Lynda Plante - Tennison

Jane smiled and said she doubted her mother would become a junkie overnight, but then seeing her reaction to the term tried to make light of it.

‘It’s a police word for a drug addict.’

‘I know that. I do worry about you and hope you don’t get involved in any of those drug-related horror stories we read about every day.’

Jane took her mother’s hand. ‘I’ve promised Dad that from now on I’ll make a point of calling you more often.’

‘Every night, if you can, dear.’

Jane had just returned to her bedroom when her mother tapped on the door and passed her a tissue containing one of her sleeping tablets. She whispered to her not to tell her father, and then blew a kiss from the door.

‘Night night, darling, see you in the morning.’

Jane took the sleeping tablet with a sip of water from the glass on her bedside table.

She turned off the small lamp and lay in the darkness, wanting and waiting for sleep. For a while she thought about Operation Hawk and how everyone at the ops and arrest teams must be waiting anxiously for Bradfield’s command to make the arrests. Although she had felt that he had misjudged her professionally, and she’d been humiliated and hurt, she now felt calmer and more positive. She was determined that when she returned to the station she wouldn’t show her feelings, especially towards Bradfield.

It was 2.30 a.m. and Bradfield was on tenterhooks listening to the suspects’ conversation on Frank’s CB. By now they were all clued in as to which of the men were talking.

‘He’s cut through, we’re finally going in!’ John Bentley said excitedly to his dad over the walkie-talkie as he sat next to Silas in the cellar.

‘It’s about bloody time! Still all clear out here. Don’t take longer than necessary or get greedy as we need to be well away before sunrise,’ Clifford’s gravelly voice replied.

‘I’ll call back when we’re nearly done and pick you up on the corner, OK?’

‘OK. Yeah, received.’

Clifford felt good, although there was something that was worrying him, but he said nothing to John as they were almost home and dry.

Danny was first through the hole in the vault floor, which was just wide enough for him and John, but not Silas. Taking the gas tanks back out of the tunnel would have been tiring and time-consuming, so John pushed while Danny lifted the heavy tanks up into the vault out of the way. Once John was in the vault he stood next to Danny and, using the light from one of the Eveready bicycle lights he’d rigged up to a sports headband, they looked round in awe at the large twenty-four-foot-square room lined with rows and rows of locked numbered drawers held in wall-to-ceiling cabinets.

‘We need to find box 320 and open it first,’ John said.

‘Why, is it your lucky number or something?’ Danny asked suspiciously, which angered John who snapped back.

‘Yeah, cos there’s at least a hundred thousand of used notes in it from a previous bank robbery. That’s what kick-started this job in the first place.’

Danny scanned the drawers then pointed to his right.

‘It’s over there.’

Silas was in the tunnel and John called out to him.

‘Hand me up a load of pillowcases and the holdall containing the gear we need.’

Silas did as he was asked and John unzipped the holdall, removing the contents and placing them on the small table in the room: two club hammers, crowbars, flat-head chisels and four bike torches to help light up the vault.

‘Help yourself, Danny. Let’s get to cracking this lot open.’

John slammed the forked end of a crowbar into the small gap at the top of deposit drawer 320 and whacked it hard twice with a club hammer to force it in. He then pushed the bar forwards and upwards, causing the drawer to make a popping sound as it broke away from the lock. He pulled it out, placed it on the table, then prised open the lid and saw that it was packed with £20, £10, £5 and £1 notes. Danny was looking over his shoulder, which annoyed him.

‘What are you waiting for? Get on with it and start down the far end. Get the drawers out, open them up, take out what’s valuable and shove it in a pillowcase.’

Danny went to the far end of the vault as John started to put the money into a pillowcase, making sure that the soon-to-be-worthless fivers were in a separate one. It was his intention to pass them off to Silas on the grounds they were more common than tens and twenties and therefore easier to use or pass on. His dad had wanted him to give them to Danny as well, but he’d been a long-time friend, and John knew he was not a man to cross, or you’d pay the price.

They forced open one drawer after another and the hammering sound of metal against metal echoed round the vault like a chorus of musical chime bells. John and Danny were screaming and shouting with delight as the contents spilled out of the drawers. Some were filled with valuable jewellery, others with silver cutlery and Georgian tea services, along with more trays filled with cash. They were working at a frenzied pace as they stuffed the pillowcases full with a treasure trove of looted goods. They then handed them to Silas who looked inside and rubbed his hands together in delight.

Danny raised his arm and John stopped.

‘I got a tray filled with bags of what looks like heroin and cocaine,’ Danny said.

‘Leave it,’ John replied.

‘Why? It’ll be worth a fortune on the streets, probably more than the cash we got so far.’

‘I don’t deal in shit like that. It ruins lives and kills young kids, so do as I say and leave it,’ John said, making it clear he meant every word.

Bradfield was on a high. He remained calm as he told the arrest teams to move out of City Road, but to stay in the backstreets away from the bank and café until he gave the order for them to take up position to block off the possible escape routes. He also called the officers watching the Bentleys’ place and Danny Mitcham’s flat and told them to come over and support the arrest teams. His mind was racing as he wondered if he had covered every eventuality, but he could think of nothing that could go wrong. He knew that Operation Hawk was on its way to being a huge success and was now eager to arrest John Bentley and his team.

‘Are you OK, Mr Dunbar? It’ll soon be over.’

‘I’m very nervous, Mr Bradfield, and somewhat worried as they’ll obviously have hammers in their hands.’

‘Don’t worry — all I need you to do is open the vault as quietly as possible and then step to one side and let me and my arrest team do our job.’

Bradfield phoned the shoe shop to tell the officers there that the suspects were now in the bank vault. He spoke with DC Stanley who said the officer in the shoe-shop basement using a listening device could hear the sound of metal being hammered.

Bradfield turned to Spencer Gibbs. ‘We’re going over to the bank in fifteen minutes, Spence...’

‘Why not go now if they’re in the vault?’

‘I don’t want to burst their bubble of joy quite yet. When I give the order you get your team in the shoe shop to go out and cover the back alleyway in case any of ’em try to escape from the rear of the café. I’ve also got backup teams in unmarked cars at each end of the alleyway to block the route off in case they try to get out in the van.’

‘How are you getting into the bank?’

‘We’re going in by the front door with Dunbar.’

‘We?’ Gibbs asked, having thought he was to cover the rear alleyway.

‘I want you with me on the arrests, Spence. Kath and four other officers will be with us as backup, and if the suspects kick off I’m carrying,’ he said, making reference to the revolver he had in a shoulder holster under his jacket.