Tennison (51 page)

‘I thought it was a hardware shop next door?’ Kath remarked.

‘It is, but the home cooking of the Pakis stank, not to mention the smell from the fat Greek’s café as well. Anyway, after Arnie passed away I rented the flat out until recently. The tenants were more trouble than they were worth, always complaining that this or that didn’t work. We bought this place and opened the shop downstairs. It’s much more upmarket round here. I shouldn’t say it, but the truth is I sell the same shoes for a much higher price and no one who buys a pair bats an eyelid.’

Kath leaned forwards. ‘Please, Mrs Ide, I don’t wish to appear rude but I have to get back to the station soon.’

‘You should have said . . . anyway, how can I help you?’

‘Well, a high number of quality cars have been stolen from the multistorey car park recently and we think it’s a professional gang who steal to order, change the plates and sell the vehicles on.’

‘I thought there was an attendant in a kiosk during the day?’

Kath had to think quickly and lied. ‘We think he’s part of the gang. If you are agreeable we’d like to put a surveillance team in the upstairs of your shop for a few days as it’s directly opposite the car park. Hopefully that way we can catch them all.’

‘Oh I see. Will you need me there?’

‘No, not at all. Your property will be treated with respect and securely locked when the officers leave.’

Hebe inhaled, and then, deep in thought, perched on the arm of the chair by her poodle.

‘Yes I’m agreeable. I’m hardly there and the shop is not worth opening really, and I guess my van will be safe while your lot are there,’ she said, removing a set of keys from her handbag and handing them to Kath who thanked her.

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course you can,’ Kath replied.

‘Well, obviously with the police using the shop I can’t open, so I wondered if there will be any form of compensation for loss of my earnings?’

Kath was flummoxed and didn’t know what to say, but she replied that she’d ask her DCI.

Whilst Kath was visiting Hebe Ide, DS Gibbs and another detective were at the multistorey car park hoping to find out what sort of view it gave and if there were any signs that someone had been camping out up there at night.

During the day there was a so-called security guard manning the exit. He wasn’t very helpful and said that as it was a Saturday hardly anyone used the car park, so it was only open 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. He grumbled that it was a waste of time him being there but as he got time-and-a-half pay it was worth it.

Once the guard had stopped complaining, Gibbs and DC Hudson, posing as business executives, asked if company cars could be left overnight. He said that it was up to them, but as there was no security on duty anyone could come and go from the car park during the night. He moaned about winos and junkies using the ground-floor stairwell to sleep in and told them the stench of urine was overpowering. He didn’t bother showing the officers around, claiming he had arthritis and couldn’t walk up the slopes or stairwell and the lift was out of action. Hudson drove the unmarked police car from floor to floor. When they reached the top they were in two minds about getting out as the wind was howling, and it was freezing cold. Gibbs pulled rank so young DC Hudson begrudgingly got out of the car and had a good look round before returning.

‘You find anything interesting?’ Gibbs asked as Hudson got back in the car.

‘You get a fantastic view of all the surrounding streets and shops, right across Shoreditch and the City as well. I could even see St Paul’s and the Post Office Tower – wish I’d brought me camera.’

‘I meant anything interesting to the investigation, you dope, Hudson.’

Hudson opened his hand. ‘Over there, the bit where you can see the café clearly, I found these discarded cannabis roaches and the faintest trace of what look like wheelchair marks in the grit. There’s some discarded chocolate-bar wrappers and an empty tin of Shandy Bass as well.’

Gibbs sighed. ‘Bloody well go and get ’em then, they may give us some fingerprints.’

Hudson pulled up his duffle-coat collar, climbed out of the car again and did as he was asked.

Leaving their vehicle in the car park while they went to look for a suitable observation point to monitor the front of the café, Gibbs and Hudson walked casually along the road on the opposite side, and stopped by an old two-storey block of terraced flats. They were council-owned, run-down and the lower floor was boarded up with a notice stating that the building was soon to be demolished. They went round the back via an alleyway and headed up the rear concrete staircase that led to the top-floor corridor. The top-floor flats were all boarded up, except one which was still obviously occupied as outside there were a couple of well-cared-for pot plants and a small washing line with some cotton knee-length lady’s knickers hanging from them. The net curtains were clean, and even the front door looked freshly painted.

Ignoring Hudson’s suggestion that they remove the boarding from an empty flat, Gibbs shook his head and knocked on the door. ‘You’ve a lot to learn, son. They’re old lady’s knickers on the line. Using her place will be warm, with plenty of tea, coffee and biscuits, while we watch the café.’

The door was inched open and, as Gibbs had guessed, an elderly lady in her eighties was standing in front of them holding a mop.

‘I been livin’ here thirty years and I’ve told ya a hundred times I ain’t bloody leavin’ – now piss off,’ she shouted, and pushed the wet mop into Gibbs’s chest.

‘She obviously thinks we’re council officials,’ Hudson said with a smile.

Gibbs produced his warrant card and introduced himself. The old lady put down the mop, apologized and invited them in asking if they’d like a cup of tea and a biscuit. Gibbs smiled smugly at Hudson.

Jane was taking the names, warrant numbers, ranks and departments of all the new officers arriving in the incident room when a tall gaunt man in a black raincoat walked in carrying a large black box with a handle. Jane thought he looked rather lost and asked for his details for the team list. He told her he was clerical staff from Hounslow and had come for a meeting with his brother-in-law DS Spencer Gibbs.

As Jane wrote down his details she explained that DS Gibbs was out on enquiries but should be back soon, and told him that he could wait in the office or the canteen. He said the office would be fine, plonked his large box on the floor and sat down as DS Gibbs walked in carrying a tape recorder from the property store.

‘Frank! How ya doin? Thanks for coming over,’ Gibbs said.

Frank stood up, said hello and they shook hands.

‘Have you got the equipment?’

Frank nodded and pointed to the black box. ‘Yeah, it’s heavy and I’m still an amateur when it comes to using it. But I’ll see what I can do for you.’

‘The guvnor’s in his office and looking forward to meeting you,’ Gibbs said and Frank followed him to Bradfield’s office with his equipment.

After being introduced to Frank, Bradfield cleared a space on his desk for Frank to set up his Citizens Band radio. Gibbs put the tape recorder down next to the radio and also handed Frank a copy of Ashley Brennan’s notes which listed the times and frequencies of the suspect conversations. Frank was twiddling with a dial when he looked up nervously at Bradfield.

‘I know it’s illegal, but I only bought it for a bit of fun off a Yank I know, to listen to airport control at Heathrow as I’m into planes.’

‘Don’t worry about it, Frank. No one’s going to prosecute you as you’re doing us a favour,’ Bradfield said, in an effort to reassure him.

Frank nervously twiddled away with the frequency control, but all he was picking up was hissing static. He kept on repeating that he was just an amateur and would do his best, but it might take a while for him to link the wavelengths.

‘You might have been better getting that Ashley chap to help you,’ Frank said.

‘He’s too much of a geek and he said he’d lost contact. He rambles on in radio jargon, but if you need to call him for some advice then—’

Suddenly the radio began to whistle and the sound of a voice saying ‘Over’ could be heard.

‘Oh, hang on, looks like I’ve got something,’ Frank said excitedly.

‘Bloody hell, don’t tell me Bentley’s in the café right now?’ Gibbs remarked.

Bradfield waved his hand indicating for them to be quiet and leant over Frank to get closer to the CB so that he could listen.

Two Eighty-four from Golf Hotel receiving, over,
they heard over the CB.

‘Is that their call sign?’ Frank asked, and Gibbs said the voice sounded familiar.

They then heard another voice reply.
Yes, Two Eighty-four receiving, over.

Can you return to the station to man the front desk as bloody Bradfield won’t release Tennison . . . over.

‘That’s fucking Harris talking to a PC!’ Bradfield exclaimed.

‘You’ve tuned into the station-radio frequency, Frank,’ a deflated Gibbs told him.

Bradfield was not pleased and took Gibbs to one side.

‘We should get the bloke who picked up the radio transmissions on the Lloyds job – he seemed to know what he was doing.’

‘Give him time, he’s just nervous.’

‘We haven’t got it, Spence. If he doesn’t get a result in the next few hours we’ll have to bring in someone else.’

‘Where you gonna get ’em from? This equipment is illegal. Pull your finger out,’ Gibbs said as he patted Frank’s shoulder.

Bradfield straightened his tie, and ran his fingers through his hair. Spencer, taking care of the guv, asked if he had his fags and matches, and he nodded as they left for the office meeting.

Bradfield, followed by Gibbs, walked into the room, where the haze of cigarette smoke now hung like a blue cloud. Those who were sitting stood up, and as one officer started to applaud everyone joined in.

Jane watched in awe as Bradfield laughed and said the applause was a bit premeditated and they would all get a lot more than a few hand-claps if they got the result they were after. He stood at the front of the room with Gibbs and placed a notebook and file down on the table in front of him then pointed to the mug shots of the Bentleys and Daniel Mitcham.

‘You’ll all be pleased to know that DCS Metcalf fully supports Operation Hawk and has given me the green light to proceed.’

There was a cheer and Jane could see the excitement on people’s faces, as well as feel the buzz of anticipation as Bradfield paused briefly before continuing.

‘Sadly there has been no movement today, to or from any of the suspects’ premises. However, that doesn’t mean they’re on to us. On the contrary, after DS Gibbs’s uniform stint last night, I’m certain that the TSB is the target bank to be robbed via a tunnel from Silas Manatos’ café.’

He asked Gibbs to give them a run-down on what he had uncovered when visiting the café under the guise of a decoy burglary at Mannie Charles’ tailor shop.

‘Are we still on for the cut-price suits?’ an officer asked jokingly, causing a ripple of laughter around the room.

Gibbs smiled. ‘I’ll pay for the lot if we get a result on this job.’

Bradfield held his hand up to indicate that he wanted to get back to the serious matters.

‘We know the suspects weren’t at the café last night, but there could be all kinds of reasons for that. It’s unlikely they’ll work during daylight hours, or try to break into the bank vault while it’s open, so fingers crossed there’ll be some action tonight. We now have two good observation points in Great Eastern Street which give us an excellent view of the café and the bank, and the cream of the crop from Scotland Yard’s surveillance unit.’ He nodded at the scruffily dressed officers in jeans and tatty coats leaning against the back wall. He continued, ‘They will be doing the tails and manning those points along with myself, DS Gibbs and a selected few of you. As soon as this meeting is over the new observation points will be manned.’

Jane listened, impressed by Bradfield’s calmness and clarity as he outlined exactly which teams were to be in place, and where.

‘Will we be taking them out tonight, guv?’ a detective asked.

‘Only if we can be sure the targets are actually inside the bank and that is a decision the DCS supports. I appreciate we won’t know for sure from the ops, but we can see the back yard of the café from the rear of the shoe shop, so once they start loading the van with bags or sacks of their spoils we take ’em out then if need be. Given the amount of safety-deposit boxes in the vault it will take more than one run to load the spoils into their van. When that goes down the arrest team need to be on their guard. Make no bones about it, John Bentley and Danny Mitcham are nasty pieces of work and would take great delight in giving a copper a good kicking. Clifford Bentley may be old but I can assure you he’ll still know how to take care of himself in a stand-up fight.’

‘Truncheons won’t be much use to us then, guv,’ an officer said.

Bradfield gave a cynical smile. ‘Off the record, should any of you come by a spare pickaxe handle that just happened to be lying nearby then defend yourself as you see fit.’

‘The handles are already sorted,’ Gibbs leant over and whispered to him.

Bradfield told them that the DI in charge of the Yard surveillance unit had already given him the teams his officers were to work in, and which observation point or vehicle they would be in.

‘We will work on the Yard’s team radio frequency and I don’t want to hear anyone else but them or me making communication. They’ll be using coded communication, so if our suspects are monitoring police radios they won’t have a clue what’s being spoken about.’

DC Hudson asked how he would know what was being said and Bradfield explained that his CID officers would be paired up to work with the surveillance officers who would explain things, and when it came to making arrests the surveillance officers would not be involved in order to protect their identities.

He told his Hackney, and other local CID officers, that after the meeting DS Gibbs would read out who was working with who and at which location.

‘Any questions so far?’ Bradfield asked.