Tennison. Lynda La plante
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the information sheets up to date. She used a black marker pen to put up some brief details about the post-mortem and Professor Martin’s conclusions.
‘Hello, darlin’.’ The male voice startled her and she dropped the pen.
She bent down to pick it up and in doing so suddenly felt her backside being squeezed. She turned round sharply in anger.
‘You shouldn’t do that,’ she said defensively.
‘Do what, darlin’ . . . what did I do?’
‘You put your hand on my bottom – it’s unacceptable.’
‘Come on, sweetheart, I’m just showing my admiration for a very neat little arse.’
The officer who had touched her was wearing a blackleather jacket, flared trousers, white shirt with the top button undone and a wide, garish kipper tie. His colleague was similarly dressed but wearing a black roll-neck sweater. Both men were in their early thirties and had sideburns and collar-length hair.
‘What do you want?’ Jane asked nervously.
‘Well, apart from you, sweetheart, we’re after DCI Bradfield. We’re from the Sweeney and need to tip him the wink on something.’
Jane realized they were flying squad officers and explained that the DCI was at a meeting with the DCS and said she could pass on any information to him. The two detectives looked at each other as if she couldn’t be privy to what they knew.
‘Don’t worry, as his indexer I’m the soul of discretion,’
she said sarcastically.
The one who had touched her shrugged his shoulders.
‘Well, we’re pretty busy so you’ll have to do. Word has it you’re trying to trace a red Jag in connection with a murder.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘We had an armed robbery on Saturday just gone at a Yid jeweller’s house up the road in Stamford Hill.’
The detective explained that the suspects were seen to make off in a red Jag and a witness got a part registration. The suspect vehicle had since been recovered in Chatsworth Road, Hackney on Monday afternoon. Jane knew this was not too far from either the Kingsmead or the Pembridge Estate and realized the importance of the information.
‘Where’s the car now?’ she asked.
‘We had it taken into the lab at Lambeth. Anyway, the owner is Italian and said he didn’t even know the car was stolen until we knocked on his door. Said he’d been ill in bed for a few days and hadn’t even noticed it was nicked off the driveway.’
‘You think he was involved in the robbery and dumped the car?’
‘Ten out of ten, Inspector Clouseau . . . and maybe even involved in your murder. We nicked him and turned over his drum but found nothing from the Yid shop.’
Jane was irritated by his Clouseau remark, and confused by his jargon. ‘Excuse me, but a Yid and a drum?’
‘You’re fairly new Old Bill, ain’t ya? A Yid’s a Jewish person, a drum’s a house and we searched it. The Eyetie’s on an ID parade 11 a.m. tomorrow morning at Stoke Newington nick, so if Bradfield has any witness he wants to eyeball the line-up then bring ’em over.’
She scribbled the information down as fast as she could.
‘I’ll make sure he gets these details.’
Jane watched as the two flying squad officers walked away. The one who’d touched her had a strange gait, a sort of slow swagger, his hands cutting across the front of his body.
Kath came into the room just as they neared the door. The detective in the kipper tie stopped and stood in the doorway. ‘Hello, Kath, you’re looking as lovely as ever. You doing anything tonight . . .?’
Kath brushed him aside. ‘Piss off, Duke,’ she said and the two detectives laughed as they went.
Kath sat down opposite Jane. ‘Bloody flying squad, they think they’re movie stars. The gobby one’s called Duke because he swaggers around like the actor John Wayne. He used to work here before he went on the flying squad. You gotta watch him as he’s got WHT.’
Jane smiled, realizing the significance of his walk for his nickname, and asked Kath what illness WHT was.
‘Wandering-hand trouble, very touchy-feely, and if he tries anything on with you, confront him.’
‘I already have. He squeezed my backside and I told him it was unacceptable behaviour.’
‘Be firmer next time – they think they can get away with anything so if he tries it again tell him you’ll report him.’
‘Right, I will.’
‘And at the same time give his wandering hands a good swipe. There’s a few times I’d have liked to have slapped his face, I can tell you.’
‘How’s it going with your burglar?’
‘Brilliant. We searched his house and he had a big wedge of cash stashed in a tin box under his bed. He admitted it was stolen from various OAPs’ flats on different estates. Looks like he’s going to cough to a good few burglaries when we interview him, and the detective working with me reckons Bradfield will be well impressed.’
Jane congratulated Kath on her good work and told her how Bradfield had asked her to do some indexing for him.
‘You’re kidding me! That poor Sally was run off her pregnant feet – they should have replaced her weeks ago. I’d hate to be doing Bradfield’s indexing because he’s a lazy sod when it comes to paperwork. Listen, I’ve already heard Sergeant Harris moaning about it downstairs and that’s why I came to see how you’re getting on.’
As they spoke DCI Bradfield walked into the room and glared at Jane. ‘Why did you give the post-mortem report to DCS Metcalf before I read it?’
‘I didn’t, sir, I left it on your desk and he found it when he was looking for you.’
‘The DCS likes to snoop about, so in future put stuff for me in a sealed envelope with my name on it. Get me a coffee and a ham, not tuna or egg, sandwich,’ he said sternly and turned to Kath.
‘I’ve been hearing about your successful arrest and the recovery of a large sum of money, WPC Morgan. Good work. Tell me, what uniform shift are you on at the moment?’
Kath explained that she worked alongside Jane and was also on late shift, but had booked a few days’ leave as from tomorrow to visit her sister in Brighton.
‘Listen, Kath, I could do with an extra pair of hands helping on this investigation as I’m short-staffed.’
‘OK, guv, I’ll cancel my leave, but I’ll need to sort it with Sergeant Harris first.’
‘Leave him to me – you’re on board as from tomorrow.’ He turned to leave the room.
Jane raised her hand. ‘I’ve been making some enquiries about Jaguar cars, sir, and I—’
‘Later, Tennison, I’m busy – remember I don’t want tuna or egg, just straight ham and a black coffee.’
*
Tired out, Jane returned to Bradfield’s office with a coffee and sandwich. The room was filled with clouds of smoke and the smell of the pungent Woodbine cigarettes he favoured. He pulled at his tie to loosen his collar, and handed her back the post-mortem report, telling her to index and file it. She felt as if she was invisible to him and thought he might have at least thanked her or complimented her on the report, like the DCS had done. He also wanted her to write up on the team noticeboard that an office meeting would be held tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, and everyone was to be present without fail. One of his detectives had been back to the Homerton Hospital’s Drug Dependency Unit and made enquiries, speaking