The Dirty Dozen

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jane let Pam sleep in her bed with Nathan, while she slept on the couch. She got to bed at 2 a.m. and hardly slept before the alarm went off at 6 a.m. On waking she was on autopilot as she showered then dressed for work. Her vision was slightly blurred, and when she looked at her eyes in the bathroom mirror, they were baggy and slightly bloodshot. She used some moisturizer and did some facial stretches, but it didn’t make much difference, so she put on a bit more make-up than usual.

Before leaving she popped in to see Pam.

‘You OK?’

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘I’m off to work now, so make yourself at home. There’s bacon and eggs in the fridge and cereal in the cupboard.’ She leaned forward and kissed Nathan, and then Pam’s cheek. ‘You can invite Tony over here if you want to have a heart-to-heart.’

‘Thanks, but I’ll go home. It would be better under our own roof... for Nathan as well.’

‘Forgiveness is never easy, but I know you’ll work things out. Tony’s a good man and he loves you both dearly.’

‘I know, and I love him.’

‘Let me know how it goes.’

Jane started to leave the room.

‘I love you as well, Jane. I know I can be a silly cow at times, but I really appreciate what you’ve done for Tony and the advice you’ve given us.’

‘That’s what sisters do, Pam — they help each other through thick and thin.’

It was a fresh, sunny spring morning as Jane parked her car in a back street near Brick Lane, famous for its array of Jewish, Bangladeshi and Indian restaurants and its Sunday flea market. As she crossed Bethnal Green Road she saw the Colonel walking towards her, and couldn’t help letting out a big yawn.

‘You look like you’ve been up all night,’ he remarked.

‘I have,’ she replied, yawning again.

‘Then a nice hot coffee and a salt beef bagel is what you need to wake you up.’

‘I’ve got to be back at Rigg for nine to meet Teflon and take Fiona Simpson up to the Yard.’

‘It’s only half seven — we’ve got plenty of time.’

‘All right then... I haven’t had a salt beef bagel in ages, and a black coffee wouldn’t go amiss.’

As they walked down Brick Lane, some vendors were still setting up their stalls with second-hand goods and putting price tags on them. As they approached the busy Jewish cafe, the smell of salt beef filled the air. They found a free table in the corner.

‘My treat,’ he said, and went to the counter.

Jane saw him get a brown envelope out of his pocket and tear it open. He removed two ten-pound notes, handed one to the waitress, and put the other in his wallet. As he did so, she remembered Murphy saying he’d authorized twenty pounds out of the informants’ fund for the Colonel’s ‘snout.’

‘There you go.’ He put her food and drink down on the table.

‘Can you tell me anything about the informant we’re going to meet?’

‘His name’s Gentleman Jim, he’s done time for armed robbery and now he’s out he sells antiques in the flea market,’ he said brusquely.

‘Why’s he called Gentleman Jim?’

The Colonel laughed. ‘’Cause he was always polite when he robbed a bank...’ He put on a posh voice. ‘‘Please don’t press the alarm, and I’d be very grateful if you’d be so kind as to put the money in the bag.’ Then, having scared the shit out of the bank staff with a gun, he’d say “Toodle pip” before leaving.’

‘What were the rest of the gang like?’

‘Jim was always a lone blagger; figured he wasn’t going to be grassed on if he did things by himself.’

‘Is he meeting us here?’

‘No, he runs a stall further down the lane.’

‘So how does it work on the squad with informants?’

‘You give them a nickname and you have to register them with Murphy and fill in a report for secure filing every time you have a meet.’

‘And what about paying them?’

‘Fill in a payment request form and give it to Kingston, who then gets Murphy to check it. If he approves it, Kingston can give you the money out of the office safe. If you get good info that results in a conviction, the snout gets a big wedge out of any reward fund.’

Jane wondered to herself if the money the Colonel had in the envelope was meant for Gentleman Jim.

‘You can’t beat a good salt beef bagel.’

He took a large bite of his second one.

‘Do you think Jim might know something about the Leytonstone job?’

‘Well, we ain’t here to buy an antique clock from him. You don’t half ask a lot of questions, Jane.’

‘Well, you’re supposed to be the teacher.’

‘Then just watch and learn when I speak to Jim.’

Brick Lane was fuller now, with people who had come out early to try and grab a bargain. As they walked down the lane the Colonel stopped at some stalls and enquired about the merchandise or picked things up to have a look at them, trying to appear like a normal punter. He stopped at a stall and picked up a doll dressed in an old-fashioned sailor’s outfit, with a ring in one ear and realistic features. The stallholder was an overweight, elderly balding gentleman with a thick moustache, who smelt strongly of stale sweat. He wore a white shirt, grey pinstripe trousers and a black waistcoat with a pocket watch.

‘Is sir interested in the doll?’

‘I might be. What sort of doll is it?’

‘It’s German, known as a bisque head, made circa 1875 from bisque porcelain,’ he said in a posh voice. ‘The matt finish gives it a rather lifelike look, don’t you think?’

‘How much?’

‘Fifty pounds — but if it’s for your good lady I’d be prepared to drop the price to forty-five.’ He smiled at Jane.

‘Fuck off, Jim — I bet you’ve got a box full of replicas in the back of your van.’

He shrugged. ‘I gotta make a fucking living, Colonel.’

‘This is Jane. I’m teaching her the ropes.’

‘I’d listen to every word he says, my dear — if only to see what rubbish he talks.’ He sneered.

The Colonel took a five-pound note out of his pocket and held it towards Jim.

‘You know anything about the Leytonstone job on Thursday just gone?’

‘Not for a fiver I don’t. A score is my going rate.’

‘The Guv’nor cut the funds down. I’ll give you another five out of my own pocket if it’s worth it.’ He took another note out of his wallet.

Jim sighed. ‘It’ll have to do for now, I suppose.’

He went to take the money and the Colonel pulled it back from his grasp.

‘Info first, my friend.’

Jim sighed, then spoke softly. ‘Rumor ’as it a big Irish UDA guy who recently came over ’ere is involved. ’E’s got a reputation for being a fuckin’ nutter.’

Jane noticed that Jim’s accent had suddenly become proper cockney.

‘Age?’ the Colonel asked.

‘Late twenties, early thirties.’

‘Was his name—?’ Jane began.

The Colonel cut her off abruptly, ‘I’ll ask the questions! What’s your source?’ he asked Jim.

‘Pub talk. The paddy was pissed and gobbing off to a mate about turning over a Securicor van.’

‘What pub was it?’

‘I can’t tell you that, Colonel — if your mob start snoopin’ aroun’ in there, I’m brown bread.’

‘This paddy say anything else?’

‘Only that ’e was managin’ a snooker ’all in North London.’

The Colonel didn’t react to any of the information. He paused, waiting for Jim to say more, then handed him the two five-pound notes.

‘Keep digging, Jim. You find out any more, you know where to reach me.’

‘Make it a twenty next time an’ I’ll see what I can do.’

‘It’s up to the Guv’nor — and keep your nose clean on this one.’

Jim raised his eyebrows and spoke in a posh voice.

‘Good Lord, Colonel... Why would an upstanding gentleman like me want to partake in criminal activities?’

‘Because you’re greedy and got sticky fingers.’

Jim shrugged. ‘To each his own, my friend.’

As they walked back up the market the Colonel said nothing.

‘Looks like Jim’s talking about Aidan O’Reilly and the Bruce Grove Snooker Hall.’

The Colonel stopped and looked at Jane.

‘Don’t ever give a snout information like names or they may lead you on. Let them do the talking and never tell them if they’re right or wrong. You run them — it can never be the other way around or they end up tapping you for information.’

‘Sorry, you’re right. I noticed his accent changed during the conversation.’

‘The posh thing is all an act. He used it when he was robbing banks, to fool the victims and police. He started again when he got into the antiques business, where it’s good for selling dodgy gear to naive punters.’

‘He seemed to know his stuff.’

‘Self-taught from books while he did a five stretch in the Scrubs. I’ll see you back at the nick,’ he said as they reached Bethnal Green Road.

Jane thought about the money the Colonel had given Gentleman Jim for his information. If the twenty pounds in the envelope was from the informants’ fund, it seemed he had pocketed a tenner of it for himself and the ‘extra’ fiver from his own wallet wasn’t in fact his. She sighed. It wasn’t significant in the greater scheme of things, but it was still theft of the Commissioner’s money.

Jane had parked her car and was walking towards the squad building when she saw Teflon rush out of the front entrance with car keys in his hand.

‘Kingston said Fiona Simpson is willing to attend albums, so we may as well go straight to the pub to collect her.’

‘What’s the rush?’

‘Cam said Murphy’s on his way in and he’s in a rage.’

‘What about this time?’ she asked, hoping it wasn’t anything to do with the Jones family.

‘Who knows?’ Teflon shrugged as they both got in the unmarked police car. ‘How’d it go with the Colonel’s informant?’ he asked, doing up his seatbelt.

Jane smiled. ‘He’s quite a character. I think he might be on to something with O’Reilly.’

‘Take my advice — let the Colonel deal with his informants on his own.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because his snouts often tread a fine line between giving an officer information about a crime and participating in it.’

Jane thought back to the Colonel telling Gentleman Jim to ‘keep your nose clean on this one,’ and decided it might be best to change the subject.

‘How was Kingston this morning?’

‘I dunno, he’s asleep in his office. He called me from a payphone last night — it sounded like he was in a pub and had had a few. Probably drowning his sorrows with the Colonel as usual.’

‘I was with the Colonel earlier and he didn’t appear to have a hangover.’

‘The Colonel can drink more than the lot of us put together and still be sober.’

‘Kingston’s not doing himself any favors by going on the piss and getting home late.’

‘That’s his problem, not ours. Sorry I snapped at you yesterday; you were only doing what you felt was right.’

‘I was wrong, and I don’t blame you for telling me — in fact, it gave me a wake-up call. I’m going to speak to Murphy after we’ve been to the Yard and tell him what happened.’

‘I’ll do it with you if you want.’

‘It was my screw-up, not yours.’

‘I could have refused to drive you there.’

‘I’d have gone on my own anyway.’

‘Well, I’m not going to blab to anyone in the office about it.’

‘Thanks, I appreciate it.’

Jane repeatedly rang the doorbell at the lounge bar entrance to the Crown pub in Leytonstone High Road, but there was no answer. She checked her watch — it was just after 8:30 a.m. — then she went to the saloon bar entrance and knocked on the door, but still there was no answer. She stepped back into the street to look up at Fiona Simpson’s flat above the pub; the curtains were open but there was no sign of movement. There was a high brick wall, with a thick wooden door leading to the beer garden and rear of the pub. It was locked. She looked through the window and could see the lights were on inside, before returning to the unmarked police car. She tapped on the driver’s window.

‘What’s up?’

‘I’ve rung the doorbell and banged on the door but there’s no answer.’

‘Maybe she had a late night and she’s still sleeping it off.’

‘It doesn’t look like the place has been cleaned up — there’s dirty glasses and unemptied ashtrays on the bar.’

Teflon called the office on the radio and asked Cam to phone the pub.

‘Tell Fiona Simpson we’re waiting outside for her.’

Jane went back over to the lounge bar door and listened to the phone ringing for nearly a minute.

‘Cam said there’s no answer — maybe she’s locked up and gone out already.’

‘Kingston gave me the impression she wasn’t afraid to be a witness. Do you reckon you can get over that wall into the beer garden and check the back door?’ Jane asked.

‘Piece of cake.’

With a run and a jump he was up and over the wall.

‘Bugger off or I’m callin’ the police on you two!’ a shrill female voice shouted.

Jane turned and saw a frail elderly woman with a hunched back, clutching a copy of the News of the World.

She got her warrant card out.

‘It’s all right, Betty, we are the police.’

Betty tilted her head and her eyes narrowed.

‘Then why’s that darkie jumpin’ over the wall?’

‘He’s my colleague; we’ve come to see Fiona. She wasn’t answering our calls and we think her front doorbell may be broken, so now we’re trying the back door.’

‘Right, fair enough, but you can’t be too careful these days, you know.’

‘You’re quite right, Betty.’

‘Is it about the robbery? I saw it as well, you know.’

‘Yes, I heard you tell Fiona about the gun going off and the young man lying on the pavement.’

Jane nodded, watching for Teflon to come back over the wall.

‘One of ’em bastards nearly knocked me for six before they robbed the van. When’s one of your lot gonna come and see me about it?’

‘Sorry, Betty, what did you say?’

‘I said, when’s one of your lot gonna come... Never mind, luv, you obviously ain’t interested in what I gotta say.’

She started to walk off.

Jane grasped the gist of what she’d said.

‘Did you say one of them knocked you over?’

‘I said nearly. As a police officer you should pay more attention, you know. I was walkin’ up the road when this bloke opens a car door and nearly ’it’s me bad ’ip. After the robbery Fi told me she saw it ’appen and ’e was the one who drove the car.’

‘Has no one from the investigation been to see you?’

Betty frowned and shook her head. ‘Not a soul.’

Jane glanced across the road and saw Teflon inside the lounge bar, opening the door. She got her pocket notebook and pen out.

‘What’s your address, Betty? I’ll come and see you later, probably this afternoon sometime.’

‘Fifteen Dacre Road — it’s down there on the right. Don’t come between five and six as the Antiques Roadshow is on and I don’t like to miss that.’

She limped off.

Jane recalled wanting to speak to Betty on the Thursday afternoon, when she first met her, but not bothering as Fiona said DI Kingston was dealing with her. From what Betty had just said it seemed he hadn’t spoken to her, which didn’t make sense as Kingston had told her Betty was ‘a bit senile and not very reliable,’ and in his opinion it wasn’t worth getting a statement from her. She had no reason to doubt Kingston. As she watched Betty limp down the road, she wondered if she had dementia and had forgotten about the whole thing. Or maybe she just liked the attention and wanted to talk to another policeman.

‘We need to get the local CID down here.’

Teflon sprinted towards the car.

‘What’s happened?’ Jane asked, hard on his heels.

‘The back door was open, and the keys were in it. There’s a woman at the bottom of the cellar and blood on the floor — looks like she fell backwards and hit her head on the concrete.’

‘Have you called an ambulance?’

‘No, she’s dead.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I checked for a pulse. I’m assuming it’s Fiona Simpson.’

He opened the car door and picked up the radio.

‘Call a divisional surgeon to pronounce life extinct and a lab liaison sergeant as well — ask for Paul Lawrence to attend, if he’s on call,’ Jane told him.

‘I was going to get the local lads to deal with it.’

Jane shook her head. ‘Locals can hold the scene until a lab sarge gets here — they know more about suspicious death scenes than a divisional SOCO or CID ever do.’

‘You reckon it’s suspicious?’

‘Paul taught me to treat every unexplained death scene as a possible murder — we don’t know yet whether she fell or was pushed. I’m just going to take a quick look and see if there’s anything that needs urgent preservation for forensics.’

She pulled a pair of latex gloves out of her shoulder bag.

‘You always carry those around with you?’

‘Yep, a couple of pairs at least. If you go around touching things at a scene without them, you could destroy or contaminate potential evidence. If the locals turn up before I’m back, you tell them to stay out of the pub.’

Jane stood at the top of the short flight of steep stone steps leading to the cellar and crouched down. The light was on and she could see the dead woman’s face, her eyes wide open as if frozen with fear. A two-foot pool of blood surrounded her head and the outer few inches of the pool had congealed, indicating to Jane that Fiona had lain there motionless for some time. She looked closely at the steps and the carpet in the hallway leading to the cellar, but there was no sign of any blood trail or droplets. She made notes in her pocket notebook of her observations, and the fact that the cellar light switch was in the hallway by the cellar door. Then she checked the saloon bar door, which was bolted shut, top and bottom, as was the public door to the beer garden. There were dirty beer glasses on the tables and bars, and no sign of any disturbance to indicate a struggle might have taken place.

Jane went into the beer garden through the private rear door to look at the gate in the wall. It had a Yale lock, which could only be opened from the inside by turning the oblong knob. She made some notes before removing the set of keys from the private back-door Chubb lock, which she put in an empty plastic coin bag she found next to the till.

She went to speak to Teflon, who was talking with a PC. Jane asked the officer to man the lounge bar door and not let anyone in without her permission, and to record the names and times any authorized persons entered and left the premises.

‘Is it Fiona Simpson?’ Teflon asked.

‘Yes. Did you have to unbolt the lounge bar door to get out?’

‘Yes. Is there a problem?’

‘It seems she’d locked up the lounge and saloon bar doors before she died, but she left the back door open, which makes me wonder if someone other than Fiona opened the back door to leave via the beer garden.’ She held up the coin bag with the keys in it. ‘With a bit of luck, we might get a fingerprint off the Chubb key or Yale lock on the garden door. Was the cellar light on or off when you found her?’

‘On. You reckon she was murdered?’

‘It’s too early to say for sure, but it’s something we have to consider.’

‘Well, if she was, and it’s connected to the robbery, then maybe the driver of the getaway car saw her looking out of the upstairs window at him.’

‘Could be. Anyway, it’s all speculation until forensics examines the scene.’

Teflon nodded. ‘Local CID and div surgeon are on their way, along with DS Paul Lawrence. I told Cam what I’d found, and he said he’d inform Murphy. I’ll let him know it’s Fiona Simpson.’

‘I’m just going to pop down the road and speak to that old lady again. She said she’s a regular at the pub, so she might know who was working behind the bar with Fiona Simpson last night. I don’t want anyone else entering that scene before Paul — not even the divisional surgeon.’

Jane knocked on the door of Betty’s 1930s, brick-built, one-bedroom terraced house.

‘I wasn’t expectin’ you until later, dear. Come on in, make yourself at ’ome. You wanna cup of Rosie Lee?’

‘No thanks, Betty.’ Jane smiled at the cockney rhyming slang for tea.

She followed Betty into the small living room, which was stifling, with a three-bar electric fire on and the window closed.

‘Sorry about the cold, luv, but I ain’t got central ’eating — I can turn the fire up if ya like.’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

Jane looked around the room. It had two armchairs and an old side cabinet with various black and white, and color, family photos arranged on it. In the corner of the room there was a small dining table, on top of which there was a half-completed jigsaw depicting a shallow river, with a man driving his horses and cart through it.

It looked familiar.

‘What’s the jigsaw you’re doing, Betty?’

‘Don’t know, I just liked the picture on the box, so I bought it. Me ’ip’s ’urtin’, luv, so I needs to sit down.’

She lowered herself gingerly into an armchair.

‘Are jigsaws your hobby?’ Jane asked, picking up the box lid. Of course, she thought: The Hay Wain, by Constable.

‘Pretty much since me Albert died. We used to like goin’ out to the countryside on the train when ’e was alive; now ’e’s gone the jigsaws remind me. I don’t get out much as me ’ips are so bad... Doing jigsaws ’elps keep me mind tickin’ over and brings back ’appy memories. I got loads of ’em in me cabinet there.’

‘You said no one had been round to take a statement off you about the robbery...?’

‘Not a dicky bird, luv. The only person who spoke to me about it was Fi, cause she seen the driver as well, like.’

‘Did she tell you she’d made a statement?’

‘I don’t know about a statement, but she did say she’d spoken to a detective and ’e might want to speak to me.’

‘Did she say who the detective was?’

Betty paused. ‘It was King, I think.’

‘Could it have been Kingston?’

She pointed a finger. ‘That’s the name. Fi said ’e was a nice chap and told ’er not to tell anyone that she saw the driver’s face. She said I should keep schtum about it as well.’

‘And have you?’

‘On me life, sweetheart, I ain’t told a soul,’ Betty replied firmly.

‘What happened when the driver opened the car door?’

‘I was on me way to get some bits an’ bobs from the shops an’ the bastard nearly knocked me off me effin’ feet when ’e was getting out of ’is car. Brown, it was. The car... I told him to mind what ’e was doin’ an’ use ’is bloody eyes, but ’e just pulled ’is cap down an’ walked off. I called ’im a rude word, but ’e still ignored me.’ She looked angry.

Jane asked her to describe the man, and she confirmed the details they already had: the newsboy cap, sideburns and ruddy cheeks.

‘Would you recognize him if you saw him again?’

‘Me ’ips is bad but me eyes ain’t — an’ I got a good memory for faces.’

‘Did you see anything else?’

‘When I came out of the shops the robbery was takin’ place. I nearly had an ’eart attack when the gun went off an’ that poor lad fell to the ground. Then quick as you like the brown motor pulls up an’ the three robbers jump in an’ piss off. The driver was wearin’ a balaclava this time, but I know it had to be the same bloke in the cap, because of what Fi told me.’

‘When did you last see Fiona?’ Jane asked.

‘Yesterday evening at six, when I popped in for my usual two bottles of Mackeson.’

‘Did she have anyone helping her behind the bar, Betty?’

‘No, she was on her own... has something happened to Fiona?’

Jane took a deep breath, crouched down beside Betty and took her hand.

‘I’m sorry to have to tell you Fiona is dead.’

Betty started to rock back and forth, her eyes open wide with disbelief.

‘No, no, not my Fi, she can’t be dead... It’s gotta be a mistake.’

‘I’m so sorry, Betty, but we’re sure.’

She squeezed Jane’s hand and started to cry.

‘Oh my poor, poor Fi... She was like a daughter to me... What ’appened?’

‘It looks like she fell down the cellar stairs and hit her head on the floor.’

Jane did her best to comfort her, then once she’d stopped crying she made her a cup of tea.

‘Is there a neighbor you’d like to come and sit with you for a bit?’

‘No thanks, luv, I’d rather be on me own right now,’ Betty said with a sniff.

She shuffled over to the dining table, where she sat down and started doing The Hay Wain jigsaw without another word.

Jane walked back to the pub with a heavy heart, but also feeling puzzled. It was abundantly clear Betty was far from being senile, and she couldn’t for the life of her understand why Kingston had dismissed her as a credible witness. When she got to the car, Teflon was talking to a young man. Teflon turned to Jane.

‘This is DC Reid, early turn CID from Leytonstone. The divisional surgeon’s pronounced life extinct to Paul Lawrence, who’s in the pub, and Murphy is on his way. Did Betty say who was working behind the bar?’

‘She was on her own when Betty saw her at six. Poor thing’s absolutely heartbroken about Fiona’s death. I’ll go and have a word with Paul.’

‘I filled him in about our investigation and Simpson being a witness. He said he’s looking forward to seeing his young protégée.’

Jane stood at the top of the cellar stairs and could see Lawrence, with his back to her, crouched down over Fiona’s body and bending her arm at the elbow joint, testing for rigor mortis.

‘How’s it going, Paul?’

‘Hello, Jane.’ He gently released Fiona’s arm.

‘Can I come down?’

He grinned up at her. ‘Of course you can.’ He opened his arms as she came towards him and they shared a tight hug. ‘How’s life as the first female on the Flying Squad?’

‘Well, I’ve only been on it since Thursday, but I think it’s going to take some time before they accept me as one of “the Dirty Dozen”.’

‘“The Dirty Dozen” — what’s that all about?’

‘I won’t bore you, but some of them have the mentality of a child at times.’

‘You’ll win them round, you always do.’

‘I’m not so sure this time. What was the state of rigor?’

‘She’s cold and stiff. Considering she’d probably have closed the pub between eleven and twelve last night, the rigor fits with her being dead eight to ten hours.’

‘Any signs she was pushed down the stairs?’

Jane went over her earlier observations with Paul about the cellar light being off, the locked doors and the beer garden gate. She then showed him the set of keys.

‘I didn’t have an exhibits bag so I had to put them in this coin bag; whoever last used the Chubb key on the back door might have left their prints on it.’

‘Good thinking.’

He pulled out an exhibits bag from his pocket and dropped them in.

‘I’m worried her death might be connected to our robbery?’

‘Why?’

‘Just a gut feeling at the moment. If I’m right, there are only two ways our suspects could know she was a witness — one, the getaway driver saw her looking at him, or two, someone told them.’

Paul tilted his head and raised his eyebrows.

‘Are you implying you’ve got a leak on the squad?’

Jane sighed. ‘I don’t know, Paul, but there are one or two things that don’t add up. Then again, I could be jumping to conclusions and seeing things that aren’t there.’

‘That sounds familiar,’ he remarked with a grin. ‘You’ve already observed there’s no sign of any struggle or assault in the bar or hallway area leading to the cellar. It’s the same down here, and there are no broken bottles, which means she wasn’t carrying anything up or down the stairs at the time. There are quite a few footprints, but they could be from any number of people who’ve been down here recently. From the blood pooling and position of her body, I’d say she fell backwards and smashed her skull on the ground.’

‘Do you think she could have been pushed?’

‘I can’t say. There’s no bruising on her face or lower arms to suggest she was punched or grabbed, but the post mortem might reveal bruising on her chest or shoulders, which could be consistent with being pushed.’

Paul went over to the beer barrels and gently lifted each one an inch or two off the ground. He said nothing as he walked upstairs.

‘What are you doing?’ Jane asked, following him.

In the lounge bar he picked up a clean beer glass and handed it to her.

‘Pour me a pint of Heineken, please.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘You should know by now there’s always a method in my madness.’

She held the glass under the spout and pulled the tap forward. At first there was the sound of air, then a few small foamy splutters of beer coughed their way out of the spout, followed by a large sputter, which hit the beer already in the glass. It splashed back up and almost over Jane.

Paul smiled. ‘As I thought... The Heineken barrel in the cellar is a fresh one and hasn’t been run through the pipes to ensure an uninterrupted flow of lager from the keg to the glass.’

‘What the hell do you two think you’re doing?’ Murphy shouted.

An embarrassed Jane quickly put the glass on the counter, wishing the ground would open and swallow her up. But Paul knew Murphy of old.

‘Good morning, sir. I’m demonstrating to Sergeant Tennison that Fiona Simpson most likely changed a beer barrel just before her death.’

‘What are you talking about, Lawrence?’

‘It’s not a great revelation, but it could be relevant to her time of death.’

‘Get to the point and don’t give me all the Sherlock Holmes shit!’

‘Someone changed the Heineken barrel and it hasn’t been used, until now. It would explain why Fiona Simpson went down the cellar, but not if she fell or was pushed on her way back up.’

‘Show me the body,’ Murphy said.

‘My pleasure, sir.’

Lawrence showed Murphy the body and repeated his and Jane’s observations.

‘The bottom line is you don’t know how she died?’ Murphy asked, leading the way back up to the bar.

‘Correct. However, my advice would be to secure the scene, remove the body to the mortuary and have a post mortem this afternoon. If the pathologist finds any sign of a struggle, or contentious injuries, then the coroner will decide if a suspicious death or murder investigation is required.’

‘OK, arrange for the PM and finish what you need to do here.’

‘Will you be attending?’ Lawrence asked.

‘No...’

‘May I?’ Jane asked.

Murphy glared at her. ‘Not unless you’d like an instant transfer back to division.’

‘What do you mean, sir?’

‘The Flying Squad don’t deal with suspicious deaths or murder. Division can deal with it and inform me of the PM result.’

‘But one of our suspects might have pushed her.’

‘Right now, you’re pushing me to the limit, Tennison. I had the duty inspector on the phone to me at home last night, about a Mr. Jones who made an official complaint about you and Teflon interviewing his daughter without his permission.’

‘She’s seventeen, and legally an adult.’

‘I don’t give a toss what age she is — I specifically told you not to speak to her and you disobeyed me. I want you and Teflon to go back to the office right now.’

He marched off, and Lawrence could tell Jane felt she’d been deliberately humiliated in front of him.

‘Ignore him, Jane, he’s always been an overbearing twat.’

Jane sighed heavily. ‘He’s been on my case since day one and is determined to get rid of me. He told me I was only transferred to the squad as an experiment.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ll tell you later. Is it OK to ring you at home this evening?’

‘You know you can call me any time, day or night. But the best way to shove two fingers up at Murphy is to do what you do best — and that’s being a damn good detective.’

‘I’m trying, Paul. Believe me, I’m trying.’