Good Friday

Chapter Twenty

It was Good Friday, the day of the dinner dance. Natalie Wilde had still not returned to her basement flat, nor did she go to work at the bank as she had called in sick. Without any knowledge of where she was Crowley gave the go ahead for two officers to force entry into her basement flat, accompanied by forensic expert DS Lawrence. Crowley requested that Jane Tennison accompany Lawrence to the flat so, after being collected in an unmarked police vehicle, Jane was taken to 44 Belsize Park Avenue to join the forensic team.

After being given the all-clear from the bomb disposal expert, who had checked the door frames for possible booby traps, Jane and Lawrence made their way down the steps to the front door. It was easy to open the simple Yale lock with a skeleton key. Lawrence pushed the door but it wouldn’t open fully as something was behind it. The smell that greeted them made it clear that bags of rubbish had been left to rot in the hallway.

‘Take those back to the lab for sorting,’ Lawrence told one his team who had now joined them.

As one officer removed the bags the two other officers moved silently round the flat, searching the entire basement. There were numerous empty drawers in the main room, and in the kitchen there were more rubbish bags containing half-opened tins and used food cartons, as well as many empty wine bottles.

‘God, this place is a mess. Was it like this when you were here, Jane?’ Lawrence asked.

‘No — it was neat and tidy. It looks as if other people have been here since I was. The furnishing and the pictures on the walls are the same, but it’s all a façade now that we know who Natalie really is.’ Seeing it like this, empty and neglected, Jane wondered how she’d been fooled.

She crossed to a bookcase filled with Penguin paperbacks and took one down. The browning book smelt musty. Jane and Lawrence went into the bedroom where a few items had been left in the dressing table-drawers.

‘This is where you found the scarf, isn’t it?’ Lawrence asked.

‘Yes. It was with all her underwear, in that drawer there.’ She indicated the bottom drawer.

‘Well, it’s not there now,’ he said, rummaging around.

Jane checked the wardrobe. Inside was an old coat, a rain jacket, two blouses, and a pair of shoes that were down at the heel and had a hole in the sole.

‘I don’t think they belong to her.’ Jane glanced at the scuffed shoes and then looked over to the double bed. ‘She told me it was her mother’s quilt,’ she said.

Lawrence lifted it up. Underneath it there were sheets and pillow cases, all in need of a wash and smelling of mildew. ‘She must have moved most of her stuff out before Stanley set up the observation over the road,’ he said.

‘Church said when they last saw Natalie enter her flat she was carrying a bag of groceries?’

‘All part of the front to appear normal in the eyes of others. She’s a skilled operative, Jane… I doubt any one of us on this investigation would have rumbled her cover.’

In the waste bin they found the unopened groceries and tins of food that Natalie must have bought on the day she’d left work early. Some used candles were also in the bin. Jane bent down and took one out, sniffing it. Lily of the Valley. She held it up.

‘Natalie must have lit scented candles to cover the smell of mildew when I came here. Plus she was always cooking when I was here.’

Lawrence nodded. ‘You never know… Besides her prints we might find some other useful ones here that match to known IRA members.’

He did several spot tests for nitroglycerine but all proved negative and he said he thought it was unlikely that the premises had been used for bomb-making.

They opened the French windows onto the small garden; moss-covered stone steps led to a garden table and two benches. Overshadowed by a huge tree with enormous branches, it felt dank and cold.

‘I keep on making excuses for my naivety… Why didn’t I pick it up? She lied to me about everything, even telling me she had picnics out here.’

Lawrence shrugged. He was surprised that the usually observant Jane hadn’t detected the underlying state of the flat. But instead he said, ‘Don’t beat yourself up about this, Jane. You didn’t have any reason to doubt her.’

Jane looked around, picturing the flat as it had been when she’d last visited. Now all she could see was lies.

Back in the lab, Lawrence set up three trestle tables covered in plastic sheeting before each rubbish bag they’d brought from Natalie’s was tipped out on them. The stench of rotting food filled the lab. Lawrence wore a mask as he plucked out a chicken carcass that was crawling with maggots. Using a wooden spatula, he picked his way through the mound of potato peelings and apple pie crust. It was a tedious and distasteful process. He set aside the empty food cans for fingerprinting, but it was not until he reached the damp, stinking, newspapers that many of the items had been wrapped in that he came across something of interest.

The newspapers had been flattened out, and the dates were noted in the blurred wet print. One of the headlines from the Evening Standard was ‘Covent Garden Bomb Horror’. Lawrence had to be careful as the sodden paper was falling apart, but the front page had a picture of Jane Tennison standing by an ambulance. Using a magnifying glass and leaning closer to the blurred picture, Lawrence could see a very faint red ring drawn around Jane Tennison’s face, and her name underlined. Sifting further through the bin he found a cutting of the press release with the artist’s impression of the suspect and the interview with Jane.

DCI Crowley sat in his office with DCI Church discussing the investigation.

‘Natalie Wilde must have recognised Tennison from the press conference or bomb scene photographs in the paper,’ Church suggested.

‘Yes, and no doubt the rest of the ASU were rubbing their hands with glee once they realised Wilde knew Tennison from Hendon training college.’

‘Perhaps Wilde was a sleeper when she joined the Met. Lucky in some ways she couldn’t swim otherwise she might have been Commissioner by now,’ Church said, trying to make light of the situation, but Crowley wasn’t amused.

‘Don’t even go there. The press will have a field day when it comes out, which it will if we arrest her and she stands trial. Every one of us will be made to look fools, thanks to Tennison.’

‘She’s young and inexperienced. She wasn’t to know who and what Wilde really was. I’m not pointing any fingers, but the reality is that we all put Jane in this situation with Natalie. Jane was adamant that she could not identify the bomber, but the press release and artist’s impression marked her out as our only witness who saw him.’

‘Whatever I did or didn’t do was for the sake of the investigation and arresting those IRA bastards before they killed and maimed more innocent people. Tennison divulged confidential information to a fuckin’ IRA sleeper and now they are one jump ahead of us!’

‘So, why the phone call from Natalie last night?’ Church asked quietly.

Crowley pursed his lips, not answering. Church leaned forward, patting his pocket for a cigarette pack.

‘She’s coming out of hiding. It doesn’t make sense, unless she’s not going to turn up tonight. Why lie about working late at the bank and being at her flat when she’d already gone to ground? Stanley’s one of my best guys, and he is adamant that she was not aware of being tailed. The way she acted was like a pro, making sure she was safe. I mean, Jesus Christ, for one second Stanley thought there was going to be another bomb explosion at Selfridges.’

‘But she didn’t have a bomb so there wasn’t,’ Crowley said. He pulled out a pack of Marlboro from his jacket pocket and tossed them over his desk to Church. ‘Listen, we’ve had talks about what could be on the agenda… We know that Natalie Wilde is aware of the time and place of tonight’s dinner, but we’ve got high security at the hotel so it’s still going ahead. The Yard’s detective squads have had a dinner dance on Good Friday for years and I’m not letting the IRA stop this one.’

‘I know that! But why did she call Jane?’ Church snapped.

Crowley leaned back in his desk chair and counted off the points on his fingers. ‘One, she was making sure the venue was still the same. Two, she’s checking we had no knowledge, or evidence, of her connection to the bomber. Three—’

‘Three, she takes Tennison out, removing our key witness, and we never catch the bomber. Then another bloody bomb goes off and we’re to blame.’

‘I was coming to that. I think she’s going to turn up. We need a wire on Tennison to record everything Wilde says as evidence against her.’

Church said angrily, ‘Wilde is going there to help Jane with her dress… how on earth is she going to conceal a bloody wire? Have you not considered her safety at all?’

‘Of course I have… OK — the wire won’t work, but we can hide listening devices in the flat instead.’

‘Even then Natalie might stumble across a listening device. Armed officers should arrest her on the pavement before she gets into Tennison’s block of flats.’

‘That’s a fair point,’ Crowley conceded. ‘Safer all round.’

Together they began to select officers to be in position outside Baker Street underground station so they could arrest Wilde on the street. As an extra precaution, they would have two men in the surveillance position opposite Jane’s flat. ‘And we should place Stanley inside the flat with her as additional protection,’ Church added. Crowley agreed.

By the time DCI Church had left Scotland Yard he was confident that Crowley had set a watertight trap for Natalie Wilde. He drove to Melcombe Street to update Jane. When he arrived it was after two o’clock. She was in her dressing gown with her hair in rollers, and had been waiting for him. He spoke calmly as he explained what the plan was: just as he’d promised, Natalie would be arrested before she even got to Jane’s flat.

‘All you have to do is sit tight and wait. You’ll be given a blow-by-blow account over the surveillance radio. Just keep that close by and then you and Stanley will get to the venue by taxi when it’s all clear.’ He smiled. ‘Save the first waltz for me?’

As Church left, Jane seemed surprisingly relaxed, saying that she would start getting herself ready for the evening.

‘Stanley will have do up all the little buttons on my dress,’ she joked, ‘that part was true, you know, I can’t do the dress up by myself.’

After Church had gone, Jane smoked the last cigarette in the pack he had left behind the day before. Holding her other hand up, she saw that it was shaking. She inhaled a deep lungful of smoke, stubbed out the cigarette and went into the bathroom.

Jane spent a long time applying her make-up. She used more foundation than usual, with a damp sponge to smooth the pale ivory liquid down her neck and over her cleavage. She darkened her eyebrows, and outlined her eyelashes and lids in brown eyeshadow and liner before finishing with black mascara. The pale lipstick was enhanced with a little dab of Vaseline, making her lips look shiny as she pouted in front of the mirror.

She jumped as the phone rang, then went into the hall and tentatively picked up the receiver.

It was Michael, asking if she was free for dinner that night. She told him she had a work function, and that she’d call tomorrow to arrange a date over the weekend. She would have liked to have told Michael everything was far from fine, but she couldn’t. She checked her bedside clock and saw that it was after five, so she began taking out her rollers. She brushed her hair loose and was about to pin it up, but decided against it as it looked lovely down. She put on her best underwear and the strapless bra, which reminded her of the awful bridesmaid’s dress she’d worn for her sister’s wedding. Her mother had followed her round, constantly trying to pull up the dress, worried about Jane showing too much cleavage, which had attracted even more attention.

Jane had hung the Chanel gown up on her wardrobe door so that the creases in the spiral silk and lace frills of the skirt would drop out. She took the gown off the hanger and stepped into it. There was no way she was going to be able to do up all the buttons herself. Stanley really would have to help her when he arrived.

Crowley had four teams of undercover officers at Baker Street station, on the platforms and outside in the street. Also in position was a surveillance van with a driver, and two officers inside. They had all been issued with recent surveillance photos of Natalie Wilde, taken when she had brought the groceries back to her flat before vanishing. Their orders were to arrest her on sight and get her into the van to be driven to Scotland Yard for an immediate interview with DCI Crowley.

Two more officers were on duty across the road from Tennison’s flat, just in case their target somehow managed to avoid arrest. All officers were in radio contact and by four fifteen everyone was in position. Crowley remained at the Yard with DCI Church, waiting for the outcome. Both men had brought in their evening suits and shirts for the dinner dance that night.

At four twenty Tennison’s doorbell rang. She looked through the window and saw that it was Stanley, although she had to look twice as he was wearing a purple velvet dinner suit with a frilled shirt and a velvet bow tie. His usually greasy hair was tied back in a ponytail. She buzzed him in and opened her front door as he headed up the stairs.

‘You look very smart,’ Jane said, as he joined her.

‘Thank you… The suit belongs to my brother-in-law, and my wife had it altered to fit me — trousers shortened and the waistcoat made to measure. The shirt’s mine, and the cufflinks were my dad’s.’

He displayed one of the large gold and onyx cufflinks, then looked up.

‘What?’ he said. ‘You don’t like them?’

‘I just find that I don’t really like you.’

‘Ah, well… it takes all sorts.’

‘I trusted you, Stanley. The other night, with the Vice Squad, you said that you would do what you could to look out for me with DCI Church.’

Stanley made a hissing sound through his teeth.

‘Yeah, I know what I said. Can we go and sit down in the kitchen for a minute?’

Jane reluctantly followed him. He poured some water into the kettle and switched it on, then fetched a box of teabags from the cupboard and a bottle of milk from the fridge.

‘You’re making yourself at home…’

‘I’ll tell you what I’m doing, Jane, I’m trying to relax enough to talk to you seriously. I want you to understand why I had to inform DCI Jimmy Church of the screw-up with the Vice Squad. D’you take sugar?’

Jane perched on the stool beside him. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘I need to go further back, Jane… Maybe you don’t know this, but your old boss at Bow Street Station kind of twisted Jimmy’s arm to bring you in… I know you have ambitions, farcical as they may be, to get into the Sweeney, but Jimmy agreed to take you on in the Dip Squad because we might be able to use a female officer.’

Jane didn’t interrupt as the kettle boiled and Stanley made the tea.

‘So, first thing… After, I admit, a brief training, we have WDC Tennison working on the Underground. We had a major suspect, a man already wanted for assault and handling stolen property — Andres Hernandez.’

Jane said nothing. Stanley could hardly look at her.

‘First day up, Tennison, you almost get pushed under a bloody train, we lose our main suspect, but we bag Miguel Hernandez and the yob in the big leather coat. I have to give it to you that the poor joker who had his wallet lifted gave you a description of Regina Hernandez.’

Jane nodded. ‘I know that, Stanley. Until then, nobody on the team knew there was a girl involved. It was only when we were questioning Miguel — when I spoke to him in Spanish, remember — that he admitted that Regina was his sister.’

Stanley poured the tea. ‘Yes, yes, yes… we know that. Through Miguel we get access to the rundown flat they were living in—’

‘— and you arrest Andres Hernandez,’ Jane interjected.

‘Yes, yes… And we take Regina, who was being sexually abused…’

‘She was being RAPED!’ Jane exclaimed. ‘She was fifteen years old and terrified! I had to take her to be examined—’

‘Shut up, and listen to me! As a consequence of raiding the Portobello flat we discovered fourteen passports belonging to underage girls from Colombia.’

Stanley pointed his finger at Jane.

‘At this time we were instructed, by the guv, that we were no longer running with this case and that we were handing it over to the Vice Squad… Do you recall him saying that?’

Jane shrugged. ‘Yes, I do. But we were told that Regina would most likely not go to trial and that someone at the Embassy would arrange for a safe place for her to stay.’

Stanley raised his hand. ‘Please — just let me take this in order!’

Jane turned away and sipped her tea.

‘The next thing we have is WDC Tennison on the front page of the tabloids, involved in the horror of the bomb blast at Covent Garden underground station. Whether you were or were not aware of photographers being there is another matter… What is important, obviously even more so because of what’s going down today, is that you are possibly a vital witness to the bomber. Have you followed everything so far, Jane?’

‘Yes,’ Jane said resentfully. ‘I am following you perfectly well, Stanley. I’m just not sure why you feel it is necessary for you to go into all this detail?’

‘Because you bloody need to know the details… The next thing is that you take it upon yourself to follow Regina Hernandez, who you spot as a passenger in a car that we later discover is a courtesy vehicle for the Playboy Club in Park Lane.’

Stanley went on to say that he was aware that this information had been passed on to the Vice Squad and they immediately acted on it. The reality was that they were already focusing on Andres Hernandez.

‘After that you were told, again, that the Vice Squad were handling the situation and that it was not the Dip Squad’s territory.’

‘She was wearing a mini skirt, stiletto shoes, and her breasts were hanging out of a skimpy top! We were supposed to be protecting her, Stanley!’ Jane felt her anger rising.

‘Shut up! Your little fifteen-year-old isn’t as naive as you think she is. She was brought in for questioning and agreed to lead the Vice Squad to two further establishments that this Andres bastard runs — one in Beak Street and the other in Greek Street. On the night they’ve organised a raid, our innocent little Regina goes walkabout… so, as they need her to give evidence against Andres Hernandez, they go out looking for her. WDC Tennison, in the middle of the red-light district with no backup, attempts a street arrest of Regina Hernandez, completely unaware that the guy who had stopped to talk to her was Vice Squad. And Regina, our witness, runs off — vanishes.’

Jane felt her cheeks flush.

Stanley rolled a cigarette. ‘I know what I said to you, Jane… but you had yet again ignored orders and if DCI Church found out you would have been in dire trouble — so my intention was to dig you out of the shit. However, the following morning, I discover that your flatmate has been arrested. What the fuck do you expect me to do? When I was told, I thought you were a bloody liability! NOW it turns out that your friend from training school is a wrong ’un and the major suspect!’

‘You arsehole, Stanley!’ Jane was really angry now. ‘How dare you suggest I was in some way complicit with what happened? Tell me, can you honestly say, hand on heart, that Natalie Wilde wouldn’t have fooled you?’

‘That’s irrelevant,’ snapped Stanley. ‘What’s relevant is that if, via Natalie Wilde, the bomb squad can identify the bomber, you’ll be hanging on to your career by your fingernails — but at least you might still have one.’

He took out the radio from his pocket and spoke into it. ‘This is OP Juliet Tango to control, testing… over.’ The transmitter crackled.

‘Receiving you, Juliet Tango… loud and clear… control over.’

‘Juliet Tango, premises safe and secure, over.’ Stanley shook his head at the radio. ‘Piece of crap… it’s one from the Dip Squad’s office. They keep promising we’ll get new ones.’

He suddenly looked properly at Jane for the first time since he had arrived. ‘My God, that’s a bit low at the front, isn’t it?’

‘I need you to do up all the little buttons at the back.’

‘Well, I have to say, Tennison, you’ve got a good pair… just keep them under wraps.’ He smirked and checked his watch. ‘It’s coming up to five o’clock — fingers crossed.’

He sat on a stool as Jane went into her bedroom to collect her evening bag. Inside it she had put her warrant card, lipstick, comb, some folded bank notes, keys and a handkerchief. She needed time alone to digest everything that Stanley had said. What she had not told him was that she knew what it felt like to get on the wrong side of DCI Church. When Church had reprimanded her and told her that they still had not traced Regina Hernandez, he had said that if Regina was subsequently found dead it would be on her head.

Jane heard another radio communication come through. Stanley called out from the kitchen to say that so far all was quiet and that there had been no sign of Natalie yet. She could hear him slurping his tea as she looked at her bedside clock. It was now five past five.

She looked up to see Stanley standing in her bedroom doorway holding a mug of tea.

‘Time’s ticking… She said five to you, didn’t she? It’s after that now?’

‘I said five thirty, and she said she would be here earlier as she would come straight from working at the bank.’

‘Well, we know that’s a lie as she’s not been back to the bank, or to her flat.’

Jane was almost ready for Stanley to do up the buttons on her dress, but the radio transmitter suddenly crackled in the kitchen and he went to find out what the update was.

‘Still no sight of the target,’ he called back to Jane. He finished his tea, washed up the mug and left it on the draining board. When he tried to make contact via the radio again, he just got bad static and no reception.

Jane was becoming nervous. She went out into the hall.

‘She’s not coming. I don’t think she ever intended to.’

‘Then why the phone call? Stay positive,’ said Stanley. ‘She might just be taking her time.’

‘It’s five thirty.’

‘I know… we all know.’ He came over to stand behind her. ‘Now, let me do your buttons up.’

Just then, the doorbell rang. Jane ran into her bedroom and looked look down to the main front door. A large truck was double parked across the road outside the dry cleaners, blocking the undercover officers’ view to her flat. Jane could see Natalie standing below, and spotted the soft top of a blue Triumph Herald driving away from the pavement, passing the parked truck as the driver returned to move it. Jane turned to Stanley, trying not to sound panic-stricken.

‘It’s her! It’s Natalie… she’s here. There’s a truck blocking the undercover SPG officers’ view. I don’t think they’ve seen her!’

‘Let her in. I’ll radio for backup.’

Jane buzzed the front door open and Natalie stepped inside just as the truck moved away. They heard her hurrying up the stairs as Stanley desperately tried to make radio contact, but there was no pickup signal. If Stanley was seen, Natalie would be tipped off — and there was no way he could head down the stairs now. She might be armed.

‘Go into the spare bedroom,’ she hissed at him. ‘The wardrobe’s empty — you can hide in there.’

Stanley hesitated, but Jane pushed him towards the room.

‘She’ll want to look around. She’s never been here before. I’ll keep her talking and take her into my bedroom, then you call for backup.’

Stanley hurried into the spare bedroom just as Natalie knocked on Jane’s flat door.

‘Hi there… it’s me!’ she called out.

With a quick glance to check that Stanley was inside the wardrobe, Jane opened the front door.

Natalie jokingly heaved for breath and laughed. She was carrying a large leather and canvas shoulder bag.

‘My God, those stairs must keep you fit!’

‘They do! Come on in.’

Jane ushered Natalie inside and closed the door.

‘Well, this is it. Just down the hall here is the kitchen—’

‘Let me get my breath back. You sound like a desperate estate agent!’

‘Sorry…’ Jane forced herself to slow down. ‘It’s just that you were a bit late and I have to get ready. Would you like a coffee?’

‘No thanks. It’s very nice and compact…’ Natalie said, looking around the kitchen.

‘The bathroom is in here,’ Jane pushed open the bathroom door.

‘Nice tiles — and you’ve got a shower as well.’

Jane gestured to her bedroom. ‘My bedroom’s in there. I’m so glad you made it. As you can see, I can’t possibly do these buttons up…’

‘You look terrific, though. What’s in that room?’

‘Oh, that’s just my small spare bedroom. The one Pearl had. I’m thinking of making it into a dining and TV room.’

Natalie took a step into the spare bedroom and took a good look round. The single bed was piled high with boxes.

‘Yes, I think that’s a good idea… It’s a bit small but you could get a sort of folding table.’

‘That’s exactly what I was thinking. I’d get rid of the single bed and maybe buy a two-seater sofa.’

Jane’s heart was pounding. She was terrified that Natalie would be able to hear Stanley calling for backup on the radio. In fact, he was crouched down inside the wardrobe, with his back pressed against the door.

Natalie turned and smiled.

‘You’ve got it made, haven’t you? Right, let me do your dress up.’

They walked back into Jane’s bedroom and Natalie went over to the bed to pick up the bolero jacket.

‘This will look really lovely with your dress… it’s fabulous, and it was a real bargain.’

Jane left her bedroom door slightly ajar. As Natalie placed her bag on the bed Jane turned her back towards her so that she could begin doing up the buttons.

‘Gosh, they really are tricky. They’re so small, and some of the buttonholes are really tight.’

Natalie did one button up after another, pulling the velvet top tightly together. In the spare bedroom next door Stanley was still crouched down in the wardrobe, unable to make radio contact. He slowly eased open the wardrobe door and stepped out, moving cautiously into the hall and standing outside Jane’s bedroom door to listen.

‘You’re going to have quite a cleavage, but it makes you look very sexy,’ Natalie said.

‘Did you come on the Underground?’ Jane asked. She was finding it hard to maintain her composure.

‘No, I got a lift from a friend. We’re meeting up later for dinner, and we might go to Fratelli’s — you know, where we had our first dinner together?’

Natalie fastened the last two buttons of her dress and stepped back.

‘You’re shaking! Don’t tell me you’re nervous about tonight? You look gorgeous… Anyway, I’d say that, after what you’ve been through recently, nothing should make you anxious. Do you ever worry about the consequences?’

‘What consequences?’

‘Well, according to what it said in the newspapers about that bombing at Covent Garden, you saw him, didn’t you? I mean, could you recognise him?’

Now, Jane realised exactly why Natalie was there. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I told you, the witness who could have identified him sadly died in hospital. Now, what about my hair?’

‘Oh, well… I don’t think you need to put it up in a chignon. It looks lovely loose.’

Stanley overheard the relaxed conversation and moved silently to the front door, easing it open. He began to hurry down the stairs.

Natalie ran her fingers through Jane’s hair and shook it out to make it looser.

‘I like it the way it is. You’ve done your make-up beautifully. What about earrings?’

‘Oh, I’ve got a necklace… it’s in the box on the bedside table.’

Natalie opened the little leather box and took out the gold chain with the small teardrop pearl.

‘Oh, this is lovely! Turn around and let me put it on for you. The clasp is tiny.’

Jane turned her back to Natalie and waited while she carefully hung the necklace chain around her neck and did up the clasp.

‘There — let me see. Oh, it’s really sweet.’

‘It was given to my mother.’

Halfway down the stairs, Stanley’s radio chattered into life, and the transmitter bleeped loudly. He froze and looked back at Jane’s flat door. He had left it wide open.

Natalie turned towards the bedroom door.

‘What was that?’

‘Oh, it might have been the bell on the cooker? I haven’t got used to the timer yet and I keep on setting it by mistake.’

Natalie stood still, listening. She suddenly seemed very wary. She crossed over to the bed to pick up her handbag.

‘I have to go.’

‘Oh, just wait — let me try your jacket on to see what it looks like.’

Jane put on the velvet bolero just as Natalie pulled open the bedroom door and saw that the flat door was wide open. She turned back to Jane.

‘Yes, that looks good,’ she said mechanically. She put her arm through the shoulder strap of her handbag, but Jane stepped forward and snatched it.

‘What are you doing?’ Natalie exclaimed.

‘Isn’t it more what you’re doing? I don’t know how you can live with yourself!’

Natalie’s face twisted as she tried to pull her handbag away from Jane. There was a moment when they were both tugging to hold on to it, but then Jane yanked hard and stepped backwards, almost losing her balance as she held on. Natalie threw a hard punch, which Jane dodged by stepping sideways, but Natalie made contact with her shoulder. Jane hurled the handbag aside and all the contents tumbled out onto the carpet. Using all her training Jane went for Natalie’s right arm, pulling it back and up almost out of the socket before bending it behind her back and then twisted her hand towards her wrist.

‘You murdered a young mother and injured God knows how many others — for what?’

Natalie was bent over in agony, but she didn’t scream or call out as she was forced to lie on the ground. She stopped struggling.

‘The British army murdered my father,’ she snarled. ‘I hate you, and all that you stand for! Tonight you’ll see what we’re capable of!’

Jane was leaning over, still putting pressure on Natalie’s arm but Natalie had such strength and venom that she seemed completely numb to the pain. In a flash, she turned and caught hold of Jane’s necklace with her free hand. The next moment she had pulled Jane down and was twisting the necklace like a garrotte, choking her until Jane could hardly breathe.

Just then Stanley hurtled into the bedroom and grabbed Natalie by her hair, stamping with all his force on her back to make her release Jane. Pressing her face into the ground with his foot, he dragged her arms behind her back. Natalie screamed in agony, her face twisting with rage as she realised she was helpless. By the time the two other officers Stanley had called in rushed into the flat, it was over.

Stanley cuffed Natalie and dragged to her feet.

She spat in his face. ‘You bastards! You’re all fucking bastards who’ll rot in hell.’

Stanley handed her to the uniformed officers ‘Get that bitch out of here… take her to the Yard, radio ahead for DCI Crowley to meet you.’ He helped Jane to her feet.

Natalie kicked and swore, but it was pointless. Together the two uniformed officers hauled her out into the hall, and dragged her down the stairs screaming at the top of her voice.

Stanley yelled at them to wait as he picked up the contents of Natalie’s handbag and stuffed them back inside. He looked up at Jane as he picked up a small .22 Ruger pistol.

‘I know why she came here,’ said Jane. ‘She was asking about me being able to identify the bomber.’

‘I think the bitch would have used this on you. Let me take this out to the guys.’

Left alone Jane took a few deep breaths, then went over to the mirror. She had a vivid red welt around her throat and, touching her neck, she realised that her mother’s pearl necklace was missing. She began to search the room getting down on her hands and knees to pat the carpet where she had been forced down by Natalie.

Stanley walked back into the bedroom holding his radio and swearing.

‘This is dead as a fucking dodo… the guys called in to Crowley to pull in all officers still around Baker Street underground station with their thumbs up their arses.’

Jane was close to tears as she searched for the necklace. Stanley knelt beside her.

‘Hey… come on, it’s over. You were brilliant. Let’s get you up… I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.’

‘No, it’s my mother’s necklace. Natalie tore it from my throat and I can’t find it!’

‘All right, all right… let me help you. What does it look like?’

‘It’s a teardrop pearl on a thin gold chain.’

Stanley patted the carpet with the flat of his hand, lifting the bedspread from around her bed. He peered under the bed, then sat back on his heels.

‘I’ve found it!’ Jane exclaimed, standing up and holding the broken chain between her fingers.

Stanley looked up at her. ‘I’ve found something too.’ In his hand he held a radio-controlled detonator. ‘Either Natalie was going to set a bomb off or hand this detonator over to someone else. Without this, there’s no bang.’

‘Can you make it safe?’

‘No, but Dexter can and he’ll be at the hotel.’

Jane’s voice shook. ‘Oh, my God! Natalie said: “Tonight you’ll see what we’re capable of”… there could be a spare detonator for a bomb… Crowley and Dexter were using more than one when I watched them on the explosives range.’

‘Pull yourself together!’ Stanley almost lost his cool as he tried his radio again to contact Crowley.

‘DS Stanley to Crowley, are you receiving? Over.’ There was a hissing noise but no reply. ‘God damn this bloody cheap piece of shit!’ Stanley swore at the dead radio.

‘Use my phone.’

Stanley picked up the receiver, but Crowley’s number was continually engaged.

‘Come on, come on, Crowley… put the phone down!’ Stanley shouted becoming more and more impatient as he tried to redial with no success. He slammed the phone down.

‘We need to get to the hotel right now.’ He quickly ushered Jane ahead of him. ‘Go on! Get moving! We can’t wait for a patrol car.’

Jane moved as quickly as she could down the stairs, which was not easy in evening wear. Stanley stepped on the back of her dress, and Jane stopped dead as the frill around the bottom of her skirt came loose. She bent down to look at the damage.

‘Never mind your effing dress Jane… move it! Come on, hurry up!’

Holding the loose frill in her hand, Jane hurried out into the street. At first she thought Stanley was hailing a cab as he stepped into the middle of the road holding his warrant card. He raised his hand to stop an approaching old Ford Anglia, which braked sharply. The driver swore loudly and was even more shocked when Stanley suddenly opened the door and pulled him out.

‘DS Stanley, Met CID. I’m sorry, but I have to commandeer this vehicle for a police emergency… Get in, Tennison.’

The young driver was so shocked he didn’t say a word as Stanley clunked the car into first gear, put his foot down hard on the accelerator, and drove off at high speed.

Stanley weaved expertly through the traffic. When they reached Caxton Street he turned into the large concourse in front of the hotel. The car park was already quite full, and a uniformed PC was directing the new arrivals into empty spaces. Outside the hotel a queue of officers and their guests in evening suits and dresses waited to have their names and warrant cards checked by uniformed officers who were standing at the top of the entrance stairs. Stanley pulled up in the concourse and jumped out of the vehicle. Jane followed more slowly, hampered by her dress. As she got out of the car, torn frill in one hand and warrant card in the other, a voice called out:

‘Tell him to come back and park that car properly!’

She looked up to see the uniformed PC directing a driver to reverse into a parking space beside a blue Triumph Herald. Suddenly she experienced a nightmare flash of recognition. It replayed rapidly before her eyes: the moment she had run after the bomber at Covent Garden, how she had called out to him, reached for the sleeve of his coat, how he had half turned towards her and shoved her roughly away. She was in complete shock and couldn’t call out or move. She was frozen.

‘Jane… Jane!’

Dexter had grabbed her by the shoulders and was shaking her. She heard his voice as if waking from a nightmare.

‘You look fabulous! Let’s ask Stanley to set up the champagne.’ He took her by the elbow to escort her into the hotel, but she was stuck to the spot.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, concerned.

Jane turned away from the uniformed PC and slowly nodded her head. She tried to speak but there was no sound.

Dexter had been told that they had arrested Natalie Wilde inside Jane’s flat and found a detonator. Assuming she was suffering from delayed shock, he put his arms around her.

‘Everything is going to be all right, I’ve taken the battery out of the detonator, so it’s disarmed. And the whole place was swept for explosives this afternoon. Come on, let me take you inside and get you something to drink…’

Jane leant against him and took more deep breaths as he tried to move her, but she held on to him tightly.

‘The bomber… Covent Garden… I recognise him. He’s here. Don’t turn around… he’s the uniformed PC directing cars into the parking bays.’

Dexter tensed, then moved closer to her as if embracing her. His lips were close to her ear as he turned a fraction. He could now get a better view of the officer, who was assisting a driver to park at the far end of the bays, in almost the last space left.

Dexter gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Because Natalie was aware of the big do, Crowley’s had uniform and police dogs go over the hotel with a fine-tooth comb… It’s safe, nothing was found, and there’s a heavy uniform presence inside and outside the hotel.’

Jane tensed up again. ‘But I recognise him… I recognise him!’

‘All right, all right… just stay calm… I’ll ask the duty inspector in charge of security about the PC dealing with parking.’

Jane nodded as Dexter took her by the arm and, to the annoyance of the queuing officers, led her straight into the hotel. Dexter got her safely through security and told her to find Stanley and wait for him in the saloon bar, while he spoke with the Duty Inspector. Dexter showed his warrant card to the inspector who was holding a clip board.

‘The officer directing the parking… do you know him?’

‘What’s his shoulder number?’ the inspector interrupted.

‘I don’t know.’

The inspector flicked through the paper attached to his clipboard. ‘Uniforms have been drafted in from various stations so I don’t know them all personally. Let’s see now… parking duties…’ He ran his finger down the list of names, numbers and allocated duties. ‘Ah here we go… PC 332. A. Crane from Cannon Row directing parking… Does he need help?’

‘No, I was just checking he was on the list.’

Dexter was relieved. Jane must have been imagining things.

Back in the saloon bar the drinks were flowing. Everyone was in evening dress, black ties and full-length dresses. Jane had to hold up her ripped skirt as she searched for Stanley, but he was nowhere to be seen. She eventually caught sight of Blondie Dunston from the Dip Squad, and grabbed his arm, causing him to almost drop his glass of champagne.

‘My God, Tennison, you look terrific! But what’s the matter?’

‘I urgently need to speak to DS Stanley… where is he?’

‘Went off to call Crowley… By the way, this is Alison, Stanley’s wife — and that’s my girlfriend.’ Blondie pointed at a glamorous redhead who was busy talking to Maynard.

Jane turned to Alison, a pretty girl, wearing a thick decorative band in her hair.

‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ Jane said, ‘but I’m really looking for your husband…’

‘You all right, Jane? What’s happened to your skirt? You need a surgeon to stitch it up?’ Maynard joked.

‘Where did Stanley go? Please — I really need to speak to him.’

Maynard shrugged and gestured to the wide staircase beside the dining room. ‘Probably the police security room. It’s somewhere on the first-floor corridor.’

Jane pushed her way through the growing throng, who were all intent on kicking the evening off at the free bar. She ran up the stairs and down the red-carpeted corridor, shouting at the top of her voice.

‘Stanley… STANLEY!’

Stanley appeared at the door of one of the rooms.

‘You have to come downstairs, NOW! Dexter’s waiting… The bomber from Covent Garden… I’ve just seen him…’ Jane was gasping for breath.

‘What?’

‘He’s directing the parking! He’s wearing a police uniform.’

‘Jesus Christ! Are you serious?’

‘Yes… YES! Come on, Stanley, PLEASE!’

Stanley followed Jane back down the corridor. As she approached the top of the stairs she tripped and had to tear off the now trailing frill from her dress, almost falling head-first down the stairs in the process. Stanley grabbed her arm and they barged through the crowd.

Dexter was in the gents, at the urinal, when a uniformed PC walked in and stood next to him. It took a couple of seconds before Dexter noticed that the officer having a piss next to him had the number 332 on his shoulders.

‘Are you PC Crane?’ Dexter asked as he zipped up his flies.

‘Yes.’

‘I thought you were on parking duties?’

‘I was, but another officer said he’d been posted to it so I let him take over.’

‘Go and find the duty inspector and bring him to the reception right now.’

‘No need to get uptight!’ said the PC. ‘I haven’t disobeyed an order… just swapped roles, that’s all.’

‘Well, this is my order: find the inspector now and tell him it’s an EMERGENCY!’ Dexter barked, making the officer jump and pee on his own boots.

Dexter hurried back to the foyer and looked out of a window from a safe distance. He could see the car park was full and a queue of vehicles was now blocking the entrance and lined up in Caxton Street. He looked for the uniformed officer Jane had recognised as the Covent Garden bomber, but couldn’t see him. He turned, heart beating fast, as Jane and Stanley approached,

‘You were right, Jane,’ he said urgently. ‘The officer out front isn’t the PC assigned to car parking. It could be nothing — but he could be our man posing as a police officer’

‘Shit,’ Stanley gasped.

The duty inspector appeared. Dexter pointed from the foyer window where they could now see the suspect standing between two parked cars.

‘That PC out there, standing on the left… did you tell him to take over parking duties?’

‘No, never seen him before… what’s his shoulder number?’

‘I don’t think he has one. We suspect he may have planted a bomb on the premises.’

The inspector looked offended. ‘We’ve searched this place top to bottom, sniffer dogs ’n’ all and it’s clean… there’s no bomb in here!’

‘Well, check again, but make it discreet,’ Dexter ordered. ‘I don’t want a mass panic on our hands. Look for a rucksack or holdall hidden in or near the ballroom.’ He turned to Jane. ‘Are you sure you recognise him?’

‘Yes, I caught his profile and it just came back to me. Like you said it would. It’s him. I know it is.’ Jane was relieved that she had been right, but fearful of what would happen if he had succeeded in planting a bomb.

Dexter took a deep breath. How devious the IRA were to dress one of their own as a police officer to blend in with all that was going on at the hotel. It was audacious but so simple and it would have fooled them all but for Tennison’s flash of recognition.

‘Let me go and get Maynard and the lads out of the bar.’ Stanley suggested.

Dexter shook his head. ‘We’ve wasted enough time. I’ll walk past him while you approach from the left, then I’ll turn on your shout and we take him out together.’

Dexter took off his jacket and threw it at Jane. ‘Hang on to this for me.’

The suspect was now walking out from between the parked cars towards the exit onto Caxton Street. He had to move to one side as there were two vehicles attempting to look for a free parking space. Stanley and Dexter looked at each other: they had to reach their target before he got to the street. They moved quickly, but the suspect stopped and instinctively looked over his shoulder. Dexter and Stanley froze instantly, not wanting to give themselves away. It was no more than a fraction of a second, but the suspect started to run.

Dexter and Stanley were ten feet behind and closing as the suspect ran up Caxton Street and right into Buckingham Gate where all three of them narrowly missed being hit by passing vehicles. As the suspect crossed the road and ran left into Castle Lane, he threw something into the basement area of a row of terraced flats. Neither of them stopped, but Stanley was flagging as the suspect turned left into a narrow dustbin-lined alleyway which, to their relief, turned out to be a dead end. They thought they had him trapped, but the building along one side of the alley was the rear of a four-storey office complex with a fire escape leading up to the top floor at the far end. The suspect ran up the fire escape two steps at a time and, reaching the top, hesitated as he looked down to see Dexter and Stanley moving up below him. He kicked at the fire-escape door but it didn’t budge, so he pulled himself up onto the narrow safety rail and crouched down like a monkey.

‘Shit… he’s going to jump onto the opposite roof!’ Dexter shouted running up the fire escape. As he reached the top, he lunged forward, attempting to grab the suspect’s leg, but it was too late. The man sprang forward through the air, his arms outstretched as he just managed to grab hold of the parapet edge and, with his legs dangling, pulled himself up onto the roof. Dexter now climbed onto the safety rail behind him.

Stanley, still labouring up the fire escape, called out, ‘That’s nearly ten feet across and twenty-five down! Don’t risk it, Dex. We can get backup and surround the area.’

Stanley had hardly finished his warning when Dexter took off through the air in pursuit. Stanley shut his eyes, expecting to hear a sickening thud, but when he opened them again he saw Dexter dangling from the parapet by one hand. Then, in a swinging motion, Dexter managed to get his other hand on the roof and pull himself up. He was gasping for air, but once safe he seemed to find a new surge of energy and set off along the roof in pursuit of the suspect, feet slipping on the tiles as he went.

Realising the suspect was probably doubling back, Stanley decided to get back down to the ground and track them along Castle Lane and Buckingham Gate. Due to the narrow lane and angle Stanley couldn’t see them, but from the loose tiles that broke free and crashed down near him, he knew he was heading in the right direction. He prayed that a tile didn’t hit him on the head. By the side entrance of Westminster Chapel Evangelical Church, Stanley could hear people singing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’. A poster on the church wall showed a steeple-shaped graph, coloured lines indicating how much money had been raised for restoration of the church roof. Judging from the number of loose tiles falling, they’d need a lot more money…

Up on the roof, Dexter was getting closer to the target who had climbed even higher. As he tried to keep his balance he looked across the roof and could see the suspect crouched down on his haunches, ready to make another terrifying leap. Dexter slid down the steep roof slowly for fear of slipping over the edge if he went too fast, shouting to the suspect to give up.

Stanley heard the shout. Looking upwards, he could just make out Dexter approaching the suspect high up on the rooftop opposite. He watched as the man made the insane leap, and screamed out to Dexter not to jump, but it was too late. Suddenly there was an almighty crashing sound as the roof gave way. The last verse of the song rang out from inside the Church: ‘How Great is God Almighty, Who has made all things well’, followed by hysterical screams.

Fearing the worst, Stanley ran inside. Lying on the altar in a pool of blood, his head cut to shreds from the sharp-edged tiles, was the suspect. The church choir huddled together by the pulpit, some of them crying. Stanley was desperately scanning the area for Dexter’s body when he heard a voice from above and looked up. Peering through a big hole in the roof was Dexter.

‘Do us a favour and call the fire brigade… I don’t fancy going back the way I came to get down.’

The vicar, a small balding man, was rigid with shock.

‘Officer…’ he stammered. ‘There is a roof edge that we had reinforced and if your c — c — c — colleague follows it round to the left he’ll find a bell tower with a d — d — d — door where he can let himself in.’

Stanley looked up. ‘Did you get that, Dex?’

By the time Dexter was down from the roof several uniformed officers were at the scene, dealing with the small but distraught group of people who had been rehearsing for the Easter Service. A uniformed officer approached Dexter and handed him his radio.

‘The duty inspector wants to speak to you, sir.’

Dexter spoke into the radio. ‘Go ahead, DS Dexter receiving… over.’

‘We found a radio-controlled bomb in a rucksack. It was left with the hotel reception staff by the suspect PC after the first search.’

‘Jesus Christ, I’ll be right there.’

‘No, no, it’s OK… The device has been successfully defused by one of your colleagues.’

‘Did you evacuate the hotel?’

‘No. Everything is now secure and there was no need for an evacuation.’

‘Yes, but where’s the bloody bomb now?’

‘It’s been taken back to the explosives lab for further examination and fingerprinting.’

‘Have you informed DCI Crowley?’ Dexter asked.

‘Yes, and after consultation with the Bomb Squad Commander it’s been decided that the ball’s going ahead… they’ll be summoning all the guests for dinner in fifteen minutes.’

Dexter handed the radio back to the PC. ‘What a wanker…’ he remarked, and the PC nodded.

Stanley tapped Dexter on the shoulder. ‘I’m sure the suspect threw something away in the basement area of the flats in Castle Lane.’

‘How big was it?’ Dexter asked Stanley.

‘I didn’t get a good look… it wasn’t big, but it kind of jangled…’

‘You know what it could be? A backup radio transmitter for the rucksack bomb. We’d better instruct a couple of uniformed officers to go and search the area.’

They didn’t have to wait long before two SOCOs arrived to bag the body and have it removed to Westminster mortuary. Dexter had searched the pockets, but he found nothing more than a wallet with a few one and five pound notes in it. He turned to one of the SOCO officers.

‘Can you do me a favour and get me a dead set of fingerprints? I’ll get someone to take them straight over to the Yard’s fingerprint bureau so we can check them against the prints we found at the Kentish town flat and criminal records.’

The young PC gestured to Dexter.

‘Excuse me, sir — DCI Crowley wants to see you and DS Stanley in his office now…’

Stanley raised his eyes to the vaulted ceiling.

‘Oh, shit! My wife’s going to file for divorce if I miss this dinner with her…’