Tennison (30 page)

Jane had called Social Services and was now sitting in the incident room with the stack of banknotes heaped on the desk. DC Edwards was typing up his report and looked over to her.

‘What are you doing?’

Jane had taken a pair of tweezers from her handbag and was painstakingly lifting one note after another.

‘I’ve got to count all this seized money and I’m worried about leaving my prints on the notes.’

‘If you got bundles in the same denomination just list the serial numbers first.’

‘But I’ve also got to count that big bag of coins.’

‘Rather you than me.’ He turned back to his report.

Kath popped her head round the door.

‘I’m going off duty. Christ, it was a long day and really tedious in court. Two cases were called before mine and they were so drawn out I ended up last on.’

Jane stopped checking the notes. ‘What did he get?’

Kath moved further into the room.

‘Magistrate was impressed that the little shite admitted his guilt and asked for other offences to be taken into consideration. It was in his favour that none of the poor old pensioners whose life savings he stole, and who he scared the life out of, have to give evidence.’

Jane nodded and began to pick up the notes with her tweezers as Kath continued.

‘Then the ponce solicitor asked for a lenient sentence for the nasty thievin’ git and went on about his remorse for what he’d done. My God, Jane, you should have seen how he reacted, blubbered and cried. He’s remanded in custody to appear at the Crown Court for sentencing, but will probably get about two bloody years, and you know what makes me really sick?’

Jane lost concentration and had to start recounting a bundle.

‘Worst thing is he’ll probably be out in eight months and he’s a nasty vicious little sod. Next time he’ll probably kill someone, he’s that twisted. Villains like Boyle are the scum of the earth, he even gave me this sick gloating smile as if to say he’d got away with it. You mark my words it’s not the last time we’ll hear of Kenneth Boyle.’

‘At least you got him, Kath.’

Yet again Jane made a mistake and had to return to recounting the money.

‘See you tomorrow,’ Kath said and Jane told her she had a day off.

‘Of course, it’s the wedding.’

‘Don’t remind me, it’s sort of crept up on me.’

Kath laughed and let Jane continue her counting whilst she wrote up the result of the Boyle case on a file for the collator PC Donaldson. Jane mentioned that he had gone home at 4 p.m. and Kath left the file on her desk saying she’d give it to Donaldson in the morning.

As Kath left the room Edwards finished his report and took it over to the files ‘IN’ tray.

‘She never stops bloody yakking on – you’d think she was the only person ever to make an arrest. Right, that’s me done and dusted.’ He started to walk out, pausing by Jane’s desk.

‘At the speed you’re going you’ll be here all night. Tarra.’

Jane was really tired and finding it increasingly hard to concentrate, but with a day’s leave coming up she had to finish recording all the serial numbers and then check her list to see if any were sequential, which she reckoned would take at least another couple of hours.

No sooner had Edwards left than DS Gibbs walked in.

‘Guv wants to know if any of the notes run in sequential order.’

Jane sighed. ‘Well, I’m sorry, but I’m on my own and it’s taking a lot of time so . . . ’

‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, O’Duncie is being kept in custody overnight for further interviews.’

He took out a comb from his pocket and ran it front to back through his hair, making it stand up on end, and then ran his fingers either side of his head.

‘I’ve got quite a way to go, but I’ll finish checking all the notes before I go home.’

‘Finish it tomorrow, but make sure the money is locked away in the property-store safe overnight.’

‘I have the day off tomorrow as it’s my sister’s wedding.’

Gibbs replaced the comb in his pocket, and told her he’d get Kath to finish checking it all in the morning.

‘Are you sure? Only I’m worried DCI Bradfield might disapprove if I go off duty just now.’

‘I’ll sort it out and tell him you got a big day tomorrow. I had to take a week off after my brother got married. Nothin’ to do with the wedding, it was the stag night I had to recover from.’

‘Thank you, I really appreciate it, not that I’m looking forward to the wedding: I’m chief bridesmaid.’

‘Well, better a wedding than a funeral, eh, Jane?’ He walked off playing air guitar and making the sound of the strings playing the wedding march. Jane was quite surprised as it was the first time he had called her by her Christian name.

The property office was closed. Jane knew that Duty Sergeant Harris had a key to the office and the safe, so she would have to get him to open it up for her.

‘What do you want, Tennison?’ Harris snapped as she approached.

Jane explained that she needed the property store opened, the seized money put in the safe and a property-deposit invoice signed.

‘Well, one favour deserves another, so when I’ve done that you can take over on the front desk for an hour while I have my grub.’

She tried to explain that DS Gibbs had said she could go off duty. Harris said that it was busy out on the streets and there was no one to come in and relieve him so she’d better show some willing seeing as he’d allowed her to be attached to the murder team.

Jane knew it was pointless arguing and didn’t want to interrupt Gibbs and Bradfield while they were busy so she did as she was told.

She dealt with two people who came in to report a couple of minor crimes and an elderly woman who’d lost her purse in the street. An hour and a half passed and Sergeant Harris hadn’t returned. Jane suspected he was probably playing snooker, but she couldn’t leave the front desk unmanned.

She’d just sat back down when a civilian courier arrived with the internal mail, which she signed for and then began to sort out into piles.

Jane noticed that an envelope was addressed to her. Opening it she read that there was a place available at the section house, but if she wanted the room she had to reply within forty-eight hours. She immediately started to fill out her personal details on the residents’ form. Knowing that her parents would be upset she was moving out, Jane decided it would be best to tell them after the wedding. She completed the forms and put them in a return envelope addressed to the section house sergeant at Ede House.

As she sealed the envelope and popped it into the internal mail bag Sergeant Harris finally returned.

‘Why’s all that mail on the desk? You’re supposed to put it in the relevant drawer trays.’

‘I was about to but—’

‘Then get on with it before you go off duty,’ he sneered, deliberately trying to antagonize her.

She knew what he was trying to do but smiled. ‘My pleasure, Sergeant. Sadly there’s nothing for you.’

Having dealt with all the mail she returned to the incident room to get her handbag and personal belongings. As she passed Bradfield’s office she could hear him and Gibbs chatting and wondered if there were any further developments, but she had no intention of hanging about to find out. As she picked up her handbag she noticed the open file Kath had left on the desk. She glanced at the mug shot of Kenneth Boyle and suppressed a shudder. There was something about his almost pretty-boy face, with its wide-apart dark hooded eyes and thin mouth that chilled her. No wonder Kath felt so angry about the short sentence: Boyle definitely deserved a lot longer for the stress and fear he’d inflicted. Flicking the file shut, Jane walked out of the office and headed to the bus stop, feeling depressed by the day’s events.

David Bentley tuned the radio to another channel. David Cassidy’s ‘How Can I Be Sure’ filled the van.

‘Turn that Cassidy wanker off,’ John said.

They were at the rented garage and had just finished attaching the advertising logos to the sides of the van: ‘Home Decorating, Painting and Carpentry’, ‘Professionals at Reasonable Prices’ – all of which could be easily peeled off at any time. The back windows were covered with pictures David had cut out from magazines: tins of paint, paper-pasting boards, paintbrushes and ladders. They had earlier purchased two smaller stolen Kango hammer drills for cash from a dealer in Essex and were now loading them into the van, along with the additional equipment needed for the job. John reversed the loaded van into the garage and locked the heavy metal garage door. David was using his walking stick and had not been very helpful due to his lameness, but John had tried to include him as much as possible.

‘We’ll unload the decorating gear in the back yard of the café tomorrow night when we start. Danny will be there to help carry it down to the basement,’ John said, patting the garage door. They walked back towards their estate, and John put his arm around his brother.

‘Don’t look so worried.’

‘It’s gonna be all right isn’t it, John?’

‘Trust me, Dave, we been working on this for weeks, there’ll be no problems.’

David’s stomach tightened as he recalled his father using the same words when they went to the church to steal the lead and he fell off the roof. He was now terrified of heights, scared of ever going back to prison, knowing as a cripple he’d be vulnerable inside.

John started talking about a movie he wanted to see.
Theatre of Blood
, with Vincent Price and Diana Rigg, which had got rave reviews and was a real British horror movie, but David was not interested. He had a nagging fear in the pit of his stomach and knowing exactly what was going to begin the next night made it worse.

Sitting in her usual seat on the top deck of the bus, Jane put her earpiece in and turned on her pocket radio. By pure coincidence Jimi Hendrix was singing ‘Voodoo Child’. She sighed, remembering the hideous squat they had been to that afternoon and the young kids living rough and taking drugs. She felt pretty certain that Julie Ann and Eddie Phillips had visited or lived there at some time. However, she was uncertain about Terry O’Duncie. For all that she loathed about his existence, he didn’t appear to be a violent person; although he dressed like a pimp, he seemed to be playing at being a tough guy. She felt depressed and turning off the radio thought to herself, What do I know? It saddened her to think how young the girls had been at the squat; even some of the boys looked to be in their teens. She shuddered to think that they could end up like Julie Ann and Eddie, addicted to drugs, turning to prostitution and stealing to pay for their habit. They had nothing to look forward to but a wretched future, so different from her own; she had been raised within a caring family who were always there to love and protect her. Jane forced herself to think of something else. Her mind turned to her sister’s wedding, but this annoyed her as she wasn’t looking forward to it, didn’t relish being a bridesmaid and feared the whole day would be a hideous experience. She turned her radio back on and ironically David Cassidy was singing his hit single ‘How Can I Be Sure’.

Alone in her bedroom on Sunday morning Jane found it difficult to even look at herself in the mirror. The salmon-pink taffeta floor-length bridesmaid dress, now with the waistband and large bow in place, had been difficult to hook up as it was so tight. The corset was even tighter and it was hard to take a deep breath, and she was scared that if she did her bust would pop out as the neckline was so low, and the puffball sleeves kept slipping down her shoulder. The ensemble was topped with a coronet of fresh white tea roses, which was too large and slipped forward every time she moved. The dyed satin Cuban-heeled shoes matched the dress and all three bridesmaids were to carry a little posy of white roses and wear elbow-length white gloves.

‘Dear God, I look ridiculous,’ she muttered.

The entire family was gathered in the living area along with the other two bridesmaids, who were Pam’s closest friends, although Jane had only ever met them at the church rehearsal.

Her mother shouted for Jane to get a move on as the car had arrived and the car for Pam and her dad was also due any minute. Jane gritted her teeth as she slowly left the bedroom and walked into the room where the other two bridesmaids in identical outfits were shrieking and giggling with excitement.

Her mother was fussing, rushing here and there in a worried state, wondering where she’d put the box of white roses and freesias for the groom, best man and ushers to pin to their morning-suit buttonholes. Her father was sitting nonchalantly reading the paper, his top hat between his knees.

He glanced at Jane. ‘Where’s the bride?’ he asked, folding the paper, then looked up at her.

‘Good God, your dress is a bit low at the front, isn’t it?’

Before Jane could answer Pam came out from her parents’ bedroom, where she’d been for the last four hours fixing her hair and make-up. Her floor-length white lace gown, which had cost a fortune, was bunched up in her arms and she suddenly wailed as the long white train caught in the base of the door. It was panic as Mrs Tennison shouted for her husband to find the buttonhole flowers while she helped Pam. Mr Tennison remembered they were in the hall and, annoyed with all the frantic fuss, took charge of the situation, clapping his hands as he instructed everyone to keep calm and get ready to leave.

‘Bridesmaids go now, first car. Mother, you take the flowers and get them to the groom and the boys, Pam and I will follow at exactly eleven forty,’ he said, checking his watch.

‘Pam, don’t bunch up your dress, it’ll crease.’ Mrs Tennison shook out the veil to straighten it and then rushed back into the bedroom to fetch her hat.

Pam was in a panic. ‘Where’s my bouquet?’

‘In the hall, sweetheart . . . let the bridesmaids go to their car now . . . Where the hell is your mother?’ Mr Tennison sighed.

Jane had by now collected her posy of roses and held them tightly to her chest as she opened the front door and stood to one side as her mother scurried out with her hat on, stopped suddenly, turned and went back to the hall to get the box of buttonholes.