Tennison (45 page)

Renee noticed that it was almost eight o’clock and realized that she had not had anything substantial to eat since midday. She started to peel some potatoes for the mash and decided she’d cook the liver in gravy, and put on some frozen peas to go with it as well. She spread some newspaper over the table and got a small plastic bowl, tipped in a few potatoes and sat down to peel them. She always used the same small, sharp knife, cutting the skins off finely and methodically. As she did so she thought about David’s cuttings and why he had hidden them. It made her feel depressed as he would never have enough money to get to places like New York, or anywhere in America. David was her favourite son, the handsome one, who had been the most caring and sweet-natured little boy. Now his life was ruined by his awful crippled leg, which was his father’s fault. The tears started to trickle down her cheeks and drop into the dirty, potato-stained water as she thought of poor David’s wasted life. Then she thought about her own life and wept for herself.

It was dark when Jane was woken by a knock on her door. She panicked, thinking she had slept in and was late for the 6 a.m. early shift. She looked at her bedside clock and was relieved to see it was actually only 9 p.m. Opening the door she saw Sarah in the corridor.

‘Hey there, it’s Sarah Redhead, and there’s a DCI Bradfield in the quiet room who wants to speak to you.’

‘Did he say what he wants?’ Jane asked, pulling on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

‘I’m only the messenger, sweetheart. He just said it was important. The old buzzard Sergeant is on the prowl so you’d better go down. God forbid a man’s caught on our landing.’

Jane hurried down to the quiet room wondering what was so urgent.

‘You wanted to see me?’ she asked as she entered the room and saw Bradfield wearing a white raincoat with the collar turned up.

‘Please, sit down. I need a quick chat with you about some developments regarding what you told us earlier today. I put a surveillance team on John Bentley. He was driving a white decorator’s van that’s not registered in his name, but that might be because he hasn’t informed DVLC he now owns it so that he avoids paying any road tax or parking fines.’

‘Where did he go?’ Jane asked with excitement and relief.

‘Don’t know – they lost him up by a multistorey car park in Great Eastern Street. It’s possible he sussed he was being tailed. Anyway, they’re sitting on his mum’s flat to see if and when he returns. The reason I’m here is because all this is happening as a result of you recognizing his voice on the tape and a lot of East Londoners sound the same so—’

‘I am honestly sure it was him on the tape.’ She licked her lips nervously.

‘OK, he may be up to something, but he could also be working as a legit decorator. He had someone with him, but as yet we don’t know who it was, other than a younger-looking white male. We also found out his dad Clifford has just been released from prison.’

‘Do you want me to go into the station to type and index the reports?’

‘Not much point at the moment. There’s a shedload of banks in the area where we lost him, and Hatton Garden with all the jewellery shops is just up the road.’

‘So do you think Ashley Brennan could be right?’

‘Who knows, but we’re going to try and find out. However, with the RCA equipment your report said he had, and bearing in mind some enquiries I made about it, he could actually be hearing someone talking in Brighton. We’ll start from the point of his flat and work outwards, but even if we schlep all over London we may never pinpoint where the calls were coming in from.’

‘Were there any banks near the car park?’

He sighed, irritated. ‘Yeah, like I just said, there’s loads of them in the area, but none have reported a robbery or anything suspicious.’

‘Sorry, I just wondered,’ she replied, feeling embarrassed.

He suddenly leaned towards her, staring into her eyes. She blinked rapidly with nerves, and as she swallowed he gently touched her cheek.

‘If you are wrong about Bentley’s voice then I’m wasting a lot of manpower, time and money.’

Before Jane could reply, the section house sergeant walked in, frowned and said there was an urgent call for Bradfield at the reception desk. Bradfield asked for the call to be transferred through to the sergeant’s office so he could talk in private and told Jane to follow him.

Jane waited outside and a few minutes later he came out rubbing his hands together and looking pleased.

‘OK, that was DS Gibbs. He’s just visited the registered owner of the van Bentley was driving. It was in Kingston and he’s a decorator, but surprise, surprise, the bloke’s been working locally all day and his van was parked outside. So that means John Bentley’s driving a ringer.’

‘What’s a ringer?’ Jane asked.

‘Bentley’s using copied index plates, so he’s probably no decorator.’

Bradfield started to walk away and Jane hesitated, not sure what to do, when he stopped and turned to face her.

‘Thanks for your help. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t instigating a wild goose chase, but now with the added info from Spence I think we may be on to something. The lads checking out Great Eastern Street said there’s a Trustee Savings Bank next to a café and a tailor’s shop nearby that’s had a light on all evening, so I’m going there now to check it out.’

‘Do you need me with you?’

‘No, sweetheart, I’m bringing Kath in as I’ve put her on acting detective duties. Besides, we gotta make further enquiries. Go and get some sleep as you’ve got uniform early shift in the morning.’

She felt insulted, as if he was treating her like a child, but he was gone before she had the opportunity to say anything.

Untroubled by events above ground, the frustrated and exhausted threesome in the basement of Silas’s café were working harder than ever before. The tunnel was progressing well and was secured with wooden supports.

From his vantage point David could see with his binoculars there were lights on in the tailor’s shop near the café. The main window had a curtain pulled across it, so it was impossible for him to see directly inside the shop. A small blue Morris Minor van pulled up outside the tailor’s and a short, stumpy-looking bald man got out of the driver’s side. He then opened the rear doors and lifted out two armloads of what appeared to be plastic-wrapped dry-cleaning. As he approached the front of the tailor’s a woman opened the door and took some of the items from him. A few minutes later the man left in the Morris Minor van and returned half an hour later with another bundle of plastic-wrapped clothes, which he took inside the shop.

David was concerned and pressed the button on his walkie-talkie to make contact with his brother in the café. Silas answered and listened as David told him about the activity outside the tailor’s shop, but as it was four shops down he was not unduly worried. John came on the radio and told David to keep contact to a minimum, unless it was something really important.

It was coming up to almost 10 p.m. when David saw a man wearing a baseball cap and raincoat walking arm in arm with a woman along the street. They stopped by the tailor’s and the man pressed the bell. After a while he saw the blind on the entrance door lift and the short stumpy man let the couple in before closing the door behind them. It didn’t appear suspicious, even at that late hour, and David just assumed it was someone who had arranged a fitting or was picking up some clothes.

However, Mannie Charles, the shop owner, was totally freaked out when DCI Bradfield and Kath Morgan showed their warrant cards and asked to have a chat with him.

Bradfield, in case of a lookout in the vicinity, had parked the unmarked CID car down a side street and walked to Mannie’s shop. Bradfield knew who Mannie Charles was, but had never actually met him until now.

‘Oy vey, you’re giving me heart failure. I done nothing wrong, I swear on my son’s life – it’s all kosher,’ Mannie pleaded nervously as Bradfield followed him in.

Bradfield calmed him down. ‘Nothing to do with your business, Mannie. I just want to ask a few questions you might be able to help us with.’ He looked around the dimly lit shop which was stacked with rolls of fabric on shelves lining the walls. On the counter there were more rolls of fabric and some swatches, along with two tailor’s dummies draped in a pinstriped wool material.

‘I’ve only just collected the suits from the Horne warehouse manager, but I should have all the alterations done by mid-week and ready for delivery,’ he said, and pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket before continuing. ‘Let’s see. Ah, Mr Bradfield, I got you down for dark navy with silk lining, double-breasted and very good quality, a forty chest, thirty-four waist, thirty-six inside leg. Is that right, Mr Bradfield?’

Kath was puzzled, wondering exactly what Mannie was on about as Bradfield smiled and said he had ordered a new suit, but that was not what he had come about.

‘My wife’s out the back. She’s working on the suits I’ve just brought in. I can fit yours now, make sure it’s just right.’

Bradfield said he was sure the suit would be fine and his wife might be able to help with their enquiries, though this just seemed to worry Mannie even more and he said she was a bit of a klutz. The three of them headed through a door with mottled-glass panels which led into the sewing and fitting room. It was larger than the shop front, with a tall window at the back that had brown paper plastered across it and metal security bars. Next to it there was a heavy metal door that was padlocked, which obviously led to the back yard of the premises. Two big electric sewing machines dominated the room, and there were tables and more stacks of wool and linen samples. Mrs Charles, a diminutive woman with a curved back, was sitting by an old-fashioned pedal-operated sewing machine. She peered over the rim of her half-moon glasses as they entered.

‘What do vey want?’

Mannie gestured for her to get on with her work. Using a small pair of scissors, she was removing labels from a heap of suit jackets and tossing them into a bin.

‘Voz iz the matter, bubbee?’ she asked her husband.

Bradfield reassured her. ‘Nothing to concern or worry you, Mrs Charles. We’re just here to have a chat with Mannie about some suits we want made up,’ he said, deciding it was best not to involve her for the time being.

Mannie told his wife to go and make herself a cup of coffee. She took off her glasses and had to clutch the end of the table to stand. She was badly hunched and shuffled her way into a small kitchen area and closed the door.

‘OK, Mannie, I’m wondering if you have seen anything suspicious happening around here recently.’

His eyes and mouth widened. ‘Like what, Mr Bradfield?’

Bradfield asked if Mannie had seen anyone watching or asking about any of the nearby banks, or heard any sounds that were out of the ordinary, like heavy machinery or digging perhaps. Mannie shook his head.

‘Have any of the other shop owners mentioned anything unusual?’

‘I don’t really have anything to do wiv ’em, Mr Bradfield. I just get on with my business and my customers are mostly regulars that book an appointment for fittings. Passing trade is very poor.’

‘Who runs the store on the corner?’

‘A bunch of Indian schmucks. They sell electric tools and machinery, but we never talk.’

Bradfield smiled. ‘Do you get on with anyone in the street, Mannie?’

‘The woman who owns the shoe shop is very nice and bought a coat and matching skirt from me.’

‘What about the Greek guy who runs the café?’

‘Silas, yes, he’s always pleasant and friendly.’

‘I take it he bought goods from you as well.’

‘No. Why would he wear a suit in a café? He always gives me a little discount, which is kind considering he doesn’t do much business apart from the bank staff next door to him. You should try his Greek coffee with a sweet honey and nut baklava. I love it, but the nuts always get stuck in my teeth.’

‘Have you heard any noises coming from the café at night – drilling or stuff like that?’

‘No, but I don’t usually work here late at night. Me and the wife just wanted to get all the detectives’ suits done.’

Bradfield asked about the back yards belonging to the shop owners in the street and Mannie told him he rented his out to a carpenter. He was unsure about the others, but as far as he knew most shop owners used them for their vans or storage.

Mrs Charles returned with her coffee in a chipped mug and sat at her sewing machine. She began altering the waist on a pair of suit trousers, and twisted the cloth expertly, working at unbelievable speed.

‘Do you have a cellar, Mannie?’ Bradfield asked.

Kath waited upstairs with Mrs Charles as Mannie led Bradfield down the narrow stone stairs to a large cellar the size of the entire space of the floor above. Racks of wrapped material were stored amongst cardboard boxes and old sewing machines. The walls were red brick and in many areas worn and in need of repointing. They could hear the sound of Mrs Charles on the sewing machine as it echoed through the floorboards.

Bradfield couldn’t see any reason to remain there and asked Mannie to have a chat with his wife and let him know if she could add anything of interest. Walking back into the sewing and fitting room Bradfield saw Kath standing with her arms stretched out and Mrs Charles holding a measuring tape round her chest.

‘What you doing, Morgan?’

‘Well, now I’m working in the CID as an acting detective, sir, I thought I’d get a nice two-piece skirt suit for work.’

‘Do it in your own time, not on the job. We’re done here.’

Kath thought this was rather ironic as it was obvious he and a few other detectives were getting new tailored suits, but she said nothing.

Mannie unlocked the front door, and was ushering them out when he tapped Bradfield’s arm.

‘There is something a bit odd. I mean it might not mean anything, but we’ve all been given our marching orders by the council as they is going to knock this row of shops down. The leases are up in six months. Me and Mrs Charles can’t work from home as the house is small and not big enough for all the materials and sewing stuff, so we looking for a new place to set up business.’