Tennison

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘You can put some clothes on, O’Duncie, or be taken to the nick stark bollock naked. Either way I don’t care because you are in fuckin’ big trouble.’

  ‘What ya want to arrest me for? I ain’t done nothing wrong,’ he said in an angry tone whilst pulling on some underpants.

  Bradfield paid him no attention and started to look around. There was a large wardrobe in one corner, which he opened. The display of velvet trousers, floral shirts, silk scarves, leather shoes and platform boots was astonishing and a drawer was filled with gold and silver bracelets, rings and watches.

  ‘Well, isn’t this paradise in a shithole,’ Bradfield said as he threw O’Duncie a shirt and velvet trousers to put on.

  ‘It’s all paid for and legit – the receipts are in the bedside-cabinet drawer. I know every piece of jewellery there so don’t go nicking none,’ he said with a smirk.

  Gibbs opened the drawer, pulled out a handful of receipts and held them up for Bradfield to see.

  ‘All thanks to drugs money, no doubt,’ Bradfield remarked.

  ‘No, the kids pay me rent.’

  ‘Don’t play games, your sister’s dropped you right in it, so just get dressed and behave yourself,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘My sister’s a mental case. We don’t get on so she’d say anything to fuck me up.’

  Bradfield continued going through the wardrobe and there was no sign of any drugs. He started to pick up the pairs of boots one by one and tip them upside down when suddenly a small bag of marijuana fell out. He grabbed it and waved it at O’Duncie.

  ‘I don’t know anything about that,’ he said arrogantly.

  Bradfield laughed, picked up another boot, shook it and this time two bags of marijuana and some heroin wraps fell out.

  ‘That’s not mine – you bastards brought it here to fit me up cos I’m black.’

  ‘If I wanted to fit you up, Terry, I’d have brought more drugs and some LSD tabs with me.’

  Bradfield threw the boot back in the wardrobe and as it hit the floor there was a strange-sounding thud. He bent down and rapped his knuckles on the plywood which produced the same sound, but when he knocked on the opposite side, by the drawers, the sound was hollow. He noticed that the wardrobe floor had a wooden slat divide held down by a screw at each end.

  ‘Got a screwdriver anywhere?’ he asked O’Duncie who said nothing but looked nervous for the first time as he pulled on the purple velvet trousers and zipped up the fly.

  Bradfield lifted his right foot and slammed it down hard on the plywood causing it to splinter in half.

  ‘Sorry, that was an accident,’ he said as he ripped the broken pieces of wood away to discover a compartment filled with a pile of different-denomination banknotes. Some had elastic bands round them: there were ones, fives, tenners and some new twenties held together in a bank wrap. There was also a bag of coins and a medium-sized bag of what was obviously heroin.

  Bradfield smiled. ‘Well, sunshine, I’d say that lot equates to dealing and a long prison sentence with your previous drugs convictions.’

  ‘Listen to me, cos I don’t know nothin’ about that lot; the last person who was here must have left it.’

  ‘Well, you’d better hope we don’t find your prints on the heroin bag or any of the notes then. You really have to wise up and start helping us, and I might just put a good word in for you with the judge.’

  O’Duncie started to sweat as he buttoned up his shirt. Spencer Gibbs, using a clean handkerchief, began to carefully gather up the money and drugs, putting them into a pillowcase. He reckoned the notes amounted to roughly two and a half to three thousand pounds.

  ‘Ain’t you supposed to count it in front of me?’ O’Duncie asked.

  ‘So you’re now saying this is your money, are you?’ Gibbs remarked.

  O’Duncie realized he’d messed up and knew his prints would be found so he admitted the money and drugs were his.

  ‘We’ll count it at the nick. You’re being arrested for possession and supplying drugs as well as—’

  O’Duncie interrupted Bradfield. ‘You can have a cut of the dough.’ He turned to Gibbs. ‘Split it between you both.’

  Gibbs stared hard, which seemed to encourage O’Duncie.

  ‘Come on, man, I know how to keep my mouth shut, like I never saw you find it, right? I dunno even how much is there, right, you with me? I mean help me out here, last time I got raided drug squad prick got away with a grand, so I know how it works.’

  Gibbs reacted fast, his fist smacking into O’Duncie’s face. O’Duncie howled as he fell backwards onto the bed and blood spurted from his nose.

  ‘We’re not drug squad or bent!’ Gibbs shouted.

  ‘Jesus Christ, man, you fuckin’ busted my nose.’ He looked at Bradfield. ‘You saw what he did, he hit me.’

  ‘I saw you trip up when you tried to escape arrest. Now shut up, wipe your nose and finish getting dressed.’

  O’Duncie grabbed a corner of the sheet and wiped his nose before pulling on a pair of black Cuban-heeled boots and lastly an ankle-length brown-suede trench coat. Gibbs then put the handcuffs on and led him downstairs.

  As O’Duncie was led out to the police car Jane could see how swollen and bloody his nose was, but she didn’t dare ask what happened, she was just relieved that she wasn’t in the bedroom when it did. Bradfield spoke with Jane who informed him that the young girl who’d been in bed with O’Duncie was adamant she was eighteen.

  ‘I think she’s lying, and she’s given me a stupid name, Flower Summer, so do we take her in?’

  ‘No grounds. She may be full of bullshit, not to mention drugs, but we can check her description and see if she’s been reported missing by her parents. When we get back to the station inform Social Services about the squat and that there may be underage girls and runaways dossing down here.’

  O’Duncie sat in subdued silence the entire way back to the station. Gibbs was handcuffed to him on one side and Bradfield sat on the other having told Jane to sit in the front of the patrol car. O’Duncie wore some kind of musk oil which permeated the car and Bradfield opened a window.

  At the station Gibbs and Jane took O’Duncie to the custody area to be booked in. He was asked if he wanted to make a phone call but declined stating that it was pointless as he’d been ‘done up like a kipper’ and quipped that he couldn’t afford a solicitor as they had all his money.

  Just before they were to interrogate O’Duncie, DS Gibbs received a phone call that took the wind out of him. He caught Bradfield about to head into his office.

  ‘Need a word, guv – it’s urgent – before we have a go at him.’

  ‘Listen, Spence, I don’t want to waste any more time. What for Chrissake is so important?’

  ‘I just got a call from Manchester CID – I’d sent a telex asking them to check all the aliases I had for the name Josh against drug dealers and anyone known as Big Daddy.’

  There was an instant look of concern on Bradfield’s face as he glared at Gibbs who licked his lips and continued.

  ‘A Joshua Richards was arrested in Moss Side two weeks ago for GBH. He’s six foot five, built like a stallion and well known locally as Big Daddy, not just because of his size: he has six kids all by different women. He’s also a big-time drug dealer who runs between Manchester and London.’

  ‘So Richards was probably supplying Julie Ann.’

  ‘Yes, and probably Terry O’Duncie, but not for the last two weeks.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Richards didn’t get bail from the Manchester Court as they found a fuckin’ Kalashnikov in the boot of his car along with LSD tabs. It means he’s in the clear for Julie Ann’s and Eddie’s murders—’

  ‘And Terry isn’t Big Daddy.’ Bradfield sighed shaking his head, and then shrugged before continuing.

  ‘Richards is in the clear, and so by the looks of it is Dwayne Clark, so the positive side is Terry O’Duncie is now our strongest and most likely suspect for murder . . . so let’
s go and put the pressure on him.’

  The custody sergeant took O’Duncie up to Bradfield’s office for an interview, but kept his hands cuffed just in case he played up, though he seemed reasonably relaxed and asked if he could have a coffee.

  Bradfield was standing by his office window looking out onto Lower Clapton Road as Gibbs waited for the sergeant to leave the room. O’Duncie was sipping a beaker of coffee, his eyes flicking from one officer to the other.

  ‘You gonna take these cuffs off me?’ He raised his handcuffed wrists, and Gibbs got the nod from Bradfield to unlock them.

  ‘You’re bang to rights for the drugs, but I want you to tell me what you know about these two kids,’ Bradfield said as he dropped Julie Ann’s and Eddie Phillips’ photographs in front of O’Duncie who looked at them briefly.

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Don’t play games, we know your sister Anjali sent them to Dwayne Clark’s address and he brought them to meet you at Primrose Hill.’

  ‘My sister is a fuckin’ nutter. If she has put me in trouble then I am not gonna take it. The bitch is just wanting money, she’s a hypochondriac, sick in the head, so whatever she’s told you will be a pack of lies cos I wouldn’t give her any cash. I dunno a Dwayne or how many kids hang out at the house, they come and go all the time . . . maybe I seen these two, but I dunno for sure. You should ask the others.’

  ‘We did but it seems they have dodgy memories like you, so start thinking hard, Terry, because these two were murdered and I reckon you were involved.’

  ‘On my life I dunno anything about any murders. I wasn’t even at the squat when they were killed.’

  Bradfield and Gibbs looked at each other with a wry smile and Gibbs leaned forward close to O’Duncie.

  ‘For someone who wears all the flash gear and tries to look and act the part of a big man you’re actually pretty dumb. Neither me nor the guv mentioned when the murders happened. With Dwayne Clark, were you?’

  ‘I told ya I dunno him.’

  ‘Dwayne’s the sidekick of Joshua Richards, a drug dealer also known as Big Daddy,’ Gibbs said.

  O’Duncie looked nervous, especially at the mention of Richards.

  ‘Never heard of a Joshua or Big Daddy, but I think the guy Dwayne might have stayed at the squat a while back. I helped him off drugs and I heard he’d turned his life round and started a legit window-cleaning business.’

  Gibbs was going to press the matter but Bradfield raised his hand indicating not to bother. The fact O’Duncie knew Dwayne gave him a connection to Big Daddy and he decided to scare O’Duncie with a few lies.

  ‘You didn’t know we nicked Dwayne, did you? How else do you think we knew about the Primrose Hill address and where the drugs and cash were hidden?’

  O’Duncie didn’t answer but Bradfield could see the look on his face was a mixture of anger and uncertainty.

  ‘Dwayne reckoned you got Julie Ann up the duff and she tried to get money off you for an abortion but you told her to fuck off.’

  ‘What? Eh? If he did say anything, which I doubt, then he’s lying. So I knows both dem kids, no big deal as I didn’t kill ’em and you got no evidence I did,’ O’Duncie said arrogantly.

  Bradfield knew he was still unsure about what was or was not the truth and trying to front out his predicament.

  ‘Eddie Phillips told you we were asking about Julie Ann, and worried he’d grass you up, you had to kill him, didn’t you?’

  ‘No way. The kid may have been to the house but I never met or spoke to him,’ O’Duncie said firmly.

  Bradfield asked who did speak to Eddie and O’Duncie said he’d heard from one of the squatters that, while he was away, Eddie had turned up and nicked some of the squatters’ gear. He said they also told him that Eddie had jacked up some heroin down by the Regent’s Canal, fallen in and drowned. O’Duncie was adamant he didn’t know any more. He fell silent before saying he would like to speak with a solicitor and have his money back, which he’d made from legitimate renting.

  Bradfield knew he didn’t have enough to charge him with any murders, but there was no way he was going to let a scumbag like O’Duncie back out on the streets.

  ‘You’re going nowhere tonight, Terry. You can have a night in the cells on the taxpayer. It will give you plenty of time to think about your situation, and how telling us the truth will be better for you. And remember, you’re bang to rights for the drugs. Question is whether I charge you with straight possession or the more serious possession with intent to supply, but that depends on how helpful you are.’

  ‘Come on, man, cut me some slack and give me bail. I’ll turn up at court, I won’t do a runner and I’ll even put some of the cash in the police widows’ and orphans’ fund.’

  ‘You’re not getting bail or the money back at present. Julie Ann nicked a load of money before she was murdered and guess what, it wasn’t on her when we found the body.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, how many times I gotta say I ain’t killed no one and I don’t know anythin’ about her money.’

  ‘That’s because she may not have told you she nicked it from her dad. Thing is though, sunshine, she didn’t know the banknotes had sequential serial numbers on them, which means neither did you.’ Bradfield paused to let O’Duncie take in what he’d just said and he could see he was becoming nervous.

  ‘I’ve already got someone checking through the serial numbers of the notes we found in your bedroom, and I will have them all checked for Julie Ann’s, her father’s and Eddie Phillips’ prints. If there is one dab on any one of them that matches yours, you’re screwed.’

  Bradfield could see O’Duncie was thinking hard to come up with a suitable answer.

  ‘One of the squatters collects cash from the other residents for food and drink and gives it to me and I hid it in the wardrobe. We’re a commune so we share things.’

  ‘Just like you shared Julie Ann round for sex,’ Gibbs remarked.

  ‘I want that money back cos I got bills to pay.’

  Bradfield leered. ‘More like you’ve got big suppliers you owe money to?’ he said, making a veiled connection to Big Daddy, and paused, but O’Duncie just stared nervously as Bradfield continued. ‘And they ain’t gonna be happy with you if you stiff them, are they? In fact you might end up in the Regent’s Canal as well, so you’d better start talking when we interview you tomorrow.’

  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 wi
ll 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.’