Lynda Plante - Tennison

DC Stanley was listening and responded to the conversation.

‘Impossible, I’ve got an officer still monitoring the ramp exit and stairwell. They saw your two go up but no one, I repeat no one, has left the car park.’

Bradfield’s adrenalin was pumping as he radioed the officers in the car park. ‘He’s hiding somewhere, so find him. I’m going into the bank with my team now... All arrest units take up positions now. GO, GO, GO!’

He watched impatiently as a nervous Dunbar fumbled through various keys to open the front doors of the bank. He lit a cigarette to keep himself calm and told Dunbar to get a grip of himself.

Once inside the bank Dunbar deactivated the windows, doors and entry-alarm system and they all headed to the vault room at the back of the premises. Before they could get through to the vault there was a set of iron-grilled doors and Dunbar deactivated the alarm before opening them.

Bradfield, Gibbs, Kath and two detectives stood at the vault door. Dunbar was shaking like a leaf as he whispered to Bradfield.

‘It’s on a time lock so the usual multi-digit code will be useless. I’ll have to use the “duress” code, which will set off a secret alarm signal to Scotland Yard alerting them to a forced-entry condition.’

‘That’s not a problem, just fucking OPEN IT,’ he whispered harshly.

Dunbar began to press in the code but he was shaking and worried about pressing the wrong buttons more than once, which would lock the whole system down, and then no one would be able to get into the vault until it was reset by an expert. Bradfield pushed him aside.

‘Give me the numbers,’ he said impatiently. Dunbar told him the digits and Bradfield entered them into the electronic key pad. Two seconds later they could hear the sound of clicks and whirs as the bolts began to slowly retract.

Inside the vault John was still using the cutting torch on the safe and had one locking bolt to burn through before he could open it. Silas popped his head up and grabbed two more bulging pillowcases on the vault floor next to the hole.

‘We loaded van, John. This is last lot so we need to radio your dad and get de fuck out of here.’

‘Where’s Danny?’

‘In tunnel behind me, getting annoyed waiting,’ Silas said, and handed Danny the pillowcases which he stuffed into a sports bag.

‘I’ve nearly cut through so stay there and help me carry out what’s in the safe and then I’ll call me dad.’

Silas handed Danny another full pillowcase. As John leant over and turned the pressure up on the oxyacetylene tank he noticed the vault door start to open. He knew in an instant what was happening and looking at Silas shouted, ‘Someone’s opening the fucking door! Get out now!’

Dunbar and Gibbs gripped the vault wheel tightly and started to walk backwards, heaving and pulling open the heavy door. Bradfield turned and looked at Kath who was shaking from the adrenalin rush brought on by what they were about to do. He put his hand on her shoulder to reassure her. ‘Best feeling in the world being a detective and nicking a villain on the plot.’

Looking into the vault Bradfield and Kath saw John Bentley. The next few seconds seemed to occur in slow motion as Bentley’s eyes widened in panic and the torch flame gave off an eerie blue light that illuminated his stricken face.

The explosion that followed was like a massive bomb going off. Terrifying screams could be heard as fractured bits of metal and steel became lethal projectiles. The vast fireball had only two ways to go, out of the vault, into the bank and down the tunnel, engulfing and burning everything in its path. The giant fireball travelled across the bank like a massive wave, and as it blew out the front windows the explosion lit up the night sky. Bits of glass and metal debris glistened in the flames as they rained down onto the street.

The officer listening in the basement of the shoe shop felt the building tremble as if there were an earthquake. As he ran to escape bits of the basement ceiling began to crumble and collapse around him.

The officers on the outside arrest teams and in the ops ran instinctively to the front of the bank, fearing for the safety of DCI Bradfield and the officers who were with him.

Clifford had just pulled out from the car park in the stolen car. As he drove past the bank the explosion and flying debris terrified him. He swerved across the road, mounted the pavement and narrowly missed a lamp-post. Some of the glass from the bank windows flew in through the smashed window of the car and caused minor cuts to the right side of his face. As he drove off at speed he didn’t have a clue what had happened, and hoped and prayed that John had escaped. Even if he’d been arrested he knew his son wasn’t a grass. Clifford reached into his jacket pocket and removed the walkie-talkie, thinking briefly about using it to try and make contact with his son. However, now suspecting the police had been listening in, he threw it out of the window and watched in the mirror as it broke into pieces on the street.

Seconds before the explosion Danny Mitcham had managed to get out of the tunnel. He was in the basement when the blast hit him from behind and knocked him flying across the room. He ended up on the floor at the foot of the basement stairs, dazed and wondering what had happened. He knew that the police were on to them and they would have surrounded the back of the café. Looking round at the tunnel he could see the brick wall and wooden supports they’d inserted had collapsed and wondered if Silas and John were trapped under the soil and debris. He didn’t have time to try and help them: self-preservation and escape were his priority now.

Seeing the holdall of money and jewellery at the top of the basement stairs he grabbed it, as well as his donkey jacket which was hanging on the door. Then he ran to the top floor of the building. He looked into the bedrooms and found a chair which he used to stand on. After pushing the loft hatch open he threw the holdall up and pulled himself into the loft. Using his bare hands and feet he ripped and kicked away some of the roof tiles and squeezed through the hole onto the roof of the café. He looked around and could see smoke billowing up from the bank. He couldn’t believe the amount of glass and brick debris that covered the street below. Unseen he ran across the rooftops to the end of the terraced buildings where he shimmied down a cast-iron drainpipe to the ground. He could hear the distant scream of approaching sirens.

Clifford dumped the car a mile from home behind some garages. He set light to it, so as to ensure no trace of his fingerprints could be found. He was in a state of hysteria as he wandered the streets, gasping and trying to calm down, whilst wondering what to do. He had considered going on the run, but had no money, clothes or other means to survive and was too old and heavy now to break into houses. He thought about John and wished he was with him. He knew the police had rumbled them, but wondered if they already knew who was involved, or if they’d been watching the flat as well. Clifford made his mind up: he was going to go home and front it out. If the police started calling he’d say he was at a funeral wake with his wife, or shacked up with his mistress. He knew both of them would back him up for fear of a slap.

It was almost 6 a.m. and daylight when an exhausted Clifford returned to his flat on the Pembridge. He went straight to John’s room to see if he was there, but the reality was he knew he wouldn’t be. He went into the bathroom, undressed and splashed cold water over his face. The small jagged cuts were bleeding and he kept on splashing cold water over them before dabbing them with a white styptic pencil. The aluminium sulphate stung, but he knew it would cause the blood vessels to contract which would help to stop the bleeding.