Tennison (14 page)

‘Look at her, Eddie, LOOK AT WHAT WAS DONE TO HER!’ Bradfield shouted as he pushed Eddie’s head forward so his nose was virtually touching the gruesome picture. Eddie was horrified and gasping for breath as he began to heave and gag.

Jane was writing up some further details on the sheets of paper on the wall. Kath took a sip from her mug of coffee and checked her watch.

‘They’ve been in there with Eddie Phillips for ages. Wonder if they got anything out of him about the phone call that fat woman O’Duncie overheard Julie Ann making?’

As if on cue Bradfield walked in and tossed the crime scene and post-mortem photographs onto Jane’s desk.

‘Stick these up on the wall and get someone to empty the waste bin full of Eddie Phillips’ puke in my office. There’s a bit on the floor that needs cleaning as well.’

Kath frowned. ‘Eh, by someone do you mean us, sir? No cleaner will be around at this time. We had a drunk in the cells the other night that shat on the mattress and—’

‘I don’t care, just get me a coffee first and then get it cleaned up.’

Kath huffed as she left to get him a coffee.

‘How did it go with Eddie Phillips, sir?’ Jane asked.

‘We made some progress and got a couple of black drug dealers’ names out of him, but by his description of one of them he’s seen too many movies.’

Bradfield lit a cigarette and told Jane he wanted her to ring the drug squad at Scotland Yard to see if they knew them. He said the main man was described by Eddie Phillips as a huge bloke nicknamed Big Daddy. The other was his mate Dwayne and according to Eddie they passed Julie Ann round like a rag doll, screwing her in return for heroin.

‘The phone call from the hospital . . . maybe she was calling Big Daddy, not Paddy . . . ’

Bradfield raised his eyebrows and Jane realized her comment was a bit like telling him to suck eggs.

‘Maybe, but it was rather strange that when I mentioned to Mr Collins that his daughter made a phone call he never asked who to.’

Jane now realized why Bradfield had paused when he mentioned the phone call to Mr Collins.

‘You think she may have phoned her father for money?’

Bradfield tapped his nose twice and it reminded Jane of Shaw Taylor on
Police 5
when he used his catchphrase ‘Keep ’em peeled’ when asking viewers to be observant.

Jane continued, ‘Thing is, if she was calling her father then you’d expect she’d know her home phone number and wouldn’t need to ask the switchboard for it. She could maybe have wanted money for an abortion.’

‘Might not have been approved by a registered practitioner, but a back-street abortionist would do it for cash,’ he said, and cocked his head to one side at her concerned expression.

‘It’s so tragic, and it just gets murkier and murkier – every chance in life and she goes off the rails. Do you think something drove her to go against her parents and turn her back on them?’

He shrugged his shoulders: Jane seemed so naive. It got murkier all right, and sometimes it weighed you down. The upside would be when they found the killer, and he knew they would start a fresh round of enquiries now. The case had at last warmed up.

‘Trying to sort out the time frame isn’t easy – three months pregnant, calls from the hospital wanting money . . . Eddie sees her getting into a red Jag about an hour later and swears it was the last time he saw her. She then goes missing for almost two weeks. I dunno – can you type it all up in chronological order for me?’ he asked politely.

‘Yes, certainly, sir.’ She flushed as she looked at him. Something she hadn’t noticed previously was how blue his eyes were, and unlike most red-headed people, his eyelashes were incredibly dark.

‘Is there something else?’ he asked.

‘No, sir.’

Kath returned with a coffee and handing it to Bradfield told him there was a clean bin in his office but she’d need Dettol to sort out his carpet.

‘Thanks for the coffee,’ he said, and left the room.

Kath followed him out muttering under her breath, ‘Right, sir, every single DC’s done a runner which just leaves me, so I’ll go get an effing bucket and mop.’

Jane set to work on the time frame, as Bradfield had asked her to do. Kath eventually reappeared wearing yellow Marigold gloves and grinning.

‘Christ, now
I
stink of Dettol. There was more than just a bit of puke on the floor and boy did it smell.’

‘I’m sorry, I should have helped you.’

‘Don’t be, all done and dusted and at least he didn’t crap everywhere . . . I wouldn’t clean that up for anybody. DS Gibbs is taking a shower – the kid puked over him and his pointy shoes.’

‘Not his winkle-pickers?’ Jane remarked, knowing how upset he’d be.

‘You want a laugh, come with me . . . come on.’

Jane smiled, put some carbon paper between two blank sheets of paper and popped them into the typewriter.

‘Come on, hurry up.’

Curious about what Kath was so eager to show her, Jane followed her out of the room.

‘By the way, Kath, I’m going to the continuation training centre tomorrow for that lecture by the forensic scientist, so I won’t be in.’

‘Ah pity. It’s one of the detectives’ thirtieth birthdays, so you’ll miss a big piss-up in the office. God, they can pack it away. Why don’t you pop in after CTC for a drink and get to know the team a bit better?’

They headed down the stone stairs to the basement, Kath leading the way.

‘I’ll see how I feel,’ Jane said.

‘Sometimes letting your hair down is good for releasin’ all the bloody tensions, Jane, but it’s up to you.’

Kath stopped outside the men’s locker room, inched the door open and leaned in.

‘Ah pity, I think we missed it.’

Jane was still confused as to why they were there.

Kath looked at her. ‘He was givin’ a rendition of Gerry and the Pacemakers before, you know he sings in this band . . . no, hang on . . . shush and listen.’

Jane was anxious to get back to finishing the time frame, but Kath waved her hands for her to be quiet. From the gents’ shower room wafted the unexpectedly clear voice of DS Gibbs loudly singing the Moody Blues song, ‘Nights In White Satin’:

Kath gave a gleeful shrug of her shoulders and whispered that when she could afford it she was going to buy one of those new small tape recorders. Gibbs continued singing:

‘Kath, I should get back to my desk,’ Jane said, turning to the stairs, but Kath grabbed her arm.

‘No, listen, listen . . . ’

Kath started mimicking Gibbs quietly in a sing-along, but the more she got carried away the louder her voice became. As Kath’s reached a crescendo Gibbs’s suddenly went silent and she sang solo on the next few lines:

Jane laughed when the disgruntled voice of Spencer Gibbs bellowed out, ‘Eh, who is that . . . is it you, Morgan?’

‘Sing that at my funeral, will you, Spence?’

‘Shut the fuck up, Kath.’

‘“’Cause I love youuuuu . . . Ohh how I love you . . .”’she finished.

Jane and Kath were holding back the laughter as the shower door opened and Gibbs stepped out with a towel wrapped around him. They both beat a hasty retreat hoping he hadn’t seen them, and Jane wondered if there was something going on between Gibbs and Kath – if so, they certainly kept it quiet.

At the end of her shift Jane left the typed time frame and interview notes on Bradfield’s desk and decided to go home.

On the bus she sat in her usual rear seat on the top deck and read through some of her study notes for next month’s probationary exam whilst listening to her radio, which helped divert her mind from the events of the last few days.

There were four teenagers screeching and laughing up at the front, and they began banging on the window when the bus stopped to let passengers on and off. She pushed the earpiece further in and looked down to the pavement to see a teenage boy mouth ‘Fuck off’ and give a two-fingers gesture to the kids on the bus. Jane shook her head and thought that in a poor area like Hackney they probably had nothing better to do.

She was about to continue reading her study notes when she saw Renee Bentley walking slowly towards the bus beside a wheelchair that was piled high with Co-op bags filled with groceries and cans of beer. Holding the handles of the chair was a chiselled-faced man in his early thirties. He had blond shoulder-length hair and walked with bowed legs, dragging one foot slightly, but he had a big chest and wide athletic shoulders like a weight-lifter. Jane remembered PC Donaldson telling her about David Bentley falling from the church roof. She had seen the chair when she took Renee Bentley home, and wrongly presumed it was for her, but it was obviously for her son.

Mrs Bentley’s pale face made her look worn out, but she was quite well dressed in a smart coat with a fake-fur collar. The boy on the street who had been gesturing to his friends on the top of the bus was walking backwards when he accidently banged against the wheelchair. David Bentley reacted instantly with speed, pushing the kid aside with one sweep of his right arm. The kid almost stumbled off his feet, and David lost his balance, but Renee caught his arm to steady him. The boy ran off laughing as David gripped the wheelchair handles and eased it down the kerb to cross the road. As the bus pulled away Jane stood up to look from the back window. She could see Renee and David standing in the gutter and she realized how close they were to being knocked over. Jane could see the frustrated fury on David’s face from when the boy had laughed at him, and as Renee put a protective arm around her son he shrugged her away.

Jane sat back in her seat remembering how John Bentley had scared her, the way he had shouted and frogmarched her out of the flat. David in comparison looked rather pitiful, but recalling the tired face of Mrs Bentley she felt sorrier for Renee.

Jane had forgotten to switch her alarm clock on and was woken by her mother gently shaking her shoulder.

‘You said you wanted to be away by half seven, dear.’

Jane sat bolt upright. ‘Oh my God, what time is it?’ she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

‘Don’t panic, it’s only seven. When you didn’t appear for breakfast I thought you might have already left, but then I saw your hat and jacket in the hallway. Do you know it smells of disinfectant?’

‘Yes, I know,’ Jane said with a sigh.

‘Anyway I’ve ironed a clean uniform shirt for you.’ She held it up proudly and hung it on the back of the door.

‘Thanks, Mum.’

Mrs Tennison picked up Jane’s uniform shoes.

‘I’ll give these a clean as they’re very dirty. What on earth is sticking to them?’ She took a sniff and wrinkled her nose. ‘They smell of something – not dog dirt, is it?’

Jane leapt out of bed and grabbed her dressing gown.

‘I’ll have a quick shower, but I haven’t time for breakfast.’

‘You should eat something. Would you like some toast or a sandwich for the journey?’

Jane told her mother not to worry, and said she’d get something at the training-centre canteen. She took fifteen minutes to get showered and dressed into her nicely pressed skirt and fresh white shirt. Her mother was finishing pressing her uniform jacket when Jane walked into the open-plan room and saw two slices of toast and marmalade on the breakfast bar, along with a coffee. She took a bite of the toast and a sip of coffee to wash it down quickly.

‘Your shoes are nice and clean now and I’ve sprayed some freshener on this jacket, but that smell is still strong – how on earth did it get there?’

‘I was at the mortuary and they swill down the floors with disinfectant, which permeates your clothes.’

‘Oh goodness me! Anyway, about this evening – it’s all been arranged and you’ll need to be there by six,’ her mother said.

‘What are you talking about?’ Jane asked. She fastened the top button of her shirt and began to put her tie on.

Her mother handed her a piece of paper with the address of the local church.

‘The rehearsal for the wedding, Jane. You, as chief bridesmaid, the other bridesmaids, the groom and the best man have to be there and you have to practise taking Pam’s bouquet and—’

‘Oh my God, the lecture doesn’t finish until five so I don’t think I can make six.’

‘But you told me it would end early afternoon.’

‘I’ll try and get there as quickly as I can, Mum. I have to go now as I’ll be in trouble if I’m late,’ Jane said, pulling on her jacket before taking another bite of toast and sip of coffee.

‘You’ll be in trouble if you don’t get there on time.’

Jane wiped her mouth and kissed her frazzled mother’s cheek, almost getting poked in the eye by one of her rollers. In the hallway she put her hat in a carrier bag, grabbed her coat and checked her pocket radio was in her handbag. As she opened the front door she heard her younger sister Pam.

‘Don’t forget the rehearsal, Jane.’

‘No time to chat, byeeeee,’ Jane called, and shut the front door behind her.

Pam, who was still in her pyjamas, shook her head in annoyance as she approached the breakfast bar.

‘Don’t let that coffee and toast go to waste – your sister had to leave it.’ Mrs Tennison took the half-eaten piece for herself while Pam picked up the other slice and took a bite.