‘So if you nicked him don’t you recognize his voice?’
‘It was bloody years ago.’
Gibbs shrugged his shoulders as the tape was set up again. Jane was clenching her hands tightly as the tape was played from the beginning to the end. There was a pause as Bradfield switched off the tape and looked at her.
‘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.