Lynda Plante - Tennison

‘Just gimme a minute, Nancy,’ she panted, and eased the door half shut. Opening the paper bag she took out a £5 note, drew a few deep breaths to keep steady and opened the door again.

‘Here you are, luv. I’ll be there to pay my respects.’

‘That’s ever so generous of you, Renee — everyone’s been so kind.’

She shut the door as David appeared in the hall. He looked worried.

She glared at him. ‘You look like you’re about to wet yourself, David. You still sayin’ you’re up to nothing? Poor Nancy’s burying her grandson. He was just nineteen years old and there’s lots more poor kids like him on this estate. I should have given her this money, at least she’d make good use of it.’

She gasped for breath, held up the bag and waved it at David who was holding onto the doorframe to stand upright.

‘You need to lie down, Ma.’

‘Makes two of us.’

She shoved the paper bag into his chest. ‘You take this, go to Florida, get away before it’s too late and the coppers come knockin’ for real.’

He opened the bag and looked inside, then stared at his mother as she gasped and heaved for breath.

‘Jesus Christ, Ma, where did you get all this cash from?’

‘Cleaning fuckin’ offices, washing down floors, taking in ironing and saving from my pension, take it, take it all, David.’

She went to lie down on her bed and began to cry.

He came into the room using his stick, and seeing her weeping made him feel close to tears.

‘Florida’s just a dream, Mum. I didn’t really mean it.’

She plucked a tissue out of the box on her bedside table and blew her nose.

‘Yes you did, son. I could tell by yer voice when you told me that’s where you wanted to go... there’s enough there for more than a plane ticket.’ She never mentioned what she had found under his mattress and that she knew he had a passport.

He slowly edged to her bedside and sat beside her. He gently stroked her lined pale face and then bent to kiss her soft worn cheek. She gave him a warm smile, followed by a lovely girlish cheeky grin, and leaned closer.

‘There was some cash your dad hid in the airing cupboard behind the boiler. I told him the cops took it when they came to arrest him the last time, so he thinks they nicked it and shared it amongst themselves. But I’ve been hiding it in me hat box for all the years he was banged up.’

She asked David to get her hat, which was lying on the floor. She sat up and he gently put it on her head and adjusted it. He stood back and smiled, as the wide brim and the flower in the headband made her look ridiculous.

‘I’ll wear this for the funeral tomorrow,’ she said, finally smiling back.

‘I love you, Ma, love you with all my broken heart.’

Beneath the café Danny, John and Silas were taking it in turns to use the Kango model G electric hammer drill to dig through the thick clay soil. They were now under the vault and starting work on the concrete base. It was hard, and progress had been slow, as only one person at a time could use a shovel in the claustrophobic tunnel. They were all exhausted and covered in dirt and dust. Although they had tied handkerchiefs over their mouths and noses, the dust from the concrete still got through and made them cough and sneeze. By now they had made a wider, deeper space under the vault and could just about kneel down, or lie on their backs, to drill the concrete and cut the embedded wire mesh with a bolt cutter. Although the Kango only weighed fourteen pounds the awkward angles they were forced to hold it at made it feel much heavier. After filling a rubble bag with concrete they had no choice but to wriggle backwards, dragging the heavy bag as they went. The oxyacetylene torch would have cut through the mesh quickly, but it was awkward to pull through the tunnel and the heat from the flames would make it feel like a sauna.

John and Danny were doing the brunt of the work as Silas was so unfit and overweight he couldn’t keep up with them, and kept moaning that he didn’t feel well and needed to lie down for a bit. John had commented to Danny, out of Silas’s earshot, that the fat git would be doing them all a favour if he dropped dead from a heart attack and then they’d each get a bigger cut of the money and goods in the deposit boxes. John was having a break for some water when he thought he heard something coming from the radio. It had been difficult to hear due to the racket of the machinery.

Danny emerged from the tunnel and pulled the handkerchief from his face as John pressed the speak button on the walkie-talkie.

‘Are you callin’ us, Dad? Is everything OK?’

‘No it’s not, I’m fuckin’ freezin’ up here. How much longer before you’re in?’ Clifford asked, finishing the hip flask of brandy he’d brought with him.

‘We’re working hard, but it won’t be tonight.’

‘Then down tools and come and get me,’ Clifford said.

‘We’re taking a break, but we’re not ready to leave yet. Give us another hour or so.’

‘Shit, don’t do anything, don’t make an effin’ sound. Someone’s just pulled up in a van outside the tailor’s shop,’ Clifford said tensely, at the same time annoyed that he was stuck out in the cold.

Bradfield, stationed at Op Four, was asleep in the armchair and the old lady had gone to bed when Frank picked up some conversation on his CB radio. He gently shook Bradfield’s shoulder and he woke with a start. ‘What you got?’

‘Bit crackly in places, but I heard the tail end clearly and it’s on tape.’

Frank was about to rewind the tape and play it but Bradfield told him not to in case they started a conversation on the walkie-talkie again and he missed recording it. ‘It’s OK, I’ve written it down in shorthand,’ said Frank.

‘John Bentley, Target One, said “It won’t be tonight”, so I assume he was talking to Clifford, Target Two. They still aren’t into the vault.’

‘Was that it?’ Bradfield asked, alert now.

‘No. Target Two said there’s someone in a van pulling up outside the tailor’s shop.’

‘It’ll be fucking Mannie!’ Bradfield exclaimed, and hurried over to the front window.

He could see Mannie under the street light unloading suits from the van and taking them into the shop. ‘Shit, how long’s he been there?’ He turned to the surveillance officer who had earlier played the part of the tramp and was now watching what was happening from the window.

‘Just arrived, sir. I was waiting to see what he did before I disturbed you, but Frank got to you first.’

Frank had removed the headphones so the CB was now on loudspeaker for Bradfield to hear what the suspects were saying. He recognized John Bentley’s voice.

Tell us what’s happening, Dad .

The driver’s alone and gone into the shop .

Is it the shoe-shop woman? Is she back again? John was wondering if Hebe had returned because she was suspicious.

No, it’s a little geezer gone into the tailor’s shop .

Bradfield was pulling his hair out wondering what the hell Mannie was doing there so late at night. He watched him return to the van for a third time and carry another armful of plastic-covered garments into the shop. When he closed the van’s back doors Bradfield thought he was going to leave, but he went into the shop shutting the door behind him. Bradfield phoned Gibbs.

Seeing the light flashing on the silent phone they had installed in the shoe shop Gibbs answered it and Bradfield updated him on Mannie Charles’s movements.

‘What you going to do?’ Gibbs asked.

‘There’s nothing I can do. If I send anyone over to the front of the shop then Clifford will see them from the rooftop and get suspicious. We’ll just have to sit it out like our targets are. So make sure you don’t make a sound in your op.’