Lynda La Plante: Hidden Killers

Harris promptly closed the parade book and stood up. ‘Right, you all know your postings so book out your radios and vehicles, then get out on patrol… and no cups of tea beforehand.’

Jane raised her hand, attracting Moran’s attention.

‘Yes, officer?’

‘Sorry, sir… it wasn’t about your case or the suspect. It’s just that Sergeant Harris hasn’t posted me to a beat yet. I could cover Victoria Park as well, Sergeant, or relieve the officers for their refs break?’ Jane asked, hoping that she might get the chance to stop and arrest the suspect in Victoria Park.

The frown on Harris’s face said it all. Jane was well accustomed to his condescending, chauvinistic attitude.

‘I’ve done the patrol postings… you’re in comms on the radio and VDU, Tennison.’

DI Moran gestured to Jane. ‘Ah, yes, you’re Jane Tennison? I’d like to have a chat with you about bringing your CID attachment forward to-’

Harris interrupted. ‘She needs to be on comms to relieve the early turn officer.’

‘And I need a female officer to act as a decoy tonight, Sergeant Harris… unless you fancy putting on a wig, skirt and high heels yourself,’ Moran said, in a tone that sounded as if he was being serious.

Harris ushered everyone out of the parade room, then slammed the door and turned to Moran.

‘May I have a word, sir?’ Harris said, indignantly. He walked a few steps away from Jane, followed by Moran.

Jane couldn’t believe that even now, with only a few days of her probation left to serve, Harris still acted like a petulant child when it came to female officers’ career opportunities. She also knew he was not a fan of the CID and often stated that young detectives didn’t have much brawn or brains and depended on experienced uniform men like himself to get them out of trouble. Although Harris pretended to whisper to Moran it was obvious he wanted her to hear every word.

‘You do realize that Tennison is still a probationer and inexperienced, and when it comes to the ways of the CID she may not be up to scratch, evidentially, if you make an arrest?’

‘If you are suggesting my detectives would encourage a uniform officer to fabricate evidence then I very much resent your remark, Harris. Rest assured, her well-being will be paramount throughout the surveillance operation.’

Moran looked at his watch before continuing. ‘You’d better get a move on… the early turn duty sergeant will be waiting for you to relieve him.’

Harris gritted his teeth as he left the parade room. Moran gestured for Jane to sit down. He pulled over a chair for himself, using the back of it as an arm rest and swinging his legs either side. Although she didn’t know Moran, judging by his cheeky smile and snazzy suit, Jane had formed an early impression that he reckoned himself as a bit of a charmer. Moran pulled a pack of Players from his pocket, took two cigarettes out, put the pack back in his pocket, and offered one to Jane, who declined. He tucked the spare cigarette behind his ear and lit the other with a Zippo lighter. For a fraction of a second Jane remembered DCI Bradfield using a similar lighter. But the moment passed as Moran flicked his Zippo closed, inhaled on the cigarette and blew out a ring of smoke.

‘You obviously heard what I said to Sergeant Harris?’

Jane nodded. ‘Yes, sir, and I’d really like to work with you on your operation.’

‘A WDC from Dalston nick was going to act as the decoy tonight, but she went sick an hour ago and I need someone to replace her. A couple of the lads in the office recommended you as a bit of a looker, with a good arrest record,’ he said, in a serious voice.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she replied, slightly embarrassed.

‘There are obviously risks involved, but I can assure you that we will be watching you discreetly from an observation van. There will also be further backup nearby. But the choice is yours… if you don’t want to be a decoy, I totally understand and you’ll still be welcome on your two-week CID attachment.’

‘I’d be honoured to be a decoy, and I know your detectives will watch my back.’

Moran sat upright and slapped his hands on the back of the chair.

‘That’s great, darlin’… and whether or not we arrest the pervert you can add the next three weekdays with us as additional to your CID attachment.’

‘Thank you, sir, I won’t let you down.’

‘I’m sure you won’t, but first you’ll need to get the right clobber together.’

‘OK,’ she said, wondering what he was going to say next.

‘You’ll need to tart yourself up a bit… You’ve got to look sexy… sort out your hair and makeup, maybe get a long wig or something and look like you’re up for a good time… You all right with that?’

Jane nodded and Moran asked if she had any ‘scanty’ clothing to wear for the job. When Jane replied that she didn’t Moran pulled out a leather wallet from his suit jacket and handed Jane two ten pound notes.

‘Here’s a score. Use it, but get receipts so I can claim the dosh back as expenses for the decoy operation.’

Moran looked at his watch and stood up. ‘Right, it’ll be dark by eight p.m. so you go get yourself sorted and be back here for a half-seven briefing in the CID office.’

Jane nodded and Moran used his foot to shove the chair back against the wall before leaving the room. Jane sat for a few moments trying to think what clothes she had that might be suitable, but nothing came instantly to mind. This was a big opportunity and she didn’t want to blow it. Looking at the money Moran had given her Jane wondered if she’d find anything suitable at Chelsea Girl or British Home Stores, but she doubted it. And Carnaby Street clothes would be too expensive.

She was relieved that she had nearly five hours to get ready. But first she had to inform the miserable Sergeant Harris that she was now officially on her CID attachment. She headed out of the briefing room and down the stone-flagged corridor with its peeling green paint and fading notices. Eventually she tracked him down in the snooker room and explained that DI Moran had said she needed to buy the appropriate clothes for her undercover assignment.

‘No doubt you’ll have the “appropriate” clothing at the section house, Tennison, so I won’t be authorizing any cash for you to buy anything.’

He wafted his cue for her to leave, then bent down over the snooker table to line up for a shot on the black ball. Jane walked to the door then smiled as she turned back to Harris, who was just about to take his shot.

‘That’s fine, Sarge… DI Moran gave me a score.’ Harris pushed his cue forward and his hand slipped, causing the tip to scrape into the green baize, almost tearing it.

‘Whoops!’ she said, closing the door quickly behind her.

Jane took her uniform jacket and hat from her locker and left the station to get the 253 bus to Ede House, her home now for almost two years. Ten minutes later she was hurrying up the stairs to her room. She took off her uniform skirt and hung it in the wardrobe. Pushing the coat hangers apart one by one she looked through her clothes, even though she knew she didn’t really have any that fitted the term ‘scanty’. She thought about the money DI Moran had given her, but felt bad about spending it on something tacky that she would never wear again. In desperation Jane pulled on a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt and short jacket, but looking in the wardrobe mirror she realized she would definitely need to buy some suitable clothes.

There was one person she knew who used to wear boob tubes, hot pants, miniskirts and long boots on a night out to the disco. Jane laughed, remembering how her sister Pam would sneak out of the family flat with her outfit in a shoulder bag, so that her disapproving parents wouldn’t see. She would then nip to a friend’s house to change before going out to places like the Empire Ballroom in Leicester Square. One time Pam had arrived home after midnight and as she let herself into the dark hall she had fallen over on her high wedge boots, and their mother, hearing the commotion, had hurried from her bedroom.