The Dirty Dozen

by Lynda La Plante

  Having seen Kingston’s jacket on the chair, Jane wondered if he might be in the gym working out and decided to go down to the basement to see. As she got near the locker room she could hear a male voice grunting and the rhythmic sound of squeaking metal from gym equipment being used. She entered the locker room and was about to say, “Excuse me, Guv,” when the sight that greeted her froze her to the spot.

  Kingston was standing with his back to the door and his trousers down by his ankles, while Katie knelt in front of him on a weightlifting bench that rocked and squeaked in time to Kingston’s thrusts.

  Jane was no prude, but this was a situation she didn’t want to get caught up in. She’d never in her life seen another couple having sex, apart from a brief glimpse of a porn movie she’d caught her male colleagues watching in the snooker room on night duty when she was a probationer at Hackney. Thankful she hadn’t disturbed them, Jane crept back up the stairs as quickly as she could and grabbed her coat and shoulder bag, but as she went out of the office onto the landing she could hear Kingston and Katie talking as they walked back up the stairs. She darted into the ladies’ toilet across the hallway and sat down to wait for their voices to subside so she could sneak out to her car. She recalled DC Lloyd Johnson saying Katie liked attention and got plenty of it from Kingston, but she’d never imagined they were in a relationship. She heard Katie’s voice just outside the toilet.

  “I just need to freshen up after that workout.” She giggled.

  Jane slowly pushed the slide catch on the door to lock it.

  “Fancy a glass of Scotch?” Kingston asked as he opened the squad room door.

  “No thanks, I’m warm enough already,” Katie said, trying to open the toilet door. “Is someone in there? It better not be you, Stanley, or so help me God I’ll rub your nose in anything you’ve left on the seat!”

  Jane was in two minds about keeping quiet, hoping Katie might think the door was jammed and give up, but then decided she shouldn’t have to skulk about because of their outrageous behavior.

  “It’s me, Jane Tennison—is there a problem?”

  “Oh, right, I thought it was Stanley. How long have you been in there?” Katie asked sheepishly.

  “I just got back and was desperate for the loo. I’ll be finished in a minute if you’re waiting.”

  “It’s all right, take your time.”

  She grabbed her hairbrush and went into Kingston’s office.

  “Tennison’s in the loo.”

  “What’s she doing back here?”

  Katie started brushing her hair. “I don’t know . . . I think she may have heard what I just said to you about being warm already.”

  “So what? She doesn’t know what we were up to, but she will if she sees you all flustered. Just calm down and act as if nothing’s happened.”

  Katie returned to her desk, sat down and started typing.

  “Toilet’s free now, Katie.” Jane walked into the office but Katie didn’t seem to hear her. “Are you all right, Katie?”

  “What makes you ask that?”

  “You seemed to be in another world, that’s all.”

  “The heating’s playing up again—it’s so stuffy in here it’s making me feel nauseous.”

  “Is DI Kingston in?”

  “Yes, he’s been in his office all evening doing paperwork,” Katie replied as she hurried off to the toilet.

  Jane thought that even if she hadn’t seen Katie in the gym with Kingston, she’d have guessed something was up. Guilt was written all over Katie’s face. She might be good at filing, but she was a lousy liar. Jane would have loved to have made a sarcastic comment but bit her lip, knowing it could backfire on her if Katie said anything to Kingston. When she entered his office, he was sitting at his desk writing, with a glass of whisky next to him.

  “I didn’t expect to see you back here tonight, Tennison. Something of interest come up?”

  “You could say that, sir,” she said, reflecting wryly on what she’d witnessed a few minutes ago. She suppressed a smile. “Mrs. Brown saw another two men leaving the Edgar House estate just before the fire, and one was wearing a cap similar to the one Fiona Simpson saw the driver of the getaway car wearing. Also, Mrs. Brown thinks she saw the man carrying the duffle bag in a gold Mercedes sports car, possibly a 450SL convertible.”

  Kingston put his pen down and stopped writing.

  “Take a seat and tell me exactly what she said. You want a Scotch?”

  This time she couldn’t help herself.

  “Thanks, sir, it’s cold out so that should warm me up.”

  As he poured the drink she got out her pocket notebook and went over her meeting with Rita Brown, and what Mrs. Clarke had said about the garage keys and the purchase of their flat.

  “Bloody hell, you’ve had quite a productive evening, Tennison.”

  “Would you like me to make follow-up enquiries with the estate agents who dealt with the sale of 14 Edgar House?”

  “Yes. Do it tomorrow morning after the office meeting and speak to the housing association about Mrs. Smith. They may have some useful information we can work on. Get a photo of a Merc 450SL convertible and show it to Mrs. Brown. If she says it’s the same type of car she saw, stick it on the office wall. Also buy a newsboy cap of the same color and claim the cost back on an expenses chitty.”

  “Is it worth speaking to Fiona Simpson again to get a more detailed description of the cap the driver of the getaway car was wearing?”

  Kingston reached into his desk in tray and pulled out two pieces of A4 paper with drawings on them.

  “This was dropped off earlier by the police artist.”

  He stood beside Jane and put the drawings down in front of her; one was a profile and the other full face. Jane could smell Katie’s perfume on him as he leaned over and pointed to the profile.

  “There are no triangular panels on the cap Fiona Simpson described to the artist, but there is a button on top.” He tapped his finger on it.

  He went over to his jacket, which was still on the chair, reached in the side pocket and pulled out a beer mat. Jane wondered what he was doing until he picked up his desk phone and started to dial a number which was written on the mat.

  “Hi, Fiona, it’s DI Kingston from the Flying Squad. I was wondering if I could come and take a statement from you this evening. I appreciate you’re busy, but I wouldn’t ask unless it was important. It’ll be easier if I explain when I get there. I’ll be about half an hour. Thanks, I really appreciate it. See you in a bit then.” He put the phone down. “That was—”

  “Fiona Simpson. If it will speed things up I don’t mind writing the statement while you get the details from her.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but Simpson’s pub is on my route home, whereas you live in the opposite direction. You’ve done well today, so go home and put your feet up.”

  She finished her Scotch and stood up.

  “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

  “Could you grab me some statement forms from the documents tray in the squad room, please, while I sort myself out?”

  He picked up his jacket and put his pen in the inside pocket. Jane nodded and went to get the forms.

  “Everything all right?” Katie asked, as Jane opened the statement form tray and got a handful out.

  “Yes, DI Kingston needs to get an urgent statement regarding some information I got earlier this evening.” She put the forms in a folder.

  “You got the statement forms, Jane?” Kingston asked as he came out of his office.

  “Yes, Guv.” She smiled.

  He handed a copy of the artist’s impressions to Katie.

  “Stick them up on the wall for me. I’ve got to shoot out on an urgent enquiry. Man the phones for another hour then you can go home.”

  “Will you be coming back to the office tonight?” Katie asked.

  “No,” Kingston said as he and Jane left the room together.

  “Bitch!” Katie muttered to he
rself, wondering exactly what sort of “urgent” enquiry they were really on.

  Jane’s journey home to her flat in Melcombe Place took her 45 minutes—a lot quicker than her morning trip in rush hour. After parking her car, she walked to a nearby fish and chip shop. It had been open for about a year and served the best cod and chips she had ever tasted. It was owned by a Greek immigrant called Filippos, affectionately known to his customers as “Fil the Greek,” who had sensed a business opportunity as soon as he saw the popularity of fish and chips. Some local residents objected when it first opened, worried he would start selling kebabs as well and lower the tone of the area, but Fil was savvy enough to offer the locals a free first meal. Once they had tasted his fish and chips they soon came back for more. In the far corner of the shop there were three small tables where people could sit and wait for their food to be prepared or eat in if they wanted.

  “Long time no see, Sergeant Jane. How you doin’?” he asked in a strong Greek accent.

  “Fine thanks, Fil.”

  She’d become a valued customer after threatening to arrest a couple of drunken toffs who were calling him “greaseball” one night.

  “What do ya fancy from the menu tonight?”

  “Small cod and chips, please.”

  He picked up a large piece of skinned and boned cod by the tail and quickly dipped it in batter before dropping it into the bubbling hot oil, where it sizzled furiously.

  “Take a with you wrapped or eat in open?”

  “I’ll have it wrapped to take away, thanks.”

  “So, where you a working now?” he asked as he turned the fish in the oil.

  “I’m on the Flying Squad at Rigg Approach in Leyton.”

  “You work on de helicopters now?”

  Jane laughed. “No, we deal with armed robberies in London. We’re also known as the Sweeney—have you never seen the TV show?”

  “I never get a chance to watch a TV as I work most evenings, but I have a Sunday off. My a wife, she a says I should get one of them Betamax things that records what’s on TV to tape, then I can watch what I miss in da evening.”

  “My dad just got a VHS recorder.”

  “I look at one of dem, but the cassette tape is too big. I don’t reckon VHS will last as Betamax tapes are much smaller and better quality. You gonna get one?”

  “I don’t watch much TV myself, I prefer a good book.”

  “I like a book as well—I bet you like Sherlock Holmes—he lives near here, in Baker Street,” he said, proud of his local knowledge.

  She didn’t have the heart to tell him Holmes was a fictional character.

  “Conan Doyle’s OK. I read a lot of his stuff when I was younger, and I guess in some ways it inspired me to be a detective.”

  “Who’s your favorite, then?”

  She thought for a moment. “Probably Raymond Chandler. I saw a film called The Long Goodbye a few years ago, based on the Chandler book, and it inspired me to start reading his novels. What do you like to read, Phil?”

  “Greek history and mythology, like the Iliad by Homer and the Histories by Herodotus. I think you’d like the tragedy Medea by Euripides.”

  He scooped up a large portion of chips and placed them on some newspaper.

  Jane was surprised by Fil’s choice of reading.

  “I never studied Greek history—what’s Medea about?”

  “A woman’s revenge upon her a husband. Have you no a heard of Jason and the Argonauts?”

  “I saw the film with my father years ago—I remember it had a lot of special effects and was quite scary.”

  “After the Argonauts’ quest for the Golden Fleece, Jason he a marry barbarian princess called Medea and they move to Corinth in Greece, where he then a leave Medea for a royal princess, Glauce. Medea, she was a distraught and plotted her revenge . . . You want salt and vinegar, Sergeant?”

  “Just on the chips, please. So what did Medea do?”

  “She poisons Glauce and her father King Creon, then Jason confronts Medea, only to a discover she had stabbed their sons to death,” he said, shaking salt and vinegar over the chips.

  “I can understand revenge against her husband and his mistress—but why did she murder the children?”

  He put the fried cod on top of the chips.

  “Although Medea loved dem, for her it was the ultimate revenge. She fled a Corinth with the children’s corpses, mocking and gloating over Jason’s pain, then a leave a him a broken man.”

  He wrapped the fish and chips up in the newspaper, put it in a brown paper bag and handed it to Jane.

  “Well, there’s a saying that ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,’ ” Jane remarked, trying to hand him a pound note, which he waved away.

  They argued good-naturedly for a minute, and eventually Fil let her pay fifty pence, but only if she let him give her something. He quickly went out the back while she kept an eye on the shop and returned with a book.

  “Plays by Euripides. You’ll find Medea in there.”

  “Thanks, Fil. Sounds like the perfect bedtime reading! I’ll bring it back when I’ve finished it.”

  Once inside her flat Jane opened a bottle of white wine and poured herself a large glass, then sat down to eat her fish and chips at her small kitchen table. As she unwrapped the newspaper the aroma of the fish and acidic tang of the vinegar reminded her of days out at the seaside with her parents and sister when she was a girl. She smiled to herself, remembering sitting in the car at Brighton beach eating fish and chips with her fingers, while watching the waves break on the pebbles. She gently broke off a piece of the golden hot battered cod, blew on it a few times, then popped it in her mouth.

  Delicious, she thought, realizing for the first time just how hungry she was.

  She was halfway through the large portion and beginning to feel full when the phone rang. Grabbing a tea towel, she wiped the grease from her hands and picked up the phone.

  “Jane Tennison. Who’s calling, please?”

  “Da da da . . . Da da da . . . Da da da da da . . . Shut it, son! . . . We’re the Sweeney and you’re nicked!”

  She shook her head with a smile, recognizing her sister Pam’s voice behind the crude attempt at The Sweeney theme tune.

  “Just thought I’d ring my favorite sister and see how her first day on the famous Flying Squad went.”

  “I’m your only sister, and it was a pretty uneventful day, to be honest.”

  She knew Pam would take great delight in passing on to her parents all the gory details of the bank robbery if she told her about it, and her mother would then become distraught about her safety, so she decided to play it down.

  “So, you had nothing to do with that bank robbery in Leytonstone on the evening news?”

  “No, it’s not on our patch,” Jane lied.

  “You fibber, Jane. I looked in an A-Z to see where you worked, and Rigg Approach is about three miles from where the robbery took place.”

  “I didn’t get to go out to it as it was my first day. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my supper—”

  “I know better than a judge when you’re telling porkies, Jane.” Pam laughed. “I promise I won’t tell Mum if you got shot at.”

  “It’s no laughing matter, Pam. An officer was shot in the stomach and two others were nearly killed when their car crashed after being shot at.”

  Pam’s voice became more serious. “I knew you were involved. Was it scary?”

  “I got there after everything had happened I’m involved in the investigation, that’s all—but don’t go saying anything to Mum and Dad.”

  “I won’t. So what happened?”

  “I’m really tired, Pam. I want to have a bath and go to bed—”

  “Oh, come on, don’t leave me in suspense!”

  Jane sighed. “What are you doing this Saturday?”

  “In case you’d forgotten I’ve got an eighteen-month-old toddler, aka your nephew, to look after.”

  “How i
s Nathan?”

  “Fine. He’s just started walking and causing mayhem in the house. Actually, you could come over here tomorrow night with a bottle of wine and sleep over.”

  “I don’t think Tony would want me there. I doubt he’s forgiven me yet for telling him he should help a bit more and at least try to change Nathan’s dirty nappies.”

  “I agree with you, but you know how stubborn Tony can be. He’s going up the West End to a stag do tomorrow night. I told him I don’t want him coming home shit-faced and waking Nathan up, so he’s staying at a friend’s house and I’ll be on my own. We could have a good natter, put the world to rights and keep each other company like we used to when we lived at home,” Pam suggested.

  “I don’t know what time I’ll finish work tomorrow, but I expect it will be late. I was thinking of going shopping in the West End on Saturday if you want to join me,” she said, knowing she had to buy a newsboy cap.

  Pam hesitated for a moment. “That sounds like a plan. I’ll ask Mum if she can look after Nathan and let you know what she says.”

  “Tell her and Dad I’ll come for tea after we’ve been shopping—that way she won’t say no to you.”

  “OK. Now tell me about the robbery.”

  “You’ll just have to wait until Saturday, Pam. I’ll see you then.”

  Jane put the phone down before Pam could argue.

  Jane’s meal had gone cold and slightly soggy while she was on the phone, so she threw what was left in the bin and poured herself another glass of wine. Although it had been a tiring day, she knew tomorrow Murphy would be on her back, wanting to know if she’d typed her reports and submitted them. Not wanting to give him a reason to find fault, she got her typewriter from her bedroom cupboard and took it into the kitchen.

  But before getting down to work, she couldn’t help replaying the conversation with Pam in her mind. On the surface, her sister had been breezy and cheerful, cracking jokes about The Sweeney and trying to make Jane laugh. But Jane knew Pam’s bubbliness was sometimes a mask, hiding deeper anxieties. What could she be concerned about? Jane wondered if it was something to do with their parents. They were getting to that age when serious illnesses seem to lurk just around the corner, and perhaps Pam had noticed something worrying. Was that what she’d wanted to talk to Jane about? Jane sighed, feeling she had quite enough on her plate, and tried to put it out of her mind. She took a sip of wine and started typing from the notes she’d made in her pocket notebook during the day.