‘I promise I won’t ever look at another woman again.’
Jane smiled. ‘It’s all right to look, Tony.’
She gave him a hug and closed the cell door as she left him to think about what he was going to tell Pam.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was 4 a.m. Saturday by the time an exhausted Jane got home. She didn’t even bother to undress, and after setting the alarm for 7 a.m., she collapsed on her bed then fell into a deep sleep.
When the alarm went off Jane reached out with her hand, turned it off and thought she’d have another minute or two dozing before getting up. It was a bad mistake as she woke up again at 8 a.m. and realized she’d have to get a move on to be in work for 9 a.m. She had a quick shower and washed her hair and dried it. She decided to dress down and put on a T-shirt, roll neck jumper, jeans, black Puffa jacket and trainers. She was hungry, but didn’t have time for breakfast, and was about to leave when the phone rang. She was going to ignore it but then thought it might be Tony.
‘What time and where do you want to meet?’ Pam asked.
Jane mentally cursed herself. ‘I’m really sorry, Pam, I totally forgot we were going to go shopping and...’
She also realized that Pam was still unaware of Tony’s arrest.
‘You’ve got to work.’
‘Yes, it’s been non-stop the last couple of days and our DCI said we all have to work the weekend.’
Jane heard a sigh on the end of the line. ‘Thanks a lot, Jane, I’d arranged for Mum and Dad to look after Nathan and told them you’d be round for supper.’
‘Can you apologize for me, please?’
‘No, I can’t — you ring them. I’m tired of being the bearer of bad news where you’re concerned.’
Jane tried to stay positive. ‘We’re only doing eight-hour shifts so I’ll be finished by five and can come over then — I should be there about six-ish.’
‘And if I tell them that and you don’t turn up, I’ll get it in the ear.’
‘All right, I’ll ring them when I get to work.’
‘Make sure you do.’
‘Are you going shopping?’
‘Yes, assuming Mum’s still willing to look after Nathan.’
‘Could you do me a favor and visit a men’s outfitters and—’
Pam’s tone changed from annoyed to amused. ‘Got a new beau, have you? Not another detective, is it?’
‘No, to both questions. One of our suspects in the robbery was wearing a gray newsboy cap—’
‘A paper boy robbed the Securicor van?’
‘No, stupid, it’s a type of cap, which we want to show our witnesses. I’d be really grateful if you could get one for me and I’ll pick it up this evening at Mum’s and pay you back.’
Jane gave her a detailed description of the hat. Pam chuckled.
‘Will that mean I’m on the Flying Squad?’
‘Believe me, you might not want to be... Look, I’ve got to go, I’m running late. I promise we’ll go shopping another time.’
Pam snorted. ‘And pigs might fly.’
As she put the phone down Jane felt as if she had betrayed Pam’s trust by not saying anything about Tony’s arrest. She knew she’d told Tony she wouldn’t, but feared if Pam found out she’d been to the station and then said nothing... Pam would never forgive her.
Jane got to work at just before nine and Teflon was already there. The Colonel and Bax were about to leave to visit Frank Braun, and Cam was sitting at Katie’s desk reading the Sun with a coffee.
‘You look like you’ve had a rough night — knock a few glasses of wine back when you got home, did ya?’ Cam asked.
‘No, I had a dodgy tummy and didn’t get much sleep.’
‘Dabs just rang in and said he forgot to tell you something about a lock last night.’ He rummaged around the desk. ‘Him and Stanley are going to meet outside the snooker hall later—’
‘What did Dabs forget to tell me?’ Jane asked impatiently.
‘Keep your hair on, Sarge, I wrote it down but can’t find the bit of paper...’
She sighed. ‘Try under the bloody newspaper.’
He lifted it up. ‘Oh, right. Here it is!’
‘That’s why he’s only the fucking driver,’ the Colonel muttered as he left the room with Bax.
Cam read out what he’d written: ‘Dabs forgot to tell you that forensics said the lock on the burnt-out garage door was engaged when the fire brigade ripped it off.’
‘OK. Any luck with the children’s home the Wilson twins were sent to?’
‘I’m waiting for Tottenham to get back to me with details of the homes on their patch, then I’ll start ringing them.’
Jane suspected he hadn’t even bothered to call them yet but thought it best not to pull him up on it, unless he didn’t have a result when she got back.
‘Is DI Kingston in yet?’
She needed to get to the bottom of what he’d said last night.
‘He called in and said he had to deal with something at home, but he’d be in later.’
She walked over to her desk.
Teflon nodded. ‘Morning, Jane. I rang Tottenham control room. The Bluebird cafe closes early on a Saturday, so it looks like we’ve got a few hours to spare before we can speak to the owner in private... You look a bit rough — you ill?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said tetchily, feeling a headache coming on from lack of sleep.
She got her pocket notebook out and looked at the notes of the conversation she had had with Helen Clarke, the woman living at 40 Edgar House, then rang and asked her if she’d spoken to her husband about locking the garage. Helen apologized and said she’d forgotten to let her know he’d left the garage unlocked and empty as he didn’t want thieves forcing entry.
Jane finished the call and turned to Teflon.
‘The couple who own the garage where the burnt-out Cortina was found bought their flat through an estate agent’s in Wanstead. The previous owner died, and the flat was sold on by one of her relatives. I’d like to visit the estate agents and see if we can find out who that relative was.’
‘OK, but can I ask why?’
‘It’s a long shot, but the lab said the garage was locked after the Cortina was left in it and the estate agent only handed over one key for the garage to the present owners. It’s possible there were two keys, and whoever has the other one may have used it to lock it after torching the car.’
Teflon nodded, impressed with her thinking. ‘Sometimes the long shots pay off — so let’s get going.’
‘I’ll drive,’ Jane said.
‘We’ll take one of the squad cars — might stand out a bit less.’
‘You don’t like custard tarts, then?’
‘Love ’em... just don’t like being inside ’em.’
The Petty, Son and Prestwich office — ‘Est. 1908’ — was just off Wanstead High Street. As Jane and Teflon entered, a middle-aged man, smartly dressed in a blue three-piece pinstripe suit, white shirt and red tie, got up from behind a desk.
‘Good morning. I’m Peter Petty, the grandson of our founder and current owner of the oldest estate agency in East London. Are you looking to purchase a property or rent?’
‘Neither, sir. I’m WDS Tennison and this is DC Johnson.’ They showed him their warrant cards.
‘Is this about that abysmal O’Donovan family who rent the ground floor flat in Chaucer Road? The number of complaints I’ve had about their fighting and screaming at all hours is getting ridiculous. I’m just the letting agent, not the landlord, officer. I’ve asked them to keep the noise down, but Mrs. O’Donovan always tells me to eff off.’