Tennison

Chapter thirty

It had been a lovely service, thought Renee as she walked out of the church and saw Nancy talking with two women she recognized, but hadn’t seen or spoken to for many years.

Renee smiled and nodded. ‘That was a right good send-off for your Eddie. The vicar said some kind words and the hymns were a lovely choice.’ Renee leaned forward, kissed Nancy on the cheek and then hugged her.

‘You ain’t going, is ya?’ Nancy asked.

‘I’d best get back home as my David’s not well. His leg’s been playing up badly of late and—’

‘I’m havin’ no excuses, Renee Bentley. David’s a big boy now and can look after himself so you’re comin’ to the wake and that’s that. Besides the Crane sisters are here, come up from Southend for the day. They was just sayin’ they ain’t seen ya in years, so we all need a good chin-wag and knees-up.’

Before Renee could say no the Crane sisters linked arms with her and pulled her along, asking how she was doing.

The Star and Garter in Cambridge Heath Road had a large rear yard with tables and was decorated with a beautiful array of late-spring flowers in pots and hanging baskets, but the snug where the upright piano was positioned was where they all congregated. The landlord greeted them with a sherry on the house. Laid out on tables were sausage rolls, sandwiches and bowls of jellied eels, prawns and cockles. On the bar counter there was a pint glass with a bit of paper stuck to it saying ‘Eddie RIP’. Nancy shoved the remainder of the money she had collected into it to pay for the booze, and others who hadn’t seen her before the funeral dropped in £1 notes.

Renee spotted the piano. It had been too long, longer than she could remember, since she had last played one. She couldn’t read a note of music but was always able to play any tune by ear and had been popular on Sundays at their local when she and Clifford were younger. Sunday was the only day they’d get out as a family for a booze-up. She’d sit and play a medley of songs while everyone sang along, and her two young boys were content with a bag of crisps and a bottle of pop whilst playing tag or hide-and-seek outside with the other kids. They were days when Renee wasn’t browbeaten and the drudgery of her life didn’t wear her to the bone. Back then she, Clifford and the boys were a happy family. Renee knew that Clifford and John would be upset that she’d gone to the pub having told her to go straight home after the burial, but stuff ’em, she thought, looking forward to a sing-along and a knees-up.

Back at the section house Jane couldn’t shrug off her feelings of bewilderment and humiliation. She began to chide herself for being so unprofessional and knew if she hadn’t been so besotted with Bradfield she’d still be at the station working in the incident room. Just thinking about it made her feel worse; she didn’t want to sit in her room moping about and feeling sorry for herself. She put on some make-up and brushed her hair, then decided to go over to the Warburton Arms to see who was about for a drink.

To her surprise the pub was not that crowded for a Sunday night before a bank holiday, although it was only just after seven o’clock. She made her way to the bar and sat on one of the stools.

‘White wine and couple of ice cubes, please, Ron.’

She nearly fell off her stool when someone gave her a hug from behind.

‘Hi! It’s me, Sarah Redhead. I’m only here for a quick G and T as I’m on night shift at ten. Tonight will no doubt be like a Saturday as it’s a public holiday tomorrow. Saturdays are always busy, what with all the punch-ups, and you can guarantee there’ll be some drunks falling over and cracking their skulls open.’

Sarah perched on the stool next to Jane, who for the first time was actually pleased to have her as company. She was incredibly loud-voiced and launched into a bizarre story about a corpse with a glass eye, which had fallen out and dropped down the drain in the mortuary.

‘You won’t believe what they popped into his eye socket as a temporary replacement.’

Jane shrugged. ‘A marble?’

‘No, that’s too small. It was a table-tennis ball they cut in half, and they used some felt tips to draw an eye in the middle.’ She shrieked with laughter.

Jane cringed. ‘Did it work?’

‘Well, yes and no. It was OK until the grieving widow turned up to identify the body and couldn’t understand why the false eye had changed colour. She had a closer look and fainted. Well, the upshot was...’ She looked over Jane’s shoulder, spun around on her stool and shouted, ‘Julian! JULIAN!’

Jane recognized Dr Harker immediately as the forensic scientist whose lecture she’d attended. She blushed, remembering Lawrence teasing her about how she’d known about fibre transfer.

‘Hello, it’s Sarah Redhead, and this is Janet Tennison. Janet, this is Julian Harker.’

‘We’ve met. How are you, Jane?’ he said intentionally to embarrass Sarah, but Sarah didn’t flinch.

‘Let me get you a drink, Julian. Is that a pint of lager?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

‘And another white plonk for JANE and G and T for me, but I would appreciate a slice of lemon this time. On my slate, if you would be so kind, Ron.’

Ron told her to help herself to the lemon while he poured the pint. Julian gave Jane a small smile and raised an eyebrow as Sarah leaned over the bar to pick up a small saucer of lemon slices. He drew up a stool to sit beside her as Ron placed their drinks on the counter.

‘You have been such a stranger, Julian, and sadly I’m on night duty so I can’t stay too long,’ Sarah told him.

‘That’s a shame,’ he said limply.

Jane listened as Sarah talked to Julian as if she wasn’t there. Sarah told him how impressed she’d been by his lecture and couldn’t wait to get details of when and where he was next speaking so that she could attend. He was rather quiet and said he was due to go to the United States to lecture and attend forensic seminars on research and future technology. He was very polite as Sarah rambled on about a television documentary she had seen featuring new forensic tests to detect gunshot residue. It could link a suspect to a crime scene, and even show how close the suspect was to the gun. Harker obviously found it as tedious as Jane as he kept looking at her with an apologetic smile on his face.

At last Sarah finished her second G and T and got off her stool. Putting an arm around each of them she said she would have to love them and leave them as she was off to shower and change into her uniform. There was rather an awkward pause and then Julian tapped Jane’s arm.

‘I remember you were going to be a bridesmaid, isn’t that right?’

‘Yes, at my sister’s wedding.’

‘Well, being so young and attractive, I doubt you will be always the bridesmaid, as the saying goes.’ He gave a soft laugh.

She suddenly wanted to leave and slipped off her stool.

‘It was nice to see you again, Dr Harker.’

‘Ah, leaving me already? Why not stay and have another drink?’

‘I’m on nights as well,’ she lied.

‘Perhaps we could have dinner one evening on your day off? I’m still in London for a couple of weeks yet.’ He peeled away some of the top layer of a beer mat and wrote his contact number on the white bit.

‘Call me when you have a free night.’

She said nothing as he handed her the beer mat. She did not intend to go out with him since she knew he was married, but she smiled and slipped the number into her pocket.

Jane hurried across the road back to the section house, suddenly deciding to ring her parents. Her mother answered in a timid but posh voice.

‘Mrs Tennison speaking, how can I help you?’

‘Mummy, it’s me, Jane.’

‘Oh my good heavens, I was just thinking of you. Your father and I thought you might have come home for Sunday lunch, but we didn’t hear from you and I wanted to ring—’

‘I’ve been really busy, Mum.’

‘You sound a bit down, darling,’ she commented, her voice reverting to its normal tone.

‘I’m fine. I’ve got a couple of days off so I was thinking about coming home.’

The joy in her mother’s voice made her feel tearful.

‘I’m so excited! Pam and her husband will be here for lunch tomorrow as it’s a bank holiday; it’ll be just lovely with all the family together. I miss you, Daddy misses you.’

‘I’ll see you later tonight then. I’ll get the bus and Tube home so should be with you in a couple of hours.’

‘Oh that is good news. I’ll make up your bed right now.’

‘Thanks, Mum, see you later.’

Jane went to her room to get her light denim jacket. She had clothes and nightwear at home so didn’t need to carry anything but her handbag.

She waited at the bus stop outside the section house. It was by now seven forty-five and she realized she had not even thought about what was happening at the station. She gritted her teeth trying not to think about Bradfield, but couldn’t help wondering how the observation on the café and bank were going. The red double-decker bus clattered to a halt at the stop and Jane showed the conductor her warrant card as she climbed on and made her way up the stairs to sit at the back, as usual.

It was very warm. A few windows were open but there were only two passengers on the top deck. Jane felt depressed, staring through the window as the bus stopped and collected a few more passengers whilst some got off. They were just pulling in at the next stop when there was a resounding clash of gears and looking down from the window Jane saw an elderly woman picking up some groceries that had fallen out of her bag. She closed her eyes remembering how she had helped Renee Bentley pick up her groceries, and then assisted her back to the flat on the Pembridge Estate where she had the confrontation with her son John. Jane took a deep breath and felt hurt again, thinking that if she hadn’t recognized John Bentley’s voice Operation Hawk might never have taken place.

She was startled from her thoughts and almost fell from her seat when the bus suddenly jolted forwards and stopped. She pressed her hands hard on the back of the seat in front of her as the gears shuddered and the bus lurched forwards and stopped again. Jane looked down from the window as the bus conductor got off and went to speak to the driver. There were a few shouts and yells from passengers below and one man was swearing profusely.

The conductor got back on the bus and spoke in a loud voice so people upstairs could hear.

‘We got engine trouble so you’re all gonna have to wait for the next bus. Can you come down from upstairs and EVERYBODY OFF, PLEASE.’

Jane made her way downstairs and onto the pavement, where the rest of the passengers were complaining loudly. The conductor remained on the bus and lit a cigarette while the driver went to find the nearest call box to ring for a replacement. Jane heard an upset passenger ask when the next 253 bus would be along and the conductor said about half an hour or more as they were short of drivers.

They were almost directly across the road from the Star and Garter pub, and Jane could see that it had a nice railed rear yard and quite a few people were sitting at the outdoor tables drinking and chatting, kids running around playing games. The double doors to the pub were open and from the noise filtering out to the street it sounded quite lively, with a piano playing and people singing ‘Roll Out The Barrel’.

Jane thought her mother would start to worry if she didn’t arrive within two hours so decided she’d check and see if the pub had a payphone that she could use.

The old-fashioned pub had a big circular counter and was filled with drinkers leaning up against it. The partition leading to the snug bar was crowded and the bellow of ‘Knees Up, Mother Brown’ now began to ring out with the occasional wrong note played on the piano.

Jane found a payphone and put in a quick call to her mother who wondered what all the noise was. Jane explained where she was and what had happened with the bus and her mum thanked her for the call. She then had to edge along the bar before she could find a gap between drinkers to signal to a sweating barman that she wanted to order a drink. She began to feel embarrassed, and out of place, as the mostly male drinkers were overweight, potbellied men. Some of them were in short-sleeved shirts and a few wore vests, exposing their hairy chests gleaming with sweat. There was a round of applause and cheers as the song ended and then thudding out from the piano came a few chords before they started to sing ‘The Lambeth Walk’.

Jane was eventually served and ordered a glass of lemonade. After paying for it she thought she’d have a quick look in the snug where people were still singing at the tops of their voices. Jane was surprised to see the pianist was Irene Bentley, but didn’t recognize the woman standing next to her conducting everyone in the sing-along. It was obvious they had both had a good drink and Renee’s straw hat was lopsided and the flower in the band was flopping up and down as she banged the piano keys. The woman next to her had one hand on the piano top to steady herself and her words were slurred; in fact almost everyone in the snug appeared to be rather drunk as they leaned against each other and swayed to the thumping keys on the old piano. Jane noticed the pint glass on the bar counter with ‘Eddie RIP’ and with a jolt of recognition realized it was the wake for Eddie Phillips. She wondered if the woman with Renee at the piano was his grandmother Nancy. She had not intended moving further into the snug bar, but found herself pushed forwards by two men singing loudly and trying to get through the crowd with a round of drinks. The song ended to loud shouts of ‘A big hand for Nancy and Renee’ and applause filled the room as Renee staggered to her feet, took a bow and Nancy hugged her. She saw Renee look in her direction so gave a nod hello but Renee didn’t respond and instead whispered to Nancy.

A young, thuggish-looking man replaced Renee at the piano and began to sing the popular song:

Jane thought Renee hadn’t recognized her and had just turned to leave when she heard a scream and the singing and piano-playing came to an abrupt halt. Turning round Jane saw Nancy pointing towards her. Her face was sweating and red as she elbowed her way towards Jane, and before she knew it the irate woman had made a grab for her shirt and knocked the lemonade glass out of her hand.

‘You got a fuckin’ nerve coming here and spyin’ on us. My grandson’s dead cos you bastards give him a beating.’

The room was silent and people looked at each other wondering what was going on.

‘SHE’S A BLOODY COPPER!’ Nancy hollered as loud as she could.

Jane could see everyone was looking at her and, terrified, she tried to push her way through the men behind her and out of the snug, but they didn’t move. Ma Phillips made another lunge, grabbed Jane’s shoulder, spun her round and spat in her face. Everyone began crowing and screaming and even though the pianist started playing and singing another verse they all began herding around Jane. It was Renee who grabbed Nancy and pulled her away from Jane.

‘That’s enough, the lot o’ ya! Leave ’er alone, Nancy. She’s uniform, not CID filth, and nuffin’ to do with Eddie’s death.’

Unsteady as she was on her feet Renee stepped forward and positioned herself between Nancy and Jane.

‘I know this girl and she’s all right. Leave it to me and I’ll see her out. Go on, get back to yer singing.’

Nancy glared at Jane.

Renee raised her arm to hold Nancy back and spoke calmly. ‘We’re here to show respect to your grandson Eddie. He’d be turning in his grave if you got nicked for belting a copper at his wake.’

Renee waved her hands for everyone to back off, hooked her arm through Jane’s and moved towards the exit to the back yard of the pub. Jane helped her keep her balance.

Once in the rear yard Jane helped Renee sit down by a bench table covered in dirty glasses. She took a tissue out from her bag and wiped Nancy’s spit off her face.

Renee looked at her and shrugged. ‘It was my fault Nancy kicked off. I recognized you first and said you were a copper. I didn’t get a chance to finish telling her you’d helped me out before she erupted. But to be honest, luv, you shouldn’t have come here.’

‘I’m sorry, but my bus broke down and—’

‘Whatever the reason I don’t wanna hear it. You did me a good turn and I figured I owed you one.’

‘I really appreciate what you did in there.’

Renee started to stand up but stumbled back onto the seat.

Jane hesitated but couldn’t stop herself. ‘So how’s your family? I heard your husband was released recently.’

Renee looked up with a squinting half-smile on her face.

‘If John and Clifford could see me now they’d not be best pleased, but family is family, no matter what I got notions about, but...’ She tried to straighten her hat. ‘My David’s the only decent one. I take care of him cos the other two are no-good bastards.’

Holding on to the table she pulled herself to her feet and started to return to the snug, but stopped and glared at a woman at an adjacent table. She had long dyed blonde hair and was wearing a silver lamé dress.

‘You slag!’ Renee shouted.

Jane couldn’t believe it: one minute Renee was fine and the next she was screeching in a rage. Unbeknownst to Jane this was the woman Clifford had been having an affair with for years. Renee lurched across the table, picked up a half-finished pint and threw it over the woman, who jumped up and started screaming whilst clutching her soaking-wet hair. Jane watched aghast as Renee threw a punch that missed before toppling forward knocking the woman to the ground. Shouts and cat-calls erupted as the pair of them struggled and punched at each other, and people came out from the snug wondering what on earth the ruckus was about.

Jane was trembling; she had never seen two women fight in her entire life. She took the opportunity to get out fast and headed across the road to the bus stop. She took deep breaths to calm herself, and looking back across the road saw two men pulling Renee and ‘the slag’ apart.

The conductor was sitting on the platform smoking as another 253 bus pulled up behind the broken-down one.

‘Right now, everyone all aboard! If you’ve kept your tickets you can still use ’em,’ he said as he tossed his cigarette butt into the gutter.

Jane didn’t bother to go upstairs this time as it was only a few more stops before Bethnal Green Tube station. She was still shaken and only then realized she’d left her denim jacket in the pub, but there was no way she was going to go back to look for it.

When the conductor approached she showed her warrant card again and he looked at her.

‘Sorry about the delay, officer. I’m surprised you went in the Star and Garter — it’s a real notorious hang-out for East End villains. Lucky you weren’t in uniform or they’d have tossed you out head first.’

He wasn’t to know what had happened, but what he said made Jane feel even more upset. She wanted to be at home with her mum and dad more than she could ever remember.

Bradfield and Kath went to the bank manager’s house in Islington to tell him about what was happening and to ask him to accompany them to the observation point in the old lady’s house. En route Kath had tried to broach the subject of Jane and how distressed she was after her meeting with him. Bradfield had frowned disapprovingly and made it quite clear there was nothing going on and she should keep her nose out of his business. As far as he was concerned the matter was over and done with. Tennison was on a few days’ leave and would return to normal uniform duties on her return.

‘Fine, whatever you say.’

‘Didn’t mean to sound off at you, Kath, but I got a lot on my plate. She’s a sweetheart and I maybe need to make it clear I’m no good for her.’

As hard as it was to bite her tongue and say nothing, Kath valued being present at the arrests in the bank vault too much to say anything further on the matter.

Adrian Dunbar was perplexed and anxious as Bradfield told him that he was to accompany him to an observation address where a team of officers were monitoring an ongoing break-in at the bank.

He paced up and down his living room, shaking his head and refused to accept what he was being told. Bradfield gave him a quick rundown on the events of the last couple of nights.

Dunbar shook his head. ‘It is simply not possible to gain access to the vault like that. The security system is of the highest calibre and if they have got as far as you say the alarm would have gone off by now. I think you are mistaken and overreacting, Chief Inspector.’

‘I’m not prepared to go into all the details here and now, but we believe the suspects have what is known as a “bell man” who is an expert in bypassing even the most sophisticated alarm systems,’ Bradfield said, trying to keep his temper in check.

‘Not the ones in my bank. Since the Baker Street robbery it was designed to be impenetrable, thick metal bars, concrete, steel mesh—’

Bradfield was really impatient. ‘It’s not YOUR bank and neither is what is stored in there. If you want the suspects to get away with it then fine, stay here and don’t help us. But you might find yourself looking for a new job.’

Dunbar walked over to his phone and picked it up, but a suspicious Bradfield put his finger on the button to cut off the dial tone.

‘I need to contact my head of security,’ Dunbar said aggressively.

‘No, Mr Dunbar, there may be someone in your bank who has given inside information to the suspects, so at present only you can know what we are doing.’

He watched Dunbar’s reaction closely. He did look nervous but it was impossible to tell if he was involved or worried about his career. However, there was no way Bradfield was leaving the house without him, or letting him out of his sight, and within the next hour they were at the op with a very subdued Dunbar listening in disbelief to the suspects’ walkie-talkie conversation on Frank’s CB radio.

John Bentley pulled up his goggles and backed out of the tunnel section which they had now widened to make it easier and quicker to remove the debris from the vault’s thick concrete base.

He was covered in cement dust and sweating heavily. Danny and Silas could see he was livid as he grabbed the walkie-talkie from Silas, pressed the transmit button and started to shout at his father.

‘Yet again you and your man inside got the fuckin’ layout wrong! The floor also has a bloody thick sheet of steel plating, not just concrete, so I dunno what the hell we are gonna do now. Are you hearin’ me?’

‘You wouldn’t be in there on the verge of Aladdin’s cave if it weren’t for me, so shut the fuck up and get on with it.’

Danny told John to calm down as he dragged forwards the oxyacetylene cutting equipment which was strapped to a two-wheeled heavy-duty upright trolley.

‘Listen, there’s plenty of gas left in this thing and it will cut through steel just like it did the iron bars.’

John was sceptical, plus it was a very confined space to haul the connecting hoses and two tanks into as they were bigger than a deep-sea diver’s oxygen equipment. Danny said they could take turns in doing the cutting as it would get very hot and would be physically draining.

‘You done all the cutting so far, Danny, and know how to use it. I don’t wanna risk it — you said that stuff is dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.’

‘Jesus Christ, all right, just bloody calm down, I’ll do it.’

Danny tested the pressure gauges on the two tanks as it would be hard to do so once in the tunnel. He then put on a welding mask and thick leather gloves to protect him from the sparks and molten steel when he began the cutting. Danny sat in the tunnel facing John and Silas as they slowly lowered the trolley with the heavy cutting equipment onto the ground by the tunnel entrance. Danny gripped hold of the trolley handles and dug the heels of his boots into the soil ready to heave it backwards and towards him.

‘Right, when I say go you push like mad, John, and I’ll pull. Stand by... ready... GO.’

John pushed the trolley and Danny pulled with all his strength. It took ten minutes of hard, exhausting effort to eventually get it into position to work on the steel. Danny turned on the oxyacetylene gas, held his lighter to the end of the cutting torch and there was a loud WOOMF as it ignited and the flame burst out of the end, lighting up the tunnel. The flame startled John who scuttled out backwards as quickly as he could.

‘Jesus Christ, you hear that fuckin’ thing go off?’ he asked Silas nervously.

At an angle away from his face Danny held the lit torch to the steel and watched as the metal slowly turned cherry red. Then, as he pressed the oxygen-blast trigger, the reaction produced even greater heat and the flame began to cut through the steel.

‘Is like a bloody big volcano eruption,’ Silas said as he heard the rumbling sound from inside the tunnel and watched the smoke filter out from the entrance hole.

Ten minutes later the noise from inside the tunnel abated and they heard Danny call out.

‘Go see what he wants,’ John said to Silas, as he didn’t want to go inside the tunnel again while Danny was using the cutting torch.

After a few seconds Silas reappeared from the tunnel and gestured with his finger and thumb.

‘He reckon is no that thick, maybe few inches, and couple of hours to cut through. He also wants a big bottle of water as like inferno in there.’

John excitedly slapped Silas on the back and picked up the walkie-talkie.

‘We’re back in business! The torch is slicing through the steel like butter and will take about two hours, then we’re in.’

‘Good,’ Clifford replied bluntly.

Bradfield had an excited grin and a ‘told you so’ look on his face as he checked his watch and looked at Dunbar who, having heard what John Bentley said to his father, was sitting with his head in his hands feeling sorry for himself. If the suspects were breaking through into the vault that night it would only be a matter of hours now before Operation Hawk went into overdrive. Bradfield called the incident room and the arrest teams were relieved and excited by the news. He told them to go the station yard at City Road Police Station and wait there until further instructions.

‘Not long now, Mr Dunbar,’ Bradfield said.

Dunbar looked up at him. ‘I’m sorry I doubted you, but I just can’t believe this is happening. I’ll do whatever you need me to, and if anyone in the bank is involved rest assured I will help you find them.’

‘I’m sure you will, Mr Dunbar,’ Bradfield replied, uncertain if his loyalty was to him or the suspects.

Bradfield turned to DS Gibbs who was standing beside him and reiterated that it was imperative, as DCS Shaun Metcalf had ordered, that the targets had to be inside the vault before he gave the go-ahead to move in and make the arrests.

Gibbs was shaking, more than ever aware that it was going to be one hell of a night.

When Jane arrived home her mother was elated and fussed around her, saying she was sure she’d lost weight. Jane asked where her father was and was told that he’d nipped to the off-licence to buy a few bottles of wine, a sparkling one for tonight to celebrate Jane’s homecoming and a couple for lunch the following day. Her mother leaned forward and looked closely at her daughter’s head.

‘What have you got in your hair?’ she asked as she touched her fingers to it and looked at them.

Jane stepped away from her and rubbed her fingers through the right side of her hair. She hadn’t realized some of Nancy Phillips’ spit had landed there and made her hair sticky.

‘It’s nothing, I didn’t wash the shampoo out properly.’

It was a lie, but there was no way she was going to tell her mother about the incident at the pub. Instead she said she would like to have a bath and change.

In her bedroom Jane kicked off her shoes and pulled off her jeans before sitting down on the freshly made bed. She felt exhausted and close to tears as the depression over Bradfield suddenly hit her again, but she forced herself to undress and put on her dressing gown. As she went into the hall her father appeared and held his arms open to embrace her.

‘How’s my little girl? Your mother just told me you were home, come here.’

He had so rarely been physically affectionate and she loved the feel of his arms around her.

‘So how are you?’ he asked and stepped back to look at her.

‘I’m fine, Dad, just very tired.’

‘Well, you go and have a nice bath and then you can tell us all about work.’

Lying in the foamy bath water, she closed her eyes. How could she tell them about work, about being spat at by a woman full of hatred of the police? How could she explain about Operation Hawk and John Bentley, or least of all her infatuation with DCI Bradfield?

The tears that had been close to the surface since she left the section house now streamed down her cheeks. She slowly slid her body further and further down into the hot water until her hair floated around her head and it felt as if she was drowning.

The tap on the bathroom door followed by her mother’s voice made her surface and she was glad she had locked it.

‘We had sausages and mash for supper. Would you like me to heat a couple for you, with some baked beans or a bit of salad maybe?’

‘Sausage and salad, thanks, Mum. I’ve nearly finished washing my hair.’

‘Well, don’t be too long, dear, it’s after ten and we’ll want to be up early to get everything ready for lunch tomorrow.’

Jane raised the wet flannel to her face and pressed it to her skin. She wondered again what was happening at the bank and felt annoyed that she couldn’t be there as part of the team. She sat up and pulled the bath plug out before wrapping a hand towel around her wet hair and drying her body with another. Then, wearing her dressing gown, she went into the living area where her father was sitting at the breakfast bar eating some cheese and biscuits. He looked up at her with a gentle smile.

‘You should have called us, you know how worried your mother gets. What’s this nonsense about you not being allowed to take personal calls at the police station or at the section house?’

‘I don’t make the rules, Dad, but it was thoughtless of me. I promise I will call more often from now on and keep you both updated, but sometimes I’m on late shifts until 10 p.m. or later if it’s busy.’

‘So, tell me how everything is.’

She went to the worktop where her mother had left a plate of two sausages, a side salad and slice of bread and butter. She spooned some mayonnaise onto the salad, and poured a glass of water, before sitting down beside him.

‘Well you know, Dad, being on probation I am not really involved in very much. There’s a lot of typing up reports, indexing and filing at the moment.’

She ate hungrily as he finished his biscuits and cheese. He washed his plate, tea cup and knife in the sink and pointed at the pan of peeled potatoes and vegetables.

‘Your mum had me prepare them for tomorrow. It’s your favourite, roast lamb, mint sauce and an apple turnover with custard for pudding.’

She smiled and said it sounded delicious.

‘I’m thinking of trading in my old Rover for something smaller. Uncle Brian is looking for a good second-hand Mini for me. What do you think of them?’

‘Well, I would say a Mini would be ideal, less petrol, but are you sure about using Uncle Brian?’

He gave a soft laugh and said that he was a trifle uneasy about it, but if he could get a good trade-in price he would have a friend check it over. And if he didn’t go for a Mini he might get a Volkswagen Beetle. It felt good to be sitting at home at the breakfast bar she had known for years, and having a conversation that took her mind off work.

‘It’s good to be home, Dad.’

He finished drying his dishes and put them away with a smile.

‘She’s got me well trained. Mind you, I hate cleaning greasy trays after a roast dinner. I’m glad you and Pam will be here tomorrow. It’s nice to sit down together for a nice family lunch and you and your sister can help clear and wash up,’ he said with a cheeky smile.

Jane laughed and he patted her shoulder before he left the room and she finished her sausage and salad.

Mrs Tennison appeared with her hair in rollers, and wearing her familiar quilted dressing gown.

‘I’m going to have an early night to be ready and fresh for the morning. Pam will be over by midday with her husband. It would have been nice if that good-looking inspector was coming. Did you ask him about Sunday lunch sometime?’

‘Yes, but he’s a Detective Chief Inspector, and is much more senior than me. They don’t tend to socialize with junior ranks outside of work.’

‘Well, that’s a pity. Is there anyone else you like or are seeing? You can always invite them instead.’

‘I’m not seeing anyone, Mum, I’ve been really busy. Shift work makes me restless and it’s difficult to get into the right sleep pattern. In fact I was going to ask if you could give me one of your sleeping tablets.’

Mrs Tennison hesitated, and moved closer. ‘You know Daddy doesn’t like me taking them. I only have half, just enough to get me off into a sound sleep, otherwise I toss and turn all night. He thinks Mogadon is addictive, but I don’t take it every night.’

Jane smiled and said she doubted her mother would become a junkie overnight, but then seeing her reaction to the term tried to make light of it.

‘It’s a police word for a drug addict.’

‘I know that. I do worry about you and hope you don’t get involved in any of those drug-related horror stories we read about every day.’

Jane took her mother’s hand. ‘I’ve promised Dad that from now on I’ll make a point of calling you more often.’

‘Every night, if you can, dear.’

Jane had just returned to her bedroom when her mother tapped on the door and passed her a tissue containing one of her sleeping tablets. She whispered to her not to tell her father, and then blew a kiss from the door.

‘Night night, darling, see you in the morning.’

Jane took the sleeping tablet with a sip of water from the glass on her bedside table.

She turned off the small lamp and lay in the darkness, wanting and waiting for sleep. For a while she thought about Operation Hawk and how everyone at the ops and arrest teams must be waiting anxiously for Bradfield’s command to make the arrests. Although she had felt that he had misjudged her professionally, and she’d been humiliated and hurt, she now felt calmer and more positive. She was determined that when she returned to the station she wouldn’t show her feelings, especially towards Bradfield.