Lynda Plante - Tennison

‘Been like Piccadilly Circus this morning. Went to go to the bathroom and Jane was in there, now Pam’s having a shower,’ he said and perched himself on a stool.

‘Did you clean her shoes?’ he asked.

‘Yes, shocking smell, and her jacket stank of disinfectant. She told me she’d been to a mortuary and they swilled the floor with something.’

Although the Tennisons’ large flat in Maida Vale had three good-sized bedrooms, an open-plan lounge, dining room and kitchen, complete with breakfast bar along one wall, it only had one bathroom, and with three women living there Mr Tennison was always last in line.

‘You have to have a quiet talk with Jane. I know she’s never wanted to be a bridesmaid, but this Sunday is Pam’s big day and I won’t have Jane spoiling it with a sour face,’ Mrs Tennison said bluntly as she broke two more eggs into the bowl for her husband’s breakfast. She was a very pretty woman, even in her satin quilted dressing gown, furry slippers and hair in small pink rollers.

‘She won’t let her sister down,’ Mr Tennison said.

‘She tried to get out of being a bridesmaid when it was first discussed. As the elder sister Jane has a duty to be chief bridesmaid.’

‘Well, Jane’s work must be very stressful and—’

‘I want everything to be organized to the last detail so the wedding day will run smoothly. She could have waited a few months more, but she’s always been headstrong.’

‘You can say that again, dear. I know you were upset when she signed up to the Met without telling us, but I’m proud of her, and if it’s the career she wants then she should—’

‘Not Jane, I was talking about Pam. And as for a career, well, it sounds to me she’s mostly making tea and coffee.’

‘Well, the hair salon isn’t what I’d call a classy joint, just local and temporary, I suspect.’

‘I was talking about Jane’s job, and besides, Pam is a fully qualified colourist now so she isn’t making clients tea and coffee.’ Mrs Tennison finished whisking the eggs and poured them into a cooking pan.

Mr Tennison sighed. ‘Either way as long as they’re happy, but to be honest I do worry about Jane patrolling the streets in a rough area like Hackney. Maybe after she’s finished her probation she’ll move into something else like the mounted branch. She used to like riding when she was younger — or maybe the traffic police.’

Mrs Tennison smiled. ‘The thought of her directing traffic makes me laugh, especially as she failed her driving test twice before finally passing it.’

She was already placing two plates of scrambled eggs on the Formica-topped bar, and inserting the bread into the toaster.

‘Are you having eggs?’ he asked, sitting on one of the stools.

‘No, darling, I’m watching my weight for the wedding. I’m going to John Lewis this afternoon to collect my outfit.’

‘You will look ravishing.’

She gave him a playful slap on his shoulder and then leaned in close.

‘You will too in your Moss Bros top hat and tails...’

‘Am I in a top hat and tails?’

‘You know you are, so don’t start to tease me.’

He sighed and said that it was going to cost him a fortune, but she had already gone down the corridor to call Pam for breakfast.

Jane arrived at the training centre above the large post office in Holloway Road, Islington, just as her classmates were being ushered into the classroom, meaning she didn’t have time to get herself anything from the canteen. The room was basic and cold, with twenty desks made of wood and metal, laid out in five rows of four. In the centre of the classroom was a Kodak carousel slide projector facing a white screen behind which was a large blackboard.

The sergeant standing at the door pointed to a desk that had a stack of identical files with ‘Dr J. Harker. Lecture Files. Confidential’ stamped on them.

‘Stop chattering, take a file and sit where you want. Fill out the name card on your desk and then stand by it ready for inspection,’ he said in a monotone.

There were twenty probationary officers present, all in their early twenties, and only Jane and one other were WPCs. As the sergeant inspected them he told some of the male officers that they needed haircuts, hadn’t shaved properly, or their uniform trousers didn’t have neatly pressed creases. He told the other female officer present to remove her hooped earrings, and she apologized saying she had meant to do so before class but had forgotten. The sergeant gruffly remarked that if a violent prisoner grabbed them she’d never forget her ear lobes being ripped off.

Jane felt good when he commented to the rest of the class that he expected to see all their uniforms in the same neat and well-pressed condition as hers. She knew it was all thanks to her mother and realized she’d have to get some tips from her if she was going to move into the section house. Looking after her uniform, washing and ironing her clothes would then become her own responsibility.

‘Sit your backsides down,’ the sergeant shouted out.

The room was filled with the sound of scraping chairs and whispered conversation as they all sat down.

Jane found herself at the front. She looked round the classroom and saw a couple of people she knew from training school. She raised her hand slightly and gave them a wave, which they returned.

The sergeant suddenly shouted out, ‘Class!’ and everyone stood to attention as the Inspector entered with a man whom he introduced as ‘one of the foremost and renowned forensic scientists in the UK... Dr Julian Harker’.

Harker acknowledged the polite applause and gestured for everyone to be seated. The room was full of expectant energy as everyone waited eagerly to hear him speak.

Jane was surprised by how young Dr Harker looked: he appeared to be not much older than the rest of the class. She flicked open the front of the file and, seeing from his CV that he had a PhD in biology, realized his youthful appearance belied his actual thirty-eight years.

Harker clicked his fingers in her direction. ‘Please do not open the file yet. I will tell you when to do so.’

Jane flinched, mumbled an apology and noticed he had cold, slate-grey piercing eyes. Kath had said he was attractive, interesting and worth listening to, but in his stiff white-collared shirt, bow tie and grey, creased trousers, Jane found him rather pompous.

Harker took his time, placing his folder on the lectern before turning to an officer and asking him to close the blinds and turn off the neon strip lights. He had a very cultured, aristocratic tone.

‘In your folders are some of the relevant statements from a major investigation, such as the pathologist’s and my forensic report. There are copies of the crime scene photographs, but I will be showing you slides of the scene and bodies as well. Some of you may find them disturbing, but at some time in your career you may well find yourself attending scenes of a similar nature. I hope you have enquiring minds as there will be a Q and A session at the end of my lecture for me to clarify anything you feel necessary. However, I will be asking you questions relating to the murders during my talk as it will show me whether or not you are paying attention.’

Curious to see what was in the file, Jane sifted through the paperwork in front of her, while Harker placed a sheet of acetate paper on the overhead projector, then covered it with a blank piece of paper so as not to reveal all the contents. He switched on the overhead and, as if conducting an orchestra, used a broken telescopic radio antenna to point at the words projected onto the wall. Jane settled back in her seat, listening intently as the lecture began.

At the station Kath was at the front desk dealing with an irate Nancy Phillips who was demanding to speak with someone in authority about her grandson being slapped about. She wore a crossover apron under her cardigan, and a pair of fur-lined ankle boots. Her thick stockings fell in folds around her swollen ankles.