Tennison

Chapter twenty-four

‘I let you out on the streets and you go stirring up a hornet’s nest, which results in Bradfield giving me another dressing down for not taking some nutter’s call seriously,’ Harris barked at her.

Jane had arrived for early turn the following morning only to find once again she was posted to the front desk by a furious Sergeant Harris who started shouting at her before she’d even removed her coat.

She didn’t bother to say anything back to him, and when he asked what was going on she simply said DCI Bradfield had told her she wasn’t to discuss it with anyone. This angered Harris more, but she was actually quite pleased that it did.

‘I dunno what this place is coming to. She’s not got either the experience or know-how and gets lucky with some banknotes, and the next minute she’s been bloody promoted. I’ve thirty years’ hard graft under my belt that seems to mean F-all to some people.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘WPC Kathleen Morgan. She’s like a Cheshire cat now she’s been made acting detective. She’s always put it about and used her equipment to get what she wants, and as for her stinking perfume...’

Jane let him rant on, and he didn’t even seem to notice her walk off to deal with someone at the front counter. Just after ten o’clock, Jane went for her break and popped into the incident room to find Kath.

It was already a hive of activity and there were numerous officers she hadn’t seen at the station before. From the way they appeared, some with long hair and scruffy clothes, others smart but casual, and a couple in workman’s clothes, she guessed they were probably surveillance officers.

Jane noticed the index carousel was empty and Kath was boxing everything to do with the now-solved Julie Ann Collins case.

‘Congratulations, Kath, on your well-deserved appointment as an acting detective.’

‘I am over the bloody moon. I couldn’t believe it when the boss said it was in recognition of the Kenneth Boyle arrest and my work matching the banknotes, which cracked the Julie Ann murder case.’ She breathed on her nails and rubbed them on her jacket.

‘Well, I am jealous. I mean it’s going to be a long time for me to be even considered for the CID as I’ve got to complete my probation.’

Jane looked around at everyone. ‘What’s going on?’

Kath gestured to all the new officers.

‘They’re taking over the incident room for the John Bentley investigation and Bradfield has called for everyone to attend the briefing. I heard him tell Gibbs he wants you in on it as well.’

‘Are you sure?’ Jane asked excitedly.

‘Yeah, anyway, I hope they don’t stick me in that stinking surveillance van. One time the buggers left me on my own while they went to the pub — I was in it for four hours sweating like a pig and bursting for a pee.’

DS Gibbs walked in wearing his long black worn leather coat and black ankle boots.

‘Morgan, can you head up to the canteen and tell everyone on the team to come down in five minutes as Bradfield wants to get the meeting under way sooner rather than later.’

When Kath left he took Jane to one side.

‘You may be right about Bentley being up to something.’

She blushed and admitted that at one point she had been terrified she might be wrong.

‘You may still be, but fair dues, you stuck to your guns, even under pressure from me,’ he said smiling.

She thanked him and leaving the room felt downhearted that he hadn’t said anything about her being back on the team. Kath had obviously misheard.

She walked past Bradfield’s office and paused.

‘Where you off to, Tennison?’ she heard Bradfield shout from behind her and stopped.

‘The canteen for refs,’ she said without turning, not wanting him to see the disappointment on her face.

‘Get me a coffee and a pack of Bourbons while you’re there.’

God, he’s got a cheek, she thought to herself.

‘You got three minutes so get a move on.’

Annoyed, she turned sharply and stood with her knuckles dug into her hips. ‘Well, I’m very sorry but I’m busy on the front desk YET AGAIN, and only have one pair of hands, so for once you’ll have to get your own coffee and Bourbons.’

He cocked his head to one side and knew instinctively why she was upset.

‘Hold on, Tennison. Hurry up with the coffee because I want you on the investigation and in the office for the meeting. Didn’t DS Gibbs tell you?

She suddenly wished the ground would swallow her up and mumbled an apology for her petulant behaviour.

‘It’s all right, this time. Besides, you look kinda cute when you’re angry,’ he said, and looked at his watch. ‘You got two minutes now.’

Jane was up the stairs like a shot.

Everyone was gathered. Jane stood at the back of the office as all the chairs were occupied. Bradfield had given Kath big sheets of paper to stick on the wall, with street and building diagrams drawn on them and notes neatly written in black felt tip. DS Gibbs had set up the reel-to-reel tape player in one corner of the room.

Bradfield looked refreshed and energized, even though he’d had only about three hours’ sleep. He handed out copies of Jane’s report detailing her visit to Ashley Brennan, and a transcription of the tape. He told DS Gibbs to start the tape and they all remained still and silent as they listened to the recording. The tape finished and Bradfield, perched on the edge of a desk, stood up and walked to the front of the room.

‘Right, listen up. Anything you have read, heard or are told about this investigation stays within this team and these four walls. Do I make myself clear?’ He looked round the room, staring everyone in the eye. ‘If as much as a peep gets out, then believe me I will personally destroy the career of whoever’s responsible.’

Jane had never seen him so serious, and by the expression on the faces of the others in the room neither had they.

‘You’ve heard the tape and read Tennison’s report so I won’t repeat what’s in it. Clearly our suspects are using walkie-talkies and we believe the man referred to as Brushstroke is John Bentley. He’s a hard nut who’s done time for a very nasty GBH as well as other serious crimes,’ he said, pinning up John’s mug shot on a cork board.

‘Word on the street is his old man’s just come out the nick,’ a detective said.

Bradfield nodded, pinned up another mug shot and tapped it with his finger. ‘Clifford Bentley has just finished an eight stretch for armed robbery and was released from Pentonville a couple of days ago. But we don’t know for certain yet if he’s involved.’

‘Pigs might fly if he isn’t, guv,’ an officer remarked, causing people to smile and nod in agreement.

A surveillance officer stepped closer to get a better look at Clifford’s photograph.

‘That’s the guy we saw from the obo van staggering into the Pembridge Estate just after midnight. Pissed as a fart, he was.’

Bradfield asked if he was sure, and his partner in the obo van looked at the picture and confirmed it was Clifford Bentley. He realized that it might mean Clifford wasn’t on ‘the job’ as he clearly wasn’t working through the night.

‘Any idea yet who was in the van with Bentley last night, guv?’ the surveillance officer who followed the van asked.

‘Not a hundred per cent, but it could be this man Daniel Mitcham, tough, nasty ex-squaddie and local boy,’ Bradfield said, putting up a photo of the thuggish-looking Mitcham before continuing. ‘He was arrested for the same GBH as John Bentley. They did porridge together and according to a snout are both close and drink in the Albion on Chatsworth Road.’

The two officers who had been in the surveillance van were whispering to each other.

‘Something you would like to share with the rest of us?’ Gibbs asked.

They looked at each other wondering who should tell him but Bradfield pre-empted them.

‘It’s not Mitcham, is it?’

‘No, sir, very similar build and age, but the man we saw had shoulder-length blond hair, not dark like Mitcham.’

‘Pity, but that still doesn’t rule him out as we don’t know exactly how many are involved.’

He continued, telling everyone that John Bentley was in possession of a decorator’s van with copied index plates from the same type of van in Kingston. He then asked the surveillance officers who followed John Bentley yesterday evening to brief the team on what happened. The officer who had written the surveillance log went through everything in fine detail and said that they were not sure if Bentley had sussed he was being tailed, or they had simply lost him. They had returned to the Pembridge in the obo van and remained in situ to see if Bentley returned, but by 3 a.m. he hadn’t and they were told to stand down by Bradfield.

Bradfield lit a cigarette. ‘From now on the surveillance on John and Clifford Bentley will be round the clock, with three to four per vehicle and static points so you can take turns catching some kip during the night.’

He also informed them a team was already out watching the Bentley flat and another out at Allard Street where Daniel Mitcham lived with his wife and two kids in a terraced council house. Even though they had as yet no sighting of Mitcham, he had a close relationship with Bentley so Bradfield was covering all possibilities.

An officer asked if it was known where John Bentley’s van was now and Bradfield told him it was not in the vicinity of the Kingsmead or Pembridge and could be in a rented garage or lock-up somewhere, but it was hoped surveillance would resolve the problem.

‘There is another man we believe to be involved, a Greek immigrant called Silas Manatos. Unfortunately he has no criminal record so we don’t as yet have a picture of him, but we hope a surveillance team will soon.’

He walked over to the street drawing taped to the wall and indicated each building as he continued. ‘Manatos runs this café in Great Eastern Street, which is right next door to the Trustee Savings Bank and may be the possible target for a break-in via the basement of the café and into the bank vault. Right now we have no firm evidence, witnesses or informants who have seen or heard anything suspicious. Reality is, ladies and gents, I’m acting on a gut feeling due to circumstantial evidence over Silas’s lease of the café. He’s having refurbishment work done, but the premises are due to be knocked down soon. I strongly believe that the target is the TSB; however, it could be any bank, or even a jeweller’s, anywhere in London.’

Everybody looked at each other, surprised how vast an area they could be looking at, but Bradfield reassured them that if he was right about John Bentley then the surveillance teams should not only help to identify the other members of the gang, but lead them to the premises to be robbed.

DS Gibbs, sitting near to Bradfield, was uneasy. ‘We’re going on a lot of “assumption”. We could have the wrong location,’ he said.

‘Yeah, I know I have to consider that, but these guys are obviously up to something and we just have to step up the surveillance. I am going to talk to the manager of our suspected target today. Morgan, you can come with me, but I don’t want anything that gives away that we are on to them as it will make them back off and then we’ll have nothing.’

He then asked Jane to get back to Ashley Brennan and ask if he had picked up any further conversations overnight. She said she would call him straight after the meeting.

Kath saw a mug shot of David Bentley in amongst the papers Bradfield had placed on the desk and picked it up. He looked very young and from the arrest date on the photo she could see it was taken many years ago, but it was interesting that he had fair hair.

‘Excuse me, sir, but the bloke in the van with John Bentley, could it have been his younger brother David?’ she suggested, handing him the picture.

‘I thought about that, Kath, in fact I nicked him years ago and this photo of him was taken in a hospital. He fell off a roof nicking lead and the doctors said he’d be a cripple for life and only be able to get around in a wheelchair so I doubt he’d be able to serve any useful role in a bank job.’

Jane raised her hand and Bradfield asked what she wanted.

‘I’m pretty sure I saw David a week or so ago. He was walking behind the wheelchair, sort of using it as a support. Some young lad upset him and he reacted pretty quickly.’

‘Is there anyone in that family you don’t know, Tennison?’ DS Gibbs remarked.

Bradfield frowned at him and then looked at Jane. ‘Come on, pretty sure or sure?’

‘Well, he was with a woman who I know to be Renee Bentley and he looks like an older version of his mug shot, his hair is much longer.’

Bradfield asked the surveillance officers if he looked similar to the man who was with John Bentley in the van and they both said he did.

‘So if he can stand up he could act as a lookout,’ Bradfield said and paused to think for a second before looking at the surveillance officers. ‘I don’t think Bentley sussed you tailing him. Where exactly was the car park he drove into?’

‘The multistorey one in Great Eastern Street,’ the officer replied.

‘The one opposite the café and bank?’ Bradfield asked.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You’d get a 360 view from the very top so I’d say it’s the perfect spot for a lookout to see what’s coming from every direction. John Bentley could have dropped his brother off on the top floor. You most likely couldn’t find his van because it would only take him thirty seconds or so to park up in the yard behind the café and close the gates.’

There was a buzz in the room as everyone realized Bradfield could be right. Kath mentioned that from the tape it sounded like a patrolling uniform officer had been spotted by the lookout when arresting a drunk.

‘Maybe it’s worth trying to find out who it was, guv.’

‘Good thinking, Kath. Spence, check with uniform downstairs and with City of London Police as their patch borders the area. If the officer’s actions fit with the information “Eagle” relayed over the walkie-talkie then there’s even stronger evidence it’s the right location.’

‘We hope. There are other banks in that area with cafés nearby or next to them,’ Gibbs remarked.

Bradfield gave him a disapproving look and one of the detectives suggested a night-time raid on the café to catch them in the act.

Bradfield shook his head. ‘No, not at the moment. I want to keep up the surveillance and identify John Bentley’s team. We don’t know if they only go into the café on certain nights, so we need to sit, wait and watch first. By rushing it we risk blowing the whole operation and the Bentleys walking away scot-free.’

Gibbs sighed. ‘But if Bentley sussed the surveillance team then they’re already on to us, so a hit now might result in finding digging equipment, maps, the walkie-talkies or other incriminating evidence before they get a chance to dispose of it.’

Bradfield ignored him and took out some papers from his file and pinned them to the cork board.

‘This is a list of the teams I want you to work in and it also details the street position each obo van and vehicle should take up. Obviously I need to find surveillance premises in Great Eastern Street, but that’s not going to be easy if the car park is Bentley’s lookout point. Now let’s get out there, gather the evidence and build a watertight case to get these bastards put away for a long time. Are there any questions?’

The officers in the room looked at each other. He knew that there would be some that disagreed with his decisions and others who agreed with DS Gibbs, but as he expected no one argued with him. Everyone gathered round the list to see who they were working with. Bradfield leant over to Gibbs.

‘I’d like a word with you in my office.’

‘I’ll just contact City of London Police first and—’

‘Now, Spence,’ Bradfield said firmly and picked up his folder.

Gibbs followed Bradfield into his office where he slammed the file down on the desk and turned sharply.

‘Why are you being so negative and challenging my authority, Spence?’

‘I’m not...’

‘You were questioning my decisions and pulling faces in the meeting and I won’t have it, especially not in front of junior officers,’ he shouted and paced up and down the room.

Gibbs could see he was really pissed off.

‘If it looked or sounded like that then I apologize, but all I’m trying to do is point out that you’re working on assumptions and no hard evidence. I’m worried you’re making things fit because it suits your thoughts on the investigation.’

‘Oh do you really! Well, thank you for that, but I know what I’m doing. And one other thing: lay off Jane Tennison about the Bentleys. You know as well as I do she’s not in with any criminals or taking backhanders like some I could name in that CID office. If she hadn’t met the mother by chance then we wouldn’t have had anything to go on.’

‘You’re being a bit overprotective.’

‘What?’

‘Well, seems to me that maybe your judgement’s a bit off because you have the hots for her. I mean no offence.’

‘I do take fuckin’ offence, Spence. She’s got the makings of a good copper — and don’t forget she was prepared to back your corner when you smacked the shit out of Terry O’Duncie.

‘I fucking lied for you, so you owe me and I expect you to back me up over this Bentley thing from now on. Find that PC their lookout saw with the drunk, and see if we can get a light aircraft or military ’copter to fly over the café today to get some aerial snaps of the rear yard.’

Jane changed into plain clothes before an officer drove her to the Pembridge Estate. Having never been on surveillance before she was quite excited, and knew she could learn a lot from the other officer, who was a surveillance specialist. She was dropped off around the corner from the obo van, which had been painted to look as though it was a wholesale fruit and veg delivery van. She approached it, remembering what she had been told to do. She scanned the vicinity to make sure it was all clear before standing by the rear offside wheel and knocking on the side of the van: two short taps, three, then another two. The officer inside opened one rear door and she darted into the back.

The sudden impact of the smell nearly made her sick. It was a mixture of stale sweat, beer, cigarettes and urine. The interior of the old transit van was dimly lit by the square-light inlet in the roof. Jane could see it was pretty basic — two rickety wooden benches with storage space under them ran along either side, and on top were the same thin, tatty stained mattresses and blankets that prisoners used. At the far end was a little stool beside a small desk with a newspaper on it, a torch hanging on a nail from the side. Above it was a police radio, microphone and headset which he held to one ear as he leaned forward and peered through one of the spy holes.

‘Welcome to the Hackney Hilton, luv, and next time don’t come with your job handbag — sticks out like a sore thumb that you’re a plonk,’ he said, using the derogatory term she detested. He then rolled the newspaper into a ball and tossed it towards a cardboard box holding rubbish. Next to it were two old beer bottles and he pointed to them, grinning. ‘Men’s piss bottles. We got an empty milk carton somewhere for the ladies, though.’

Jane was mortified.

‘I’m DC Stanley, and believe me I’ve been cooped up in a lot worse. I was jokin’ about the milk carton. We nip out if there’s no one about, or lift the flap in the floor there and pee on the road. As you can smell, some officers’ aim isn’t too good.’

‘I couldn’t see the spy holes from the outside.’

‘Well, that’s the idea, luv. This one I’m at is part of an apple stalk, other side is a pear, back door’s potatoes and the air vent on the frame lets you see out the front.’

‘I thought it would all be a lot more high tech.’

‘This is the Old Bill, luv, not James Bond or MI5. I came straight here from a different overnight job so I’m knackered and me neck’s killing me. You can take over and eyeball the estate. If you see any of the targets, let me know and I’ll nip in the front and drive,’ he said, showing her the small sliding door to the front of the van.

She sat on the stool and peered through the hole; it was very uncomfortable as she had to crane her neck and keep her head up to see properly. Stanley lay down on the bench, dragged a blanket over himself, and closed his eyes. Jane knew there was no way she would be able to sit monitoring the estate in the same position for hours. She reached for her shoulder bag, took out her powder compact mirror, opened it and held it by the spy hole.

‘If that worked do you think I would sit on that stool in the same position for hours?’ Stanley said and pulled the blanket over his head.

Jane felt embarrassed and dropped the compact back in her bag.

Clifford Bentley was nursing a hangover whilst having a bath and John and David were still asleep. He hadn’t returned home until after midnight and had been very drunk. Renee knew from experience that he could be volatile and violent when he had been drinking, so she had pretended to be asleep as he fell into the bed beside her.

No one, apart from her, had eaten any of the liver, peas and mash she had cooked the previous evening and left out in a tin-foil-covered serving dish. ‘What a waste,’ she said to herself as she tipped it into the rubbish bin.

She heard David coughing loudly and went to listen outside his bedroom door, where it sounded even worse. She inched the door open. The curtains were closed and he was gasping for breath, his chest rattling as he coughed.

‘You want me to bring you a cup of tea or hot toddy, dear?’

‘No, I’m OK,’ he said, sounding terrible.

She could see he was sweating profusely and went over to feel his head. He was very hot and she realized he was running a high temperature. He didn’t seem to have the strength to argue, so she fetched a bowl of cold water, rinsed out a cloth and sat down on his bed, gently dabbing his forehead. She opened his bedside cabinet and took out a jar of Vicks VapoRub. After unbuttoning his pyjama top she rubbed some into his chest.

‘You got a terrible cold and chest infection. I’ve been warning you to rest because I know you take after me. My asthma is shocking and if I get a cold as well then it always goes straight to me chest.’

David kept his eyes closed. He felt really ill and didn’t have the strength to ask her to leave him alone. She kept on rinsing the cloth in the water and placing it across his brow. She jumped up when she heard Clifford’s voice.

‘I didn’t like the look of that congealed mess you left out last night, and I’m starving now. I’ll have some bacon and eggs with fried bread and a mug of tea.’

‘Can’t you see David’s sick? Listen to him trying to get his breath — he’s got a temperature and I think we need to call the doctor out. God only knows what time he and John came home this morning.’

Clifford stepped forward and nudged the bed with his foot.

‘David, are you all right, son? What’s the matter with you? Is she fussing over you too much?’

David barely managed to nod, he felt so weak, then Clifford grabbed Renee’s arm tightly, ushering her out the room.

‘Just leave him be and get me some breakfast,’ he said, pushing her into the kitchen and shutting the door before going to John’s room. John was snoring and in a deep sleep so Clifford shook the bed and waited for him to wake up.

‘Listen, our David’s sick.’

John yawned. ‘I know, he was in a really bad way this morning when we got back.’

‘Are you workin’ tonight?’

John moaned and sat up. ‘We’ve hit a couple of obstacles and it’s taking longer than I thought. Me, Danny and Silas are knackered. We’ve worked our bollocks off and need a night’s break. Besides, there’s no way David will be up to it this evening.’

‘What obstacles?’

‘We reached more embedded iron bars. There was a brick wall behind them which we thought would take us into the vault area. Danny cut the bars with the oxyacetylene and when we removed the bricks we’d reached the vault’s concrete base.’

‘Sounds like it’s all goin’ well to me.’

‘It was, until we discovered the concrete was reinforced with thick wire mesh.’

‘So what you’re tellin’ me is the fuckin’ job is going to take longer than planned.’

‘Yeah, we now gotta focus on making the hole wide and deep enough to crawl through with the Kango drills and large wire cutters so we can cut through the concrete and mesh.’

Clifford kept his voice low. ‘You should keep pressing on, John, but I can see you’re knackered. I’ll stand in for David tomorrow night if he’s not better, you go get some more sleep.’

Clifford shut the door and went to get his breakfast. Passing David’s room he could hear the rasping cough. He’d be a liability as a lookout, and it felt good to Clifford that he’d be taking over.

Bradfield and Kath had a midday meeting with the portly and pompous bank manager of the TSB, Mr Adrian Dunbar, who wore a pinstriped suit, red-silk bow tie and matching handkerchief sticking out of his breast pocket. He had a slight lisp and was shocked when given the reason for the detectives’ visit. He said that no one who had come to the bank had been acting suspiciously and there had been no reports of suspicious sounds of any kind, be it machinery or hammering. He was very confident and was not in any way overly concerned.

‘The vault is on a timer and can only be opened during banking hours. Just the assistant manager and I know the code, and if you get it wrong twice it triggers the alarms. In addition, any attempt to cut through the steel vault will cause an inner vibration which will set the alarm off and cause an iron shutter to come down between the outer entry door and the vault itself, making it impossible to exit.’

Bradfield and Kath were shown the vault area. The massive steel door with the big locking wheel in its centre was certainly impressive.

‘As you can see it is impenetrable. The vault is fireproof and airtight, and the air conditioning is turned on automatically when the door is correctly opened.’

‘Well, someone managed to break into the bank in Baker Street a couple of years ago and it was a similar setup.’

‘I am aware of that, Detective, and so were the people who built the vault and installed the security for this bank and I can assure you it is not a similar set-up. Our vault is, as I said, impenetrable. This steel wall is twelve inches thick.’ Dunbar slapped the palm of his hand against it.

‘Well, I hear you loud and clear, Mr Dunbar, but isn’t there a possibility that even with all this high-level security the robbers could be intending to come up beneath the vault?’

Mr Dunbar laughed and dismissed the possibility, saying that when the rebuilding was commissioned they had laid thick wire-meshed concrete and the steel floor was inches thick. Kath glanced at the disappointed Bradfield as it really did appear they had the wrong bank. Even when asked about the contents secured in the vault Mr Dunbar was less than forthcoming and said that over four hundred customers used the facility due to the impressive security measures. His pomposity hardly flagged when he said that the bank took every precaution with regard to their customers’ property and the whole point of the vault was privacy. Each client had a key to their personal secure box and the bank held a second key — both keys were required to open the box. A log book had to be signed and dated by the customer before permission was granted for them to remove and view the contents of their box in private. They would then take it out of the vault and into a small secure room where they could view their valuables, or if they wished to simply place an item in a box there was a table inside the vault to use. A member of staff was always present outside the room, and as the bank manager Dunbar would try and deal with the customers personally.

‘Can you tell us what the deposit boxes contain?’ Kath asked.

‘I don’t know, they are private, but I imagine it more than likely money, jewellery, antiques, private letters and wills.’

‘Could you show us inside the vault, please, Mr Dunbar?’ she asked.

‘I suppose so, but this is all very irregular. Would you both please turn your backs while I press the code to disable the alarm.’

Bradfield glanced at Kath tight-lipped: it was as if the odious little man didn’t trust them.

Dunbar pressed in his entry code to the vault and began to turn the wheel. There were sounds of heavy-duty clicking and beeping before he was able to ease the massive iron door open with the assistance of Bradfield. Kath was transfixed as she looked around the inside of the pristine shiny vault. She’d never seen anything like it before and could understand why Dunbar was rather arrogant about the security. In the enclosed vault his voice echoed and the shiny steel floor made their footsteps resound. There was row upon row of deposit boxes, whose locks and handles glinted in the bright overhead lights. Dunbar assumed a superior attitude, holding both arms aloft as he pointed to the array of precious locked items. There was a large steel safe built into the side almost two feet in height and width, with a locking number dial on it.

‘Excuse me, sir, there appears to be another safe within the vault. What does that contain?’

Dunbar explained the contents belonged to a member of the Saudi Arabian royal family who had paid for it to be built in for his personal belongings.

Bradfield shook Mr Dunbar’s hand, thanking him for his time and patience. It seemed that they were mistaken about the TSB being the target and he apologized for troubling him.

Bradfield looked at Kath as they got in the car.

‘You reckon he’s a woofter?’

‘Who?’ Kath asked.

‘Dunbar. It’s the red bow tie and hanky. They say woofters use hankies as a gay code and he spoke like he had something stuck up his arse.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Kath replied, shaking her head.

Jane ached all over. No one had entered or left the Bentleys’ flat, and sitting hunched up looking through a small hole for hours had given her a cricked neck and terrible headache.

She sat back and stretched as Stanley, who had snored for nearly three hours, stirred himself. She physically jumped when the rear door of the van was knocked on in the standard coded manner.

Stanley scuttled to the double doors to look in a gap of the blacked-out window, then opened one door for Bradfield to jump inside.

‘Jesus Christ, Stanley, it stinks in here! Dear God, don’t you ever toss out your rotting food?’

‘Listen, I was in a static op last night and collected the van from the drug squad this morning, so it ain’t all my mess. Nothing has moved all day, so we don’t even know if the targets are in their flat — and I need a leak,’ he said, leaning over to lift up the hatch for the pee hole.

Bradfield put his foot on the hatch. ‘Not in here, it stinks enough. You can go and stretch your legs and get a bite to eat, Stanley, discreetly — as only an officer so highly trained and skilled as yourself can do!’

‘Very funny, guv,’ Stanley said, and pulled on a donkey jacket. ‘You and Tennison want anything?’ he asked.

Bradfield said he was only paying a flying visit and Jane asked if she could have a cheese sandwich and a bottle of water.

Stanley crouched at the back doors and waited for Jane and Bradfield to give the all-clear before jumping out.

Bradfield sat on the bench close to Jane who was still keeping observation on the Bentleys’ flat, unsure what to say or why he had come. He sat with his raincoat buttoned up and lit a cigarette.

‘How long have you been here?’ he asked.

‘Nearly three hours.’

‘I’d say punishment enough.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Time spent in this dilapidated stink-hole van is punishment. And in case you’re wondering, fuck all has happened at any of the observation points and it’s looking like we got the wrong bank.’

‘You make it sound as if it’s my fault.’

‘We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t put John Bentley in the frame. Ashley Brennan’s heard nothing further on his poxy radio, and we have nothing suspicious occurring at Silas’s café.’

‘Maybe Bentley realized he was being tailed and called it off.’

‘Even if he hadn’t they’d need a fucking atomic bomb to blast open the bank vault. According to the pompous prat of a bank manager it is completely impenetrable with a massive concrete and steel base and James Bond shutters to lock in any intruder.’

She stared out from the peephole, trying hard not to show how distressed she was that he appeared to be blaming her.

‘I only met him once, but I still believe it was John Bentley’s voice on the tape. If you want me to change my mind, or suggest it has been my fault then—’

‘Fault?’ he snapped, interrupting her. ‘I’m here because I don’t want you to take any flack. If we have the wrong bank then that’s down to me, but we both know something is going down and I have a gut feeling—’

‘That I’m right?’

‘Not about that — my gut tells me that we’re close but time is running out, and if they are planning to rob a bank we may have screwed up because we’ve concentrated on Silas’s café.’

Jane turned to face him, watching as he sighed, rubbed his hair and shrugged his shoulders.

‘You must be exhausted,’ she said.

‘Yeah, but I just wanted you to know that you might have to stand up for yourself when the Chief Super gets the update. They always want someone to blame and this has cost more than a few quid getting in all the extra officers — but the reality is it’s down to me, and my decision. You acted in good faith, I’ve acted on impulse.’

She turned back to the peephole, trying to think of the right thing to say.

‘When Stanley gets back tell him to give it until 6 p.m. and get another team to take over from you.’

He moved along the bench so he was behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder. It was not in any way premeditated, but she felt her body lean back against him. He gently moved his hand to stroke her hair.

‘You’ve got a lovely-shaped head.’

She laughed, turned and looked at him. ‘Thank you.’

‘What’s so funny?’

‘Well, you sort of pay the oddest compliments and sometimes I am not sure how to take them. You said I have nice teeth, but you always seem to be critical of me, snapping that elastic band for me to tie my hair back, “Take your hat off”, “Put it back on”, you confuse me.’

‘Ah well, all you need to know is that...’ He hesitated.

‘Know what?’

‘That I have wanted to do this.’ He tilted her chin up, leaned forward and kissed her. It was such a sweet, gentle kiss and Jane was completely taken aback.

‘So now you know that my compliments were heartfelt. I have no notion how you feel, and I may be making a total arse of myself, so you don’t have to say anything.’

She wanted to put her arms around him. She had an overwhelming desire to hold him tightly and tilt her head up for him to kiss her again, but she felt nervous. So she covered her embarrassment by peering through her peephole pressing her flushed face against the cold sides of the van.

‘Wait — Renee Bentley is coming out of her flat.’

Bradfield leaned closer to her and Jane moved her head to one side so that he could look.

‘She’s a wily old lady, and reared a nasty son of a bitch in John, never mind being married to one as well. But I doubt she’s going to be handling a sledgehammer and helping break into a bank.’

Her face almost touched his as she suggested that she should get out and follow.

‘You can do, but keep your distance as she might recognize you. I’ll wait for Stanley to return.’

Jane snatched her coat, grabbed her bag and Bradfield eased open the van doors to let her out. As she stepped out into the fresh air she had to catch her breath. She felt nervous and her heart was pounding. She could hardly believe what had just happened. She calmed herself down but couldn’t keep the smile off her face.