“Looks like you were spot on about the color of the rucksack. We even found a bit of the label with ‘Karri—’on it. It’s a positive lead. We now know the bag was a Karrimor Joe Brown. The preliminary Griess test on the rucksack cloth samples was positive, as was the more sensitive TLC test.”
“TLC?” Jane was lost when it came to forensic terminology.
“Thin layer chromatography. That was positive for nitrates. We can conclude that the bomb at Covent Garden was nitroglycerine based and contained between 4–6 pounds of explosive.”
Jane remembered what she’d learned about fibers from the Carol Ann Collins murder investigation at Hackney.
“So, if the suspect still has the jacket he was wearing, there may be fiber traces from the rucksack all over the back of it.”
“Exactly. We found some black fibers on parts of the rucksack that probably came from the same jacket.”
“Did you find any more bomb shards?” she asked.
Lawrence nodded. “Yes, quite a few pieces—but they’re still reconstructing it in the other lab. Things are beginning to move in a positive direction now, Jane.”
Jane was less enthusiastic when Lawrence told her that she would have to spend the rest of the day in the dusty hangar, sifting through debris from the bomb site. This time, though, she didn’t mind getting dirty. Now more than ever she realized how important it was to find the evidence left behind by the IRA Active Service Unit—evidence that might lead them to the killers.
Chapter Eleven
Jane returned home just before seven that evening. Pearl was already there and the TV was switched on in her bedroom. Jane called out that she was back and went into the kitchen. It was immaculate, which pleased her. She was about to put the kettle on for a cup of tea when the phone rang. It was Dexter.
“Do you fancy fish and chips?” he asked. “I can be at your place in half an hour, and I know a restaurant in Ladbroke Grove that serves the best in London.”
Jane didn’t hesitate and said she would be outside her flat in three quarters of an hour. She needed time to shower and change, and doubted if he had been truthful about being such a short distance away. After seeing Dexter at work on the testing site she had to admit to finding him even more attractive, despite the warnings she’d been given.
Jane went into the bathroom. The shower unit was attached to the bath taps, and there was a small, plastic curtained rail around the bath. She turned on the shower and hurried into her bedroom to decide what to wear. The Coronation Street theme tune echoed from the spare bedroom, but Pearl had not appeared. Just as Jane was hurrying back to the bathroom, naked but carrying a toweling robe, Pearl’s door opened.
“Oh, sorry! I was just going to make myself some supper.”
Jane quickly wrapped the robe around herself. “I’m going out, so I’m just about to have a quick shower, but I shouldn’t be too late.”
“There were a couple of calls for you earlier. A guy called Church, who said he’d ring back later, and one from someone called Natalie. She said it was nothing urgent, but I left the number in the kitchen.”
“Thank you. I didn’t see your note.”
“I thought that call might have been her calling you back. You’re obviously very popular.”
“Oh, it was just work . . .” Jane said, going into the bathroom. While she stood under the shower she couldn’t help smiling. When she came out, she found Pearl in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables.
“Could I have my hairdryer back?”
“Sorry, I put it on your dressing table.”
Jane didn’t like the fact that Pearl had gone into her bedroom, but didn’t say anything. As she closed her door behind her, she decided that she would get a lock for her it.
Jane dried her hair and pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of fawn trousers. She used a magnifying mirror on her dressing table to quickly apply some foundation, mascara and eye shadow, finishing with a light lipstick. She put a matching fawn jacket around her shoulders. After checking herself in the mirror, she walked out into the hallway and closed her bedroom door behind her.
Pearl was sitting on one of the kitchen stools, drinking a glass of a greenish liquid. There was a strong smell of cabbage permeating the hall. She glanced at Jane as she passed the doorway.
“You look very nice.”
“Thank you. Is that cabbage I can smell?”
“Yes, I’m making a soup with lentils, onions, spinach, carrots, and cabbage. I usually make a big pot so I can have it when I get home. It becomes thicker the longer I keep on boiling it up.”
Jane was tight-lipped as she went out. The cabbage smell lingered all the way down the stairs, and the thought that Pearl would be boiling it up every night made her feel sick.
Dexter was as good as his word, and Jane only waited a few minutes before he drew up in a silver Porsche. He leaned over to push open the passenger door.
“A Porsche—I’m impressed!” Jane said, as she bent down to get inside.
“It’s my pride and joy. Used to belong to my father. I keep it garaged at a pal’s place, and he keeps it tuned up for me.”
The engine roared as they pulled out, but then he slowed to drive down Melcombe Street, past Balcombe Street and Marylebone Station before turning right toward Ladbroke Grove. Dexter was wearing pale blue jeans and a leather jacket, and Jane smiled to herself as she remembered Daphne’s description of him looking like Steve McQueen. He was quite similar, although Dexter was much taller. He parked a few yards from a fish and chip shop that had a line of people waiting to be served.
“I told you this was the best in London. They get customers from all over.”
Dexter was very much the gentleman and moved around the car from his side to open the passenger door for Jane. He held out his hand to help her out, locked the car, then took her by the elbow to join the queue of waiting customers. Jane was unsure how to react. She hadn’t expected to be eating her dinner from a newspaper, and there didn’t appear to be any dining tables inside. Before they reached the counter, Dexter told Jane to look at the blackboard for the fresh fish of the day, or to choose from the lit-up menus above the counter.
“I’ll have cod and chips please,” she said to him.
“D’you want mushy peas, and salt and vinegar?”
“Yes, please.”
Dexter ordered the same and their portions were dished up in cardboard take-out cartons with plastic forks, then wrapped in newspaper. Jane was still unsure where they were going to be eating, as she followed him back to the car. Dexter unlocked the passenger door, and because he was holding the fish and chips she opened it and got back into the car.
Dexter then opened the boot, put their dinner inside and got in to the driver’s seat.
“Right, we’ll eat at my place. I’ve got a nice bottle of Chablis in the fridge, and if I put my foot down the food will still be hot.”
“Do you live near here?” Jane asked.
“Not far, just off Kilburn High Street.”
He leaned forward and switched on the cassette player, his choice of Mozart surprising Jane. The journey was longer than he had implied, and they drove past her parents’ block of flats before turning off the Edgware Road and reaching Kilburn High Street. Dexter turned left into a wide street of four-story Victorian houses. He parked, jumped out and retrieved the fish and chips from the boot, while Jane pushed open her door.
“Out you come!” he said, holding out his hand toward her. She clasped onto it and heaved herself up from the low-slung Porsche. Dexter locked the car and waited for her as she straightened her jacket, then gestured for her to follow him up wide stone steps to the front door. It was not exactly run down, but the property had obviously seen better days. There was a row of bells by the front door. Dexter swung his set of keys around to unlock it and on pushing it open he gestured for her to walk ahead, kicking the door shut behind them both.
“Keep going . . . up to the first floor.”
Jane climbe
d up the wide staircase, which would have been light and airy in daylight, as it was overlooked by big windows. A dark stair runner held down by old brass clips, and the stone steps either side were rather grubby. She arrived at a wide corridor with a fitted gray carpet and whitewashed walls. There were two doors, both of which were painted a similar shade of gray to the carpet.
“Number Two,” Dexter said, selecting another door key.
Jane stood to one side as he opened it, and he let her go in ahead of him as he banged the door closed with his hip.
The floor in the hallway was stripped pinewood.
“The kitchen is straight ahead of you,” he said, gesturing with his head.
Jane was taken aback by the large kitchen, which was full of modern steel equipment. There was a double-doored fridge freezer, and a large six burner cooker. The counters were granite, and the floor was covered in dark gray lino tiles, while the sinks and taps were more suited to a restaurant than a flat. There was a small utility room with a washing machine and dryer. Everything had been designed in a very modern style.
Dexter put the food down on the counter and unwrapped it, switching on the oven and putting the fish and chips into a large white oven dish.
“Keep them nice and hot. I hate soggy chips. If you open the fridge there’s a bottle of uncorked wine. I’ll just go and get some cutlery.”
Jane was completely surprised by his dexterity in the kitchen. She hesitated in front of the big fridge freezer, then found the wine bottle and placed it on the counter, then she opened a few cupboards to look for some wine glasses. Jane was eager to keep occupied as she was feeling ill at ease, even more so as in every cupboard she opened she found neatly stacked white plates, cups, saucers, cereal bowls, milk jugs, and a sugar bowl. But she couldn’t find any glasses.
Dexter appeared at the door holding two fluted wine glasses. “The cutlery is in the top drawer. If you take these through, I’ll bring in the fish and chips.”
Jane opened the drawer and took out two sets of knives and forks, then Dexter handed her the glasses and she walked down the stripped pinewood floor in the hallway. The main room again took her by surprise. It was huge, with high ceilings, two white sofas, and what looked like a very expensive woven rug lying between them, with a clear glass coffee table on top of it. The large windows had stripped pine shutters that matched the bare wooden floorboards. There was a modern, long, white dresser with silver handles for the nine drawers. Two decorative bowls sat on top of it, one containing bunches of keys and the other containing packs of Marlborough cigarettes and Henri Wintermans Café Crème Cigars, along with several boxes of matches.
There was a rack of records and an expensive-looking stereo system, with two speakers positioned on the wall above it. The dining table was glass-topped pine, with six matching chairs and was positioned in front of a floor to ceiling window. Jane laid the two sets of cutlery out, along with the wine glasses, and took her jacket off to place around the back of one of the chairs. There were no paintings but on the far wall there were some black and white framed photographs. Oddly there were three white oblong canvasses with large black dates painted on two and the third was empty. Jane moved closer to look at the photographs. One was of a mangled car and printed beneath it “Silver Porsche 550 Spyder sports car 1955 James Dean.” Another photograph was of Dexter wearing a ski suit, carrying a set of skis with another older man, laughing.
“Dinner’s served!” Dexter said, carrying in a tray made up of the fish and chips on white plates, a large tomato ketchup container, and the bottle of wine. He had two mats and napkins and deftly flicked them down onto the table.
“Sit down, and mind out . . . the plates are hot.” He quickly put one plate on each of the mats.
Jane sat down as Dexter poured the wine, then sat at the end of the table.
“Cheers!” he said, lifting his glass.
She was trying hard to think what to say. She felt so out of her depth and uncomfortable, but he was completely relaxed. He proffered the ketchup and she shook her head, so he poured a large dollop on the side of his plate and started to eat.
“You have an amazing flat.” she said.
“Thanks. How’s your new flatmate getting along?”
“Pearl? She’s fine. She was at home when I left, watching Coronation Street. To be honest, I don’t know if it’ll work out. We seem quite different, now she’s moved in.”
“You were wise to have her checked out first. You have to take precautions and you did the right thing. I hope you also make a note of any odd phone calls, and look out for anyone loitering near your flat.”
“I do, and I appreciate DCI Church is also looking out for me. I even checked with Pearl’s previous landlady and Madame Tussaud’s, where she works. There was no connection to any Irish background and her family come from Southport.”
“So, she works at Madame Tussaud’s?”
“Yes, she does the guided tours.”
“You know there was an IRA bomb there in 1974, but a coded warning was sent and they managed to evacuate the premises just before it exploded.”
Jane looked shocked, “Oh, my God, I had forgotten about that! She never mentioned it.”
“It’s easy to get a bit blasé. We have so many bomb scares in London nowadays.”
Jane ate sparingly. She was nervous and was still trying to make polite conversation.
“In comparison to your place, my flat would probably fit into one room! How many bedrooms have you got?”
“Just one. I had two, but knocked them together. It’s not what I would call guest-friendly . . . well, not for my mates anyway.” He smiled. “By the way, I had Daphne’s friend, Raymond Brocklesby, checked out. He’s quite a character. Been married twice and inherited a fortune when he was in his thirties. He’s also a highly-decorated war hero, but he’s now living in sheltered accommodation as he has Parkinson’s. He’s wealthy enough to have bought his own mobility car and have it adapted to his specifications. He’s got quite a lengthy paragraph in Who’s Who.”
Jane was beginning to relax now they were on a subject that she could interact with him on.
“When I told Daphne we had met him, she wasn’t at all happy we’d been in her flat. She said we should have asked her permission to collect her reading glasses.”
“We were just being cautious, but I think we’ve kept her well under wraps so far.”
“She mentioned both you and Crowley spent time with her last night? I thought it was just Crowley.”
Dexter nodded, and poured more tomato ketchup onto his plate. “Sorry, I thought I said it was both of us. It was after I had the row with him about you and the artist’s sketch. Crowley wanted to pop in and explain what was happening. She was rather high on morphine, but she’s exceptionally intelligent and considering what she’s been through she’s amazing.”
“Did she give you a description of the man she saw?”
“Yes. Like she told you, it was different from the artist’s impression. Daphne took great delight in pointing that out to Crowley.”
“What did he say?”
“He told her it was possible there were two IRA men working together at the tube station, and that she saw one and you the other. Anyway, she agreed to an artist’s impression being made of the man she saw. Crowley’s organizing it.”
“So Crowley’s still saying that the man in the artist’s impression is the Covent Garden bomber? Even though Daphne and I have both said it isn’t?”
“Well either way, it doesn’t matter now. Crowley can’t issue a press release saying the artist’s impression was wrong and that the Covent Garden team could have been two men and a woman. Whoever the bastards are, they could still be around in London, feeling confident that we haven’t identified them. IRA members don’t fit a single defined stereotype; they come to London under the guise of looking for work, rent flats to live in and store nitroglycerine and other equipment in a bedroom. What we also need to try and trace is the conta
ct he made in the telephone box. All we know is that she was a woman with a fancy headscarf, but we can’t even be sure she had anything to do with it as we only have one witness who came forward.”
“So the witness definitely didn’t see the face of the woman in the phone box? And she didn’t see our suspect approach her?”
“No. the phone box witness only saw the headscarf with red setters on it and the leather gloves she was wearing. Typical woman, she can describe the Hermès scarf and remember the gloves, but she can’t give any useful information after that, no description of her face or height.” He stopped to take a sip of wine, then continued, “Can you take me through what you saw again? Maybe something has jogged your mind since we were at Covent Garden?”
“Being a typical woman, I haven’t recalled anything that I haven’t said already.”
“I’m not having a go, Jane, it’s just that traumatic things we see or experience are put to the back of our mind. They’re in there somewhere and all I want to do is help you remember. So far, Daphne was the only one who saw him leave the bag by the ticket booth and the only one who can identify him when he’s arrested.”
“If I’d seen his face I would have immediately told DCI Crowley or you. It all happened very quickly . . . a minute maybe, before that big man moved in front of me and the bomb exploded . . . He saved my life, and it may have cost him his. There is nothing more I can add to what I have already said repeatedly. If there was, believe me, you would be the first person I’d tell.”
Jane had only eaten half of her fish and chips but Dexter had wolfed down everything on his plate. He said nothing as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. She tried to think up something else to say, and turned to the three oblong canvases.
Good Friday Page 17