Lynda La Plante
The Dirty Dozen
To celebrate the centenary of female officers
in the Metropolitan Police Service
Chapter One
It was a rainy and overcast April morning as the brown 1976 Mark 4 Ford Cortina sedan parked up on the offside of Aylmer Road, a few meters down from the junction with Leytonstone High Road. The four men in the vehicle sat in silence as the engine slowly ticked over and the windscreen wipers swept away the rain. The men were dressed in blue coveralls, heavy black donkey jackets and leather driving gloves. The heat from their bodies was making the windows mist up and the musty odor of sweat filled the car. The man in the back opened his window a couple of inches and the two men in the front used their jacket sleeves to wipe the condensation off the windscreen, so they could get a better view of Barclays Bank on the far side of the High Road. The bank manager was holding an umbrella as he opened the large wooden front doors for business at 9:30. Smartly dressed in a three-piece gray pinstripe suit, white shirt, and tie, he stood to one side to let two customers in, and looked up the High Road, which was quieter than usual for a Thursday morning due to the bad weather.
As the manager turned and walked back inside, the driver of the Cortina put a cap on and opened the car door. He hadn’t seen the elderly lady pulling a canvas shopping trolley along the pavement, and narrowly missed hitting her with the door. The lady swore at him, but the driver ignored her and pulled the peak of his cap down, before walking towards the bank.
As the old lady moved off, one of the men in the back of the Cortina reached under the driver’s seat and pulled out a twelve-bore, double-barreled, sawn-off shotgun. He pushed the unlocking lever to one side to ‘break’ the gun, then placed a cartridge in each chamber. Holding the wooden stock of the gun with one hand, he snapped the barrel closed with a well-practiced upward flick of his wrist, then slid the shotgun into a home-made pocket inside his jacket.
Jane drove up and down Rigg Approach twice, but couldn’t see a police station or blue lamp anywhere. She was becoming frustrated and beginning to wonder if she’d got the right place, as she appeared to be in an industrial estate with a variety of different businesses. She parked her yellow Volkswagen Golf opposite a mobile burger van, and got out to speak to the owner. Pulling her coat up over her head, to protect her hair from the rain, she ran across the road.
‘Excuse me, is there a police station near here?’ she asked.
‘There’s no nick around here, luv. The nearest are Stoke Newington or Hackney — a couple of miles away, but in opposite directions.’
‘I know where they are, but I’m looking for the Flying Squad offices, which I was told were in Rigg Approach.’
‘The Sweeney work out of that place over there, not a nick,’ he said, pointing to a two-storey, gray-brick office building with a flat roof. ‘I know most of the lads, as they’re regulars at my van. Anyone in particular you’re looking for?’
‘The DCI. I’ve got an appointment with him.’
‘Bill Murphy? That’s his office on the top floor — far right. I don’t think he’s in yet, as he hasn’t been down for his usual bacon and egg roll.’
‘Thanks for your help.’
Jane crossed the road and on closer inspection thought the building looked run-down. Although there were large windows on both floors, the ground floor ones all had faded white metal Venetian blinds, which were closed. The metal front door had a numbered push-button entry pad above the handle, and an intercom on the wall beside it. As Jane pressed the button on the intercom, she wondered what the building would be like on the inside.
‘How can I help you?’ a female voice asked over the intercom.
‘I’m WDS Tennison. I’m here to see DCI Murphy.’
‘Is he expecting you?’ the woman asked, in a haughty manner.
‘Yes, he is. I start on the Flying Squad today and was told to report to his office for ten a.m.’
‘It’s only 9:30, and he didn’t mention you to me — new officers generally start on Mondays.’
‘I’ve been in court all week and... Look, I’m getting soaked out here. Can you please open the door or tell me the number for the entry pad?’
The woman sighed. ‘I suppose so... The squad office is on the first floor.’
Jane thought the woman was rude and wondered if she was a detective on the squad or clerical staff. As she waited for the electronic lock to be released, she flapped her coat to remove some of the rain. As it was her first day on the Flying Squad, Jane wanted to look good and had worn a blue two-piece skirt suit, white blouse, stockings and black high-heeled shoes. She heard the electronic lock on the door buzz, and leaned forward to open it. Her hand was on the round knob when the door was pulled open with force from the inside, causing Jane to stumble forward. She felt a hand grab her arm tightly, stopping her from falling over.
‘You all right, luv?’ a deep male voice asked, as the man helped her straighten up.
Jane was dwarfed by the man. She noticed he had a pickaxe handle in his left hand. He was about six foot seven, with wide shoulders and a muscular frame. He had blond hair, blue eyes and boyish looks. He was dressed in a white England rugby shirt with the red rose emblem on the left breast.
‘Come on, Bax, I need to get the motor fired up,’ the man behind him said in a broad Scottish accent, as he used a pickaxe handle to usher Jane and Bax to one side. He looked to be in his late thirties, and although slightly smaller, at about six foot two, he had a large beer belly.
Bax frowned. ‘All right, Cam, less haste more speed.’
Jane heard footsteps running down the metal stairs.
A male voice called out, ‘Right, I’m tooled up, so we’re good to go, Bax. The Guv and the Colonel are booking out their guns and will go in Cam’s car. Teflon is on his way round the front with Dabs in the Triumph for us.’
Jane instantly recognized the voice of Detective Sergeant Stanley, who she had worked with on the ‘Dip Squad’ a few years ago. They had also been involved in the hunt for an active IRA unit that had bombed Covent Garden Tube Station. Stanley had helped to disarm a car bomb and been awarded the Queen’s Police Medal for his bravery.
Jane looked up and saw the short, slim frame of Stanley tucking a police issue.38 revolver into a shoulder holster under his brown leather jacket. He still had his long, dark, straggly hair, but had grown a thick moustache, which on first sight didn’t suit him.
‘Hi, Stanley.’ Jane waved. She still didn’t know what his Christian name was, as everyone just called him ‘Stanley.’
‘Tennison, what are you doing here?’
‘I’ve been transferred to the Flying Squad.’
‘Have you? That’s news to me.’
‘And me,’ Bax said.
Jane thought it strange that no one seemed to know about her transfer, and began to wonder if she’d got the right starting day.
‘Are you off on a shout?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, we just got a call from Information Room. There might be a robbery about to go down in Leytonstone. Gotta go, so I’ll catch up with you later.’
Stanley hurried out of the building with Bax.
Jane started to walk up the stairs when two more men appeared, armed with.38 revolvers carried in belt holsters around their waists. The man in front was wearing a blue baseball cap and tight white T-shirt, which accentuated his muscular frame and large biceps. As he hurried down the stairs two at a time, Jane moved quickly to one side to let him pass.
The man behind wasn’t rushing and stopped in front of Jane. He had a chiseled jawline, defined cheekbones and a slightly misshapen nose, which looked like it had been broken in a fight. He wasn’t dressed casually like the others, and wore a tailored slim-fit gray suit and white open-neck shirt. He sniffed and stared at Jane with narrow eyes.