Tennison (37 page)

‘No one was at the squat, sir, but we found this.’ A sheepish-looking Ashton held up a dirty black bin bag.

‘It definitely wasn’t there when we first searched the place,’ Edwards nervously added and Ashton agreed.

Bradfield and Lawrence looked inside the bag. Amongst potato peelings and dirty used takeaway cartons there was a rucksack.

‘It matches the description of the one Julie Ann Collins had,’ Ashton said.

An angry-looking Bradfield grabbed the bin bag from Ashton and went to the incident room where Jane was sitting at a desk filling out some index cards. Bradfield told her to move and as she got up he cleared a space on the desk. Lawrence laid out some sheets of newspaper, put on some protective gloves and handed a pair to Bradfield who removed the rucksack from the bin bag and began to search through it. First he took out a worn-looking ‘English History’ exercise book, with ‘Julie Ann Collins’ written in large letters on the front, and placed it on the table. Lawrence picked the exercise book up and began to flick through it while Bradfield removed items of clothing from the rucksack and placed them in a pile on the table. Lawrence held the book open for Bradfield and Jane to see. ‘She was a bright girl, and look at her neat and tidy handwriting. I wonder if she was maybe thinking about going back to finish her education.’

Bradfield retrieved a chopstick from the bin bag and used it to lift and separate the clothes. There was a white cotton bra, a few stained lace panties, two pairs of worn leather ballet shoes, the soles coming away from the stitching, and a frilled Biba blouse that was covered in food stains. Jane could still smell the strong patchouli perfume emanating from the clothing.

‘Not much, but she was living rough for some time.’ Lawrence sighed.

‘Anything worth taking was probably nicked by the other kids at the squat.’

Jane just wanted to leave the room: she felt sad seeing all that was left of the dead girl. She pointed at the worn ballet slippers.

‘Her father said she wanted to be a ballet dancer.’

‘Well, she’s never going to dance any more,’ Bradfield remarked.

‘No,’ Jane replied and left him prodding at the clothing with his chopstick. It was obvious to them all there was nothing in the rucksack that would hasten the search for her killer.

Jane was in the ladies’ locker room putting on her raincoat when Kath came in with a sly grin on her face.

‘Spence is back in the office . . . and I’m gonna pay him back for the Vicks prank. All DCs and detective sergeants, and that includes Gibbs, have to do a first-aid refresher test on resuscitation with the St John’s Ambulance instructor . . . ’

‘You mean mouth-to-mouth on a dummy?’

‘Yeah, well, it’s half a dummy they bring in, she’s called Resusci Anne. The old battle-axe trainer is havin’ a tea break in the canteen so I’ve only got a few minutes.’

Jane watched, rather confused, as Kath took out a lipstick from her make-up bag.

‘This is called “Crimson Blush” and it’s waterproof.’

‘What are you going to do?’ a curious Jane asked.

Kath was already on her way out of the locker room. ‘Just wait – you’ll find out soon enough.’

Jane buttoned up her raincoat, secured her locker, and then after giving her hair a brush went out into the corridor where she saw Kath come running down the stairs.

‘Gibbs has just gone in for his test. You’d better not hang about or he’ll think it was you.’

It was only a few minutes later when Gibbs, who had been irritated by being made to go through the mouth-to-mouth refresher training, stomped down the stairs. He went to the incident room to see if DS Lawrence and Bradfield had discovered anything of value from Julie Ann’s rucksack.

‘Anything of interest?’ he asked.

Bradfield glanced up as Gibbs moved closer.

‘Who’ve you been slobbering with?’ Lawrence asked.

‘He’ll be wearing a matching blouse and earrings next,’ Bradfield added with a grin.

‘What are you two talking about? I’ve been doing mouth-to-mouth on Resusci Anne and I passed, thank you very much for asking.’

Bradfield laughed. ‘I believe you, Spence, but the rest of the team won’t.’

‘I dunno what you’re talking about . . . I’m going to the canteen.’

‘Bring me and Paul a coffee, sweetheart,’ Bradfield said nonchalantly to the confused Gibbs as he walked out. He was totally unaware that he had bright red lipstick smudged around his lips. He found out soon enough as there were guffaws from officers in the canteen and Gladys the canteen lady told him she had the same colour lipstick.

Jane’s mother was in tears, her father close to it as they stood outside their Maida Vale flat waiting for the taxi to arrive.

‘I’m perfectly happy to get public transport and it won’t be busy this early in the morning, Dad.’

‘No, you won’t let us drive you there so I’ll pay for the taxi. I’ll not have you lugging that large case across London, especially Hackney.’

Mrs Tennison sobbed and wiped her nose on a hanky she kept tucked in her sleeve. ‘I can’t believe you are leaving Daddy and me all alone, Jane.’

Jane felt quite emotional herself and knew her mother was in some sort of denial, but she was not going to be made to feel guilty about moving out.

‘For goodness’ sake, Mum, the section house is only half an hour away in the car. Besides, you weren’t like this when Pam moved out.’

‘But that was different, Jane: she’d met someone, fallen in love and got married.’

‘I’ll visit on my days off and come home for Sunday roast, so . . . ’

Her mother wafted her hanky as she became more upset. ‘You only get one Sunday off a month . . . it’s deplorable and you must ask for more.’

‘I don’t make the rules, Mum, I just do as I’m told. I get days off in the week like today, and one of your roasts will taste just as good Monday to Friday. I’ll even stay the night if possible.’

Her mother looked slightly calmer. ‘You bring that nice detective that came to see you after the wedding.’

‘He’s a senior officer and my boss while I’m assisting the CID . . . to him I’m just a minion.’

‘Well, he seemed very nice, very polite.’

‘If it makes you happy I’ll ask,’ Jane said, though she didn’t intend to do so.

‘That’s the taxi coming,’ her dad said.

To Jane’s surprise he suddenly stepped forward and embraced her with a loving hug.

‘Like I said you always get your own way,’ he whispered in her ear. He squeezed tighter and kissed her on the cheek.

She whispered back, ‘Thanks for telling her about me moving – you made it easier for me and I will miss you both.’

‘I know, she just worries about you. We both do because we love you so much.’

Jane felt herself welling up and thinking of the loss of her brother Michael. For the first time she wondered if she was doing the right thing by moving out when it came to the effect on her mother.

As her dad put the suitcase in the back of the cab Jane embraced and squeezed her mother tightly before telling her she’d ring later that day to let them know she’d settled in.

Arriving at the section house reception Jane introduced herself to the duty warden, an elderly, grey-haired civilian man who sat behind a small desk drinking his morning cup of tea and enjoying a cigarette. He asked to see her warrant card and then asked her to sign in on the residents’ register.

‘Do you know your room number, luv?’

‘Not yet, but I was told my room would be on the third floor.’

‘Oh, slight problem there. The WPCs’ floor is all full up so the only room available is on the men’s floor.’

Jane was shocked and upset. ‘But I was told that—’

‘Got yer there, didn’t I? I do it to all the new residents, even the blokes. Funny thing is none of them ever object to a room on the women’s floor. You’ve been allocated room 308. There’s a black disc on the key ring and you need to hang that on the board number whenever you’re going out the building.’

Jane thanked him and he explained that if she was out and no black disc had been hung up she’d receive a 10p fine. The warden pointed to a row of six wooden cubby holes behind him stating that the residents’ mail was placed in them and it was her responsibility to check for herself, likewise the message book.

‘Right, you nip up to your room and unpack your case while I let Bob Turner know you’re here.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘Section house sergeant and that’s his office just behind you. He likes to show the new ones round and tell them the rules and regs at the same time. He lives in a big room on the top floor so I’ll go and let him know you’re here.’

Jane’s room was only slightly larger than the one she’d had at Hendon training college in the women’s only tower block accommodation during her initial training, and not as comfortable-looking or big as the one at home. The single bed and side cabinet were on the left as you entered; to the right behind a sliding door was a small metal washbasin and mirror with a strip light, toiletry shelves to one side. Under the sink there was a white towel on a rail.

She put her case on the unmade bed and opened it. Not knowing how much storage space there would be she had not packed too many clothes. She looked in the far section of the wardrobe for some hangers. Inside there was a chest of drawers, the top of which she noticed had a pull-out section that could be used as a desk. Nifty, she thought to herself.

As she unpacked Jane realized she would have to get used to doing her own washing and ironing. She put her clothes in the wardrobe and placed her alarm clock on the bedside table, then put the empty case under the bed. She opened the window at the end of the room to let some fresh air in. Her room overlooked the rear courtyard of the building, which she was glad of as the rooms at the front of the building overlooked Mare Street, which was a main through-road and always noisy and busy. She was about to unfold the bottom sheet and start to make the bed when there was a knock at the door. She opened it and saw a balding, dark-haired and rather portly man in his early forties dressed in a white T-shirt, tracksuit bottoms and slippers.

‘Tennison?’ he asked bluntly without a smile and said he was Sergeant Turner.

She put out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘Likewise. Follow me, please,’ he said with a limp handshake and gruff manner.

As they walked along the landing the first thing he told her was that men were not allowed on the women’s floor and vice versa, unless there was a valid reason, and anyone wantonly caught breaking the rule would be asked to leave.

He pointed out where the ladies’ toilets and bathroom were and opening a door opposite he showed her the small ironing room with two irons and boards.

‘Is there a launderette nearby?’

‘One downstairs in the basement next to the gym. Two front-load washers and a drying room with clothes racks next to it. We’re hoping to get some tumbler-driers in the near future. There’s a dry-cleaner’s round the corner for your uniform. He accepts police chits and you can get them at work or from me. Canteen opening hours are marked up on the main noticeboard outside my office.’

Jane couldn’t get over his abrupt, monotonous way of speaking: there was a total lack of emphasis to his words.

‘My room is very comfortable and nicely decorated,’ she said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

‘Adequate, yes, nicely decorated, no. You can put posters up using that new Bostick stuff, no nails, and no pins.’

‘Blu-tack?’ Jane enquired.

‘If it’s blue and sticky then that’s it.’

The tour of the section house was pretty straightforward, and Sergeant Turner said little else other than to point out the TV rooms and canteen. Feeling rather pessimistic, Jane returned to her room. She finished making her bed and neatly arranged all her toiletries before going to the canteen for lunch. It was very different from the police station’s and actually looked like a proper restaurant. She was very impressed but couldn’t help noticing that there were just six people dining and only two of them were sitting together and obviously about to go on late shift as they were in half-blues. She didn’t recognize anyone from Hackney Police Station, but wasn’t surprised as some of the hundred and twenty residents worked at other stations in East London.

She felt very shy sitting alone and no one appeared in any way interested in making her acquaintance. Jane perused the menu, which had a choice of starters, mains and desserts, all of which were appealing. Ten minutes had passed when she saw a large black lady dressed in a Met Police catering outfit come out of the kitchen swing door. Jane raised her hand and the woman, who looked to be West Indian and in her fifties, walked over with a big smile.

‘Yes, dear, what can I do fer yer?’ she asked in a friendly way.

‘Could I order the shepherd’s pie with mixed veg, please?’

The woman started to laugh loudly. The sound was so infectious and happy Jane felt herself grinning and wanting to laugh herself.

‘I can tell you is new here, ain’t ya, sweetheart?’ the woman said. She picked up a pencil and small order pad on the side of the table that Jane hadn’t noticed. Still smiling she explained you had to write down what you wanted, along with your shoulder number or name, and hand it in at the serving hatch next to the kitchen door. When it was ready they’d shout out.

‘Tell yer what, dear, seein’ as it’s yer first day, I’ll take yer order, but yer can fetch it yerself when it’s ready.’

After a delicious lunch, much better than the food at the station, Jane felt a bit more settled and cheerful. She returned to her room, where she stuck up her Janis Joplin poster and cleaned her teeth. She got out her police instruction manual to do some studying for her next continuation training exam and lay on her bed resting her head on her arm. She turned to the chapter on the Vagrancy Act of 1824 about ‘street beggars’, which she had to learn ‘parrot fashion’.

It felt strange because other than Hendon she had never lived anywhere else but with her parents. Her old alarm clock’s loud tick had never really bothered her until now, so she shoved it inside the bedside-cabinet drawer and turned on her little Zephyr radio. It wasn’t long before she fell asleep.