Hidden Killers

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Jane completed her notes on the enquiries at St Thomas’ Hospital and what she and Lawrence had determined from their visit to the Dawsons’ flat. It was five-thirty and, after checking any messages and details that had been listed for her to oversee, she had nothing left to do. There was a report file disclosing that there had been further bag snatches in Wardour Street and one report from the Marquee Club that there had been a theft of a woman’s handbag, but there was no point going now, better to wait until later as she might catch the manager. She had a few words with the duty sergeant before leaving, then decided that to fill the time she’d do a catch-up at Hackney to see if there had been any developments or if a trial date had been set for Peter Allard.

It felt strange returning to her old stamping ground. DI Moran ran the CID at Hackney very differently to the way DCI Bradfield had done and the atmosphere felt a little strained, even more so when she entered the CID office. DC Brian Edwards was wearing an overcoat and had cotton wool stuck in one ear, with a streaming nose. He looked up when Jane knocked on the door.

‘Hi there,’ Jane said.

Edwards sneezed loudly.

‘Stay well away from me – I’m contaminated. I’ve had this bloody cold for two days. As you can see, everyone has scarpered out of the office.’

‘Why don’t you go home?’

‘The guv’s asked me to do all this checking into old cases, and wants to see if I can get a result before Allard’s trial.’

‘So we haven’t got a date yet?’

‘Nope… But it can’t be far off. I’ve found out that five years ago Allard used to rent a property in Maidstone, worked as a bus driver, then returned to London after his father died and took over his taxi.’

‘What’s this got to do with his trial?’ Jane asked.

Edwards became hesitant, blowing his nose. ‘Moran’s concerned that there might be questions about the confession… He reckons the pattern of Allard’s assaults, and the attack on you, means that there could have been more in his past.’

‘Have you found anything that might be connected?’

‘Give me a break – have you any idea how many sexual assaults take place in these areas… Hackney, Peckham, Walthamstow? I haven’t even started on Maidstone yet because that’ll be a different force. And you know how protective forces are about their own information.’

Edwards sneezed loudly again.

‘Bless you!’ Jane said. ‘Is DI Moran in his office?’

‘No. He went out to buy a christening present for DC Ashton’s new baby.’

Surprised by Moran’s enthusiasm for gift buying, Jane thanked Edwards and went out of the CID office, heading down to the Collator’s Office in the basement. On the way she popped into the ladies’ locker room, giving an affectionate tap to the ‘LADIES ONLY’ sign on the door. Kath’s legacy was still intact. As she came out five minutes later she bumped straight into DI Moran, who was carrying an enormous donkey-shaped piñata.

‘Good evening, Tennison. I can only presume you’re here for the celebration drinks for DC Ashton’s baby girl?’

‘No, sir. Actually I just came in to see if we had a trial date for Peter Allard.’

‘No, we haven’t. Those wankers at the court are taking their bloody time, as usual. The boys will be surprised to see you.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, I don’t think a donkey piñata is a particularly appropriate present for a newborn baby?’

Moran chuckled loudly.

‘No… no, Tennison. We fill it with shillings wrapped in pound notes, and we all take turns in hitting it with a truncheon, but not too hard… then hopefully it will be Ashton who smashes it open and collects the loot.’

‘That’s a very innovative idea, sir. Whoever thought of that?’ Jane replied, clearly thinking that it wasn’t innovative at all.

Moran beamed in response. ‘I did! And for the baby I’ve got this…’

He delved into his coat pocket and pulled out a small pink teddy bear.

‘So, are you coming over to the Warburton to have a drink with us?’ he asked.

‘Thank you, sir.’

As Moran walked away with the huge piñata tucked under his arm he turned back to Jane.

‘I’ll let you have the first crack at the donkey!’

Jane watched Moran as he went down the corridor, looking rather ridiculous. She had just had the perfect opportunity to discuss with him her concerns about the blue rabbit fur coat, and couldn’t really understand why she hadn’t done so. But if she spoke to the collator it would probably iron out her queries.

Donaldson was getting ready to go home and seemed surprised to see her.

‘How is it at Bow Street?’

‘Fine. Rather quiet actually. I was dropping in to see if a trial date had been set for Peter Allard.’

Donaldson shrugged and Jane hesitated before asking him if she could take a look at Janet Brown’s file and record sheet. He looked at his watch and seemed ill at ease.

‘It’s nothing important, just for personal reasons.’

She watched him go to a filing cabinet and waited as he sifted through the drawer and then slowly closed it.

‘Not here.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Donaldson picked up his coat from a hook behind the door, and folded it over his arm.

‘I didn’t think files were allowed to be removed from the Collator’s Office,’ Jane said, as Donaldson picked up an old battered briefcase left beside his desk.

‘I can’t help you, but sometimes one of the detectives might come in. Now, I need to lock up and get home.’

Jane sensed he was being evasive and was certain he was lying, but she didn’t want to question him any further as he was getting impatient for her to leave. She had always found Donaldson to be very helpful in the past and she was disappointed.

She had a light supper in the canteen upstairs and could see the ostracized Brian Edwards sitting in a corner by himself, sneezing loudly. He looked terrible and everyone else was clearly avoiding him. On the next table the young DC Ashton joined a few other officers. He was carrying a tray with shepherd’s pie and a syrup sponge and custard, and was surprised to see her.

‘Have you been assigned back here again?’

‘No, I just couldn’t resist the food. I hear congratulations are in order, and that you’re a father now.’

‘Yeah, it was a bit of a surprise – not exactly a shotgun wedding, but sooner than we’d planned. Are you coming over to the Warburton later? Moran’s organized it.’

‘Yes, looking forward to it.’

After applying some lipstick and tidying herself up in the ladies’ locker room, Jane made her way over to the Warburton Arms.

The usual array of sausage rolls, cheese and ham sandwiches and obligatory packets of crisps were being laid out on the bar counter by Ron. DC Donaldson was unloading beer from two crates, and placing the bottles beside the food. Jane wondered if this was the reason he had been in such a hurry to leave the Collator’s Office. She was still confused as to why the file on Janet Brown was missing. Jane crossed over to Donaldson as he poured a beer for himself.

‘All these beers are on the house, and we’ve got three bottles of white and three red… what’s your fancy, Jane?’

‘I’ll have a glass of white, please.’

‘Well, go and get the bottle opened, and ask Ron for some ice.’

At that moment the double doors to the pub banged open. Moran led the team in, still holding the donkey piñata. He shouted at Ron.

‘Ron, we need to get this thing hung up!’

Ron looked at him in total bewilderment.

‘What the hell is that?’

‘It’s a piñata. It’s full of cash and we’re going to take it in turns to hit it with a truncheon, and whoever smashes it open gets the contents!’

‘Well, you’re not hanging that pissatto, or whatever it is, in the main bar. You can take it into the snooker room and hang it up from one of the lights in there. But if anyone damages the table or the lights, you’ll be paying for it.’

The celebration for Ashton’s baby was beginning to spiral out of control. Everyone was eager to attack the piñata, but Moran was refusing to allow a truncheon near it until they had consumed all the drinks he had provided. He kept on repeating, to one officer after another, ‘Don’t bloody hit it hard… this is for Ashton. He’s broke, and he needs to get all the cash inside.’

At one point he even put his arm around Jane and repeated his warning to her. ‘I know you can throw a good whack with a truncheon because of Allard. But just tap it.’

Jane smiled. ‘Yes, sir, I’ll just tap it.’

‘Good. I asked Spence to come over as he knew DC Ashton before he got hitched – poor sod – said he was on an assignment at the Marquee Club. Haw haw! If his band are playing they’ll empty the place.’

At that point there was a very loud cheer as the team were impatient for the ‘smash and grab’. By this time DC Ashton, who had obviously had more than his fair share of free drinks, was wearing a white hat with a bobble on top. Hanging around his neck was a huge sugared dummy that one of the other officers had bought from the market fair.

‘Quiet, everybody!’ Moran yelled. ‘As everyone knows, we’ve all chipped in for the amazing contents of our donkey. And the first person to attempt to smash it open is DC Donaldson.’

Yet again Moran, now clearly inebriated, whispered loudly, ‘Don’t hit it too hard!’

This encouraged everyone to cheer, in unison, ‘Tap, tap, tap… Tap, tap, tap…’

As each officer used their truncheons one after the other, Moran encouraged Jane to use his truncheon to attempt to break it open. Jane was terrified that she might hit it too hard.

As she raised Moran’s truncheon DC Edwards yelled, ‘Go on, Tennison, hit it like you hit that rapist!’

Jane had a momentary flashback of how she had struck Peter Allard and almost unintentionally she drew her right hand back and walloped the donkey, which by now had a very bedraggled leg and tail. She had meant to aim for the head, but accidentally hit the belly. There was a massive ‘Whoooaaa’ as a large split appeared. Jane was mortified that the contents were about to come spilling out, as Moran yelled, ‘Give the truncheon to the new Daddy!’

Jane quickly passed the truncheon to Ashton. There was a loud cheer of encouragement as he took a full swing and hit the target dead centre. The donkey burst open, and instead of the usual array of sweets out fell all the cash contributed by his colleagues.

Jane felt quite emotional as she watched the young detective, almost in tears, as he realized how much everyone had given to support him.

It was now coming up to ten o’clock and the party was beginning to wind down. Jane thought she would take the opportunity to go to the Marquee Club as so far she had only been able to question a member of staff in the daytime. Moran noticed that she was getting ready to leave.

‘Are you off now, Jane? You got me quite worried there, when you took that swing at the donkey. I thought you were going to bust it wide open!’

Jane couldn’t work Moran out. One moment he seemed so affable and obviously well liked, and was clearly a very generous man. But there was just something else that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, and she wasn’t sure that she could entirely trust him. As she turned away Moran took her elbow and leaned in close.

‘I hear you were asking Donaldson about a missing file? Take my advice, Tennison – don’t meddle, or ever question anything I’ve done… I’ll always get to hear about it. Trust me, we’re going to put Allard away for a long time.’

Jane was about to think of something to say, but he turned away, the opportunity gone. She saw him go to Donaldson and say something in his ear; both of them turned to look at Jane as she left the pub. Jane took a bus to Regent Street and walked along Oxford Street, looking into the lit-up windows of all the big stores. She wasn’t that interested in fashion and crossed over Oxford Street towards Wardour Street. There were groups of young teenagers standing smoking outside the Marquee Club. There were posters for music groups pinned up outside, and the big crowds had not yet arrived to see the main band playing that evening.

Jane showed her warrant card to gain entrance and walked down the stairs into the club and bar area. It was busier than she had anticipated and there was a band tuning up on the small stage. She felt and looked out of place and was beginning to think she shouldn’t have even considered being there on her own. She was relieved to see DI Spencer Gibbs sitting on a stool at the bar. He looked very dishevelled and was wearing tight leather trousers and a stained T-shirt under a dirty denim jacket.

‘Hey there.’

Jane moved closer and was shocked when he turned towards her and appeared to be very drunk.

‘I was just going to do a bit of a catch-up and ask about the report-’

She didn’t have the chance to finish as he lurched forward off his stool and made a grab for her arm.

‘Let’s go…’ he slurred, and gripped her elbow tightly, manoeuvring her roughly through a group of drinkers. Jane didn’t argue as Gibbs was really pushing her forward and up the stairs, his hand deep into her back as they passed lines of clubbers coming down the stairs. When they got outside she turned on him.

‘There was no need to do that.’

Gibbs straightened up, took hold of her arm again and hurried her along the street.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ she said, dragging her arm free.

‘I’ll tell you what’s the matter with me, Tennison… I’m down there acting as a piss artist and you come in sticking out like a sore thumb with copper written all over you.’

‘What?’

‘I’m doing undercover, trying to track down the bastard that uses a razor to cut the straps of women’s handbags. He should have had a go at yours… it’s a police issue shoulder bag! What the hell were you doing, and who told you to work the club tonight?’

‘I meant to get a new bag,’ she replied sheepishly, not mentioning that she had showed her warrant card to get in.

‘Terrific.’

‘I’m sorry, I just saw that there had been further reports…’

‘Christ,’ he muttered, and then looked up and down the road.

‘You want a coffee? I can’t go back in for a while now.’

Jane nodded and they headed back into Oxford Street, then left into Poland Street and left again into D’Arblay Street to a small cappuccino bar. It was rather seedy with a shelf counter and high stools, and Jane sat with her back to a wall, unseen from the wide window onto the street. Gibbs bought two cappuccinos and joined her. He opened three packs of brown sugar, heaping them onto the froth in his cup, then used a spoon to stir it before tapping it against the saucer.

‘We reckon whoever is nicking all the gear might move up a notch and use his razor on one of the chicks’ faces, as reports are coming in that the attacks are getting nastier. He’s probably a junkie needing money fast cos he’s now working the clubs as well as out on the street, but he’s an amateur. We got professional pickpockets around here, some work in gangs – like the South Americans.’

Jane sipped the frothy coffee, and apologized again.

‘Listen, I won’t say anything about this tonight, Jane, but you need to sharpen up and get into line. You’re in CID now and you don’t go batting solo. Do you think I would stay in a club on my own? I’ve got two other guys outside bloody backing me up.’

‘I’m sorry. I was just at a loose end. I went over to Hackney to see if there was any update on the rape case but they are still waiting for a trial date.’

‘What rape case?’

‘It’s just an old case, pretty straightforward.’

Gibbs lit a cigarette, and inhaled deeply. He gave a brief glance around, took out a hip flask, unscrewed the cap and tipped a measure into his half-full cup.

‘Can I tell you something?’ Jane asked quietly.

‘Sure.’

‘I don’t know if you know this, but I was used as a decoy. And, well, I’ve just got this feeling that something’s not quite adding up and I’m not sure what to do about it. I wore a blue rabbit fur coat that belonged to a prostitute called Janet Brown.’

Jane continued telling him about seeing Janet Brown’s file in the Collator’s Office, and that it had subsequently disappeared. She went on to describe how she had seen her exit one of the strip clubs the last time she had been in Wardour Street, but she didn’t get the opportunity to talk to her. Gibbs didn’t look at her as she explained about her concerns regarding the knife and the signed confession Peter Allard had made, and how tough it had been in court.

‘I don’t know if he did the rape he is accused of.’

Gibbs turned and looked at her, shaking his head. ‘Wait… wait, I’m trying to follow you, darlin’, but you get attacked and smacked in the mouth by this guy, who has admitted the sexual assaults?’

‘Yes, but not the rape.’

‘Did he also admit to the assault on you?’

‘Eventually, yes he did, and when it happened he said that he was holding a knife to my throat, and I managed to kick him off me. Then DI Moran and DC Edwards arrested him. He swore that he didn’t mean to attack me and I got his elbow in my mouth, which caused my lip to split and bleed. But he maintained that it was only because he was trying to escape arrest.’

Gibbs gave a sarcastic laugh.

‘I didn’t see the knife, and then DI Moran produced it as evidence, and next the signed confession.’

‘What the hell is your problem, Jane?’

‘It’s just that a few things don’t add up… I mean, do you think Moran would plant evidence?’

‘What?’

‘For the rape?’

Gibbs leaned back. ‘Do you give a shit? Or, more to the point, do you care?’

‘Yes I do, because the rape will be a far longer sentence and if he is innocent-’

‘Innocent? Christ, Jane, are you out of your mind? What the hell are you doing wasting time even contemplating whether there was any kind of subversive activity? Did he or didn’t he have a knife – it’s just bullshitting and I hope the bastard goes away for as long as possible. I would say that is Moran’s only interest. He’s a good cop, and a tough one who worked Clubs and Vice for years. Moran’s sticking his neck out as he said he found the knife and didn’t involve any other officers. And if you don’t mind me saying so, you’ve only just got your foot into the CID, so mind your business.’

Jane looked away as Gibbs took out his hip flask again and emptied the contents into the remainder of his coffee.

‘I hear you’ve been seeing a lot of Paul Lawrence. What’s he doing?’

‘Well, he was very supportive when I queried the non-suspicious death.’

‘Oh, you queried it, did you? Well, aren’t you just a busy know-all? Let me give you another word of warning – don’t go behind DCI Shepherd’s back either. He has a mean streak: although he might appear to be a quiet, affable type, he’s got a steel core and he goes by the book. If you start encouraging Paul Lawrence to work outside his forensic duties-’

Jane interrupted. ‘I haven’t done that!’

‘That’s not what I’ve heard. You’ve got him working on this non-sus death as a possible murder because of evidence you are digging up. Let me tell you, you dig up anything and you give it to the team… that includes me.’

‘I just haven’t discussed certain things because Paul said we needed further evidence…’

‘We? We needed further evidence? Listen to yourself! And what’s Paul Lawrence “Forensic Detective” investigating on your say so?’

‘It’s not my “say so”. He just agreed with me.’

‘Jesus Christ, Jane! Haven’t you listened to anything I’ve been telling you? You have to stop this and not drag Paul into something that could get him into deep trouble.’

‘Well, for your information I am not “dragging” him anywhere. Maybe you don’t know as much about him as you think you do. In reality he is fed up with forensic science and spending most of his time in a laboratory checking out fingerprints and toxicology reports. He’s told me he wants to become a more integral part of the CID.’

‘Did he also tell you about how he’s been coping?’

Jane looked confused. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Lawrence almost had a nervous breakdown, although I don’t know if you can ever really have an “almost” breakdown… Unlike me, he stayed on at Hackney after Bradfield and Kath died. I got out, and I got help. Lawrence didn’t. So let me tell you, behind that floppy hair of his and his tweed suit, Mr Affability has been tormenting himself-’

Jane interrupted him, becoming very defensive. ‘He’s talked about that to me, that he’s apportioned some of the blame to himself about what happened. I think every one of us has felt guilty in some way.’

‘Guilty? I don’t feel guilty. I was having the best time of my life. I’ve never known such an adrenalin buzz… there’s nothing like catching blaggers red-handed, and this wasn’t for a couple of Rolex watches, this was big time. So I’ve never felt any guilt. I had the horror. I heard Len say to Kath what a great moment it was. I saw the way she looked up at him… she was so proud, and he was as steady as a rock. Then… boom… they were gone. I had their blood and brains splattered all over me. I’m not guilty, Jane, I’m damaged.’

Gibbs stopped himself, knocked back his coffee, his legs jumping again. He stood up. ‘OK, I’m out of here. I’m going back to the club to do the job I’ve been ordered to do. Why don’t you get off home?’

Jane gave a rueful smile and thanked him for the coffee. ‘I’ll finish my drink first, Spence.’ She watched him leave from the window of the café. He didn’t look back at her but headed along the street towards Wardour Street. She wasn’t bothered about finishing the cold cappuccino, she just didn’t want to walk with him. She waited until he was out of sight then left the café, and walked down Wardour Street in the opposite direction to Gibbs towards Shaftesbury Avenue.

As she walked south she passed numerous lowlife and bouncers standing outside seedy strip clubs with thudding music. The street was filling up with clubbers, mainly groups of young guys drinking from beer cans and laughing loudly. Jane kept to the edge of the pavement and only glanced towards the club she had seen Janet Brown leave. The same muscle-bound thuggish bouncer was bellowing out ‘Live girls’, but after her dressing down from Gibbs Jane had no intention of even attempting to see if Janet Brown was working there.

Blinking arrows pointed to a side turning leading to Berwick Street, and opposite were two strip clubs. It was déjà vu because hurrying out from one of them was Janet Brown, wearing the rabbit fur coat. Jane had to wait for the traffic to move before she could cross the road and hurry towards her. She saw her with a young boy who was getting out of a taxi. Janet handed the boy something and then to Jane’s disappointment got into the taxi before she even got close. The boy was still standing outside the dirty plastic strip curtains at the open doorway to ‘Sexy Slave Dancers’.

He was wearing filthy jeans, worn plimsolls and an oversized man’s jacket, and he had short dirty red hair surrounding a grimy face. The closer Jane got to him it became clear he was even younger than she had thought.

‘Excuse me, can I talk to you for a second?’

‘What-d-ya-want?’ he said through gapped teeth.

‘I need to talk to the woman I just saw you with, in the blue fur coat.’

‘She gone to work.’ He turned as if to walk away.

‘Is it a club?’

He glared at Jane. ‘What you want to know fer?’

‘Please… I really need to talk to her.’

‘You’re fuckin’ filth, aintcha? Well, piss off.’

He did a duck to pass Jane and she caught his sleeve.

‘Just a minute…’

He was too fast and was off, heading in the direction of Berwick Street. During the day this was filled with market stalls, but at night there were numerous sleazy strip clubs, doors opening up for the rooms above and the call girls were out in force. Jane followed and was able to see the boy entering one of the small stores selling girlie magazines. A sign was stuck to the dirty window, saying ‘ADULT LITERATURE’. Inside were racks of glossy porn magazines with just a counter, shelves and a till. On one shelf there were what purported to be 8mm Disney films, but in reality the boxes contained hardcore porn imported from Amsterdam.

There was a red light bulb making the dingy shopfront glow with a reddish tinge. A woman was stacking books and shoving them into piles beneath the counter. She had bleached blonde hair and two glittering slides either side of her head. Her face was plastered with thick makeup and outlines over the edge of her lips in a bright orange red. As Jane walked in the woman stuck out her chest. She wore a tight knitted sweater with crochet flowers.

‘Yes, love? If you’re after the Lesbian section it’s on the shelf behind you.’

She smelt of powerful, sickly sweet perfume. Jane showed her warrant card, which didn’t seem to faze the woman at all.

‘Listen, we paid out this week, darlin’, so don’t try it on with me. I got a lot of work to do and I am not interested in havin’ the female touch, if you know what I mean.’

‘I just wanted to ask that young boy something. I’m not here for any other reason.’

‘I don’t know him… never saw anyone comin’ in.’ She lit a cigarette.

‘I just saw him walk in,’ Jane said firmly.

‘Well, maybe he just walked out the back way. I dunno… I’m busy, love, doing the inventory.’

‘What’s through there?’

‘Just a back room for the storage. But, lovey, if you want to start snoopin’ around in here you’ll need a warrant. Like I said, we paid up.’

Two girls walked in and passed directly behind Jane, entering the door she had seen the red-haired boy go through. The blonde woman ignored Jane as she continued checking over paperbacks and stacking them below the counter.

‘I would just like to talk to the boy, please.’

Unseen by Jane, the blonde pressed a bell beneath the counter. Next minute banging into the small shop via the same door came a pot-bellied man wearing a black suede fringed cowboy jacket, with a silver cowboy buckle over his expansive waist and baggy green cords.

‘What’s goin’ on?’ he said angrily.

‘She just walked in, Stevie. Shows me her warrant card and wants to go out back to talk to Ginger.’

‘What the fuck do you want, darlin’, because we already have an arrangement and we don’t like Old Bill standing in full view of the effin’ winder.’

‘I just want to have a few words with the boy I saw coming in here. I am not here for any other reason. This lady here denied seeing him when I saw him walking in.’

‘What you want with Ginger?’

‘I don’t think that is any of your business. Now, if he is here please could I talk to him?’

Jane was losing patience but at the same time becoming very unnerved by Stevie’s attitude.

‘He works for the girls and would have gone out the back way. Now, you just piss off, all right?’

‘I’m sorry but he looked about twelve years old… What exactly do you mean that he works here?’

Stevie hitched up his trousers and gestured to the blonde to leave.

‘He’s just earnin’ a few quid, darlin’… the strippers don’t like leavin’ their gear unattended in the clubs’ dressin’ rooms when they’re on the stage, so they pay him and he makes sure nothin’ gets nicked.’

Jane was shocked but stood her ground.

‘I really don’t want to come back. I just want to have a few words with him here, or outside your shop. It’s about someone I need to contact.’

Two more girls walked in and it was obvious by the way they were dressed they were on the game. They smiled at Stevie and went into the back room. Stevie hesitated, then followed them.

He bellowed, ‘Oi Ginger, come outta there… now, before you get me angry.’

The same ginger-haired boy slunk out and Stevie gripped him by his neck, pushing him towards Jane.

‘I dunno what you been up to but this copper wants to talk to you. Now get outta here wiv her, and if it’s thievin’ I’ll have ya knocked to hell an’ back.’

The boy was not afraid of the muscle head man, instead he shrugged him away and looked at Jane.

‘What you want?’

‘Get the hell outta the shop… go on, move it!’ Stevie jerked his thumb towards the door.

Jane went outside with the boy, who didn’t seem at all bothered by her presence. He leaned against a wall near the shop entrance.

‘I don’t want to get you into trouble, Ginger, but I saw you getting out of a taxi, then a woman wearing a blue rabbit fur coat got inside.’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘I saw you not ten minutes ago. Now, I need to know where she was going.’

‘No fuckin’ idea… She works the clubs, that’s all I know. She taxi hops, goin’ to any amount of strip clubs round here, or maybe goin’ home.’

‘Do you know her address?’

‘No.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘You pick one… they all use different ones. I think it’s Janine, but don’t quote me. That’s show business, ain’t it.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-one.’

Jane sighed and tried another tack. ‘Look, you are only young and shouldn’t even be out here at this hour, never mind working the clubs as Stevie told me.’

‘Yeah, well, I got a sick mother wiv lung cancer and no dad… I gotta earn a crust for me sisters. All I do is just look out for their belongings and they give us a few coppers.’

‘I don’t want to report you to the social services, Ginger, so please tell me where you think I might be able to contact that woman.’

‘She might have gone over to the nightclub in Swallow Street. I swear by Almighty God that’s all I know…! Give us a break, darlin’, I don’t want Stevie and the old lady givin’ me a hard time.’

Jane sighed and shook her head.

‘All right, thank you.’

He gave her a cheeky, gap-toothed smile. ‘Any time, sweetheart… take it easy.’

Jane walked off, contemplated heading over to Swallow Street, which was a narrow lane off Piccadilly Circus leading into Regent Street. But remembering Gibbs’s warning about working alone, she caught the late bus back to the section house.

Over the last few days, Jane had been inundated with a number of petty crimes connected to the major upheaval with the proposed move of the Covent Garden market. As she had the entire weekend off, she decided that she would see her parents. She was looking forward to the safe normality of her home after her week in the murky world of strip clubs and prostitution.

Jane had made thorough notes about her encounter in the adult bookshop, which she was sure was also a brothel, and would check everything out the following Monday. It had been such a revelation being in that seedy part of London, and she was concerned about the references to CID being paid off to turn a blind eye.

When Jane arrived at the flat it was, unusually, her father who answered the door and ushered her in, indicating for her to be quiet.

‘What’s wrong, Dad?’

Mr Tennison shut the door. ‘Your mother’s in with Pam… it’s not good news… she’s very distressed. When she got here she was crying her eyes out.’

‘What’s happened?’

Mrs Tennison came out into the corridor.

‘Jane… I didn’t expect you. You never called, did you?’

‘No, Mum. I’ve got the day off. Is everything all right?’

‘No… Did you tell her, Daddy?’

‘No, she’s only just arrived.’

‘Mum, what’s happened?’

Mrs Tennison gestured for Jane to follow her into the lounge.

‘Pam has had a miscarriage. She started feeling poorly and then had terrible stomach cramps. She went into the toilet and…’

‘Has she been to the hospital?’

‘Yes. Tony took her to the emergency ward at St Mary’s but they confirmed it. Nothing they could do. Are you going to stay for lunch?’

‘Yes, if it’s not too much trouble?’

‘No, I’m doing a pork roast. You go on into our bedroom and talk to Pam.’

Pam was lying down with a wet flannel folded on her forehead. Jane sat beside her.

‘I am so sorry, Pam… Mum’s just told me.’

Pam slowly removed the face cloth. Her face was puffy and she was red eyed from crying.

‘It happened when I went to the toilet… such terrible pains, and then…’

‘Did they tell you why it happened?’

‘No, Tony said it was because of being on my feet all day at the salon, but this very nice doctor said that pregnant women can work up to eight and a half months so it wasn’t because of me working. But I won’t go back just yet.’

‘No, you should just rest.’

‘I started getting all the baby things. I didn’t choose pink or blue because we didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl,’ Pam said as she began to cry.

Mrs Tennison walked in carrying a mug of tea for Jane.

‘Here you are, Jane dear. Would you like another cup before lunch, Pam?’

‘Yes please, Mum.’

Mrs Tennison walked out and closed the door silently behind her.

‘It won’t be the end, Pam… I’m sure you’ll get pregnant again.’

‘I know, I know… that’s what the doctors said. But it won’t be for a while, because I have to give my body time to heal.’

‘Yes, I know, the body is very resilient.’

‘I know that. I’m on my feet all day. You have no idea how long it takes to do a perm. And I’ve wondered if it is the smell of doing a perm that’s caused the miscarriage. It’s very pungent, you know.

‘I had this client who was really very objectionable. Complained that the rubber of the rollers smelt. I said to her, “Well, if you think they smell bad, you should go to another salon.” Well, she didn’t like that. And then as she was leaving she wanted to book in a second appointment. I said to her, “I might not be here in three months’ time.” Because that’s how long you have to wait before you can do a perm again. Well, she got very upset and apologized to me for being rude. And then I said, “I’m pregnant, that’s why I won’t be here.”’ Pam’s face crumpled.

Jane patted her hand. ‘Don’t upset yourself.’

‘Well, I am upset. I’m not pregnant, am I?’

It was a difficult couple of hours before they eventually left the bedroom and went to have lunch. Mrs Tennison had set the small table in the living room, as she liked to keep the dining room for formal occasions. The pork had already been carved and there were roast potatoes, carrots, spinach and gravy.

‘Have you got any apple sauce, Mother?’ Pam asked.

Mrs Tennison jumped up.

‘Of course, darling, of course we have… it’s apple and mint jelly, is that all right, Pam?’

‘I’d prefer just apple sauce, but never mind…’

Jane noticed that, as distraught as her sister was, Pam still managed to pile the food onto her plate.

Mrs Tennison said that she’d made an apple pie, but she was out of custard so they were going to have it with Wall’s ice-cream slices instead.

Jane reached over and patted her mother’s hand.

‘That sounds lovely, Mum.’

Mrs Tennison smiled.

‘So, let’s talk about something different… Jane, why don’t you tell us what you’ve been doing this week? We haven’t seen you since you started your new job. Are there any other female officers working at the station?’

‘I am actually the only female detective… but I do have a wonderful mentor, Edith, who runs the main office.’ Jane exaggerated to reassure her mother. ‘She used to be a policewoman so she knows all the ropes, and she has a lot to deal with because her mother sadly suffers from dementia.’

Pam pushed her empty plate to one side, and leaned her elbows on the table.

‘Well, that’s worrying, having the only other policewoman suffering from dementia.’

‘No, Pam, Edith doesn’t have dementia – her mother does. Sometimes she escapes from the house, and once poor Edith found her wandering naked in the street!’

The doorbell prevented her having to continue her description of Edith. Mrs Tennison started clearing the lunch plates as Pam’s husband, Tony, came into the living room.

‘Would you like some apple pie and ice-cream, Tony?’ Mrs Tennison asked him.

‘That would be lovely, thank you.’

Tony pulled up a chair to sit beside Pam.

‘How are you feeling, my darling?’

Pam picked up her napkin and used it as a handkerchief, blowing her nose.

‘It comes over me in waves, Tony, the grief… I’m finding it very hard to deal with. One minute I was wondering what maternity dress to put on, and the next I was on the toilet…’

Tony patted her hand.

‘I know, darling, it’s terrible, just terrible, but we have to be strong.’

Jane looked at her rather overweight brother-in-law as he too started to weep.

‘I am so sorry, Tony… it’s very sad, and we all feel deeply for your loss.’

‘Could I just have the apple pie without the ice-cream, please?’ Tony asked, as Mrs Tennison placed the apple pie on the table.

By the time they both left Jane just wanted to go back to the section house and really didn’t feel in the mood to discuss her work. It wasn’t until she was about to leave that her father asked if everything was all right at Bow Street.

‘Everything’s fine, Dad. I really like being in plain clothes with the CID.’

‘Anything interesting?’

‘Not really… I’m just a fledgling detective so I’m not assigned to anything important.’ She gently placed her hand to touch his lips, whispering, ‘I’m all right, Daddy.’

Jane didn’t mention being used as a decoy, the fact that she had been assaulted, or that she was now working on her first possible murder inquiry. She never even broached the subject of the strip clubs or young Ginger working with the strippers. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, but her life was so different to Pam’s and she understood that they had lost their first grandchild and that was all they were really interested in for the moment.

After Jane had left the Tennison flat, her father had made a pot of tea for her mother and they had sat down beside each other on the sofa.

‘I thought she looked well,’ Mr Tennison said.

‘She didn’t, poor girl… but it’s hardly surprising. Mind you, she’s still young so they’ve got many more years to keep trying.’

‘I meant Jane…’

‘Oh, yes… I was going to say to her that she should call more often and not just turn up without letting us know. It was lucky I was doing a pork roast so we had plenty of food.’

Mr Tennison stood up, saying that he would start on the washing up.

‘Thank you, dear. I noticed Jane didn’t offer to help… but that’s her, never very domestic really, was she?’

Mr Tennison turned on the hot water and began to scrape off the grease from the baking tray. He looked over the array of pans and dirty dishes as his wife sat cupping her hands round her tea. He squirted in the washing-up liquid and used the plastic bowl to soak the dishes. It took him almost half an hour, balancing the plates on the draining board before moving on to scrub the baking trays he had left to soak. Mrs Tennison was still sitting staring into space, her tea cup empty, when he went in to take it from her.

‘Are you all right, darling?’

Mrs Tennison seemed to be miles away and was almost startled when he took the cup from her hands.

‘I had a scare, do you remember, with Michael? I went to bed for two weeks, and didn’t dare put my feet on the ground in case I had a miscarriage. But it was all right, and then I had Jane and then Pam so I’m sure she’ll get pregnant again. But she should give up work at the salon… she spends too many hours standing.’

Mr Tennison patted her head gently, knowing what she was really thinking about. Their first-born son, Michael, was only two when he had drowned in the neighbour’s pond. They had both buried their grief tightly beneath the surface, but when it rose the pain was excruciating. He returned to the sink to dry the plates as he recalled Jane running towards him, her arms outstretched with Michael’s small worn teddy bear in one hand.

Mr Tennison was ashamed about what had happened. After Michael’s tragic drowning he had hidden his son’s favourite toy in his desk drawer. Jane had somehow found it, even though he had given strict instructions that the room he used as a home office was out of bounds, as it was ‘where Daddy worked’. He had wrapped the small teddy bear in tissue paper and tucked it into the bottom drawer of his desk, along with a silver napkin ring and one of Michael’s small slippers. Jane had always been inquisitive and had discovered his secret mementos. She had gleefully run towards her father to share her discovery with him, and he had slapped her very hard and had scolded her for being so naughty and going into his office.

The young Jane had been shocked as she had never been physically reprimanded so severely. Mr Tennison recalled the way her blue eyes had glared at him, as she recoiled. In a very grown-up manner she had said, ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, but you shouldn’t be nasty to me. I thought you would like to hold Michael’s teddy bear and I was just happy that I found him.’

Mr Tennison had been left speechless, and had been unable for some time to go to her and apologize. He had tried to explain why he had reacted in such an awful way but Jane had just walked away from him. As young as she was it had been a considerable time before she forgave him. When she did she simply climbed up onto his knee one night and put her hand gently over his lips.

‘It’s all right, Daddy.’

That had been the way she had said goodbye to him at the door earlier, her blue eyes holding his and touching his lips as she had done all those years ago as a child. Mr Tennison wondered if everything was all right with her work. He felt guilty that neither he nor his wife had asked how her new job was going.

Mrs Tennison remained sitting by herself as he finished the dishes, drying them all and placing them back into the cupboards. He wiped all the kitchen surfaces.

‘All ship-shape, dear,’ he said brightly, and she turned and smiled.

‘Thank you, dear.’