Jane looked concerned. “What did you tell him?”
“That Daphne had seen the artist’s sketch in the paper and told you it didn’t look like the man she saw with the rucksack. You then, quite rightly, showed her the sketch to see if she changed her mind, but she didn’t. So he now thinks it was all above board and not your fault.”
“Thanks, but you didn’t need to lie for me.”
“It’s more like I bent the truth a little. Crowley is under immense pressure. He knows what he did was wrong, not that he’d ever admit it. He was hoping that the sketch would lead to the discovery and arrest of the IRA man in the surveillance photo. He bent the truth hoping the end would justify the means.”
“I understand what you’re saying, but it’s still left me in an awkward and vulnerable position.”
“I know, but my advice would be to let it go. If we get the man Crowley’s after then he may lead us to the whole ASU, and vice versa if we get the man Daphne described. Do you think you actually saw the same suspect as Daphne?”
“I’m not a hundred percent sure, but it makes sense that I did. Then again, maybe it’s like you said: there was another man acting as lookout who caught my eye and he was the one I chased.”
“It’s possible, Jane, but don’t beat yourself up about it. We’ll get the bastards responsible.”
Dexter headed toward St. John’s Wood before driving toward Belsize Park and Hampstead.
“I thought we were going to Woolwich,” said Jane. “Where are we going?”
“Daphne’s place in Hampstead. I’ve got a couple of guys checking it over to make sure it’s secure. If the IRA have got wind she exists they might have been to her house. I’m also having an alarm put in that’s linked to the Central Control Room at Scotland Yard.”
Dexter eventually turned off into an area with expensive large houses, many of which had been divided into flats whose gardens overlooked Hampstead Ponds. It was clearly an affluent area and Dexter slowed down as he drove along Nesbitt Avenue. He parked the car and waited for Jane to get out before locking it and striding ahead of her toward number 16.
The glass paneled front door had a row of doorbells next to it. Dexter pressed the ground floor bell, which had “D. Millbank” neatly printed on the name plate. The door was opened by a plainclothes officer in his mid-thirties. He had red hair and was wearing jeans and a loose jacket over a T-shirt.
“Anything of interest, Johnny?” Dexter asked.
“Not yet, Al. We got in with a set of skeleton keys, did a clean sweep of the entry hall, back door and French windows . . . there’s no sign of any forced entry.”
Dexter and Jane followed Johnny into the house. The wide, mosaic-tiled floor was well swept and there was a polished mahogany table in the center for the occupants’ mail and deliveries. The door to Daphne Millbank’s ground-floor flat was wide open. Dexter stopped to have a long, concentrated, look around the entire door frame before he seemed satisfied that it had been checked out.
In comparison to Dexter, Johnny seemed easy going. He was deferential toward the sergeant, who kept up a quiet conversation. The décor inside Daphne’s flat appeared to almost be stuck in a time warp of the forties. The decorations were faded, and the curtains and furniture equally so. The old-fashioned kitchen was painted in a dull green and contained old appliances, but everywhere was spotlessly clean.
The sitting room had two large French windows overlooking an untended garden, with a tall hedge that needed cutting back and an old rickety gate that led straight onto the Heath. Old plant pots lined the fence, all containing bedraggled and dead plants, and a rusted watering can lay on its side next to a rolled-up hosepipe attached to an outside tap.
Jane followed the two men as they walked around outside, listening to their conversation. Dexter was asking exactly how long it would take to fit the alarm. Johnny was giving him details of the areas that needed wiring and said they should finish it by late afternoon. When they went back inside the flat they inspected the dining room and study, which was lined with framed black-and-white photographs. There was one of Daphne on her wedding day, and numerous large photographs of her in ornate ball gowns, as well as one of her in uniform as a Wren.
“She was very beautiful,” Jane said quietly.
Dexter nodded and walked around the room. Jane told him that Daphne needed some reading glasses and Dexter told her it was OK to have a look round for some. She opened a drawer in the old desk and took out a few pairs of glasses.
“Her husband was a pilot,” Jane said, looking at a photograph of a handsome man in a flying jacket.
Neither of the men seemed interested so Jane continued to look at the other photographs lining the walls, as well as the many silver-framed photographs that covered every available surface. Many of them were of handsome young men in evening suits, and there were some of Daphne in full riding kit, as if about to go on a hunt. She was always smiling, and although there were a few more recent photographs, most of them appeared to be of her past. In one of the oldest shots she was a very young woman, wearing a full white evening gown with a diamond necklace and elaborate tiara.
“She was a debutante,” Jane said, softy as she took an envelope from the desk and put three pairs of glasses into it. “Now I’ve got Daphne some glasses we could get an artist’s impression of the suspect she saw,” she added.
Dexter was quick to reply. “Crowley’s got it in hand. He visited her last night. After yesterday, I’d leave it to him.”
Jane nodded in agreement, put the envelope into her handbag and stood waiting patiently as Dexter and Johnny discussed the security of the building.
“We may be lucky and it won’t be leaked about her being able to ID the suspect, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. When the time comes for her to return I want it all rechecked,” Dexter told Johnny.
All three of them jumped as a loud voice boomed out, “What the hell is going on here?”
Dexter was the first out into the hall, and was confronted by a white-haired elderly man using a walking frame. He was smartly dressed, wearing blazer and flannel trousers, with an RAF tie. His snow-white hair was cut short and he had a small white mustache.
Dexter hastily showed his ID and asked who the old man was, but had to wait while his ID was scrutinized.
“I’m Raymond Brocklesby, an old friend of Mrs. Millbank. I was very concerned to see the front door left wide open, and then to discover strangers wandering around her home. Where is Daphne? Has something happened to her? Is she sick? Has she been run over?”
Dexter put on the charm and asked Mr. Brocklesby to join him in the sitting room. Despite his infirmity, he moved quickly toward the room.
“I’ve not heard from her for days. We always have a game of bridge, regular as clockwork. Has something happened to her?”
Dexter waited for him to sit down before he gently explained that Daphne had been in an accident, and that she was in a critical condition. He took down Mr. Brocklesby’s address and phone number, which he obtained from a laminated mobility card that the old boy took out of his wallet. Dexter said that they would inform him as soon as she could have visitors, explaining that they were visiting Daphne’s flat as a matter of course because they had been told she had no immediate family.
“That’s right. She never had children. Her husband died in the war; he was a bomber pilot. Brilliant chap. Daphne is my sister-in-law, from my first wife, so we’re not actually related by blood, but we’re very close. As I said, we play a hand of bridge on a regular basis.”
“I see there have been no newspaper or milk deliveries?”
“No, she likes to walk to the local newsagents and prefers to get her own milk. She says it’s better not to give any burglars a hint when she’s not at home. She travels a lot, you know. I’ve been worried sick because she usually tells me when she’s off on one of her jaunts, and I’ve been calling and calling.”
Jane liked the fact that Dexter was patient with Mr. Brockl
esby, and that he reassured him that he would most certainly be in touch when Mrs. Millbank was allowed visitors. Eventually Mr. Brocklesby stood up to make his way to the front door, pausing outside the sitting room.
“She was one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. Such a great sport, and so full of energy, and her cocktails are lethal! She could tango like no other woman, and despite being short of money she always dressed like a queen. But she would never marry again, although she certainly had plenty of opportunity . . . the men flocked around her. I hope I’ll be able to see her soon. We go back a long way.”
Jane thought of the small figure of Daphne in the hospital bed, her leg missing. Dexter was clearly eager for him to leave but Mr. Brocklesby seemed drawn to the photographs lining the walls.
“She goes into the West End two or three times a week to visit the art galleries and theaters. She always keeps abreast of the latest artists and knows all the latest plays, films, and actors . . . but I’m not that mobile, so I rarely accompany her.”
“Why don’t you see Mr. Brocklesby out, Jane?” Dexter said.
Jane escorted Mr. Brocklesby down the hall, and into the main hallway of the building.
“You seem to care for Mrs. Millbank a great deal,” she said.
“I adore her and always have. So many of our friends have passed on . . . I’ve buried two wives. I now live in what they call ‘assisted living,’ so it took me a while to get over here.”
They walked out of the main front door and Mr. Brocklesby became short of breath, leaning heavily on his walking frame.
“She is coming home, isn’t she? Only it seems strange to have police officers in her flat. She is a very private woman, you know. When will I be able to see her?”
“Soon, I hope. We have your contact numbers, and I’ll pass on your good wishes to Mrs. Millbank. I’m sure she will be keen to see you when she has recovered.”
Jane felt badly about not being able to give him more details, and even worse about the fact that she doubted Daphne would be able to cope alone with her injuries, and return to living in her flat, but for her safety Jane didn’t dare divulge any more.
Mr. Brocklesby shook Jane’s hand and thanked her as he made his way toward his mobility car. It took a while for him to get his walking frame inside before he drove off.
Dexter came outside to watch the pale blue car drive away. “Nice chap. Pity to have to lie to him, but it’s basic security until we know how useful she is going to be.”
“I don’t think she’ll be able to cope coming back home . . . she’ll be in a wheelchair.”
“From what Brocklesby said about her, I think Daphne will find a way of managing. As soon as I know she’s allowed to have visitors I’ll make sure he gets driven there to see her.”
“So you do have a heart.” Jane smiled, pleased to see Dexter’s mood had lifted.
He cocked his to one side and smiled. “You bet I have. I’m just not a morning person, especially after a row with Crowley. Give me a couple of minutes as I need to call into the station to double check our walking frame chap.”
Crowley listened at the other end of the phone as Dexter told him the old lady’s flat had been given a clean sweep.
“Is Tennison with you?” he asked.
“Yes. Can you notify the armed officer at the hospital to allow her to visit? She’s got some reading glasses for Daphne, and it’s a good thing to keep her on friendly terms with our witness. Don’t worry, she won’t be discussing the bomber’s description with her.”
“Good. Seems you’re on friendly terms with Tennison?” Crowley asked, mockingly.
“I’m looking out for her, as requested.”
“Not got into her knickers yet?” Dexter glanced over to Jane to make sure she was out of earshot.
“For Christ’s sake, leave it out, Crowley!”
As they drove back toward St. Thomas’ Hospital, Dexter was affable and Jane was enjoying his company. He told her Crowley said it was OK for her to take the glasses to Daphne and changed the subject.
“So, how’s the new flatmate? Has she moved in yet?”
“Yes, last night. She had so much stuff, even though when I asked if she had a lot of belongings she said she had very few. I don’t know how it’s all going to fit in. Also, she’s a vegetarian and has endless tins of beans and bottles of vitamins.”
“Just never stand downwind of a veggie!”
Jane laughed. “Thanks for that advice. I’m sure it will all work out.”
Dexter told her the lab scientists had begun to piece together the type of bomb used, as well as the detonator distance. The team had agreed that it felt as though this was the calm before the storm. Without any arrests or suspects under surveillance, the IRA might be waiting for the next opportunity to create terror on the streets of London.
At the hospital Jane showed her ID at the reception desk and made her way up to see Daphne, who had been moved to another private room away from the fire escape for further security. As Jane walked along the corridor, Michael, the charge nurse, saw her.
“I wondered when you’d be back!” he said with a smile. “I’d very much like to see you away from this environment. Are you free tonight, maybe for a drink or something to eat?”
“That would be lovely, but I’m not sure what time I’ll be off duty. I could call you when I get back to where I’m working, and then we could arrange to meet up?” Jane said, pleased.
“Great! Now, let me give you an update on our patient. She’s making strong headway. We’re slightly concerned about the healing process, and she might need further surgery as in this kind of amputation there can be a risk of gangrene. The surgeons were checking it out early this morning. If the wound doesn’t heal then she’ll have to undergo another operation to amputate the remaining part of her thigh.”
“Oh God, I hope not.”
“She’s remarkably relaxed about it, but we’ve been administering more morphine for the pain. She does ask for me to constantly increase the level. Says she likes the feeling of floating, especially at night . . . she says she has wonderful dreams! We’ve got to be very careful as patients can often have an adverse reaction to drugs. I am obviously aware of the importance of keeping her stable, but you’ll see that she has regressed slightly and isn’t eating as well as we would like her to. We do still have concerns about her.”
Michael led Jane down the main ward and through the double doors to the private section. The armed officer was sitting outside her room and promptly stood up when Jane approached. He had already been given her name to allow access, so Jane signed the record sheet, giving her time of arrival, then entered the room.
Daphne was still shrouded with a cage covering her from her waist down, which was draped in a white sheet. She was lying flat with one pillow behind her head. Her face was pinched and she seemed smaller and frailer. The lids of her eyes, which were closed, had a faint purple color, and her white hair looked as if it needed to be washed, and the greasy strands were combed back from her forehead.
Jane pulled up a chair, and took out the envelope containing the spectacles. She pulled out the three pairs of glasses and put them on the bedside cabinet. Daphne’s arms looked painfully thin, with awful black bruises from the cannulas. Nobbled veins stood out from the wrinkled loose skin, and her tiny hands were the size of a child’s.
Jane was expecting to have to wait awhile for Daphne to wake up, but after only a few minutes she began to stir and murmur, and Jane leaned closer to hear.
“You smell nice,” Daphne said. She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at Jane. “You get used to having so many different people coming and going and they all smell of hospitals. You know, that disinfectant smell. You smell fresh.”
“I brought you some reading glasses.” Jane said, with a smile.
“Oh good . . . Can you ask them to buy me a decent paper? I only get given the Sun, and some awful women’s magazine full of teenagers’ broken hearts. Do you think
you could just press the button and move me up slightly higher dear? I can’t reach the control thingy.”
Jane bent down and saw the control pedal attached to the steel bed frame. She gently pressed the pedal and the front of the bed raised slightly, elevating Daphne’s head, but not putting her in a sitting position.
“That’s better. I’m supposed to lie flat, then sometimes they lift my legs, or should I say leg, a bit higher. Anyway, it’s frightfully uncomfortable.”
“I’ve been told that you’re not eating much?”
“Are you surprised? The food here is terrible, and by the time they’ve raised me high enough to eat it, it’s stone cold. And they keep giving me this plastic baby mug with a lip to drink my tea . . . it’s disgusting. I’ve complained to Michael and he said he’s going to see if he can get me a decent china cup, and maybe some cheese and biscuits. He’s a nice-looking young man.”
“Yes, he is. I like him. In fact, we might be going for a drink together later.”
“Charge nurse seems a strange occupation for a strapping chap . . . not that he’s my type. Mind you, I could never have been a nurse. They have to empty bedpans and wash patients down, you know . . . but he’s very pleasant.”
“Don’t put me off him, Daphne!”
“I’ll tell you who I’d like to have dinner with . . . that tall, attractive blond policeman. He reminds me of Steve McQueen. He’s got lovely blue eyes, although he could do with sharpening up his clothes, but I’d have that sorted pretty quickly!”
“Do you mean DS Dexter? He’s been here to see you?” Jane asked, wondering why Dexter hadn’t mentioned it to her.
“Yes, last night. We had a good laugh. He does ask a lot of questions though, and I get tired repeating myself. I don’t like that other man, Crowley . . . can’t stand him. When he comes I just close my eyes and pretend I’ve nodded off. I would have thought they could just ask you to repeat what I said? They just keep wanting statement after statement, and I start to get confused.”
Good Friday Page 15