Lynda La Plante: Tennison

‘It’s what you’d expect from junkies – they sleep rough cos no one’s stupid enough to take ’em in. Nip back to the car, Edwards, and get a couple of torches out the kit bag in the boot.’

Gibbs found a loose piece of wood on the landing and used it to prise open enough of the boarded-up door to the squat so he and his colleagues could get in.

‘Are you following all this Watergate and President Nixon stuff on the news, Sarge?’

‘No!’ Gibbs answered tersely as he led the way inside, shining his torch around the rooms and booting old drinks crates out of his way. The place stank of urine and dirty blankets, and amidst the numerous crushed cans of lager and broken bottles of cider, torn sleeping bags lay beside rotting food. They searched the bedrooms where used hypodermic needles littered the bare boards. Gibbs swore and kicked out at the disgusting mess and then straightened, gesturing for them to keep quiet. They could hear shrieks and laughs coming from the stairwell outside. Gibbs went out the front door onto the landing and picked up the bit of wood he’d used earlier.

Eddie Phillips was walking up the stairs with his friend Billy Myers. The two nineteen-year-olds looked manky: they both had dirty long hair and wore filthy stained T-shirts, flared jeans and Cuban-heeled boots. Gibbs and the two DCs approached them. They resembled three thugs with their coat collars turned up and Gibbs swung the stick like a golf club as he shouted.

‘Which one o’ you is Eddie Phillips?’

Billy looked terrified and pointed to Eddie who tried to make a run for it, but Gibbs was quick on his feet and caught him by his hair, then kicked his legs from under him. Eddie cowered as he lay on the floor and Gibbs pushed the piece of wood into his chest.

‘We found your girlfriend, Eddie, but she looks a lot worse than you do!’

Jane sat by herself in the canteen eating a cheese and mushroom omelette. The canteen was buzzing and everyone was talking about the murder investigation, including the four detectives at the table opposite her, who she couldn’t help overhearing. One said how frustrating it was that they still hadn’t been able to locate Julie Ann Maynard’s family, but now that her boyfriend had been brought in for questioning the case might be solved quicker than expected. She listened intently as Edwards, who’d accompanied DS Gibbs, described the arrest and then what had happened in the CID car on the way back to the station.

‘Gibbs gave him a good dig in the ribs and forced him to look at a picture of the dead girl’s body. The little wanker burst into tears and said it was Julie Ann but her real surname was Collins.’

‘Why’d she use a false name?’ the youngest detective asked.

His colleague slapped him across the back of the head. ‘Because she’s a tom, thicko, and they use false names if they get arrested for soliciting.’

The detective rubbed his head. ‘Did he say anything else?’

‘Not really, but you could see he was bricking it. Gibbs tried to get him to cough, but he was such a blubbering emotional wreck that we couldn’t get anything out of him.’

DC Edwards then gave his opinion. ‘Bradfield’s taken Phillips to his office for an interview with him and DS Gibbs. If he did it, believe me those two will break him.’

‘Or fit him up,’ his colleague said, and they all burst into laughter.

Having finished her meal Jane started to hurry down the stairs: Harris wanted her back on the duty desk, probably so he could return to the snooker room. But, hearing raised voices, she stopped on the first floor by DCI Bradfield’s office. She moved a bit closer to his door to listen and could hear a person she presumed to be Eddie Phillips sobbing profusely.

‘Don’t bloody lie to me, son,’ Bradfield shouted.

‘I swear on my life I’m not lying,’ came the response.

‘You bloody well are – we both know you strangled her to death.’

‘No… No, I would never hurt Julie Ann, I loved her.’

‘That’s it, that’s why you killed her, because you loved her.’

Eddie was snivelling. ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

‘You found out she was getting shagged for money and drugs and you didn’t like it. You had a fit of jealous rage and squeezed the life out of her.’

In floods of tears Eddie still protested his innocence. Then there was the sound of a hand banging repeatedly on a desk, followed by the gravelly toned voice of DS Spencer Gibbs.

‘Stop lying! It’ll be a lot easier for you if you tell us the truth.’

‘I am, I am! The last time I saw her she was getting into a red car… a Jaguar, I think, and it looked newish. I was high on heroin so it’s hard to remember.’

‘When was this?’

‘What?’

‘When did you see Julie Ann getting into a fucking red Jaguar, Eddie?’ Gibbs asked.

‘The last time I saw her.’

‘When was that, Eddie?’

‘How do you mean?’

Bradfield’s calmer voice took over.

‘Come on now, son, you are saying that the last time you saw Julie Ann she was getting into a red Jaguar.’

‘Yeah, yeah, that’s right. I’ve not seen her since then, I swear before God.’

‘So when exactly was it?’

‘I dunno, maybe a week or so ago. I don’t remember exactly.’

‘Keep lying and you’ll find a slap round the head might help you remember,’ Gibbs said.

Jane hurried back to the front office. Harris was his usual miserable self, accusing her of taking her time on her refreshment break, when she’d actually only had half an hour. He said that he would be in the sergeants’ room writing up some reports. It irritated her that he was so lazy, but she was pleased that he would be out of her hair for a while.

Another hour passed and Jane only had a couple of incidents to deal with. Then she saw DCI Bradfield and DS Gibbs taking Eddie Phillips into the custody area. He was thin and scrawny and it was clear his heroin addiction had taken a toll on his body. He looked much older than nineteen. His face was covered in red scars and his shoulder-length black hair was dirty and matted.

A few minutes later Bradfield came out of the charge room and strode towards her. Jane started to stand to attention and winced as she felt her tights catch on the rough wooden handle of the desk drawer.

‘You ever been on a bereavement visit?’

She swallowed and coughed.

‘Pardon, sir?’

‘Obviously not. My lads have their work cut out here, so get your skates on – you’re coming with me to see the dead girl’s family. The address is 48 Church Mount, Hampstead Garden Suburb. You know how to read an A-Z street map, I take it?’

She didn’t dare tell him that she had only recently passed her driving test, and had only used an A-Z to find her way on her beats in Hackney. She used public transport to get around London itself, as it was free for police officers.

‘I need to tell Sergeant Harris, sir. He said I had to cover the front office until end of duty.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll deal with him. Now get a move on, WPC…?’

‘Tennison, sir, Jane Tennison.’

Bradfield left and Jane went into the comms room. She checked her tights, only to find that the snag had turned into a ladder.

‘Oh my God! I don’t believe it, this is the second pair in a week. Those ruddy desks need sandpapering. Look – I’ve got a ladder on the knee now!’

Kath smiled. ‘Like I said, Jane, it always happens to you, don’t it?’

Pulling her skirt down in the hope the ladder wouldn’t show, Jane booked out a personal radio and asked Kath for directions, which she quickly jotted down in her notebook. She hurried to the ladies’ locker room, grabbed her uniform jacket and hat and went upstairs to Bradfield’s office, only to be told by DS Gibbs that he was waiting for her in the rear yard.