Tennison (17 page)

He indicated for the next slide to be brought up. It was a large colour close-up of a smiling Brian Hall, a keen angler, on a riverbank. He was crouching down and proudly holding up a first-prize cup with a very large freshwater carp on the ground by his feet.

‘Taken two weekends before the murders and found hanging in his living room – this was mistake two. Remember I told you every picture tells a story, but can you spot it?’

There was total silence as everyone looked at the picture, tilting their heads this way and that to try and see it from different angles, but no one was forthcoming with an answer.

Harker dropped another clue. ‘He said he’d never owned a particular type and brand of trainer?’

Everyone’s attention was instantly drawn to Hall’s feet and there were repeated echoes around the room of the words ‘Gazelle trainers’, which he was wearing in the photograph.

‘Also note the good condition the trainers are in, which means they were fairly knew. We also found a ratchet screwdriver in his tool kit, and although it fitted for the murder weapon on the older woman there were no forensic traces whatsoever on it and we think it was obviously thoroughly cleaned. Mistake three was the real nail in his coffin and the discovery of evidence by myself that I am particularly proud of. I was able to match a section of the tape used to gag the victims with a reel I discovered at his premises. However, when Hall was asked about it he refused to answer any further questions from that moment on. He never admitted or said another word until he appeared for trial at the Old Bailey.’

Harker looked at his watch and closed his file. ‘The jury unanimously convicted Brian Hall of both murders. Although we were pretty certain he stole money from the two ladies no large sums were ever recovered from Hall’s home. It may have been they didn’t have much money on the premises, which makes their torture and murder even more senseless.’

The class applauded Harker as the lights flickered back on and the lecture ended. For Jane it had been an excellent and informative day and she couldn’t wait to talk to Kath about everything she’d learned. Harker reminded everyone that cracking a case was a team effort: police, forensic scientists and crime scene officers all working together and sharing information was what resulted in success.

‘I hope you have all found today useful and that you can take away something beneficial from it, maybe in how you approach a crime scene as the first officer attending, or a murder investigation for those of you who aspire to becoming detectives. That’s it. Good work, everyone – would the spokesperson for each group please stack the files on the desk by the door as you go?’

The rest of the class had gone when Jane approached Harker, who was placing his acetate and projection slides into his briefcase.

‘Excuse me, Dr Harker,’ she said as she neared.

He clicked his briefcase closed and looked up at her.

‘May I ask you a question?’

He sighed and nodded.

‘I was interested in how people react in stressful situations.’

‘You can probably answer that question yourself to an extent. If you think about it, most of us at some time in our lives have experienced the range of feelings that accompany traumatic experiences, such as depression, denial and so on.’

‘You said Brian Hall was shocked and concerned when told about the murders. I just wondered what it was in his manner during the interrogations that convinced you even more that you had the right person.’

Harker lifted his briefcase from the desk. ‘As a scientist I deal with and advise on questions relating to the crime scene and forensics. Detectives always carry out the interviews with a suspect.’

‘Oh right . . . I didn’t realize, I thought from your talk that you were present, but thank you . . .’ Jane thought from his demeanour and answer he wasn’t interested in talking to her. She started to walk off.

‘That’s not to say I can’t help you as I’m well versed in every aspect of the Brian Hall case, and working alongside experienced detectives I’ve often discussed a suspect’s guilt and behaviour with them.’

‘What are the reactions that give the suspect away and make detectives think they are guilty?’

‘In the case of Brian Hall it was quite clear his concern was a cover to make it appear he felt sympathetic and upset about the two victims and was not connected to their deaths.’

‘Did he ever get angry or lose his temper during the interviews?’

‘Sometimes a suspect, even an innocent one, will show rage and aggression towards the interviewing officers, but Hall was different. He was arrogant; he looked down his nose at them with contempt and thought they were fools. For the first time in his life he was the focus and centre of attention, and even when confronted with the packing tape as damning evidence he believed he was too clever to be caught. He had an answer for everything, never showed any remorse and I honestly believe he would have killed and raped more women if he hadn’t been caught.’

Jane thought about how best to put her next question before continuing.

‘Say a person killed someone close to them, like a loved one, relative or friend, could they react with anger at any stage?’

‘From what I have learned from other cases the answer is yes, but where and when the anger will manifest itself is often variable and could be in private. Anyone who has committed a serious crime like murder is under a great deal of stress. Behavioural reactions like a sudden outburst of anger, in or out of a police interview, can be the result of inner turmoil and remorse about the crime committed, but it doesn’t mean the suspect is inherently guilty.’

Jane persisted. ‘So, losing a loved one under any circumstances must create all sorts of dreadful emotions and confusion?’

‘Yes, but sometimes emotion can give a suspect away, so you need to watch their reactions closely. They may shed a few crocodile tears in a false display of grief to try and hide their guilt.’

‘But how can they force themselves to cry like that?’

‘Like an actor they draw on their own emotional experiences and trauma. The only difference is the suspect’s emotional experience is a real murder they committed. Sometimes the tears may be regret for what they have done or even self-pity,’ he said, and looked at his watch.

‘Thank you for your help, Dr Harker, and I really enjoyed your talk . . . ’

‘Listen, it’s after five, would you like to join me for a drink?’

She gasped. Hearing the time, she realized that she would be late for the wedding rehearsal.

‘Oh no, I have to go! I’m sorry, I would have liked to, but my sister’s getting married.’

He gave her a confused look.

‘There’s a church rehearsal and I’m chief bridesmaid and I can’t be late for it.’

She hurried to collect her bag from beside the desk she had been sitting at.

‘Another time then – I’m sorry, I don’t know your full name.’

‘It’s Jane Tennison,’ she said, hurriedly pulling her jacket off the back of her chair and putting it on.

‘Where are you stationed?’ he asked as he opened the classroom door.

‘I’m a probationer at Hackney.’

‘I’ll know where to find you then.’ He let the door close behind him, leaving her alone in the classroom.

Realizing the Underground would be her quickest option Jane ran to the Holloway Road station. She showed her warrant card at the barrier and the guard let her through. She rushed down the escalator onto the Piccadilly Line train. It wasn’t until she changed at Piccadilly Circus for the Bakerloo Line and was heading for Maida Vale that she thought about Dr Harker asking her to have a drink with him. As she sat back in her seat she thought he must have appreciated her attentiveness and constructive comments regarding the fibre traces. It never entered her head that he might also have found her attractive.

Jane looked at her watch as she ran from Warwick Avenue Underground station, across Edgware Road and into Hamilton Crescent towards St Mark’s Church. She was already late, and arriving at the church she had difficulty in opening the large wooden doors. Frustrated, she twisted and turned the big metal-ring door-handles. Finally the latch on the inside lifted and she was able to push the heavy door open with her shoulder. Through the glass vestibule doors she could see her sister, Tony the groom, the best man, the bridesmaids and her parents standing in front of the altar. The vicar was rehearsing the vows and was interrupted mid-sentence as the doors clattered loudly behind Jane as they closed. In unison everyone turned and looked to the back of the church.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Jane said in a loud voice which echoed round the church. She hurried down the aisle removing her raincoat and shoulder bag, which she threw down on a pew, before standing next to her mother in police uniform.

Mrs Tennison glared at Jane and whispered that she had missed most of the rehearsal. She told her to take off her uniform jacket and stand with the other bridesmaids.

Pam looked at her parents and Jane. ‘About time, Jane! Mummy, you won’t be standing there, you will be sitting in the first pew, and at this point so should you be, Daddy.’

‘I was just standing in for Jane, dear,’ her mother replied and pushing her husband scuttled with him to the pew.

The vicar made a deliberate coughing sound to get everyone’s attention before continuing with the wedding vows. Pam was wearing a small makeshift veil, and on hearing the vicar say, ‘You may now kiss the bride,’ she lifted it, but wasn’t smiling as she was still upset about Jane being late.

The vicar then showed them the anteroom and register the ‘newly married, happy couple’ would sign. Pam turned to Jane and put her hands out towards her.

‘Hold these.’

‘Hold what?’ Jane asked, as there was nothing in Pam’s hands.

‘I’m miming handing you my bouquet of flowers before we sign the register, then you hand them back afterwards.’

‘Right.’ Jane nodded her head dutifully, holding out her hands to accept the imaginary bouquet.

‘And remember when we enter and leave the church you need to be far enough behind me so you don’t step on my veil.’

‘Right,’ Jane repeated and pretended to hand the bouquet back.

Jane and her mother walked home as it wasn’t very far. Mrs Tennison slipped her arm through Jane’s. ‘You should have gone with your sister and the other bridesmaids – a few of the girls from the salon are joining them later as well for her hen night.’

‘Well, for one she didn’t ask me. Anyway, I doubt they’d appreciate me being in uniform, unless they were having one of those silly, haw-haw, dress-up-as-policewomen henparty evenings.’

‘No. She’s booked a table at the Clarendon and Daddy’s paying. I hope Tony doesn’t let him have too much to drink, you know how belligerent he can get when he’s two sheets to the wind, insisting on doing his Greek-dancing routine.’ Tony, rather ill at ease, had asked Mr Tennison to join him and the best man for a few beers.

Jane laughed, recalling how much her father had enjoyed his holiday in Corfu a few years ago. She couldn’t picture him with his soon-to-be-son-in-law doing something so frivolous.

‘How was the lecture? Run over, did it?’ her mother asked pointedly.

‘Dr Harker was absolutely fascinating and I learnt so much. The case was a vicious double murder where a—’

An anxious-looking Mrs Tennison interrupted. ‘Yes, well, I’m glad you were in a classroom and not out patrolling a rough area like Hackney where vicious crimes like that happen.’

‘The murder took place in a cottage in Biggin Hill. That’s in the Kent countryside, Mum.’

When they arrived home Mrs Tennison hung up her coat alongside Jane’s uniform jacket.

‘Let me see you in the dress, Jane, because you know Pam will have a fit if it doesn’t look perfect.’

Jane reluctantly went to her bedroom, took off her uniform shirt and looked at the black zip bag hanging ominously on the back of the bedroom door. It reminded her of a body bag as she slowly unzipped it to reveal the bridesmaid dress. The layers of salmon-pink taffeta burst out again below the corseted waist. Taking it off the hanger she unpinned the wide cummerbund-style belt that had an over-large satin bow round it, but worse still for Jane were the dreadful puff sleeves. ‘Oh my God,’ she said to herself as she held the dress up to her body and looked in the mirror.

Her mother walked in and clapped her hands together with a delighted smile. ‘Oh isn’t it beautiful? You and the other bridesmaids are all in identical dresses, and wait until you see Pam’s wedding gown! Come along now, put it on, let me see you in it. I hope it won’t need any last-minute alterations. I’ll just put our supper in the oven and be back in a minute,’ she said and picked up Jane’s dirty work shirt to put in the laundry basket.

Jane closed her bedroom door then billowed out the skirt before unzipping the back of the dress to step into it. With trepidation she pulled it up; thankfully it was the right length. She twisted the bodice round and zipped it up as best she could before putting her arms through the awful puff sleeves. She looked in the mirror. ‘Shit,’ she muttered, noticing the sweetheart neckline was embarrassingly low and the corset pushed up and accentuated her 34DD breasts. She sighed: there was nothing she could do about it now. She held her hands up in front of her breasts as if holding the imaginary bouquet and thought the flowers might just cover the revealing neckline. She really didn’t want to go to the wedding in what she considered a monstrosity of a dress, and all she could hope for now was that all police leave would be cancelled that day. She had to twist the dress round to get out of it. She hung it up, pulled on her old dressing gown and left the room, calling to her mother,

‘It’s a perfect fit, Mum. Nothing needs to be done.’

Bradfield was putting on his suit jacket, ready to call it a day, when he heard the knock at the door and Sergeant Harris entered.

‘Sorry to bother you, but I’ve just had the control room from the Yard on the blower. There’s a possible crime scene at Regent’s Park and—’

‘That’s not even on my patch. Tell them to call the local DCI out,’ he said tersely as he put on his coat.