Линда Ла Плант - Unholy Murder

‘Father Floridia thought a nun would normally be buried in a wooden coffin,’ Jane said.

‘The plot thickens,’ Pullen said, raising her eyebrows.

The more Jane engaged with Sam Pullen, the more she liked her down-to-earth attitude and affable personality. Jane told her about PC Rogers’ faux pas with the coroner and Sam said he had it coming and deserved no sympathy.

Jane was making a coffee for the two of them and had her back to the door when she noticed Pullen look towards it. Thinking it was Boon she put a teaspoon of instant coffee in another cup.

‘Can I help you?’ Pullen asked.

At the door was a handsome black man in his mid-thirties with short afro hair and a smooth complexion. Dressed casually in dark grey Farah slacks, a blue-and-white striped shirt and woollen jacket, his clothes accentuated his slim body and muscular frame.

‘Believe it or not, I’m actually here to help you,’ he smiled. He spoke with a London accent.

Jane thought the voice sounded familiar and, looking at the reflection in the window in front of her, instantly recognised her former colleague from her days on the Flying Squad. She felt a rush of affection on seeing him, yet at the same time a mixture of anxiety and guilt, wondering how he would react on meeting her again, nearly two and a half years since the day he had been shot and nearly killed by an armed robber.

‘Hi, Lloyd,’ Jane said.

His smile widened with a look of delight. ‘Bloody hell, Treacle Tennison... long time no see.’ He gave her a hug and kiss on the cheek.

Jane instantly felt more at ease. She’d got used to being called ‘Treacle’ and knew he only used it as a term of endearment.

‘Treacle Tennison?’ Pullen said, looking at Jane for an explanation.

‘We used to work together at the Sweeney. “Treacle” was my nickname on the squad. It comes from the cockney slang: treacle tart — sweetheart.’ She turned to the newcomer. ‘It’s good to see you, Lloyd. How are you?’

‘I’m fine — and all the better for seeing your lovely face again.’

‘I’m Dr Sam Pullen.’ Pullen put her hand out and he shook it.

‘Sorry, rude of me not to do the intros first. Pleased to meet you, doc. I’m Detective Sergeant Lloyd Johnson. I’m here to assist you with the body in the coffin.’

‘Has the coroner sent you as a replacement for PC Rogers?’ Pullen asked.

Lloyd laughed. ‘No, I’m your laboratory liaison sergeant. Anything you need forensic-wise, I’m your man.’

‘Oh, right, I didn’t realise...’

‘Don’t worry, doc, it surprises everyone. Unfortunately, there were no white lab sergeants available, so you’re stuck with me.’

Pullen looked embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t mean to sound offensive.’

He grinned. ‘You didn’t... I was just joking. I’m actually very proud to be the first black lab sergeant, though I’m still on trial in the role under the excellent tutelage of Paul Lawrence.’

‘Is he here with you?’ Pullen asked hopefully.

‘Not today. He’s busy on another job and let me go solo on this one.’

Jane could see Pullen was disappointed, even though she was smiling.

‘Well, I’m pleased to meet you. And so far we have two things in common. I’m the first female forensic pathologist and also on my first solo case.’

‘Well, we’d better look after each other and make sure we don’t mess up. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you from Paul Lawrence and believe me, he doesn’t hand out compliments easily.’

Pullen blushed. ‘I was fortunate to have Prof Martin as my mentor, as were you with DS Lawrence.’

Lloyd nodded. ‘That’s for sure.’

‘I’m just making a coffee — would you like one?’ Jane asked, holding up a cup.

‘I wouldn’t say no,’ he said.

Pullen picked up two of the coffees. ‘I’ll take one through to the radiographer and see how he’s getting on.’

‘She seems a nice lady,’ Lloyd said when Pullen had left the room.

‘She is. Sam’s got a good sense of humour — unlike some pathologists I could name. You still take milk and two sugars?’

‘You’ve a good memory Jane. How have you been keeping?’

‘Fine, thanks. I’m working at Bromley now and studying for the inspectors’ exam.’

‘You’ll pass that with flying colours. I always said you’d go far in the job. Bit of a schlep from your flat in Marylebone to Bromley though, isn’t it?’

‘I’m living over this way now. Oakdene Avenue in Chislehurst.’

‘The posh stockbroker belt, eh? So, found yourself a rich young man yet?’ he grinned.

She laughed. ‘There’s nothing posh about my place. It’s a little semi that desperately needs a shedload of work done on it... which I can’t afford right now. And I’ve no time for romance with all the studying I’m trying to do.’

‘You need to get out a bit more. Let the bees come to the honey pot. Whoever nabs you as a missus will be a very lucky man.’

‘What about you? How you been since, you know...?’

Lloyd could see she was having difficulty asking the obvious.

‘I got shot in the chest? I told you when you visited me in hospital that it wasn’t your fault, Jane.’

‘I should have visited you more. It’s just that every time I saw you, I felt responsible for what happened,’ she said, hardly able to look him in the face.

Lloyd sighed. ‘I missed your visits, but I knew that was why you stopped coming.’

Jane felt close to tears. ‘I nearly got you killed. If I’d just stayed in the OP that day, then it would never have happened.’

‘Rubbish. Every time a Flying Squad officer does a pavement ambush, they know they risk being shot. If it wasn’t that time, it could have been the next. DCI Murphy knew you suspected he was bent... all he needed was an excuse to get rid of you, and being there when I was shot gave him what he needed. He twisted what happened to suit his purpose, Jane. Thankfully, you and Operation Countryman got him in the end and now he’s behind bars where he belongs. His life is now in danger every day and I have no sympathy for him.’

‘Yeah, but I alienated a lot of people assisting Countryman’s investigation and setting up Murphy for a fall. To be honest, studying for the exam wasn’t the only reason I requested a move to a quieter station. My name was mud in a lot of places. A colleague nicks a seasoned villain or solves a complex crime and they instantly become a great detective. I help arrest and convict a colleague who organised armed robberies and I’m a grass for snitching on one of my own. Where’s the sense in that?’

‘You’ve got to move on for your own sanity, Jane. I know the Flying Squad officers were glad to see Murphy go down and they respected and admired you for having the balls to do it. Ignore what the halfwits say and do what you do best — being a bloody good detective. Anyone who disses you is only jealous of your abilities. I heard Stanley is the DI at Bromley now. Has he been giving you a hard time about Murphy?’

‘No, not at all. In fact, he’s never mentioned it,’ Jane said.

‘Good. That’s probably because he knows you did the right thing. You think you get it rough? Try being in my skin, woman!’ he said in a thick Jamaican accent, making her smile.

Jane had never worked in uniform or in the CID alongside a black officer until she met Lloyd on the Flying Squad. There were no black officers at Bromley. She knew that despite efforts to encourage black and other ethnic minority applicants to join the police force, the response had been poor. Many in the Afro-Caribbean community believed, with good reason, that if they joined the police they would be subjected to racism within the force as well as opposition and hostility from their own community.