Tennison

Chapter twenty-five

Renee walked slowly as she made her way along Chatsworth Road, which was lined with shops and market stalls displaying a colourful array of fresh fruit, vegetables, bread and cakes. The sound of traders shouting out the price of their wares in Cockney accents filled the busy street. Jane was able to follow Renee at a safe distance and used some stall-browsing as cover whenever Renee stopped to look at something. Eventually Renee went into an Indian shop. Hesitant, Jane looked through the window from the street. She could see Renee walking between tall aisles of tinned food towards the post office counter at the far end of the shop. Jane decided to go in, and seeing the stack of baskets by the door she picked one up. She moved quickly to stand behind one of the shelves and was able to watch Renee from a round convex mirror placed high in the corner of the shop. Working behind the post office grille was an Indian man wearing a black turban. Renee waited while he served another woman. Jane moved a bit closer.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Bentley,’ the Indian man said as Renee approached the counter.

‘Can I ask you somethin’, Mr Singh?’ Renee spoke loudly, bending towards the grille and sliding him her pension book.

‘You certainly can.’

‘Me son said some £5 notes won’t be legal come September and I can’t use ’em. Is that right?’

Jane saw Mr Singh smile, but was unable to hear his response as a woman and two noisy children demanding sweets were now standing beside her. She moved closer to listen, but Mr Singh was counting out Renee’s pension money which he then handed over and she placed it in her handbag.

‘Do you have any travel magazines for Florida, that’s in America?’ Renee asked Mr Singh.

He said he wasn’t sure as his wife dealt with all the magazines, but there might be something on the racks by the door. If not, a travel agent’s would be the best place. Jane had to turn her back as Renee walked towards her. Renee then went to the magazine rack and spent five minutes looking through it before going to the till where she asked Mrs Singh for some cough medicine and aspirins as well as some cigarettes and a packet of Maltesers. Renee paid then left the shop. Jane could see Mrs Singh looking at her suspiciously as if she was a shoplifter, so she bought a large bar of chocolate before hurrying out.

Renee went back to the estate, and as Jane returned to the surveillance van she saw Stanley and approached him.

‘What’s happening? Are you following someone?’

‘No, but if I was you’d probably have just blown my cover by carrying your police bag.’

‘I’m sorry, I forgot what we were doing,’ an embarrassed Jane replied.

‘Think of it as a lesson learned. We’ve been relieved for the day, two other officers have taken over for the next shift. Sorry, but I left your cheese sandwich and drink in the van.’

Jane smiled. ‘It’s OK, I’m not hungry.’

‘How’d the tail on Renee Bentley go?’

‘Nothing unusual. She just did a bit of shopping,’ Jane replied, but inwardly she was puzzled by what she had overheard. She wondered if there was any connection regarding the £5 notes and the request for a travel magazine for Florida.

Having got the bus back to the station Jane was finishing typing up her surveillance report when Kath walked in.

‘Well, there’s nothing going on at any of the surveillance points. Chief Super’s just been in and according to Gibbs he gave Bradfield a real pastin’ about the cost of the operation. Between you and me, cos I saw the TSB vault, there is a big possibility we’ve been focusing on the wrong effing bank.’

‘But it doesn’t make sense. It is right next to a café’ — she gestured to the pinned-up mug shots — ‘and the Bentleys are obviously up to something.’

‘Bradfield’s got a couple of guys checking out other banks and jewellers’ in close proximity to cafés, but it might not even be connected to the Bentleys. The taped calls could be coming from God knows who or where.’

Jane sighed. ‘I’m sure it was John Bentley’s voice.’ But in reality she was now beginning to doubt herself.

‘Well, I believe you, but don’t get your knickers in a twist about it. As it is we can nick him for ringing a van with false plates, no insurance and probably a forged tax disc.’

‘But we don’t even know where he keeps the van yet, and they’re just minor offences really.’

‘All part of the game, Jane — you win some, you lose some.’

Jane sighed and went back to typing her report as Kath leaned over her shoulder to read it.

‘That’s interesting — Ma Bentley enquiring about illegal fivers and travel to the States. I wouldn’t mind getting some sun in Florida, but chance’d be a fine thing.’

Jane was about to add that travel to the US was expensive and not something she thought any of the Bentleys could afford, when suddenly Kath burst out laughing.

DS Gibbs was there in full uniform, his police helmet under his arm.

‘Evenin’ all,’ Kath said, squatting down then standing up with her hands behind her back. Jane wondered if he had been sent back to uniform due to the O’Duncie assault incident.

Gibbs shook his finger. ‘Haw haw, very funny, Morgan. Bradfield wants me to visit Silas’s café dressed like a plod on the pretext that Mannie Charles’ shop got broken into and I’m makin’ local enquiries. This bloody helmet’s too small,’ he said, and put it on.

Kath laughed again. ‘You might get a free moussaka and sticky cake, Spence. Do you want someone to go with you? Cos my uniform’s downstairs.’

‘Bradfield’s already lined up Sergeant “Happy” Harris to go with me. You two completed your reports yet?’ he asked, and they both said yes.

He told them to book off duty and turned to leave the room causing the helmet to fall from his head. ‘Bloody thing.’ As he bent down to pick it up Kath goosed him and he shot up.

‘Very funny, Morgan, keep yer hands to yourself.’

‘You should tell some of the blokes at the station to do the same. I’ve been touched up more times than you’ve had hot dinners.’

Returning to the section house Jane was eager to have a bath after being hunched up for hours in the stinking surveillance van. She hadn’t seen Bradfield at the station and was concerned about his dressing down by the Chief. She also wondered how she was going to react when she saw him after what had occurred between them. Just thinking about it made her smile.

As she passed the sergeant’s office she noticed the door was open. He got up and approached her with a stern look on his face. She was beginning to wonder if he and Sergeant Harris came from the same mould.

‘Your mother has rung three times this afternoon. She’s upset you haven’t made contact to let her know how you’ve settled in. I was in two minds whether to tell her about your indiscretion on the men’s floor—’

‘You didn’t, did you?’ Jane asked.

‘No, she sounded worried enough as it was. Neither I nor the wardens are an answer service. We only take urgent family calls to residents, so kindly inform your mother of the rules,’ he said, returning to his office and closing the door.

Deciding she’d better call home straightaway, Jane went to the payphone at the end of the corridor opposite the lifts. She dialled her parents’ number and hearing the answer beeps pushed in a few 2p coins.

‘About time, Jane — Daddy and I have been worried sick. We appreciate you must be busy but you promised to call and you haven’t, so we’ve been really anxious.’

‘How did you get this number?’

‘I called the station and they put me through to the incident room. That lovely Mr Bradfield answered the phone and said you’d been in an oboe van all day and had gone off duty. What were you doing in a van?’

Jane felt embarrassed wondering what Bradfield must have made of the call. ‘It’s an obo van, Mum, short for “observation”. And they don’t appreciate personal calls to the station or here.’

‘Are you coming home for Sunday lunch?’

‘I’m not sure if I’m clear this weekend as I’m still on attachment to the CID.’

‘Well, surely you’re allowed a weekend off? Pam will be here — they had a terrible time in the Lake District. It poured with rain and that MGB broke down so they had to hire another car.’

‘Oh I’m sorry. Uncle Brian should cover their costs.’

‘Well, they weren’t paying for the car — turns out it was his wedding present to them. But he had to get a truck to go and pick it up — the rear suspension thingy went.’

‘Mum, I’m going to have to go as I’ve got a lot of studying to do for CTC.’

‘Will you try and come for lunch on Sunday? We miss you.’

‘I miss you too, and I’ll let you know. Is Dad OK?’

‘Oh he’s fine. He worries about you, and we haven’t seen you for so long.’

‘It’s only been a few days, Mum, and I’ve been really busy.’

‘What have you been doing?’

Jane sighed. There was no way she could go into any kind of description of what she’d been involved in, and was thankful when the ‘pip, pip, pip’ started.

‘Got to go now — I’ll call about lunch.’

‘Bye bye, and make sure you do or I’ll have to phone you again.’

The call was cut off and as Jane replaced the receiver she felt a tap on her shoulder.

‘Hi! It’s me, Sarah Redhead. Can I borrow some 10ps from you? I’m totally out of change and have to call my brother urgently.’

Jane gave her five 10ps and eight 2ps from her purse.

‘Thanks, June, probably won’t need all this and I’ll pay you back as soon as. Maybe have a drink in the pub later?’

‘Yes, maybe,’ Jane replied, but had no intention of going.

She looked at her watch: it was 8 p.m., and last orders in the canteen were at half past seven. She was so tired she couldn’t even be bothered to pop out to get a takeaway and replacing her purse in her bag saw the bar of chocolate she’d purchased when following Renee Bentley. Opening it she broke off a large chunk and began to eat it as she got the lift to the women’s floor. What had started out as a positive day had now become a worrying one. She knew that if she was wrong about John Bentley there could be repercussions for Bradfield. It mattered to Jane that she was right. Not just for her sake but Bradfield’s as well as she realized how much she cared for him.

Gibbs got into ‘plod’ mode; he was almost in step as he walked side by side with the much taller and wider Harris. They were heading along Great Eastern Street just before 8 p.m. and the area was quiet with few pedestrians or vehicles.

‘Can’t wait to hear what Silas has to say for himself,’ Gibbs said.

‘Do you know what he looks like as there may be a few bubbles in there,’ Harris asked as they reached the café. Spencer smiled, knowing ‘bubble and squeak’ was Cockney rhyming slang for ‘Greek’. He said he had a full description of Silas from Mannie Charles and shaded his eyes to peer into the darkened café between the posters.

‘There’s a light on at the back so somebody‘s probably in,’ he remarked, and banged on the door.

It was a minute or two before the interior light came on. Silas slowly inched open the door. He’d seen them from an upstairs window and his heart was pounding.

‘Yes, officers, how can I help you? You wanna a tea or coffee perhaps?’

‘No thanks. Can we come in, Mr...?’ Gibbs started to ask and deliberately paused to let him answer.

‘Manatos, Silas Manatos,’ he replied nervously as he stepped back to let them through.

Gibbs noticed the serving counter was covered in dust yet the coffee machine was clean, as were the cups and saucers stacked beside it.

‘How’s business?’ he asked.

‘Not so good ever since council tore down the old housing across road to build that multistorey car park. I lose much trade, but I get by and have some regulars still, early morning, but afternoons quiet.’

Spencer nodded and jerked his hand towards the door.

‘Saw the refurbishing notice on the window — you hoping a new look might help bring a few more punters in?’

‘I was gonna make area to eat downstairs, then open evenings as well to serve nice real Greek meze food. I start work and someone tell council. They tell me stop, cos I have no right to do dat even though I lease the place.’

‘Sorry to hear that,’ Gibbs said.

‘The builder I hire to do work not happy. I say stop and he keep pesterin’ me for money for all materials he bought. I think he is, how you say, cowboy, right?’

Harris stood looking around, and then removed his helmet. ‘You live here, Mr Manatos?’

‘Yes, upstairs.’

‘Alone?’

‘My wife an’ kids already return to Greece as business poor. I gonna go over permanent soon as the council agrees how much I’m gonna get for what’s left on my lease. Did they send you to tell me I gotta leave?’

Gibbs gave him a reassuring smile. ‘No, we’re here because there was a break-in at the tailor’s shop. They tried the hardware store as well, but ran off when we arrived.’

‘This happen tonight?’ Silas asked, looking surprised.

‘Yeah, looks like kids nicking petty cash from the till. They got in and out via the back way. Did you hear anything?’

‘No, I hear nothing.’

‘It looks like they climbed over the adjoining walls. You mind if we check your yard?’ Harris asked.

‘Sure, lemme get the keys. But I telling you I don’t hear or see nothing.’

Sweating, Silas made a show of searching around the counter and then brought out a set of keys on a large ring.

‘Door is at back, I show you.’

Harris and Gibbs followed him.

‘Mind if I use your toilet?’ Gibbs asked, and Silas told him it was in the corner of the eating area.

Gibbs stepped out of view. Hearing them go into the yard, he nipped behind the serving counter and opened the door which, as he’d guessed, led down to a basement. He pulled out the torch he’d brought with him, shone it on the steep stairs and slowly made his way down. The cellar smelt damp, and as he shone the torch round he could see the far wall was lined with freshly painted plasterboard. In one corner there were two ladders, some stacked tables and chairs and on the floor were pots of paint, paintbrushes and a couple of old buckets. A white dust sheet caught Gibbs’s attention. Lifting it back slowly he saw two differently sized gas tanks on a metal trolley with pressure gauges and rubber tubes attached to them.

In the yard Harris flicked on his police-issue torch. Shining it at Silas’s face he noticed the Greek man was sweating more profusely than before. Looking around Harris saw there were stacks of bricks piled up on one side of the yard, and several sacks filled with soil were propped up against the wall.

‘That lot belong to the builders, do they?’ he asked Silas.

‘Uh, yes, I also ask them to build raised areas with small brick wall and fill with soil so I can grow my own herbs and spices for meze. Now that all a waste of time as well,’ he said, wiping his forehead with his shirtsleeve.

‘I doubt they would have come over your wall,’ Spencer said, joining them. He then pointed to the building to the left of the café and shone his torch on it.

‘I see next door have built an extension in their yard; they competition for you?’

‘Na, is part of new bank that open a few years ago. They build reinforced extension for vault area, terrible noise and filth for months.’

Gibbs grinned. ‘The kids will be having a crack at that next.’

Silas let out what was clearly a nervous and fake laugh as he led them back into the café serving area.

Gibbs and Harris thanked Silas for his time as he let them out and locked the door behind them. They walked back to the panda car parked round the corner and got in. As he drove them back to the station Harris told Gibbs about the bricks and soil in the yard and the spice and herb story Silas came out with.

Gibbs smiled. ‘They ain’t painting and decorating down there. All the brushes are dry and I saw remnants of soil in the buckets, also there were two gas tanks down there.’

‘What sort of gas?’

‘One was an oxygen tank and the other something called acetylene... whatever that is.’

Harris whistled. ‘You mix the two together in a blow torch so you can cut through metal.’

‘As all painters need to!’ Gibbs exclaimed cynically and did a drum roll on the dashboard.

‘What do you reckon to Silas then?’ Harris asked.

Spencer loosened his tie, unbuttoned the uniform jacket and sat back. ‘The Greek’s a detective’s delight. He had a rehearsed answer for everything, sweated like a pig and was shitting himself.’

It was almost 9 p.m. and Jane was in her pyjamas, about to go to bed after a long hot bath. She was just brushing her teeth when there was a knock on her door.

‘Hey there, it’s Sarah again. I’ve got the money I owe you.’

Jane was surprised Sarah hadn’t said her surname as usual. She held out her hand as Sarah plonked a bag full of 1p and 2p pieces into it, apologizing and saying she’d had to raid her penny jar.

‘Also, your DCI is in the quiet room and needs to speak to you again, but the old buzzard is patrolling as usual, so if you do go down I’d put some clothes on.’

Jane dressed quickly and gave herself a quick spray of Miss Dior perfume before hurrying downstairs, but Bradfield was not in the quiet room, so she tried the TV lounges and the snooker room, with no luck. She was just heading along the ground-floor corridor to walk over to the pub when she heard him call ‘Jane’ from behind her.

‘Sarah Redhead said you were in the quiet room — has something happened?’

‘I was, but I popped to the gents. There’s nothing new to tell you about the case. I just wanted your company, and to talk.’

There was an embarrassing silence as neither of them seemed to know what to say. Bradfield had obviously showered and changed and was now wearing jeans and a T-shirt.

‘Would you like a drink in the pub?’

She hesitated, and then he leaned towards her and took her hand.

‘This was a bad idea, sorry. You go back to your room and I’ll see you in the morning.’

She gripped his hand tightly. He lifted it to his lips and kissed her fingers.

‘Do you want to risk coming to my room?’

She nodded. He released her hand and looked up and down the corridor.

‘I’m on floor two, number 20. Use the stairs, I’ll go up in the lift and check the coast is clear.’

She watched him get in the lift, waited a minute and then with her heart thudding in her chest hurried up the first flight of stairs. Turning to head up the next flight she panicked as she heard a flurry of footsteps. The petite blonde girl she had seen at the Harker lecture, and in the bathroom, walked through the swing doors from the men’s landing, put a comical finger to her lips and giggled.

Jane looked down the landing and saw Bradfield at the far end waving for her to come forward, so she ran the entire way and followed him to his room. He opened the door quickly, ushered her inside and as she turned to face him he embraced her in his arms and kissed her passionately. He lifted her up, gently laid her down on his single bed and positioned himself beside her, gently brushing her hair from her face.

‘I didn’t think you would come... you smell lovely.’

She gave a soft laugh. ‘I’m scared stiff, especially as the crabby section-house sergeant is on the prowl.’

Bradfield was very gentle, kissing her tenderly before he pulled off his T-shirt, and then unbuttoned her blouse. She had been in such a hurry to get dressed she hadn’t put a bra on and he sighed staring at her breasts before he bent down to kiss each nipple. Aroused, she pulled his head closer, moaning with pleasure. He looked up and grinned.

‘Shushhh!’ He put his hand over her lips. ‘You are so lovely... have you any idea how much I’ve wanted to hold you?’

He kept on kissing her and Jane felt as if she was flying. Then he took off her jeans, undressed himself and lay naked next to her. He remained so quiet and so loving that she gave herself to him, whispering that she loved kissing his cheeks, his eyes and his mouth. Jane was not completely sexually naive. She had been involved with a boy from college and had had a short relationship with one of the class instructors at training college. But she had never felt this way, or been so adored and cared for so tenderly. It had just been plain sex before, but this was different. After making love to her once he became rougher and more sexually explicit, whispering what he wanted her to do and how he wanted her to touch him. She found his sexual confidence encouraging and it made her lose all her inhibitions so that she enjoyed the sex and was satisfied in a way she had never believed possible.

Two hours later Jane watched as Bradfield opened the door and took a look up and down the corridor.

‘OK, it’s all clear. Goodnight...’

He tilted her chin up and kissed her as she eased past him and hurried towards the stairs to go to her room. She had just passed through the double doors when Gibbs stepped out of the lift and headed along the corridor and rapped on Bradfield’s door. Bradfield opened it fast with a beaming smile thinking it was Jane, but seeing Gibbs he reacted quickly to cover himself.

‘Christ, you woke me up.’ He yawned.

‘I just finished typing up my report — you want to go for a drink? The pub’s still open and I want to give you an update.’

‘Yeah sure, let me get my trousers on.’ Bradfield closed the door. He didn’t want to let Gibbs in in case he smelt Jane’s perfume.

Unaware of how close she had been to being discovered by Gibbs, Jane flung herself onto her bed. She felt happier and more contented than she could remember.

As they sat at a table drinking their pints, Gibbs explained to Bradfield what had taken place at the Greek café.

‘Although no one was working in the basement and no van was there I’m dead certain we’ve got the right café and bank, Len. The guy Silas was sweating and talking non-stop, making this and that excuse about having builders in, then having to give up on a rebuild in the cellar. The vault of the fucking bank is literally adjacent to his back-yard wall, he’s that close. There were loose bricks and soil bags in the yard — I reckon the bricks are from a hole they’ve made through a wall in the cellar and the plasterboard is used to conceal it when they ain’t working. The soil must have come from digging a hole under the vault. I’m bloody sure of it.’

Bradfield could feel his guts churning.

‘What about tools in the basement?’

Gibbs shrugged and said he didn’t see any spades or pickaxes, but they could be in the tunnel or hidden upstairs: he hadn’t wanted to spook Silas by asking to look up there. However, he was excited about what he had seen in the basement.

‘Although it looked like it was being done up, there was a gas cutting rig hidden under a dust sheet. It’s an extreme heat-cutting torch, and no way does a basic renovation need something like that. I checked it out — it can cut through metal and steel and it is real dangerous equipment if you don’t know what you’re doing.’

‘Fuck me,’ Bradfield said, draining his pint.

Gibbs picked up their empty glasses to get a refill but Bradfield stood up.

‘No, I want to get some shut-eye as it’s gonna be all systems go tomorrow. They’re definitely not through into the vault yet, and for some reason they’ve been having a rest day.’

‘Do you think they sussed the surveillance and called it off?’

‘No, otherwise Silas would have got rid of the gas tanks. Was he suspicious of you and Harris?’

‘Nervous, yes, but I reckon he believed me about the break-in. Besides, you primed Mannie Charles to say it was true if he was asked. Silas hasn’t got a pot to piss in and needs the money so I don’t even think he’ll tell Bentley we paid a visit as he was shitting himself.’

Bradfield patted Gibbs’s shoulder. ‘Good work, Spence. You get off home for some shut-eye. We beef up the surveillance from tomorrow, twenty-four hours non-stop for as long as it takes, if necessary.’

‘It was a good night, boss, huh?’ Gibbs said.

Bradfield smiled. ‘You have no idea just how good it was.’