Tennison полностью

‘That depends on what your brother has to say when I nick him, but for now you ain’t going anywhere until I find him. DS Gibbs will take you down the cells.’

No sooner had Bradfield finished the interview with Anjali than he received a phone call informing him that the surveillance unit had lost Dwayne Clark and he hadn’t returned to his address in Chalk Farm. DS Gibbs had expected Bradfield to be livid with him but was surprised at how calm he was under the circumstances. The reality was he knew they’d find Dwayne again, but his priority was to find Terrence O’Duncie and hopefully collar the so-called ‘Big Daddy’ for the murder of Julie Ann and Eddie. He told Jane to get on to Camden Council and ask where all the squats were located in Primrose Hill and in particular any old four-storey houses. They knew by now that the phone number attached to the note DS Gibbs had copied from Dwayne was that of a call box located in Primrose Hill.

It didn’t take Jane long to get a result. There was a four-storey terraced house that had been occupied by a number of ‘hippie types’ for eighteen months. The premises were in King Charles Road and had been empty and boarded up for five years before the squatters moved in. The street was expensive and fashionable, the local residents all very wealthy people, and although many had complained to the council there was nothing they could do under ‘squatters’ rights’. Also the previous occupant had died and no known next of kin had as yet been traced. The local uniform officers had visited the premises a couple of times due to loud-noise complaints, but the squatters had always been apologetic and polite. The house had even been raided on one occasion after an anonymous drugs tip-off but nothing had been found.

‘Where’s WPC Morgan?’ Bradfield asked Jane.

‘She’s in court this afternoon with the burglar she arrested.’

‘Right, you’ll have to come with us then. No doubt be a few women and kids in the place so I’ll need a plonk for the gentle touch if it starts kicking off.’

Jane hated it when her male colleagues referred to female officers as ‘plonks’. It was insulting, and even more so to think that only the women should have to play nanny to kids. However, she bit back a retort, glad to be able to gain further experience by going on the raid to arrest a suspect for Julie Ann’s murder.

The tall grey-bricked Victorian terraced house occupied by the squatters was close to the Regent’s Canal, where the body of Eddie Phillips had been found. The building, with its sash windows and black wrought-iron fencing, was the same shape and size as all the others in the street. The only things that marked it out from its neighbours were the cracked, peeling paintwork and the unwashed windows. Two rake-thin young white males were sitting outside it on the grimy steps leading up to the front porch and smoking cigarettes. One had bright, red-dyed hair like David Bowie, and was wearing skintight flared trousers with patches and embroidered flowers, and a floral shirt with frills. The other pasty-faced kid had frizzy hair, and his skintight cat suit, worn with high wedged boots, made him look as if he had just left the stage of the musical Hair. Two young girls came out and sat with the boys, sharing the cigarettes. Their hair was braided and one girl had flowers either side of her head. They were equally pale-faced, with heavy dark mascara and black liner round their eyes. Their floating long dresses had layers of beads and their wrists were covered in cheap bangles. Both girls had filthy bare feet. Two small children in dirty vests, and one in a sodden towelling nappy, were playing with coloured marbles on the pavement.

Blasting out from an open window on the top floor was the Jimi Hendrix song ‘All Along The Watchtower’, and it was obvious some of the youngsters were stoned. They laughed as Bradfield, followed by Gibbs then Jane, headed up the steps to the front door. When Bradfield showed his warrant card they applauded and started making grunting noises like a pig. He wasn’t in the mood for their bad attitude and lack of respect.

‘Unless you all want to be nicked and your kids taken into care I suggest you shut up, behave and answer my questions, starting with… Is Terry O’Duncie in?’

No one said anything.

‘You might also know him as Big Daddy? So, last time I’ll ask… Is he in the house?’

A child no older than six spoke up and said that Terry was in bed sleeping and his mother pulled him towards her and told him to shut up.

‘Out of the mouths of babes,’ Bradfield said and laughed as he pulled out two photographs from his inside jacket pocket then held them up for the group to see. One was of Julie Ann and the other of Eddie Phillips.

‘Any of you ever seen these two kids here?’