It was raining again as Dabs opened the security gate to the rear of the building so Cam could drive in and park up.
‘It would make it a damn sight easier if they left the bloody gate open while the office is manned,’ Cam moaned.
Jane said nothing as she handed Cam the house-to-house folder, then got the bag of exhibits from the boot of the car and ran across the yard to join Dabs. He was entering the number code on the rear entrance keypad. She put the bag down, got out her pocket notebook and pen and asked him what the code was.
‘They’re easy to remember. It’s 1066 for the front door and gate and 1812 for the back – Battle of Hastings and the Battle of Waterloo,’ Dabs told her, entering the numbers.
But when he turned the handle nothing happened.
‘Waterloo was 1815, you dunce,’ said Cam, as he pushed past Dabs and Jane to enter the right code.
‘Sorry, I was listening to Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture while I was driving to work this morning.’
‘You like classical music then?’ Jane asked.
‘Yes, very much. I quite often go to concerts at the Royal Albert Hall.’
‘It soothes the savage beast in him.’
Cam smirked as he shoved the door open and entered the building. He made no effort to hold the door open, and as it was on a hinged spring, it would have hit Jane if Dabs hadn’t put his hand out just in time.
‘Where’s your manners, Cam?’ Dabs said, as he held the door open for her.
Cam mumbled an apology, said he needed a ‘Jimmy Riddle’ and turned left to go down the concrete and worn green lino-covered stairs to the basement toilets.
The hallway and stairwell walls were painted a puke green, which couldn’t disguise the patches of mould, and a damp smell filled the air. Jane was a bit surprised to find the interior of the building was in a worse condition than any police station she’d worked in before.
‘Sorry about Cam – he can be a right surly git at times. He gets frustrated at not being involved in the investigative side of things. Mind you, he is a good driver.’
‘You don’t need to apologise for Cam’s behaviour. If he wants to be an investigator he should apply to become a detective and stop moaning.’
Dabs put his hand on Jane’s arm.
‘Mind you don’t slip on that wet patch. We’ve got a leaky roof, which was supposed to have been repaired weeks ago, and some of the stairs to the top floor are a bit wet as well. The cleaner does her best to keep on top of it, but she can’t predict the rain unfortunately.’
‘Was this building ever a working police station?’
‘No, it used to be an office block with a woodwork factory on this floor where they made doors. The company went bust and the building lay empty until the Met bought it specifically for the Flying Squad a few years ago. As you can see, it needs some repair work and a lick of paint, but it’s much better upstairs in the squad office.’
‘Who uses the downstairs?’
‘The surveillance team – though one section of it is used as a lock-up for the exhibits we seize during our investigations.’
‘What – like guns and ammunition?’
‘Yes, among other things. They go up to the firearms unit lab first for examination and when they’ve finished with them we store them here.’
‘The building doesn’t look very secure,’ Jane said, having seen the outside in the morning.
‘Believe me, it is, especially the exhibits room, which has an alarm linked to central control at the Yard. We had a case a year ago where a criminal did try and break in. He wanted to get the gun he used in a robbery so there was no evidence against him, but he was caught in the act and got an extra three years on his sentence when he was found guilty.’
Jane followed Dabs up the flight of stairs to the top floor landing, which was decorated similarly to the ground floor, though the mould on the walls and smell of damp were not so pronounced.
‘Through the first door on the right there’s a small kitchen area with a fridge, electric cooker and a kettle. Would you like a coffee?’
Jane said she was fine and Dabs continued.
‘Next to it is the ladies’ toilet.’ Dabs pointed to a door that had an A4 sheet of paper Sellotaped to it and KP’s TOILET written in large black letters. ‘She’ll have to add JT to that notice now,’ he joked, and Jane smiled. ‘The squad office is down the end on the left and opposite is my office with all my equipment and a forensic examination area. Though I do go into the main office quite a bit for a chat and office meetings.’
‘How many are on the team?’
‘Not including the surveillance team, there are twelve in total. Ten detectives – that’s including the two Governors and you, PC Murray the driver and myself as the SOCO.’
As Jane followed Dabs she saw a wooden plaque screwed to a door and knew it was the squad room. On the plaque was a golden eagle, with its talons outstretched as if about to grab its prey. Above the eagle were the words THE FLYING SQUAD and below it NEW SCOTLAND YARD written in gold lettering. She knew the swooping eagle was the emblem of an elite unit, which had gained a reputation for courage and determination in opposing the most violent of London’s armed robbers and hardened criminals. She touched the plaque with her hand, not for luck, but because she felt immense pride in being the first woman detective posted to the Flying Squad in its sixty-year history.
Standing in the corridor Jane could hear male voices chatting and laughing on the other side of the door, as well as the click-clack of typewriters and the ding of the bell as the carriage reached the end of the page. She straightened her coat and swept her hands through her hair. She didn’t know why, but for the first time in ages she felt nervous about walking into an office full of male detectives, as Dabs opened the door for her. But her anxiety eased as she recognised the hearty laugh of DS Stanley. Being the first female member of the Flying Squad probably wasn’t going to be a bed of roses, but it felt like it was the beginning of an exciting new chapter in her life. She walked into the room and saw the Colonel and Stanley standing together, with their backs to her, looking at something on the wall. Before she could speak, the Colonel nudged Stanley with his elbow.
‘Get me Tennison’s joining photo out of her job file on KP’s desk – I’ll stick it on the poster under her nickname.’
The Colonel sniggered, still with his back to Jane.
Stanley turned around and took a few steps towards the desk before he saw Jane and grimaced. She glared at him and held her finger to her mouth, making it clear she wanted him to keep quiet. She could see her police file, with her CID photograph clipped to it, on a neat and tidy desk near the door, which had a ‘Katie Powell’ name plaque on it.
The Colonel continued to look at the poster, admiring his handiwork.
‘Get a move on, Stanley, Tennison will be here soon.’
Jane handed Dabs the bag of exhibits, then removed her photo from the file. As she crept up behind the Colonel she could see a 40in. by 30in. film poster for the 1967 movie, The Dirty Dozen. The poster depicted twelve men in army fatigues charging forward in a V formation, with machine guns blazing. Jane knew the film was considered a classic, full of Hollywood stars of the day like Lee Marvin and Charles Bronson. In the top left corner of the poster, in capital letters, were the words DAMN THEM OR PRAISE THEM . . . YOU’LL NEVER FORGET THE DIRTY DOZEN and added on a bit of paper underneath was OR TREACLE TENNISON.
‘There you go,’ Jane said and stuck the photograph under her name. The Colonel was visibly startled.
‘Where’d you come from?’ he asked, red-faced, and some of the detectives couldn’t help laughing at his embarrassment.
‘And there was us thinking you were a rough, tough marine,’ DC Baxter said.
‘You must have shit yourself when the enemy crept up on you.’ Teflon grinned.
The Colonel glared at Teflon as everyone laughed, then turned to Jane with a smirk.
‘It’s just me and the lads having a bit of fun—’
‘To be honest, DC Gorman, I was expecting a more traditional initiation ceremony, like cling film or fingerprint ink on the ladies’ toilet seat. But this poster is so much more revealing . . .’ She paused.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘It shows you think you’re a big Hollywood movie star, not a lowly copper working in a dingy office in Leytonstone.’
Some of the detectives chuckled.
‘I’ll take the photo down if you’re that bothered about it,’ he snapped, reaching to remove it.
Jane put a hand on his arm.
‘If it makes you happy, leave it there. Now let me try and guess which one of the Dirty Dozen you are.’ She deliberately paused to make out she was studying the poster and thinking about it. ‘I’m leaning towards the character Charles Bronson played – but I can’t remember his name . . .’
She paused again, knowing the Colonel would answer.
‘Wladislaw,’ he said smugly, clearly pleased she thought he was like Bronson.
‘No, not him, it’s another character I was thinking of.’
‘Who?’
‘Wasn’t one of them a bigot nicknamed Maggott?’
Teflon laughed. ‘Right on, Sarge, he was played by Telly Savalas. Ya man was bald like de Colonel,’ he said in a comic Caribbean accent.
‘Shut up, Teflon – no one asked for your opinion.’ The Colonel scowled.
Teflon shook his head and tutted. ‘You like to dish it out, Colonel, but you can’t take it, can you?’
‘Not when it’s you,’ the Colonel said coldly.
‘What do you mean by that?’ Teflon said, taking a step towards the Colonel to front him out.
The animosity between the two detectives was palpable, and Jane was about to step between them, but Stanley beat her to it and held his hands up to keep them apart.
‘Right, fun’s over. We’ve got a fucking robbery to investigate, where some of our own were nearly killed – so stop pissing about and get on with your work,’ he said in a firm voice.
As the detectives returned to their desks, Stanley took Jane to one side.
‘It was only a bit of fun, the Colonel didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, we all have nicknames and take the piss out of each other, it helps relieve the pressure.’
‘I don’t mind a bit of fun or banter, but if I’m honest it felt a bit demeaning, especially as I’ve already told the Colonel I don’t like being called Treacle.’
‘I didn’t know that—’
‘And if you did would you have stopped him?’
‘Treacle’s not a demeaning term, Jane, it’s just cockney rhyming slang – “treacle tart” . . . sweetheart.’
‘I know where it comes from, Stanley, but I’d expect to hear my mother or father use it – not a junior officer in what was clearly a derogatory manner. I don’t think it’s too much to ask to be called Sarge or Sergeant when I’m on duty – do you?’
‘Well, I’ve always accepted being called Stanley—’
‘That’s your choice – besides, I heard people call you Sarge when we worked on the Covent Garden bombing.’
‘That was different from working on this squad—’
‘So, it’s all right to refer to the DI and DCI by their Christian or nicknames, then?’ Jane asked, with a touch of sarcasm.
‘You know that’s not what I’m saying.’
‘Well, what are you saying?’
‘That you might want to calm down a bit. I don’t mind if you give as good as you get, but that’s because I’ve worked with you before. For now just soak up the mickey-taking and ease yourself in gently.’
‘Oh, I see, because I’m a female I’m the one who should be submissive. I thought this was the Flying Squad – not a gentlemen’s club.’
‘I’ve given you my advice, Jane, so take it or—’
‘I’ll leave it, Stanley, and make my own decisions, thank you.’
As Stanley returned to his desk, a woman came out of one of the offices at the far end of the room carrying some case folders. She was in her mid-thirties, five feet seven inches tall, with a slim waist and good-sized bust, and walked with an air of authority. Her long dark shiny hair hung down her back and she was smartly dressed in a white blouse, black pencil skirt and high heels. She put the folder on the desk next to Jane’s police file.
‘Hi, you must be Katie. I’m Jane Tennison.’ She smiled as she raised her hand to greet her.
She looked Jane up and down condescendingly.
‘Yes, I know, I’ve seen your police file,’ she replied, without a smile.
Jane wasn’t going to put up with Katie looking down her nose at her.
‘So have the rest of the office by the looks of it,’ she retorted, glancing towards her file on Katie’s desk.
‘DCI Murphy gave me your file earlier to enter your personal details in our squad address book. I’m not responsible for the behaviour of the rest of the team.’
Jane sensed Katie knew about the addition of ‘Treacle Tennison’ to The Dirty Dozen poster but decided not to pursue it.
‘Is DCI Murphy in his office?’ she asked, changing the subject.
‘Yes, it’s the one on the left I just came out of. DI Kingston’s is next to it.’
‘I’ll just nip to the ladies’ and freshen up. I’ve been helping Dabs and got a bit dirty.’
‘Yes, I did notice,’ Katie said with a frown. ‘DCI Murphy doesn’t like to be kept waiting, so I wouldn’t take too long if I were you.’
‘Which desk is mine?’ Jane asked, wondering why Katie was being so cold and unfriendly.
‘That one over there.’
She pointed to a single desk in the corner of the room, next to another one on which there was a large police radio, a teleprinter and a computer for doing vehicle and name checks.
Although the squad room wasn’t as large as the CID offices Jane had worked in before, she noticed that all the other desks, apart from Katie’s, were organised in two groups of four and abutted each other. Stanley was seated in one group, with DC Baxter, DC Gorman and ADC Murray, and in the other group there was only Teflon and three empty desks, which were clearly in use as they had filing trays full of paperwork and case files on them. She knew that some of the team were out on another case but thought, as the only other DS on the team, she would have been given a desk with the others. She wondered if she had deliberately been put on her own to ostracise her.
She put her coat on the rack by the door and looked around the room. The large wall behind Katie’s desk was covered with artists’ impressions of robbery suspects, wanted posters and mugshots, as well as an array of surveillance and robbery crime scene photographs. There was also a large wallchart of the date, time and venue of all the cases they were currently investigating, and in the corner next to it there was a flip chart easel.
On the left-hand wall there was a large map of the north-east London area that the Rigg Approach Flying Squad team covered; it ran from Tower Hamlets in the East End to Enfield, Chigwell in Essex and Upminster, which was an area of nearly a hundred square miles. The map was covered with red, yellow and green pins, which, according to the handwritten guide beside it, signified where armed robberies on banks, building societies, betting shops and cash-in-transit vehicles had taken place. Jane was struck by the fact that the clear majority were red pins, which signified that firearms had been discharged, as opposed to yellow pins, which meant they hadn’t. Green pins, of which there were about half a dozen, meant someone had been shot. On the right side of the room there were several filing cabinets for case files and bookshelves with box files and clip folders relating to ongoing investigations. Jane recalled Dabs saying that Katie was fussy when it came to office tidiness, and could see that everything was laid out neatly and well labelled, making it clear what was contained in everything on display.
The squad room, like the rest of the building, was painted a bland green and the carpet was cheap, thin and worn, but there was plenty of natural light entering through a row of large windows that looked out on to the front and rear of the building. The desks were old wooden ones with a locking drawer and side lockers, and each officer had some filing trays full of folders and paperwork.
She went to the ladies’ toilet, brushed her hair and tied it back, then using some damp tissues she managed to get some of the soot streaks off her jacket and skirt. She tried to get one of the marks off her white blouse, but it smudged and ended up looking worse, so she buttoned up her jacket to hide them. Her mouth felt dry and she went to the small kitchen area to get a glass of water, where she found Teflon making some toast and coffee. He was a handsome man in his early thirties, five feet ten inches tall, with short Afro hair and a smooth complexion. Although dressed casually in dark grey Farah slacks and a blue and white striped shirt, his clothes accentuated his slim body and he looked smart.
‘Would you like a coffee?’ he asked, with a friendly smile that was very welcome.
She smiled back. ‘No thanks, a glass of water’s fine, please. I’m Jane Tennison, we actually haven’t met yet.’
She put her hand out and he shook it with a firm grip.
He poured her a glass of water.
‘Pleased to meet you. I’m DC Lloyd Johnson, or Teflon as the team like to call me.’
‘Do you mind being called Teflon?’ she asked cautiously, unsure if “Teflon” was a reference to the colour of his skin. She knew that life as a black police officer could be tough, and sometimes it was easier to just deny the existence of racism if you wanted to be accepted by your white colleagues.
He looked surprised. ‘You think they call me Teflon ’cause I’m black?’
She blushed. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean any offence . . .’
He laughed. ‘None taken. It’s because I was chasing a robbery suspect with a pickaxe handle and it slipped out of me hands when I swung it at him.’
‘Sorry, but I don’t get the analogy—’
‘It’s not that complicated. Teflon is non-stick, you see?’
‘OK, so nothing to do with your colour.’
He grinned. ‘If it was about me colour I’d hit them with a bloody pickaxe handle.’
The kitchen door opened, and Katie looked in.
‘DCI Murphy is wondering where you are. Get a move on as he wants to speak to you right now.’
Jane knew she was going to have to do something about Katie’s manner, but it wasn’t the time or place.
And besides, Katie had walked off before Jane could think of a suitable retort.
‘Is Katie like that with everyone?’
Lloyd nodded. ‘Pretty much, unless you’re inspector rank or above. She’s probably jealous of you,’ he said, pouring hot water into his cup.
‘Jealous of me – what on earth for?’
‘KP likes attention, and being the only woman in the office, apart from the cleaner, she gets plenty of it – especially from DI Kingston. Now you’re on the scene she’s got some competition.’
‘I can assure you I’m not an attention-seeker. I’ve also learnt from experience not to mix business with pleasure,’ she added wryly. She finished her water, swilled the glass under the tap and put it on the draining board. ‘I’d better get a move on, then, before Katie gives me a detention.’
Lloyd chuckled as he put some sugar in his coffee.
‘Just be careful what you say around her as it will get straight back to Kingston and Murphy. And don’t let the Colonel niggle you. He likes a bit of confrontation and winding people up – but he doesn’t like it when he’s the butt of the joke.’
‘There was certainly a bit of tension between the two of you earlier,’ she remarked.
‘I got a lot of stick when I first came on the squad a year ago, especially as I was the first black officer to join the team, but I treated it as banter and gave back as good as I got – that way it didn’t bother me. The Colonel and me don’t always see eye to eye, but he knows not to push things too far – and he’s a good man to have on your side in a dodgy situation.’
‘From the size of him and his marines background I don’t doubt that,’ she said as she opened the kitchen door.
‘Nice to meet you, Sarge. Now you’re on the squad I won’t be the odd one out any more,’ he said with a cheeky grin and a wink.
Jane knew there were not enough black and ethnic minority officers in the force. She had certainly never worked in uniform or the CID alongside a black officer. She was also aware that despite efforts to encourage black people to join the police force, the response had been poor. Many in the Afro-Caribbean community believed, with reason, that if they joined the police they would be subjected to racism within the force as well as opposition and hostility from friends, relatives and members of the community.
She would like to have chatted more with Lloyd and wondered when he said Katie liked attention, ‘especially from Kingston’, if he was implying that something was going on between the two of them. She’d noticed that Kingston wore a wedding ring and Katie didn’t have any rings on her left hand, but realised it was none of her business if they were in a relationship. She’d made a big mistake as a probationer when she’d had an affair with a married DCI, followed by a disastrous relationship with a self-centred bomb squad officer. Since then she’d vowed not to get involved with another police officer ever again.
*
Jane knocked on DCI Murphy’s office door and a gruff voice shouted, ‘Come in!’
She quickly brushed herself down and entered the room. DCI Murphy was sitting behind a wooden desk, which had a green leather inlay and was twice the size of any in the squad room. The walls were covered with green and white damask-style flock paper and lined with photographs relating to Murphy’s police career, from his joining class at training school, CID and senior officer’s courses, as well as some from the three times he had served on the Flying Squad. Several framed Commissioner’s commendations he had received for bravery and detective ability were also on the wall. A picture of his wife and teenage twin daughters took pride of place on his desk, next to several different types of ball-shaped paperweights, which he liked to collect. Like the squad room, his office was bathed in daylight streaming through the large windows.
DI Kingston was sitting opposite Murphy, and both men were smoking and sipping on whisky from crystal tumblers. Murphy was a burly-looking man with a mop of swept-back ginger hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He was smartly dressed in a dark blue three-piece pinstripe suit, white shirt and dark blue tie with the Flying Squad eagle printed on it. Although Jane had never met DCI Murphy before she had gleaned a little about him from her former boss at Peckham, DCI Nick Moran, who was a pal of Murphy’s and had approved her application for the Flying Squad. According to Moran, Murphy was a man ‘married to the job’, who didn’t suffer fools gladly and, having served on the Flying Squad at all ranks, was respected by his colleagues and feared by many in the criminal underworld.
‘I was about to send out a search party for you!’ He frowned as he sipped his whisky.
‘Sorry I’m late, sir.’
Kingston finished his drink, said, ‘Thanks, Bill’ and left the room, without acknowledging Jane’s presence, let alone introducing her to Murphy. It left her with an uneasy feeling.
Murphy looked at his watch. ‘It’s half past three and I’ve had to delay the office meeting because you’re late – five and a half hours late, to be precise.’
‘You weren’t here when I first arrived, sir, and DI Kingston told me to go with him to the robbery in Leytonstone. Then I was dealing with the scene where the police car crashed and the burnt-out car—’
‘That’s obvious from the soot on your blouse. I’ll let it go this time, but in future if you have a meeting with me I expect you to be there on the dot – or waiting for me if I’m running late. Take a seat.’
She sat down opposite him while he topped up his glass from the whisky bottle, then screwed the cap back on and put the bottle in his desk drawer.
‘Do you know much about the Flying Squad?’
He took a sip of his drink and leant back in his chair.
Jane thought for a moment. ‘It was formed in 1919 in response to growing concern about organised crime in London and the unit’s original twelve detectives could pursue criminals into any police division area, hence the nickname “the Flying Squad”. Over the years, the unit became primarily involved in preventing and investigating armed robbery and organised crime. Currently there are four squad offices in London, based here, Barnes, Finchley and Tower Bridge.’
Murphy yawned. ‘Ten out of ten if you were writing a history essay, Tennison, but what I meant was do you know what we do on a daily basis?’
Jane wondered if Murphy was deliberately trying to catch her out by not making his question very specific. She tried again, being as precise as she could.
‘From what I was told, the Flying Squad carries out surveillance on criminals it suspects may be about to commit armed robbery on business premises, banks and betting shops, then arrests the suspects before the commission of the crime. The squad also investigates offences already committed by armed robbers on the aforementioned premises.’
Murphy frowned. ‘Basically correct. Flying Squad operations generally start with lengthy surveillance, followed by armed intervention and an arrest for conspiracy to rob prior to the offence being committed. That way Joe Public is safe from flying bullets and no one gets shot – not even the bloody suspects . . . unfortunately.’
‘Isn’t that a good thing, sir?’ she asked, remembering the first thing she’d had drummed into her at Hendon training college, that the primary object of the police was the prevention of crime and the protection of life.
Murphy sighed and shook his head, as if she’d said something stupid.
‘The professional armed robbers of today are wily, hardened criminals, Tennison. They know the law inside out, and pay through the nose for corrupt lawyers to represent them. If we arrest suspects before an actual robbery is committed, a shrewd brief can tear most conspiracy charges to shreds in court. Even if we make arrests after the fact it’s rare that any evidence is left behind. Unless your armed blagger sticks his hands up and says, “Fair cop, guv, you got me bang to rights”, you’re often left with nothing but egg on your face. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you about how we need to carry out our work to be successful?’
‘That it’s preferable to arrest the criminal when they’re actually committing the crime.’
‘Exactly – my Flying Squad officers are specialists in the “pavement ambush”. Sheer speed usually wins the day and arresting a piece of shit with a gun in one hand and a bag of cash or jewellery in the other is not only exhilarating but it also means the villain is, as we like to say on the squad, “well and truly fucked”.’
Jane felt relieved she’d finally said something he agreed with. She could sense his loathing of criminals went deep.
‘My officers inevitably face considerable dangers on armed operations. Our methods are a high-risk form of policing and not for the faint-hearted – how strong is your nerve, Tennison?’
Jane was quick to answer. ‘I received a Commissioner’s commendation for bravery when I was a decoy and attacked by a man with a knife. I also received a commendation for detective ability and devotion to duty during an IRA bombing investigation. The details are in my case file, as I’m sure you know. Also I—’
He held his hand up, cutting her short.
‘I didn’t know because I haven’t read your file,’ he said bluntly.
Jane was surprised. ‘May I ask why not, sir, as I’m now one of your officers?’
Murphy ignored the question. ‘Tell me, Tennison – why do you think you’re here?’
‘Because of my proven abilities in a number of murder investigations and the IRA case. I was recommended by DCI Moran after I uncovered a dentist who was a serial killer in Peckham.’
He looked surprised. ‘That was your arrest? I remember the case in the papers. He murdered three women and a young man in Rye Lane, which the press started calling “The Murder Mile”, as I recall.’
‘That’s correct, sir, and—’
‘Didn’t the dentist kill himself before he stood trial?’
‘Unfortunately, yes.’
‘So technically he was never proven guilty of any crimes.’
‘Correct, but it was definitely him and there were certainly no more murders after his death.’
Murphy looked sceptical. ‘You may be a competent murder investigator – but have you ever arrested anyone for robbery?’
‘Yes, a few times when I worked at Peckham and Hackney.’
‘Street muggers, no doubt?’ He smirked.
‘Yes, but some of them used knives in the commission of the crimes.’
‘Were they pavement arrests or a result of your investigations?’
‘One was pavement during a team operation and the others were through good detective work.’
‘Flying Squad officers are renowned for their knowledge of the underworld and cultivating informants within it. “Snouts” are the jewel in the crown of our intelligence operations. Do you have any registered informants?’
‘No, sir, but I have been given information by people I have arrested, which has led to further arrests, convictions and the recovery of stolen property.’
‘How many years’ service have you got?’
‘Just over six and a half.’
‘And as a DS?’
‘Just over a year.’
Murphy toyed with his glass for a moment.
‘Apart from DC Baxter, who was also a police cadet, there are none of my team with less than ten years in the job. On top of that, Stanley has six years as a DS and the sergeant you replaced had been a DS for fifteen years. All of them are seasoned detectives . . . unlike you.’ He said the last word as if it left a nasty taste in his mouth.
Jane felt she was standing up for herself well but couldn’t help being a bit intimidated by his dismissal of her police record. Even though Murphy would have had to agree to her joining the Rigg Approach team, it was abundantly clear he thought she shouldn’t be on the Flying Squad and she wanted to know why.
‘I went through the selection process like everyone else who applied for the squad. There were many officers with more service than me who didn’t get selected. I was successful because of my abilities as a detective – not my length of service.’
He laughed dismissively, shaking his head.
Jane fought to control her anger.
‘If you don’t want me here, sir, why did you allow me to join your team?’
‘I don’t think you’d like the answer. Besides, you’re on the squad now so it doesn’t matter anyway.’
He took a sip of his whisky and a long drag on his cigarette.
But Jane was determined to get a straight answer.
‘Being frank and honest matters to me, sir. As a female officer I’ve put up with more than my fair share of insults and male chauvinism during my six years’ police service, so let me assure you, I’m not easily offended.’
He leant forward and looked her in the eye.
‘I don’t doubt that, but do I have your word that what I say goes no further than this room?’
‘I’m not one to complain about fellow officers, so if that’s what you want, then yes, I won’t say a word to anyone.’
‘I don’t have anything against you as a person, Tennison, and from what I was told you are a very competent divisional detective, but the truth is your appointment to the Flying Squad is nothing more than an experiment, which I personally disagreed with, but to no avail.’
He leant back in his chair to let her digest what he’d said.
She was surprised. ‘What do you mean, I’m an experiment?’
‘Have you heard of Commander Kenneth Drury?’
‘Yes, he was a former head of the Flying Squad, who was found guilty of corruption a few years ago.’
She wondered what on earth that had to do with her.
‘Several other officers were also arrested and convicted for taking bribes – a couple were from the Flying Squad, but the majority were from Obscene Publications and the Porn Squad. Have you heard of Operation Countryman?’
Jane nodded. ‘Yes, it’s an investigation by two county forces into police corruption in London. They recently arrested and interviewed some Flying Squad officers—’
He looked annoyed. ‘None of them were on my squad, and not one of the officers arrested has been charged with any offences. The fact is the whole Countryman investigation is a bloody farce, based on the uncorroborated word of a career criminal who has it in for the Flying Squad because he was caught committing armed robbery. The two county forces investigating are on a fucking crusade to find some dirt on the squad – and it’s pissing me off.’
He paused to light a cigarette.
Jane could understand Murphy not being happy about Countryman, but he seemed to be protesting a bit too much. It made her wonder if he knew, or suspected, Countryman were investigating members of his team.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t see what Operation Countryman has to do with me being an experiment.’
He inhaled deeply and blew the smoke out in Jane’s direction.
‘Some idiot in the Commissioner’s inner circle persuaded him having a woman on the squad might be a calming influence and make the men think twice before giving a suspect a slap, fitting them up or taking a bribe. The Commissioner decided a sergeant would be better as they have the authority of rank as well. Out of the sixteen WDS’s in the Met, you were the only one who applied to join the squad when my DS got a promotion.’
Jane tried to hide her shock. For a moment she wondered if he was making it up just to belittle her, but from the way he spoke it sounded true. She presumed Murphy had goaded her into demanding the truth, so she’d know the ‘experiment’ was not his idea.
‘Have you told me this in the hope that I’ll resign from the squad?’
He shrugged. ‘No, not at all. You asked me to tell you the truth, so I did. Personally I don’t think it’s fair on you to be put in a position where you will be out of your depth – but as I said, my hands were tied by the top brass.’
‘Is that why no one on the team knew I was starting today?’
‘Partly, but I can assure you none of them know the real reason you’re here. If I’d told them before you started there would have been uproar and I’d have had a barrage of questions wanting to know why . . . I probably still will, especially from the Colonel.’
Jane remembered Kingston asking her if she was Tennison when she first met him on the stairs that morning.
‘Does DI Kingston know about me being an experiment?’
‘Yes, but he’s the only one besides me. He believes what’s done is done, therefore we should accept it and move on.’
‘What will you tell the rest of the team if they ask why I was accepted for the squad?’
‘I know you’d like me to say it was on merit, but they’ll smell a rat as soon as they find out your length of service. They’ve got women in traffic patrol now, mounted branch also and in the dog section as handlers, so I’ll say the Metropolitan Women Police Association made a complaint to the Commissioner that none of the central squads had any females on it and—’
She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Thinking they have a token female in the office should fill them with bags of confidence about my detective abilities and leadership skills. It’s not much better than telling them I’m an experiment!’
‘Don’t get me wrong, Tennison. I don’t have a problem with woman police officers in the CID, and I appreciate they can often resolve a difficult situation with the least possible upset or confrontation – but that’s not a lot of use when a violent criminal is pointing a gun at you, is it?’
‘I won’t know until it happens – will I?’ she said, making it clear that she was staying put.
‘It won’t happen, because you won’t be on the front line during a pavement ambush.’
‘I want to be treated the same as my male counterparts—’
‘You’re not firearms trained—’
‘Then maybe you could send me on a firearms course . . . as another experiment,’ she added with deliberate sarcasm.
Murphy shook his head. ‘I don’t want my men worrying about your safety in an armed situation as it will reduce their effectiveness and put their lives at even greater risk. Even if the suspects weren’t armed, you’re not as strong as a man and could be badly injured in a one-on-one arrest situation.’
‘You should ask the rape suspect I put down with a kick to the groin if I can handle myself.’
‘That’s different – you were a decoy and no doubt had male backup close at hand. It’s true that when we carry out static observations on premises we think are about to be robbed, we can’t be sure the robbery will take place. But when it does, speed and surprise is of the essence on a pavement ambush – if you don’t want to get shot.’
‘I hear what you say, sir, but I won’t be going back to Division to appease you or anyone else on this squad. If you won’t let me be involved in arrests, can I be part of the surveillance team?’
‘The mobile surveillance team often find themselves in a position where they have to react quickly and some of them are armed. Have you done static observations before?’
She nodded, determined to persuade him she could be a useful asset to the squad.
‘Yes, both in premises and an observation van. Some of them were with DS Stanley, who, as you no doubt know, is an experienced and highly respected surveillance officer from whom I learnt a lot.’
Murphy paused, and Jane could feel her heart beating as the silence lengthened.
‘You’ve got balls, Tennison, I’ll give you that . . . I’m OK with you being a silent observer to start with, so you can see how we work – but if you fuck up, the experiment is over, and I will be the first to recommend your return to Division.’