going on, Mum?’ he asked, looking Jane up and down with disdain. She noticed his eyes were dark and penetrating.
Renee was sipping her tea so Jane took the opportunity to explain her presence.
‘I bumped into your mother and she had a bit of a shock, so I helped her home. My name is Jane Tennison.’ She put her hand out politely for him to shake.
He didn’t reciprocate, but gave her a cold arrogant glare and asked his mother brusquely if she was all right.
‘I had one of me asthma attacks, John,’ Renee said, a nervous tremble in her voice as if she was afraid of him.
Jane picked up on the uneasy atmosphere and tried to break the tension. ‘I made a pot of tea, would you like a cup?’
‘Really . . . moving in now, are you?’ he replied, and coming closer gripped Jane by her elbow.
‘Go on, get out . . . get the fuck OUT! Move it, PISS OFF NOW,’ he snapped, and virtually frogmarched her out of the room.
Pushing her hard in the small of her back he propelled her onto the communal landing, barely giving her time to grab her bag before he slammed the door behind her. Tempted to ring the doorbell to give him a piece of her mind, Jane then thought better of it. It wasn’t so much that he was large and intimidating, but she was already late for work and if things got out of hand she had no means of calling for backup.
John went into the lounge, pulled off his jacket and threw it onto the wing chair. He clenched his fist at his mother.
‘What you think you’re fuckin’ doing, you stupid old cow? I could slap you so hard right now.’
Renee cringed away from him looking terrified. ‘I’ll put the kettle back on and make a fresh cuppa . . . ’
He poked his finger at her. ‘I’d like to pour the boiling water over your stupid head. Don’t you know a bloody rozzer when you see one?’
Renee shook her head in fear.
‘Her fuckin’ handbag was in the hallway. I had a quick look and there was a police hat in it, you stupid bitch. She was wearing black tights and shiny black shoes – it all sticks out like a sore thumb. What in Christ’s name do ya think you were doin’?’
‘I’m sorry, son, I—’
‘She’s bloody snoopin’ around, that’s what she’s doing.’
‘I didn’t know, I swear before God I didn’t know! She almost knocked me off me feet in the street.’
He sighed as he went to the kitchen and got himself a can of beer from the fridge. Taking a large swig, he began to calm down. Maybe it was just his paranoia kicking in, but seeing the police hat had really infuriated him. His hand was shaking as he swigged down the rest of the can, crushed it and threw it into the bin. Feeling more relaxed he made a fresh mug of tea and took it through to his mother.
‘Here you go, I’ve sugared it. I’m sorry I kicked off, Ma, but I’m upset about your cleaning job and I don’t want you doing it no more. Besides, you’re getting your state pension now so ya don’t need to work anyway.’
‘But I like working and I got friends there—’
‘No buts, Ma, just do as I say. You stay put and no more visitors. You got everything you need and more right here.’
She cupped the mug in her hands and sipped. ‘I get lonely, John, and with you not working why can’t I carry on doing what I’ve done for most of your life?’
‘Listen to me. I’m not going to be staying here for much longer, and when I leave you can do what you like, but for now you do as I tell you. And if you see that bitch rozzer around here again, you tell me.’
*
By the time Jane arrived at the station she was an hour late. Her hair was bedraggled and dripping wet, the uniform under her coat was damp and her shoes were soaked through as well. She knew she would have to report to the duty sergeant, but wanted to smarten herself up a bit before the inevitable dressing down for being late and missing parade.
She stood outside the front of the imposing four-storey redbrick-and-white-stone building and realized that she’d have to pass the front counter and duty sergeant’s desk if she went in via the main entrance. She decided to go through the rear gates, so she could sneak down the stairs to the ladies’ locker room to tidy herself up. To her relief there was no one in the yard as she scuttled across it: the Vauxhall Viva panda cars must have all been out on patrol.
‘Tennison! Stop right there!’ a voice bellowed from the canteen window on the third floor.
Recognizing the voice of Sergeant Bill Harris, Jane froze on the spot.
‘What bloody time do you call this?’
Jane looked up slowly. ‘I’m really sorry, Sergeant, but I—’
‘No excuses. You’ve got two minutes to be in front of my desk in full uniform for inspection.’
Jane wished she had access to a hairdryer, but she didn’t have time to do anything with her hair. She tied it in a ponytail with a thin black band and pushed the sides up under her hat before running upstairs to the front office to present herself. Sergeant Harris, he of ‘thirty years’ experience’, as he constantly liked to remind everyone, was a hardened old-school copper who thought the recent amalgamation of the women’s police force with the men’s was ‘an outrageous bloody disgrace!’
Jane was certain that he would, as usual, find some tedious job for her. More often than not she found herself in the communications room processing calls and dispatching the patrol officers to incidents over the radio. Even when she got to go on patrol, if anything of interest came up she was bypassed, or worse ignored, thanks to Sergeant Harris’s hold and influence over the junior male constables below his rank.
As she stood to attention in the front office Harris walked around her shaking his head in disapproval.
‘Have you been using your hat as a cushion? You look like a drowned rat, you’ve got a filthy face, and what’s that all over your hands?’
‘Mud, Sergeant, from picking up potatoes.’
He leaned forward, his face close to hers. ‘Don’t be funny with me, Tennison.’
‘I was helping an elderly lady and—’
‘I don’t want to hear it. I’ve got officers helping the CID with a dead body, one who’s gone sick and I’ve had to post someone else to your beat. And to top it all, I’m havin’ to answer the duty desk phone and deal with the public at the front counter myself. I should be directing, not doing, Tennison.’
‘Sorry, Sergeant. Can I still go on patrol?’
‘No, you missed your chance by being late. I expect better, Tennison, and this incident won’t go unnoticed on your next probationer’s report. Now, get your backside into the comms room and help Morgan out. All the incoming message forms from the weekend and this morning need to be filed away.’
Jane
