“I’m interested in those dates . . . what do they mean?”
He looked over at them. “The first one, Nov 22nd, 1963 . . . you should know that.”
Jane shrugged.
“It’s the date JFK was assassinated.”
“Oh.”
“The other one, August 5th, 1962, is when Marilyn Monroe died.”
“Oh, really? And the blank one?”
“Well, that could be mine.” He laughed.
“I don’t think that’s funny . . . it’s sort of tempting fate.”
“I do that for a living. They’re just people that I admire. Well, I admire JFK, and Marilyn is my perfect woman: sexy, that great blonde curly hair, and she was a lot brighter than anyone ever gave her credit for. ‘If you can make a woman laugh you can make her do anything.’ She said that.”
Jane flushed, and sipped her wine as Dexter drained his glass and poured himself another.
“James Dean’s Porsche was stolen from an exhibition and never recovered. Some ghoulish fan has to have it hidden somewhere, but that picture was taken at the scene when he crashed it and was found mangled. It’s my dream car. A big step up from my 1965 911 Carrera.”
He got up to take her plate and stacked it on top of his. “Right, I can offer you coffee or cheese? I might have some ice cream.”
“I’m fine, thank you. Let me help you.”
“No, stay put, I won’t be a moment.”
“Actually, could I use the bathroom?”
“Sure, first door on the left in the hall and through the bedroom.”
The bedroom was as immaculate as the rest of the flat. A bright Mexican rug with a fringe was thrown across the huge double bed. Beside the white fitted wardrobes, a section of low shelves held an electric typewriter and stacks of A4 paper, in front of which stood a leather chair. Next to the bed was a small steel table with a silver lamp, an empty ashtray and a large alarm clock. There were no mirrors or ornaments, and the room was devoid of pictures and photographs. The ensuite bathroom was tiled from floor to ceiling in white. There was a separate shower in a glass booth next to a free-standing claw foot bath, and a wash basin set in white marble. Above the basin was a large, mirror-fronted cabinet.
Jane eased the cabinet door open. An array of shampoos, deodorants, shaving equipment and aftershave faced her. Oddly there was also a large bottle of Dior perfume. The toilet was set back in an alcove with a bidet next to it. Jane washed her hands and dried them on the pristine white hand towel that was hanging on a heated rail besides thick white bath towels. On the back of the bathroom door were two toweling bath robes. The smaller one had the belt tied around it, as if it was from a hotel, but the larger one was open and left loose.
Jane went back into the main room to find Dexter lounging on one of the sofas, smoking a cigarette and dangling his glass of wine. He had refilled her glass, which was now on the glass coffee table opposite the other sofa.
“This place is incredible. Have you lived here a long time?”
“No, only about six months. It took a year of refurbishment before I moved in. It was a dump when I bought it.”
Jane nodded and smiled. She would have liked to ask how he could afford it on his salary. He must have a wealthy family.
“Did you design everything, to get it the way you wanted?”
“Yes and no. I hate clutter and small spaces, so I got an architect to draw up the plans, and a girlfriend helped furnish it and buy some of the stuff. She used to live in Mexico, so this carpet was a housewarming gift, and I brought back the throw in my bedroom from Acapulco.”
Jane sipped her wine. “Do you still see her?”
“Occasionally, when she’s in town. What about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, what about you?”
“Well, there’s not a lot to tell you really. I was a probationary officer at Hackney, then I moved to Bow Street Station . . .”
“I didn’t mean your career, I meant what about your personal life?”
“Oh, I’ve sort of concentrated on my career. I have a sister, Pam, and my parents live in Maida Vale.”
“So, no relationship?”
“Not at the moment.”
It felt as if he was interrogating her and it made her uncomfortable—even more so when he eased himself off the sofa. She thought for a moment he was going to come and sit beside her, but instead he walked to the table and picked up her jacket.
“I should run you home. I’ve got an early start in the morning, unless you’ve changed your mind about wanting a coffee?”
Jane sprang up. “No, really . . . I should be getting off. It’s been a really nice evening, and very kind of you.”
Dexter moved behind her and held out her jacket. As she slipped her arms through the sleeves, he gently eased her hair away from under the collar, softly touching her neck. He smiled.
“You have lovely skin, Detective Tennison.”
She blushed at the compliment. Her heart was beating rapidly as she picked up her handbag. Taking her hand, Dexter led her out into the hall.
As they drove back to her flat, Jane wished she could think of something to say. Dexter chatted away, saying that next time he would attempt to cook for her instead of buying fish and chips. Before she knew it, they had pulled up in front of her building and Dexter had switched off the engine. He casually rested his arm along the back of her seat.
“Goodnight. I’ll probably see you at the lab sometime.”
Jane smiled and moved to open the door but Dexter used his free arm to reach across her and open it. He now had both his arms around her, and he kissed her cheek as the door swung open. Then he climbed out and went around to the passenger door to help her out.
“Goodnight, and thank you again.” She hesitated. “Perhaps I could cook dinner for you one evening.”
“That would be nice. I’ll look forward to it.”
As Dexter revved up the engine and drove off, Jane sighed. Considering that she couldn’t cook, had never entertained anyone for dinner, and lived in a tiny flat that stank of Pearl’s cabbage soup, it could be a very embarrassing evening.
Jane waved to the SPG officers opposite, and walked slowly up the stairs. At least the awful smell of cabbage had faded. She unlocked her front door and dropped her key down on the small table by the telephone. A note was on top of the receiver: Natalie called again. Jane picked up the note and walked into her bedroom. She took off her jacket and tossed it onto her bed, wishing that she’d worn something less boring. It was old fashioned and the matching trousers were now creased. She unzipped them and kicked them off. She looked at herself in the mirror and decided that on her first weekend off she would ask Pam to cut her hair, and put some highlights in it.
Still feeling disgruntled, she took off her makeup, brushed her teeth and went to bed. She closed her eyes and, unable to sleep straightaway, thought about the evening. She was disappointed at herself for being so overwhelmed. She had never met anyone like Alan Dexter, or been entertained in such an elegant and tasteful flat. She was also surprised and how attractive she found him. She felt as if she had behaved like a besotted teenager, and was now even more confused. Why had he been so attentive? Perhaps he was monitoring her, to try to find out if there was anything more she could add to her statement? She dismissed the thought. She was being paranoid. Dexter had no need to go to such lengths to get her to repeat everything she knew about the Covent Garden bomb. Increasingly restless, Jane couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had touched her neck, and then kissed her. She wondered what it would be like to lie next to him in his big double bed and feel that gentle touch over her entire body. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep.
Jane was woken by the deafening sound of Pearl’s alarm clock in the next bedroom. It sounded as if she was lying next to Big Ben. By the time she had wrapped a robe around herself and gone into the kitchen, Pearl was sitting eating her bowl of muesli with a glass of awful-looking green liquid.
; “Morning! Your friend Natalie called again. She’s quite persistent, isn’t she?”
“I saw your message. We were friends at training school. She left the police and we lost contact until recently. I expect she just wants to catch up. How come you’re up so early?”
“I thought I might have a jog in the park before I go into work.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” Jane put the kettle on and got out the tin of instant coffee, spooning two heaps into a mug.
“Did you have a nice time last night?”
“Yes, I did.”
“You know,” Pearl said as Jane filled her mug, “that stuff is full of preservatives. And you shouldn’t use sweeteners. They’re not good for you either.”
“I know. I couldn’t face that seaweed thing you’re drinking, not first thing in the morning.”
“You get used to it, and it gives me so much energy.”
Jane made no reply and walked back to her bedroom. It was 6:30am and she decided she’d have another half an hour in bed. She heard Pearl leaving and felt irritated that she was out jogging as she knew that she should do some exercise herself, but all she could think of was going out to buy some new clothes and making a hair appointment for the weekend.
It was just after 8am when a sweating, panting Pearl returned and went into the bathroom to run a bath. Jane had fortunately already dressed and was ready to leave for work when the phone rang.
“Hi, is that Jane?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“It’s Natalie . . . I’m sorry if I’ve called too early but I have to go to work and wanted to catch you. I rang last night and someone else answered, but I was worried they may not have passed on the message.”
“I’m sorry, I was out and didn’t get back until late. I was going to call you later.”
“Well, perhaps we can we meet up. Are you free this evening?”
“Yes, I should be home around seven,”
“Why don’t we meet up at eight? I can come to you, or you could come over to my place?”
Pearl banged out of the steam-filled bathroom and Jane covered the phone.
“Are you home this evening Pearl?”
“Yes . . . be here about six.”
Jane nodded and uncovered the mouthpiece to speak to Natalie. “Why don’t I come to you. Whereabouts do you live?”
“My flat’s in Belsize Park, but I work in Marble Arch. I finish work at five. Where do you live?”
“I’m near Baker Street.”
“Well, I can come over to you if it’ll be more convenient. Do you know somewhere we can eat?”
Jane hesitated. She hadn’t had time to explore the area and wasn’t sure where to suggest. “Er . . . there’s an Italian restaurant not far from the Underground station. It’s called Fratelli’s. I haven’t actually tried it, but it looks okay.”
“Why don’t we meet up there then?”
Natalie was being very persistent. Jane felt she couldn’t get out of it.
“All right, eight this evening, then?”
“Great! I’m really looking forward to seeing you, and chatting about old times.”
Jane replaced the receiver. She’d planned to have an early night, but it would be rude not to go for dinner with Natalie, especially as she hadn’t returned her calls, and Natalie was so keen to catch up with her. Pearl came out of her room, a towel wrapped around her wet hair.
“I couldn’t borrow your hairdryer again, could I? By the way, Fratelli’s is a nice restaurant and very reasonable. I’ve often eaten there, as they do a special lunch price.”
Jane fetched her hairdryer and handed to Pearl.
“Do you mind just leaving it in the kitchen? I’m sorry but I don’t really like you going into my bedroom.”
Pearl shrugged. “Fine by me. Thanks, and I’ll see you later.”
Jane fetched her coat and handbag. She was feeling irritated and slammed out of the flat to walk to Baker Street.
As usual it was a lengthy journey across London to Woolwich, but Jane’s initial irritability gradually subsided as she joined two junior trainee scientists and a female clerical officer in the canteen. They were having a conversation about all the scientists and officers, giving them marks out of ten for sexual attractiveness. Jane felt rather annoyed by their discussion, but took an interest when they started talking about Dexter. He was rated as a ten plus.
A very skinny petite girl with incredibly thick hair was eating a bowl of rice pudding, wafting her spoon around.
“I think he’s gorgeous, very sexy, but there’s something sort of detached about him. I was told he gets any female he wants. He’s very wealthy . . . his older brother was killed in a skiing accident so when his father died he inherited a fortune. His ex-girlfriend—who he lived with in Mexico—is the daughter of some famous artist. And he’s a bit of a rarity: he’s the only serving police officer who is also part of the bomb disposal unit. I was told he was in the Royal Army Ordinance Corps as an explosives officer and was initially trained by the now head of the Met’s bomb disposal unit. Dexter was exceptional at what he did during army service and received gallantry awards for bomb disposal. That’s why he’s shit hot here . . . after a few years’ service he was transferred to the bomb squad thanks to his knowledge of disarming explosives. He can disarm me any day!” She laughed.
Jane couldn’t resist asking, “Have you been out with him?”
“I wish! Although I think he’s got quite a lot of baggage . . . but that doesn’t make him any the less attractive. Mind you I couldn’t go out with someone who does a dangerous job like his. I heard someone in the lab say Dexter has a death wish.”
One of the other girls, who had been eating throughout the conversation, looked up. “I had a one night stand with him,” she said. “I’d do it again, but when that Mexican woman is in town he just drops you, so I’m going to drop his mark to a seven.” She laughed as she glanced at Jane. “Crowley got a minus four!”
Jane said nothing as the skinny girl pushed the remains of her rice pudding around the bowl and asked if anyone wanted a tea or coffee. None of them had seen Dexter walking up to stand behind them. He rested his hand on Jane’s shoulder.
“Hello, Jane. So what’s this about Crowley being a minus four?”
There was an embarrassing pause. Jane had to bite her bottom lip hard to stop giggling, as the other girls flushed and jumped to their feet.
“Oh, nothing,” the skinny girl said. “Er . . . we’re going to get coffee. Do you want one?”
“No thanks. I’m just looking for Lawrence but he doesn’t seem to be here.”
Jane was left alone with Dexter, and he sat down next to her. She could see the other girls at the coffee counter whispering, then turning to look toward their table.
“I didn’t think you were the giggling type. What’s so funny?”
“They were marking all the men here out of ten, for sexual attraction.”
“Really? So, tell me, how many points did they allocate to me?”
“You did very well. You started with a ten but then dropped to a seven. I was just listening in, not taking part.”
“What score would you give me?”
It was Jane’s turn to blush. She shrugged and Dexter leaned in closer.
“Go on, tell me.”
“I’d say you were easily a ten . . . but then, I’m biased. You bought me fish and chips.”
He stood up, smiling, and pushed the chair beneath the table. Then he leaned in and kissed her cheek.
“Thank you, DC Tennison, that’s really made my day.”
Dexter walked off and, rather than get into any further conversation with the two girls, Jane took her crockery and cutlery to the wash bowl provided for everyone to deposit their used dishes. She didn’t escape as the girls caught up with her as she was stacking her tray.
“How much did he overhear?” The skinny girl asked nervously.
“Just the bit about Crowley. I told him it was a joke.”
<
br /> “Oh.”
They looked at each other as Jane started to walk off, because they had seen Dexter kissing her cheek.
“Another one bites the dust . . .”
Jane turned and glared at them.
“If you are referring to me, I resent that remark. We are working together, nothing more. You should grow up and stop gossip-mongering.”
They watched her heading out of the canteen and nudged each other.
“Well, I’d say the lady doth protest too much! We need to be careful what we say around her. She’s obviously smitten.”
Jane banged through the doors of the canteen and bumped into DS Lawrence. He threw up his hands.
“It’s bloody unbelievable, that guy needs someone to straighten him out!”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Bloody Dexter, he thrives on risk-taking and thinks he’s indestructible. He’s nabbed a disarming device I’d left in the lab to test.”
“He was in the canteen a minute ago.”
“I’ll go find him. We are all on tenterhooks and he’s playing silly buggers with untested equipment. If you ask me he has a death wish.”
“You know, maybe he lives life to the full because he knows each day could be his last and every time there is a warning call from the IRA he could be killed disarming one of their bombs.”
“I doubt it,” whispered Lawrence “His best pal, who went in ahead of him to assess the bomb at Selfridges, was killed when it exploded. Dexter’s got some guardian angel sitting on his shoulder.”
“I hope so,” Jane said quietly, then asked Lawrence what he wanted her to do for the day.
“The victims’ clothing needs bagging and tagging, if you don’t mind doing that. Everything’s hanging up in the drying room down the corridor.” He pointed to a room on the left.
Jane knew that much of the clothing was heavily blood stained. It wasn’t a job she relished doing, but she was determined to show her willingness. Paul handed her the key and she unlocked the door. There were no windows in the drying room; it was in total darkness and felt like an eerie sauna. Jane switched on the neon strip lighting, which flickered for a few seconds before illuminating the room. She inhaled deeply at the sight of the torn and tattered bloodstained clothing hanging from washing lines strung up around the room. Her eyes instantly caught sight of a bloodstained babygro, and for a moment she was back at Covent Garden, hearing the child’s muffled cries. She relived carrying the pushchair up the stairs, then less a minute later turning the seriously injured mother over, revealing the sight of the baby, covered in blood, and the weight of the baby in her arms.
Good Friday Page 18