‘Yes, I think it’s him.’
‘Need more than just “I think”, Jane.’
‘Too bloody right we do, because this kid Brennan could be a wanker just wanting to get his name in the papers,’ Gibbs retorted.
‘I don’t think so. He seemed quite intelligent to me.’
Bradfield looked angry. ‘I don’t care about the kid . . . Is it John Bentley’s voice or not?’
She slowly nodded her head. ‘All right, yes, I am certain that’s John Bentley’s voice.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Renee guessed where her husband was going as the bathroom stank of his splashed-on aftershave and he’d put on a freshly ironed shirt, new trousers and well-polished shoes. She knew he wasn’t going to the pub for a ‘dinner time tipple’ as he had claimed. He had to be going to see the slut, but Renee wasn’t concerned and showed no interest or contempt, not even asking what time she could expect him home. If he was late for his dinner she’d just leave it on top of the kitchen table with a plate over it and he could then reheat it in the oven. But she was concerned about David as he was still in bed, and from the coughing and sneezing coming from his room she worried he was coming down with bronchitis.
John got up for some dinner at two o’clock and, still in his dressing gown, sat at the kitchen table eating his food and reading the paper. Renee asked why he didn’t fancy joining his dad for a pint and John said lamely that dinner time boozing made him tired for the rest of the day.
She noticed his hair was dusty and brushed it lightly with her hand. ‘Your hair needs a good wash. Is it cement?’
He flicked her hand away and she could see how dirty his fingernails were.
‘Gerroff, Ma. I’ve been stripping plaster at mine and the dust gets everywhere.’
She shrugged her shoulders. God forbid he’d ever get a paintbrush out and do her flat up, she thought to herself.
‘Doing your place up with the intention of moving back in, are yer?’ she asked hopefully.
He sighed and although irritated made no reply, but she persisted.
‘She movin’ out or are the two of you getting back together?’
‘Drop it, Ma.’
She could see she was riling him so stayed quiet and warmed up some soup, which she took through to David’s bedroom with some bread and butter. She fluffed his pillow as he sat up and took the tray.
‘You stay in bed. I think you’re coming down with a bad cold. I’ll get the thermometer and check your temperature.’
‘I’m fine, Ma, and thanks for the soup. Are Dad and John in?’
‘Your dad’s gone out all done up to the nines, and John’s in the kitchen eating dinner covered in dust. Says he’s decorating his place, which means he’s either going back with her or he’s kicked her out and he’s moving some new tart in.’
David was unsure what she was talking about as she started to pick up the clothes he’d worn that night from the floor.
‘Leave it Ma, I’ll tidy it later.’
‘You’re not well, son, so you rest and leave it to me.’
She put his T-shirt, jeans and underpants over her arm. Lifting his long johns she could see they were dry but urine-stained around the crotch. Knowing he often had accidents when he couldn’t get to the toilet quickly enough she said nothing about it.
‘What you wearin’ long johns for? It’s not that cold out.’
David ignored her and opened his bedside cabinet, took out his bottle of painkillers then tipped out four and swallowed them with a spoonful of his soup.
‘You be careful, you’ll get addicted to them, son.’
He winced as he rested against his pillow.
‘I’ll be all right, my back’s just playing up. I wear me long johns for the warm, helps the pain. Thanks for the soup and bread, but I can’t finish it all.’
‘I notice your chair’s not in the hall – is something wrong with it, cos you know if you walk too much it affects your back and leg, so where is it?’
‘It’s in John’s van.’
‘What van?’
‘For goodness’ sake, Ma, the one he uses for decorating,’ he said, and closed his eyes.
With his dirty clothes over her arm Renee took the tray of half-finished soup and left him to sleep. Returning to the kitchen she put the tray on the counter by the sink and saw John had dumped his dirty dust-stained work overalls by the washing machine. She thought she would maybe take them to the launderette as she didn’t want to use her pristine washer and tumbler-drier for workmen’s clothes.
Renee went to watch TV in the lounge and with her feet up fell asleep. She woke with a start when she heard the front door slam shut. Dragging herself up, and a little disorientated, she called out to see who was either coming in or going out. There was no answer, and looking round the flat she was surprised that David and John had gone without saying anything, but not surprised that their beds were left unmade as usual. She checked the time: it was just after six thirty. With nothing else to do she went and got her wheelie cart and, having stripped the beds, gathered up the heap of washing left in the kitchen and put it all in the cart. She fetched her purse and left the flat to go to the launderette.
The white surveillance van was parked amongst vehicles on the road directly across from the Pembridge Estate. It was dirty and dented and one side had scrapes and rust. Barely visible were the spy holes on each side. The back windows were blacked out, but not suspicious as the tint had been made to look old and creased with the corners unstuck. The dashboard and interior front area was covered in old beer cans, newspapers and used takeaway cartons. The two officers in the back of the van had been there for almost fifteen minutes under orders from DCI Bradfield to monitor the Bentley men, but they had not seen them exit the flats before they parked up.
Outside the rented garage David was sitting in the passenger seat of the fake decorator’s van while John changed into some paint-stained but dust-free overalls and some similarly stained working boots. John loaded the van with more wood to support the tunnel then closed the door of the garage. He got into the van, and as he drove off saw his mother in the distance leaving the estate with her wheelie cart.
‘Where the fuck is she going?’ he said in anger.
Instead of turning left John went right and, pulling up beside his mother, told David to open his window.
‘Where the hell are you going?’ he shouted.
Renee turned, startled at first, as she didn’t recognize the voice.
‘I’m goin’ down the launderette wiv the bed sheets, David’s clothes and your dirty overalls.’
David gave a small hand-wave to his mother. John pursed his lips.
‘For Chrissake, you don’t have to go to the launderette any more.’
‘Yes I do. Are you off workin’? Cos David should be in bed as he’s coming down with a cold.’
Leaning right over David, John wound up the window. He couldn’t be bothered to argue with her and angrily crunched the gears as he did a U turn and drove off, not noticing the white surveillance van that was across the road from him.
As the Bentleys drove off, the two officers in the back of the van recognized John from the criminal-record photograph they had with them. One officer in the van, wearing workman’s overalls, slid the concealed panel behind the front seats across and got into the driver’s seat. Starting the engine he followed the Bentley brothers, keeping a good distance. He radioed to another unit, a male and female officer ready and waiting nearby in the back of a fake black cab.
‘Bravo One eyeballed in white decorator’s van, index, Juliet, Whisky, Bravo, One, Seven, Six Charlie. Heading North up Homerton High Street carrying white male passenger unknown.’
Seeing the surveillance cab in his wing mirror the officer driving the van held back.
‘Two Four take over the tail,’ he said over the radio and the cab moved in behind the van.
The surveillance vehicles constantly swapped position behind John Bentley’s van, but alway
s kept a car or two between them wherever possible so as not to be spotted.
In Shoreditch High Street the officer in the van radioed to his colleagues.
‘Target right into Bateman’s Row.’ There was a short pause. ‘Now left into Curtain Road . . . Two Five take over.’
‘Two Five received,’ the female officer in the cab replied and her colleague driving took up position behind the van.
The female officer continued. ‘Target right into Great Eastern Street and moving slowly . . . Target now left, left, left into Charlie Papa.’
The other surveillance vehicles knew the code – the target van had gone into the multistorey car park. The surveillance cab parked up nearby. The male and female officer in the back of the cab got out and stood on a nearby corner holding hands, chatting and acting if they were a loving couple out for a stroll.
A few minutes later the target van drove out from the multistorey car park and turned left. From their position the two officers on foot could only see the rear of the van. The female officer got on the radio as she and her colleague dashed back to the cab.
‘Target on move again left out of Charlie Papa, Two Four, you need to follow.’
The surveillance-van driver was parked up nearby and went to move into Great Eastern Street but got stuck behind a learner driver at the junction. By the time he was able to get back onto the main road Bentley’s van was nowhere to be seen, and there were a number of roads he could have turned down.
‘Two Five to Four, target lost,’ he said dejectedly over the radio. Taking a chance he turned down a side road to look for the target vehicle but with no luck.
‘Please tell me you’re joking?’ the now distraught female officer asked over the radio.
‘I’m checking the back streets but no eyeball on target.’
‘Well, you can explain to the boss you screwed up,’ she replied.
‘I knew we should have used more vehicles, and if you two hadn’t got out on foot this wouldn’t have happened.’
The two surveillance vehicles checked every nearby road and narrow lane, but all they found were high brick walls and gated yards that they were unable to see over. Getting out and looking over the walls was not an option. They decided to return to the Pembridge Estate and see if Bentley had driven back there. It never crossed their mind that John Bentley’s passenger had been dropped off as they now assumed his turning into the car park was a deliberate ploy to see if any unmarked police vehicles were following him.
High up in his wheelchair David could see the white van going up and down the alleyways through his binoculars. He was in two minds about making contact with the café, but was worried about John getting mad with him for making unnecessary contact. He was relieved, and presumed the driver was lost, when he saw the van turn onto the main road and drive off up Kingsland Road towards Dalston.
As she waited for the drying cycle to finish, Renee read some of the discarded, out-of-date magazines that were lying around. When the drier stopped a woman offered to help her with the sheets, holding one end whilst she held the other, and together they folded all the bed linen. Renee had already put the other washing into her wheelie, and although the two women had hardly spoken to each other they smiled and both said ‘Goodnight’. By the time Renee got back to Ashburn House her breath was rasping and the wheelie felt heavier than when she had started out. Climbing the stairs to the flat and heaving the wheelie up each floor tired her out, and she had to keep pausing to catch her breath. The flat was in darkness when she let herself in.
Feeling exhausted Renee made herself a cup of tea and had some biscuits, then decided to press on and make up the beds before the boys got back. Whatever time that would be.
She started on David’s bed first. Noticing the mattress was slightly urine-stained in places she decided to turn it over. As she did so she saw newspaper and magazine cuttings hidden beneath it, some of which slid off the divan and onto the floor. Using both hands to balance the mattress on its side she shuffled the rest of the cuttings to the floor with her foot, and heaving some more she eventually succeeded in turning the mattress over. Renee found herself gasping for breath and had to sit down before she could gather the energy to pick up the cuttings. Some were from a travel brochure advertising hotels in Florida, and tucked inside the magazine was an envelope with David’s name and address.
She looked inside the envelope and was surprised to find a passport. Opening it she saw that it was David’s, and looking at his photograph she realized it was at least seven years old. Also in the envelope was a page from a medical journal, giving details about a hospital in New York City that specialized in orthopaedic surgery and treatment for rheumatological conditions. She was unsure what the medical terms meant but underlined was a reference to the hospital performing knee and joint replacements. It made her feel wretched as her poor son must have at one time hoped for an operation to cure his lameness. She sighed. In his dreams maybe, she thought to herself. She placed everything on the bedside cabinet, and set about making up the bed, tucking the cuttings and envelope back under the mattress after she laid the bottom sheet.
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 ou
t 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.
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