Good Friday

Chapter Seven

Dexter joined Jane in the canteen. He tried to reassure her but she was apprehensive, constantly looking towards the double doors, waiting for Crowley to call her to the press conference.

‘You’ve got the press statement, the one Crowley made out for you?’ he asked, trying to cheer her up. ‘Maybe just skim over it, so that you feel confident. And put some more sugar in your coffee. It’ll give you an energy boost.’

Jane added two heaped spoons of sugar to the milky coffee and stirred it.

‘There’ll be a lot of press and cameras in there, but don’t be nervous. You want to make the public understand the carnage at the scene, just like you did when I took down your full statement, all right?’

He gently patted her shoulder, taking a sneaky look towards the canteen entrance.

‘OK, he’s here…’

Crowley gestured for them to follow him, disappearing back out of the doors as Dexter and Jane both got up from the table.

‘I need the loo…’ Jane said.

‘There’s a gents off the canteen corridor… I’ll stand guard outside for you.’ Dexter drew her chair back as she picked up her bag and the statement.

Halfway down the corridor they stopped for her to pop into the gents. She went into one of the cubicles alongside the urinals and locked the door behind her. She felt as if she was going to be sick, and had to take deep breaths.

Crowley went to the conference room. While Dexter waited outside the toilet for Jane he was approached by DCI Church.

‘Where is she?’ Church asked.

‘Taking a leak.’

‘For a moment there I thought she might have got cold feet and left.’

‘No, she’s up for it and remarkably calm under the circumstances.’

‘Look, I’ve asked one of my team to be at her flat to look out for her tonight. He can stay until we know how this is going to play out. It may be a good idea to organise an armed special patrol group unit to sit outside her address and make sure she gets to and from work safely.’

Dexter nodded. ‘SPG’s a good idea.’

‘We’ll also have to check out her family,’ Church added. ‘I’ve got her parents’ address… and she has a sister who’s married, living elsewhere.’

As Jane came out of the gents they both turned to her and smiled. It was obvious that they had been talking about her, and Church departed as soon as they saw her.

‘Let’s go,’ Dexter said, taking her arm.

Crowley was waiting in the anteroom with Commander Gregson, who was now dressed in full uniform. Dexter wished Jane luck, and then walked out.

‘Be prepared, Tennison… there’s a room full of journalists and a lot of cameras, but I’ll be right by your side,’ Commander Gregson said, checking his watch. ‘We don’t want to keep them waiting any longer.’

Jane followed the Commander and Crowley out of the anteroom and through the double doors that lead into the conference room. Despite Gregson’s warning, she was unprepared for the frenzy of camera flashes as they all went off in unison, creating a strobe light effect that made her feel quite dizzy.

The large room was crowded with journalists armed with notebooks and small portable cassette recorders, as well as a television crew. The three officers made their way to a raised platform, upon which stood a long table with three chairs placed behind it. The Commander sat in the middle with Crowley to his left and Jane on his right. She focused on placing her statement on the table in front of her and tried to stop shaking.

The buzz in the room quietened as the Commander slowly rose to his feet and spoke in a loud, clear voice.

‘I’d like to thank you all for attending this press conference. As a result of yesterday’s callous bombing carried out by the IRA at Covent Garden tube station, five people were killed. There are also several people still in hospital on the critical list with life-threatening injuries. Many of the survivors will be scarred both mentally and physically for life. I want to make it clear to the press and public that the IRA have lied: a police officer was in no way responsible for causing the detonation of the bomb at Covent Garden. It was the merciless act of a cowardly IRA bomber, who, fearing arrest by a brave police officer, set the bomb off without warning.’

There was a flurry of questions from the press. How could they could be sure that it wasn’t an accidental detonation caused by a police officer? Didn’t the IRA usually give coded warnings before their attacks? Gregson indicated Tennison with a gesture of his hand.

‘This is WDC Jane Tennison, a fine example of a brave Metropolitan police officer who risked her own life in the line of duty.’

The sudden flash of cameras made her blink. Gregson continued.

‘Like everyone at the tube station, she didn’t expect to suddenly find herself in the middle of such a traumatic incident, one in which her own life was threatened. Even after the explosion, and despite being blown to the ground herself, she kept calm and rendered first aid to the wounded and dying. WDC Tennison has bravely come here today to answer your questions and tell you what happened.’

He nodded to Jane to stand as he sat back down in his chair. The cameras started flashing again as the reporters shouted out a barrage of questions. Gregson raised his hand and said loudly that they were to ask questions one at a time, and he pointed to one of the journalists to speak first.

‘How are you feeling about the terrible event?’

‘I am obviously still very shaken, but I have had a lot of support from my fellow officers. There was someone who was in front of me when the explosion occurred and if I had not been shielded by him, I would have had severe injuries, or could even have lost my life.’

‘What made you suspicious of the bombing suspect?’

Jane carefully answered the question, avoiding making any reference to Daphne. She explained that she heard someone calling out “you’ve left your bag,” and then she had noticed a man moving quickly away from the ticket area.

A sullen-faced journalist interrupted before she could continue. ‘Do you feel you are in any way responsible for the explosion? If, for example, you had not approached the subject and attempted to stop him but had waited for him to leave, then maybe a coded warning would have been sent? Then the area could have been cleared and the bomb diffused?’

There was an audible gasp around the conference room and many looked at the man in disgust. Jane was visibly shocked but stood her ground.

‘No, I am not responsible. I was there, and you weren’t. Everything happened very quickly, and I didn’t have time to consider other options. At first I thought the rucksack might have been left innocently, but when I challenged the suspect and said I was a police officer he pushed me aside and ran off. Both of his hands were empty, and not in his pockets.’

‘If you grabbed him, maybe that was what caused the bomb to go off?’ he persisted.

Gregson rose to his feet and looked over at Jane to sit down.

‘This young woman risked her own life knowing the suspect might be an IRA bomber and armed. The suspect assaulted her, ran off, and seconds later the bomb went off. The forensic lab is working flat out to determine if the bomb was on a timer that went off prematurely or was detonated by a radio-controlled device. WDC Tennison followed the correct procedure under the circumstances and we are all very supportive and proud of her. Due to WDC Tennison’s tenacity and forethought we now have an artist’s impression of the suspect. I would appeal to anyone who recognises this man to contact the bomb squad at Scotland Yard.’

This was the first Jane had heard of any artist’s impression. Her description of the suspect had surely been far too vague.

Crowley gave the signal for a large screen behind the table to be turned on, which showed the projected image of the drawing of the suspect. Jane swivelled around in her chair and quickly realised that it was a sketch of the suspected IRA man hailing the taxi in the surveillance photograph Crowley had shown her. She was shocked that this had been done without her knowledge.

There was a frenzy of flash bulbs again, and some of the photographers were up on their feet, desperate to get a good picture. Gregson continued describing their suspect as being 5’8” or 5’10”, aged between twenty-five and thirty. He pointed out the man’s collar-length hair and said that he was wearing a dark overcoat, perhaps some kind of hooded sweatshirt beneath.

‘I was apprehensive about WDC Tennison being here at the press conference because she saw the suspect’s face and would therefore be able to identify him upon his arrest. I am aware this places her in danger from the members of the IRA ASU who committed this atrocity. However, WDC Tennison was asked if she wished to appear in front of you today to aid our appeal for public assistance, and it is to her credit that she has put the investigation and the public’s safety before her own.’

There were loud murmurs of agreement and a few people clapped as Gregson signalled for her to stand. Crowley also rose to his feet.

‘I thank you all for your time and would respectfully ask you to remain seated until we have left the conference room.’

The same sullen-faced journalist held up the paper Jane had seen that morning, and pointed at the photograph of her on the front page.

‘Why were you getting into the ambulance? Were you injured?’

Gregson raised his hand. ‘Fortunately, as you can see, WDC Tennison was unharmed. She rode in the ambulance to accompany a mother who was badly injured and who, sadly, subsequently died. Thankfully her young child was saved.’

Jane was quickly ushered out between Crowley and Gregson, back into the anteroom where DS Dexter was waiting. He gave Jane the thumbs-up. Trying to keep control of herself, she asked if she could have a private word with the Commander.

‘I’m sorry, Tennison… I have to dash. I’ve got a meeting with the Home Secretary and I’m already running late. If you have any questions, DCI Crowley can help you.’

Gregson hurried out of the anteroom as Jane turned angrily to Crowley.

‘Why did you issue that artist’s impression without consulting me, or warning me that it was going to be shown?’

‘When there’s been a terrorist attack we have to move fast, before memories fade. We needed something to reassure the public that the investigation was moving swiftly. If the sketch helps to identify the man, then that will be a bonus.’

‘But you used me, and I feel as if I lied in there.’

‘No, you didn’t. You told me the man in the photograph we showed you looked familiar, or similar, to the suspect you saw at Covent Garden.

‘No, I didn’t say that… you’re twisting my words!’

‘Either way, let’s hope we get a result. Now, I’ve got to go. You did very well, Tennison.’

Stunned, Jane could only watch as Crowley walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Dexter smiled at her. ‘Are you all right?’

‘No, I’m not! I didn’t realise Crowley was even going to show an artist’s impression… Were you in on it as well? Did you know?’

Dexter shrugged. ‘Come on, why would I confide in you about the ASU and the informer if I knew what he was going to do?

She shook her head, bewildered. ‘Sorry for sounding off at you. I’m just…’

‘Under the circumstances I don’t blame you. Now, I don’t want to alarm you but Church is arranging for a couple of armed plainclothes SPG officers to keep watch outside your flat…’

‘Oh my God!’

‘Don’t worry, Jane. It’s highly unlikely the IRA would try anything, especially now the heat is on to find their ASU.’

‘Then why do I need armed protection?’

‘It’s more of a deterrent than anything else… and the bonus is they’ll keep the press away. Your neighbours will be very envious… and your boyfriend will behave himself.’

‘I don’t have a boyfriend,’ Jane snapped, unable to appreciate his jokey manner.

‘Sorry, sorry.’ He paused briefly. ‘Well, that gives me the opportunity to ask you out for a drink. Unless you fancy a spot of dinner?’

Jane smiled. She did find him very attractive.

‘Thank you for the invitation, but I’m exhausted and tomorrow is my first day with the forensic team in Woolwich. I really need an early night.’

Dexter opened the door and gestured for her to go ahead of him.

‘I don’t even know how to get to the Royal Arsenal,’ she added, walking out with him.

‘Well, you can take a train, but if you’ve got a car I’d drive. Oh, and a word of advice… don’t wear anything new. You’ll probably be sifting through rubbish bins full of rubble from Covent Garden, so you’ll get covered in dust.’

They took the lift down to the ground floor and as they were walking to the exit, DCI Church hurried to join them.

‘Press conference went well, Tennison. Do you mind if I have a quick word with Dexter?’

Jane didn’t have time to answer before the two men moved away together.

When he was sure they were out of earshot, Church said, ‘Listen, Al, I’ve organised one of my team to keep an eye on Tennison, plus Crowley’s agreed to the armed SPG officers outside her flat.’

‘There’s no need to be secretive, I’ve already told her about the armed protection. It’s spooked her a bit, but I was going to take her home and reassure her it’s for the best.’

‘I had no doubt Mr “Sex on Legs” would be volunteering to “reassure” her. She’s vulnerable at the moment, so you just back off,’ Church hissed. He saw Jane looking over and changed the subject. ‘By the way, Dexter, do you want tickets for the big black-tie do? We’ve still got a lot of spaces.’

‘Yeah, put me down for two. I’ll sort out a cheque later.’

‘That’s what everyone’s saying. I need it soon or you won’t get a table. Don’t leave it too long or I’ll take you off the list.’

They walked back to join Jane. Dexter gave her one of his smiles and jerked his thumb towards Church.

‘Jimmy’s driving you home. If you don’t mind, let’s take a rain check on drinks and dinner.’ He walked off as DCI Church got out his car key.

‘If you wait here at the entrance,’ said Church, getting out his car key, ‘I’ll bring my car up from the underground car park… Just stay inside until you see me draw up.’

Jane did as he instructed but was astonished when a back-firing Ford Anglia pulled up. She hadn’t envisaged him driving a wreck. He leaned over to open the passenger door and Jane climbed in beside him. As she tried to close the door it got stuck and she had to pull it hard to make it shut.

‘Right, Baker Street…’ Church said, grinding the gears as they moved jerkily away in a cloud of exhaust fumes. The interior of the car was almost as decrepit as the rest of it. The seats were torn, and the ashtray was overflowing. Church gave her a small sidelong glance.

‘These are just the wheels we use for undercover,’ he said unconvincingly. ‘My own car is an E-Type.’

Jane laughed. Grinning, Church continued, ‘The engine’s in good shape. If you really put your foot down she’ll do seventy. That’s if your foot doesn’t go through the floor.’

They hit rush-hour traffic, so it took a while to get down the Euston Road. Jane directed him to take a turning into Regent’s Park and to come out through the gates nearest to Baker Street. As the traffic eased she could feel the tiredness begin to make her eyes droop.

‘I’m exhausted,’ she said, as he drove out of the park and headed down Melcombe Street. ‘That’s it… just stop over there,’ she added.

Church stopped the car and pulled on the handbrake. He opened his door to get out and help her.

‘There’s no need, I can manage,’ Jane said.

He ignored her and walked around to the passenger door. He had to heave it open as it was stuck firm. As Jane climbed out he took her elbow and they walked the few steps to her front door.

‘Right… delivered safe and sound. One of the squad will be over later to check on you, and those are plain-clothes SPG officers in the unmarked car over the road.’ He nodded in their direction and did a thumbs up to indicate Jane was the officer they were there to protect. They nodded back.

‘You’ve been really kind,’ Jane said to Church. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘Any time. Just call me if you need anything.’

Jane turned on the hall lights. They were on a timer and often switched off before she had had time to reach the top floor. She was so tired that her legs felt heavy as she walked up the stairs. Above her, she heard a light cough. Pausing, she listened carefully, then slowly continued up the stairs, stopping again when she heard a creaking sound from the landing above, outside to her flat. Jane hesitated, feeling the panic rise as the timer lights cut out. She was now in almost total darkness and was about turn and run back down the stairs when she saw a man’s legs in the hall above, and screamed.

‘It’s all right! It’s me!’

Jane almost fell backwards as DS Stanley appeared, gesturing at her to stop screaming.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she demanded, gasping for breath.

‘Looking out for you. The boss wanted one of us to keep you company, just in case there were any repercussions after the press conference. I was gonna wait for you to come home, but your neighbour downstairs let me into the building, so I’ve been sitting on your stairs.’

‘I’m surprised she let you in,’ Jane snapped, making her way past him.

‘I do have a warrant card, you know, Tennison, and I gave her some bull about checking out your burglar alarm, and that I was expecting you back any minute. I’ve been sitting here waiting for you for over half an hour.’

Jane unlocked her front door and Stanley followed her inside, picking up an overnight bag he had left on the landing.

‘There’s SPG outside. Surely you don’t need to be here all night?’ Jane asked.

‘I can doss down on the sofa. It’s just an extra precaution… and I’ll take you to work in the morning.’

‘Just for the one night?’

‘Depends… this is nice…’

‘I don’t have a sofa, but there’s a small spare bedroom along the corridor, on your right.’

Jane was now very tense, and also angry. She watched Stanley saunter along the narrow corridor and push open the door to her own bedroom.

‘No, that’s my bedroom.’

‘Just checking it out for safety.’

Jane took off her coat, watching as Stanley crossed to the window in her bedroom, which overlooked the road below. He shone his torch twice to signal to the still-waiting Church that he was inside and all was well.

‘This is really very nice…’ he repeated, as he walked out. Now that she’d calmed down, Jane forced herself to offer him a cup of tea.

‘Lovely… and if you can rustle up a sandwich that’d be great,’ he replied, as he went into the spare room. Jane grimaced. She wished she could ask him to take a bath, as he smelt terrible. But instead she went into the kitchen and put on the kettle.

After a few minutes, Stanley joined her and perched on a stool.

‘Nice little place… compact, though, and a hell of a long walk up. Do you have a TV?’

‘No, I don’t. I’ve only just moved in.’ Jane buttered two slices of bread and took out a packet of ham from the fridge.

‘You having one?’ Stanley asked, rolling up a cigarette.

‘Yes, but I can only make one at a time. Do you want mustard?’

‘Yep, and two sugars in my tea.’

Jane took out some cups and made the sandwiches while the kettle came to the boil. Stanley watched her preparing the tea as he finished assembling his roll-up and put it down in front of him. They eventually sat next to each other and used the same teaspoon to remove the teabags from their cups, placing them on a saucer.

‘When I’ve finished this,’ said Jane, ‘I’m going to have a bath. Perhaps you might like one after me?’

‘No, I’m OK, thanks.’

Stanley was wearing filthy jeans and an old torn T-shirt, both of which looked, and smelt, as though they hadn’t been washed in weeks. She had a lot of questions she wanted to ask, uppermost was why DCI Church had wanted Stanley to be in her flat.

‘Do you think that there could be repercussions about what went down at the press conference?’ she asked Stanley.

‘Possibly.’

‘Does that also mean that it might affect my family?’

‘It might, but that’ll be taken care of… it depends what reaction we get after today.’

‘Should I warn them?’

‘I wouldn’t. Why put the frighteners on them when it might not be necessary? If it is, then they’ll be well protected, but it’s best not to sound the alarm bells. This is a good sandwich,’ he mumbled through a mouth full of food.

‘Is DCI Church married?’ Jane asked.

‘He was. Got divorced a few years ago. He had a right time of it… she was a real bitch and went off with an electrician who was rewiring their house. Actually, she didn’t leave… she stayed and Church moved out. But he doesn’t like talking about it. I’ve probably said too much, but he’s a really good guy. I like him.’

Stanley lit his roll-up as Jane took their plates to the sink.

‘What about DS Dexter from the bomb squad. Do you know him?’

‘Course I do, everyone knows Al. And if you’re interested in him, he’s not married.’

‘I’m not interested in him, for heaven’s sake!’

‘Well, that’s probably a good thing because he’s got quite a reputation with women. If you ask me, out of the two of them Jimmy is the better man.’

‘I was only asking because I work with them, that’s all! Tell me about you, Stanley, are you married?’

‘I certainly am. And I’ve got two kids, aged four and eight. My wife, Alison, is a gem. She has to put up with a lot but never complains.’

Jane smiled. Considering the state of him she reckoned Alison had to be special.

‘Does she know you won’t be home tonight?’

‘Yeah, she understands it’s the job. Listen, you go and take your bath and I’ll clean up in here, and then go and have a kip.’

Jane left Stanley making himself another cup of tea, and went to run her bath. She completely submerged her body in the perfumed, bubbly water, then surfaced and washed her hair. After a long while she thought she should perhaps get out and make up the spare bed, but when she emerged wearing a dressing gown, with a towel wrapped around her wet hair, Stanley was already in the spare room.

‘Oh, I was going to put some sheets on the bed.’

‘Don’t bother, I’ll just lie on top of the cover. I’m in working gear and don’t want to mess up the bed. You just carry on as if I wasn’t here, and get a good night’s sleep.’

‘OK… just help yourself to another cup of tea if you want one.’

‘Ta. Goodnight, then.’

‘Goodnight, Stanley… I’m sorry, I don’t know your Christian name?’

‘Nobody ever uses it. I just go by Stanley.’

Jane checked the kitchen. It was neat and tidy, and Stanley had washed up the cups and the plate, which were now drying on the draining board. She closed her bedroom door and dried her hair. There was no doubt that she felt much safer with Stanley being in the flat. She was just about to climb into bed when the phone rang, so she hurried out to the small hallway to answer it.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello,’ a woman replied. ‘I’m answering your advertisement about a room to let.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘I’m sorry to call late, but I work locally and would be very interested in viewing the room.’

‘Could you give me a contact number where I can reach you?’

‘Yes, I suppose my work place would be the best number as I’m there all day. I work in Madame Tussauds.’

‘Oh, well this area would be convenient for you… but let me call you tomorrow.’

‘Is the room still available to rent? I have to move out of the place that I’m currently living in.’

‘Yes, the room’s still available. Can I take your name and date of birth please?’ Jane asked.

‘Yes, of course… I’m Pearl Radcliff, born 25 October 1951. I have my previous rental details as well as references from where I’ve stayed previously.’

Jane wrote down Pearl’s details and a phone number. She apologised that she couldn’t arrange a viewing straightaway as she was unsure what her availability was, but said that she would call her back as soon as she knew.

‘Oh, is there any chance I could come by tomorrow evening, after I finish work?’

Jane hesitated, then agreed that she would call her back when she returned from work to let her know if it was convenient.

‘Who was that?’ Stanley asked, standing in the doorway of the spare bedroom.

‘It was in response to an advert I put in the local newsagents… I want to rent out the room you’re sleeping in.’

‘Are you sure that’s wise with everything that’s going on at the moment?’

‘I need a lodger to help pay the mortgage. Besides, I don’t see why I should change my plans because of what’s happened.’

‘Well, it’s up to you. Bit small, isn’t it? How much are you charging?’

‘Why? Don’t tell me you’re thinking of moving in… I’m only letting it out to a female.’

Stanley shrugged and pointed to the phone. ‘You make sure you check their background and get a good wad up front, as well as a deposit. You know you need to have it all vetted, as well as fill in a form at the Met? You’d be surprised how many people rent somewhere and have no intention of paying rent, or of ever moving out. I once let out a room to a photographer who paid two month’s rent in advance… Eighteen months later he hadn’t paid another penny, so I threw him out the window by the scruff of his neck, followed by his cameras… So, if you get a dodgy lodger you know who to contact… I’ll sort it.’ He patted his chest, unintentionally revealing a holster and weapon by his left armpit.

‘Really? How do you go about doing that?’

‘It’s called the “Ways and Means Act”… getting somethin’ done without sticking to the rules.’

‘Thanks for the advice, Stanley… Goodnight.’

As soon as her bedroom door was closed Stanley went over to the small hall table and glanced at the notepad. He saw the name ‘Pearl Radcliff’ and the date of birth. Returning to the spare room, he jotted down the details. He’d do a precautionary check in case Jane didn’t follow the Met’s rules about vetting. Then he lay on the bed, smoking.

Jane was oblivious to the fact that, throughout the night, Stanley checked the flat over every hour, even going down to the front door and back up the stairs. He only had a couple of hours sleep and had used the bathroom, cleaned his teeth and washed his hands and face by the time Jane surfaced.

‘Good morning! I’ve made a cup of tea and some toast for you… I’ve had mine.’

‘Gosh, thank you. I might change my mind about having only a female flatmate… you’re very domesticated.’

Stanley smiled and told her he was just going out to fetch some newspapers, giving Jane time to have her breakfast and get dressed. She handed him her front door key and he left.

Stanley crossed the road and headed into the newsagents. He bought a selection of papers before returning to the flat. He didn’t go back up to the top floor, but sat on the stairs looking at the front page and inside coverage of the press conference. One of the headlines read ‘Brave Met Detective Stared Death in the Face’, and under it was a picture of Jane and the artist’s impression of the suspect. All the papers had similar headlines and articles about how she ‘stood up to’ or ‘tried to arrest’ the bomber, along with pictures of Jane, some at the Covent Garden explosion and others at the press conference. It concerned Stanley that the Bomb Squad’s eagerness to trace the suspect now meant Jane could be easily recognised. After he had accompanied her to Woolwich he would talk to DCI Church again about the likelihood of retaliation from the IRA, as the articles made it clear that Jane could identify the bomber.

Jane was dressed and ready by the time Stanley returned. Letting himself in with her key, he put the newspapers into his holdall and then stood in the narrow hall, ready to go. Jane was wearing an old skirt and a worn jacket with a polo-necked sweater. She also had on a pair of old hiking boots.

‘I was told not to wear anything decent as I’ll be sifting through the debris brought in from Covent Garden,’ Jane explained, as she caught him staring at her boots. ‘I want to drive there.’

‘Right, we should get a move on. It’ll take a good hour to get over to the unit. We’ll have to go through the Blackwall Tunnel but as we’re in good time we should miss the traffic.’

They left Jane’s flat and walked some distance down Melcombe Street before stopping beside Jane’s VW. Stanley put out his hand to stop her opening the door. Only once he had checked beneath it and walked all around the car did he give her clearance to get in.

‘You’ve not registered this vehicle with us at the office?’ he asked.

‘I’ve only had it a few weeks. I mostly just use it at weekends, and will probably park it near my parents’ flat.’

‘That sounds sensible, since we get our tube fares paid anyway. It’s a nice car… although yellow’s not my colour, a bit on the bright side. I’ve never been in one of these. What did it cost?’

‘It was second-hand… my dad got it for me at a good price. Now, do you want to map read? There’s an A — Z in the glove compartment.’

Jane was impressed by Stanley’s street knowledge, although his delivery left something to be desired as he often shouted out instructions at the last minute, not giving her enough time to indicate. She was not yet a proficient driver and he made her jump more than once as he swore and became annoyed when she missed a turning. He took her though back streets to avoid the congestion in central London, but as they neared the Blackwall Tunnel the cars were already bumper to bumper. By the time they entered the tunnel their progress was very slow. Stanley leaned back and went to sleep, snoring loudly, as Jane drove on, realising that even with an early start she was going to be late for her first day.

By the time they left the tunnel Stanley had woken up and barked another instruction as they arrived at an ornate brownstone building. A security barrier was in position and after seeing their warrant cards the MOD police officer pointed to the guard house and told them to book themselves and their vehicle in. They were issued with personal passes and a car pass. The estate was big and they drove over to the Royal Armament Research and Development Establishment, where the Forensics Explosives Lab was based.

They parked the car and after Jane had been authorised to access the lab, Stanley left, telling her that he would be at the Dip Squad base at Vine Street if she needed him. He disappeared before she could thank him, and she felt rather nervous. Not only was she late, but she was about to start working in a totally different environment to the offices she was used to at Hackney and Bow Street. As she entered the main lab she saw several white-coated forensic scientists at work on long trestle tables. Jane was relieved to see DS Lawrence, whom she knew from working on other cases. He seemed pleased to see her and walked towards her smiling.

‘Hi, Jane, I was only told this morning that you’d be coming. You need to go see the head scientist first and he’ll brief you on what you’ll be doing here. His office is down the corridor on the left… and don’t worry if you hear gunfire or explosions — they test the stuff out on the wasteland. Maybe we can catch up at lunchtime in the canteen.’

The head scientist was stern-faced as he took down her details and made her sign a non-disclosure form about working at the explosives lab. He appeared displeased at having her foisted onto the team, as she had no forensic qualifications. However, he knew the reasons for her being there and eventually told her to go and see the MOD police sergeant at a large hangar style building with a corrugated roof at the rear of the premises.

As Jane entered the building she could see a group of men and two women at work sifting through numbered dustbins filled with debris which she realised must be from the Covent Garden bomb site. Most of them were dressed in industrial style buff boiler suits, although a few were wearing white laboratory coats. Some of them were also wearing masks to protect themselves from the dust particles that permeated the room like a morning mist haze. There were numbered white groundsheets on the floor and numbered sheets covering trestle tables. Next to each groundsheet was a large numbered bin bag.

‘You WDC Tennison?’ a gruff-voiced man asked her bluntly.

Jane read the tag on his boiler suit breast pocket — MOD SGT — and produced her pass and warrant card to introduce herself. The sergeant went over to a metal cabinet and took out a boiler suit that he threw to Jane, followed by long rubber gloves and a mask. He explained that the staff in the boiler suits were police officers, and those in lab coats were forensic scientists. As Jane put it on, the sergeant told her she would be sifting through the debris for bomb shards and other material. Jane said that she didn’t know exactly what bomb shards looked like. Irritated by her comment the sergeant shook his head and told her that was why the scientists were in the hangar.

‘Your job is to sift through the contents of a bin using your hands and the sieves provided. As you can see, each dustbin is zone numbered and corresponds to an area at the bomb site from which the debris was collected. Put any fabric you find into the same numbered bin bag. Large fragments of metal on the same numbered groundsheet, and ditto with the small bits on the trestle table so the experts can examine them and decide what is potential evidence. Grab a clipboard and exhibits book from the cabinet and start on bin eight.’

It was after midday when DS Lawrence arrived with the head scientist. Due to the constant sifting, Jane was now filthy with brick dust, which had even got into her hair. The mask hadn’t been much use; her mouth was dry and her nostrils itched from the dust. Lawrence came and looked at the debris she had sifted through and laid out on the groundsheet and trestle table. She had found a few large fragments of metal, a small belt buckle still attached to a thin piece of leather strap, two bits of coiled wire with metal on one end and the tattered bloody remnants of a man’s shoe, the toecap of which had a small shard of metal stuck in it. As Jane listed each item in the exhibits book, along with detailed descriptions, Lawrence looked closely at the smaller items she had placed on the trestle table. She could tell from the look on his face that something had intrigued him.

‘Do you think they could be important?’ Jane asked.

‘Well, from the size of them, that leather strap and buckle look like they could be from a rucksack fastener. The small pieces of metal are also interesting… What location was this stuff recovered from?’

‘Zone 8,’ she told him.

Lawrence looked at the clipboard he was holding, which contained details of each zone that debris had been swept up from. He tapped the clipboard then asked the head scientist to come over.

‘Zone 8 was near the seat of the explosion,’ he explained. As the scientist closely examined the wire and small pieces of metal, Lawrence added, ‘He’s an expert in identifying bomb fragments and examining debris for traces of nitroglycerine.’

The scientist used a magnifying glass to look more closely at the small metal fragments and wire.

‘Who found these?’

‘I did, sir… are they important?’

‘Good spot, young lady. I’d say the wire and bit of metal attached to it are from a detonator. I need to look at some other stuff from zone 4, so bag these pieces up separately and I’ll sign your exhibits book so I can carry out a further examination and explosives residue test in the lab.’

As the scientist walked off, Jane turned to Lawrence. ‘I didn’t have a clue what they were when I saw them, other than pieces of wire and metal that could have been from anything.’

Lawrence smiled. ‘To be honest it’s not my field of expertise… so I wasn’t sure either. The same scientist you just spoke with attended the post-mortems and found other bomb fragments embedded in the ticket guard’s body. It was tragic that he died that way, but the items recovered from his body could offer up vital clues about the origin of the parts used to make the bomb.’

Jane didn’t need to ask what state his body was in, as she’d seen it for herself at the scene. She added the details to the exhibits book and packaged the items separately for the scientist before placing them on a trolley with other items of importance.

Jane accompanied Lawrence as he pushed the trolley laden with exhibits across to the chemistry lab in the main building opposite. As they walked along the corridor, Jane looked through the small door’s window into a side room. She could see that the room was filled with heavily bloodstained clothing, and that many items were bomb damaged, shredded and burnt. They were labelled and pegged up on clothes lines, pools of dripping blood had gathered on the plastic sheets below from when they were initially hung up to dry. Lawrence explained that there were large heaters in the room to dry the clothes and remnants before they were examined. The awful state of the clothes and the bloodstained baby blanket, which she recognised, were evidence of the horrific injuries many of the victims must have suffered.

Jane made her way to the ladies to wash her hands and face. It was hard to get rid of the gritty powder on her clothes and even though she had been wearing gloves she could feel dust underneath her nails. Lawrence was waiting for her in the corridor to lead her up a flight of stairs to the canteen.

Lawrence sat down beside Jane as they placed their trays onto one of the dining tables. Jane was having meat loaf with vegetables, and they both had coffee. Lawrence seemed on edge, sipping only a few spoons of his soup before pushing it aside.

‘You know, I wanted to be brought onto this case but it is so time-consuming, and some of the equipment here is archaic. I just read an FBI article on gas-chromatography and mass spectrometry testing. The Yanks have developed a quadruple capillary column GC-MS. It’s an analytical workhorse for breaking molecules into ionised fragments using their mass-to-charge ratio. Mind you, they don’t have the talented and highly trained forensic experts that we have.’

Jane laughed. ‘Like you, you mean?’

Lawrence shrugged. ‘I’m not blowing my own trumpet, but interpreting and finding the clues at murder scenes is my forte. Here, we already know that people were killed by a bomb; it’s tedious work sifting stuff by hand, not to mention using eye verification for minute bits of a bomb.’

Lawrence’s frustration was obvious. As he was talking, Jane spotted DS Dexter, who was in the line of officers waiting to be served hot food. He was wearing a checked shirt, casual fawn trousers and his tie was hanging loose. He was laughing with one of the canteen servers and on turning around with his tray he saw Jane, smiled and headed towards her table.

‘Hello there!’ he said. ‘I meant to catch you in the lab but I was nabbed by Crowley who was having a fit about someone who had parked a VW in a scientist’s reserved parking bay and didn’t have a permit displayed… probably one of the woodentops assisting in the debris hangar.’

Jane blushed and jumped up.

‘You haven’t finished your lunch!’ Dexter said, surprised.

‘I’ll be right back… just forgotten something.’ She rushed out, looking flustered.

Dexter dumped his tray down on the table and patted Lawrence on the shoulder. ‘Hey, my man, how’re you doing?’

‘Been at it all morning, taking scrapings of blood and fibre lifts off smashed bricks, in between piecing together sections of body parts over at the Westminster Mortuary, so I’ve not got too much of a spring in my step, actually… Have a seat.’ Lawrence buttered his crackers and loaded them with cheese.

Dexter’s eyes rested on Jane’s empty seat. ‘She’s very attractive, our new colleague… You worked with her before, Paul? Or has your legendary charm enticed her to dine with you today?’

‘We were both at Hackney and then Bow Street. Nobody else was talking to her, so I brought her up for lunch. How come you know her?’

‘From the Covent Garden attack. You know she was there?’ Lawrence nodded. ‘I helped her prep for the press conference at Scotland Yard. Crowley pushed her. He’s made out publicly that she can identify this bastard bomber. Now, whether she can or not, it means she could be in the line of fire.’

‘Christ, that’s disgusting. I read about it in the papers today. I never brought it up with her, though. I know she was there when the bomb exploded, but do you really think she could be in danger?’

‘Who knows? We’ve had no further contact from the IRA, and I would say they’ve gone underground — which is not a pun about them bombing Covent Garden bloody underground station…’

‘Have you been over there?’

‘Course I have… got to go back later. Just came over to see how the lab’s doing at piecing together the bomb fragments. Be handy to know its construction in case we need to diffuse any others this bomber plants.’

Lawrence acknowledged Dexter’s comment with a nod. Dexter ate his steak & kidney pie quickly and moved on to a bowl of sticky syrup pudding swimming in custard. Lawrence sipped his coffee, feeling ill just watching the speed at which Dexter was eating.

‘Why do you eat so quickly?’

‘I’m hungry… I was up at the crack of dawn. So, are you trying to pull Tennison?’

‘No, I am not!’

‘Jimmy Church was looking after her last night.’

‘My God! Don’t tell me he’s after her?’

‘I meant he arranged her protection… he got Stanley to house-sit in her flat.’

Despite his concern for Jane, Lawrence couldn’t help laughing. The infamous scruffy Stanley had never been one of his favourite undercover officers. Before he could question Dexter further, Jane returned.

‘I don’t think your food is going to be very appetising now. Let me get you something else,’ Dexter offered.

‘No, thank you… I’m fine. I’m not that hungry, and I suppose I should really be getting back to the lab.’

‘What time are you leaving?’ Dexter asked, and Lawrence raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Just wondered if you wanted to have some better food this evening?’ Dexter scraped the last of the custard from his bowl.

‘Oh, I would have liked to but I’ve got someone coming to see me about renting a room in my flat.’

‘OK, well… maybe another time. Are you here tomorrow?’

‘Yes, for the next few weeks, I think. I’ll just have to wait to be told.’

Dexter pushed back his chair as he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin.

‘OK, I’m off… Good to see you, Paul, and maybe I’ll see you tomorrow, Jane.’

She smiled as he walked off and Lawrence shook his head.

‘Bit of advice, Jane: I’d steer well clear of him. He may be good at defusing bombs, but he’s got a bad reputation when it comes to women. Thinks he’s God’s gift to the opposite sex. If you like, I can run you home tonight… I’ve got my car.’

Jane hesitated and then leaned forwards. ‘So have I… it’s the yellow VW and it was my car that Crowley was moaning about being parked in the wrong bay. I just went out to move it.’

Lawrence laughed. ‘Good for you! Where are you living? You said you had a new flat?’

‘I’m actually not that far from you… in Melcombe Street, near the Baker Street entrance to Regent’s Park. Are you still living in the mews there?’

‘Yes…’ He paused. ‘Well, another time. I can pick you up and we can come into the lab together.’

‘Let me give you my phone number.’

Jane jotted it down in her notebook, tore out the page and handed it to Lawrence. As they left the canteen together she felt rather flattered. First she’d had attention from the ‘ladies’ man, Dexter, and now Lawrence.

Later that day, as she was signing out, she saw DCI Crowley waiting for her. At first Jane thought he was going to reprimand her for parking her car in a reserved space, but he didn’t mention it. Instead he asked her how she had found her first day, and hoped it would prove to be a good experience for her. He didn’t wait for her to reply.

‘As far as your safety’s concerned we haven’t received any threats or warnings.’

‘Well, sir, I doubt that the IRA would give a warning if they were going to murder someone!’

‘This is no joking matter, Tennison… far from it. You need to be watchful and take precautions, and ensure that we are always aware of your movements.’

‘Yes, sir. Am I to come back here in the morning?’

‘No, not immediately… That’s also why I wanted to have a word with you. The old woman you tended to after the explosion has been identified. Her full name is Daphne Millbank and she has come out of her coma. As you have a connection with her I want you to visit her at the hospital tomorrow morning and talk over what she may be able to add to your statement. I have people there, and DS Dexter will also be with you. Afterwards he’ll take you over to Covent Garden underground station and walk you through exactly what happened and then I’ll see you back here.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Right, off you go… and remember to take precautions. Just be wary of anyone you don’t know contacting you, and keep a low profile until we can ascertain our position.’

As Crowley watched Jane walking away, he hitched up his trousers. There had been no communication from the terrorists since they had claimed responsibility; the press release had not flushed them out. Everything suggested they had gone to ground, but after years of experience on the bomb squad, he knew not to trust the quiet after the explosion. Jane was still in danger.