Tennison (47 page)

‘Excuse me, sir, but the bloke in the van with John Bentley, could it have been his younger brother David?’ she suggested, handing him the picture.

‘I thought about that, Kath, in fact I nicked him years ago and this photo of him was taken in a hospital. He fell off a roof nicking lead and the doctors said he’d be a cripple for life and only be able to get around in a wheelchair so I doubt he’d be able to serve any useful role in a bank job.’

Jane raised her hand and Bradfield asked what she wanted.

‘I’m pretty sure I saw David a week or so ago. He was walking behind the wheelchair, sort of using it as a support. Some young lad upset him and he reacted pretty quickly.’

‘Is there anyone in that family you don’t know, Tennison?’ DS Gibbs remarked.

Bradfield frowned at him and then looked at Jane. ‘Come on, pretty sure or sure?’

‘Well, he was with a woman who I know to be Renee Bentley and he looks like an older version of his mug shot, his hair is much longer.’

Bradfield asked the surveillance officers if he looked similar to the man who was with John Bentley in the van and they both said he did.

‘So if he can stand up he could act as a lookout,’ Bradfield said and paused to think for a second before looking at the surveillance officers. ‘I don’t think Bentley sussed you tailing him. Where exactly was the car park he drove into?’

‘The multistorey one in Great Eastern Street,’ the officer replied.

‘The one opposite the café and bank?’ Bradfield asked.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You’d get a 360 view from the very top so I’d say it’s the perfect spot for a lookout to see what’s coming from every direction. John Bentley could have dropped his brother off on the top floor. You most likely couldn’t find his van because it would only take him thirty seconds or so to park up in the yard behind the café and close the gates.’

There was a buzz in the room as everyone realized Bradfield could be right. Kath mentioned that from the tape it sounded like a patrolling uniform officer had been spotted by the lookout when arresting a drunk.

‘Maybe it’s worth trying to find out who it was, guv.’

‘Good thinking, Kath. Spence, check with uniform downstairs and with City of London Police as their patch borders the area. If the officer’s actions fit with the information “Eagle” relayed over the walkie-talkie then there’s even stronger evidence it’s the right location.’

‘We hope. There are other banks in that area with cafés nearby or next to them,’ Gibbs remarked.

Bradfield gave him a disapproving look and one of the detectives suggested a night-time raid on the café to catch them in the act.

Bradfield shook his head. ‘No, not at the moment. I want to keep up the surveillance and identify John Bentley’s team. We don’t know if they only go into the café on certain nights, so we need to sit, wait and watch first. By rushing it we risk blowing the whole operation and the Bentleys walking away scot-free.’

Gibbs sighed. ‘But if Bentley sussed the surveillance team then they’re already on to us, so a hit now might result in finding digging equipment, maps, the walkie-talkies or other incriminating evidence before they get a chance to dispose of it.’

Bradfield ignored him and took out some papers from his file and pinned them to the cork board.

‘This is a list of the teams I want you to work in and it also details the street position each obo van and vehicle should take up. Obviously I need to find surveillance premises in Great Eastern Street, but that’s not going to be easy if the car park is Bentley’s lookout point. Now let’s get out there, gather the evidence and build a watertight case to get these bastards put away for a long time. Are there any questions?’

The officers in the room looked at each other. He knew that there would be some that disagreed with his decisions and others who agreed with DS Gibbs, but as he expected no one argued with him. Everyone gathered round the list to see who they were working with. Bradfield leant over to Gibbs.

‘I’d like a word with you in my office.’

‘I’ll just contact City of London Police first and—’

‘Now, Spence,’ Bradfield said firmly and picked up his folder.

Gibbs followed Bradfield into his office where he slammed the file down on the desk and turned sharply.

‘Why are you being so negative and challenging my authority, Spence?’

‘I’m not . . . ’

‘You were questioning my decisions and pulling faces in the meeting and I won’t have it, especially not in front of junior officers,’ he shouted and paced up and down the room.

Gibbs could see he was really pissed off.

‘If it looked or sounded like that then I apologize, but all I’m trying to do is point out that you’re working on assumptions and no hard evidence. I’m worried you’re making things fit because it suits your thoughts on the investigation.’

‘Oh do you really! Well, thank you for that, but I know what I’m doing. And one other thing: lay off Jane Tennison about the Bentleys. You know as well as I do she’s not in with any criminals or taking backhanders like some I could name in that CID office. If she hadn’t met the mother by chance then we wouldn’t have had anything to go on.’

‘You’re being a bit overprotective.’

‘What?’

‘Well, seems to me that maybe your judgement’s a bit off because you have the hots for her. I mean no offence.’

‘I do take fuckin’ offence, Spence. She’s got the makings of a good copper – and don’t forget she was prepared to back your corner when you smacked the shit out of Terry O’Duncie.

‘I fucking lied for you, so you owe me and I expect you to back me up over this Bentley thing from now on. Find that PC their lookout saw with the drunk, and see if we can get a light aircraft or military ’copter to fly over the café today to get some aerial snaps of the rear yard.’

Jane changed into plain clothes before an officer drove her to the Pembridge Estate. Having never been on surveillance before she was quite excited, and knew she could learn a lot from the other officer, who was a surveillance specialist. She was dropped off around the corner from the obo van, which had been painted to look as though it was a wholesale fruit and veg delivery van. She approached it, remembering what she had been told to do. She scanned the vicinity to make sure it was all clear before standing by the rear offside wheel and knocking on the side of the van: two short taps, three, then another two. The officer inside opened one rear door and she darted into the back.

The sudden impact of the smell nearly made her sick. It was a mixture of stale sweat, beer, cigarettes and urine. The interior of the old transit van was dimly lit by the square-light inlet in the roof. Jane could see it was pretty basic – two rickety wooden benches with storage space under them ran along either side, and on top were the same thin, tatty stained mattresses and blankets that prisoners used. At the far end was a little stool beside a small desk with a newspaper on it, a torch hanging on a nail from the side. Above it was a police radio, microphone and headset which he held to one ear as he leaned forward and peered through one of the spy holes.

‘Welcome to the Hackney Hilton, luv, and next time don’t come with your job handbag – sticks out like a sore thumb that you’re a plonk,’ he said, using the derogatory term she detested. He then rolled the newspaper into a ball and tossed it towards a cardboard box holding rubbish. Next to it were two old beer bottles and he pointed to them, grinning. ‘Men’s piss bottles. We got an empty milk carton somewhere for the ladies, though.’

Jane was mortified.

‘I’m DC Stanley, and believe me I’ve been cooped up in a lot worse. I was jokin’ about the milk carton. We nip out if there’s no one about, or lift the flap in the floor there and pee on the road. As you can smell, some officers’ aim isn’t too good.’

‘I couldn’t see the spy holes from the outside.’

‘Well, that’s the idea, luv. This one I’m at is part of an apple stalk, other side is a pear, back door’s potatoes and the air vent on the frame lets you see out the front.’

‘I thought it would all be a lot more high tech.’

‘This is the Old Bill, luv, not James Bond or MI5. I came straight here from a different overnight job so I’m knackered and me neck’s killing me. You can take over and eyeball the estate. If you see any of the targets, let me know and I’ll nip in the front and drive,’ he said, showing her the small sliding door to the front of the van.

She sat on the stool and peered through the hole; it was very uncomfortable as she had to crane her neck and keep her head up to see properly. Stanley lay down on the bench, dragged a blanket over himself, and closed his eyes. Jane knew there was no way she would be able to sit monitoring the estate in the same position for hours. She reached for her shoulder bag, took out her powder compact mirror, opened it and held it by the spy hole.

‘If that worked do you think I would sit on that stool in the same position for hours?’ Stanley said and pulled the blanket over his head.

Jane felt embarrassed and dropped the compact back in her bag.

Clifford Bentley was nursing a hangover whilst having a bath and John and David were still asleep. He hadn’t returned home until after midnight and had been very drunk. Renee knew from experience that he could be volatile and violent when he had been drinking, so she had pretended to be asleep as he fell into the bed beside her.

No one, apart from her, had eaten any of the liver, peas and mash she had cooked the previous evening and left out in a tin-foil-covered serving dish. ‘What a waste,’ she said to herself as she tipped it into the rubbish bin.

She heard David coughing loudly and went to listen outside his bedroom door, where it sounded even worse. She inched the door open. The curtains were closed and he was gasping for breath, his chest rattling as he coughed.

‘You want me to bring you a cup of tea or hot toddy, dear?’

‘No, I’m OK,’ he said, sounding terrible.

She could see he was sweating profusely and went over to feel his head. He was very hot and she realized he was running a high temperature. He didn’t seem to have the strength to argue, so she fetched a bowl of cold water, rinsed out a cloth and sat down on his bed, gently dabbing his forehead. She opened his bedside cabinet and took out a jar of Vicks VapoRub. After unbuttoning his pyjama top she rubbed some into his chest.

‘You got a terrible cold and chest infection. I’ve been warning you to rest because I know you take after me. My asthma is shocking and if I get a cold as well then it always goes straight to me chest.’

David kept his eyes closed. He felt really ill and didn’t have the strength to ask her to leave him alone. She kept on rinsing the cloth in the water and placing it across his brow. She jumped up when she heard Clifford’s voice.

‘I didn’t like the look of that congealed mess you left out last night, and I’m starving now. I’ll have some bacon and eggs with fried bread and a mug of tea.’

‘Can’t you see David’s sick? Listen to him trying to get his breath – he’s got a temperature and I think we need to call the doctor out. God only knows what time he and John came home this morning.’

Clifford stepped forward and nudged the bed with his foot.

‘David, are you all right, son? What’s the matter with you? Is she fussing over you too much?’

David barely managed to nod, he felt so weak, then Clifford grabbed Renee’s arm tightly, ushering her out the room.

‘Just leave him be and get me some breakfast,’ he said, pushing her into the kitchen and shutting the door before going to John’s room. John was snoring and in a deep sleep so Clifford shook the bed and waited for him to wake up.

‘Listen, our David’s sick.’

John yawned. ‘I know, he was in a really bad way this morning when we got back.’

‘Are you workin’ tonight?’

John moaned and sat up. ‘We’ve hit a couple of obstacles and it’s taking longer than I thought. Me, Danny and Silas are knackered. We’ve worked our bollocks off and need a night’s break. Besides, there’s no way David will be up to it this evening.’

‘What obstacles?’

‘We reached more embedded iron bars. There was a brick wall behind them which we thought would take us into the vault area. Danny cut the bars with the oxyacetylene and when we removed the bricks we’d reached the vault’s concrete base.’

‘Sounds like it’s all goin’ well to me.’

‘It was, until we discovered the concrete was reinforced with thick wire mesh.’

‘So what you’re tellin’ me is the fuckin’ job is going to take longer than planned.’

‘Yeah, we now gotta focus on making the hole wide and deep enough to crawl through with the Kango drills and large wire cutters so we can cut through the concrete and mesh.’

Clifford kept his voice low. ‘You should keep pressing on, John, but I can see you’re knackered. I’ll stand in for David tomorrow night if he’s not better, you go get some more sleep.’

Clifford shut the door and went to get his breakfast. Passing David’s room he could hear the rasping cough. He’d be a liability as a lookout, and it felt good to Clifford that he’d be taking over.

Bradfield and Kath had a midday meeting with the portly and pompous bank manager of the TSB, Mr Adrian Dunbar, who wore a pinstriped suit, red-silk bow tie and matching handkerchief sticking out of his breast pocket. He had a slight lisp and was shocked when given the reason for the detectives’ visit. He said that no one who had come to the bank had been acting suspiciously and there had been no reports of suspicious sounds of any kind, be it machinery or hammering. He was very confident and was not in any way overly concerned.

‘The vault is on a timer and can only be opened during banking hours. Just the assistant manager and I know the code, and if you get it wrong twice it triggers the alarms. In addition, any attempt to cut through the steel vault will cause an inner vibration which will set the alarm off and cause an iron shutter to come down between the outer entry door and the vault itself, making it impossible to exit.’

Bradfield and Kath were shown the vault area. The massive steel door with the big locking wheel in its centre was certainly impressive.