Tennison (55 page)

‘There’s nothing I can do. If I send anyone over to the front of the shop then Clifford will see them from the rooftop and get suspicious. We’ll just have to sit it out like our targets are. So make sure you don’t make a sound in your op.’

Bradfield sat down in the armchair again and shut his eyes, but he couldn’t sleep. It was the frustration and the underlying fear that the whole job would go wrong and they’d have no result for all their efforts.

It was nearly 2 a.m. by the time Mannie Charles eventually turned off the lights and locked up his premises.

‘The tailor has come out the shop, guv,’ Frank said, and Bradfield got up and went over to the window.

As Bradfield stood back and watched Mannie drive off in his van he heard Clifford and John’s voices over the radio.

The coast is clear now, but can we pack up soon as my bollocks are almost frozen?

OK, I’ll pick you up in thirt
y.

Bradfield knew it would still be at least half an hour before John and Danny were on the move as they would have to replace the plasterboard to conceal the hole in the wall and tidy up.

Unaware he was being watched Silas stood in the yard hosing his and Danny’s boots down. John drove out from the alley and then across the main road to the car park where he pulled up outside and Clifford, who was already waiting, jumped in.

Bradfield told the mobile surveillance units to keep well back as there would be little traffic on the road. He reckoned the targets would be returning to their home addresses anyway, where the other officers waiting in observation vans would pick them up again. It seemed that Danny Mitcham was still at the café, and as there was no drilling sound Bradfield assumed he was sleeping there. Once John Bentley was well away from the area, and all the lights were out in the café, Bradfield gave the coded signal over the radio that everyone in Ops Three and Four could stand down. He instructed them to meet him in half an hour in the canteen at City Road, the nearest local police station, for a quick debrief. Those watching the suspects’ home addresses were to remain in situ and take it in turns to get some sleep.

Returned to Hackney Station after the debrief, Bradfield and Spencer went to the incident room.

‘At least we know they’re coming back later. They must be close to getting into the vault and when they do we pounce,’ Gibbs said, yawning.

‘I hope so because these all-nighters do my head in.’

Bradfield went over to the board with the array of mug shots and tapped the photograph of David Bentley.

‘I hope we get him as well. Maybe they’ll use him tomorrow. Be nice to bang up all the Bentleys at the same time.’

‘What about Renee their mother?’

‘Arrest her as well if she’s involved,’ he said. Tapping the mug shot of Clifford Bentley he continued, ‘He didn’t wait long, only out the nick a few minutes and gonna be back for the rest of his natural any time soon.’

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t all turn to rat shit,’ Gibbs said, yawning again.

Bradfield glared at him. ‘Why are you being negative again? If everyone does their job properly nothing will go wrong and we’ll catch them red-handed on the plot. That’s what the DCS wants and that’s what he’s gonna get, right?’

‘Right, but I was just playing devil’s advocate because what if they come back and it doesn’t go down for some reason?’

Bradfield lit a cigarette, took a long drag and inhaled deeply.

‘We just wait. Besides, it’s a bank holiday weekend so it gives them an extra day to work. I bet they’re planning to get it done before everything opens again on Tuesday.’

‘Come on, Len, how long can Operation Hawk go on for? I mean, we don’t actually know how close they are to the vault. What if it’s another week? You then run a greater risk of them sussing out a surveillance unit, and if that happens they’ll fuck off out the country, leaving us with egg on our faces. Why not take them out when they go back tomorrow night, while they’re in the tunnel?’

Bradfield inhaled again, letting the smoke drift from his nose.

‘No, I want them with the goods in their greedy little mitts. It’s my career on the line here, Spence, not yours. And if this goes belly up I won’t have one.’

They were interrupted by a deep groggy voice. Kath’s head popped up from behind a desk in the far corner where she had been trying to sleep, using her coat as a makeshift blanket.

‘Good to hear you both sounding so confident. You got a cracking team working for you, guv, and every single one of us are behind you one hundred per cent.’

Gibbs laughed. ‘You’ve only been in the CID two minutes so what do you know about how everyone feels?’

‘The guv’s right, Spence, you are negative. But I’m not. I got you Julie Ann Collins’ killer so I deserve to be at the bank when you open the vault to nick Bentley’s gang. And if you try and move me aside, I swear I won’t go away quietly.’

Gibbs ignored her, and said he was going to see if there was an empty cell so he could try to get a few hours’ kip.

Bradfield smiled at Kath. ‘I like your positive attitude,’ he said as he stubbed out his cigarette.

‘You mind if I say something personal, guv?’

‘When have you ever held back, Kath?’

‘Well, you can go off like a rocket sometimes if anyone gets too personal.’

He cocked his head to one side. ‘Come on, spit it out.’

‘OK, here goes . . . it’s about Jane Tennison and the stuff in her report about Renee and the fivers she forgot to tell you about. She’s been working long hours, feeling tired and it was a genuine mistake.’

‘We’re all tired, Kath.’ He was starting to sound irritable.

‘Yes I know, but she’s really keen and hates to let anyone down. It’s not bollockings she needs but encouragement. She’s young, eager to learn, and yes, sometimes a bit overenthusiastic . . . ’

‘Thank you, Kath, point taken. Now if you don’t mind, I’m knackered.’

‘I’m sorry, but I’ve known you for a long time and I know you can be a charmer when you want to be. It’s pretty obvious she’s got the hots for you.’ Kath paused.

Bradfield shrugged and avoided making eye contact with her.

‘You can tell from the way she looks at you. You’ve always been a heart-breaker and I doubt she’s ever met anyone like you. So please just behave, because I like her.’

He gave her his lopsided smile and stuck another cigarette in his mouth.

‘You also smoke too much.’

‘Mind your business, Kath, and don’t push your luck, not if you want to be present when we make the arrests. Now get out, go and get some kip.’

Kath said goodnight and made a zipping motion across her mouth before leaving the room.

Bradfield sighed. He did smoke too much and knew he’d already crossed the line with Jane, but he’d been unable to stop himself. He decided once the arrests had been made he’d send Jane back to uniform shifts and make it clear there would be no Sunday lunches at her mother’s.

Jane arrived at the station just before 6 a.m. and went to the ladies’ locker room to get changed. She’d found it hard to sleep during the night: every time she closed her eyes she couldn’t help picturing Bradfield’s handsome face with his unruly curly hair and brilliant blue eyes. She kept wondering what would have happened in his office if they hadn’t been interrupted by the call from Gibbs on the radio.

Putting on her jacket she looked at herself in the mirror. The murder inquiry had been fascinating, and often emotionally draining, but the adrenalin rush she felt being privy to Operation Hawk was even stronger. Before working with Bradfield, Jane hadn’t considered becoming a detective but for her Bradfield epitomized what being a good detective was all about: compassion where needed and the ability to instantly change approach where necessary; always keeping in mind the forensics and fine details of an investigation, no matter what it might be. Being a detective and dealing with serious crime was more stressful than uniform work but Jane thought it beat working with Harris on the front desk any day.

Jane looked in the mirror and adjusted her bow tie. She touched her face recalling the way Bradfield had pulled her close and touched her cheek as he was about to kiss her. She was suddenly awoken from her thoughts by the sound of Kath’s voice.

‘That’s the last time I sleep with Spencer Gibbs – I hardly got any kip at all.’

‘You slept with DS Gibbs?’ Jane asked, looking rather stunned.

‘He didn’t even have the decency to let me use the bed . . . I had to kip on a mattress with a blanket on the floor. At first he started singing rock songs and keeping a drum beat on his thighs, then when he did fall asleep like a log he snored like a foghorn!’

‘Was it your place or his?’ Jane asked, somewhat confused.

‘We shared an empty cell to grab a few hours’ kip before going back on duty,’ Kath explained as she started to undress to have a shower.

‘I’m so excited about Operation Hawk I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to come in early. Is Bradfield back?’

Kath hesitated and nodded her head. ‘Yeah, he’s crashed out in his office, you know how obsessive he is.’

‘I’ll see if he wants a coffee and some breakfast,’ Jane said with a smile.

Kath saw through Jane’s smile but felt apprehensive. ‘Don’t go disturbing him – he was so tired and moody earlier he’ll bite your head off.’

‘Oh right, I won’t,’ Jane said, looking rather dejected.

Kath knew she’d promised Bradfield to keep her mouth zipped, but out of concern she felt she had to say something. ‘Listen, Jane, don’t think I’m poking my nose in, but is there anything going on between you two?’

Jane flushed, leaned closer and whispered, ‘Please don’t tell anyone, but we spent the night together.’

Although she didn’t show it Kath was stunned and needed time to think about what she should say to Jane. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t. Right now I need a shower to freshen up so I’ll see you later, darlin’,’ she said as she wrapped a towel round her and walked across the room to the showers, muttering to herself, ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ She stopped as she heard Jane singing.

‘Have another little piece of my heart now, baby . . . You know you got it, if it makes you feel good.’

Renee had pretended to be asleep when she’d heard Clifford enter the bedroom. He got into bed beside her and was snoring loudly as soon as his head hit the pillow. She had heard the bath water running and then the banging of John’s bedroom door closing. She turned over onto her side and clasped her hands beneath her chin. Hanging on the wardrobe door was her best dress, and on the dressing table was the hat that she had only ever worn once.

It was a Sunday morning and she’d usually have a lie-in, but she just couldn’t get back to sleep so she decided to make herself a cup of tea. Slowly easing herself out of bed so as not to wake Clifford, she put on her old dressing gown, picked up her slippers and crept out, closing the door silently behind her.

She put the kettle on the stove and popped two slices of bread into the toaster. There was no margarine left so she took out a bowl of dripping from the fridge and spread it onto her toast. She sat down and started to write out a shopping list, licking the lead of the pencil as she decided what she needed. She’d still got some leftover stew so they could have that for their dinner, but she was out of potatoes. The kettle boiled and she looked at the filthy clothes left by the washing machine. John’s jeans and T-shirts were covered in grey powdery dust and his boots were caked in soil beside them. She put the clothes in a plastic bag, picked up the boots and placed them back down on an old newspaper. She decided to take them to the launderette later, but it would have to wait until after the funeral of Nancy Phillips’ grandson. She went into the bathroom to wash her hair.

Half an hour later Renee went into the kitchen where a bleary-eyed John was sitting in his dressing gown reading an old paper. He was exhausted, and every muscle in his body ached from being cooped up in the cramped tunnel lifting the Kango drill. He’d poured himself a mug of tea from the teapot, but it was tepid and he piled in the sugar stirring it hard. He looked up and saw his mum with her hair still wrapped in a towel. She hardly spoke to John as she fried bacon and eggs, made a fresh pot of tea and set the table around him as he slurped the dregs from his mug.

‘How’s David?’ he asked.

‘Not well. He’s still got bronchitis and by the looks of it a high temperature. I’m worried stiff about him and in two minds to call the doc again. ’

‘Just keep givin’ him the medicine,’ John grunted, and poured a fresh mug of tea. She finished the fry-up and put two platefuls of food with thick wedges of fried bread on the kitchen table along with a bottle of HP sauce.

Clifford walked in and sat opposite his son. Picking up the HP sauce he slapped the bottom twice and a large splodge fell onto his plate. He ate with his mouth open, making a terrible chewing sound. Some egg yolk dribbled down the side of his mouth which he wiped away with the back of his hand.

‘Nothin’ beats a fry-up.’ Clifford spluttered, his mouth full.

‘Go dry yer hair, Ma,’ John said, and as Renee left the kitchen he got up and kicked the door closed behind her.

Despite being pleased when Clifford had said he’d take over from David, John felt his father hadn’t done a very good job as lookout. His dad had stunk of brandy when he picked him up, and John was afraid of him falling asleep on the job because of the booze.

‘Mum says David’s still pretty bad so I can’t risk takin’ him as lookout. You’ll just have to fill in again, Dad, but lay off the brandy this time.’

‘Bollocks to that, it’s freezing up there at night and the brandy is the only way to keep warm. In fact get Danny or Silas to be lookout and I’ll help out in the café.’

It was something John had considered, but the last thing he wanted was his father looking over his shoulder all the time and nagging him.

‘Your guts are too big for the hole we dug and Silas has to be at the café as owner in case anyone comes calling. Danny’s younger and fitter, plus he’s kosher with the electrics and will check for any alarm system we might have overlooked. If we start earlier today I reckon we’ll be in the vault by late evening.’