Tennison

Chapter twenty-six

Detective Chief Superintendent Shaun Metcalf arrived at Hackney at 8 a.m. in a dour mood. Bradfield was in his office going over the reports and surveillance logs and the entire team was on tenterhooks. The DCS wanted a full update of the situation before agreeing to any further course of action.

Bradfield went over everything calmly and succinctly, detailing all the new information and evidence. The DCS remained tight-lipped and listened with his head slightly lowered, making it difficult to gauge whether or not he was going to sanction ‘Operation Hawk’. Metcalf looked over all the reports himself to make sure Bradfield was not exaggerating his case. Eventually he pulled at his nose, sniffed and slowly laid down the papers before getting up and pacing around the room deep in thought, leaving Bradfield still wondering what his decision would be. He stood by the window looking down onto the street below and eventually turned to face Bradfield.

‘You’ve got a green light, Len, but on one condition — I don’t want individual arrests made for a conspiracy to rob the bank. I don’t want a cock-up like that Lloyds Bank job where they never got the ringleader... I want those bastards caught on the job, inside, shovels in hand, while their lookout is in position as well. You nick them all together and the case is strong. Plus one or two of them might turn Queen’s Evidence against each other, especially the Greek as he seems likely to talk.’

‘Thank you, sir. It was always my intention to get them all bang to rights on the plot, and I’m very grateful you agree,’ Bradfield said as he stood up and shook Metcalf’s hand.

‘You haul in whatever extra manpower you need. Do whatever is necessary, but don’t jump the gun as this will be a big press plus for the Met if you succeed.’

Bradfield had to take deep breaths to control his excitement. This could be a major step forward in his career and he was not about to mess it up.

‘I’ve still got surveillance on all the suspected team, so if there is any movement to or from their individual addresses we’ll be on it right away.’

‘Good. I know your station CID people are helping out with the surveillance, but wherever possible get it done by the unit from the Yard. They’re much more experienced and blend in with the surroundings more easily.’

As soon as Metcalf had left the station Bradfield was eager to sort out suitable observation points in Great Eastern Street, and then hold a briefing for Operation Hawk. The incident room was buzzing, and Jane was disappointed when Sergeant Harris came in and said that due to abstractions he was now two officers short on early turn and he needed Jane to go out in uniform and direct traffic by the Eastway underpass tunnel, where a major RTA had occurred and a driver had been killed, then come back and man the front desk.

Kath, overhearing and seeing Jane’s crestfallen face, went up to Harris and asked to have a word.

‘Sarge, if it wasn’t for WPC Tennison we would never have identified the targets for this operation. It’s the biggest robbery case we’ve ever worked on at this station so she deserves to be part of Operation Hawk. Besides, why can’t you ask for an officer from another nick to assist?’

‘I make the decisions about staffing, not you, Morgan.’

‘Actually, DCI Bradfield does when it comes to a CID operation, so maybe you should ask him,’ Kath said, gesturing to the door as she saw him enter the room.

‘Ask me what?’ Bradfield said, putting the reports back in the desk tray.

Harris started to explain his position but Bradfield didn’t even let him finish.

‘DCS Metcalf has authorized Operation Hawk and stated I can have whoever I want on MY team.’

Harris was annoyed. ‘I assisted DS Gibbs at the café last night. Tennison is a uniform officer, not a detective, and as such I need her to cover the front desk.’

Bradfield glared at him. ‘WPC Tennison is part of my investigation whether you like it or not! I signed off your overtime last night out of the CID budget, and gave you four hours extra as compensation, but if you like I can soon put a pen through it.’

A disgruntled Harris had no option but to back off. Bradfield gave a smile and wink to Jane before returning to his office.

‘Thank you, Kath,’ Jane said quietly.

‘Forget it. Harris obviously helped out last night not just for the overtime. I reckon he thought he could use it to get you off the team and back in uniform to spite you. He’s a sly bastard who plays Mr Nice with ulterior motives so watch him like a hawk.’

They both laughed at the pun. Kath said she had to go to a meeting with the lady who owned the shoe shop next to Silas’s café.

‘Isn’t that a bit risky? Silas might see you and suspect you’re police.’

‘No flies on me, darlin’ — I arranged to meet her at her flat above her other shop in St John’s Wood. Catch ya later.’

Hebe Ide’s flat was above her boutique shoe shop in St John’s Wood High Street. It was small but elegant with very expensively priced shoes — way out of Kath’s price range — in the window display. The shop’s exterior and interior were very different from those of Hebe’s other shop next to Silas’s café in Shoreditch.

Hebe Ide was a very well-endowed woman in her forties, with heavy make-up and bleached blonde hair worn in a chignon. She was smoking and wearing a floral satin padded housecoat when she opened the door. Kath showed her warrant card, introduced herself, and was led up a narrow staircase. Following behind Hebe she couldn’t help but notice her very shapely legs, but didn’t much like the gold mule slippers she wore.

The hall was lined with model-like pictures of Hebe, and Kath thought she looked rather like a cross between Diana Dors and the 1960s songstress Yana. As they passed the photographs Hebe stopped and tapped one with her red-varnished fingernail.

‘I used to be in show business. In fact I was named after a character in an opera. Do you know Gilbert and Sullivan’s H.M.S. Pinafore?’

‘Yes,’ Kath replied. She’d heard of it, but never been to the opera in her life.

‘In the opera Hebe is the first cousin of Sir Joseph Porter, First Lord of the Admiralty, and my surname Ide originates from a village of the same name in Devonshire.’

‘How interesting. They’re lovely pictures. I was just thinking how much you remind me of Yana,’ Kath said, trying to get the subject onto something she knew.

‘I met her a few times. She did the lot, modelling, acting and singing. “Climb Up The Wall” was her best song for me. She was so sexy and wore fantastic gowns that floated out at the back like a mermaid’s tail, all sequinned and so tight it was a wonder she could breathe, let alone sing.’

Hebe led Kath into a chic drawing room with thick piled carpet and a velvet settee with matching chairs. More photographs of Hebe adorned the walls. The fireplace was art deco with a mantelpiece above laden with silver-framed pictures of Hebe.

‘I gave up show business when I got married, but I still miss it, especially since my Arnie passed away. The shoe shops were his, been in his family for years, and now I run the business, no children, other than my little Poochie Poo,’ Hebe said, stubbing out her cigarette before picking up a tiny white fluffy poodle from the settee and kissing it.

At first Kath hadn’t noticed the dog, which was now licking Hebe’s face repeatedly. It hadn’t moved an inch or made a sound when they’d entered the room and Kath, thinking it was a cushion, had almost sat on it.

‘So how can Poochie and I help you?’ Hebe asked, once again kissing the dog who responded with more licks to her face.

‘I’m here concerning your shop in Great Eastern Street and—’

‘Bloody council have decided to demolish the whole row for development. I use it mostly for storage now as I have a Sunday stall at Petticoat Lane Market. The cheaper shoes sell like hot cakes there, but I don’t know where I’m going to store all the stock when Hackney Council kicks me out. I’ve got a small green van I park up in the yard there, but I can’t keep the shoes in it because some little buggers will only break in and steal the lot.’ She put the dog down, got up, pulled a cigarette from a small silver case and lit it.

Kath was about to speak but Hebe was off again.

‘I’m not doing good business... there’s no real passing trade since they demolished the houses and built that monstrosity of a car park. It’s so bloody tall it blocks the sunlight into the shop and now the place smells damp and looks dowdy. Who knows, maybe it’ll be a blessing in disguise when they close me down.’ She sighed and took a long drag of her cigarette.

Kath had been briefed by Gibbs about what she should say, but it was almost impossible to get a word in edgeways.

‘The car park is part of the reason I’m here,’ she said.

‘Have the other shopkeepers complained to you about it as well? I rarely see or speak to them now. I only open up on odd days and pop in early Sunday morning to get stock. Arnie and me lived in the flat above the Shoreditch shop when we first got married. Horrible place — the smell of the curries from next door used to come through and stink our shop out.’

‘I thought it was a hardware shop next door?’ Kath remarked.

‘It is, but the home cooking of the Pakis stank, not to mention the smell from the fat Greek’s café as well. Anyway, after Arnie passed away I rented the flat out until recently. The tenants were more trouble than they were worth, always complaining that this or that didn’t work. We bought this place and opened the shop downstairs. It’s much more upmarket round here. I shouldn’t say it, but the truth is I sell the same shoes for a much higher price and no one who buys a pair bats an eyelid.’

Kath leaned forwards. ‘Please, Mrs Ide, I don’t wish to appear rude but I have to get back to the station soon.’

‘You should have said... anyway, how can I help you?’

‘Well, a high number of quality cars have been stolen from the multistorey car park recently and we think it’s a professional gang who steal to order, change the plates and sell the vehicles on.’

‘I thought there was an attendant in a kiosk during the day?’

Kath had to think quickly and lied. ‘We think he’s part of the gang. If you are agreeable we’d like to put a surveillance team in the upstairs of your shop for a few days as it’s directly opposite the car park. Hopefully that way we can catch them all.’

‘Oh I see. Will you need me there?’

‘No, not at all. Your property will be treated with respect and securely locked when the officers leave.’

Hebe inhaled, and then, deep in thought, perched on the arm of the chair by her poodle.

‘Yes I’m agreeable. I’m hardly there and the shop is not worth opening really, and I guess my van will be safe while your lot are there,’ she said, removing a set of keys from her handbag and handing them to Kath who thanked her.

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course you can,’ Kath replied.

‘Well, obviously with the police using the shop I can’t open, so I wondered if there will be any form of compensation for loss of my earnings?’

Kath was flummoxed and didn’t know what to say, but she replied that she’d ask her DCI.

Whilst Kath was visiting Hebe Ide, DS Gibbs and another detective were at the multistorey car park hoping to find out what sort of view it gave and if there were any signs that someone had been camping out up there at night.

During the day there was a so-called security guard manning the exit. He wasn’t very helpful and said that as it was a Saturday hardly anyone used the car park, so it was only open 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. He grumbled that it was a waste of time him being there but as he got time-and-a-half pay it was worth it.

Once the guard had stopped complaining, Gibbs and DC Hudson, posing as business executives, asked if company cars could be left overnight. He said that it was up to them, but as there was no security on duty anyone could come and go from the car park during the night. He moaned about winos and junkies using the ground-floor stairwell to sleep in and told them the stench of urine was overpowering. He didn’t bother showing the officers around, claiming he had arthritis and couldn’t walk up the slopes or stairwell and the lift was out of action. Hudson drove the unmarked police car from floor to floor. When they reached the top they were in two minds about getting out as the wind was howling, and it was freezing cold. Gibbs pulled rank so young DC Hudson begrudgingly got out of the car and had a good look round before returning.

‘You find anything interesting?’ Gibbs asked as Hudson got back in the car.

‘You get a fantastic view of all the surrounding streets and shops, right across Shoreditch and the City as well. I could even see St Paul’s and the Post Office Tower — wish I’d brought me camera.’

‘I meant anything interesting to the investigation, you dope, Hudson.’

Hudson opened his hand. ‘Over there, the bit where you can see the café clearly, I found these discarded cannabis roaches and the faintest trace of what look like wheelchair marks in the grit. There’s some discarded chocolate-bar wrappers and an empty tin of Shandy Bass as well.’

Gibbs sighed. ‘Bloody well go and get ’em then, they may give us some fingerprints.’

Hudson pulled up his duffle-coat collar, climbed out of the car again and did as he was asked.

Leaving their vehicle in the car park while they went to look for a suitable observation point to monitor the front of the café, Gibbs and Hudson walked casually along the road on the opposite side, and stopped by an old two-storey block of terraced flats. They were council-owned, run-down and the lower floor was boarded up with a notice stating that the building was soon to be demolished. They went round the back via an alleyway and headed up the rear concrete staircase that led to the top-floor corridor. The top-floor flats were all boarded up, except one which was still obviously occupied as outside there were a couple of well-cared-for pot plants and a small washing line with some cotton knee-length lady’s knickers hanging from them. The net curtains were clean, and even the front door looked freshly painted.

Ignoring Hudson’s suggestion that they remove the boarding from an empty flat, Gibbs shook his head and knocked on the door. ‘You’ve a lot to learn, son. They’re old lady’s knickers on the line. Using her place will be warm, with plenty of tea, coffee and biscuits, while we watch the café.’

The door was inched open and, as Gibbs had guessed, an elderly lady in her eighties was standing in front of them holding a mop.

‘I been livin’ here thirty years and I’ve told ya a hundred times I ain’t bloody leavin’ — now piss off,’ she shouted, and pushed the wet mop into Gibbs’s chest.

‘She obviously thinks we’re council officials,’ Hudson said with a smile.

Gibbs produced his warrant card and introduced himself. The old lady put down the mop, apologized and invited them in asking if they’d like a cup of tea and a biscuit. Gibbs smiled smugly at Hudson.

Jane was taking the names, warrant numbers, ranks and departments of all the new officers arriving in the incident room when a tall gaunt man in a black raincoat walked in carrying a large black box with a handle. Jane thought he looked rather lost and asked for his details for the team list. He told her he was clerical staff from Hounslow and had come for a meeting with his brother-in-law DS Spencer Gibbs.

As Jane wrote down his details she explained that DS Gibbs was out on enquiries but should be back soon, and told him that he could wait in the office or the canteen. He said the office would be fine, plonked his large box on the floor and sat down as DS Gibbs walked in carrying a tape recorder from the property store.

‘Frank! How ya doin? Thanks for coming over,’ Gibbs said.

Frank stood up, said hello and they shook hands.

‘Have you got the equipment?’

Frank nodded and pointed to the black box. ‘Yeah, it’s heavy and I’m still an amateur when it comes to using it. But I’ll see what I can do for you.’

‘The guvnor’s in his office and looking forward to meeting you,’ Gibbs said and Frank followed him to Bradfield’s office with his equipment.

After being introduced to Frank, Bradfield cleared a space on his desk for Frank to set up his Citizens Band radio. Gibbs put the tape recorder down next to the radio and also handed Frank a copy of Ashley Brennan’s notes which listed the times and frequencies of the suspect conversations. Frank was twiddling with a dial when he looked up nervously at Bradfield.

‘I know it’s illegal, but I only bought it for a bit of fun off a Yank I know, to listen to airport control at Heathrow as I’m into planes.’

‘Don’t worry about it, Frank. No one’s going to prosecute you as you’re doing us a favour,’ Bradfield said, in an effort to reassure him.

Frank nervously twiddled away with the frequency control, but all he was picking up was hissing static. He kept on repeating that he was just an amateur and would do his best, but it might take a while for him to link the wavelengths.

‘You might have been better getting that Ashley chap to help you,’ Frank said.

‘He’s too much of a geek and he said he’d lost contact. He rambles on in radio jargon, but if you need to call him for some advice then—’

Suddenly the radio began to whistle and the sound of a voice saying ‘Over’ could be heard.

‘Oh, hang on, looks like I’ve got something,’ Frank said excitedly.

‘Bloody hell, don’t tell me Bentley’s in the café right now?’ Gibbs remarked.

Bradfield waved his hand indicating for them to be quiet and leant over Frank to get closer to the CB so that he could listen.

Two Eighty-four from Golf Hotel receiving, over, they heard over the CB.

‘Is that their call sign?’ Frank asked, and Gibbs said the voice sounded familiar.

They then heard another voice reply. Yes, Two Eighty-four receiving, over.

Can you return to the station to man the front desk as bloody Bradfield won’t release Tennison... over.

‘That’s fucking Harris talking to a PC!’ Bradfield exclaimed.

‘You’ve tuned into the station-radio frequency, Frank,’ a deflated Gibbs told him.

Bradfield was not pleased and took Gibbs to one side.

‘We should get the bloke who picked up the radio transmissions on the Lloyds job — he seemed to know what he was doing.’

‘Give him time, he’s just nervous.’

‘We haven’t got it, Spence. If he doesn’t get a result in the next few hours we’ll have to bring in someone else.’

‘Where you gonna get ’em from? This equipment is illegal. Pull your finger out,’ Gibbs said as he patted Frank’s shoulder.

Bradfield straightened his tie, and ran his fingers through his hair. Spencer, taking care of the guv, asked if he had his fags and matches, and he nodded as they left for the office meeting.

Bradfield, followed by Gibbs, walked into the room, where the haze of cigarette smoke now hung like a blue cloud. Those who were sitting stood up, and as one officer started to applaud everyone joined in.

Jane watched in awe as Bradfield laughed and said the applause was a bit premeditated and they would all get a lot more than a few hand-claps if they got the result they were after. He stood at the front of the room with Gibbs and placed a notebook and file down on the table in front of him then pointed to the mug shots of the Bentleys and Daniel Mitcham.

‘You’ll all be pleased to know that DCS Metcalf fully supports Operation Hawk and has given me the green light to proceed.’

There was a cheer and Jane could see the excitement on people’s faces, as well as feel the buzz of anticipation as Bradfield paused briefly before continuing.

‘Sadly there has been no movement today, to or from any of the suspects’ premises. However, that doesn’t mean they’re on to us. On the contrary, after DS Gibbs’s uniform stint last night, I’m certain that the TSB is the target bank to be robbed via a tunnel from Silas Manatos’ café.’

He asked Gibbs to give them a run-down on what he had uncovered when visiting the café under the guise of a decoy burglary at Mannie Charles’ tailor shop.

‘Are we still on for the cut-price suits?’ an officer asked jokingly, causing a ripple of laughter around the room.

Gibbs smiled. ‘I’ll pay for the lot if we get a result on this job.’

Bradfield held his hand up to indicate that he wanted to get back to the serious matters.

‘We know the suspects weren’t at the café last night, but there could be all kinds of reasons for that. It’s unlikely they’ll work during daylight hours, or try to break into the bank vault while it’s open, so fingers crossed there’ll be some action tonight. We now have two good observation points in Great Eastern Street which give us an excellent view of the café and the bank, and the cream of the crop from Scotland Yard’s surveillance unit.’ He nodded at the scruffily dressed officers in jeans and tatty coats leaning against the back wall. He continued, ‘They will be doing the tails and manning those points along with myself, DS Gibbs and a selected few of you. As soon as this meeting is over the new observation points will be manned.’

Jane listened, impressed by Bradfield’s calmness and clarity as he outlined exactly which teams were to be in place, and where.

‘Will we be taking them out tonight, guv?’ a detective asked.

‘Only if we can be sure the targets are actually inside the bank and that is a decision the DCS supports. I appreciate we won’t know for sure from the ops, but we can see the back yard of the café from the rear of the shoe shop, so once they start loading the van with bags or sacks of their spoils we take ’em out then if need be. Given the amount of safety-deposit boxes in the vault it will take more than one run to load the spoils into their van. When that goes down the arrest team need to be on their guard. Make no bones about it, John Bentley and Danny Mitcham are nasty pieces of work and would take great delight in giving a copper a good kicking. Clifford Bentley may be old but I can assure you he’ll still know how to take care of himself in a stand-up fight.’

‘Truncheons won’t be much use to us then, guv,’ an officer said.

Bradfield gave a cynical smile. ‘Off the record, should any of you come by a spare pickaxe handle that just happened to be lying nearby then defend yourself as you see fit.’

‘The handles are already sorted,’ Gibbs leant over and whispered to him.

Bradfield told them that the DI in charge of the Yard surveillance unit had already given him the teams his officers were to work in, and which observation point or vehicle they would be in.

‘We will work on the Yard’s team radio frequency and I don’t want to hear anyone else but them or me making communication. They’ll be using coded communication, so if our suspects are monitoring police radios they won’t have a clue what’s being spoken about.’

DC Hudson asked how he would know what was being said and Bradfield explained that his CID officers would be paired up to work with the surveillance officers who would explain things, and when it came to making arrests the surveillance officers would not be involved in order to protect their identities.

He told his Hackney, and other local CID officers, that after the meeting DS Gibbs would read out who was working with who and at which location.

‘Any questions so far?’ Bradfield asked.

They came thick and fast and he had to keep instructing them to ask their questions in an orderly fashion.

A surveillance officer raised his hand and Bradfield pointed to him.

‘Do we have any intel that suggests the suspects might be armed?’

There was a sudden hush and there were a few worried looks. It was something that no one had as yet considered, even Bradfield, but he wasn’t going to admit it.

‘Good question — there is no intel about that, but my gut feeling is that they won’t be armed. This appears to be a tunnelling job as opposed to a “by the front door” armed bank robbery, and real guns aren’t the Bentleys’ style. I know that may not reassure all of you so I will instruct Duty Sergeant Harris to issue firearms from the safe to those of you who are authorized to use them. Let me be straight that using firearms is a last resort and they are only to be used if any of the suspects pulls a gun. The last thing I want is a gun fight at the corral, bullets flying around and an own goal where one of us gets shot by a colleague.’

A scruffily dressed undercover officer, who had long greasy hair and facial stubble, stuck up his hand. He was wearing woollen gloves with the fingers cut off, the wool in places unravelling as he had been pulling off strands throughout the meeting.

‘How we going about monitoring the suspects’ walkie-talkie communications?’

‘We have an expert on board, provided by DS Gibbs, who has equipment to monitor other radios in the vicinity.’

‘How does it work, guv?’ he asked.

Bradfield turned to Gibbs with a cheeky grin. ‘I think you’re best placed to answer any questions.’

‘Uh, well, it’s to do with amps, frequencies, megahertz, etc. All a bit complicated really so I won’t bore you with the details,’ Gibbs said, and looked at Bradfield as if to say, ‘Don’t you dare ask me to elaborate further.’

Another officer put his hand up. ‘I assume the bank must have an alarm? Surely if they try to get into the vault it will go off?’

‘If they attempt to open the vault door from the outside out of banking hours all hell will break loose with more bells ringing than a monastery. However, my bet is they have a good bell man on their team. The TSB manager thinks the bank is impenetrable but the thing is, if the alarms are down, it’s not. For any of you not familiar with the term “bell man”, it’s a villain’s term for someone who’s an expert electrician, especially when it comes to alarm systems. They know how to cut, bypass and disarm them without triggering the system. That’s why I think the former Army engineer and electrician Danny Mitcham is on the Bentleys’ team. He also trained with a bomb-disposal unit for two years.’

Bradfield gestured towards the mug shot of Mitcham, adding that he had been discharged from the Army for stealing electrical equipment and seriously assaulting the military policeman who tried to arrest him. He did not add that as yet they had no clarification that he was actually connected and it was simply his gut feeling.

‘You think they’ll be using explosives?’

‘I doubt it. It’s a very confined space and too dangerous. Explosives were used by the gang that did the bank robbery two years ago, and the dust nearly choked them all.’

There were murmurs and nods of agreement about Mitcham as the same undercover officer asked the next question.

‘Did the DCS give any indication of how long Operation Hawk’s to run?’

‘It’s going to be for as long as it takes.’

‘Shit, that could be weeks, months even? Me granny’s knitted gloves’ll be shredded.’

‘We stay on this, and we wait. But my bet is they’ll be in the vault any day now.’

Again murmurs erupted and Bradfield had to quieten them down. This time Kath put her hand up.

‘It might be nothing, but WPC Tennison’s report from yesterday afternoon says she heard Renee Bentley ask the postmaster when some old £5 notes would no longer be legal tender.’

Gibbs shrugged. ‘It’s September this year and it’s the ones issued between 1963 and 1971 — they were the first issue with Queen Elizabeth’s head on. What’s strange about that?’

‘I don’t see Renee as someone who’d have a lot of old fivers stashed away for a rainy day. But a bank would, and she might just be asking about the fivers on behalf of her old man and sons. I mean, you don’t want to turn a bank over and have a few grand of fivers that will soon be worthless.’

Bradfield hadn’t read Jane’s report and he knew Kath had raised a valid point. He gave a cold glance towards Jane wondering why she hadn’t told him. She blushed and looked away.

‘Thank you, Kath, good point. But it can only be resolved by interviewing Renee and I can’t very well do that before arresting the rest of her family, can I?’

‘She also wanted to know about travel brochures for the US — strange when you think she’s probably never been further than Southend.’

Yet again Bradfield was caught off guard.

‘Yes, Kath, as I said it will all be noted down for the interviews. Right, let’s move on. DS Gibbs will read out your teams and surveillance positions, as well as call signs and vehicle allocations. Take note of who’s with who and their call signs. Don’t try and be smart by putting it to memory because when the action starts you’ll forget. I want you out there on the plot by half four at the latest. Do your job well and don’t let me down.’

It was a further half-hour before the meeting finished. Everyone filed out to go up to the canteen for takeaway refreshments before Operation Hawk got into full stride. Jane was about to leave with Kath when Bradfield gestured towards her.

‘Tennison, see me in my office.’

She started to put her chair back against the wall.

‘Leave the fucking chair,’ he growled, and stormed off.

She followed him into his office wondering if he was worked up over her surveillance report. Entering the room she saw DS Gibbs’s brother-in-law Frank, wearing headphones and twiddling the CB radio knobs. Bradfield was blunt and told him to take himself and his equipment to the incident room to play with. As soon as Frank closed the door Bradfield turned to face Jane and stood right in front of her.

‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell me Bentley’s mother was asking about soon-to-be illegal fivers?’

‘I did a full report for you yesterday, before I went back to the section house.’

‘If they know there’s a load of worthless fivers in the bank then someone with inside knowledge must have tipped the Bentleys off. I doubt it’s the bank manager, but it could be an employee. So if Dunbar goes spouting off to the rest of the staff about my visit and the Bentleys get to hear about it, then Operation Hawk is fucked.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think...’

‘No, you didn’t. My career’s on the line here and you don’t seem to care.’

‘I’d left my report in the filing tray and you took them all this morning to read, so I—’

‘You think I had time to check everything before the DCS arrived? Anyone with an ounce of common sense would have told me personally. Why didn’t you tell me last night when we were together in my room?’

She was so shocked by what he had just said that she didn’t know what to say, other than mutter that she was sorry as she fought hard to hold back the tears.

‘You’re off surveillance so stay in the incident room, man the radio and make sure everything is indexed and filed correctly. Now, get out of my office,’ he snapped furiously. As she turned to open the door he reached out and caught her arm.

‘Sorry I sounded off at you. I sometimes forget you’re still a probationer with a lot to learn. Just forget about it this time, but don’t ever let it happen again.’

She walked out, closing the door quietly behind her and feeling devastated. Not so much about being grounded, but by the way in which he had spoken to her. It hurt, and she felt as if she had let him down.

Jane was physically shaking and felt faint as she went downstairs to the ladies’ locker room. It was hard to understand Bradfield’s outburst after what had happened between them in his room the previous night. She chastised herself for being so oversensitive and crying. She knew she had made a big mistake and one that she would never forget, but she had learned a lesson — albeit the hard way.

Leaning over the metal sink she turned on the tap and splashed cold water over her face. As she patted it dry with a paper towel Kath banged in and flung her arms around her.

‘Oh listen, I am so sorry if I landed you in it with Bradfield at the meeting. I didn’t mean to, and if he gave you a bollocking I’ll have a chat with him. Are you all right?’ she said, seeing the sad look on Jane’s face.

‘I’m fine... he was actually quite good about it.’

‘Oh Christ, that’s a relief, because he’s working under such pressure I thought he might have torn a strip off you about Renee Bentley.’

‘I’ll get over it, Kath, don’t worry about me.’

Kath smiled. ‘Good for you, girl, but you’re my friend so I do worry. If anything’s ever bothering or upsetting you then I’m here for you, OK?’

Jane smiled and nodded.

Kath looked in the mirror, fluffed up her hair and then turned to Jane.

‘I’ve not been attached to anything so big and it’s more exciting than a murder inquiry for me. How about all those undercover guys? I’ve got the hots for one of them. It’s a massive operation and the guv will get a big promotion if we pull it off. Mind you, if it all goes tits up, he could be back in uniform directing traffic.’ She gave Jane a hug and sashayed to the door with her hands on her hips.

‘I’m like a lonely little rose waiting in the shade, I need your sunny smile,’ Kath sang, and saw that Jane looked confused. ‘“Climb Up The Wall” — it’s a song by Yana. I have to say, that Hebe Ide was a piece of work. But I reckon she’ll give me a good discount on a lovely pair of sling-backs.’ She started singing again as she walked out of the locker room.

Jane was at a loss as to who Yana was, but Kath’s excitement and enthusiasm were contagious. She hesitated briefly before taking a deep breath and heading back up to the incident room. It was strangely quiet as by now everyone on the team had left the station to take up their observation positions. Frank was hunched over a desk at the far end of the room still wearing headphones and twiddling knobs, and it almost made her laugh. He suddenly sat bolt upright and asked her to get Gibbs and Bradfield. She didn’t want to go anywhere near the DCI at present, so said that they had probably left the station. He frantically began turning various knobs and dials and Jane asked if there was anything she could do to help. He took off his headphones and threw them down on the table.

‘Thought I had something there for a second, but it was just static, I think. God, I wish I knew more about how these things work. I really need to use the bathroom — would you mind just keeping a listening ear for a minute or two?’

‘Oh fine, I don’t mind at all,’ Jane replied, and he left the room.

She sat in his very warm seat and put the headphones on. All she could hear was static crackles. Curiously twisting one of the dials, she was stunned as Janis Joplin began to sing her favourite song.

Take another little piece of my heart now, baby...

Wanting to get rid of the music she turned the dial a bit more and heard the sound of a rasping cough and a male voice trying to say something in between coughs. But she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Jane looked at the tape-recording deck that was connected to the machine but didn’t know how to turn it on.

She listened as the man coughing cleared his throat of phlegm and spoke in a croaky voice.

You hold this (cough cough) button down to talk like this, then (cough cough) when you finished say ‘over’ and release it to listen to the reply.

The coughing became worse and then there was a click and nothing but radio static. She turned in a panic as Frank reappeared and lifted one side of the headphones from her ear.

‘I’ve just heard a man’s voice. Sounded like he had a bad cold, and it was hard to make out what he was saying but I think he was telling someone how to use a two-way radio.’

‘Did you record it?’ Frank asked.

‘I didn’t know how to work the thing,’ she replied in a worried voice and passed back the headphones.

Frank twisted the dials back and forth and one of the sound-indicator arrows began to swing from left to right.

‘Nope, I just got static. Maybe something or nothing, so best we keep it between us as I left my post and it wasn’t recorded.’

Uneasily Jane agreed.

To appease David, who was acting like a petulant child, John had told him to show their dad how to work the walkie-talkie, little realizing they’d been overheard. With a temperature of 102 and a fever so bad he couldn’t get out of bed there was no way David could be lookout that night. Clifford joined John in the kitchen and they sat down to enjoy a saveloy-and-chip tea.

‘You gonna be OK? Did he show you how to use it?’ John asked.

‘Yeah, it’s not a brain teaser, and to be honest the way he is tonight he’d be a liability up on the car-park roof. He can hardly sit up, let alone stand. He’s that fucking sick you’d hear him coughing a mile away.’

John put his arm around his father and hugged him tightly.

‘Well, he is, and always was, a liability. I gotta be honest, I’m glad you’re looking after our backs. So eat up and we’ll get moving in half an hour.’

The doorbell rang and both men froze, wondering who it was. It rang again and they heard Renee saying she was coming followed by the sound of the front door opening.

John inched the kitchen door open and saw Renee ushering in the local GP. He turned to his dad with gritted teeth.

‘Jesus Christ, she’s only got the fuckin’ doctor in,’ he whispered, and closed the door before continuing. ‘I’m tellin’ you, Dad, she’s a bigger liability than bloody David. I done a drawing, workin’ out how deep and at what angle we hadda dig the tunnel and slung it in me bedroom bin when I’d finished with it. She must have taken it out to have a look as I found it on the kitchen table.’

‘Don’t worry, son. She’s that thick she won’t have a clue what your drawing means.’

Clifford then opened the door and went to David’s room.

‘Is he all right, Doc?’ he asked.

John could hear the doctor saying that it wasn’t pneumonia, but a severe bronchial infection, and David should stay in bed for a couple of days. He wrote out a prescription for some antibiotics and Renee thanked him for coming, before showing him out.

‘I’m going out to get David’s prescription,’ she said, taking her coat down from the hall stand. Clifford shrugged, indifferent, as she picked up her purse.

‘Do you want me to get somethin’ in for your tea?’

‘No, we’ve had ours. And we’re goin’ out to a club,’ Clifford said.

‘But David’s in no fit state to go drinking. You heard what the doc said, didn’t ya?’

‘I meant me and John, you dozy mare. So don’t wait up.’

Renee buttoned up her coat and stared at him accusingly before leaving.

David lay in bed feeling as if his body was on fire. His chest was hurting, as well as his leg and his back, and the headache he had was unbearable. He was annoyed that he wasn’t taking any further part in the robbery for at least two days. But the reality was he knew he was too ill to sit in the cold car park for another night.

John walked in and took the walkie-talkie from David’s bedside drawer. He looked at the profusely sweating face of his brother.

‘We’re off now. You get plenty of rest and take them antibiotics when Mum’s back. We told her we’re off to a club, OK?’

‘I’m sorry, John, but will I lose any of my cut because I can’t go wiv ya?’

‘Course not, you stupid bugger. Family always share, right?’

It was six thirty when Clifford and John left the flat and headed out of the estate to get the van from the lock-up, unaware that their movements were being monitored, and a fleet of surveillance vehicles would be on their tail.