Tennison

Chapter twenty-two

Crossing the station yard to prepare for the early shift parade at 6 a.m., Jane was startled to see a disgruntled Sergeant Harris carrying a large black bin bag.

‘Morning, Sergeant,’ she said overbrightly.

‘Bradfield’s lot had a big booze-up in the CID office last night. The cleaner was refusing to deal with the mess until I offered to help, so I’ve had to schlep out these ruddy beer cans and bottles. Christ only knows how much they all put away, but I heard someone had to carry WPC Morgan to a taxi.’

‘Can I help?’

‘No, it’s done. You can go out on foot patrol today, seven beat covering Shoreditch on the far end of the ground.’

‘Can I get a panda car to drop me off?’ Jane was surprised, yet pleased that Harris was letting her out on patrol for once.

‘No, bloody well walk or get a bus. There’s an outstanding call from last night on that beat so get the details from the control room.’

Jane spoke with the PC who was manning the phones and radios. It transpired the call had come in at midnight, but as it was very busy no one was available to attend and the disgruntled caller was told someone would visit him in the morning. The PC handed Jane a copy of the message and said the night-shift operator had told him the caller had some information about a possible robbery. Jane asked why the CID weren’t dealing with it and the PC said the caller had a squeaky voice and sounded ‘a sandwich short of a picnic’. Jane guessed it was the same person Harris had put the phone down on the day before. She looked at the caller’s details. His name was Ashley Brennan and he lived in Hoxton Street. Gathering up her things, she booked out a Storno radio and put it in her handbag before heading off to catch the bus.

There was a faint drizzle and Jane was wearing her police-issue cape to keep herself dry. She laughed as she recalled the night shift on patrol when she and Kath had eaten fish and chips under their capes so no one could see.

She reached the terraced row of new, expensive-looking flats, and checked she had the correct address before pressing the buzzer for the Brennan flat. She waited a while and, when there was no answer, pressed again. A distorted female voice asked if she was delivering groceries. Jane gave her name and rank, then there was a crackle and whistling sound. Unsure if she had been heard she was about to repeat herself when the door clicked open.

Jane walked up the four flights of carpeted stairs and took a few moments to get her breath back before knocking on the door. She noticed there was a mezuzah screwed to the doorframe. The front door was opened by a small, overweight woman in her mid-forties wearing a floral blouse and grey pleated skirt with pink slippers.

‘Mrs Brennan?’ Jane asked, guessing she was Ashley’s mother.

The woman gave her a quizzical, confused look. ‘Thought you were our grocery boy. I was expecting an early delivery.’

‘Mrs Brennan?’ Jane asked again.

The woman pressed her finger to her right ear and Jane heard a high-pitched whistling sound.

‘I’m very deaf, what do you want?’

Realizing that she was wearing a hearing aid, Jane spoke loudly and slowly.

‘I am WPC Jane Tennison from Hackney Police Station and I’d like to speak to Ashley Brennan.’

Mrs Brennan called out Ashley’s name and said that a policewoman was here to see him, but there was no reply. She let Jane into the comfortable-looking flat. She knocked on a closed door.

‘Ashley, come out of your room — there’s a policewoman here who wants to talk to you.’

‘ABOUT TIME, LET HER IN.’

‘She is in, dear.’

‘I MEAN IN MY ROOM.’

Jane recognized the squeaky voice coming from the room as the one from the previous morning’s phone call. Mrs Brennan opened the door and gestured for Jane to go in.

‘Do you want me to come in with her?’

‘No,’ Ashley said.

Jane eased past Mrs Brennan, who was pressing her hearing aid and causing it to whistle again.

‘I’m expecting some groceries.’

‘Go away, Mother.’

‘He doesn’t have many visitors. Is it about my disabled parking?’

‘GO AWAY, MOTHER.’

Ashley Brennan was sitting at a large wooden desk on a specially adapted swivel chair, which had a head rest, thick padded arms and an extra wide-cushioned seat. He was obese — at least twenty stone — and had a huge protruding stomach and thick fat arms, but tiny feminine hands. His size made him look much older than Jane suspected he actually was. He wore a cotton T-shirt and baggy tracksuit trousers, and as he swivelled round to face Jane she noticed he had small feet encased in embroidered slippers.

On the desk there was a telephone, filing tray, jeweller’s-type magnifying glass, tweezers, soldering iron and bits and pieces of wire lying around next to an electrical circuit board of some sort. Behind him, on top of a long wooden cabinet, there were two reel-to-reel tape-recording machines and two large pieces of electrical equipment with numerous dials and yellow-coloured arrow meters. Jane suspected they were radios of some sort, but only because they were attached to a large aerial hanging out of the window.

‘She’s as deaf as a post,’ he said.

Ashley had a yarmulke perched on the back of his head and his hair was thick and dark, parted to one side and oiled flat, but rather strangely he had a handsome face with dark eyes and a small nose.

‘I’d like to see your identification, please.’

‘But I’m in uniform.’

‘You can never be too careful.’

Jane opened her shoulder bag and handed him her warrant card which he inspected and handed back. He invited her to pull over the chair that was next to his single bed and said she could use one of his pillows as a cushion.

She declined the offer of the pillow, picked up the chair, and sat opposite him.

‘I have to say it’s about time someone took me seriously. I have called so many times, and to all the local stations. I was thinking about calling Scotland Yard or writing an official complaint to the Commissioner about it.’

She sat poised with her notebook and pencil ready, assuring him that as a police officer and employee of the Commissioner she was there in an official capacity and would treat anything he told her seriously.

‘Before we start can I just have your full name, age and date of birth for the record, please, Ashley?’ Jane asked.

‘Ashley, no middle names, and my surname is Brennan. Aged twenty and born 20.6.52.’

‘You’re nearly twenty-one then,’ Jane remarked.

He opened his desk drawer and took out a large diary then swivelled round in his chair and pointed to the radio equipment.

‘The one on the left is an RCA AR88, renowned for its performance and reliability as a surveillance and intercept radio during the Second World War. Works on six bands and uses fourteen tubes in a double preselection superheterodyne circuit... which I have modified to listen to the radio channels as well. The one next to it I’m very proud of as I built it myself. It’s an SSB transceiver with silicon transistors and Plessey integrated circuits.’

The high-pitched voice she had recognized was even more obvious as Ashley needed to take short breaths between sentences.

Jane wished he’d get to the point of why he’d called the police, but she didn’t want to offend him further by showing a lack of interest.

‘And the bits on the desk, is that your latest creation?’ she asked, hoping he wouldn’t go into too much detail.

He looked at her as if she’d asked a silly question. ‘No, it’s the circuit board and bits for my mother’s bedside radio that went on the blink. It’s obvious I’m fixing it.’

Jane asked politely if he could move on to exactly why he wanted to speak with a police officer, and poised her pen ready to write in her notebook.

‘I inadvertently picked up the transmission using the RCA when I was trying to tune into a station. At first I thought it was radio hams messing about, but the other night I became really concerned about their conversation. One was using the call sign Eagle and referred to the other as Brushstroke. Eagle said, ”Stay quiet, it’s a rozzer,” which of course I knew was another name for one of you lot. Then there was a loud, metal-type banging sound and Eagle got quite panicky saying the rozzer was looking in the café window, but they seemed to relax when he’d gone. I’ve a list of dates and times for everything I recorded on my reel-to-reel.’

Jane stopped writing and looked up at him. ‘Sorry, did you say recorded?’

‘Yes, I like to record radio programmes and listen to the ones I enjoy again. This was different, very suspicious with no names used, and they were not trained in radio etiquette as sometimes after saying “over” they continued to speak instead of waiting for a reply.’ He gasped and coughed.

Jane asked if he was able to determine the area that the transmission came from and he snapped impatiently that it could be a one- to two-mile radius, which in terms of London covered a lot of possible locations. He then detailed all the times he had overheard the conversations and said he had joined all the recordings together so the police could listen to the complete tape without changing reels.

Jane asked him to play back the last bit he had recorded about the rozzer looking in the café. It was difficult for her to hear clearly and make out exactly what was said as the voices were muffled and there was some interference, which Ashley explained was due to him moving the receiver dial to try and get a better signal.

Jane’s concentration was interrupted by the front-door buzzer and Mrs Brennan shouting loudly on the intercom to ask if it was the grocery delivery.

The recording finished and Ashley swivelled round to face her.

‘I am aware bits of the tape are not that clear, but I have listened to it over and over and have typed up what was said for you. Admittedly they never mention the word “bank”, or for that matter “robbery”, but look at the times these men are working — never in the day, always through the night, and then there’s the banging sound which could be digging. “Eagle” I presume is surveying the place they are working from, and why so anxious when the policeman turned up outside the café? I am correct in my suspicions, aren’t I?’

Jane closed her notebook and thought about how best to phrase her reply, as from what she’d heard she couldn’t agree with him entirely.

‘You may well be right, Mr Brennan, but I need to report this to the CID as it is something I as a WPC would not be allowed to investigate further. I’d like to take the tape and your notes of the conversation back to the station—’

He interrupted. ‘I suggest, WPC Tennison, you do just that as I believe these men are committing a robbery, and you may already be too late to stop them.’

Ashley promptly placed the tape and notes in a large envelope which already had his name and address on it. He licked and sealed the flap and then signed his name, the date and time across the seal. He heaved himself out of the chair, his balloon-shaped body wobbled and even the exertion of standing brought him out in a sweat. As he handed over the envelope Jane thanked him and shook his hand, apologizing if he felt they had not taken his initial phone call seriously. She assured him everything would now be passed on to a high-ranking CID officer.

‘Good, I’ll wait to hear of any developments and continue to monitor the situation on the AR88, but I lost contact last time so I may not be able to report any further conversations. My mother will show you out now.’

He tottered to stand beside his desk and pressed a buzzer, which made a shrill ringing sound, and then he eased himself back into his chair.

‘Can I ask, Mr Brennan, are you a radio ham yourself?’

He glared at her. ‘I most certainly am not. I only receive signals and never transmit. The microphone came with the equipment and is now purely for decoration purposes.’

Jane smiled. She knew he was lying and probably didn’t have an operator’s licence, but liked to listen to pirate radio just as she did. He had done the right thing by calling the police so she didn’t press the matter any further.

Jane let herself out of his stiflingly hot room and saw Mrs Brennan standing in the hallway.

‘I’m a bit deaf and my hearing aid’s always playing up so he rings that bell when he needs me,’ she said in a raised voice.

‘Ashley could maybe fix it for you.’

‘What did you say, my dear?’

‘Never mind,’ Jane said, and noticed the numerous boxes of groceries in the hallway. From one glance she knew the pancake mixes, cakes and buns were destined for the woman’s son.

‘He never leaves the flat. If we had a lift it might help. I have a little invalid car the NHS gave me to get about in, but it’s only three wheels and one seat so I can’t take him out in that. Our rabbi comes to see him when he can, but he’s got a bad hip and can’t manage all those stairs.’

Jane thanked her and skirting round the groceries left the flat. Walking back to the bus stop she wondered if Ashley could be right about a possible bank robbery, but doubted that the men would actually discuss it on the radio. Still, she’d have to report it to Bradfield now, although given the vagueness of the information, she didn’t look forward to telling him.

The station was busy on her return at 10 a.m. as all the CID, desk officers and station clerical staff were in. It was time for her allocated refreshment break and during it Jane decided she would finish writing up her notes and then speak with DCI Bradfield. As chance would have it she’d just finished her porridge when he walked into the canteen looking the worse for wear after a heavy night celebrating.

As Bradfield approached Jane blushed slightly remembering her thoughts about him the night before.

‘We got him! Kenneth Boyle made a full confession to Julie Ann Collins’ murder and has been remanded in custody by the Magistrates’ Court to await trial, which will probably be in at least eighteen months’ time.’ Bradfield was jubilant and Jane didn’t tell him she’d already spoken with Kath.

‘That’s great, sir. How have Mr and Mrs Collins taken the news?’

‘They’re both distraught, but relieved they know what happened. The sad thing is that Mr Collins still blames himself for their daughter’s death.’

Thinking she’d take advantage of Bradfield’s good mood, Jane asked if she could have a word with him about another matter, which she was concerned about. He sighed and checked his watch.

She briefly recounted her conversation with Ashley Brennan and explained that, although he was a bit of an eccentric radio nerd, she felt there might be a robbery occurring, or about to happen.

He yawned. ‘Where?’

‘I don’t know, sir, but it’s possible the suspects are in a café that may be close to a bank and they could be attempting to break their way in.’ Jane held up the envelope with the tape and notes.

‘Ashley Brennan recorded the radio conversations and made a number of calls to the police which were ignored. I mean, what if he’s right, we would—’

‘All right, give it here and Spence and I will listen to it. There’s a reel-to-reel player somewhere in the property store, so go and get that out while I look at the nerd’s report.’

Jane tracked down the tape recorder. It was big and heavy so she asked DS Gibbs to help her carry it up the stairs to Bradfield’s office.

‘You missed a good celebration last night. I got so plastered the bastards locked me in an empty cell to sleep it off. Mind you, the state Kath Morgan was in was something else — singing and dancing on the tables.’

Having placed the tape machine on Bradfield’s desk and plugged it in Bradfield asked Jane to get him and Gibbs a coffee and a ham sandwich each. Gibbs said he couldn’t face food yet and a coffee would do, but Bradfield said to get Gibbs a ham sandwich as well. On her return to his office Bradfield was reading the notes Brennan had made.

‘What’s this Ashley bloke like?’

She described him as he sipped his coffee and ate his sandwich, whilst Spencer sat head down and unusually motionless in one of the hard-backed chairs.

‘Sit down, Tennison. You want your sandwich, Spence?’

Gibbs frowned as he lit up a cigarette. ‘I’ll throw up if I eat anything.’

Jane sat down opposite Bradfield. He placed the transcription made by Ashley Brennan in front of him and said he wanted to follow the typed copy against the spoken words on the tape to see if they matched. Jane asked if he’d mind her reading over his shoulder and he said not at all. Standing beside him she lowered her head to read the transcript and noticed again how nice his cologne smelt. He switched on the tape machine. It was turned up very loud and although distorted in some places Jane listened more intently than before and something began to bother her. No one said a word or reacted in any way whilst they listened to the end of the tape.

Bradfield sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. ‘What Brennan has typed up seems to fit with all the conversation on the tape. It’s possible something is going down. Did Brennan have any idea of a location?’ he asked Jane.

‘He lives in Hoxton and reckons anywhere within a two-mile radius.’

Gibbs snorted. ‘That’s right next to the bloody City. There’s loads of banks around there, not to mention soddin’ cafés, so it’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack, Tennison.’

‘Eagle could be a lookout and Brushstroke a decorator or something like that so...’ Jane said hesitantly.

‘The information that it is a bank is not reliable. It could be a pedigree-pet shop for all we know!’ Gibbs muttered.

‘Right, you can go finish your early shift now, Tennison. Let me have a think about the tapes,’ Bradfield said, and sat back to finish his sandwich.

Jane felt disheartened as he didn’t seem that interested. She walked to the door, then hesitated.

‘Should I type up a report?’

‘Yes, you do that.’

As the door closed behind her, Gibbs got up to stretch and said he was still feeling hungover.

‘Sit down, Spence, we need to take another look over this Brennan stuff.’

‘You are joking? He’s a weirdo and there’s nothing in those tapes that rings real alarm bells for me.’

Bradfield lit a cigarette, and inhaled deeply before he continued.

‘There are two possibilities here, Spence. One, Brennan’s telling the truth, the tape is real and something big is going down.’

Gibbs laughed. ‘I know you don’t believe that.’

‘Two, he could be trying it on, faking it to get his name in the papers and make a few quid, sort of like a—’

Gibbs butted in. ‘Well, that sounds more like a nutter to me, Len.’

‘Let me finish, will you? It could be a sort of copycat for the job that went down back in September ’71. It was headline news for months and then some kind of government gagging order was made and it all went quiet.’

‘What “job” you talkin’ about?’

‘You’ve a short memory, Spence. Big robbery — they got away with five hundred grand from a bank in Baker Street.’

‘Shit, wait a minute, you’re talkin’ about that radio ham that heard the robbers and reported it. Yeah, it’s comin’ back now, the hangover was making me brain cells flat-line.’

Bradfield clicked his fingers. ‘It was a Lloyds bank, and I’m thinking the ham guy was called, shit, lemme think, I know, Robert Rankin, Rawlins, no, Rowland — that was his name. The press headlined it as the “Walkie-talkie” bank robbery, you remember it now?’

Gibbs nodded. ‘Yeah yeah, but it’s obvious this kid Ashley Brennan is just trying it on, maybe even got his mates to help fake the tape?’

‘Possible, but we are gonna have to check it all out, because if the tape is for real and we ignore it then we could all look like a bunch of pricks.’

‘We’ll also look like idiots if we waste time and energy trying to prove what we already know, that he’s a lying geek.’

They both turned to the door as Jane tapped and popped her head in.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I was about to start work on the report and something kept worrying me. Would it be possible for me to hear the tape again?’

‘Don’t worry, we are going to check out its authenticity,’ Bradfield said looking at Gibbs who rolled his eyes.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but can you please play it again? It’s very important,’ Jane asked nervously.

Bradfield looked at Gibbs. ‘She wants to hear it all again, Spence,’ he said sarcastically and Gibbs shrugged his shoulders.

Bradfield fiddled with the rewind switch and swore as he failed to stop it before the tape flapped loose from one of the reels.

‘Shit, hang on, lemme get it back on the bloody thing.’

‘It’s the bit where Brushstroke says something like “Get out, piss against the wall” and ends “I’m calling it a night now”.’

Bradfield fumbled with the tape. ‘Just let me fast-forward.’

He was so cackhanded that Gibbs took over and then, with the tape in place and fast-forwarded, he pressed play. Jane stood beside them listening then asked for it to be played again.

A bemused Bradfield looked at her. ‘Why?’

‘I could be wrong, but I really need to hear it again.’

As Bradfield rewound the tape and replayed it he and Gibbs looked at each other both shaking their heads wondering what on earth she had picked up on.

‘I think I recognize the voice,’ she said quietly, and both men turned to face her in unison.

‘You are joking?’ Spencer said.

‘I may be wrong, but I think that Brushstroke is John Bentley. The reason I remember his voice is because of the way he shouted at me to get out of the flat the time I took his mother home.’ She was trying to keep her voice steady.

Bradfield put his arm around her shoulders. ‘OK, just calm down — listen to it again, but you need to be bloody sure about this.’

Gibbs looked annoyed. ‘What were you doin’ with John Bentley’s mother? Are you friends with the family?’

Bradfield waved his hand for Gibbs to shut up.

‘Take your time, Jane. We can play it over a few times if it will help.’ He reached for Brennan’s log and skimmed down the times listed before pointing out that all the conversations had taken place late at night through to the early hours of the morning.

‘Seems like this Brennan kid never goes to sleep.’

‘I doubt it. He’s very overweight. Never goes out.’

‘Play it one more time, Spence.’

The three listened as the last section was replayed, and then Bradfield rewound the tape. After a pause Jane bit her lips with nerves.

‘I’m sure it is John Bentley. He scared me and that’s why I remember his voice.’

‘Well, seems this Ashley Brennan may be right about a bank job so I want a surveillance team on standby. If Bentley’s involved we can tail him from his mum’s home then see what he’s up to, and who with.’

Jane was feeling very nervous as Bradfield yet again put his arm around her shoulders, trying to give her encouragement.

‘Listen one more time: we’ll play the whole tape again just to be a hundred per cent sure. If you’re right we’ve got a good lead that we’d never have had without you recognizing his voice.’

‘How old is this Ashley Brennan?’ Gibbs asked.

‘He’s twenty, well, nearly twenty-one,’ Jane replied.

‘Jesus Christ, Len, are you taking this all seriously and ramping up a job on a few taped conversations made by a kid nutter? I mean it could be fuckin’ anyone doing house renovations. Before we start organizing surveillance why not check the kid out to see if he’s for real first?’ a fed-up Gibbs said petulantly.

‘He said that he had lost contact the last time — something about moving the aerial and he might not be able to make any further recordings.’

‘Terrific, so there’s no point going back to him, right?’ Gibbs stubbed out his cigarette.

‘Come on, Spence, loosen up. Since when do decorators use codenames and a lookout with a walkie-talkie? Yeah, I am taking this seriously, Spence. Years back I was on the arrest of the Bentleys. Clifford the dad, along with his sons John and David, were nicking lead off a church roof. David jumped Christ knows how far down off the roof and broke both legs. Clifford Bentley’s a real hard case who worked with the Krays. He’s in Pentonville nick for armed robbery. They’re tough bastards, that family.’

‘So if you nicked him don’t you recognize his voice?’

‘It was bloody years ago.’

Gibbs shrugged his shoulders as the tape was set up again. Jane was clenching her hands tightly as the tape was played from the beginning to the end. There was a pause as Bradfield switched off the tape and looked at her.

‘Yes, I think it’s him.’

‘Need more than just “I think”, Jane.’

‘Too bloody right we do, because this kid Brennan could be a wanker just wanting to get his name in the papers,’ Gibbs retorted.

‘I don’t think so. He seemed quite intelligent to me.’

Bradfield looked angry. ‘I don’t care about the kid... Is it John Bentley’s voice or not?’

She slowly nodded her head. ‘All right, yes, I am certain that’s John Bentley’s voice.’