Good Friday

Chapter Fourteen

As Jane entered the CID office, she saw DCI Church with about twelve plain-clothes officers, who were all male. Through a window she spotted Crowley in a separate office, having a conversation with Dexter and DS Lawrence.

Church was standing beside a table with guns, bullets and shoulder holsters laid out on it, some of which he was handing to the detectives from the Dip and Bomb Squads. There was a tense atmosphere and everyone had a solemn look on their face as they signed for their.38 revolvers and loaded them.

‘You an authorised shot, Tennison?’ Church asked, his eyes scrunched tight as if anticipating danger ahead.

‘No, sir,’ she replied, beginning to feel nervous about the whole situation, but not wanting to show it.

‘Stanley’s got some pickaxe handles in his car if you want one,’ a detective said in earnest.

Jane felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned to see Stanley.

‘A lump of wood will be about as much use as a glass hammer if the raid turns into Gunfight at the OK Corral.’

Jane shook her head and frowned. ‘I could have guessed you’d be the one to make light of a serious situation, Stanley.’

‘Only trying to make you relax, luv. Besides, anyone who’s not carrying a shooter won’t be called into the premises until it’s secure. You’ll be well away from the action.’

Stanley’s comment didn’t bother Jane. The truth was that she’d happily stay at a safe distance when the raid was carried out.

Crowley and Lawrence walked into the CID office followed by Dexter, who was carrying an A1 Plain Paper Flipchart, which he placed on an easel. Crowley clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention.

‘Right, you lot,’ Crowley said. ‘Listen up, and listen well. As you are all aware, it was not that long ago that a police officer was shot and killed in London during a stop-and-search incident with a man who turned out to be a member of the IRA. I cannot emphasise enough how dangerous this operation is. The ASU that we are about to take out will undoubtedly be armed with handguns and explosives so the last thing I want are any fuck-ups by us.’

Crowley nodded at Dexter, who turned over the blank cover of the flipchart to reveal a detailed street map of the address that was about to be raided: 61 Caversham Road, NW5. Crowley pointed to the map.

‘The Intelligence Services informant has proved to be a reliable source in the past. Our targets are holed up in a two-bedroom ground-floor flat in a row of three-storey terraced Victorian buildings. Unfortunately, the information only came in earlier this evening so we haven’t been able to do a full daytime recce to evaluate the surrounding area, or any comings and goings from the target address.’

One of the officers raised his hand and Crowley nodded for him to speak.

‘Do we know anything about the occupants of the other two flats in the building?’

‘Luckily, we do. One of my squad located the landlord and is bringing him over as we speak, with a set of keys for the whole premises. The top-floor flat is currently unoccupied, and a young Jamaican couple with a baby have recently moved into the middle flat. The landlord says that an Irishman, who said he was a delivery van driver, started renting the ground-floor flat about a month ago. When the landlord visited a couple of weeks ago there were two other men in the ground-floor flat, but they didn’t speak to him. On a positive note, the description of one of them fits the artist’s impression we released to the press.’

Dexter interjected, ‘Generally, we’ve found that IRA bomb makers live alone, but as it’s a two-bedroom flat, I wouldn’t be surprised if more than one ASU operative is staying there. Maybe if they’re there together to plan a big explosion we’ll strike lucky and get all of the bastards.’

Crowley turned over to the next sheet on the flipchart, which showed more detail of the surrounding area. Number 61 was next to a builders’ yard, which in turn led directly onto to the overground railway line running through the nearby Kentish Town station.

‘As you can see, they have a good escape line via the yard and onto the train tracks. The last thing I want is to be chasing armed suspects on live rails, or facing a moving train head-on…’ He flipped over to another page showing the details of each team.

‘Stanley, you and a team of three others will go to 107 Gainsford Street, behind the target address. Via those premises you can gain entry to the garden of 61 Caversham to cut off their escape route. If they do come out through the back, then let us know over the radio right away as we don’t want to get caught in any crossfire. Understood?’

Stanley nodded and grinned, as if almost relishing the thought of a shootout. Crowley then explained that his team would be ‘Gold’, Stanley’s would be ‘Silver’ and the third team would ‘Bronze’. Only two people in each team would have a radio, to avoid too much airwave chatter. Crowley said that DCI Church and three other members of the bomb squad would be in his lead team and the rest would continue to cover the outside as backup, if needed.

‘Isn’t DS Dexter in the main team?’ one of the Dip Squad officers asked.

‘As much as Dexter likes to be in the thick of it he won’t be much use to us if he gets shot at the outset… unless anyone else here feels they’re capable of disarming a bloody bomb!’

Everyone could see Crowley was on edge and not in the mood for what he perceived to be silly questions. Stanley raised his hand, causing everyone to glare at him in expectation of an inane remark or question that would further annoy Crowley.

‘What about getting the young couple out?’ Stanley asked.

‘Good point, Stanley. Once we go through the main door and are in position to force entry to the target flat one of my team, accompanied by WDC Tennison, will go up to their flat and remain with them until the premises are secure and they can be safely evacuated… You OK with that, Tennison?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Jane replied, wondering apprehensively how much damage might be caused to the flat above if a bomb went off. She thought of her mother and the state she’d be in if she was listening in on the briefing. The thought made her smile and she knew that her nervousness was caused by adrenaline.

Crowley explained that once the suspects were arrested and the premises secure no one was to touch anything in the flat. Dexter would then search for any explosive devices, or bomb making parts, and Lawrence would deal with the forensic aspects of the search.

The duty sergeant entered the room with a box full of radios for everyone. He spoke with DCI Crowley, who didn’t look pleased as he picked up a radio and talked into it.

‘Oscar Papa One from Gold, receiving, over.’ The radio hissed and there was no reply. Impatiently, Crowley repeated his call to the officers watching the suspect’s address.

‘Oscar Papa One, receiving… go ahead… over,’ came the reply.

‘I’ve just spoken to the duty sergeant… is the situation still the same? Gold over…’ Crowley asked.

‘Yes… nothing further to report… over…’

‘Keep me updated.’

Crowley banged the radio down on the table.

‘This could be a long night, gents… I had two of my officers enter the next door second-floor flat at 59 Caversham with listening devices while we were grouping up here. At present the lights are on at 61 but they can’t detect any movement. It looks like we sit and wait in obo vans and unmarked cars for now, in the surrounding streets.’

There was an air of despondency in the room.

‘It’ll be just our luck if the ASU’s out planting a bomb,’ one of the bomb squad officers said.

‘It’s a possibility,’ agreed Crowley. ‘We’ll know soon enough if they have, it’ll be all over the radios.’

‘How long do you intend to wait, Guv?’ Dexter asked, knowing that Crowley was in an awkward position. If a bomb did go off the ASU might not return to the premises, and might get out of town.

Crowley was silent, apparently thinking about his next move. Instead of replying, he walked over to Jane. ‘Tennison,’ he said. ‘A word with you in private.’

Church followed them out into the adjoining office.

Crowley looked at him. ‘I want a private conversation with Tennison.’

Church shook his head. ‘Not when she’s one of my officers. Her safety is my responsibility… if you want her to stay, I stay as well.’

Crowley didn’t have much option other than to agree.

‘I was thinking that Tennison could go up to the second-floor flat alone and speak with the Jamaican couple… find out what they know about the recent movements at the suspect’s flat. She’s young, like them, and doesn’t stick out as old bill like the rest of us. Anyone watching would think she was just a friend, visiting.’

Church looked apprehensive. ‘And what if it all goes pear-shaped? You seem to forget that when she saw the suspect at Covent Garden, he also saw her. You’ve had a surveillance team protecting her and now, just to satisfy your own ambition, you’re willing to risk her life? No. It’s not on. We sit and wait, or go straight in. Those are the only viable options, and you know it.’

‘This is not about me, Church, it’s about arresting a bunch of murderers. The people in the flat above may be able to tell us more.’

Jane was fed up with the two of them bickering. ‘I’ll do it. I’ve got a scarf in my bag and a different coat from the one I wore at Covent Garden. I can tie up my hair, and take off my make-up so I look older… and keep my head down.’

Church was adamant that it was too risky but Jane stood her ground.

Crowley said he would have her fitted up with a covert radio and asked if she knew how to work one.

‘Yes, sir, I do.’

‘Right, let’s get this show on the road…’ Crowley said. rubbing his hands together.

Within half an hour everyone was in position on the nearby streets. Stanley’s Silver team had gained entry to the builders’ yard from the rear of the opposite premises and were hidden, ready to go when the order was given. Jane had done everything she could to make herself unrecognisable and Dexter, ever the charmer, said she still looked attractive even without make-up. She tested the covert radio before getting out of the obo van and walking slowly down Caversham Street towards the block of flats. The light rain had given a yellow sheen to the pavement. She was wearing her sensible Cuban-heeled shoes and found her own footsteps sounded loud to her.

Crowley gave her the landlord’s keys so she could just let herself in through the front door and go straight up to the first-floor flat.

Jane felt nervous, particularly when someone walked towards, or passed, her. She kept her head down and didn’t make eye contact in case the person was the IRA bomber she had seen. Her heart was pounding as she moved up the worn narrow flagstone path and stepped up to a dirty, sodden doormat. There were two empty milk bottles on the doorstep. The front door had peeling paint with four mottled glass panes. She opened the front door, then placed the key under the mat for Crowley. As she carefully walked up the threadbare, carpeted stairs some of them creaked. There was a yellowing plastic lampshade around a low wattage bulb hanging from what had once been an elegant ceiling rose. Outside flat 2 she got her warrant card out and knocked on the door. It was eventually opened by a young, attractive Jamaican woman in a nightdress. Jane held up her warrant card and put her finger to her mouth to indicate to the woman to be quiet. To Jane’s relief she remained silent and let her in. Jane then introduced herself and the woman looked distressed, speaking in a strong West Indian accent.

‘We done nuttin’ wrong! We only just come here from Jamaica… you can check me passport and visa… and me husband’s… he got a job in de baker’s.’

Jane gave her a reassuring smile. ‘It’s OK… there’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s the downstairs flat I’m interested in, and anything you or your husband can tell me about the residents.’

‘Me husband’s not here at de moment. He’s still out lookin’ for de cat. But he should be back soon.’

Crowley sat impatiently in the obo van with Church, Dexter, Lawrence, and the rest of the Gold team.

‘She’s taking her bloody time. She should have radioed in by now.’

Lawrence was quick to defend Jane. ‘Give her a chance. She’s only been gone a few minutes. If any of us were in her shoes we wouldn’t be in a rush.’

The radio hissed. Everyone sat upright waiting for Jane’s update, but the call was from the officers inside the neighbouring flat.

‘Oscar Papa One to Gold… we just heard movement in target premises… over.’

‘You sure?’ Crowley asked.

‘Yes, certain… someone just dropped a glass and we heard it shatter.’

Crowley spoke over the radio. ‘Silver team go, go, go to rear of target and notify when secure… we’ll drive down closer then go in when you’re in position.’

Dexter said he and Lawrence would wait outside on the street while they made the arrests and secured the scene. It took only seconds for Stanley’s team to climb the garden fence and radio Crowley that they were in position. Crowley and his team were out of the obo van in an instant, crouching down like panthers stalking prey as they moved up the steps, guns held ready.

Crowley retrieved the key from under the mat and quietly opened the front door. He and Church took up position in the hallway either side of the ground-floor flat door. A detective with a large metal rammer stood in front of the door and Crowley raised his hand to give a countdown of three using his fingers and silently mouthing the number ‘one’ as he did so.

‘No! Don’t do it!’ Jane screamed as loudly as she could from the top of the stairs. Everyone froze for a split second, apart from the officer with the rammer, who raised it backwards. Again Jane screamed as she ran down the stairs.

‘STOP! It might be booby-trapped. They’ve left already!’

Crowley raised his palm in the nick of time to stop the officer ramming the door open. Dexter and Lawrence, who had heard Jane’s screams, came running in. Jane’s voice was trembling as she spoke.

‘The woman upstairs said she was looking out of the window a quarter of an hour ago, and saw three men leaving the premises. She recognised the Irishman who occupied the ground-floor flat. They were carrying a suitcase, holdall and rucksacks and got into a black cab. It looks like they’ve moved out.’

There was a unanimous groan.

‘All of you shut it! And back off. I need to check the door for a booby trap. Stand back, stand right back!’ shouted Dexter. Using a crowbar he forced open the front window to access the premises and it wasn’t long before he opened the front door. He was holding a scruffy-looking cat in his arms and stroking it.

‘Doors not rigged to explode… Place is empty, apart from this little bugger, who, it would seem, is the culprit that knocked a glass off the table.’

‘Oh t’ank you, sir! You find Bob Marley!’ the Jamaican woman said, as she walked down the stairs. ‘He must ha got in d’ere when de men leave.’

Dexter handed her the cat. ‘He very nearly used up one of his nine lives, luv.’

Crowley looked furious, but the absurdity of the moment was not lost on the others, who started to laugh. Dexter congratulated Jane on her quick action and said that if the door had been rigged she would have saved a lot of lives.

Crowley wasn’t impressed. ‘The Commander is going to be livid, and I’m the one who’s got to tell him the suspects moved out before we even got here. He said he wanted to know the result right away so I’m going back to the Yard to call him.’

Crowley told everyone to stand down over the radio and asked Dexter to check the rest of the premises with Lawrence for explosives before they carried out a full search.

‘Could I assist with the search of the flat, sir?’ Jane asked.

‘No, I don’t want too many people in there, just the two experts.’

‘I could take a statement from the Jamaican couple…’

Crowley was on edge. ‘Their statement is far too important for someone with your lack of experience to take. Just go home, Tennison!’

As Crowley stomped off, Lawrence saw Jane’s crestfallen face. ‘Listen, you can help me with the exhibits. Is that all right with you, Dexter?

‘Fine by me so long as Crowley doesn’t find out.’

Jane gave a small smile of thanks to Lawrence as he radioed in to Kentish Town and asked them to call the Control room at Scotland Yard to make a request for at least four night-duty SOCOs to attend the scene and carry out a fingerprint search.

The flat had a small living room, kitchen and two small bedrooms. In one of the bedrooms the bed had been placed upright against the wall to make room for a large work table, on which there were a number of small pieces of cut wire and globules of burnt solder wire. All the cupboards and drawers were empty and it was clear to Lawrence that the suspects had used cleaning cloths to remove fingerprint traces. Lawrence took out his camera and started photographing the bedroom and the work table.

‘They may not have been as smart as they think about cleaning up their fingerprints… any idea why?’ he asked Jane, testing her crime scene abilities.

She paused. ‘If they’ve taken the time to remove them, it could mean they have a criminal record and could be identified by fingerprints.’

‘Yes, but there’s something else. Sometimes we miss what we can’t see.’

Lawrence pointed to the table.

‘That table must have been carried in here as it wouldn’t fit if the bed was in its normal place… so…’ He paused and Jane twigged where he was going.

‘You lift a table with your hands on the underside and leave fingerprints that you can’t see.’

‘Exactly… and likewise with the bed and chair. You heard of a mechanical fit?’

Jane nodded. ‘Yes, on the forensic module during my CID course. The tutor tore a piece of paper into six pieces and put it back together like a jigsaw. Because each part came from the same paper each bit was a unique mechanical fit and therefore considered conclusive evidence that all the pieces were of the same origin.’

‘You’ve got a good memory.’

‘I only did the course two months ago, so it’s still fresh in my mind.’

‘Nevertheless, you obviously paid attention and that will stand you in good stead as a detective. See the bits of cut wire on the table? If we can trace the wire cutters that were used to a suspect’s possession, then that is another possible mechanical fit.’

Jane was confused. ‘How?’

Lawrence explained, ‘Often wire cutters and similar implements wear over time and unique nicks or marks are created on the cutting edge. When they are used to cut wire the striation mark from the edge of the cutting implement is transferred to the wire.

‘We then do test cuts with the suspect’s pliers and compare the test wires against those on the table here. If there is a match with the cutting marks… bingo! We have evidence that the same cutters were used.’

Jane watched, fascinated, as Lawrence took a small glass bowl out of his forensic kit, together with some small bottles of liquid. He placed the bowl on top of his kit bag and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves.

‘I’m going to do what is called a Griess test for traces of explosives.’

Jane watched as he rubbed a piece of white filter paper on an area of the table, then placed it in the glass bowl.

‘The test involves taking a sample with the filter paper then sodium hydroxide is added to the bowl followed by the Griess reagent… if the paper turns pink within ten seconds, this indicates the presence of nitrites.’

Jane was rather lost with the terminology of the procedure but was engrossed with what Lawrence was doing. When one of the filter papers turned pink within three seconds she knew that Lawrence had got a positive result. He grinned, but appeared quite calm.

Jane, in contrast, was excited. ‘Is it nitroglycerine?’

‘It’s only a preliminary test… the explosives lab will carry out the more sensitive thin layer chromatography on further samples from the table top… But for my money you can be 99 per cent sure it’s nitro.’

Lawrence handed Jane some rubber gloves and small exhibits bags and asked her to help him bag and list each bit of wire. Dexter called out from the kitchen, asking Lawrence if he could have a word with him.

‘You found something?’ Lawrence asked, as he entered the kitchen.

‘There’s more wire in the bin, along with the remnants of a remote-control car and the shell of an alarm clock… If they had planned to move on then I’d expect a more thorough clean up.’

‘I agree. The attempt at cleaning off fingerprints looks rushed… and I got a positive for nitro on the work table.’

Lawrence looked around the kitchen and noticed a large cooking pot on the stove with some stew in it. He picked up a soup spoon and dipped it into the pot.

Dexter looked shocked, ‘You’re not actually going to eat that shit, are you?’

Lawrence moved the spoon up to his mouth, making Dexter cringe, then with a cheeky grin stopped and dipped his finger in the spoonful of stew.

‘It’s still lukewarm. If they were planning on moving out tonight then why not eat this first?’

‘The bastards must have been tipped off. They knew we were coming!’ Dexter punched a kitchen cabinet with his fist.

Lawrence spoke calmly. ‘Well, it can’t be anyone on the raid. None of us knew where we were going until Church briefed us.’

‘My bet’s on a leak within the Intelligence Services. Keep this between us. I’ll go back to the Yard and tell Church.’

‘Rather you than me. I’ll finish up here with Tennison, the SOCOs can work through the night on the fingerprinting and I’ll arrange for uniform to guard the premises until everything’s been examined.’

‘How long will it take to get results if you find any prints?’

‘A week or two.’

‘What? Why so bloody long?’

‘Because the suspects are probably all paddies, and if they have a criminal record their fingerprints will be held with either the RUC or Garda Síochána fingerprint bureaus. We have to search them manually here first, then send them over to Ireland and that takes time.’

‘And time’s something we haven’t got. I can feel it my blood… the IRA are planning something big in London.’

Jane arrived at the lab expecting to be given some menial tasks or asked to type up reports. She perked up when Lawrence told her that she could help him with the items recovered from the flat in Kentish Town.

‘They’re running further tests on the samples I took from the table tops. So far it’s looking pretty positive that its nitroglycerine but the final chromatography result takes a while, and they’ll need to do a second test to be sure.’

‘It’s all very intricate and time-consuming work,’ Jane remarked.

‘It has to be. We can’t afford to get it wrong, especially when it comes to a trial. Defence scientists will be allowed to examine everything and check our reports. If they can find the slightest error, they will be on it like a rash. They’ll allege our tests weren’t carried out properly or that there was contamination to try to discredit us.’

‘I was in court on a case once where that happened over the signing of a confession statement. The defence alleged that the defendant had been tricked into signing a doctored page of the notes admitting the crime.’

Lawrence looked surprised and Jane realised he thought the allegation was against her.

‘It wasn’t me they were accusing; it was the DI I was working with, though I did get a hard time when I gave evidence. I was accused of being part of the “fit-up”.’

‘So what happened?’

‘The confession evidence was ruled inadmissible by the judge. Luckily there was other evidence and the jury convicted.’

‘Well, take my advice, Jane: fixing or tampering with evidence or forensic results is never worth it. You could lose your job, pension, and even end up in prison. Gather the evidence and present your case with honesty and integrity, then let the jury make the final decision. Even then, you’ll lose some cases, but it’s all part of learning on the job. You move on to the next case.’

Jane liked working with Lawrence. When it came to honesty, he was above reproach, and as usual she was learning so much from him. Now Lawrence showed her two bits of different coloured wire under a double-microscope, which he told her was called a comparison microscope. He pointed out how the striation marks on each were identical, which meant the same cutters had been used on each wire.

Jane helped Lawrence for the rest of the day, dealing with the bits of wire and, piecing wires together. Apart from the time she’d watched Dexter disarm the fake bomb, it was the best experience she’d had at the lab so far.

Jane got home just after six, having stopped off to pick up a bottle of Saint-Nicolas-de-Bourgueil red wine on her way. She quickly changed into jeans and a T-shirt, then poured a cup of the wine over her pre-prepared sauce, ready to heat it up. She filled a pan with water to boil for the pasta. As she was laying out the cutlery and plates for dinner, Pearl appeared in the doorway to say that she was going to have a drink with her friend Eric, so Jane would have the flat to herself.

By seven fifteen, Jane felt confident that everything was ready. She applied some fresh makeup, combed her hair loose, and sprayed on her favourite perfume, Diorissimo by Dior. Just as she was coming out of the bathroom the doorbell rang. Jane pressed the intercom to open the main front door, and went out onto her landing to wait for Michael. Unlike most of her other visitors, he wasn’t gasping for breath and moved quickly up the stairs carrying a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers.

‘Perfect timing!’ Jane said, as she ushered Michael into the flat.

‘These are for you,’ he said, handing her the flowers. He was wearing a tweed jacket with leather-patched elbows, over a polo neck sweater and jeans.

‘Thank you. I’m sorry, I don’t have a dining table so we’re eating in the kitchen. I’ve got a bottle open so come on through.’

Jane poured two glasses of wine and drew out the kitchen stools.

‘Cheers,’ Michael said, clinking his glass against hers. ‘I wasn’t sure what to wear, so I went for the casual look.’

Jane smiled, turning on the gas ring to heat up the sauce. ‘I should have got some salad… but I have some garlic bread which I’ll pop in the oven when everything is almost ready.’

‘Smells delicious.’

‘Do you cook?’ Jane asked.

‘Yes and no. To be honest I mostly eat in the canteen, and lately I’ve been on such long shifts that I’m completely exhausted by the time I get home.’

They chatted about how long she had been in the flat, as she busied herself at the cooker.

‘Do you live here on your own?’

‘No, I have a flatmate but she’s out for the evening. It’s obviously not really the sort of flat for entertaining, but it’s the first place I’ve owned.’

Jane made Michael laugh as she recounted her parents’ first visit when they were heaving for breath by the time they got to the top of the stairs, and then said they thought it was too small.

They drank more wine as the sauce began to simmer, but the water for the pasta was taking ages.

‘Maybe switch the pans over to different rings…’ Michael suggested, and got up to lift the water pan as she moved the sauce onto a lower small ring. She had turned on the oven ready to put in the garlic bread, and the heat in the kitchen was becoming uncomfortable.

‘I’ll open a window,’ he said. He squeezed past her to lean over the sink and opened the kitchen window a fraction. ‘There you go… that’s better.’

Jane was relieved when the water finally boiled and she gently lowered in the spaghetti, waiting for it to bend and soften in the pan. Michael perched on his stool as she peered into the pan. She was unsure exactly how long it was going to take to cook, and didn’t know when to put the bread in.

The front door banged open and Pearl walked in holding a carrier bag.

‘Sorry, Jane, Eric’s got a migraine. I won’t get in anybody’s way, but if I could just have a minute to peel some carrots for my tub of humus…’

Jane felt like throttling Pearl, but introduced her to Michael as she hung up her coat and squeezed past Jane to get to the sink with her bag of carrots.

‘I’m not cooking them… I just need to peel them so that I can dip them into my houmus.’

‘I think the pasta is ready,’ Jane said tersely.

‘You know the best way to tell? Take out a piece of it and throw it up onto the ceiling. If it sticks, it’s cooked!’ Pearl laughed, and began scraping her carrots.

Just as Jane was about to take the pan off the stove and drain the spaghetti, the phone rang. Michael volunteered to look after the pasta while Jane went into the hall to answer the phone.

‘Hello?’ she said angrily.

‘Jane dear, it’s Edith. I’ve not heard a peep out of you for so long, I was worried.’

‘I’m fine, thank you, Edith. In fact, I’m just about to serve dinner.’

‘Well, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to give you an update on my mother…’

Jane rolled her eyes up to the ceiling as Edith went into a lengthy description of her mother’s latest escape antics. In the kitchen Jane could hear Pearl laughing and Michael joining in. She was obviously throwing spaghetti up at the ceiling.

‘You see… perfectly cooked! Here, let me help you drain it. Pop a knob of butter in it, as it tastes much better. Why don’t you stir the sauce, as it’s bubbling? So, what do you do? Are you a detective like Jane?’

‘No, I’m a charge nurse at St Thomas’.’

‘Oh, a male nurse… that’s a new one on me. How do you know Jane?’

‘Through a patient we’re looking after. Do you remember the bomb at Covent Garden?’

‘Oh God, yes I do. I have to tell you that I was a bit worried when I first came here. You know Melcombe Street is very close to that awful siege in Balcombe Street? I work at Madame Tussauds, just around the corner from there. It was so dreadful because it went on for days… all the streets around here were cordoned off during the siege, but I never mentioned it to Jane. Have you put the garlic bread in yet? It needs to be wrapped in tin foil.’

Jane had heard enough and interrupted Edith mid-flow.

‘Edith, I really have to go. I’m sorry about your mother but I have to serve dinner, as I have a guest waiting.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, dear… I’ll call back another time.’

Just as Jane replaced the receiver the phone rang again. She was so frustrated she snatched it up. ‘Hello?’

‘It’s Daddy, darling… I’m just checking in as we haven’t heard from you for a while.’

‘I’m sorry, Daddy, could I call you back?’

‘I just wanted to see if you’re coming over for Saturday lunch? As you know we’ll be leaving for Harwich on Sunday for our cruise and your mother and I wanted to see you before we went.’

Jane heard Michael offering Pearl a glass of wine and quickly told her father that she would be there for lunch on Saturday, then hung up.

Pearl had a small plastic tray with a plate of peeled carrots, a pot of humus and a glass of wine.

‘I think we’ve sort of got it all ready for you,’ she said, smiling at Michael.

‘Thank you,’ Jane said curtly.

‘Nice to meet you, Michael. And if you ever want a free ticket for Madame Tussauds, just ask for me.’

Michael was standing by the stove with the pasta in a large bowl and a serving bowl of the sauce with a ladle.

‘Just got to get the garlic bread out and we’re ready to go,’ he said.

‘Please sit down and let me serve it. I’m sorry, that was a friend from my old station and she’s very hard to get off the phone. Her mother has dementia and goes walkabout… Then my dad called. My parents are going away on a cruise on Sunday… Amazing really, as they hardly ever take holidays.’

Jane retrieved the rather charred garlic bread from the oven, then served the spaghetti and bolognese sauce in soup bowls. She took out some grated Parmesan cheese from the fridge as Michael poured himself another glass of wine and topped Jane’s glass up.

‘This is so good,’ he said, winding the spaghetti around his fork, against a spoon.

Jane was delighted when he had a second bowlful, and afterwards she laid out a cheese platter with biscuits. Michael rinsed their dirty dishes in the sink and noticed Pearl’s carrot peelings lying on a brown paper bag to one side, which he placed in the bin as well.

‘You’re well-trained,’ Jane said, smiling. She started to make some coffee.

‘Yep, there’s nothing worse than having to wash up a stack of dirty dishes.’

They finished the bottle of wine with the cheese and biscuits, then both had some coffee. Irritated by the sound of Pearl’s TV, Jane knocked on her door.

‘Pearl, can you turn the volume down please? It’s too loud.’

Michael joined her in the hall, carrying their cups of coffee. He obviously presumed there was a lounge area somewhere and Jane, feeling rather embarrassed, explained that there was no place to sit comfortably, other than her bedroom.

‘You’re welcome to sit there if you don’t mind. I don’t have a TV, as I can hear Pearl’s every night!’

Jane opened her bedroom door. She had placed scatter cushions over her bedspread so that it didn’t appear like an invitation to get too cosy. Michael sat down on her bed and put his coffee on her bedside table. Jane sat down beside him.

‘My parents said I should have got a bigger place as there’s no sitting room… I’m beginning to think they’re right, but I really need the rent from Pearl.’

‘I live in a bedsit, but it’s actually very spacious,’ he said. ‘It’s in one of those huge Victorian houses that have been split into flats. I’ve got a small cupboard as a kitchen, and I share the bathroom with two other guys on my floor. I’m saving up to buy my own place, but for now it suits me. And, like you, I don’t do much entertaining.’

‘You noticed!’ she said, feeling totally at ease beside him. Michael put his arm around her and drew her closer.

‘So, tell me all about you… because on our next date I’d like to take you out to dinner and a movie.’

‘I’d like that. I haven’t been to the cinema for ages. I’d hate to go by myself, and as I am often on night duty there’s not that much opportunity. I go to my parents as much as possible at the weekend, and—’

Michael tipped her chin up and leaned close. It wasn’t a lingering kiss, just a light touch of his lips against hers. Jane was about to move closer towards him when the phone rang again.

‘I’m not going to answer it,’ she said, enjoying the feel of being curled up next to him with his arm around her shoulders.

The phone continued ringing and Jane was about to get up when she heard Pearl come out of her room.

‘I’ll get it!’ she called.

The next moment she knocked on Jane’s door. ‘It’s for Michael.’

He jumped to his feet. ‘I’m so sorry… I had to leave a number where I could be contacted if there was an emergency. We’re short-staffed, and I’m on call.’

Michael went out into the hallway and spoke briefly to the caller before he returned, looking worried.

‘It’s the hospital. Daphne Millbank’s fading fast. Her organs are shutting down.’

Pearl went into the kitchen to put her plate into the sink. She considered washing it up, but then couldn’t be bothered.

In her haste to leave with Michael, Jane had left her bedroom door open. Pearl looked inside and noticed the coffee cups left on the floor. She pushed the door open wider and went into the room. She had a nose around, pretending to herself that she was looking for the hairdryer. She peered into the large box that had contained Jane’s dress and neatly reclosed the lid. Then she opened some drawers and checked inside them before looking in the wardrobe. The dress was hanging in the middle with space either side of it, made by pushing the other clothes along the rail. Pearl took the dress out and admired it, reading the Chanel label before she read the tag attached to the dress. It had the price, date of hire and date of return. Pearl replaced the dress and flicked through Jane’s other clothes before she closed the wardrobe door, stepping back over the coffee cups on the floor as she left the room.

Jane sat in the brightly lit reception area, impatient to know how Daphne was doing. When they arrived at St Thomas’ Michael had rushed off to find the night duty doctor. The large reception area was eerily silent, with just one administrator manning the desk. There was the continual sound of ambulances going back and forth to the A & E department, where there would be a lot more action than here in the private section.

It was just after ten when Michael walked through the double doors. He was now wearing his uniform and Jane could tell by his expression that it was bad news. He came and sat beside her and took her hand.

‘She didn’t make it. I’m sorry, Jane. She was such a fighter, but she started having difficulty breathing and then complications set in… it was hopeless.’

Jane blinked back tears and asked if she would be allowed to see Daphne. Michael hesitated, then agreed to take her up to the ward. He walked ahead of her down the private corridor where the armed guard was still standing at the door. He looked bewildered, confused about what he should do.

‘Only the nurses and doctors have been allowed entry… no one else has been here,’ he said, shuffling his feet.

Ignoring him, Michael opened the door to Daphne’s room and ushered Jane inside. The cage that had been protecting her amputation was no longer over the bed. Daphne lay with just a sheet covering her tiny body, her arms tucked underneath it. Without all the paraphernalia that had surrounded her she seemed even more vulnerable and fragile. Jane moved closer to the bed. She could see that Daphne’s hair had been combed away from her face, and her mouth and closed eyes were sunken.

‘She would have liked to have her teeth in…’ Jane said quietly.

Michael opened the box, and, moving Jane aside, he put in Daphne’s precious white false teeth.

‘That’s better,’ Jane said. After a moment, she turned to Michael. ‘It was natural causes? I mean, there was nothing suspicious, was there?’

He shook his head. Jane knew that Michael could not really have any notion of the significance of Daphne Millbank’s death. And she didn’t want him to know. She forced herself to sound calm as she asked if she could use a phone.

‘There’s one in the nurse’s bay,’ Michael said.

He waited as she called Scotland Yard and asked the duty sergeant to inform DCI Crowley that Daphne Millbank was dead.

‘All done?’ he asked softly as she replaced the receiver.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, ‘all done.’

‘Would you like me to call you a cab?’

‘No, thank you, I think I need to walk for a while.’

He gently took her arm to escort her out of the hospital. ‘I’d come with you but I have to stay.’

‘I understand. I really just need to walk for a while.’

‘I’ll call you.’

Jane took off walking briskly across Westminster Bridge. By now, it was nearly eleven and cold, with a sharp wind from the river. She knew she should have phoned for police transport to take her home, but she wanted to be alone and she couldn’t believe she was in any real danger. Her mind was churning: she had now become the only witness. One moment she felt almost panic-stricken but then she quickened her pace again, feeling angry at the waste of lives the bomb had caused. She passed the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben’s clock face looming in the moonlight as she pulled her jacket tightly around her. As she headed towards Westminster tube station she could see the bars were across the entrance: it was closed. She had no option but to keep walking towards the bus stop and hoped the next night bus wouldn’t be too long

Fifteen minutes later she was thankful to see the brightly-lit red double-decker bus heading towards her stop. There were few passengers travelling so late. She took a lower-level window seat, opening her purse to show the bus conductor her warrant card.

The bus seemed to take forever heading across Trafalgar Square, round Nelson’s Column, and left into Charing Cross Road. Late as it was, the streets were thronging with people, mostly young. All the theatres along Charing Cross Road were closed, shows over. As they passed Oxford Street she glanced at her wristwatch. Midnight. It felt as if she was never going to get home.

The bus stopped next to Foyles on Charing Cross Road and Jane was surprised as to how many passengers were getting on. Two drunk young men began to argue with the bus conductor. That was when Jane saw Regina on the corner of Manette Street. The bus was just about to move off when Jane hurried down the aisle and jumped down from the platform. Jane was familiar with the area from a previous case involving a search for a prostitute, and knew she was heading into the red-light district. This is where she had checked out all the strip clubs and porn shops. She saw Regina turning right off the narrow dark road into Greek Street. Greek Street was packed with small lit-up cafés and restaurants and way up ahead of her she could see Regina pushing and shoving aside anyone in her way. She was wearing a cheap white PVC jacket, mini skirt and very high platform boots. Jane was shocked as she watched her approach a car and lean in, but she swiftly moved away. Five minutes later she approached another man and did the same thing. Jane had seen enough. She strode towards Regina, grabbed her by her arm and pushed her against the wall.

‘What do you think you are doing?’

The driver from the last car, in a red Cortina, swore at Jane and told her to mind her own fucking business. Still gripping Regina’s arm tightly, Jane turned to the driver. ‘I’m a detective with the Metropolitan Police. This girl is underage. Do you want to be arrested with her?’

He drove off fast. Jane now grabbed Regina’s other arm, pinning her up against the wall. She didn’t struggle and Jane only needed one look at her face to see she was out of her head.

‘Do you know who I am? Do you remember me?’

Regina nodded. ‘I know you.’

‘Where is your brother?’

‘He go home.’

‘We tried to help you. I want to help you now.’

‘You no help me, you give me right back to him.’

Jane was so intent on Regina she didn’t see the Cortina reversing and stopping directly behind her. The driver got out and was moving close to Jane. Regina punched her, causing her to stumble back into the man. To Jane’s stunned amazement DS Stanley appeared just as Regina vanished down an alley between the buildings.

‘Get in the car, Tennison,’ Stanley snapped, opening the passenger door.

She didn’t have much choice. He pushed her roughly from behind into the back seat of the car. He got in beside her, slamming the door. They drove off fast.

‘We just lost Regina Hernandez,’ Stanley said into the radio. ‘She’s in Greek Street. Could be heading towards you.’

The driver did a U-turn in Old Compton Street, speeding back to the north end of Greek Street in time for Jane to see other undercover Vice Squad officers herding girls out of a club. Jane recognised some of the girls from the passports they’d found in the Shepherd’s Bush raid.

Stanley gave her a dismissive look. ‘Stay in the car, Tennison. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do. Vice were just bringing the girl in and you screwed it up.’

‘Oh my God, Stanley… I am so sorry.’

‘What the hell are you doing out at this time of night in the red-light district?’

‘I was on a bus coming back from the hospital. Daphne Millbank died. And I saw Regina in the street.’

Stanley stared out of the window as the Vice Squad officers led two more girls were from the club. He knew the old lady’s death was going to cause bigger problems for Jane.

‘Listen, you take a taxi home. I’ll do what I can to iron this situation out. The plus side is that your information about Hernandez and the Playboy Club meant that Vice Squad were able to dig up his contacts. They busted two of his seedy businesses tonight, bringing in the Dip Squad to assist.’

‘Regina said that we didn’t protect her. We sent her back to her uncle.’

‘Yeah well, we weren’t to know, luv. Turns out he’s got contacts at the Colombian Embassy. We’ve got him now, thanks to Regina. Let’s hope we find her before one of Andres’ henchmen does.’