John was pleased, realizing the job might be completed sooner than he had initially thought. He said he had more wood in the lock-up garage. He pulled on his overalls as Danny handed the pieces of cut iron bar and bricks through the hole to Silas, who put them into a rubble sack.
David stared down at the dark street below. Once more he was glad that the height of the concrete wall of the car park was low enough to allow him to sit in his wheelchair, as he would have been in intense pain if he had had to stand throughout the night.
He raised the binoculars and began to scan the streets surrounding the café. He felt increasingly tired as the hours passed, and only a few cars, buses and black cabs moved up and down the otherwise empty roads. He figured it was so quiet because the location bordered on the City of London with its banking and financial offices, which were all closed at night, and there was little residential housing in the area.
It was 3 a.m. when he was suddenly woken by the sound of raised voices and glass breaking down below in the car park, directly opposite the café. Due to the angle he couldn’t see who was making the noise, unless he leaned over the car-park wall.
He cursed himself for dozing off as he pressed the button on the walkie-talkie. He was about to say ‘David to John’ when he remembered they weren’t supposed to use names, but John had not said anything about coded call signs so he improvised on the spot.
‘Eagle to Brushstroke . . . Eagle to Brushstroke, over,’ he said, released the talk button and waited for a reply.
In the basement John and the others were taking turns digging, and filling sacks with soil. When they heard David on the radio they looked at each other with bemusement.
‘What the fuck is he on about?’ John exclaimed angrily as he grabbed his walkie-talkie and indicated for Danny and Silas to stop working so he could speak with David.
‘I said no contact unless urgent.’
‘It is, persons opposite you, over.’
‘Who?’
‘Don’t know, can’t see them.’
‘Well, get in a position you can!’
David sighed as he hated heights and certainly didn’t fancy leaning further over the wall, which was nearly fifty feet from the ground. He slowly raised himself out of the wheelchair. He felt dizzy as he bent over the wall and looked down to see a silver bulbous rose which he recognized straightaway as being the top of a policeman’s helmet. The officer was remonstrating with a drunk vagrant who had obviously, from the wet stream on the pavement, been having a piss up against the car-park wall. David could see brown glass from a broken beer bottle glistening in the street light. He assumed the vagrant had dropped or thrown the bottle. He watched as the officer gave him a slap round the head and told him he was nicked.
David crouched down, pressed the talk switch and whispered, ‘Stay quiet, it’s a rozzer nicking a pissed-up tramp.’
There was a crackle and David was unsure if he’d got through.
‘Do you read me? Keep the noise down – he’s right opposite the front of the café, over.’
‘Make contact when you have the all-clear, over,’ John answered, knowing that a paddy wagon would probably be on the way to pick up the arrested vagrant.
He whispered to Silas and Danny that they would have to stop work and remain totally silent for as long as it took for the drunk to be carted off.
David stayed crouched down and a few minutes later heard the sound of the policeman’s radio, but not what was being said. He peeked over the wall and saw the officer lift the vagrant by the scruff of the neck and drag him across the road towards the café. His heart began to beat rapidly and his mouth went dry as he wondered whether or not to make further contact with John. As the officer turned and looked up the street David ducked down and he could feel himself shaking with nerves, and although cold he began to sweat as he called John.
‘Stay quiet, he’s outside the café now.’
As John pressed the received button, Silas dropped the brick he had been holding straight onto a large tin of paint, sending a loud reverberating clang echoing around the room, which came through on David’s radio.
Shit, shit, shit! David thought to himself as he watched the officer, who was now peering in through the café window. His mind was racing. He was panicking and wondered if he should scarper in his wheelchair, but he knew his brother would beat him black and blue if he did. He pressed the talk button.
‘For Christ’s sake what’s going on in there? The copper’s lookin’ in the window now.’
Below in the basement the men froze and John glared at Silas for his blundering stupidity.
David sat on the ground, his knees squeezed tight to his chest, his arms and head buried between them. Hearing the ringing sound of a police-van bell he raised his head and saw the blue flashing light flickering in the sky around him. The van pulled up outside the café and the vagrant started to play up, shouting abuse and saying he wasn’t getting into the van. The driver got out, opened the rear doors and the two officers picked the vagrant up by the arms and legs then unceremoniously flung him in the back, slamming the doors shut before the van drove off.
David breathed a sigh of relief. Saved by the bell, he thought to himself, and smiled as he radioed John.
‘OK, rozzers and tramp gone, over.’
‘Are you givin’ the all-clear? Over.’
The incident had made David so nervous he now needed to take a leak. It got worse as he squeezed his legs together.
‘Yeah, they’ve left in the paddy wagon. I’m freezin’ cold and I really need to go to the lav, over.’
‘Well, piss against the wall, or wait for me to collect you in ten minutes – I’m calling it a night now, over and out.’
Silas shook his head in disbelief. ‘Why we stop? We have cut through bars, started to dig tunnel to vault so let’s keep going.’
John prodded him in the chest. ‘Cos I said so. That was a close call, thanks to your greasy fingers dropping that fucking brick. If the rozzer heard it he might get suspicious and come back, so we clean up, replace the plasterboard and call it a night right now.’
David was by now desperate and ended up partially wetting himself in his hurried effort to undo his fly and pull down his long johns. By the time John came to collect him he was shivering uncontrollably and was near to tears.
Renee was woken by the sound of the flat door closing and realized it was the boys returning home, but after looking at the bedside clock she was surprised to see it was half four in the morning. She turned over to go back to sleep but could see Clifford getting out of bed and pulling on his dressing gown.
‘It’s half four, Cliff – why you gettin’ up now?’ she asked.
‘Need the toilet – besides, I’m used to rising early in the nick, you know that.’
After a few minutes Renee heard voices coming from the kitchen. She put on her dressing gown and walked in. John and Clifford both fell silent.
‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes – go back to bed, woman,’ Clifford said.
‘Shall I make a cup of tea?’ she asked.
Clifford glared at her. ‘No, just bloody well go back to bed!’
She closed the door and went to the bathroom.
‘David, are you all right in there?’ she asked as she tapped gently on the door.
David was lying in the bath water. Every part of his body ached and he felt like he was on fire.
‘I’m just having a nice soak, Mum.’
‘Will you need me to help you get out?’
‘No.’
Renee stood in the hallway feeling irritated that she couldn’t even go into the kitchen and brew up a cup of tea. She already suspected John and David were up to something, but now her husband was home she was certain all of them were. The way John and Clifford had just looked at her was behaviour she’d seen from them many times before when something was going to go down. Then there would be the inevitable knock on the door from the rozzers. She worried he
r David was yet again being dragged into something. She decided she would find out what as soon as she was alone with him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Jane arrived at work to find a note from Bradfield telling her she would have to return to normal duties. She wondered if she had upset him but, not wanting to question his decision, she reported to the duty sergeant. The Julie Ann case had gone cold.
They had also questioned Dwayne Clark, who had come in accompanied by Stonex. Detectives had not found any drugs at Clark’s address, or at his friend’s flat in Coventry, and as he had a strong alibi for the murder of Julie Ann he was released without charge pending further enquiries. The toxicology tests on the blood samples taken from the body of Eddie Phillips were under way and early indications were he had injected himself with pure heroin and in a drug-induced stupor fallen over and then collapsed into the canal where he drowned. The scientist concluded that the overdose alone would have killed him within a few minutes. It was believed that O’Duncie had deliberately supplied Eddie Phillips with the lethal heroin, intending to kill him as he feared he would tell the police about his drug dealing and abuse of Julie Anne. However, as much as it angered Bradfield, he knew he didn’t have enough evidence to prove that it was O’Duncie who supplied Eddie and therefore couldn’t charge him with his murder. Experience had taught him that ‘some you win, some you lose’, and no matter the result of a case you had to move on and not let it fester in your mind, but putting O’Duncie away for the rest of his life was something Bradfield would’ve loved to do.
The depression could be felt by everyone. Time was spent going over all their evidence to date, but they had no further suspects.
Jane hadn’t yet seen Bradfield and wondered if he was sleeping off his hangover in his office. She was given a fifteen-minute break mid-morning and was on her way to the canteen when he walked into the corridor.
‘Ah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.’ He was flushed, and she was unsure if he was about to tell her off or explain why he had put her back on normal uniform duties. He gave a cursory look around before he reached for her hand.
‘Erm, listen, about last night . . . I would have said something first thing but, well, you know we’ve been pretty caught up. I just wanted to apologize . . . I hope I didn’t make any untoward advances. I was well drunk but I remember you helped me back.’
‘It was fine, sir, nothing happened.’
He grinned. ‘Ah well, chance would be a fine thing, but thanks.’
He walked off, and Jane continued on her way to the canteen, when Kath hurtled up behind her.
‘You ain’t gonna believe what I might have dug up! It came at me like the proverbial brick in the head last night in bed, and this time, Jane darlin’, if I’m right it really is my golden ticket into the CID.’
She hooked one arm around Jane’s shoulders and waved a single sheet of typed paper. ‘But first I need your help to check something. You still got the list of serial numbers Julie Ann’s father gave Bradfield?’
‘The original is locked away with the exhibits, but I wrote them all down on some index cards as well.’
Kath’s excitement was mounting as they hurried into the incident room. Jane pulled out the index cards from the carousel and handed them to her. Pushing her paperwork to one side Kath laid the cards in a row on the table, and then placed the piece of paper she had been carrying next to the cards.
‘Right, I’ll read out a number on my list and you check it against the Collins list,’ Kath said.
‘But we’ve already checked the serial numbers and matched the notes O’Duncie stole from Julie Ann.’
‘We haven’t checked my list,’ she smiled, tapping her finger on the piece of paper she’d put on the table.
Jane could see it was a further list of banknote denominations and serial numbers. ‘Did they find some more money at O’Duncie’s squat?’
Kath shook her head. ‘I woke up in the middle of the night and I just knew that I was missing something, but not what it was that I was missing, do you understand?’
‘No I don’t, other than you’ve lost something. I’ve been so bored and I had to cover the front desk yet again as I’m back on uniform duties. Did I upset Bradfield?’
‘No he had no choice, Chief Super said to release you.’ Kath looked back at the list, ‘Shit, I know I am right.’
‘Sorry, what you got?’
‘OK, the money he’d hidden, some of it still had the currency wrapper round it, that’s what I’d missed, well, until now.’
‘Who’d hidden, Kath? I’m not following you.’
‘Kenneth Boyle – remember that little scumbag? I nicked him turning over an old-age pensioner’s place and we searched his flat.’
‘The bloke you had up in court the other day, the one who got a soft sentence?’
Kath nodded and reminded Jane how Boyle had a load of money hidden in an old shoebox in his bedroom. He said he’d nicked it from other old people’s flats, but having now checked the victims’ original burglary reports, she realized the total amount of money stolen didn’t add up to what was in the shoebox.
‘Well, he’d probably spent some of it,’ Jane replied.
‘No, no, listen to me. That’s what’s been naggin’ me. There was much more in the tin than he’d confessed to stealing. I thought at first he probably did more burglaries than he admitted, but then I remembered some of the notes in the tin had a currency wrapper round them like the ones Bradfield found at O’Duncie’s.’
‘My God, do you think some of the Boyle money may have been cash Julie Ann stole?’ Jane asked excitedly.
Kath’s eyes lit up. ‘Yes. I’ve listed the serial numbers on what we found at Boyle’s place so let’s start checking them against Mr Collins’ list – we’ll do the ones in the bank wrappers first.’
Kath and Jane got to work. It was only a matter of seconds before Kath shouted, ‘Bingo!’ and started leaping up and down.
‘Boyle was arrested a couple of days after Julie Ann’s murder. Didn’t I say he gave it up too easily about the burglaries? He looked like a cat that got the cream and will no doubt get a pitiful sentence. He thinks he’s got away with it. I’m right, I’m right, I know it!’
It was Kath’s turn to look like the cat with the cream as one by one she ticked off further serial numbers that matched the money seized from Kenneth Boyle. She gave Jane a big hug and did a small sashay dance to DCI Bradfield’s office and in her excitement forgot to knock before walking in.
‘Get out, Morgan,’ he bellowed and she saw that he was with DI Spencer Gibbs having a celebratory whisky over his reinstatement to normal duties.
‘This is really important, sir. I think I may have found Julie Ann’s killer.’
Jane finished the few bits she had left to do and was about to make her way down to the front office when she stopped to look at the photographs of Julie Ann pinned to the board on the wall. She stared at the beautiful face of the young girl before she had become addicted to heroin. The picture next to it, taken at the post-mortem, was covered by a piece of paper which Jane lifted back to reveal Julie Ann’s drug-ravaged body. The marks on her neck were horrific, but her bulging eyes and swollen tongue caused by the strangulation were the most sickening sight. Jane hoped Kath was right about Boyle. Whoever had done this to Julie Ann deserved to be caught and put away for a very long time.
Jane shook herself and went downstairs. She found Sergeant Harris who, apologizing, said he needed her to continue covering the front desk. She knew he was deliberately making her do it, but was determined not to show any of the antagonism she felt towards him.
She simply smiled. ‘Yes, of course, Sergeant Harris.’ He had never mentioned the recovered money and Jane’s property-store lists; in fact since the incident he had been surprisingly polite when speaking to her, which made her feel even more suspicious. Jane wondered if he was just biding his time before doing something else to try to make her look bad.
An
hour passed with no one attending the station counter and Jane was feeling quite bored. She sat down at the desk and remembering DS Gibbs’s advice at the squat raid started to read the weekly published ‘General Orders and Regulations’. She’d just become engrossed by a list giving details of which officers had been sacked or fined for misconduct when the front-desk phone rang. Jane picked it up, asking how she could help the caller. She listened as someone on the other end with a squeaky voice rambled on, not letting her get a word in.
She took the phone from her ear, held her hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Sergeant Harris who was sitting at the duty desk typing up a report.
‘Sarge, I don’t know if I should take this call seriously or not.’
‘We take every call seriously, Tennison – what’s it about?’
‘Sounds weird . . . he said something about picking up a conversation on his radio at home about a robbery.’
Sergeant Harris pursed his lips.
‘Well, that’s a new one on me, bloody time-waster – give it here.’
He got up from his desk and went over to Jane who handed over the phone.
‘This is Duty Sergeant William Harris. Please slow down, son, if you’d just . . . ’
Jane smiled, realizing Harris was having the same difficulty understanding the caller.
He shook his head and raised his eyebrows. ‘Just you listen up, son. Unfortunately we have had a serious incident that requires every officer’s urgent attention. Please call back later.’
He put down the phone.
‘I thought we took all calls seriously?’ Jane said, wondering if she was chancing her luck with a flippant remark.
‘Not with squeaky nutters, we don’t.’
The door to the charge room opened. Gibbs walked out and crooked his finger to Jane.
‘If I find out that lipstick joke is anything to do with you, you’ll be sorry.’
Tennison Page 32
