Jane finished the few bits she had left to do and was about to make her way down to the front office when she stopped to look at the photographs of Julie Ann pinned to the board on the wall. She stared at the beautiful face of the young girl before she had become addicted to heroin. The picture next to it, taken at the post-mortem, was covered by a piece of paper which Jane lifted back to reveal Julie Ann’s drug-ravaged body. The marks on her neck were horrific, but her bulging eyes and swollen tongue caused by the strangulation were the most sickening sight. Jane hoped Kath was right about Boyle. Whoever had done this to Julie Ann deserved to be caught and put away for a very long time.
Jane shook herself and went downstairs. She found Sergeant Harris who, apologizing, said he needed her to continue covering the front desk. She knew he was deliberately making her do it, but was determined not to show any of the antagonism she felt towards him.
She simply smiled. ‘Yes, of course, Sergeant Harris.’ He had never mentioned the recovered money and Jane’s property-store lists; in fact since the incident he had been surprisingly polite when speaking to her, which made her feel even more suspicious. Jane wondered if he was just biding his time before doing something else to try to make her look bad.
An hour passed with no one attending the station counter and Jane was feeling quite bored. She sat down at the desk and remembering DS Gibbs’s advice at the squat raid started to read the weekly published ‘General Orders and Regulations’. She’d just become engrossed by a list giving details of which officers had been sacked or fined for misconduct when the front-desk phone rang. Jane picked it up, asking how she could help the caller. She listened as someone on the other end with a squeaky voice rambled on, not letting her get a word in.
She took the phone from her ear, held her hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Sergeant Harris who was sitting at the duty desk typing up a report.
‘Sarge, I don’t know if I should take this call seriously or not.’
‘We take every call seriously, Tennison – what’s it about?’
‘Sounds weird… he said something about picking up a conversation on his radio at home about a robbery.’
Sergeant Harris pursed his lips.
‘Well, that’s a new one on me, bloody time-waster – give it here.’
He got up from his desk and went over to Jane who handed over the phone.
‘This is Duty Sergeant William Harris. Please slow down, son, if you’d just… ’
Jane smiled, realizing Harris was having the same difficulty understanding the caller.
He shook his head and raised his eyebrows. ‘Just you listen up, son. Unfortunately we have had a serious incident that requires every officer’s urgent attention. Please call back later.’
He put down the phone.
‘I thought we took all calls seriously?’ Jane said, wondering if she was chancing her luck with a flippant remark.
‘Not with squeaky nutters, we don’t.’
The door to the charge room opened. Gibbs walked out and crooked his finger to Jane.
‘If I find out that lipstick joke is anything to do with you, you’ll be sorry.’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about, Sarge,’ Jane said.
‘Yeah, neither did Kath, but I’ll find out, I’ll bloody find out.’
‘What was he talking about?’ Harris asked.
Jane shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Sergeant.’
DS Gibbs went to speak with Bradfield while Kath booked Boyle in at the station. Bradfield had moved fast after Kath had explained about the money and a paddy wagon had been sent to Brixton Prison to collect Boyle and bring him back to the station. Boyle had asked Gibbs, who was accompanying him, why he was being taken back to Hackney and Gibbs had replied that there were more break-ins they needed to speak to him about.
‘He was really edgy and sweating. I made up a couple of addresses and he said he’d broken in and nicked money from them. Kath Morgan was spot on. He’s definitely hiding something if he’s confessing to crimes that don’t exist.’
‘Who’s his brief?’ Bradfield asked.
‘Like last time, doesn’t want one. Might change his mind when he finds out why he’s really here.’
‘Fuck him if he does. I’ll get the files together, you bring Boyle up and tell Kath Morgan she can sit in on the interview with you and me.’
Ten minutes later Gibbs and Kath brought Boyle into Bradfield’s office, sat him down and removed his handcuffs. He was unshaven, his face covered in acne, and nasty boils were visible on his neck above the prison-issue shirt. Bradfield got up and stood beside Boyle, placing a photograph of Julie Ann down on the table in front of him.
‘Do you recognize this woman?’ Bradfield asked quietly, leaning over so his face was close to Boyle’s.
Boyle didn’t answer.
‘Kenneth Boyle, I am arresting you for the murder of Julie Ann Collins. You are not obliged to say anything, but what you say may be given in evidence.’
Boyle wiped his sweaty brow with his nicotine-stained fingers and was about to say something when Bradfield interrupted him.
