Tennison. Lynda La plante

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      ‘Pay attention at the lecture. Harker is the best scientist in the forensic labs.’ He stubbed his cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray attached to the wall.

      ‘Don’t bother with the sandwich – I’ve got no time to eat it now.’

      ‘Thank you, sir,’ Jane said, as she looked at his signature on the application form with a beaming smile.

CHAPTER TWO

      ‘Right everyone, listen up,’ Bradfield said assertively as he strode into the incident room, which was a hive of activity.

      ‘Thanks to DC Hudson we have a possible name and some background details for our victim. Julie Ann Maynard, aged seventeen. Criminal records show one arrest and previous conviction for prostitution earlier this year. She was a heroin addict, as is her boyfriend Eddie Phillips, aged nineteen, both patients at the Homerton Drug Dependency Unit. When was their last attendance, Hudson?’

      ‘Two weeks ago, sir, and neither of them have turned up for their appointments since.’

      Bradfield frowned. ‘She’s seventeen, a junkie, and the hospital didn’t bother to report her missing? Did you ask them why, Hudson?’

      ‘The hospital said they attended the drug unit on a voluntary basis and assumed that Julie Ann and Eddie had decided to just up and leave.’

      Bradfield lit a cigarette. ‘Did they have addresses for them?’

      ‘Yes, sir, the same one for both Eddie and Julie Ann.’ Hudson nervously flicked through his notebook.

      ‘Which was?’ Bradfield asked impatiently.

      ‘Uh, it was . . . 32 Edgar House on the Pembridge, sir.’

      ‘It’s important Eddie is traced and arrested for questioning without delay.’ Bradfield gestured towards Detective Sergeant Gibbs.

      ‘Spencer, you and two detectives go to Edgar House after the meeting. Kick the door in, search it and nick Eddie Phillips if he’s there. If he ain’t, get a surveillance unit to keep an eye on the address in case he returns.’

      ‘Yes, guvnor, be a pleasure, and I take it you will be authorizing any overtime we may just happen to incur?’

      Bradfield smiled and nodded. ‘Even if it means you have to work through the night, Spence. We have to consider Eddie Phillips might have been Julie Ann’s pimp and maybe murdered her after an argument over money. He may even be on the run by now, so, Sally, I want Phillips’ name and description circulated via the teleprinter to all police stations across London and—’

      ‘Yes, sir,’ Sally the indexer said, frantically taking notes as Bradfield continued.

      ‘Circulate Julie Ann Maynard’s details as well. I want an address for her parents, or any next of kin, asap, so that a formal identification can be made at the mortuary.’ Sally nodded.

      ‘Right, get out there, keep knocking on doors and asking questions on and around the Kingsmead. Hold off on the Pembridge until DS Gibbs searches Edgar House and hopefully brings in the little shit Eddie Phillips.’

      *

      DS Spencer Gibbs was a tough and often unruly officer, tall and gaunt with thick, brushed-back hair on top of his head and an almost crew cut to the sides. He had a keen eye for fashion and when off duty liked to wear skinny trousers and winkle-picker shoes, which Kath Morgan loved to tease him about. Gibbs enjoyed being part of a rock band, but his commitment and loyalty to his day job made him a popular member of the team.

      Gibbs went to 32 Edgar House accompanied by two young DCs, Ashton and Edwards. They were all wearing heavy raincoats due to the continuing downpour. The young officers were surprised to find the address was a boarded-up squat. Gibbs wasn’t.

      ‘It’s what you’d expect from junkies – they sleep rough cos no one’s stupid enough to take ’em in. Nip back to the car, Edwards, and get a couple of torches out the kit bag in the boot.’

      Gibbs found a loose piece of wood on the landing and used it to prise open enough of the boarded-up door to the squat so he and his colleagues could get in.

      ‘Are you following all this Watergate and President

      Nixon stuff on the news, Sarge?’

      ‘No!’ Gibbs answered tersely as he led the way inside, shining his torch around the rooms and booting old drinks crates out of his way. The place stank of urine and dirty blankets, and amidst the numerous crushed cans of lager and broken bottles of cider, torn sleeping bags lay beside rotting food. They searched the bedrooms where used hypodermic needles littered the bare boards. Gibbs swore and kicked out at the disgusting mess and then straightened, gesturing for them to keep quiet. They could hear shrieks and laughs coming from the stairwell outside. Gibbs went out the front door onto the landing and picked up the bit of wood he’d used earlier.

      Eddie Phillips was walking up the stairs with his friend Billy Myers. The two nineteen-year-olds looked manky: they both had dirty long hair and wore filthy stained T-shirts, flared jeans and Cuban-heeled boots. Gibbs and the two DCs approached them. They resembled three thugs with their coat collars turned up and Gibbs swung the stick like a golf club as he shouted.

      ‘Which one o’ you is Eddie Phillips?’

      Billy looked terrified and pointed to Eddie who tried to make a run for it, but Gibbs was quick on his feet and caught him by his hair, then kicked his legs from under him. Eddie cowered as he lay on the floor and Gibbs pushed the piece of wood into his chest.

      ‘We found your girlfriend, Eddie, but she looks a lot worse than you do!’

      *

      Jane sat by herself in the canteen eating a cheese and mushroom omelette. The canteen was buzzing and everyone was talking about the murder investigation, including the four detectives at the table opposite her, who she couldn’t help overhearing. One said how frustrating it was that they still hadn’t been able to locate Julie Ann Maynard’s family, but now that her boyfriend had been brought in for questioning the case might be solved quicker than expected. She listened intently as Edwards, who’d accompanied DS Gibbs, described the arrest and then what had happened in the CID car on the way back to the station.

      ‘Gibbs gave him a good dig in the ribs and forced him to look at a picture of the dead girl’s body. The little wanker burst into tears and said it was Julie Ann but her real surname was Collins.’

      ‘Why’d she use a false name?’ the youngest detective asked.

      His colleague slapped him across the back of the head.

      ‘Because she’s a tom, thicko, and they use false names if they get arrested for soliciting.’

      The detective rubbed his head. ‘Did he say anything else?’

      ‘Not really, but you could see he was bricking it. Gibbs tried to get him to cough, but he was such a blubbering emotional wreck that we couldn’t get anything out of him.’ DC Edwards then gave his opinion. ‘Bradfield’s taken Phillips to his office for an interview with him and DS

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