Tennison (32 page)

‘Blimey, he’s admitted it was him in the compromising photographs,’ Mr Tennison said as he moved closer to the radio.

Mr Tennison clapped his hands, applauding the actions of the Prime Minister. ‘Christ, it seems the only one in the government who wasn’t paying for sex was Ted Heath himself.’

‘What gets into those men: lovely wives, nice houses, and they go with prostitutes. It just beggars belief,’ Jane’s mother said, shaking her head. ‘I worry myself sick about you, Jane. Every time you leave the house in your uniform I am on pins until you come home. It’s all drugs nowadays, I mean if high society and our politicians are using drugs, whatever next? It’s a terrible world.’

‘I’ve applied for—’

‘I don’t care what you’ve applied for, Jane . . . What with you travelling on the Tube and bus every day, you only need one crazy person to see your uniform and you’re an easy target for God knows what.’

Jane stood up and lingered beside her father as he turned the radio off. Her mother put her plate and glass on the draining board saying she would do the washing up in the morning. She kissed Jane goodnight and went to her bedroom.

Mr Tennison, a tall angular man with fine artistic hands and a chiselled handsome face, put his arm around Jane. ‘Pay no attention, sweetheart, your mum’s just being over-protective. We’re both proud of you and I am damn sure you’d never take foolhardy risks. All she really wants is for you to find a nice fella, settle down and have kids.’

‘Dad, with the wedding preparations in full swing I didn’t tell you something and I wanted to wait until I knew for sure I had a place.’

He looked somewhat confused. ‘Are you leaving the police?’

‘No.’ She paused and took a deep breath. ‘I’m leaving home. I have made a decision to move into the section house. It’s Met accommodation for single officers. It’s in Hackney so it will be more convenient for work.’

He looked surprised but remained calm. ‘Well, you’ve always paid Mother a bit of rent, which she’s really appreciated, but this is a very big move on your part, isn’t it?’

‘It’s cost-effective, the rent’s cheap, they have a canteen. Rooms are quite small and the bathrooms are communal, but there’s a games room and two TV rooms. I think it will be good for me to mix more closely with other young single officers. The male and female residents are on different floors, there are strict rules and it’s run by a no-nonsense sergeant.’

‘You’ve thought it all out, haven’t you?’ he said bluntly, taking the last bite of his toasted cheese before dropping his plate in the sink.

‘Of course I have, Dad, it’s my life. I want to have a successful career and I need to stand on my own two feet.’

He turned on the hot-water tap and squirted washing-up liquid into the bowl.

‘You are and always have been what I call the “quiet one”, excelled at athletics, high-grade O and A levels, but I was surprised when you said you wanted to join the police force. Admittedly it’s not something I would have encouraged, but when you don’t get your own way you can be a right little madam. I want to show you something.’

He wiped his hands on a tea towel, went into the hall where his morning-suit jacket hung on the coat rack and took out his wallet.

He returned to the room, opened up the worn leather wallet and produced a small black-and-white photograph which he handed to Jane.

‘I took that picture in the local park with my Brownie Box camera. Your sister would have been about three, you seven. Pam was on the swing and I wanted you to stand beside her, but you insisted on sitting on the swing and she stood beside you screaming blue murder but you wouldn’t budge. Look at the expression on your face, that little satisfied smile because you got your own way.’

Jane looked at the little photo, which she’d never seen until now, and then passed it back, struck by how carefully he replaced it in his wallet.

‘When are you moving out?’

‘I’d like to go this week if possible. I don’t want to upset Mum but—’

‘Let me tell your mother and ease the way – you know what she’s like, but you also know you have a room here with us whenever you want or need it.’

‘Thanks, Dad. There are payphones at the section house and of course I’ll visit on my days off.’

She would have liked to kiss him, but they had never been very tactile: he had always seemed to hold back from showing her and Pam too much affection. Deep down Jane understood why, but it was a subject no one in the family ever discussed.

‘I’ll wash the dishes – you get off to bed,’ she said.

‘All right then . . . goodnight, love.’

Jane noticed he had left his wallet on the breakfast bar. She picked it up intending to return it to his jacket but opened it to have another look at the photograph of her and Pam. There was another black-and-white photo tucked behind it, creased and worn, not of her or Pam, but of Michael her brother who had had lovely blond hair and blue eyes. Jane was the firstborn, then Michael was born a year later, and the tiny photo showed the gorgeous little boy aged two laughing. Tragically, not long after the photograph was taken, he had fallen into a neighbour’s back-garden pond and drowned. Shortly after his death they had moved to the flat they now lived in and then Pam was born.

Jane had been too young to have any tangible memories of Michael, but there were other pictures of him around the flat. The shadow left by his death was a sad, almost secretive pain her parents shared between themselves, but it was also the reason her mother was emotionally fragile and her dear father so guarded.

Jane finished washing the dishes, went to her bedroom and felt comfort in knowing that she would always have this safe protected place to return to if she ever needed it. She wondered how big the storage space in the section house would be and how many of her clothes and personal belongings she should take with her; pillows, blankets and clean bed sheets were provided. She’d just reached out to get her notebook and pen so she could make a list when the doorbell rang.

Jane was puzzled as to who it could be as it was now nearly midnight. The bell rang again and as she went into the hallway she saw her mother in her dressing gown, her hair in rollers and a flustered expression on her face.

‘Oh my, I hope your sister’s not had an argument with Tony already and come home.’

Jane tightened her old dressing-gown belt and didn’t say anything, but knowing Pam, what her mother said did make sense. She unhooked the safety chain and opening the door was shocked to see DCI Bradfield.

‘Sorry to get you up so late but I need to speak with you in private.’

Jane was nervous. ‘Have I done something wrong?’

‘No, no, not at all.’

She could see his eyes were slightly glazed and thought at first it was because he was so tired, but the smell of alcohol made it obvious he’d been drinking.

‘Who is it, dear?’ she heard her mother call.

‘It’s for me, Mum, someone from work and nothing for you to worry about.’

Bradfield stepped back from the door. ‘Sorry, I thought you lived on your own. I didn’t mean to wake the family . . . It can wait till morning.’

Jane was intrigued and there was no way she could contain her curiosity until the following morning. She opened the door further.

‘Please come in.’

Bradfield followed Jane into the living area. ‘To be honest I hadn’t noticed you were not at the station today until I asked where you were. I got the address from your file.’

She was a little annoyed that he had not even noticed she wasn’t at work.

‘I did tell DS Gibbs I had a day off for my sister’s wedding and he said he’d inform you.’

‘Oh right, well after the day he’s had and under the circumstances it’s understandable he forgot.’

Jane wondered what he meant, but didn’t want to ask.

‘Can I make you a coffee?’

‘No, this won’t take long.’

Mrs Tennison appeared and Jane introduced her to Bradfield. Of the two her mother was the more embarrassed, touching her rollers and apologizing for her and Jane’s appearance.

‘You’ll have to excuse us but we’ve had a very big day and my husband is snoring away already. Jane’s sister got married and she was a bridesmaid.’

‘It’s all right, Mother, DCI Bradfield wants to talk to me about something important that’s work-related so you can go back to bed now.’

‘Oh, if you’d like a sherry we have a very nice bottle already open on the breakfast counter, or maybe you’d prefer a whisky?’

Bradfield smiled politely. ‘No thank you, Mrs Tennison, this is just a quick call. You have no doubt had a wonderful but long and tiring day, so I apologize for the intrusion.’

Mrs Tennison smiled and touched her rollers again. ‘Not at all, it’s a pleasure to meet one of Jane’s fellow-constables . . . in fact you’re the first from her station.’

Jane blushed. ‘A DCI is a very senior detective rank, Mum, way above a uniform constable.’

‘Really, you should have seen Jane today, she looked beautiful in her bridesmaid dress with—’

‘Goodnight, Mother,’ Jane said firmly through gritted teeth.

‘I’m going, I’m going, but please do come for lunch one Sunday . . . I always do a roast with all the trimmings and you would be most welcome.’

He gave a lovely shy smile and said he would be delighted to accept her invitation one weekend. Jane sighed with relief as her mother finally left the room.

Bradfield sat on the floral-covered sofa and Jane in the wing chair her father always used. He got out a pack of cigarettes, put one in his mouth, flicked open his silver Zippo lighter and was about to strike the flint wheel when he hesitated, gesturing to ask if it was all right to light up.

‘Please do, I’ll fetch an ashtray.’

She placed it on the arm of the sofa and he flicked his ash into it.

‘There’s something about you that’s different: your teeth look really nice and shiny white.’ He paused as he looked at her. She felt annoyed, closed her lips and wondered what he was inferring.

‘It’s make-up, you’re wearing make-up, right?’

Jane nodded and then shrugged and swung her hair away from her face.

‘Chief bridesmaid, so I had to look my best.’

‘Right, right, I understand,’ he said.

Jane could contain herself no longer. ‘Can I ask why you are here, sir? Is it something to do with DS Gibbs?’

‘Sadly it is, yes.’

‘Is he OK?’ Jane asked, worried that something bad had happened to him.

‘Yeah, he’s fine physically – I’ve just left him after we had a few beers. I wasn’t going to speak with you until morning, but I thought it would be best to do it in private, away from all the prying eyes and ears at the station.’

As he dragged on his cigarette Jane couldn’t think what was so important and curled her legs beneath her on the big chair.

Bradfield leaned forward.

‘We grilled Terry O’Duncie yesterday and he started to open up a bit, then refused to say anything more until he’d spoken to a solicitor. We’d denied him any contact or a phone call on the grounds we thought he might tip off Dwayne Clark, who it seems has done a runner. He spent the night in the cells but the idiot late-shift duty sergeant forgot to mark up the sheet and tell the night shift he wasn’t allowed any calls.’

‘Sergeant Harris was late shift,’ Jane said, trying hard not to sound pleased that Harris had messed up.

He nodded and told Jane that the ‘cock-up’ by Harris allowed O’Duncie to phone a bent solicitor called Cato Stonex who represented a lot of big drug dealers and got paid large sums of money to help them make up false defences. It transpired that O’Duncie told Stonex that he had been assaulted by DS Gibbs and also alleged that some of his money had been stolen.

‘It’s only his word against yours and DS Gibbs’s though?’

‘Not quite, Cato Stonex got a doctor in to see O’Duncie, and he diagnosed a recently broken nose. Stonex then went straight round the squat and took statements from a number of people who said that his ruddy nose was fine until we visited him and they heard us threatening him. Worse still is the young girl who was in bed with him says she saw Spence punch O’Duncie for no reason.’

‘That can’t be true – I was taking her downstairs,’ Jane said guardedly.

‘Exactly and that’s very important. Spence did nothing more than accidentally trip O’Duncie up as he tried to escape, which caused him to stumble and break his nose on the edge of the bedroom door.’

Bradfield stubbed out the cigarette and looked towards the kitchen area. ‘I wouldn’t mind that whisky now, straight with ice, please.’

Jane got up and went to the cabinet, still unsure exactly why Bradfield had come to see her. She removed a cut-glass tumbler and poured a good measure of whisky before adding two ice cubes from the fridge.

‘Spence and me wanted to interview O’Duncie again today,’ Bradfield said as she handed him his whisky and curled up again in the chair. ‘But his prick of a lawyer Stonex alleged his client had been seriously assaulted and some of his seized money stolen. The rubber heelers are now investigating and wouldn’t let us interview O’Duncie until they spoke with him.’

‘Sorry, who are the rubber heelers?’

‘A10 department, set up by the Commissioner Sir Robert Mark. So-called because you can’t hear them coming. They’re a group of specially selected officers from uniform and detective branches brought together to investigate and stamp out corruption in the CID. They wanted to know how much money was in O’Duncie’s wardrobe and who counted it, so obviously I had to tell them you did and they wanted to see your paperwork and property-store invoice for the amount.’