PC Donaldson handed Jane another index card for a Clifford Bentley, aged seventy-two. He explained her fear probably stemmed from her old man, ‘Cliffy’ as he was known, knocking her about before he got a ten-stretch in Wormwood Scrubs.
‘He’s real handy with his fists, but more as a renowned bare-knuckle fighter. At one time he associated with the Kray twins as a bag man collecting protection money.’
‘What did he go to prison for last time?’
‘The Sweeney got a tip-off from a snout and nicked him on the pavement,’ he said.
Seeing the look of puzzlement on Jane’s face Donaldson explained that ‘snout’ meant informant and ‘the Sweeney’ was the Met’s flying squad nickname from the Cockney rhyming slang ‘Sweeney Todd’. The unit had no boundaries and operated all across London investigating commercial armed robberies. Clifford Bentley was arrested whilst trying to rob a security van during a bank-cash collection and he’d have got a much longer prison sentence if the gun had been real and loaded. Donaldson remarked that it wasn’t Clifford’s usual style, but rumour had it he urgently needed cash to pay the Krays off on a gambling debt.
‘What happened to the informant?’
‘Don’t know, but word has it he’s part of a concrete pillar somewhere.’
‘Is John Bentley a builder?’ Jane asked, recalling seeing the power tools brochures in Renee’s kitchen.
‘Could be, but like I said he’s been clean for a while and can turn his hand to anything.’
‘What does the brother David do?’
Donaldson handed Jane his index card. ‘Not a lot after he smashed his legs up. Good few years back he was out with his dad and brother nicking lead off a church roof when night-duty CID caught them red-handed. David tried to do a runner: silly bugger jumped off the roof and broke his legs badly. Big sob story at the trial as he was in a wheelchair. His barrister played the sympathy card, the soft judge fell for it and David got a light sentence.’
Jane looked at David Bentley’s card and saw that the arresting officer was the then Detective Sergeant Bradfield. ‘Can I take these cards with me to have a look-over?’ PC Donaldson explained that no one was allowed to remove the cards from his office, but she could make notes if she wanted. The other alternative was to order copies of their criminal records on microfiche from Scotland Yard. Jane said not to bother and that she had just been curious after meeting the over-aggressive John Bentley the day before.
‘Well, good on you. Always good to do research for yer knowledge, and any time you want to know who’s who, you come to me.’
Jane got the Vicks VapoRub from Kath’s tray. She was making her way to the mortuary when DCI Bradfield sped into the station yard in his light blue Ford Zephyr, causing her to jump out of the way as he pulled up abruptly into a parking bay. He got out of the car, said nothing to her, but simply nodded. She could see from the look on his face that he was not in the best of moods. He strode ahead of Jane forcing her to hurry in his wake, and she was almost clipped in the chest as he pushed open the door to the mortuary and went towards the coroner’s assistant’s office. He held up his hand in a gesture for her to wait behind him, then opened the door and peered in.
‘DCI Bradfield. Are they ready to go with the PM on my murder victim?’ he asked.
Jane heard a murmured reply, and then Bradfield closed the door.
‘Follow me,’ he said abruptly, walking down the corridor and banging open the swing doors to the examination room as if he was on some sort of mission. He patted his pocket for his cigarette pack and stuck one into his mouth then paused to light it, leaving a trail of smoke behind him.
The awful putrid smell in the room hit Jane instantly and made her gag. The head mortician was finishing stitching up the decomposing body of an elderly man on a white porcelain examination table. She had been warned about the smell by Kath, but hadn’t expected it to be so bad. Opening Kath’s jar of Vicks she put some on her finger and rubbed it below her nostrils.
‘That’s not a very bright idea, luv,’ the mortician said with a touch of sarcasm.
Jane noticed Bradfield raising his eyebrows and shaking his head as if she was dim.
‘Sorry, what’s not a bright idea?’ she asked, wondering what was so amusing.
‘The menthol in the Vicks clears your nasal passages so you’ll be able to smell even better now.’
‘She’s a probationer… first PM,’ Bradfield said, grinning, and the mortician laughed, saying he thought as much.
Jane felt silly and realized that she was the butt of the joke Gibbs had initially intended to play on Kath.
