Hidden Killers. Lynda La plante

the section house and try everything on.

      ‘I have to go, Mum, but thanks for all your help.’

      ‘Well, I hope it’s a fun party, dear . . . Daddy and I will get all these other things to the Salvation Army . . . not that I think any of their people would want to wear some of Pam’s clothes. She used to worry me so much . . . all those flared trousers and skimpy tops.’

      ‘Bye, Mum.’

      Jane stuffed the wig and makeup into the same bag as the clothes and left her mother still packing everything else away.

      By the time she returned to the section house it was almost 6 p.m. On her bed she laid out a miniskirt, a sequined stretch boob tube, a maroon padded bra, a pair of fishnet tights and the awful fake patent leather boots. She had also taken a frilly blouse, some blue plastic hooped earrings and an array of bangles and beads. Jane brushed the dark auburn wig to get some of the tangles out, then pinned back her own hair and pulled the wig on. It hung down to her shoulders and, looking at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t believe how different it made her appear. She put on the frilly blouse and then discarded it for a red boob tube, pulling it down to put on the padded bra and eventually showing a lot of cleavage. She smiled, thinking how her mother would have had a heart attack if she could see what she looked like.

      After Jane had pulled on the fishnet tights and zipped up the leather miniskirt, she had to stand on a chair to see herself in the sink mirror. She decided against the miniskirt and tried on a pair of dark green velvet hot pants instead. Climbing back onto the chair to check the outfit, she had a déjà vu moment. When she had first started her probation at Hackney, there had been the wretchedly sad investigation into the murder of a young prostitute called Julie Ann Collins. It was strange for Jane to recall how she had reacted when she had first seen the Polaroid crime scene photographs of the murdered girl. The seventeen-year-old Julie Ann, a heroin addict, had been wearing boots and hot pants when her body had been discovered.

      The memory triggered a sudden wave of sadness as images of Kath and DCI Bradfield sprung back into her mind. Jane had to clench her hands into fists to fight back unexpected tears. She didn’t want to remember them, not now, not when she was about to begin undercover work. It could jeopardise her chances of gaining a much longed-for place in the CID. She became angry with herself for being emotional, and as she had done so often before, she refused to let herself cry. It felt as if someone was squeezing her heart and she had to force herself to take slow, deep breaths until the pressure subsided. She had told no one about these ‘attacks’, which were now less frequent, and she was certain she was capable of controlling them.

      Jane stepped down from the chair and took out all of Pam’s makeup, spreading it out on her small writing desk: the pale pink lipstick, the rouge and pots of eye shadows, and sticks of pan makeup. Pam had been quite a rebellious teenager, and Jane couldn’t help smiling at how different they were. Perhaps it was just as well that Pam had started work in the salon straight from school and had met her husband and married so young, or she might have ended up going off the rails. Sisters they may be, but they had very little in common. Since Pam had got married and Jane had moved into the section house, they rarely saw each other.

      It took Jane several attempts, using a small magnifying mirror, to stick on the false eyelashes. She had never worn them before, and found the tiny tube of glue very fiddly. She used one of the darker sticks of pan to cover her face and work into her neck as Pam had shown her. There was no makeup brush, so she had to apply the rouge with a tissue. Jane chose a blue eye shadow and then wet the mascara from the tap at her washbasin and applied two thick coats, being careful not to unstick the eyelashes. She spent a long time checking her reflection and then lastly put on the pale pink lipstick.

      It was nearly 7 p.m. and Jane realized she’d better get a move on as she didn’t want to be late for the briefing in the CID office. She began to feel almost satisfied with her appearance until she realized that it was going to be quite cold as she would be out late, so she tied the blouse she had discarded in a knot around her waist. She realized it wouldn’t be warm enough but she reckoned the adrenalin rush of working undercover would keep her from feeling the cold. Finally, she clipped on the big hoop earrings and pulled the cheap bracelets onto her wrists. She rather hesitantly looked at her police issue shoulder bag, but knowing she wouldn’t be using it, she picked up the plastic makeup bag that belonged to Pam and popped her warrant card inside. It had a floral print and a zip and she could use it as her purse.

      Jane practised walking up and down the length of her small room. The boots made it difficult as the plastic kept rubbing her knees, and she had to constantly pull up the flap at the top. They were platform and had a stacked wedge heel, making it very hard to walk properly and mimic a confident ‘hooker’s stride’, swinging her hips and turning her head as if looking for punters.

      Jane continued to increase her confidence by practising her new role on the bus journey from the section house back to the station. To begin with, she was very nervous and self-conscious, wondering if anyone would recognize her or try to approach her. In recent months she had arrested several Toms for soliciting and she remembered how they gave a ‘cold shoulder’ steely eyed look when questioned. For her journey to work Jane had taken off the earrings and bracelets and was wearing her black raincoat over her disguise. She went into the station via the back entrance in case anyone saw her walking in by the front counter. As she walked along the corridor to the locker room two uniform officers stopped to question her.

      ‘Oi, what d’you think you’re doin’ on police premises, luv?’

      ‘The same as you, luv . . . it’s me, WPC Tennison . . . want to see my ID?’

      One of them muttered ‘Fuckin’ Ada’, as they both moved off sharply down the corridor. The fact that they had not recognized her gave Jane a boost.

      While storing her coat in her locker Jane had another moment of déjà vu. It was over something completely unconnected, but after being confident about controlling her emotions, this came on so strongly she had to brace herself. Jane had forgotten to spray on any perfume, and she had a visualization of Kath and her heavy French scent, which all the men used to tease her about. Kath had once sprayed Jane with it to get rid of the smell of Dettol from the first post-mortem she had attended.

      Her recollection was suddenly interrupted by a loud knock on the locker room door, and DI Moran’s voice.

      ‘Two rather stunned uniform lads just said they’d seen you in the corridor . . . all right if I come in and have a look?’

      ‘Yes, sir,’ Jane said, brushing herself down and shaking her head so the wig would look better.

      ‘My God, you look the part . . . especially the sequined boob tube, which is very revealing,’ he said, his eyes transfixed on her, adding, ‘This is for you.’ He tossed her a pale blue waist length rabbit fur coat.

      ‘It’ll be pretty cold out there so you’ll need something to keep you warm that goes with the rest of the gear. It’s evidence in a handling case, but for now it’s yours.’ Jane gratefully put on the cheap rabbit fur jacket, which reeked of patchouli oil.

      ‘I’ll just check my makeup and then I’ll be up for the briefing, sir.’

      ‘Your makeup’s fine. I’d like to get out on the plot, so I’ll brief you in the obo van. Get the duty sergeant to book you out with us . . . the obo van is in the yard.’ Jane clipped on the earrings and went to the front office where Sergeant Rodgers was sitting at the duty desk. She liked Sergeant Rodgers. Unlike Harris he had a sense of humour and didn’t bark out orders. He nearly fell off his seat when he saw Jane, but she was quick to identify herself to him and reassure him that she was not

      a trespasser in the station.

      ‘Bloody hell, you look lovely, Tennison. Harris said you were getting dressed up for a UC job, but I never imagined you looking anything like this.’

      Jane smiled, but realized he wasn’t joking as he stared at her in admiration.

      ‘Fancy me, do you, Sarge?’

      ‘I dunno how you done it