Tennison (60 page)

‘Not long now, Mr Dunbar,’ Bradfield said.

Dunbar looked up at him. ‘I’m sorry I doubted you, but I just can’t believe this is happening. I’ll do whatever you need me to, and if anyone in the bank is involved rest assured I will help you find them.’

‘I’m sure you will, Mr Dunbar,’ Bradfield replied, uncertain if his loyalty was to him or the suspects.

Bradfield turned to DS Gibbs who was standing beside him and reiterated that it was imperative, as DCS Shaun Metcalf had ordered, that the targets had to be inside the vault before he gave the go-ahead to move in and make the arrests.

Gibbs was shaking, more than ever aware that it was going to be one hell of a night.

When Jane arrived home her mother was elated and fussed around her, saying she was sure she’d lost weight. Jane asked where her father was and was told that he’d nipped to the off-licence to buy a few bottles of wine, a sparkling one for tonight to celebrate Jane’s homecoming and a couple for lunch the following day. Her mother leaned forward and looked closely at her daughter’s head.

‘What have you got in your hair?’ she asked as she touched her fingers to it and looked at them.

Jane stepped away from her and rubbed her fingers through the right side of her hair. She hadn’t realized some of Nancy Phillips’ spit had landed there and made her hair sticky.

‘It’s nothing, I didn’t wash the shampoo out properly.’

It was a lie, but there was no way she was going to tell her mother about the incident at the pub. Instead she said she would like to have a bath and change.

In her bedroom Jane kicked off her shoes and pulled off her jeans before sitting down on the freshly made bed. She felt exhausted and close to tears as the depression over Bradfield suddenly hit her again, but she forced herself to undress and put on her dressing gown. As she went into the hall her father appeared and held his arms open to embrace her.

‘How’s my little girl? Your mother just told me you were home, come here.’

He had so rarely been physically affectionate and she loved the feel of his arms around her.

‘So how are you?’ he asked and stepped back to look at her.

‘I’m fine, Dad, just very tired.’

‘Well, you go and have a nice bath and then you can tell us all about work.’

Lying in the foamy bath water, she closed her eyes. How could she tell them about work, about being spat at by a woman full of hatred of the police? How could she explain about Operation Hawk and John Bentley, or least of all her infatuation with DCI Bradfield?

The tears that had been close to the surface since she left the section house now streamed down her cheeks. She slowly slid her body further and further down into the hot water until her hair floated around her head and it felt as if she was drowning.

The tap on the bathroom door followed by her mother’s voice made her surface and she was glad she had locked it.

‘We had sausages and mash for supper. Would you like me to heat a couple for you, with some baked beans or a bit of salad maybe?’

‘Sausage and salad, thanks, Mum. I’ve nearly finished washing my hair.’

‘Well, don’t be too long, dear, it’s after ten and we’ll want to be up early to get everything ready for lunch tomorrow.’

Jane raised the wet flannel to her face and pressed it to her skin. She wondered again what was happening at the bank and felt annoyed that she couldn’t be there as part of the team. She sat up and pulled the bath plug out before wrapping a hand towel around her wet hair and drying her body with another. Then, wearing her dressing gown, she went into the living area where her father was sitting at the breakfast bar eating some cheese and biscuits. He looked up at her with a gentle smile.

‘You should have called us, you know how worried your mother gets. What’s this nonsense about you not being allowed to take personal calls at the police station or at the section house?’

‘I don’t make the rules, Dad, but it was thoughtless of me. I promise I will call more often from now on and keep you both updated, but sometimes I’m on late shifts until 10 p.m. or later if it’s busy.’

‘So, tell me how everything is.’

She went to the worktop where her mother had left a plate of two sausages, a side salad and slice of bread and butter. She spooned some mayonnaise onto the salad, and poured a glass of water, before sitting down beside him.

‘Well you know, Dad, being on probation I am not really involved in very much. There’s a lot of typing up reports, indexing and filing at the moment.’

She ate hungrily as he finished his biscuits and cheese. He washed his plate, tea cup and knife in the sink and pointed at the pan of peeled potatoes and vegetables.

‘Your mum had me prepare them for tomorrow. It’s your favourite, roast lamb, mint sauce and an apple turnover with custard for pudding.’

She smiled and said it sounded delicious.

‘I’m thinking of trading in my old Rover for something smaller. Uncle Brian is looking for a good second-hand Mini for me. What do you think of them?’

‘Well, I would say a Mini would be ideal, less petrol, but are you sure about using Uncle Brian?’

He gave a soft laugh and said that he was a trifle uneasy about it, but if he could get a good trade-in price he would have a friend check it over. And if he didn’t go for a Mini he might get a Volkswagen Beetle. It felt good to be sitting at home at the breakfast bar she had known for years, and having a conversation that took her mind off work.

‘It’s good to be home, Dad.’

He finished drying his dishes and put them away with a smile.

‘She’s got me well trained. Mind you, I hate cleaning greasy trays after a roast dinner. I’m glad you and Pam will be here tomorrow. It’s nice to sit down together for a nice family lunch and you and your sister can help clear and wash up,’ he said with a cheeky smile.

Jane laughed and he patted her shoulder before he left the room and she finished her sausage and salad.

Mrs Tennison appeared with her hair in rollers, and wearing her familiar quilted dressing gown.

‘I’m going to have an early night to be ready and fresh for the morning. Pam will be over by midday with her husband. It would have been nice if that good-looking inspector was coming. Did you ask him about Sunday lunch sometime?’

‘Yes, but he’s a Detective Chief Inspector, and is much more senior than me. They don’t tend to socialize with junior ranks outside of work.’

‘Well, that’s a pity. Is there anyone else you like or are seeing? You can always invite them instead.’

‘I’m not seeing anyone, Mum, I’ve been really busy. Shift work makes me restless and it’s difficult to get into the right sleep pattern. In fact I was going to ask if you could give me one of your sleeping tablets.’

Mrs Tennison hesitated, and moved closer. ‘You know Daddy doesn’t like me taking them. I only have half, just enough to get me off into a sound sleep, otherwise I toss and turn all night. He thinks Mogadon is addictive, but I don’t take it every night.’

Jane smiled and said she doubted her mother would become a junkie overnight, but then seeing her reaction to the term tried to make light of it.

‘It’s a police word for a drug addict.’

‘I know that. I do worry about you and hope you don’t get involved in any of those drug-related horror stories we read about every day.’

Jane took her mother’s hand. ‘I’ve promised Dad that from now on I’ll make a point of calling you more often.’

‘Every night, if you can, dear.’

Jane had just returned to her bedroom when her mother tapped on the door and passed her a tissue containing one of her sleeping tablets. She whispered to her not to tell her father, and then blew a kiss from the door.

‘Night night, darling, see you in the morning.’

Jane took the sleeping tablet with a sip of water from the glass on her bedside table.

She turned off the small lamp and lay in the darkness, wanting and waiting for sleep. For a while she thought about Operation Hawk and how everyone at the ops and arrest teams must be waiting anxiously for Bradfield’s command to make the arrests. Although she had felt that he had misjudged her professionally, and she’d been humiliated and hurt, she now felt calmer and more positive. She was determined that when she returned to the station she wouldn’t show her feelings, especially towards Bradfield.

It was 2.30 a.m. and Bradfield was on tenterhooks listening to the suspects’ conversation on Frank’s CB. By now they were all clued in as to which of the men were talking.

‘He’s cut through, we’re finally going in!’ John Bentley said excitedly to his dad over the walkie-talkie as he sat next to Silas in the cellar.

‘It’s about bloody time! Still all clear out here. Don’t take longer than necessary or get greedy as we need to be well away before sunrise,’ Clifford’s gravelly voice replied.

‘I’ll call back when we’re nearly done and pick you up on the corner, OK?’

‘OK. Yeah, received.’

Clifford felt good, although there was something that was worrying him, but he said nothing to John as they were almost home and dry.

Danny was first through the hole in the vault floor, which was just wide enough for him and John, but not Silas. Taking the gas tanks back out of the tunnel would have been tiring and time-consuming, so John pushed while Danny lifted the heavy tanks up into the vault out of the way. Once John was in the vault he stood next to Danny and, using the light from one of the Eveready bicycle lights he’d rigged up to a sports headband, they looked round in awe at the large twenty-four-foot-square room lined with rows and rows of locked numbered drawers held in wall-to-ceiling cabinets.

‘We need to find box 320 and open it first,’ John said.

‘Why, is it your lucky number or something?’ Danny asked suspiciously, which angered John who snapped back.

‘Yeah, cos there’s at least a hundred thousand of used notes in it from a previous bank robbery. That’s what kick-started this job in the first place.’

Danny scanned the drawers then pointed to his right.

‘It’s over there.’

Silas was in the tunnel and John called out to him.

‘Hand me up a load of pillowcases and the holdall containing the gear we need.’

Silas did as he was asked and John unzipped the holdall, removing the contents and placing them on the small table in the room: two club hammers, crowbars, flat-head chisels and four bike torches to help light up the vault.

‘Help yourself, Danny. Let’s get to cracking this lot open.’

John slammed the forked end of a crowbar into the small gap at the top of deposit drawer 320 and whacked it hard twice with a club hammer to force it in. He then pushed the bar forwards and upwards, causing the drawer to make a popping sound as it broke away from the lock. He pulled it out, placed it on the table, then prised open the lid and saw that it was packed with £20, £10, £5 and £1 notes. Danny was looking over his shoulder, which annoyed him.

‘What are you waiting for? Get on with it and start down the far end. Get the drawers out, open them up, take out what’s valuable and shove it in a pillowcase.’

Danny went to the far end of the vault as John started to put the money into a pillowcase, making sure that the soon-to-be-worthless fivers were in a separate one. It was his intention to pass them off to Silas on the grounds they were more common than tens and twenties and therefore easier to use or pass on. His dad had wanted him to give them to Danny as well, but he’d been a long-time friend, and John knew he was not a man to cross, or you’d pay the price.

They forced open one drawer after another and the hammering sound of metal against metal echoed round the vault like a chorus of musical chime bells. John and Danny were screaming and shouting with delight as the contents spilled out of the drawers. Some were filled with valuable jewellery, others with silver cutlery and Georgian tea services, along with more trays filled with cash. They were working at a frenzied pace as they stuffed the pillowcases full with a treasure trove of looted goods. They then handed them to Silas who looked inside and rubbed his hands together in delight.

Danny raised his arm and John stopped.

‘I got a tray filled with bags of what looks like heroin and cocaine,’ Danny said.

‘Leave it,’ John replied.

‘Why? It’ll be worth a fortune on the streets, probably more than the cash we got so far.’

‘I don’t deal in shit like that. It ruins lives and kills young kids, so do as I say and leave it,’ John said, making it clear he meant every word.

Bradfield was on a high. He remained calm as he told the arrest teams to move out of City Road, but to stay in the backstreets away from the bank and café until he gave the order for them to take up position to block off the possible escape routes. He also called the officers watching the Bentleys’ place and Danny Mitcham’s flat and told them to come over and support the arrest teams. His mind was racing as he wondered if he had covered every eventuality, but he could think of nothing that could go wrong. He knew that Operation Hawk was on its way to being a huge success and was now eager to arrest John Bentley and his team.

‘Are you OK, Mr Dunbar? It’ll soon be over.’

‘I’m very nervous, Mr Bradfield, and somewhat worried as they’ll obviously have hammers in their hands.’

‘Don’t worry – all I need you to do is open the vault as quietly as possible and then step to one side and let me and my arrest team do our job.’

Bradfield phoned the shoe shop to tell the officers there that the suspects were now in the bank vault. He spoke with DC Stanley who said the officer in the shoe-shop basement using a listening device could hear the sound of metal being hammered.

Bradfield turned to Spencer Gibbs. ‘We’re going over to the bank in fifteen minutes, Spence . . . ’

‘Why not go now if they’re in the vault?’

‘I don’t want to burst their bubble of joy quite yet. When I give the order you get your team in the shoe shop to go out and cover the back alleyway in case any of ’em try to escape from the rear of the café. I’ve also got backup teams in unmarked cars at each end of the alleyway to block the route off in case they try to get out in the van.’