland Yard is offering her flat for sale. Good location, just off Baker street, a minute from the Underground. It’s got two bedrooms, and I think it’s a very reasonable price.”

  Jane jotted down the information. As she was off duty that afternoon she arranged to go and see the flat in Melcombe Street. She walked the short distance from Baker Street underground station, and liked the location as it was so close to Regents Park. Melcombe Street was a small turning, with a row of shops on one side and narrow three story houses opposite. There was no front garden as they were built back from the pavement, but the houses were white washed and looked well kept. The door to number 33 was freshly painted with a row of brass bells on one side. She rang the bell for the top flat and waited.

  After a short while a very pregnant woman opened the door and introduced herself as Mrs. Taylor. Jane could immediately see why she wanted to sell the flat. She followed the woman up three flights of narrow stairs, and reaching the top floor Mrs. Taylor she had to stand and gasp for breath.

  “Are you all right?” Jane asked, concerned.

  “Yes, I just get so breathless. I used to run up these stairs before I was pregnant . . . they never bothered me. But I’ve only a month to go and it feels like I’m carrying a sack of coal in front of me!”

  Jane followed her into the hallway of the flat. It was mostly all white walls, newly painted. She showed Jane a small, well-equipped kitchen incorporating a dining area with high stools. Straight opposite was a bathroom with new bath, washbasin and toilet. It had fresh flowered tiles, and a heated towel rail.

  “My husband has just finished doing this place up. We’ve moved to our new house in Barnes so we’re ready to sell and can exchange right away.”

  Jane loved the flat. Although it was small, it was so clean and bright and the two bedrooms, one much larger than the other, were freshly painted and decorated with Laura Ashley wallpaper.

  “That’s it!” Mrs. Taylor said, as Jane looked around the larger bedroom, which had fitted wardrobes.

  Jane had hoped for a larger flat, with a communal sitting room. But this flat wouldn’t need anything done to it, and she could rent out the smaller bedroom straightaway.

  Jane inquired whether any of the furniture was included.

  “Yes, everything! I mean, I’ll be taking the bed linen, cutlery and china, but I’m leaving all the furniture as is. And it comes with a new washing machine, fitted fridge and cooker.”

  Jane rang her father as soon as she returned to the section house and told him that she thought she had found the flat she wanted to buy.

  While she was at work the following day her father went to view it, and during her lunch break she called him to see what he thought.

  “Well, you can’t swing a cat in it . . . I mean, there’s no dining room or sitting room, and it’s quite a walk up. Your mother had to have a breather half way.”

  Jane hadn’t realized her mother was also going to look at the flat. She doubted that Mrs. Tennison would approve and was starting to feel disappointed, as her father continued discussing the finances.

  “You know it’s only a 22-year lease?”

  “Yes, Daddy, but I think the price is fair, and it includes all the furniture . . .”

  “There’s no garden. It’s a top floor and there isn’t even a small balcony.”

  “Yes, I know that . . . but it’s close to Regent’s Park.”

  “And it’s a bit too bloody close to that siege that went on in Balcombe Street, which is just up the road you know, Jane?”

  “Yes I do know that, Daddy, but the IRA are hardly likely to target the same area twice and the IRA gang were arrested and awaiting trial . . .”

  “Your mother wants to talk to you. . . .”

  Jane sighed, certain she would get a negative response.

  “I like it, dear,” her mother said. “It’s so clean, and has lovely big windows so it’s very light and airy. But don’t you think it’s going to be too small? I mean, you said you were going to need two bedrooms. You could make that the big one into a sitting room, because otherwise you have nowhere to sit and watch the TV so, taking that into consideration I think it will be too expensive to just be there on your own . . .”

  Jane was forced to listen to her parents’ pros and cons regarding the flat, as they handed over the phone from one to another. Eventually Jane had had enough.

  “I like it and I prefer it to any other flat I’ve seen. I know it may be small, but it’s ideal, for me. I don’t need much space.”

  “Where will you park your car?” Mr. Tennison asked.

  “There’s residents’ parking outside the house, and when I don’t need the car I can park it in the small lane behind your flat.”

  “Well, that’s fine by me. It’s in a good position for the Baker Street underground station and then Marylebone Station is just up the road. But I doubt you’ll be able to rent out that small bedroom.”

  Jane was becoming increasingly argumentative and now insisted that she wanted to go ahead.

  “Well it’s £24,000, and with that short lease I’m not sure it’s a good prospect. But I’ll talk to the mortgage broker in the morning. We’ve made a file of your income and future earnings, and if I put down £10,000, let’s see what they think about it.”

  “That’s very generous of you, Daddy.”

  “Well you’ll eventually have to pay me back, but if you really want this flat then in the end it’s your choice.”

  As she put the phone down Jane felt relieved, and grateful to her father.

  “Everything all right, luv?” Edith asked.

  “My father’s OK about me buying the flat. I can’t wait to move in and have my own independence . . . no more section house rules and regulations . . .”

  “Well, don’t get too excited yet, Jane, everything has to be signed on the dotted line before the purchase goes through.”

  “I know, I know . . .”

  “And then there’s the police regulations to follow: your move must be approved by a Chief Super, neighbors have to be checked out for criminal records . . .”

  “Yes I know, Edith.” Jane sighed, wishing she hadn’t said anything in the first place.

  “And you need permission if you want to get married.”

  “They don’t make the blokes ask permission to get ma
rried! I’ve no intention of getting married yet Edith, but I might take in a lodger.”

  “Well, you’ll need permission for that as well.”

  “God, this job wants to know the ins and outs of everything, even my personal life.”

  Edith put her straight, tapping the side of her nose. “Listen dear . . . it feels like they want to know the color of your knickers, but just make sure it’s all reported in line with police regulations.”

  As she was about to leave the station, DCI Shepherd called Jane into his office again. He was quite abrupt, saying that he had been in talks with the team and the DCI heading up the Dip Squad at Vine Street Police Station, and she could start there immediately, from the beginning of the following week.

  “You’ll work with a splendid officer, DCI Church. There’s about ten or twelve officers on his team and you’ll work shifts, 9am to 5pm mostly or 2pm to 10pm. I’ve arranged a six-month attachment and at the end of it the DCI will make the decision regarding whether you will continue with them or not.”

  He stood up. “Good luck Tennison. I hope you’ll find this attachment more to your liking. I’ve arranged for your replacement, a male officer, to start next Monday. You can spend the rest of this week completing any outstanding reports and paperwork.”

  “I really appreciate this, sir. If my replacement needs me to go over anything while I’m still here then I will be only too pleased to do whatever is necessary.”

  He shook her hand. “I am sure he will be quite capable Tennison.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Instead of feeling excited by the prospect of joining the new team she felt a little nervous and wondered if perhaps she had been over enthusiastic. DCI Shepherd’s attitude had not been very positive, in fact the reverse. She had also noted that he had made it clear her replacement would be a male officer. But it was too late to change her mind now, so she concentrated her thoughts on arranging the final details of her mortgage with the bank and making the final purchase of the flat.

  Jane’s last day finally arrived and Edith bought Jane a housewarming-leaving present of a table cloth and matching napkins. It was thoughtful of her but Jane doubted she would ever use them as the folding table in the kitchen had a Formica top.

  “I’m going to miss you, Jane.” Edith said.

  “I’ll miss you too Edith. You’ve always been such a good friend to me, and I hope we’ll stay in touch.”

  “I’m sure we will. Please keep me updated on how it’s all going with the Dip Squad. When do you start?”

  “Next week. And tomorrow I’m picking up the keys to my new flat so it’s going to be a busy weekend.”

  Edith watched as Jane filled up a cardboard box with her personal items. She suspected that Jane would be in touch sooner than she expected, because from what she had heard about the unit, Jane was in for a big change. The Dip Squad sounded like a bunch of hooligans.

  The next morning, Jane unlocked the door of number 33 and walked in to the flat she now owned. Her parents were helping her move and she could hear them panting their way up the stairs with suitcases of clothes and the few boxes of personal items that she’d accumulated during her time at the section house. Jane walked into the small kitchen. The previous owner had put fresh flowers in a jam jar on the kitchen table, and had left milk, sugar and a loaf of bread on the side. She’d also left Jane a note wishing her good luck and hoping that she would like living in the flat as much as she had.

  Eventually her parents left and Jane was alone for the first time in her new home. She carried her suitcase into the bedroom and sat down on the bare mattress on the bed. She hugged herself, feeling as though she had made the right decision.

  Chapter One

  Jane arrived in plenty of time at Vine Street Police Station, in the heart of London’s West End, for her 9am meeting with her new DCI. She was already aware that the Vice Squad also worked out of Vine Street, but on a different floor and the much larger Flying Squad was based at Scotland Yard. The Duty Sergeant directed her downstairs. She walked past the station cells and charge room area, then down the old stone steps and into the darkened basement. A door was ajar with “DIP SQUAD” printed on a card pinned on it. She hesitated and then knocked. Getting no reply, she gently pushed open the door to reveal a large, dank, squalid room. A string of worn desks, typewriters on a couple of them, ran across the room, and along one wall was a row of battered filing cabinets. The only window, high in the wall, was tiny and covered in cobwebs. It looked as if it had never been opened.

  “Are you WDC Tennison?”

  Jane whirled around to face a tall, angular, man wearing a full-length leather coat, polo necked sweater, and baggy trousers with a thick leather belt at the waist walking out of a small office in the corner with “DCI” written on the door.

  “Yes.”

  “Bit early, aren’t you?” He shook her hand. “I’m DCI Jimmy Church. Take a pew and let me fill you in.” DCI Church spoke with a northern accent and chain smoked, lighting one cigarette from the other as he moved around the room. He picked up an overflowing ashtray and emptied the butts into a waste bin as he spoke. “The team are usually out nicking dippers, so this office is usually empty. We work all over London, but we bring any arrests back here to Vine Street to be processed and charged. The team here consists of me, plus two detective sergeants who each have a team of four detectives working with them. We don’t have any clerical staff, so we take reports for typing up to the main Flying Squad office at the Yard. Bit of a drag, but it’s only a fifteen minute walk. Or we use the one unmarked car we have.”

  “Oh . . .” Jane said, trying to take it all in.

  Church turned at the sound of voices and heavy footsteps coming down the stone steps outside the office.

  “Here come the lads!” He grinned. Jane was astonished at how much more youthful Church appeared when he smiled, his heavily lined face immediately lighting up.

  The officers, who were all male, piled into the room. All of them wore worn-looking jeans and bomber jackets, and most had long hair and sideburns. They spread out, sitting on the odd chair or perched on one or other of the desks. She recognized DS Stanley, who she’d worked with before, but the others were new to her.

  “This is WDC Joan Tennison everybody.”

  “It’s Jane,” Jane said, as Church cocked his head to one side.

  “Sorry. Jane Tennison. Okay, that little wiry DS over there, who looks like the cat just dragged him in, is Stanley—”

  “We worked together a long time ago at Hackney,” Stanley said, nodding to Jane. He still wore fingerless gloves and was even scruffier than she remembered, looking as if he had slept in a park somewhere.

  “And that’s DS George Maynard.” Church nodded at a well-built officer who was putting a stick of chewing gum in his mouth. He was dressed in a huge duffel coat, dirty trainers and jeans.

  “Maynard plays drunk better than a drunk,” Church added.

  Jane smiled at Maynard and was rewarded with a cursory nod.

  Church gestured with his lit cigarette toward the rest of the group. “You can get to know the other reprobates later.”

  Jane doubted that she would be able to remember all their names on her first day and realized that the Dip Squad, like the glamorous Flying Squad, had no female officers apart from her. She wondered if the Dip Squad might not be such an attractive proposition after all.

  “Right, before we get into what’s going down today, let me remind you all that the forthcoming Scotland Yard Detective Squad’s big annual black tie dinner dance is only a couple of weeks away . . . Good Friday, April 16th, at St. Ermin’s Hotel. You can’t miss it—it’s in Caxton Street right opposite Scotland Yard. If you don’t have your tickets booked then you’d better get onto it, or you’ll lose out.”

  Jane watched as a few of them handed over cash to Church. A couple said they would pay by check.

  A young DC held his hand up. “It’s a bank holiday, isn’t it, Guv? Only I was bo
oked to go on a fishing trip . . . can’t they change the date?”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Mead! It’s always on Good Friday because it IS a bank holiday, and the squads are at minimum strength over the holiday weekend. Just cancel your bloody fishing trip . . . it’s a right knees-up, and worth getting your bow tie out for.”

  Church handed out some crime reports detailing theft incidents on the underground and in the busy shopping areas around Oxford Street and Regent Street.

  “As you can see, the descriptions of possible suspects are pretty poor and most of the victims didn’t even know they’d been dipped until it was too late . . .”

  Jane was flicking through the crime reports, trying to take in all the information, then realized that Church had stopped talking and, along with everyone else in the room, was looking at her.

  “Sorry?”

  “Tennison, just concentrate and read the reports in your own time.” He addressed the room again. “This bunch are obviously professionals, possibly from abroad. They’re working in a group of around 4 to 6 people, and their marks tend to be the wealthier looking members of the public.”

  He turned to Jane. “D’you know what a ‘mark’ is Tennison?”

  “The intended victim, sir” Jane replied.

  “Correct. Now, start counting to ten . . .”

  Jane felt embarrassed and suspected she was about to be the butt of an initiation joke.

  “Come on, don’t be shy,” Stanley said, nudging her.

  She started counting aloud and as she reached number six she felt someone push her from behind, causing her to stumble forward. Stanley grabbed her left arm to catch her, and she heard several chuckles from the other officers. She turned around to face the huge DS Maynard.

  “What did you do that for? It’s not funny.”

  “Carry on counting,” Maynard said, with a serious expression.

  “What?”

  “From where you left off.”

  “Um . . . four, five . . .”

  Church interrupted. “You’d got up to six.”

  Jane looked at him. “Had I? Sorry . . . six, seven . . .”