‘I dunno what this place is coming to. She’s not got either the experience or know-how and gets lucky with some banknotes, and the next minute she’s been bloody promoted. I’ve thirty years’ hard graft under my belt that seems to mean F-all to some people.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘WPC Kathleen Morgan. She’s like a Cheshire cat now she’s been made acting detective. She’s always put it about and used her equipment to get what she wants, and as for her stinking perfume...’
Jane let him rant on, and he didn’t even seem to notice her walk off to deal with someone at the front counter. Just after ten o’clock, Jane went for her break and popped into the incident room to find Kath.
It was already a hive of activity and there were numerous officers she hadn’t seen at the station before. From the way they appeared, some with long hair and scruffy clothes, others smart but casual, and a couple in workman’s clothes, she guessed they were probably surveillance officers.
Jane noticed the index carousel was empty and Kath was boxing everything to do with the now-solved Julie Ann Collins case.
‘Congratulations, Kath, on your well-deserved appointment as an acting detective.’
‘I am over the bloody moon. I couldn’t believe it when the boss said it was in recognition of the Kenneth Boyle arrest and my work matching the banknotes, which cracked the Julie Ann murder case.’ She breathed on her nails and rubbed them on her jacket.
‘Well, I am jealous. I mean it’s going to be a long time for me to be even considered for the CID as I’ve got to complete my probation.’
Jane looked around at everyone. ‘What’s going on?’
Kath gestured to all the new officers.
‘They’re taking over the incident room for the John Bentley investigation and Bradfield has called for everyone to attend the briefing. I heard him tell Gibbs he wants you in on it as well.’
‘Are you sure?’ Jane asked excitedly.
‘Yeah, anyway, I hope they don’t stick me in that stinking surveillance van. One time the buggers left me on my own while they went to the pub — I was in it for four hours sweating like a pig and bursting for a pee.’
DS Gibbs walked in wearing his long black worn leather coat and black ankle boots.
‘Morgan, can you head up to the canteen and tell everyone on the team to come down in five minutes as Bradfield wants to get the meeting under way sooner rather than later.’
When Kath left he took Jane to one side.
‘You may be right about Bentley being up to something.’
She blushed and admitted that at one point she had been terrified she might be wrong.
‘You may still be, but fair dues, you stuck to your guns, even under pressure from me,’ he said smiling.
She thanked him and leaving the room felt downhearted that he hadn’t said anything about her being back on the team. Kath had obviously misheard.
She walked past Bradfield’s office and paused.
‘Where you off to, Tennison?’ she heard Bradfield shout from behind her and stopped.
‘The canteen for refs,’ she said without turning, not wanting him to see the disappointment on her face.
‘Get me a coffee and a pack of Bourbons while you’re there.’
God, he’s got a cheek, she thought to herself.
‘You got three minutes so get a move on.’
Annoyed, she turned sharply and stood with her knuckles dug into her hips. ‘Well, I’m very sorry but I’m busy on the front desk YET AGAIN, and only have one pair of hands, so for once you’ll have to get your own coffee and Bourbons.’
He cocked his head to one side and knew instinctively why she was upset.
‘Hold on, Tennison. Hurry up with the coffee because I want you on the investigation and in the office for the meeting. Didn’t DS Gibbs tell you?
She suddenly wished the ground would swallow her up and mumbled an apology for her petulant behaviour.
‘It’s all right, this time. Besides, you look kinda cute when you’re angry,’ he said, and looked at his watch. ‘You got two minutes now.’
Jane was up the stairs like a shot.
Everyone was gathered. Jane stood at the back of the office as all the chairs were occupied. Bradfield had given Kath big sheets of paper to stick on the wall, with street and building diagrams drawn on them and notes neatly written in black felt tip. DS Gibbs had set up the reel-to-reel tape player in one corner of the room.
Bradfield looked refreshed and energized, even though he’d had only about three hours’ sleep. He handed out copies of Jane’s report detailing her visit to Ashley Brennan, and a transcription of the tape. He told DS Gibbs to start the tape and they all remained still and silent as they listened to the recording. The tape finished and Bradfield, perched on the edge of a desk, stood up and walked to the front of the room.
‘Right, listen up. Anything you have read, heard or are told about this investigation stays within this team and these four walls. Do I make myself clear?’ He looked round the room, staring everyone in the eye. ‘If as much as a peep gets out, then believe me I will personally destroy the career of whoever’s responsible.’
Jane had never seen him so serious, and by the expression on the faces of the others in the room neither had they.
‘You’ve heard the tape and read Tennison’s report so I won’t repeat what’s in it. Clearly our suspects are using walkie-talkies and we believe the man referred to as Brushstroke is John Bentley. He’s a hard nut who’s done time for a very nasty GBH as well as other serious crimes,’ he said, pinning up John’s mug shot on a cork board.
‘Word on the street is his old man’s just come out the nick,’ a detective said.
Bradfield nodded, pinned up another mug shot and tapped it with his finger. ‘Clifford Bentley has just finished an eight stretch for armed robbery and was released from Pentonville a couple of days ago. But we don’t know for certain yet if he’s involved.’
‘Pigs might fly if he isn’t, guv,’ an officer remarked, causing people to smile and nod in agreement.
A surveillance officer stepped closer to get a better look at Clifford’s photograph.
‘That’s the guy we saw from the obo van staggering into the Pembridge Estate just after midnight. Pissed as a fart, he was.’
Bradfield asked if he was sure, and his partner in the obo van looked at the picture and confirmed it was Clifford Bentley. He realized that it might mean Clifford wasn’t on ‘the job’ as he clearly wasn’t working through the night.
‘Any idea yet who was in the van with Bentley last night, guv?’ the surveillance officer who followed the van asked.
‘Not a hundred per cent, but it could be this man Daniel Mitcham, tough, nasty ex-squaddie and local boy,’ Bradfield said, putting up a photo of the thuggish-looking Mitcham before continuing. ‘He was arrested for the same GBH as John Bentley. They did porridge together and according to a snout are both close and drink in the Albion on Chatsworth Road.’
The two officers who had been in the surveillance van were whispering to each other.
‘Something you would like to share with the rest of us?’ Gibbs asked.
They looked at each other wondering who should tell him but Bradfield pre-empted them.
‘It’s not Mitcham, is it?’
‘No, sir, very similar build and age, but the man we saw had shoulder-length blond hair, not dark like Mitcham.’
‘Pity, but that still doesn’t rule him out as we don’t know exactly how many are involved.’
He continued, telling everyone that John Bentley was in possession of a decorator’s van with copied index plates from the same type of van in Kingston. He then asked the surveillance officers who followed John Bentley yesterday evening to brief the team on what happened. The officer who had written the surveillance log went through everything in fine detail and said that they were not sure if Bentley had sussed he was being tailed, or they had simply lost him. They had returned to the Pembridge in the obo van and remained in situ to see if Bentley returned, but by 3 a.m. he hadn’t and they were told to stand down by Bradfield.