“I’ve brought my own car,” Jane replied. Dexter hesitated, slightly wrong-footed, and told her to bring the car around to the reception and he would meet her there. He waited for her to move off then made his way back to the nurse’s bay and called Crowley to update him.
“It’s Dexter. We’ve got a spanner in the works, sir. Daphne Millbank was shown the artist’s sketch by Tennison, she said it isn’t the man she saw and now Tennison’s saying the same thing.”
“For fuck’s sake, that’s the last thing I need. Tennison disobeyed my order.”
“On the plus side, Tennison knows this makes her an unreliable witness. She’s not likely to publicize that. You could always raise the possibility of two men working together and . . .”
“There’s has never been any reference to a second man,” Crowley snapped.
Dexter remained calm. “I know that, but Daphne Milbank saw the man who left the rucksack, whereas Tennison saw a man who reacted to Daphne shouting ‘stop.’ It’s natural to assume an accomplice would react as well . . .”
“Christ, don’t complicate everything. We’ll talk about it later.” Crowley snapped again and ended the call.
It was about fifteen minutes before Dexter walked back out of the hospital. He stood looking at Jane’s VW shaking his head.
“This is very subtle, Detective Tennison. Was this the only color you could get? I mean, bright yellow? Nobody could miss you!”
Jane didn’t react as Dexter climbed into the passenger seat beside her, and jerked the seat back to accommodate his long legs.
“What did Crowley say?”
“What do you think? He wasn’t happy, said he’d talk about it later and slammed the phone down.”
“Do you want me to be there as well?”
“No, he’s mad you disobeyed him. I’ll handle it. By the way, I saw DS Stanley earlier. He said he’d upset you over a criminal records check . . . Pearl somebody, was it?”
“I’m thinking of letting out a room in my flat to Pearl, but the fact is Stanley was snooping round, saw her details and checked her out.” Jane said, still annoyed about it.
“For what it’s worth he was just concerned for your safety. I told you about sleepers, didn’t I?”
“You said they’re members of the IRA who appear to be ordinary members of society until they’re needed.” she said, concentrating on the road.
“A sleeper for the IRA is someone whose background and demeanor enables them to go unnoticed in England, so that they can better help the IRA in their bombing campaign. When they’re needed, they’re contacted. No big drinkers, and they need to know when to keep their mouths shut and stay as anonymous as possible. Never assume anyone you come into contact with is who they say they are.”
Dexter directed Jane down back streets, from Trafalgar Square along Floral Street until they arrived at Covent Garden. The street was still cordoned off and the tube station was out of service. Police cars and vans were scattered outside the station entrance, with forensic officers still searching and gathering the rubble and debris left after the bomb. They had already cleared the rubble outside the station itself, as it was imperative to get it reopened and for daily life to resume.
Jane accompanied Dexter through the crime-scene barrier, and followed him into the wrecked ticket area of the station. A few officers acknowledged Dexter, who held up his ID as he guided Jane toward the top of the staircase that lead to the platform below, stepping over potholes and mounds of rubble.
“I want you to walk me through exactly where you were positioned from the moment you came upstairs.”
Jane turned to face the ticket barriers, her back to the stairs.
“I had just walked up from the platform. There was a woman behind me with a pushchair . . . she was carrying her baby and finding it difficult to manage them both. I was about halfway up when I offered to carry the pushchair. When we reached the top, I handed back the pushchair, and she put the baby inside.” Jane turned away from him, recalling the young mother’s face covered with a sheet in the emergency ward. She was almost in tears.
“I saw the nurses with the baby. The poor woman died from her injuries . . .”
Dexter dug his hands deep into his trouser pockets. “Don’t go there, Jane. Let’s just keep going through your movements.”
She nodded. “I was holding my ID up to the ticket collector, who was standing at the far side of the entry from the stairs. It was very crowded, with passengers getting off from the Underground and climbing up the stairs, and then more passengers going down to get to the platform . . . so it was really thronging with people, because it was rush hour. They were just innocent people going about their daily lives . . .”
Dexter gripped Jane’s arm tightly. “Just focus on why we are here, Jane.” He gestured for her to continue.
She moved about four steps toward the station exit, with the ticket office on her right.
“Then I heard Daphne Millbank calling out, ‘You left your bag!’ She was pointing to a rucksack. I followed her gaze and caught sight of a man wearing a hooded winter coat, walking away with his head down. He was moving quickly toward the station exit.”
Jane paced out exactly how she had followed the man toward the exit.
“By now I’d become concerned, so I began to run and called out ‘Police,’ but he didn’t stop. As I got close enough to make a grab at his arm, he turned and swiped my hand away. I stumbled backward and he ran on.”
Dexter held his hand up. “So, he kept on running straight ahead, no turning or crossing the road?”
“No, he just kept running. So I went back to the ticket office to warn everyone. I was worried about the way he’d had behaved, and the rucksack he’d left behind.”
“Walk me through what happened next,” Dexter said gently. He could see that Jane was becoming even more tense. Together they re-entered the station. Jane explained how she’d been hemmed in with people trying to get out and others pushing their way toward the ticket barriers.
“I saw the mother and child ahead of me, then I saw the ticket collector pick up the bag. Daphne Millbank had already started to walk out and was beside the wall when the bomb exploded. I was saved because a big man moved directly in front of me. If it wasn’t for him I would have been . . . Dear God, I have no idea who he was! I owe him my life, and I don’t even know if he made it. After the explosion, the thick cloud of smoke and debris made it impossible to see clearly.”
Jane recalled the screams and pandemonium as the terrified passengers tried to get out, the injured lying on the ground. She described again the whine of the bomb in her ears as she spotted the overturned pushchair, the sight of the mother shielding her child, Daphne Millbank’s missing leg . . .
Dexter nodded and gently patted her shoulder. “Just need you for a short while longer . . . come on outside with me.”
They left the station and Dexter held her elbow as they walked along the pavement a few yards. Up ahead there were two bomb squad detectives with a SOCO dusting a red phone box for prints. The door was propped open with a large piece of concrete that must have been blown loose by the blast.
Dexter indicated to Jane to wait, as he ducked beneath the cordon that marked off the phone box. There was a lengthy conversation between him and the officers, and Jane saw Dexter nodding and looking at the amount of fingerprint dusting that had been taken. He then walked slowly back to Jane.
“I’ve just been told we have a witness who has described a female using this phone box at the time of the bombing. She was aged twenty to thirty, wearing a headscarf that hid her face, but she was in there for some considerable time. They’re dusting for prints but it’s doubtful they’ll be much good as it’s a public phone box, so God knows how many people have used it. But they’ve got a good high-heeled imprint and scuff marks . . . although, again, it’ll be a stroke of luck if it pans out.”
“You think a woman planned this explosion?”
“We don’t know for sure.
The witness had been waiting to make a call to her husband, and there was a woman inside the phone box. She gave us a reasonable description but she never saw her face as she was wearing a very expensive headscarf . . . it looked like it could have been Hermès, with dogs like red setters printed on it. She said it was tied under the woman’s chin in a knot, just like the Royals wear them. I’m pretty sure the bomb was a radio-controlled device and the woman in the headscarf might have been an accomplice. She might have been attempting the coded call to the newspaper when the panic-stricken bomber pressed the button, or maybe she had the detonator . . . we just don’t know.”
“Did your witness see them together?”
“Not exactly. She was walking away from the phone box to find another one, but recalled seeing a man with the woman, running across the road shortly before the bomb exploded. It’s even possible three people were involved at the scene.”
“Three people?” Jane sounded surprised.
“Sometimes they will use a look-out as well while the bomb is planted.”
Jane sighed. She had been right when she described the man having his hands free, so maybe he hadn’t been carrying the detonator? On the other hand, it could have been in his pocket . . .
They returned to the underground station and although all items of interest had already been removed to the Woolwich lab, she watched Dexter make a lengthy inspection of the damage. When he was satisfied, he announced he would return to the lab to see if there had been any developments.
“Why don’t you go home?” he suggested to Jane, checking his watch. “You’ve had a pretty traumatic time going over what had happened. I’ll speak to Church about Daphne and pick you up in the morning and let you know how it went. You free for dinner tonight?”
“I’m not, actually. I need to call this girl about moving in. But thanks for the invitation.”
“Rain check again. You look after yourself.” He grinned.
Jane watched Dexter stride off. She would have liked to spend more time with him but Lawrence’s warnings had made her wary of his intentions. It would better if she kept him at a distance.
It was late afternoon by the time Jane got home. The plainclothes SPG protection officers gave her a nod as she approached her flat and let herself in. She rang Pearl and confirmed that she would like her to move in if she still wanted to.
Pearl sounded relieved as she thanked Jane. “I’ve been on tenterhooks all day.”
“Just one thing I meant to ask you, Pearl. Do you smoke? I really don’t like the smell of cigarettes.”
“Oh no, I don’t smoke.”
“That’s good. So when do you want to move in?”
“Well, a friend said he could help me move my few things, so would it be possible to come over this evening after I finish work?”
Jane hesitated. It was sooner than she had expected. “Who is your friend?” she asked cautiously.
“Eric? Oh—he’s a friend from work,” said Pearl.
Jane felt she couldn’t ask any more questions, so said that would be fine. She hung up, and then rang in to check in with DCI Church. He was as concerned for her welfare as everyone else seemed to be, and Jane had difficulty biting back a scathing comment or two as they spoke. She tried to turn the subject away from herself by asking about Regina Hernandez, but as before, he warned her to leave the investigation to Vice.
She had just replaced the receiver when the doorbell rang. It was Pearl, so she pressed the buzzer to release the main front door. Pearl had said she only had a few belongings so Jane couldn’t believe how many cardboard boxes were being carried up the stairs, by a rather scruffy-looking man with bad acne. He was heaving for breath by the time he reached the top floor. Pearl herself lugged up two heavy suitcases.
Jane took the boxes and carried them into the spare room, while Pearl opened the two large suitcases on the bed. Jane didn’t like to mention that they would leave scuff marks on the thick white cotton bed cover, and she put the boxes down on the floor. Pearl had thrown her coat onto the floor, and was still wearing her green beret, and a shapeless woolen dress.
“Gosh, you’ve got rather a lot of things.”
“Not really . . . those are full of my shoes and books, and Eric is bringing up the heavier ones with the TV and radio and my typewriter.”
“I see,” Jane said, pursing her lips. Where on earth was Pearl going to put everything in the tiny bedroom? There was only one small fitted wardrobe and a dressing table. Eric staggered to the top of the stairs again, sweating and red-faced.
“Right, this is it . . . that’s everything,” he gasped, as Pearl hurried out and handed him a pound note.
“Thank you Eric, you’ve been wonderful. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
Eric quickly pocketed the pound note and headed down the stairs to make his escape.
Jane stood in the hall, aghast at the large boxes.
“This box is for the fridge,” Pearl said. “Just some fresh salad and fruit, and then I’ve got a few tins of soups and some dishes . . .”
Pearl carried the box and placed it onto the kitchen counter. She then lifted the box containing the TV and staggered into the bedroom. Jane carried the next box, with the old-fashioned typewriter, which was equally heavy.
“Er . . . look, I’ll leave you to unpack. Maybe we can have a cup of tea when you’re ready. Although I honestly don’t know where you’re going to put everything. I really didn’t expect you to have so much.”
“I’ll sort it, don’t worry. I’m used to squeezing into small spaces. One of the boxes is just coat hangers, and when I’ve unpacked everything I’ll flatten all the boxes and they can be stored, or thrown out. Do you have a loft?”
Jane knew there was one in the hall, as she had seen a small rope attached to a hatch door with a plastic handle, but she hadn’t used it. She fetched a kitchen stool and climbed up to open it. It took over an hour for Pearl to empty the contents of the boxes and flatten them. She handed up the suitcases and boxes to Jane to stack in the small loft, which was thankfully empty. Pearl’s bedroom now had books stacked along the floor, with her typewriter on top of the chest of drawers. Balanced beside it was the portable TV set with an aerial on top.
Pearl breezed in to the kitchen, spinning her beret around on her finger like a wheel.
“Phew! I’m almost unloaded, but I’m gasping for a cuppa. I’ve brought my own as I usually only drink herbal tea. Where I can put all my goodies? I only eat fresh food as I am a vegetarian, and I don’t like too much tinned food as it’s full of dreadful ingredients . . .”
Jane opened the fridge, and Pearl began emptying her grocery box onto the shelves, taking more space than Jane had allocated. Then she stacked her vitamins, herbal teas and tins of various beans in the cupboards.
“Would you like a sandwich?” Jane asked, trying to remain pleasant.
“No, thank you, I don’t eat wheat. But I would love a cup of chamomile tea. Then, if it’s all right with you, I’d love to have a bath as I’m so hot and sweaty after all those boxes. Then perhaps we can sit down and sort out the rent and deposit?”
Jane closed her eyes, trying to keep calm. Already the prospect of Pearl Radcliff as a flatmate was not the perfect arrangement that she had hoped it would be.
Chapter Ten
Jane’s alarm woke her at 7am. It was the first time since the explosion that she had slept soundly and she went out into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee, then returned to her bedroom. There was no sound from Pearl’s bedroom, so Jane went into the bathroom to use the toilet and brush her teeth. She went back to her bedroom to get dressed, then brushed her hair and applied a little makeup.
She was ready to leave just after quarter to eight, and there was still no sound of movement from Pearl’s bedroom. Jane hesitated outside the door, wondering if she should knock and let Pearl know that she was leaving. Having a flatmate was taking some getting used to. Suddenly there was the shrill ring of a loud alarm clock bell, fol
lowed by a screech.
“Fuckin’ hell!” Pearl came hurtling out of the bedroom. “My God, I should have been up half an hour ago! I must have set the wrong time on my alarm clock!”
“I’m just leaving for Woolwich,” Jane said, opening the front door.
“What?”
“I have to be at the lab early this morning.”
“Could I borrow your hairdryer? I keep meaning to get myself one.”
Jane hurried back to her bedroom and took her hairdryer out from her wardrobe.
“Just leave it in the kitchen, will you?” she said as she closed the bedroom door.
“Right, yes . . . okay . . . See you tonight then. That bloody alarm bell gives me heart failure when it goes off.”
As Jane closed the front door, Pearl was thumping around the kitchen fixing her breakfast. Jane heard the fridge door being slammed shut and crockery and cutlery clanking as drawers were opened and shut. As she went down the stairs she began to feel a little bit unsure of whether flat-sharing with Pearl was going to be a positive experience. She hoped Pearl would leave the kitchen in a better state than she had the bathroom.
As agreed the previous evening, DS Dexter drew up in front of Jane’s block in an unmarked CID car at exactly eight o’clock. He leaned over and opened the passenger door for Jane to get in.
“Morning,” he said, tetchily.
“Morning!” Jane replied, wondering if she’d done something to upset him.
As Dexter drove through Regent’s Park he said nothing. Jane broke the ice by asking about what she thought might be bothering him.
“Did you speak with Crowley about me showing Daphne Millbank the artist’s sketch?”
“Yes, last night. He was really pissed off. We had a bit of a slanging match, but he calmed down after I told him that showing Daphne the artist’s sketch was unavoidable.”
Good Friday Page 14