Good Friday

Chapter Ten

Jane’s alarm woke her at seven. It was the first time since the explosion that she had slept soundly and she went out into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee, then returned to her bedroom. There was no sound from Pearl’s bedroom, so Jane went into the bathroom to use the toilet and brush her teeth. She went back to her bedroom to get dressed, then brushed her hair and applied a little make-up.

She was ready to leave just after quarter to eight, and there was still no sound of movement from Pearl’s bedroom. Jane hesitated outside the door, wondering if she should knock and let Pearl know that she was leaving. Having a flatmate was taking some getting used to. Suddenly there was the shrill ring of a loud alarm clock bell, followed by a screech.

‘Fuckin’ hell!’ Pearl came hurtling out of the bedroom. ‘My God, I should have been up half an hour ago! I must have set the wrong time on my alarm clock!’

‘I’m just leaving for Woolwich,’ Jane said, opening the front door.

‘What?’

‘I have to be at the lab early this morning.’

‘Could I borrow your hairdryer? I keep meaning to get myself one.’

Jane hurried back to her bedroom and took her hairdryer out from her wardrobe.

‘Just leave it in the kitchen, will you?’ she said as she closed the bedroom door.

‘Right, yes… OK… See you tonight then. That bloody alarm bell gives me heart failure when it goes off.’

As Jane closed the front door, Pearl was thumping around the kitchen fixing her breakfast. Jane heard the fridge door being slammed shut and crockery and cutlery clanking as drawers were opened and shut. As she went down the stairs she began to feel a little bit unsure of whether flat-sharing with Pearl was going to be a positive experience. She hoped Pearl would leave the kitchen in a better state than she had the bathroom.

As agreed the previous evening, DS Dexter drew up in front of Jane’s block, in an unmarked CID car, at exactly eight o’clock. He leaned over and opened the passenger door for Jane to get in.

‘Morning,’ he said, tetchily.

‘Morning!’ Jane replied, wondering if she’d done something to upset him.

As Dexter drove through Regent’s Park he said nothing. Jane broke the ice by asking about what she thought might be bothering him.

‘Did you speak with Crowley about me showing Daphne Millbank the artist’s sketch.’

‘Yes, last night. He was really pissed off… we had a bit of a slanging match, but he calmed down after I told him that showing Daphne the artist’s sketch was unavoidable.’

Jane looked concerned. ‘What did you tell him?’

‘That Daphne had seen the artist’s sketch in the paper and told you it didn’t look like the man she saw with the rucksack. You then, quite rightly, showed her the sketch to see if she changed her mind, but she didn’t… So he now thinks it was all above board and not your fault.’

‘Thanks, but you didn’t need to lie for me.’

‘It’s more like I bent the truth a little. Crowley is under immense pressure. He knows what he did was wrong, not that he’d ever admit it. He was hoping that the sketch would lead to the discovery and arrest of the IRA man in the surveillance photo. He bent the truth hoping the end would justify the means.’

‘I understand what you’re saying, but it’s still left me in an awkward and vulnerable position.’

‘I know, but my advice would be to let it go. If we get the man Crowley’s after then he may lead us to the whole ASU, and vice versa if we get the man Daphne described. Do you think you actually saw the same suspect as Daphne?’

‘I’m not 100 per cent sure, but it makes sense that I did… Then again maybe it’s like you said… there was another man acting as lookout who caught my eye and he was the one I chased.’

‘It’s possible, Jane, but don’t beat yourself up about it, we’ll get the bastards responsible.’

Dexter headed towards St John’s Wood, before driving towards Belsize Park and Hampstead.

‘I thought we were going to Woolwich?’ said Jane. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Daphne’s place in Hampstead. I’ve got a couple of guys checking it over to make sure it’s secure. If the IRA have got wind she exists they might have been to her house… I’m also having an alarm put in that’s linked to the Central Control Room at Scotland Yard.

Dexter eventually turned off into an area with expensive large houses, many of which had been divided into flats whose gardens overlooked Hampstead Ponds. It was clearly an affluent area and Dexter slowed down as he drove along Nesbitt Avenue. He parked the car and waited for Jane to get out before locking it and striding ahead of her towards number 16.

The glass-panelled front door had a row of doorbells next to it. Dexter pressed the ground floor bell, which had ‘D. Millbank’ neatly printed on the name plate. The door was opened by a plainclothes officer in his mid-thirties. He had red hair and was wearing jeans and a loose jacket over a T-shirt.

‘Anything of interest, Johnny?’ Dexter asked.

‘Not yet, Al. We got in with a set of skeleton keys, did a clean sweep of the entry hall, back door and French windows… there’s no sign of any forced entry.’

Dexter and Jane followed Johnny into the house. The wide, mosaic-tiled floor was well swept and there was a polished mahogany table in the centre for the occupants’ mail and deliveries. The door of Daphne Millbank’s ground-floor flat was wide open. Dexter stopped to have a long, concentrated, look around the entire door frame before he seemed satisfied that it had been checked out.

In comparison to Dexter, Johnny seemed easy-going. He was deferential towards the sergeant, who kept up a quiet conversation. The décor inside Daphne’s flat appeared to almost be stuck in a time warp of the forties. The decorations were faded, and the curtains and furniture equally so. The old-fashioned kitchen was painted in a dull green and contained old appliances, but everywhere was spotlessly clean.

The sitting room had two large French windows overlooking an untended garden, with a tall hedge that needed cutting back and an old rickety gate that led straight onto the Heath. Old plant pots lined the fence, all containing bedraggled and dead plants, and a rusted watering can lay on its side next to a rolled-up hosepipe attached to an outside tap.

Jane followed the two men as they walked around outside, listening to their conversation. Dexter was asking exactly how long it would take to fit the alarm. Johnny was giving him details of the areas that needed wiring and said they should finish it today, by late afternoon. When they went back inside the flat they inspected the dining room and study, which was lined with framed black-and-white photographs. There was one of Daphne on her wedding day, and numerous large photographs of her in ornate ballgowns, as well as one of her in uniform as a Wren.

‘She was very beautiful,’ Jane said quietly.

Dexter nodded and walked around the room. Jane told him that Daphne needed some reading glasses and Dexter told her it was OK to have a look round for some. She opened a drawer in the old desk and took out a few pairs of glasses.

‘Her husband was a pilot,’ Jane said, looking at a photograph of a handsome man in a flying jacket.

Neither of the men seemed interested so Jane continued to look at the other photographs lining the walls, as well as the many silver-framed photographs that covered every available surface. Many of them were of handsome young men in evening suits, and there were some of Daphne in full riding kit, as if about to go on a hunt. She was always smiling, and although there were a few more recent photographs, most of them appeared to be of her past. In one of the oldest shots she was a very young woman, wearing a full white evening gown with a diamond necklace and elaborate tiara.

‘She was a debutante,’ Jane said, softy, as she took an envelope from the desk and put three pairs of glasses into it. ‘Now I’ve got Daphne some glasses we could get an artist’s impression of the suspect she saw,’ she added.

Dexter was quick to reply. ‘Crowley’s got it in hand. He visited her last night. After yesterday, I’d leave it to him.’

Jane nodded in agreement, put the envelope into her handbag and stood waiting patiently as Dexter and Johnny discussed the security of the building.

‘We may be lucky and it won’t be leaked about her being able to ID the suspect… but it’s better to be safe than sorry. When the time comes for her to return I want it all rechecked,’ Dexter told Johnny.

All three of them jumped as a loud voice boomed out, ‘What the hell is going on here?’

Dexter was the first out into the hall, and was confronted by a white-haired elderly man using a walking frame. He was smartly dressed, wearing blazer and flannel trousers, with an RAF tie. His snow-white hair was cut short and he had a small white moustache.

Dexter hastily showed his ID and asked who the old man was, but had to wait whilst his ID was scrutinised.

‘I’m Raymond Brocklesby, an old friend of Mrs Millbank. I was very concerned to see the front door left wide open, and then to discover strangers wandering around her home. Where is Daphne? Has something happened to her? Is she sick? Has she been run over?’

Dexter put on the charm and asked Mr Brocklesby to join him in the sitting room. Despite his infirmity, he moved quickly towards the room.

‘I’ve not heard from her for days. We always have a game of bridge, regular as clockwork. Has something happened to her?’

Dexter waited for him to sit down before he gently explained that Daphne had been in an accident, and that she was in a critical condition. He took down Mr Brocklesby’s address and phone number, which he obtained from a laminated mobility card that the old boy took out of his wallet. Dexter said that they would inform him as soon as she could have visitors, explaining that they were visiting Daphne’s flat as a matter of course because they had been told she had no immediate family.

‘That’s right. She never had children. Her husband died in the war; he was a bomber pilot… brilliant chap. Daphne is my sister-in-law, from my first wife, so we’re not actually related by blood, but we’re very close. As I said, we play a hand of bridge on a regular basis.

‘I see there have been no newspaper or milk deliveries?’

‘No, she likes to walk to the local newsagents and prefers to get her own milk. She says it’s better not to give any burglars a hint when she’s not at home… she travels a lot, you know. I’ve been worried sick because she usually tells me when she’s off on one of her jaunts, and I’ve been calling and calling.’

Jane liked the fact that Dexter was patient with Mr Brocklesby, and that he reassured him that he would most certainly be in touch when Mrs Millbank was allowed visitors. Eventually Mr Brocklesby stood up to make his way to the front door, pausing outside the sitting room.

‘She was one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. Such a great sport, and so full of energy, and her cocktails are lethal! She could tango like no other woman, and despite being short of money she always dressed like a queen. But she would never marry again, although she certainly had plenty of opportunity… the men flocked around her. I hope I’ll be able to see her soon. We go back a long way.’

Jane thought of the small figure of Daphne in the hospital bed, her leg missing. Dexter was clearly eager for him to leave but Mr Brocklesby seemed drawn to the photographs lining the walls.

‘She goes into the West End two or three times a week, to visit the art galleries and theatres. She always keeps abreast of the latest artists and knows all the latest plays, films, and actors… but I’m not that mobile so I rarely accompany her.’

‘Why don’t you see Mr Brocklesby out, Jane?’ Dexter said.

Jane escorted Mr Brocklesby down the hall, and into the main hallway of the building.

‘You seem to care for Mrs Millbank a great deal,’ she said.

‘I adore her and always have. So many of our friends have passed on… I’ve buried two wives. I now live in what they call “sheltered accommodation”, so it took me a while to get over here.’

They walked out of the main front door and Mr Brocklesby became short of breath, leaning heavily on his walking frame.

‘She is coming home, isn’t she? Only it seems strange to have police officers in her flat. She is a very private woman, you know. When will I be able to see her?’

‘Soon I hope. We have your contact numbers, and I’ll pass on your good wishes to Mrs Millbank. I’m sure she will be keen to see you when she has recovered.’

Jane felt badly about not being able to give him more details, and even worse about the fact that she doubted Daphne would be able to cope alone with her injuries, and return to living in her flat but for her safety Jane didn’t dare divulge any more.

Mr Brocklesby shook Jane’s hand and thanked her as he made his way towards his mobility car. It took a while for him to get his walking frame inside before he drove off.

Dexter came outside to watch the pale blue car drive away. ‘Nice chap. Pity to have to lie to him, but it’s basic security until we know how useful she is going to be.’

‘I don’t think she’ll be able to cope coming back home… she’ll be in a wheelchair.’

‘From what Brocklesby said about her, I think Daphne will find a way of managing. As soon as I know she’s allowed to have visitors I’ll make sure he gets driven there to see her.’

‘So you do have a heart.’ Jane smiled, pleased to see Dexter’s mood had lifted.

He cocked his head to one side and smiled. ‘You bet I have… I’m just not a morning person, especially after a row with Crowley. Give me a couple of minutes as I need to call into the station to double-check our walking-frame chap.’

Crowley listened at the other end of the phone as Dexter told him the old lady’s flat had been given a clean sweep.

‘Is Tennison with you?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Can you notify the armed officer at the hospital to allow her to visit? She’s got some reading glasses for Daphne, and it’s a good thing to keep her on friendly terms with our witness. Don’t worry, she won’t be discussing the bomber’s description with her.’

‘Good. Seems you’re on friendly terms with Tennison?’ Crowley asked, mockingly.

‘I’m looking out for her, as requested.’

‘Not got into her knickers yet?’ Dexter glanced over to Jane to make sure she was out of earshot.

‘For Christ’s sake, leave it out, Crowley!

As they drove back towards St Thomas’ Hospital, Dexter was affable and Jane was enjoying his company. He told her Crowley said it was OK for her to take the glasses to Daphne and changed the subject.

‘So, how’s the new flatmate? Has she moved in yet?’

‘Yes, last night… She had so much stuff, even though when I asked if she had a lot of belongings she said she had very few. I don’t know how it’s all going to fit in. Also, she’s a vegetarian and has endless tins of pulses and bottles of vitamins.’

‘Just never stand downwind of a veggie!’

Jane laughed. ‘Thanks for that advice. I’m sure it will all work out.’

Dexter told her the lab scientists had begun to piece together the type of bomb used, as well as the detonator distance. The team had agreed that it felt as though this was the calm before the storm. Without any arrests or suspects under surveillance the IRA might be waiting for the next opportunity to create terror on the streets of London.

At the hospital Jane showed her ID at the reception desk and made her way up to see Daphne, who had been moved to another private room away from the fire escape, for further security measures. As Jane walked along the corridor, Michael, the charge nurse, saw her.

‘I wondered when you’d be back!’ he said with a smile. ‘I’d very much like to see you away from this environment. Are you free tonight, maybe for a drink or something to eat?’

‘That would be lovely, but I’m not sure what time I’ll be off duty. I could call you when I get back to where I’m working, and then we could arrange to meet up?’ Jane said, pleased.

‘Great! Now, let me give you an update on our patient. She’s making strong headway. We’re slightly concerned about the healing process, and she might need further surgery as in this kind of amputation there can be a risk of gangrene… the surgeons were checking it out early this morning. If the wound doesn’t heal then she’ll have to undergo another operation to amputate the remaining part of her thigh.’

‘Oh God, I hope not.’

‘She’s remarkably relaxed about it, but we’ve been administering more morphine for the pain. She does ask for me to constantly increase the level… says she likes the feeling of floating, especially at night… she says she has wonderful dreams! We’ve got to be very careful as patients can often have an adverse reaction to drugs. I am obviously aware of the importance of keeping her stable, but you’ll see that she has regressed slightly and isn’t eating as well as we would like her to. We do still have concerns about her.’

Michael led Jane down the main ward and through the double doors to the private section. The armed officer was sitting outside her room and promptly stood up when Jane approached. He had already been given her name to allow access, so Jane signed the record sheet, giving her time of arrival, then entered the room.

Daphne was still shrouded with a cage covering her from her waist down, which was draped in a white sheet. She was lying flat with one pillow behind her head. Her face was pinched and she seemed smaller and frailer. The lids of her eyes, which were closed, had a faint purple colour, and her white hair looked as if it needed to be washed, and the greasy strands were combed back from her forehead.

Jane pulled up a chair and took out the envelope containing the spectacles. She pulled out the three pairs of glasses and put them on the bedside cabinet. Daphne’s arms looked painfully thin, with awful black bruises from the cannulas. Nobbled veins stood out from the wrinkled loose skin, and her tiny hands were the size of a child’s.

Jane was expecting to have to wait a while for Daphne to wake up, but after only a few minutes she began to stir and murmur, and Jane leaned closer to hear.

‘You smell nice,’ Daphne said. She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at Jane. ‘You get used to having so many different people coming and going and they all smell of hospitals… you know, that Dettol smell. You smell fresh.’

‘I brought you some reading glasses.’ Jane said, with a smile.

‘Oh good… Can you ask them to buy me a decent paper? I only get given the Sun, and some awful women’s magazine full of teenagers’ broken hearts. Do you think you could just press the button and move me up slightly higher dear? I can’t reach the control thingy.’

Jane bent down and saw the control pedal attached to the steel bed frame. She gently pressed the pedal and the front of the bed raised slightly, elevating Daphne’s head, but not putting her in a sitting position.

‘That’s better. I’m supposed to lie flat, then sometimes they lift my legs, or should I say leg, a bit higher. Anyway, it’s frightfully uncomfortable.’

‘I’ve been told that you’re not eating much?’

‘Are you surprised? The food here is terrible, and by the time they’ve raised me high enough to eat it, it’s stone cold. And they keep giving me this plastic baby mug with a lip to drink my tea… it’s disgusting. I’ve complained to Michael and he said he’s going to see if he can get me a decent china cup, and maybe some cheese and biscuits. He’s a nice-looking young man.’

‘Yes, he is… I like him. In fact, we might be going for a drink together later.’

‘Charge nurse seems a strange occupation for a strapping chap… not that he’s my type. Mind you, I could never have been a nurse. They have to empty bedpans and wash patients down, you know… but he’s very pleasant.

‘Don’t put me off him, Daphne!’

‘I’ll tell you who I’d like to have dinner with… that tall, attractive blond policeman. He reminds me of Steve McQueen. He’s got lovely blue eyes, although he could do with sharpening up his clothes, but I’d have that sorted pretty quickly!’

‘Do you mean DS Dexter? He’s been here to see you?’ Jane asked, wondering why Dexter hadn’t mentioned it to her.

‘Yes, last night… we had a good laugh. He does ask a lot of questions though, and I get tired repeating myself. I don’t like that other man, Crowley… can’t stand him. When he comes I just close my eyes and pretend I’ve nodded off. I would have thought they could just ask you to repeat what I said? They just keep wanting statement after statement, and I start to get confused.’

‘They shouldn’t tire you out so much,’ Jane said.

‘Well, I can’t really read much, as I don’t have my glasses.’

Jane showed Daphne the three pairs of glasses she had brought in, and Daphne frowned.

‘These are my old glasses… where did you get them from?’

‘I went to your flat.’

‘You had no right to do that without my permission! I’m not mentally ill, you know. All you had to do was ask, and I could have organised for my friend to be there.’

‘Sorry, Daphne. I wanted you to have your glasses as soon as possible so we could get a detailed artist’s impression of the suspect you saw, and because you said you had no family I just thought you would appreciate someone getting them for you.’

‘Well, I don’t approve at all.’ Daphne sniffed. ‘The pair with the tortoiseshell frames are the best ones, and they’re also very light.’

‘Whilst I was there, your friend Raymond Brocklesby called by. He was concerned about not hearing from you. I explained that you were in hospital, but didn’t give him any details. I just said that there had been an accident, and that when you were allowed visitors I would arrange for him to see you.’

‘Well dear, you seem to be taking a lot of responsibility on your shoulders. Surely if I wanted Raymond to see me I could contact him myself? He is a dear man, and I know he’s not that mobile so it must have taken him some time to make the journey to my flat from his home.’

‘Daphne, we are really only concerned for your welfare and recovery. As you must now be aware, you are a very important witness to the IRA bomb explosion, and until we catch the perpetrators your safety is imperative.’

‘I understand that, dear. I could pick him out in an identity parade. But I do find this invasion into my private life unacceptable. I don’t want strangers in my home. I don’t want you, or anyone else, telling my friends when they can or can’t see me’.

‘If you would like to give me a list of friends you’d like to visit you, I can arrange that.’

‘Most of them are in the grave, apart from Raymond, who has wandering hands. As soon I’m able, I’ll be out of this place. I’m not afraid… I’ve never been afraid and I don’t intend to live the rest of my life being fearful. Now, I would like you to leave… and please ask Michael to bring me a copy of The Times.’

Jane was astonished at Daphne’s strength of will. Far from regressing in her recovery, it appeared to be the contrary. Michael was busy attending to another patient, so she left a message for him.

As Jane was walking along the corridor towards the stairwell down to main hospital exit she bumped into a young woman passing her.

‘I’m so sorry…’ she said to Jane, then she stopped and turned. ‘Good heavens! It’s Jane Tennison, isn’t it?’

Jane was nonplussed for a moment and then recognised the woman as Natalie Wilde, who had been a trainee with her at Hendon Police College. Natalie was taller than Jane, with short, curly, blonde hair, and she was wearing a fawn raincoat over a dark, tailored suit.

‘We were at Hendon together, don’t you remember? I was the one who had to drop out because I couldn’t swim well enough.’

‘Of course I do! It’s Natalie, isn’t it?’

‘Yes! What’re you doing here?’

‘Just visiting a sick colleague,’ Jane said, keen not to give any details about who she was seeing.

‘I’m visiting a friend on the maternity ward who’s just had a baby. She was rushed in yesterday after her waters burst. I used to share a flat with her, before she got married.’

‘Is she all right?’

‘Yes, she’s fine… Anyway, you’re not in uniform… are you no longer in the Met?’

‘I am, actually: plain-clothes detective.’

‘No!’

‘Yes… I’ve been in the CID for just short of a year and a half. What about you?’

Natalie flipped open her raincoat to show she was wearing a name tag.

‘I work for NatWest. It’s rather tedious, but the pay is good. Do you have time for a coffee, so we can talk about old times? I’d love to know what all my old Hendon classmates are up to.’

Jane hesitated, then decided that perhaps she should go straight back to work. She opened her bag and took out her notebook.

‘Here’s my phone number… I should be back about seven tonight, so call me and we can fix a date to go out, or you could come over to me.’

‘Great, I’ll do that. I should get back to work anyway. Whereabouts are you stationed?’

Jane didn’t mention that she was temporarily working at Woolwich, and instead said that she was with a squad at Vine Street. They walked out of the hospital together, and Natalie gave Jane a hug.

‘It’s so good to bump into you… I’ve often thought of contacting you. We had some good laughs at Hendon, and I was so depressed when I didn’t make it. But times goes on, and I lost contact with everyone from Hendon. Let’s have a good catchup when we meet.’

Natalie hailed a taxi and Jane headed for Waterloo East station. They had not been all that close at training school, but they had liked each other. Natalie was an open, friendly recruit who had tried her hardest to become a fully-fledged probationary WPC. She was intelligent, but had been dismissed over an incident in the swimming exercise sessions. All recruits had to be accomplished swimmers, and they were all tested and timed doing lengths. There was also an exercise that involved either diving or jumping from the top board of the swimming pool. Natalie had not done well in the swimming timings, and had also stopped mid-length as she had a fear of water. When the instructor had told everyone to climb to the top board Natalie had refused and had shouted at the instructor, before breaking down in tears and admitting that she was frightened of heights. By the next morning her locker and been cleared and Natalie had gone. She had not even been given time to say goodbye to any of the other recruits.

Jane worked out that it must have been October 1972 when she had last seen Natalie, who looked very different now. They would certainly have a lot to catch up on, and Jane was looking forward to meeting up with her.

The journey back to the Royal Arsenal was quicker than Jane had expected. Arriving at the explosives lab Jane was told by the MOD police officer on guard that DS Lawrence had requested that she report to him at the chemistry section. She thanked him and went straight to the lab where Lawrence greeted her in a tone that gave away his excitement.

‘We’ve managed to reconstruct most of the Covent Garden bomb from the bits found in the debris. It was detonated by high-frequency waveband, using a 27-megahertz radio signal.’

‘Do you mean the detonator was a radio that you listen to?’

Lawrence laughed. ‘No, it was a transmitter switch from a remote-control toy car. It’s powered by a small HP7 battery and can be easily concealed in the palm of your hand, or a handbag or purse… you press the switch, it sends a radio signal to the receiver, which triggers the bomb detonator lodged in the explosives.’

‘Does that prove I was in no way responsible for the bomb going off?

‘You weren’t responsible, Jane. Whoever had the detonator was.’

‘So, it had to have been detonated remotely by the man I chased or an accomplice?’

‘One or the other.’

Relieved, Jane asked if DCI Crowley and DS Dexter had been informed about the results.

‘Of course they have. I’m on my way over to the explosives range where they’re testing out a new explosives protection suit and jammer.’

‘Can I come with you?’

Lawrence looked uncertain. ‘Only approved personnel are allowed on the testing range.’ He saw the disappointment on her face and added, ‘But it’s fine if you stick with me.’

They walked towards a large area of waste land where there was a small reinforced bomb shelter. ‘That’s called a “splinter-proof”,’ he explained, ‘it’s capable of withstanding bomb fragments.’

As they approached, Jane could see a figure about two hundred feet away wearing a bulky green bomb suit and head protector. She was certain it must be Dexter, standing beside a rucksack like the one she had seen at Covent Garden. Suddenly a red light on the shelter came on and a klaxon sounded.

‘Oh shit… looks like they’re about to live test the jammer!’ Lawrence grabbed Jane and pulled her towards a wall of sandbags nearby.

‘What’s a jammer?’ she asked, ducking down with him behind the sandbags.

‘It’s an electronic counter measure… a device for blocking the 27-megahertz signals on the toy car transmitter…’

Suddenly there was a large explosion, causing Lawrence and Jane to crouch down even further. Jane peered over the sandbags as a mushroom of sand, dust and debris spiralled upwards. She could see Dexter flying through the air, then hitting the ground and lying completely motionless. She let out a scream of panic and started to run towards the prostrate body.

‘Bollocks! It didn’t work,’ Dexter shouted, as he walked out of the shelter and threw the jammer on the ground. He looked at Jane and saw her shock.

‘What’s up with you?’ he asked.

‘The explosion… I thought… I thought you’d been hurt by the bomb… I thought you were dead!’

To Jane’s amazement, Dexter started laughing, as Crowley and the head scientist walked out from the splinter-proof.

‘You all right, Tennison?’ Crowley asked.

Dexter turned to Crowley. ‘She thinks I’m dead, Guv… Do you reckon the mannequin in the bomb suit felt much pain?’

‘There’s no need to be sarcastic, Dexter, not after what Jane went through at Covent Garden,’ Lawrence said. ‘She was concerned for your safety, that’s all. I’m sorry, Jane. I should have explained that there would be a mannequin in the bomb suit.’

Dexter was quick to turn on the charm. ‘I’m flattered by your concern, Jane, but believe me, I’m not stupid enough to test a bomb suit on live explosives… even in a controlled situation.’

Crowley, totally unaware of the tension between Lawrence and Dexter, interjected. ‘On a positive note, I’d say that, with a bit of adjustment, we can get the jammer to work.’

Dexter nodded. ‘Besides, the Covent Garden bomb was crude and amateurish… a schoolboy chemistry student could build that piece of crap.’

‘I wouldn’t underestimate the IRA. They’re well-trained and quick to develop new technology. They know we will piece the bomb together from the debris, so the next one may well have a different remote mechanism,’ Lawrence retorted.

Dexter looked complacent. He knew that was possible and said that he was about to do some stopwatch-timed practise on disarming different types of mock bombs, with both radio-controlled and time-delay detonators.

Lawrence, irritated by Dexter’s blasé attitude, turned to Jane. ‘Do you want to come back to the lab?’

‘I apologise for my overreaction, but if you don’t mind I’d like to stay and watch Dexter at work… if that’s all right?’

‘That’s fine by me.’ Dexter said, with a smile that irritated Lawrence even more.

As Lawrence walked off Crowley brought out another replica rucksack from the shelter, handed it to Dexter and took a stopwatch out of his coat pocket.

‘I’ll blow the whistle and start the stopwatch when you give me the signal. Then, after eight minutes, I’ll sound the klaxon to simulate detonation.’

‘Make it five. I like to minimise the danger, so the quicker I’m in and out, the better. They don’t call me Felix for nothing.’ He laughed.

Seeing Jane looking puzzled, Crowley explained that Felix was Latin for ‘lucky’.

‘I thought Felix was a cat’s name.’

‘Cats, like Dexter, have an innate ability of always landing on their feet.’

Dexter invited Jane to stand beside him and watch as he disarmed a bomb. She looked nervously at Crowley. ‘Are we going to wear protective suits?’

‘No, we aren’t using real explosives. But to make the exercise more difficult, Dexter here doesn’t know what type of bomb mechanism is inside the rucksack.

‘It’s standard procedure to talk through the disarming of the bomb,’ Crowley added. He picked up a small military radio and tucked it into Dexter’s back pocket before clipping the mic to his shirt collar. ‘Normally the bomb disposal officer wears a tape recorder, but in a mock situation we use a radio to communicate, and record the exercise on tape.’

Dexter tapped the radio in his pocket. ‘Life is irreplaceable… but in a real situation if I was blown up and killed, the recording would give other bomb-disposal officers an insight into what went wrong. An expo was killed recently and the tape was invaluable. We learn from our mistakes.’

Dexter picked up the rucksack and Jane followed him over to the practice area. As they walked he explained that the first rule of bomb disposal was to assess the improvised explosive device, or IED, to minimise the chance of accidental ignition when disarming it. He would then either cut the circuit or interrupt it by cutting out a section of detonation cord. Finally, he would remove the detonator and main charge by hand.

Jane was impressed. ‘How many bombs have you defused?’

‘Hundreds, maybe, but to be honest I’ve lost count. Most of them were when I was working in Northern Ireland with the Army. I had to attend suspected or live devices, and the aftermath of explosions, almost every day.’

‘You must have seen some horrible sights.’

‘Yes, and lost colleagues. But you have to put it out of your mind to do the job. If you can’t detach yourself, you could make a mistake that leads to your own death.’

As they passed the mannequin she was amazed to see that the bomb suit was intact. A large burn mark ran like a bruise over both jacket and trousers. Fragments of metal peppered the dummy. Dexter knelt over the mannequin and prodded the chest.

‘The bomb suit stops fragmentation injuries, but the explosive force from larger bombs doesn’t care about the suit. Either the explosive force hits you without it and you haemorrhage and die, or it hits the suit and the suit hits you and you haemorrhage and die.’

Jane was amazed at how matter-of-fact and unemotional Dexter was. Both of the mannequin’s hands had been blown off.

‘Don’t you wear protective gloves?’

‘No, they’re too bulky and make it nigh on impossible to hold the tools properly.

‘I made this tool kit up myself,’ he said, unfolding his toolkit. ‘Medical items, like scalpels, are best — high quality. I’ve also got pliers of various sizes, wire cutters, screwdrivers and spanners. Everything is non-magnetic so they won’t cause a spark, which could detonate the bomb. Mind you, if you’re lucky and it’s a combustible-type IED, then simply pulling the fuse from the device and separating the detonator to render it safe takes seconds.’

‘What’s the worst type of bomb to deal with?’ Jane asked.

‘Bloody car bombs. The vehicles are usually booby trapped so even getting to the bomb is a major problem. It’s worse still if it’s radio-controlled, as the bastard bomber could be nearby. He waits for you to approach the car and triggers the bomb.’

‘Would you two fucking get on with it?’ Crowley shouted over the radio.

Dexter turned to Jane. ‘No more questions now… I need to concentrate.’

He placed the rucksack by the sandbags before raising his hand in the air to indicate to Crowley that he was ready, then the klaxon sounded.

Kneeling beside the rucksack, Dexter carefully opened the flap, and very slowly removed a large wooden cigar box. He held it at eye level and, using a magnifying glass, checked around the rim of the lid. Next, he took a thin paper clip from his toolkit, which he unravelled, then eased it into the rim of the box, slowly moving it along the edges. As he did so he gave a continual commentary over the radio.

‘I’m checking for any anti-handling wires that may be connected to the lid to set the bomb off on opening it. I’m satisfied there’s no such device attached.’

Dexter placed the box on the ground and Jane watched as he carefully opened the lid. She could see some Eveready batteries and an alarm clock with wires attached leading to a small metal rod which was protruding from a round white lump of what looked like bread dough. She suddenly felt nervous and took a couple of paces backwards.

‘Don’t worry, it’s only a lump of Play-Doh. It’s rigged so the only thing that will happen if I screw up is a small pop and a puff of smoke from the detonator.’

Dexter continued to describe in detail what he had in front of him over the radio, using terminology and phrases that Jane didn’t understand. Under the circumstances, she thought it best not to ask. Dexter picked up a pair of wire clippers and moved his hand towards one of the wires on the alarm clock. He was about to snip it when he stopped, put the clippers down and lifted the box. He picked up the paper clip and, using it as a measuring stick, held it against the cigar box, both outside and inside.

‘Thought you had me there, didn’t you, Crowley? But I’ve seen this type of device when I was in Northern Ireland. The box is deeper on the inside than it appears… so that means the bomb mechanism is resting on a false bottom and the wires I can see are probably part of a collapsing circuit.’

Dexter slowly removed the false bottom. Attached to the underside were more wires and another battery. He looked at Jane.

‘It’s a form of booby trap. If I’d cut the wire attached to the alarm clock, the power would have been relayed to the concealed circuit, and BOOM.’

Dexter took out another paper clip from his kit, connected it to two wires, then removed the detonator.

‘Job done,’ he said into the radio. ‘How long did it take to disarm the bomb, Crowley?’

‘Well done… three and a half minutes.’

Dexter and Jane walked back to the shelter as the head scientist and Crowley started clapping and congratulating him. He shook his head.

‘I could, and should, have done it in three minutes… Right, let’s get to work in the lab on another jammer.’

Jane watched the three men walk away. Dexter’s composed professionalism had impressed her. When she returned to the lab, she found Lawrence standing by a table with one of the scientists. Pieced together like a jigsaw and laid out on a white sheet were lots of pieces of torn and burnt grey cloth material, bits of brown leather and the piece of strap and buckle which Jane had found when sifting through the debris of bin eight. The two shapes formed the back and front of the rucksack she had seen the ticket guard holding when the bomb went off, she was sure of it. Lawrence smiled and, with a gloved hand, picked up a half inch square scrap of material.

‘Looks like you were spot on about the colour of the rucksack. We even found a bit of the label with “Karri—”on it. It’s a positive lead. We now know the bag was a Karrimor Joe Brown. The preliminary Griess test on the rucksack cloth samples was positive; as was the more sensitive TLC test.’

‘TLC?’ Jane was lost when it came to forensic terminology.

‘Thin layer chromatography. That was positive for nitrates… we can conclude that the bomb at Covent Garden was nitroglycerine based and contained between 4–6 pounds of explosive.’

Jane remembered what she’d learnt about fibres from the Carol Ann Collins murder investigation at Hackney.

‘So, if the suspect still has the jacket he was wearing there may be fibre traces from the rucksack all over the back of it.’

‘Exactly. We found some black fibres on parts of the rucksack that probably came from the same jacket.’

‘Did you find any more bomb shards?’ she asked.

Lawrence nodded. ‘Yes, quite a few pieces — but they’re still reconstructing it in the other lab. Things are beginning to move in a positive direction now, Jane.’

Jane was less enthusiastic when Lawrence told her that she would have to spend the rest of the day in the dusty hangar, sifting through debris from the bomb site. This time, though, she didn’t mind getting dirty. Now more than ever she realised how important it was to find the evidence left behind by the IRA Active Service Unit — evidence that might lead them to the killers.