Tennison

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘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.

  ‘As you can see it is impenetrable. The vault is fireproof and airtight, and the air conditioning is turned on automatically when the door is correctly opened.’

  ‘Well, someone managed to break into the bank in Baker Street a couple of years ago and it was a similar setup.’

  ‘I am aware of that, Detective, and so were the people who built the vault and installed the security for this bank and I can assure you it is not a similar set-up. Our vault is, as I said, impenetrable. This steel wall is twelve inches thick.’ Dunbar slapped the palm of his hand against it.

  ‘Well, I hear you loud and clear, Mr Dunbar, but isn’t there a possibility that even with all this high-level security the robbers could be intending to come up beneath the vault?’

  Mr Dunbar laughed and dismissed the possibility, saying that when the rebuilding was commissioned they had laid thick wire-meshed concrete and the steel floor was inches thick. Kath glanced at the disappointed Bradfield as it really did appear they had the wrong bank. Even when asked about the contents secured in the vault Mr Dunbar was less than forthcoming and said that over four hundred customers used the facility due to the impressive security measures. His pomposity hardly flagged when he said that the bank took every precaution with regard to their customers’ property and the whole point of the vault was privacy. Each client had a key to their personal secure box and the bank held a second key – both keys were required to open the box. A log book had to be signed and dated by the customer before permission was granted for them to remove and view the contents of their box in private. They would then take it out of the vault and into a small secure room where they could view their valuables, or if they wished to simply place an item in a box there was a table inside the vault to use. A member of staff was always present outside the room, and as the bank manager Dunbar would try and deal with the customers personally.

  ‘Can you tell us what the deposit boxes contain?’ Kath asked.

  ‘I don’t know, they are private, but I imagine it more than likely money, jewellery, antiques, private letters and wills.’

  ‘Could you show us inside the vault, please, Mr Dunbar?’ she asked.

  ‘I suppose so, but this is all very irregular. Would you both please turn your backs while I press the code to disable the alarm.’

  Bradfield glanced at Kath tight-lipped: it was as if the odious little man didn’t trust them.

  Dunbar pressed in his entry code to the vault and began to turn the wheel. There were sounds of heavy-duty clicking and beeping before he was able to ease the massive iron door open with the assistance of Bradfield. Kath was transfixed as she looked around the inside of the pristine shiny vault. She’d never seen anything like it before and could understand why Dunbar was rather arrogant about the security. In the enclosed vault his voice echoed and the shiny steel floor made their footsteps resound. There was row upon row of deposit boxes, whose locks and handles glinted in the bright overhead lights. Dunbar assumed a superior attitude, holding both arms aloft as he pointed to the array of precious locked items. There was a large steel safe built into the side almost two feet in height and width, with a locking number dial on it.

  ‘Excuse me, sir, there appears to be another safe within the vault. What does that contain?’

  Dunbar explained the contents belonged to a member of the Saudi Arabian royal family who had paid for it to be built in for his personal belongings.

  Bradfield shook Mr Dunbar’s hand, thanking him for his time and patience. It seemed that they were mistaken about the TSB being the target and he apologized for troubling him.

  Bradfield looked at Kath as they got in the car.

  ‘You reckon he’s a woofter?’

  ‘Who?’ Kath asked.

  ‘Dunbar. It’s the red bow tie and hanky. They say woofters use hankies as a gay code and he spoke like he had something stuck up his arse.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Kath replied, shaking her head.

  Jane ached all over. No one had entered or left the Bentleys’ flat, and sitting hunched up looking through a small hole for hours had given her a cricked neck and terrible headache.

  She sat back and stretched as Stanley, who had snored for nearly three hours, stirred himself. She physically jumped when the rear door of the van was knocked on in the standard coded manner.

  Stanley scuttled to the double doors to look in a gap of the blacked-out window, then opened one door for Bradfield to jump inside.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Stanley, it stinks in here! Dear God, don’t you ever toss out your rotting food?’

  ‘Listen, I was in a static op last night and collected the van from the drug squad this morning, so it ain’t all my mess. Nothing has moved all day, so we don’t even know if the targets are in their flat – and I need a leak,’ he said, leaning over to lift up the hatch for the pee hole.

  Bradfield put his foot on the hatch. ‘Not in here, it stinks enough. You can go and stretch your legs and get a bite to eat, Stanley, discreetly – as only an officer so highly trained and skilled as yourself can do!’

  ‘Very funny, guv,’ Stanley said, and pulled on a donkey jacket. ‘You and Tennison want anything?’ he asked.

  Bradfield said he was only paying a flying visit and Jane asked if she could have a cheese sandwich and a bottle of water.

  Stanley crouched at the back doors and waited for Jane and Bradfield to give the all-clear before jumping out.

  Bradfield sat on the bench close to Jane who was still keeping observation on the Bentleys’ flat, unsure what to say or why he had come. He sat with his raincoat buttoned up and lit a cigarette.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ he asked.

  ‘Nearly three hours.’

  ‘I’d say punishment enough.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Time spent in this dilapidated stink-hole van is punishment. And in case you’re wondering, fuck all has happened at any of the observation points and it’s looking like we got the wrong bank.’

  ‘You make it sound as if it’s my fault.’

  ‘We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t put John Bentley in the frame. Ashley Brennan’s heard nothing further on his poxy radio, and we have nothing suspicious occurring at Silas’s café.’

  ‘Maybe Bentley realized he was being tailed and called it off.’

  ‘Even if he hadn’t they’d need a fucking atomic bomb to blast open the bank vault. According to
the pompous prat of a bank manager it is completely impenetrable with a massive concrete and steel base and James Bond shutters to lock in any intruder.’

  She stared out from the peephole, trying hard not to show how distressed she was that he appeared to be blaming her.

  ‘I only met him once, but I still believe it was John Bentley’s voice on the tape. If you want me to change my mind, or suggest it has been my fault then—’

  ‘Fault?’ he snapped, interrupting her. ‘I’m here because I don’t want you to take any flack. If we have the wrong bank then that’s down to me, but we both know something is going down and I have a gut feeling—’

  ‘That I’m right?’

  ‘Not about that – my gut tells me that we’re close but time is running out, and if they are planning to rob a bank we may have screwed up because we’ve concentrated on Silas’s café.’

  Jane turned to face him, watching as he sighed, rubbed his hair and shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘You must be exhausted,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, but I just wanted you to know that you might have to stand up for yourself when the Chief Super gets the update. They always want someone to blame and this has cost more than a few quid getting in all the extra officers – but the reality is it’s down to me, and my decision. You acted in good faith, I’ve acted on impulse.’

  She turned back to the peephole, trying to think of the right thing to say.

  ‘When Stanley gets back tell him to give it until 6 p.m. and get another team to take over from you.’

  He moved along the bench so he was behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder. It was not in any way premeditated, but she felt her body lean back against him. He gently moved his hand to stroke her hair.

  ‘You’ve got a lovely-shaped head.’

  She laughed, turned and looked at him. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Well, you sort of pay the oddest compliments and sometimes I am not sure how to take them. You said I have nice teeth, but you always seem to be critical of me, snapping that elastic band for me to tie my hair back, “Take your hat off”, “Put it back on”, you confuse me.’

  ‘Ah well, all you need to know is that . . .’ He hesitated.

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘That I have wanted to do this.’ He tilted her chin up, leaned forward and kissed her. It was such a sweet, gentle kiss and Jane was completely taken aback.

  ‘So now you know that my compliments were heartfelt. I have no notion how you feel, and I may be making a total arse of myself, so you don’t have to say anything.’

  She wanted to put her arms around him. She had an overwhelming desire to hold him tightly and tilt her head up for him to kiss her again, but she felt nervous. So she covered her embarrassment by peering through her peephole pressing her flushed face against the cold sides of the van.

  ‘Wait – Renee Bentley is coming out of her flat.’

  Bradfield leaned closer to her and Jane moved her head to one side so that he could look.

  ‘She’s a wily old lady, and reared a nasty son of a bitch in John, never mind being married to one as well. But I doubt she’s going to be handling a sledgehammer and helping break into a bank.’

  Her face almost touched his as she suggested that she should get out and follow.

  ‘You can do, but keep your distance as she might recognize you. I’ll wait for Stanley to return.’

  Jane snatched her coat, grabbed her bag and Bradfield eased open the van doors to let her out. As she stepped out into the fresh air she had to catch her breath. She felt nervous and her heart was pounding. She could hardly believe what had just happened. She calmed herself down but couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Renee walked slowly as she made her way along Chatsworth Road, which was lined with shops and market stalls displaying a colourful array of fresh fruit, vegetables, bread and cakes. The sound of traders shouting out the price of their wares in Cockney accents filled the busy street. Jane was able to follow Renee at a safe distance and used some stall-browsing as cover whenever Renee stopped to look at something. Eventually Renee went into an Indian shop. Hesitant, Jane looked through the window from the street. She could see Renee walking between tall aisles of tinned food towards the post office counter at the far end of the shop. Jane decided to go in, and seeing the stack of baskets by the door she picked one up. She moved quickly to stand behind one of the shelves and was able to watch Renee from a round convex mirror placed high in the corner of the shop. Working behind the post office grille was an Indian man wearing a black turban. Renee waited while he served another woman. Jane moved a bit closer.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Bentley,’ the Indian man said as Renee approached the counter.

  ‘Can I ask you somethin’, Mr Singh?’ Renee spoke loudly, bending towards the grille and sliding him her pension book.

  ‘You certainly can.’

  ‘Me son said some £5 notes won’t be legal come September and I can’t use ’em. Is that right?’

  Jane saw Mr Singh smile, but was unable to hear his response as a woman and two noisy children demanding sweets were now standing beside her. She moved closer to listen, but Mr Singh was counting out Renee’s pension money which he then handed over and she placed it in her handbag.

  ‘Do you have any travel magazines for Florida, that’s in America?’ Renee asked Mr Singh.

  He said he wasn’t sure as his wife dealt with all the magazines, but there might be something on the racks by the door. If not, a travel agent’s would be the best place. Jane had to turn her back as Renee walked towards her. Renee then went to the magazine rack and spent five minutes looking through it before going to the till where she asked Mrs Singh for some cough medicine and aspirins as well as some cigarettes and a packet of Maltesers. Renee paid then left the shop. Jane could see Mrs Singh looking at her suspiciously as if she was a shoplifter, so she bought a large bar of chocolate before hurrying out.

  Renee went back to the estate, and as Jane returned to the surveillance van she saw Stanley and approached him.

  ‘What’s happening? Are you following someone?’

  ‘No, but if I was you’d probably have just blown my cover by carrying your police bag.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I forgot what we were doing,’ an embarrassed Jane replied.

  ‘Think of it as a lesson learned. We’ve been relieved for the day, two other officers have taken over for the next shift. Sorry, but I left your cheese sandwich and drink in the van.’

  Jane smiled. ‘It’s OK, I’m not hungry.’

  ‘How’d the tail on Renee Bentley go?’

  ‘Nothing unusual. She just did a bit of shopping,’ Jane replied, but inwardly she was puzzled by what she had overheard. She wondered if there was any connection regarding the £5 notes and the request for a travel magazine for Florida.

  Having got the bus back to the station Jane was finishing typing up her surveillance report when Kath walked in.

  ‘Well, there’s nothing going on at any of the surveillance points. Chief Super’s just been in and according to Gibbs he gave Bradfield a real pastin’ about the cost of the operation. Between you and me, cos I saw the TSB vault, there is a big possibility we’ve been focusing on the wrong effing bank.’

  ‘But it doesn’t make sense. It is right next to a café’ – she gestured to the pinned-up mug shots – ‘and the Bentleys are obviously up to something.’

  ‘Bradfield’s got a couple of guys checking out other banks and jewellers’ in close proximity to cafés, but it might not even be connected to the Bentleys. The taped calls could be coming from God knows who or where.’

  Jane sighed. ‘I’m sure it was John Bentley’s voice.’ But in reality she was now beginning to doubt herself.

  ‘Well, I believe you, but don’t get your knickers in a twist about it. As it is we can nick him for ringing a van with false plates, no insurance and probably a forged tax disc.
’

  ‘But we don’t even know where he keeps the van yet, and they’re just minor offences really.’

  ‘All part of the game, Jane – you win some, you lose some.’

  Jane sighed and went back to typing her report as Kath leaned over her shoulder to read it.

  ‘That’s interesting – Ma Bentley enquiring about illegal fivers and travel to the States. I wouldn’t mind getting some sun in Florida, but chance’d be a fine thing.’

  Jane was about to add that travel to the US was expensive and not something she thought any of the Bentleys could afford, when suddenly Kath burst out laughing.

  DS Gibbs was there in full uniform, his police helmet under his arm.

  ‘Evenin’ all,’ Kath said, squatting down then standing up with her hands behind her back. Jane wondered if he had been sent back to uniform due to the O’Duncie assault incident.

  Gibbs shook his finger. ‘Haw haw, very funny, Morgan. Bradfield wants me to visit Silas’s café dressed like a plod on the pretext that Mannie Charles’ shop got broken into and I’m makin’ local enquiries. This bloody helmet’s too small,’ he said, and put it on.

  Kath laughed again. ‘You might get a free moussaka and sticky cake, Spence. Do you want someone to go with you? Cos my uniform’s downstairs.’

  ‘Bradfield’s already lined up Sergeant “Happy” Harris to go with me. You two completed your reports yet?’ he asked, and they both said yes.

  He told them to book off duty and turned to leave the room causing the helmet to fall from his head. ‘Bloody thing.’ As he bent down to pick it up Kath goosed him and he shot up.

  ‘Very funny, Morgan, keep yer hands to yourself.’

  ‘You should tell some of the blokes at the station to do the same. I’ve been touched up more times than you’ve had hot dinners.’

  Returning to the section house Jane was eager to have a bath after being hunched up for hours in the stinking surveillance van. She hadn’t seen Bradfield at the station and was concerned about his dressing down by the Chief. She also wondered how she was going to react when she saw him after what had occurred between them. Just thinking about it made her smile.