Good Friday

Chapter Seventeen

Jane had a light breakfast that Sunday morning, then drove to Natalie’s flat. She had bought the Sunday newspapers and had picked up the bottle of wine that Michael had given her when he had come to dinner.

Natalie had already prepared the potatoes and vegetables for their lunch, which were waiting in pans on the stove. The small chicken lay on a board and Natalie insisted on showing Jane how to make the sausage meat, herbs and lightly fried onions into stuffing, to put inside it.

‘This is always a good stuffing because the sausage meat keeps the chicken moist. And I always use a few strips of bacon to cover the wings and breast… it stops them burning.’

Jane sipped her glass of wine and nodded in approval as she watched Natalie transfer the chicken to a roasting tin and put it in the oven. Then Natalie went on to explain that the best roast potatoes were made by boiling them up first until they were fluffy round the edges. She then said that the trick was to ‘score’ them all over with a fork, then place them in a very hot baking tray with good olive oil drizzled over the top. ‘They come out really crispy on the outside, but lovely and soft in the centre.’

Jane nodded again as she sipped some more wine.

‘Right, got that… For my next dinner guest I’ll serve chicken…’

They went into the cosy lounge and Natalie asked for a blow-by-blow account of everything that had gone on with Pearl. She roared with laughter about the stolen books and Jane almost joined in, but did feel some compassion for poor Pearl.

‘So, you’re now living alone, just like me.’ Natalie lit a cigarette and poured them both another glass of wine.

‘Yes. It’ll be a strain financially but I’m already enjoying the privacy. I just hope Pearl won’t be too traumatised by her arrest, and that she finds somewhere else to live.’

‘So, tell me all about Michael…’

Jane told Natalie that he had seemed to really enjoy the spaghetti, and had even had two servings, but then he had received the emergency call so they had to leave, just as they were getting to know each other better.

‘What happened at the hospital?’

‘It was awful, because…’ Jane hesitated.

‘You can tell me, Jane. What happened?’

‘We had a very important patient and sadly she didn’t make it. She died from the injuries she suffered during the explosion at Covent Garden.’

‘Really? Why was she so important?’

‘She was a witness, so without her… This is very confidential and I shouldn’t really even be discussing it…’

‘Let’s change the subject. Tell me, did Michael make a pass at you?’

‘Sort of. He’s really very nice… in fact, this is the wine he brought round when he came, but I’d already opened a bottle.’

They continued chatting, glancing through the Sunday papers as they talked. Natalie went in and out of the kitchen to oversee the cooking, and eventually they sat down to have lunch. Natalie carved the golden-brown chicken with the crispy bacon attached to the skin.

‘These roast potatoes are absolutely delicious,’ Jane said. The gravy had been made from the juices in the roasting tin, and was thick and very tasty.

Natalie had produced an apple pie but they were both too full to eat it straightaway, so they decided to wait for a while.

‘I know, why don’t I show you my wrap and bolero? You can try them on and see which one you’d like to borrow to go with that amazing dress!’

They went into Natalie’s bedroom and she opened the wardrobe door and took out a velvet bolero. It had a tiny row of sequins decorating the edge of the sleeves and the hem.

Jane took off her jacket and unbuttoned her shirt as she wouldn’t be wearing anything but the velvet bodice with the tiny straps. She felt unself-conscious as she slipped the bolero over her bra.

‘I love it… it’s perfect!’

‘I think so too… but I’ve got a lovely nice pink shawl as well, which is a good length to wrap around and toss over your shoulder.’

Natalie opened a drawer in her chest of drawers and rooted around, pulling out a long, delicate, shawl.

‘See — it’s gorgeous, isn’t it?’

‘Oh yes…’ Jane wrapped it around the velvet bolero and stood in front of the full-length mirror inside the wardrobe door. She couldn’t decide between the two, and kept on putting it on and off as she looked at herself in the mirror.

The oven timer suddenly went off and Natalie yelped.

‘Oh, that’s the apple pie done! I’ll make some custard whilst you decide. Personally, I like the bolero and I think it’ll look absolutely perfect with that Chanel dress.’

Jane took off the shawl and held it in one hand as she studied herself in the bolero again. She knew Natalie was right and carefully folded the shawl to put it back. As she went towards the open drawer she noticed a Hermès label. Realising it was a scarf, Jane gently pulled the corner of it out from beneath the pile of other scarfs it was under. It was clearly expensive and had a distinctive pattern of red horses’ heads and gold horseshoes. An icy chill spread through her veins and she took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding as she remembered the description their witness had given, of the woman seen in the phone box outside Covent Garden when the explosion had happened.

Jane swallowed and pushed the Hermès scarf back underneath the other scarves, then placed the shawl on top and closed the drawer. She was shaking as she took off the bolero and put her shirt and jacket on. Many women wore Hermès scarves, she reminded herself, trying to dismiss it as a coincidence. She wanted to have another look at the scarf and was about to open the drawer when Natalie came into the room.

‘Have you decided?’ Natalie asked, holding a jug of custard in her hand.

‘Yes, it’s the bolero.’

‘Good. Now, come and have some pie. It’s ready on the table, and I’ve made the custard.’

Jane picked up the bolero and followed her into the lounge where they had eaten at her small, drop-leaf dining table.

‘Gosh, I don’t know if I can manage anything else… I’m so full.’

‘Don’t be silly! Sit down and have another glass of wine.’

Jane sat quietly opposite Natalie, watching as she sliced the apple pie and proffered the custard jug.

‘Just a really small piece for me, honestly…’

Natalie gave her a thin slice and took a larger piece for herself.

‘I didn’t make the pie, but it’s from a fabulous deli on Hampstead High Street.’

Jane thought back over her time with Natalie. The coincidence of bumping into her at the hospital, her repeated calls to the flat, her determination to meet up after not seeing each other for years. But here was Natalie cooking dinner for her, offering her apple pie, surely there was nothing sinister going on? But as she struggled to eat a small mouthful of pie, doubts niggled away.

‘It’s delicious… tastes just like it was home-made.’

Her head was spinning as she tried to think of a way she could leave. She was feeling sick to her stomach.

‘Would you like some coffee?’ Natalie asked, pushing her half-eaten dessert away. She lit a cigarette. ‘Or perhaps we could have a walk on Hampstead Heath, then maybe have coffee when we come back?’

‘Actually, I really need to call my parents just to double-check everything’s OK. They’re leaving for Harwich this afternoon to go on their cruise. Can I use your phone?’

‘Sure. Let me start clearing up the kitchen and then we can set off. Hampstead Heath and Parliament Hill’s not far from here, and sometimes there are a few shops open on a Sunday.’

Jane watched as Natalie stacked the dirty dishes and carried them out to the kitchen. She quickly crossed over to the phone and dialled, knowing that her parents would have already left.

‘Hello, Daddy,’ she said to the dialling tone. ‘It’s Jane. Just checking everything’s all right before you leave?’

Natalie was in the kitchen when Jane returned.

‘I’m so sorry, but I need to go. One of the locks on my mother’s suitcase has broken and they can’t close it. I’m going to have to pick up one of mine and drive it over there now. They’re in a real flap and they’ll miss the ship if I don’t go.’

‘Oh, no…’ said Natalie ‘I was hoping we could have a lovely evening together, and go to a nice pub.’

‘Well, let me see how I get on. I can always come back afterwards.’

Natalie held up the bolero as Jane headed towards the front door. ‘Take this with you, just in case you can’t get back… It’s Good Friday at the end of this week.’

‘Right… Gosh, sorry. My parents can be rather needy sometimes, but I’d hate them to miss their cruise…’

‘Don’t worry. Just call me if you can make it back afterwards.’

Jane hurried out to her car and climbed inside. She sat in the driver’s seat for a few minutes, telling herself that she was being an idiot and was probably just being paranoid after the Pearl situation. She started the engine and drove home, worried that she had drunk too much wine to be driving. By the time she arrived at her flat she was a nervous wreck.

Letting herself in Jane tried to work out whether she had been jumping to ridiculous conclusions about the Hermès scarf she’d seen at Natalie’s. She lay on her bed and closed her eyes, trying to recall exactly what was in the statement she had read from the witness. Something was nagging her. The scarf that the woman in the phone box had been wearing had been described as possibly Hermès style, with red setter dogs on it, which was obviously different from the one in Natalie’s drawer, which had horses’ heads and horseshoes. But perhaps the witness had been mistaken? When she’d first seen it in Natalie’s drawer, she’d thought for a moment the pattern had been dogs — that’s why she’d pulled it out.

Jane thought through her all of her interactions with Natalie. She wavered constantly between refusing to believe that any connection could be possible, to questioning all their conversations. Eventually she decided that perhaps she needed to talk to DCI Church.

Jane rang the Dip Squad but Church wasn’t available; however, Stanley would be in later that afternoon and he would know where Church could be contacted. Jane replaced the receiver and, almost as if she were on automatic pilot, went back out to her car. Desperately trying to remember the exact address, she drove to Kilburn.

Jane passed Dexter’s road twice before she recognised it. She drove down it slowly until she found his building. She told herself that if Dexter was not in she would just go back home and call Stanley again. Maybe by then she would have come to the conclusion that she was just being paranoid.

Her stomach was churning as she rang the bell for Flat 2. There were no names listed, but she remembered that he lived on the second floor. She rang the bell three times and was just about to turn away when the main front door opened.

Dexter was barefooted, wearing only a pair of tracksuit bottoms.

‘Jane!’

‘Sorry to disturb you… I just needed to talk something over with someone, and DCI Church wasn’t available. If I’m interrupting you I can—’

‘No, come in.’

Jane followed him up the stairs and along the landing to his flat, where the door had been left wide open.

‘I was just going to have a shower, but sit down. Do you need a drink? You look a bit shaken.’

‘I am rather shaken, actually… no, I don’t want a drink. I just need some advice. I might just be adding two and two to get five, or whatever the saying is.’

Dexter sat opposite her on one of his big comfortable sofas, as Jane sat perched on the edge of the other sofa, clasping and unclasping her hands.

‘So, what’s the problem? I heard about your flatmate being arrested…’

‘It’s not about her… It’s about someone else I befriended, and… er…’

Jane stuttered her way through the story of how she had met up with Natalie again years after they had been at the training academy together, and that Natalie had failed the course and was now working in a bank.

Dexter held up his hand.

Do you want to get to the reason you’re here, Jane?’

‘Her name is Natalie Wilde.’

‘That’s a good Irish name.’

‘What?’

‘Oscar Wilde… Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

Jane took a deep breath and explained that she had seen the headscarf with the Hermès label and the horses’ heads in Natalie’s drawer, and that she wondered if it could possibly be the same scarf that had been described by the woman who gave a statement, regarding the suspect in the phone box at the time of the Covent Garden explosion.

Dexter smiled.

‘Well, I’d say it’s a long shot… unless she happens to smoke Kool cigarettes as well!’

‘What?’ Jane’s face completely drained of colour.

‘We believe that the female suspect connected to the bomber smoked a brand of menthol cigarettes called “Kool”… We recovered two stubs from the phone box, with lipstick on them. According to the witness the suspect was smoking and was also wearing leather gloves.’ Dexter laughed. ‘Incredible really… she was able to describe a headscarf and gloves, but not her bloody face!’

Jane felt as though she was suffocating, and swallowed hard as Dexter stood up. It was clear that she was very distressed.

‘Natalie Wilde smokes menthol cigarettes, and I’ve seen the packet… they’re called “Kool”…’

‘Jesus Christ!’

Dexter walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured two glasses of whisky before returning to sit down next to Jane.

‘Here you go… drink this. You look like you’re going to faint.’

Jane’s hand was shaking as she took the glass and gulped from it. Tears began to stream down her face.

‘Listen, sweetheart,’ said Dexter. ‘I want you to take your time and give me a blow-by-blow account of how you met this woman. Start from the beginning and take me right up to the point you found the scarf. You didn’t take it, did you?’

‘No. I made an excuse and left her flat. I said I was going to my parents’ and that I would call to say if I could get back to see her later. She wanted to go out to a pub this evening.’

Dexter went into the bedroom and came out with a notepad and pencil, which he put down on the coffee table in front her.

‘I’m going to have a quick shower, and put some clothes on. You just calm down and sip your whisky, then we’ll talk everything through… all right?’ Dexter hesitated, then rubbed his head.

‘You know, just in case you may have made her suspicious, why don’t you give her a quick call now and say you got held up at your parents’? Make some excuse.’

Jane nodded, and Dexter gave her a gentle, affectionate, pat on her head. He went into his bathroom and shut the door, letting out a long, deep, sigh.

‘Jesus Christ Almighty…’ he said quietly under his breath, as he turned on the shower. He was so stunned by Jane’s revelation that he forgot to take off his tracksuit bottoms and swore as the jets of water soaked them.

Jane had to really talk herself into making the phone call, but it was easier without Dexter there. She dialled the number and waited as the phone rang a couple of times before Natalie picked it up.

‘Hello, it’s me… Jane. I’m just ringing to say thank you so much for lunch, and for the bolero… it’s perfect. I’m sorry not have been able to get back to you earlier, but I had quite a time sorting out my parents’ luggage.’

‘I tried to call you at your flat,’ Natalie said, and Jane had to think fast.

‘I’m still at their flat. I didn’t realise how much I’d had to drink, and got really worried that I might be stopped… and being a police officer it would have been really embarrassing. So, I’m going to sleep here and go back home in the morning.’

‘OK, well, let’s talk during the week. Thanks for calling.’

Jane replaced the receiver, and went to sit back down on the sofa. Confident that Natalie had believed her, she began to make bullet points to describe everything about her interaction with Natalie.

By the time Dexter had showered and returned to sit next to her, she was much calmer. She found his closeness unnerving. He was wearing a loose T-shirt with white tracksuit bottoms, and he smelt of soap and shampoo. Dexter glanced over her notes then, as if he sensed that his closeness was making her feel uncomfortable, he stood up and poured some more whisky into their glasses. This time he added ice cubes.

‘Did you phone her?’

‘Yes… I said I was staying over at my parents’.’

‘Good. So, DC Tennison, let’s crack this. You need to go step by step. Then we’ll either need to take this to HQ in the morning, or we go with the possibility it’s all down to conjecture and coincidence.’ He paused. ‘That said, we’ve never released the information regarding the brand of the two cigarette stubs we recovered from the phone box… Let’s go from the first time you met Natalie Wilde, up until this afternoon.’

Jane concentrated as she recounted how she had met Natalie at the hospital shortly after the bombing. She could recall exactly what they had said and that they had talked about being at Hendon training college. She described their first dinner at Fratelli’s restaurant and the later cooking lesson at Natalie’s flat in Belsize Park. Dexter listened intently and only interjected with reassurance, encouraging Jane to expand and give details about how long Natalie had said she had lived at her flat, and what the furnishing was like. When Jane admitted she had given the names of the officers she was working alongside, Dexter gave no hint of disapproval. But as she spoke more about the things she had discussed with Natalie, Jane felt increasingly alarmed.

After nearly two hours Jane had finished talking and Dexter had been brought up to date with everything to do with Natalie. He had made copious notes and had topped up their drinks again. Jane felt completely drained and was ashamed at how much she had divulged to Natalie, albeit innocently. Only that afternoon she had even told Natalie about their key witness, Daphne Millbank, dying.

‘I didn’t give her Daphne’s name, but I did say she was an important witness.’

Dexter stood up and drained his glass.

‘That might actually be advantageous. If she is who we think she is, and feeds the information to her ASU cohorts, then they will be feeling confident.’

Jane stood up and suddenly felt very dizzy and sick.

‘I’m so sorry but I think I’m going to be—’ She started retching and Dexter grabbed her by her arms and hurried her through his bedroom into the bathroom. Jane didn’t quite make it close enough to the toilet bowl before she threw up into her hands and all over herself, falling to her knees to continue vomiting into the toilet bowl. She emptied her stomach of the lunch, the wine and the whisky, until she was heaving up bile. Her head felt like it was going to explode as she tried to stand back up on her feet.

‘You sure it’s all out of you?’ Dexter said, holding a towel out towards her.

‘Yes. I just feel dizzy.’

Dexter ran some water into the sink and rinsed out a cloth for Jane to wipe her face. He then suggested that she might want to have a shower, as her clothes were covered in sick. Jane leant on the edge of the sink as he turned on the shower.

‘Get undressed and wash yourself down… I’ll leave you something clean to wear afterwards. If you need me, just yell. I’ll be right outside.’

‘Thank you… I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.

Jane took off her soiled shirt and put it in a basin of warm water to soak. Her skirt was even more stained, and she felt so faint that she left it on the floor as she removed her underwear to get into the shower. She used the ‘soap on a rope’ to wash, then shampooed her hair from a bottle in the shower tray. She was beginning to feel less dizzy, and stepped out of the shower to find a thick white bath towel on the heater and a smaller towel to wrap around her wet hair. When she was dry, she put on the oversized James Dean T-shirt that Dexter had left on the radiator for her. As she pulled on her knickers there was a knock on the door.

‘You all right in there?’

‘Yes, I’m just coming out…’ she called. She spent another few minutes checking around the edge of the toilet and using the brush from the stand beside it to make sure it was clean. She took a deep breath and walked out.

Jane went through the bedroom and into the drawing room, where Dexter was sorting through his copious notes whilst eating a sandwich.

‘There’s a glass of iced tonic water on the table… always good to have after you’ve thrown up.’

‘I’m so sorry. It was the whisky, on top of the wine I had at lunch.’

‘No need to apologise. You’ve had a lot to deal with.’

Jane sipped the iced tonic water, and then remembered that her soiled shirt was still in the washbasin and, feeling very embarrassed, asked Dexter if she could have some washing powder so that she could rinse it out.

‘Forget it. Sit down. I’ll sort it for you.’

‘No, really, I insist. I can hang it up to dry, or just take it home in a plastic bag.’

‘Do you know what time it is?’

She had no idea. She had left her watch in the bathroom.

‘Tennison, it’s after midnight. I’m going to get a blanket and kip down here on the sofa… You can have my bed. You’re in no fit state to drive.’

‘No, I’ll go home. I’ve got my car outside.’

‘Just do as you’re told… come on.’ Dexter took her hand and drew her into the bedroom. He threw back the duvet and gestured for her to get into the big double bed.

‘My hair’s still wet.’

He shook his head and went over to the bedside table. He took out a hairdryer from the drawer and plugged it into the socket next to the bed.

‘OK, dry your hair while I clean up in the bathroom.’

Jane stood in front of the bedroom mirror and, not having a brush, she ran her hands through her hair as she dried it. Dexter spent quite a while in the bathroom and she heard the toilet flushing a couple of times before he came out carrying her soiled skirt and her wet shirt.

‘I’m going to put this on the boiler so it’ll be dry by the morning.’

He came back into the bedroom just as she was about to climb into his bed.

‘I don’t know what to say…’ she said softly.

‘I think you’ve said more than enough for one night. You should really try to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be quite a day.’

‘Do you think this is going to put my career in jeopardy? You know… if I’ve been disclosing information that I shouldn’t have?’

He sat down beside her. ‘At the moment it’s just a lot of conjecture and suspicion. But you’ve been upfront about it all with me. Obviously, it will all have to be checked out; you might be wrong. On the other hand, if you are right and Natalie Wilde is a sleeper, then this is a big lead. Let’s face it, right now, with no Daphne Millbank, we are nowhere near identifying the Covent Garden bomber.’

‘Will Crowley investigate?’

‘I would think so. You’re going to have to be prepared for a lot of questions, and it’s a slow process. His team won’t want her tipped off that she’s being investigated and she’ll more than likely be under immediate surveillance. They’ll have to be careful because her contacts could be close.’

He reached out and traced her face with his hand. Whether he instigated the kiss or Jane did, when his lips touched hers she didn’t hold back and the next moment he moved onto the bed to lie beside her. She didn’t want to let him go, even when he leaned up on his elbow and looked uncertainly into her face.

‘You sure about this?’

‘Yes, don’t go… please.’

He cradled her in his arm and she buried her face in his neck, kissing him until he slowly drew up the James Dean T-shirt to kiss her breasts. He made love to her gently at first but then they became more passionate together and Dexter’s obvious sexual experience resulted in explosive orgasms that made her feel as if she was flying. Eventually they lay still together. Dexter drew Jane close to him and she rested her head again in the crook of his shoulder.

‘Well, that was unexpected… but very nice,’ he said, softly kissing the top of her head.

‘Tell me about you,’ she said.

‘I already have… There’s not much more than you already know.’

‘What does it feel like when you have to defuse a bomb?’

‘Well, that part you get used to… it’s what you’ve been trained to do. The worst is always what we call the “long walk”… when you have to slowly approach the bomb… that’s when your heart beats faster. You don’t know if it’s been booby-trapped or whether it’s going to explode in your face before you get to it… that’s always the worst part. I suppose it must be a bit like the bridegroom waiting at the altar, unsure if the bride’s going to turn up!’

‘It’s the bride who has to do the long walk, not the groom,’ Jane replied, but Dexter was silent.

She put her hand on his chest and felt the steady rhythm of his breathing, knowing that he was asleep. She didn’t want to move and all the tension and paranoia she had felt that afternoon and evening evaporated. She was safe, cushioned by Dexter’s warmth, and she quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Dexter had already showered and dressed by the time she woke up. He sat next to her on the edge of the bed, waking her with a start. She smiled and closed her eyes again.

‘There’s coffee brewing… Your shirt’s dry, but your skirt stinks. If I were you I’d make a quick detour to your flat to get some clean clothes, then drive to Scotland Yard. You did say you had your car here?’

‘Yes…’ She opened her eyes again. ‘Are you leaving?’

‘Yeah. I want to get to Crowley and set up the meeting, then go over everything before you get there.’

Jane sat up, still feeling rather disorientated. ‘What time is it?’

‘Six thirty. Just shut the front door after you when you leave. I’ll see you at Crowley’s office about nine.’

Dexter was gone before Jane had time to say anything. She was disappointed at his hasty exit, but forced herself to do exactly what he had asked of her. She dressed in her less-than-fragrant clothes, and then drank half a cup of coffee before leaving his flat. Jane took Dexter’s James Dean T-shirt with her so that she could wash and return it, but she also liked having something of his. As the T-shirt lay on the passenger seat beside her it was a reminder, not only of their lengthy discussion about Natalie Wilde, but also about their passionate lovemaking. All Jane could think about being safely wrapped in his arms again, but as she got closer to home she began to feel very nervous. She knew that the meeting with Crowley was going to be one of the most difficult experiences she had faced.

Jane dressed in clean clothes and was ready to leave when the phone rang. She hoped it might be Dexter, but it was DCI Church.

‘Jane, it’s Church. I know you tried to reach me through the station last night, but when I called you back there was no reply.’

‘I’m sorry. I just needed to talk something through with you…’

‘I know, Dexter’s already told me. I’ll collect you in about fifteen minutes and drive you to HQ. We’re setting up a big meeting in Crowley’s office and I just thought you might need some support. It’s important that you handle yourself well. We’ll all be looking out for you, Jane, so just stay calm… and check that it’s me before you come down to your front door, all right?’

‘Yes, thank you… I’ll be ready and waiting, sir.’

Jane replaced the receiver, and looked at her watch. It was still only eight thirty and DCI Church’s call, instead of reassuring her, had made her stomach churn. She had only had a few gulps of coffee at Dexter’s flat earlier, and after being sick the night before she was worried that she might not be able to focus on an empty stomach. She quickly made herself two slices of plain toast and swallowed down a couple of aspirins with a glass of milk. She went into the bathroom and cleaned her teeth, checking her clean, pressed, white shirt and black slimline pencil skirt to make sure they were in order. By the time she had put on her jacket and picked up her handbag and briefcase, the doorbell rang.

Jane peered through her bedroom window and saw DCI Church standing beside his car. She took a deep breath and walked out into the hallway, locking her front door and heading down the stairs. She opened the main front door and Church turned to give her a warm smile, waiting as she closed the door behind her.

‘OK, let’s go…’ he said, as she climbed into the passenger seat beside him.

Church started the engine and gave her a sidelong glance.

‘You OK?’

‘Yes. I’m fine, thank you.’

‘Dexter took care of you, did he?’

She blushed and hated the fact that she wasn’t able to disguise it. She stared ahead.

‘Yes, he did.’

‘It’s not going to be easy this morning. Just answer everything clearly, and don’t think you have to make any excuses. We just need to know the facts. Don’t embroider anything, just tell it straight down the line.’

‘I will.’

‘Don’t let Crowley unnerve you. All you have to realise is that he’ll be keen to establish whether or not we might have a breakthrough in Natalie Wilde. So be confident about your suspicions, and don’t worry that you may have fucked up.’

Jane couldn’t help laughing, and shook her head. ‘You certainly know how to make a girl feel reassured! I’m really worried that this might have damaged my future career.’

‘No way. If you’re proved right this could be your ticket to the Flying Squad,’ he said, smiling encouragingly.

‘I’m just very concerned after the Pearl situation, and now this…’

He tapped her arm. ‘Listen, Crowley’s position on the Bomb Squad is in jeopardy unless he gets results. Your mistakes could reflect badly on him, but if Natalie leads us to the ASU and arrests are made, cock-ups can be overlooked.’

Jane tried to relax, which was exactly what DCI Church had intended.

What he didn’t add was that she was going to be under enormous pressure about having unwittingly disclosed information that could have placed officers at risk. Jane’s career in the CID could very well be over — and if this was yet another example of her unprofessionalism he would aid Crowley in kicking her out.