Lynda La Plante: Tennison

Jane knew he was using it as an excuse to get away from the duty desk and that he probably wouldn’t come back for ages, which in some ways was a blessing.

An hour later it was five o’clock and, as Jane had suspected, Harris still hadn’t returned. She wondered if he was in the snooker room or playing a game of gin rummy for money in the canteen. She popped into the comms room to get her handbag and told Kath she’d been in the incident room but hadn’t been able to glean much more about the case than they already knew.

‘The crime scene pictures were horrible, Kath. How could someone do that to her?’

‘You’ll get used to it, Jane, you have to in this job. The proper large photographs will be developed by tomorrow and they’ll be even more graphic.’

Jane kept the comms-room door open so she could see the front counter in case anyone came in. She pulled out a form from her handbag.

‘What have you got there?’ Kath asked.

‘I decided to sign up for the Dr Harker lecture, the one you told me about,’ answered Jane.

Julian Harker was a renowned forensic scientist who would be discussing in detail a complicated murder inquiry he had been involved in. As a probationer Jane was allowed to attend lots of courses and she was keen to take advantage of any opportunities to learn more.

‘He’s a snazzy guy, quite attractive, which is a plus. He’s really clever and you’ll learn a lot.’

Kath leaned close to Jane – she wore a distinctive heavy perfume that Jane found rather overpowering – and whispered that it was always good to get one over the other plods.

‘You never know who’s watching and listening, love. The more you learn the better you’ll become at the job. You know what they say… knowledge is brains… ’

‘I think you mean power, Kath.’

‘Whatever, I’ve been to two of his lectures, and believe me he knows his stuff.’

‘I have to give this form to Sergeant Harris first and I doubt he’ll recommend me. He hates the fact women are integrated now and can do the same jobs as the men.’

Kath snorted. ‘Integrated, my arse! The blokes still get paid more. Anyway, stuff Harris. Take it straight up to Bradfield now, he can only say yes or no. I’ll keep one eye on the counter and I’ll tell Harris you nipped to the loo if he comes back.’

Jane was nervous of DCI Bradfield. His impatient manner was intimidating and although Kath insisted he had a kinder side, Jane was yet to see it. Looking towards his closed office door she wondered if perhaps her timing, due to the murder investigation, was not great. Suddenly the door swung open and Bradfield walked out. He was well over six foot tall, handsome and raw-boned, with red curly hair, and as usual had a cigarette dangling between his lips. He looked smart in his neatly pressed dark grey suit with shiny black polished brogues.

It was now or never, she thought to herself. ‘Excuse me, sir.’

‘What?’ he snapped impatiently.

‘Could I possibly have a word?’

‘It’d better be quick because I’m starving and about to get a sandwich from the canteen,’ he said, causing a lump of ash to fall from the cigarette still in his mouth.

Jane had a sudden thought. ‘I’d be happy to get that if you’re busy, sir. In the meantime I wonder if you could read and approve my application to attend Dr Harker’s forensic science lecture.’

He clicked his fingers twice for her to hand the form over, which she did. He had just started to read it when one of his detectives, Constable Mike Hudson, came running up the stairs with a look of excitement on his face and his CID notebook in his hand.

‘Got a possible, guv! Young girl aged seventeen, a patient at the Homerton Hospital Drug Dependency Unit – she matches the description of our victim. Her details are in here, as well as her boyfriend’s.’

Bradfield looked enthused as Hudson handed over his notebook. He had a quick look and handed it back. ‘Good work, son. I want every available detective in the incident room for a meeting in ten minutes.’

Bradfield grabbed a pen from the detective’s breast pocket and signed Jane’s application without reading it any further and passed it to her with a smile.

‘Pay attention at the lecture. Harker is the best scientist in the forensic labs.’ He stubbed his cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray attached to the wall.

‘Don’t bother with the sandwich – I’ve got no time to eat it now.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Jane said, as she looked at his signature on the application form with a beaming smile.

‘Right everyone, listen up,’ Bradfield said assertively as he strode into the incident room, which was a hive of activity.

‘Thanks to DC Hudson we have a possible name and some background details for our victim. Julie Ann Maynard, aged seventeen. Criminal records show one arrest and previous conviction for prostitution earlier this year. She was a heroin addict, as is her boyfriend Eddie Phillips, aged nineteen, both patients at the Homerton Drug Dependency Unit. When was their last attendance, Hudson?’

‘Two weeks ago, sir, and neither of them have turned up for their appointments since.’

Bradfield frowned. ‘She’s seventeen, a junkie, and the hospital didn’t bother to report her missing? Did you ask them why, Hudson?’

‘The hospital said they attended the drug unit on a voluntary basis and assumed that Julie Ann and Eddie had decided to just up and leave.’

Bradfield lit a cigarette. ‘Did they have addresses for them?’

‘Yes, sir, the same one for both Eddie and Julie Ann.’ Hudson nervously flicked through his notebook.

‘Which was?’ Bradfield asked impatiently.

‘Uh, it was… 32 Edgar House on the Pembridge, sir.’

‘It’s important Eddie is traced and arrested for questioning without delay.’ Bradfield gestured towards Detective Sergeant Gibbs.

‘Spencer, you and two detectives go to Edgar House after the meeting. Kick the door in, search it and nick Eddie Phillips if he’s there. If he ain’t, get a surveillance unit to keep an eye on the address in case he returns.’

‘Yes, guvnor, be a pleasure, and I take it you will be authorizing any overtime we may just happen to incur?’

Bradfield smiled and nodded. ‘Even if it means you have to work through the night, Spence. We have to consider Eddie Phillips might have been Julie Ann’s pimp and maybe murdered her after an argument over money. He may even be on the run by now, so, Sally, I want Phillips’ name and description circulated via the teleprinter to all police stations across London and-’

‘Yes, sir,’ Sally the indexer said, frantically taking notes as Bradfield continued.

‘Circulate Julie Ann Maynard’s details as well. I want an address for her parents, or any next of kin, asap, so that a formal identification can be made at the mortuary.’ Sally nodded.

‘Right, get out there, keep knocking on doors and asking questions on and around the Kingsmead. Hold off on the Pembridge until DS Gibbs searches Edgar House and hopefully brings in the little shit Eddie Phillips.’

DS Spencer Gibbs was a tough and often unruly officer, tall and gaunt with thick, brushed-back hair on top of his head and an almost crew cut to the sides. He had a keen eye for fashion and when off duty liked to wear skinny trousers and winkle-picker shoes, which Kath Morgan loved to tease him about. Gibbs enjoyed being part of a rock band, but his commitment and loyalty to his day job made him a popular member of the team.

Gibbs went to 32 Edgar House accompanied by two young DCs, Ashton and Edwards. They were all wearing heavy raincoats due to the continuing downpour. The young officers were surprised to find the address was a boarded-up squat. Gibbs wasn’t.