She walked into her kitchen where the new fridge freezer was still in its wrapping, next to the washing machine. She had purchased it so that she would no longer have to go to the launderette, but had no notion of how to plumb it in.

  She put the kettle on the hob and, feeling peckish, decided she’d make some cheese on toast. But the bread was mouldy, and the sliced cheese looked unappetising. She would have to go to Bickley’s Best, the small local corner shop a five-minute walk away.

  Jane was already on good terms with the Caribbean owner who ran the shop with his wife and nephews. Winston greeted her warmly as she entered.

  ‘Good evening, Jane.’

  She gathered a sliced loaf, a block of cheddar cheese and a tin of baked beans and put them down on the checkout counter.

  ‘Having a party, are we?’ he said, with a mischievous grin. Jane turned and took down a bottle of vodka from the shelf next to her.

  ‘I wasn’t, but I will now. Do you have any tonic water?’

  ‘It’s on the opposite side, with the soft drinks.’

  As she picked up a large bottle of Indian tonic water, she noticed the board with advertisements for flats to rent, along with numerous cards for interior decorators and plumbers, including one very professional-looking flyer for Fraser & Son.

  She turned to Winston. ‘These electricians . . . can you recommend them?’

  He nodded enthusiastically. ‘I most certainly can. They fixed up my nephew’s garage with strip lights. He also had a lot of problems with his garage doors, but they sorted it really good. And if you want any decorating done, Dwight – the card next to theirs – is very professional.’

  Jane jotted the number down. She paid for her groceries and by the time she got home, felt in need of a vodka and tonic, only to discover the ice box in the old fridge would need a hammer and chisel to get any ice out.

  Although it was now early evening, she put in a call to Fraser & Son, noting that their address was local, in Bromley. The answer-phone clicked on and she listened to the message.

  ‘You have called Fraser & Son electrical engineers. Our office hours are Monday to Friday 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Please leave your name and number and we will return your call as soon as possible. Let us know if you need urgent assistance.’

  Jane left a message saying that she could wait until Monday. Hopefully by then she would know which station she was going to be working from.

  At half past seven, having consumed two large vodka and tonics, Jane got a call back from the electrician to arrange an appointment for nine o’clock on Sunday morning. Mr Fraser said that he would give her an estimate for checking her wiring and suggested that the washing machine might require a plumber, but his son would be able to recommend someone.

  Jane thought about getting a second estimate from another electrician but decided to wait until she had met Mr Fraser. In the meantime, she began reorganising the kitchen to make room for the new appliances.

  *

  At half past six on Sunday morning the foreman, John Bishop, was the first to arrive at the building site in Stockwell. The site was surrounded by high corrugated-iron fences and Bishop began removing the chains from the corrugated gate. He was expecting three skips to be delivered for clearing the large garden of the five-storey house that was being demolished, after a series of delays caused by the council.

  It still amazed him that the huge Victorian house, with its neglected half-acre garden, was still standing in the middle of this redeveloped area. It was going to take considerable time to clear the dense overgrowth and ancient trees, as well as the large rotting greenhouse which was only being held up by the overgrown plants and weeds growing inside. If there had ever been a path from the back of the house, it could no longer be seen. Also on his schedule was the demolition of an old air-raid shelter situated, according to the council plans, almost in the centre of the large overgrown garden.

  The demolition team began arriving at seven, and the large digging equipment to clear the garden was due to be arriving on a heavy loading lorry at eight. It was an exceedingly costly project, and they were under pressure to get the land cleared as soon as possible so the new owners could begin building a block of flats on the site.

  Bishop had given the men orders that as soon as the skips were full, they were to be taken away immediately and replaced with empty ones, knowing it would take several loads to clear that volume of debris. But if they could complete the garden clearance by the afternoon, then use the same team to demolish the air-raid shelter, they should be on schedule. When he had been overseeing the demolition of the house itself, he had been astonished at the size of the basement which, according to the council, had been off-limits to the tenants, along with the garden. No wonder it was such a jungle, he thought.

  *

  As soon as Edward Fraser, the son in the electrical firm Fraser & Son, walked into Jane’s kitchen he had told her that she would require a plumber, as her new washing machine would need to be plumbed in by drilling through the wall to connect the water pipe to the mains. On the other hand, connecting her new fridge freezer was a very simple matter. His main concern, though, was that the kitchen’s electrical circuits had probably been installed when the house had been built in the 1930s.

  Jane stood in the kitchen doorway. ‘Are you saying I can’t just plug it in?’

  ‘Usually you can do that, but I think with your electrics you might have some major problems. I need more time to check all the wiring. I noticed that there was a dimmer switch in your hallway.’

  Jane nodded. ‘Yes. It doesn’t work, though. How long would it take to rewire everything in the kitchen?’

  Edward Fraser had never come across anyone quite like Jane Tennison. She seemed to be absolutely clueless, and when he showed her some of the damaged wires she became quite agitated.

  ‘I haven’t been living here very long. Are you saying that I could have been electrocuted?’

  He smiled reassuringly. ‘No, I’m just saying that it would be wise for you to have your kitchen rewired. I need to take up the floor-boards and check underneath, but you’ve got considerable damp around your sink unit. If you’re going to have a washing machine installed you really need to check the existing plumbing too.’

  Jane was beginning to get annoyed. She knew she had got the house at a very good price, even though she had been told by her solicitor that the property needed some renovation. Now she was in a quandary as to how much trust she could put in this electrician, Edward Fraser, or whether should she get a second opinion.

  ‘Can you give me an estimate for the works?’ she asked.

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘What estimate do you want? For rewiring? For checking the damp as well? And as I said, I think you should get a professional plumber in for the washing machine.’

  ‘Do you think you could give me an estimate for the whole thing, and if you know a good plumber then perhaps he could come to the house to quote. At the moment I have a kitchen that I’m rather afraid to use.’

  Edward looked pointedly at his watch and said that he had another job to go to, but he would be able to fax her his estimate and would make enquiries with a friend of his who was a professional plumber.

  Jane sighed. ‘I don’t have a fax machine here.’ And she could have added that at the moment she didn’t even know where she would be working from.

  They eventually agreed that he would come back later in the afternoon with his friend, and together they would give her the estimate to complete all the necessary work.

  *

  Eight skips had now been filled with the debris from the garden in Stockwell, but the work was continuing, with a digger trying to break down the roots that had once belonged to an enormous oak tree. The tree itself had taken considerable time to cut down, and Bishop had now assigned six men to the clearing process as he was concerned they were falling behind schedule – not to mention the numerous complaints about the traffic disruption the work was causing. The police had been called out every time the full skips had been removed because they blocked most of the main road.

  His hard hat on, Bishop was now talking to the representative of the new owners of the property, who told him that many of the old Victorian bricks should be put in storage as they were quite valuable. Holding his clipboard in his left hand, Bishop said they would need scaffolding to be erected on the standing walls, but he could make sure the bricks were salvaged.

  Bishop heard a shout and turned to see one of the men working on the gardens clearly in a distressed state. ‘There’s almost been a fatal accident,’ he explained breathlessly. Bishop, keen to end the conversation, followed his worker back to the garden.

  The ten-foot-high corrugated fencing which had been erected around the half-acre site had been pulled down to allow the diggers to enter. Bishop stood in shock as he was told that a large crater had appeared in the ground, and the digger had almost tipped into it. When the machine backed away, it had clipped the side of the now partially visible air-raid shelter. Bishop made his way around the crater as the men gathered, all looking down. It appeared that at one time it had been some kind of tunnel as they could see part of a concrete wall. He instructed the men to stop working as he checked through the plans on his clipboard. He was surprised at the size of the air-raid shelter as the measurements didn’t correspond with his plans, and there was certainly no reference to any kind of tunnel.

  Bishop was joined by Tom, the worker who had been overseeing the clearance of the garden, a huge man also wearing a hard hat. ‘I reckon we need to take a look inside the shelter,’ he told Bishop. ‘I’m worried more craters could appear, and my team can’t work safely.’

  The shelter had what looked like a heavy garden door, with iron studs and hinges, secured by a large chain. Another worker appeared with a jack to break open the chain and the three of them heaved open the door, releasing a dreadful stench of mould and sewage. Wincing, Bishop stepped gingerly into the first chamber and was again surprised at the size of it. There were old tables, chairs, cupboards storing tinned food, lamps and candles. Shining a powerful torch beam, Bishop made his way to an archway.

  ‘None of this is on the bloody plans I’ve got,’ he muttered, shaking his head. ‘This place is twice the size that’s indicated.’

  There were four steps down to the second chamber where there was an array of old iron bedsteads stacked with blankets and pillows, all of them green with mildew. He shone the torch towards another door and could see the debris from where the digger had struck the outer corner. From the first chamber Tom called out that they needed to be careful that the shelter didn’t collapse. Bishop moved cautiously further in and then almost dropped the torch in shock. There was a corpse lying on the mattress of a small cot bed.

  He gasped. ‘Jesus, God! Tom, you better get the police here. There’s a bloody dead body. I’m coming out.’

  Bishop had not stayed long enough to note that the grotesquely shrivelled victim was female, what remained of her long blonde hair spread like a halo around her skull. Nor did he notice the worst horror. The dead woman was chained to the bed.

  First published in 1997 by Macmillan

  This ebook edition published in 2022 by

  ZAFFRE

  An imprint of Bonnier Books UK

  4th Floor, Victoria House, Bloomsbury Square, London WC1B 4DA

  Owned by Bonnier Books

  Sveavägen 56, Stockholm, Sweden

  Copyright © La Plante Global Ltd, 2022

  Cover design by Bonnier Books UK Art Dept.

  Cover photographs © David R./Alamy Stock Photo

  The moral right of Lynda La Plante to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright,

  Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN: 978-1-80418-104-1

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-80418-103-4

  This book was typeset by Palimpsest Book Production Ltd, Falkirk, Stirlingshire

  This ebook was created by IDSUK (Data Connection) Ltd

  Zaffre is an imprint of Bonnier Books UK

  www.bonnierbooks.co.uk

 

 

  Lynda La Plante, Trial and Retribution

 

 

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