Standing in the corridor Jane could hear male voices chatting and laughing on the other side of the door, as well as the click-clack of typewriters and the ding of the bell as the carriage reached the end of the page. She straightened her coat and swept her hands through her hair. She didn’t know why, but for the first time in ages she felt nervous about walking into an office full of male detectives, as Dabs opened the door for her. But her anxiety eased as she recognized the hearty laugh of DS Stanley. Being the first female member of the Flying Squad probably wasn’t going to be a bed of roses, but it felt like it was the beginning of an exciting new chapter in her life. She walked into the room and saw the Colonel and Stanley standing together, with their backs to her, looking at something on the wall. Before she could speak, the Colonel nudged Stanley with his elbow.
‘Get me Tennison’s joining photo out of her job file on KP’s desk — I’ll stick it on the poster under her nickname.’
The Colonel sniggered, still with his back to Jane.
Stanley turned around and took a few steps towards the desk before he saw Jane and grimaced. She glared at him and held her finger to her mouth, making it clear she wanted him to keep quiet. She could see her police file, with her CID photograph clipped to it, on a neat and tidy desk near the door, which had a ‘Katie Powell’ name plaque on it.
The Colonel continued to look at the poster, admiring his handiwork.
‘Get a move on, Stanley, Tennison will be here soon.’
Jane handed Dabs the bag of exhibits, then removed her photo from the file. As she crept up behind the Colonel she could see a 40in. by 30in. film poster for the 1967 movie, The Dirty Dozen. The poster depicted twelve men in army fatigues charging forward in a V formation, with machine guns blazing. Jane knew the film was considered a classic, full of Hollywood stars of the day like Lee Marvin and Charles Bronson. In the top left corner of the poster, in capital letters, were the words DAMN THEM OR PRAISE THEM... YOU’LL NEVER FORGET THE DIRTY DOZEN and added on a bit of paper underneath was OR TREACLE TENNISON.
‘There you go,’ Jane said and stuck the photograph under her name. The Colonel was visibly startled.
‘Where’d you come from?’ he asked, red-faced, and some of the detectives couldn’t help laughing at his embarrassment.
‘And there was us thinking you were a rough, tough Marine,’ DC Baxter said.
‘You must have shit yourself when the enemy crept up on you,’ Teflon grinned.
The Colonel glared at Teflon as everyone laughed, then turned to Jane with a smirk.
‘It’s just me and the lads having a bit of fun—’
‘To be honest, DC Gorman, I was expecting a more traditional initiation ceremony, like cling film or fingerprint ink on the ladies’ toilet seat. But this poster is so much more revealing...’ She paused.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘It shows you think you’re a big Hollywood movie star, not a lowly copper working in a dingy office in Leytonstone.’
Some of the detectives chuckled.
‘I’ll take the photo down if you’re that bothered about it,’ he snapped, reaching to remove it.
Jane put a hand on his arm.
‘If it makes you happy, leave it there. Now let me try and guess which one of the Dirty Dozen you are.’ She deliberately paused to make out she was studying the poster and thinking about it. ‘I’m leaning towards the character Charles Bronson played — but I can’t remember his name...’
She paused again, knowing the Colonel would answer.
‘Wladislaw,’ he said smugly, clearly pleased she thought he was like Bronson.
‘No, not him, it’s another character I was thinking of.’
‘Who?’
‘Wasn’t one of them a bigot nicknamed Maggott?’
Teflon laughed. ‘Right on, Sarge, he was played by Telly Savalas. Ya man was bald like de Colonel,’ he said in a comic Caribbean accent.
‘Shut up, Teflon — no one asked for your opinion.’ The Colonel scowled.
Teflon shook his head and tutted. ‘You like to dish it out, Colonel, but you can’t take it, can you?’
‘Not when it’s you,’ the Colonel said coldly.
‘What do you mean by that?’ Teflon said, taking a step towards the Colonel to front him out.
The animosity between the two detectives was palpable, and Jane was about to step between them, but Stanley beat her to it and held his hands up to keep them apart.
‘Right, fun’s over. We’ve got a fucking robbery to investigate, where some of our own were nearly killed — so stop pissing about and get on with your work,’ he said in a firm voice.
As the detectives returned to their desks, Stanley took Jane to one side.
‘It was only a bit of fun, the Colonel didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, we all have nicknames and take the piss out of each other, it helps relieve the pressure.’
‘I don’t mind a bit of fun or banter, but if I’m honest it felt a bit demeaning, especially as I’ve already told the Colonel I don’t like being called Treacle.’
‘I didn’t know that—’
‘And if you did would you have stopped him?’
‘Treacle’s not a demeaning term, Jane, it’s just cockney rhyming slang — treacle tart... sweetheart.’
‘I know where it comes from, Stanley, but I’d expect to hear my mother or father use it — not a junior officer in what was clearly a derogatory manner. I don’t think it’s too much to ask to be called Sarge or Sergeant when I’m on duty — do you?’
‘Well, I’ve always accepted being called Stanley—’
‘That’s your choice — besides, I heard people call you Sarge when we worked on the Covent Garden bombing.’
‘That was different from working on this squad—’
‘So, it’s all right to refer to the DI and DCI by their Christian or nicknames, then?’ Jane asked, with a touch of sarcasm.
‘You know that’s not what I’m saying.’
‘Well, what are you saying?’
‘That you might want to calm down a bit. I don’t mind if you give as good as you get, but that’s because I’ve worked with you before. For now just soak up the mickey-taking and ease yourself in gently.’
‘Oh, I see, because I’m a female I’m the one who should be submissive. I thought this was the Flying Squad — not a gentlemen’s club.’
‘I’ve given you my advice, Jane, so take it or—’
‘I’ll leave it, Stanley, and make my own decisions, thank you.’
As Stanley returned to his desk, a woman came out of one of the offices at the far end of the room carrying some case folders. She was in her mid-thirties, five feet seven inches tall, with a slim waist and good-sized bust, and walked with an air of authority. Her long dark shiny hair hung down her back and she was smartly dressed in a white blouse, black pencil skirt and high heels. She put the folder on the desk next to Jane’s police file.
‘Hi, you must be Katie. I’m Jane Tennison.’ She smiled as she raised her hand to greet her.
She looked Jane up and down condescendingly.
‘Yes, I know, I’ve seen your police file,’ she replied, without a smile.
Jane wasn’t going to put up with Katie looking down her nose at her.
‘So have the rest of the office by the looks of it,’ she retorted, glancing towards her file on Katie’s desk.