‘Good thinking, Kath. Spence, check with uniform downstairs and with City of London Police as their patch borders the area. If the officer’s actions fit with the information “Eagle” relayed over the walkie-talkie then there’s even stronger evidence it’s the right location.’
‘We hope. There are other banks in that area with cafés nearby or next to them,’ Gibbs remarked.
Bradfield gave him a disapproving look and one of the detectives suggested a night-time raid on the café to catch them in the act.
Bradfield shook his head. ‘No, not at the moment. I want to keep up the surveillance and identify John Bentley’s team. We don’t know if they only go into the café on certain nights, so we need to sit, wait and watch first. By rushing it we risk blowing the whole operation and the Bentleys walking away scot-free.’
Gibbs sighed. ‘But if Bentley sussed the surveillance team then they’re already on to us, so a hit now might result in finding digging equipment, maps, the walkie-talkies or other incriminating evidence before they get a chance to dispose of it.’
Bradfield ignored him and took out some papers from his file and pinned them to the cork board.
‘This is a list of the teams I want you to work in and it also details the street position each obo van and vehicle should take up. Obviously I need to find surveillance premises in Great Eastern Street, but that’s not going to be easy if the car park is Bentley’s lookout point. Now let’s get out there, gather the evidence and build a watertight case to get these bastards put away for a long time. Are there any questions?’
The officers in the room looked at each other. He knew that there would be some that disagreed with his decisions and others who agreed with DS Gibbs, but as he expected no one argued with him. Everyone gathered round the list to see who they were working with. Bradfield leant over to Gibbs.
‘I’d like a word with you in my office.’
‘I’ll just contact City of London Police first and-’
‘Now, Spence,’ Bradfield said firmly and picked up his folder.
Gibbs followed Bradfield into his office where he slammed the file down on the desk and turned sharply.
‘Why are you being so negative and challenging my authority, Spence?’
‘I’m not… ’
‘You were questioning my decisions and pulling faces in the meeting and I won’t have it, especially not in front of junior officers,’ he shouted and paced up and down the room.
Gibbs could see he was really pissed off.
‘If it looked or sounded like that then I apologize, but all I’m trying to do is point out that you’re working on assumptions and no hard evidence. I’m worried you’re making things fit because it suits your thoughts on the investigation.’
‘Oh do you really! Well, thank you for that, but I know what I’m doing. And one other thing: lay off Jane Tennison about the Bentleys. You know as well as I do she’s not in with any criminals or taking backhanders like some I could name in that CID office. If she hadn’t met the mother by chance then we wouldn’t have had anything to go on.’
‘You’re being a bit overprotective.’
‘What?’
‘Well, seems to me that maybe your judgement’s a bit off because you have the hots for her. I mean no offence.’
‘I do take fuckin’ offence, Spence. She’s got the makings of a good copper – and don’t forget she was prepared to back your corner when you smacked the shit out of Terry O’Duncie.
‘I fucking lied for you, so you owe me and I expect you to back me up over this Bentley thing from now on. Find that PC their lookout saw with the drunk, and see if we can get a light aircraft or military ’copter to fly over the café today to get some aerial snaps of the rear yard.’
Jane changed into plain clothes before an officer drove her to the Pembridge Estate. Having never been on surveillance before she was quite excited, and knew she could learn a lot from the other officer, who was a surveillance specialist. She was dropped off around the corner from the obo van, which had been painted to look as though it was a wholesale fruit and veg delivery van. She approached it, remembering what she had been told to do. She scanned the vicinity to make sure it was all clear before standing by the rear offside wheel and knocking on the side of the van: two short taps, three, then another two. The officer inside opened one rear door and she darted into the back.
The sudden impact of the smell nearly made her sick. It was a mixture of stale sweat, beer, cigarettes and urine. The interior of the old transit van was dimly lit by the square-light inlet in the roof. Jane could see it was pretty basic – two rickety wooden benches with storage space under them ran along either side, and on top were the same thin, tatty stained mattresses and blankets that prisoners used. At the far end was a little stool beside a small desk with a newspaper on it, a torch hanging on a nail from the side. Above it was a police radio, microphone and headset which he held to one ear as he leaned forward and peered through one of the spy holes.
