Good Friday

by Lynda La Plante

  Natalie drew out a chair opposite Jane as a waitress came to their table.

  “I’ll just have a cappuccino, please. What about you, Jane?”

  “Same for me, and a toasted ham and cheese sandwich, please.” Jane smiled as the waitress walked away. “I haven’t eaten since lunch. I just need to double check that I haven’t forgotten any ingredients for the dinner tomorrow.” Opening her handbag, she took out her list of groceries for the dinner with Michael. “When I get home I’ll make the sauce, and I’ll cook the spaghetti fresh tomorrow.”

  Natalie lit one of her Kool cigarettes, pulling the ashtray closer to her side of the table. “Just remember to add some wine to the sauce before you heat it up. It always tastes much better when it’s had time to marinate overnight.”

  The waitress brought their order. Natalie shared Jane’s toasted sandwich with her, then checked her watch and said that they should get going as she had made an appointment for seven thirty.

  Jane insisted on paying. They left the café and made the short walk to a grand four-story house in Sloane Avenue.

  “So, when is the event? You might need to have some alterations made,” Natalie said, as they climbed up the stone steps to ring the doorbell.

  “It’s on Good Friday, at St. Ermin’s Hotel.”

  “Ooh, impressive!” The intercom phone buzzed and Natalie spoke into it. “It’s Natalie Wilde and Jane Tennison.”

  The front door opened with a loud click sound and an aristocratic voice instructed them to go straight downstairs.

  “It’s in the basement flat, but there’s nothing dark and dingy around here,” explained Natalie. “This is a very exclusive area. The flats are huge above.”

  They entered a thickly carpeted main hallway, where an ornate, gilt-framed mirror hung above a three-legged mahogany table. Circulars and unopened mail were neatly laid out in piles for the various flats in the building. They walked past the wide, red-carpeted staircase and the elegant front door of the ground floor flat, passing through the open door to the basement flat. At the bottom of a narrow staircase they found an elegant white-haired woman waiting for them. She was wearing a flamboyant kaftan, with a chunky amber necklace and matching earrings. She was well made up, with deep red lipstick.

  “Long time no see, Natalie. Do come in. I’m Isabelle Hunt.” She held out a manicured hand to Jane, which was adorned with a lot of diamond and gold rings.

  “Jane Tennison.”

  “Lovely to meet you. Do please come on through. As you can see, I have quite a selection. I’d say you are probably a size 10 to 12 so you’ll find quite a lot that will fit you. I’ve just got a very special velvet and satin Valentino in, but I’ll let you have a good sort through everything to see what you like.”

  Mrs. Hunt went to the end of the corridor where there was a door covered with framed photographs of her younger self, wearing elegant gowns. There were also numerous photographs of other women, with “Thank you” scrawled across them from, Jane supposed, her clients. They were mostly wearing beautiful ball gowns, but a few were in wedding dresses.

  She opened the door and gestured for them both to walk through ahead of her. The velvet curtains were drawn but she flicked a light switch on. The vast room was lit with high-powered bulbs from tasteful wall sconces, and from the center of the ceiling hung a large crystal chandelier. There were five racks of dresses running the entire length of the room. Some were not covered by plastic sheets but hung on covered hangers and attached to them were cards with the sizes and prices for hire or purchase.

  “Is it a special occasion? I like to make sure that my clients don’t over or under dress, if you know what I mean.”

  “It’s a black-tie dinner dance,” Jane said, looking along one of the racks.

  “Well, I always think if you’re sitting down you shouldn’t have anything that shows too much cleavage, or has a tight bodice. I would select something like an Empire line gown. Always suitable for dining. If you’re hiring we have rules about food stains. You’d be surprised how many dresses are returned with wine spilled down them, or with hems that have been trailing in mud. We add the cost of dry cleaning to the price, as all the gowns are professionally cleaned by an excellent valet service. The sizes are clearly shown at the end of each rail, and get bigger toward the end. I have a selection of designer labels on rail four: Valentino, Ossie Clarke, YSL, Mary Quant, Balmain, Chanel, and so on. The cheaper range is from some of the major department stores, but most of them haven’t been worn more than once. The debutante season brings in a lot of younger styles, and obviously all the hunt balls. I even have clients coming over from Ireland. But I don’t advertise; it’s all word of mouth.”

  Jane nodded and smiled. She took a quick glance at some of the prices and knew they were way out of her budget. It shocked her to see that most of them were between £150 and £200 and one even had a price tag of £250, but it was a very beautiful sequined satin gown with a long train.

  “There’s a changing room with full-length mirrors. Now, shoes. I do have a selection but they’re mostly either dyed to match a gown, or I have them for when you try something on so that you can see what it’s like with high heels.” Mrs. Hunt moved back toward the door. “I’ll leave you to it. Just call me when you’re ready.”

  As Mrs. Hunt closed the door, Jane let out a sigh. “My God Natalie! They’re all far too expensive, even just to hire out!”

  “Don’t worry, we’ve not got to the end rail yet.”

  They began sorting through various styles. Natalie kept on selecting dresses and taking them off the rail, while Jane constantly checked the price tag to make sure it wasn’t too much. They had eventually pulled out seven possible dresses and Jane took them all into the curtained dressing area to start trying them on.

  Jane stripped down to her bra and knickers, then found a pair of high heeled silver strap shoes to start trying on one gown after another. She quickly discarded the dresses she didn’t like, until she tried on a pale blue chiffon with a fitted bodice and wide layered skirt. She drew the dressing room curtain aside and stepped out.

  Natalie screwed up her face.

  “Oh, no. I think it’s a bit old fashioned, Jane. It’s loose over your waist and too high over your boobs! I’ve got some other dresses I’ve picked out that I think are gorgeous.”

  After almost an hour of trying dresses on, Jane still hadn’t found one that she liked, or that Natalie approved of and she was beginning to feel tired.

  “Oh, Jane look at this one. It’s just gorgeous! It’s Chanel. Look at the beautiful bodice, and the tiny buttons and bootlace straps. It’s your size, and the skirt has wonderful frilled layers of lace and silk.”

  “How much is it?”

  “One hundred and fifty. It’s worth it. You’ll look stunning! Please try it on. And if you do your hair up in a chignon . . .”

  Jane sighed and went back into the dressing room area, taking off a Mary Quant dress that was far too tight across her chest. She stepped into the Chanel gown and drew it up, putting her arms through the tiny satin straps. She needed Natalie to do the buttons up at the back of the bodice and by the time they had all been fastened she had still not had a look at herself in the mirror. In truth, she felt unsure about wearing black.

  “Oh my God—it’s perfect!” Natalie exclaimed, clapping her hands and hovering behind Jane as she stood in front of the full-length mirror. “You might need a push up bra, but honestly, it fits like a dream and shows off your lovely shoulders.”

  Jane chewed her lips, turning backward and forward in front of the mirror. It was a perfect fit and the tight velvet bodice showed off her breasts and small waist. The layered frilly skirt was just the right length and moved beautifully as she swayed and turned. She thought she could wear a small pearl necklace, which she knew her mother treasured.

  “All right. I think this is the one. I’ll need Pearl to help me into it with all the buttons.”

  It was a further three quarters
of an hour before the dress was finally wrapped carefully in tissue paper and packed into a large box. Mrs. Hunt had given her a receipt for the dress to be hired out for two weeks, and suggested that she buy a small wrap or bolero jacket to go over it. She made it clear that the dress had to be returned on the date on the receipt, but she always liked her customers to have the dress for a while before the occasion so that they had time to accessorize.

  “It’s not until Good Friday,” Jane said, hesitant about the cost of hiring it for two weeks.

  “So, you can spend time deciding, and can get used to wearing it. I have to say, you looked quite stunning.”

  Mrs. Hunt didn’t mention that the Chanel dress Jane had chosen was such a bargain because the fragile frilly hem had been repaired a few times and the bodice had been stained under the armpits.

  Jane and Natalie walked into Sloane Square together, and Natalie suggested that they could go and have dinner somewhere. Jane declined, saying that she felt tired and needed to go to the late-night grocery shop to get all the ingredients for the dinner with Michael.

  “Why don’t you come over at the weekend and I can give you another cookery lesson?” Natalie asked. “I enjoy cooking, but never really bother when it’s just for me.”

  “I’d love to, but let me get back to you. I need to check the duty rota, and I also want to go and see my parents.”

  “Okay, just call me when you know. Listen, you made the right decision with the dress. You’re going to knock them sideways.”

  By the time Jane had bought all the groceries she needed and had carried them plus the large cardboard box containing the dress up the stairs to her flat, she felt exhausted. She left the box on her bedroom floor, not even unpacking the dress before she went into the kitchen.

  Pearl was sitting on one of the stools, eating pasta and reading a thick paperback volume of War and Peace.

  “Hi there. What was in that big box?”

  “My dress for the Good Friday dinner.”

  “Would you like a bowl of my pesto, onion and pasta mix? There’s plenty left.”

  “I’m going to make the Bolognese sauce for my dinner tomorrow, then have a long bath. But thanks anyway.”

  “I’ll leave you to it then, and finish this in my room. Not the book, my pasta!” She laughed as she carried the bowl out to her bedroom.

  Jane made the sauce and ate a spoonful to taste it. It was delicious. She cleared up the kitchen and made a mental note to buy the wine when she came home from work the next day. It was nearly 8pm and she decided to have a bath before trying some of Pearl’s pasta mix as she was still hungry.

  While the bath was filling, she took out the dress and hung it in her wardrobe. She would need to get a strapless bra, a pair of shoes, and some sort of wrap. She was just turning off the taps when the phone rang. It was DCI Crowley.

  “We’ve had information from the Intelligence Services in Northern Ireland that the ASU is possibly holed up at an address in Kentish Town. I’m putting a raid team together and I want you to be there to see if you recognize the man you saw at Covent Garden.”

  “Tonight? Right now?”

  “Yes, right now, Tennison. Get yourself to the CID office at Kentish Town nick ASAP for a briefing.”

  Jane replaced the receiver. “I don’t believe it.”

  She turned and saw Pearl standing in the hallway.

  “Is it all right if I have a bath?” Pearl asked quickly. “Only I’ve been waiting because I thought you were having one.”

  “I’ve just run one, but now I’ve got to go to Kentish Town on a search.”

  “Ooh, anything interesting?”

  “I hope so, I really hope so.”

  Jane was no sooner out of her flat door when Pearl came out of the bathroom naked. She was just about to pick up the phone and make a call when it rang. She jumped, hesitating before she answered.

  “Hi—it’s Natalie. Is Jane there?”

  “No, she just got called out to Kentish Town. Do you want to leave a message?”

  “It was just about her outfit for the dinner dance. I’ll call again tomorrow.”

  Pearl replaced the receiver. A couple of seconds later she picked it up again and dialed a number.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As Jane entered the CID office, she saw DCI Church with about twelve male plain clothes officers. Through a window she spotted Crowley in a separate office, having a conversation with Dexter and DS Lawrence.

  Church was standing beside a table holding guns, bullets and shoulder holsters, which he was handing to the detectives from the Dip and Bomb squads. There was a tense atmosphere and everyone had a solemn look on their face as they signed for their .38 revolvers and loaded them.

  “You an authorized shot, Tennison?” Church asked, his eyes scrunched tight as if anticipating danger ahead.

  “No, sir,” she replied, beginning to feel nervous about the whole situation, but not wanting to show it.

  “Stanley’s got some pickax handles in his car if you want one,” a detective said in earnest.

  Jane felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned to see Stanley.

  “A lump of wood will be about as much use as a glass hammer if the raid turns into gunfight at the OK Corral.”

  Jane shook her head and frowned. “I could have guessed you’d be the one to make light of a serious situation, Stanley.”

  “Only trying to make you relax, luv. Besides, anyone who’s not carrying a shooter won’t be called into the premises until it’s secure. You’ll be well away from the action.”

  Stanley’s comment didn’t bother Jane. The truth was that she’d happily stay at a safe distance when the raid was carried out.

  Crowley and Lawrence walked into the CID office followed by Dexter, who was carrying an A1 plain paper flipchart, which he placed on an easel. Crowley clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention.

  “Right, you lot,” Crowley said. “Listen up, and listen well. As you are all aware, it was not that long ago that a police officer was shot and killed in London during a stop and search incident with a man who turned out to be a member of the IRA. I cannot emphasize enough how dangerous this operation is. The ASU that we are about to take out will undoubtedly be armed with handguns and explosives, so the last thing I want are any fuck-ups by us.”

  Crowley nodded at Dexter, who turned over the blank cover of the flipchart to reveal a detailed street map of the address that was about to be raided: 61 Caversham Road, NW5. Crowley pointed to the map.

  “The Intelligence Services informant has proved to be a reliable source in the past. Our targets are holed up in a two-bedroom ground-floor flat of a row of three story terraced Victorian buildings. Unfortunately, the information only came in earlier this evening so we haven’t been able to do a full daytime recce to evaluate the surrounding area, or any comings and goings from the target address.”

  One of the officers raised his hand and Crowley nodded for him to speak.

  “Do we know anything about the occupants of the other two flats in the building?”

  “Luckily, we do. One of my squad located the landlord and is bringing him over as we speak, with a set of keys for the whole premises. The top-floor flat is currently unoccupied, and a young Jamaican couple with a baby have recently moved into the middle flat. The landlord says that an Irishman, who said he was a delivery van driver, started renting the ground floor flat about a month ago. When the landlord visited a couple of weeks ago there were two other men in the ground-floor flat, but they didn’t speak to him. On a positive note, the description of one of them fits the artist’s impression we released to the press.”

  Dexter interjected. “Generally, we’ve found that IRA bomb makers live alone, but as it’s a two bedroom flat, I wouldn’t be surprised if more than one ASU operative is staying there. Maybe if they’re there together to plan a big explosion we’ll strike lucky and get all of the bastards.”

  Crowley turned over to the next sheet on the flipchar
t, which showed more detail of the surrounding area. Number 61 was next to a builders’ yard, which in turn led directly onto to the overground railway line running through the nearby Kentish Town station.

  “As you can see, they have a good escape line via the yard and onto the train tracks. The last thing I want is to be chasing armed suspects on live rails, or facing a moving train head on.” He flipped over to another page showing the details of each team.

  “Stanley, you and a team of three others will go to 107 Gainsford Street, behind the target address. Via that premises you can gain entry to the garden of 61 Caversham to cut off their escape route. If they do come out through the back then let us know over the radio right away as we don’t want to get caught in any crossfire. Understood?”

  Stanley nodded and grinned, as if relishing the thought of a shootout. Crowley then explained that his team would be “Gold,” Stanley’s would be “Silver” and the third team would be “Bronze.” Only two people in each team would have a radio, to avoid too much airwave chatter. Crowley said that DCI Church and three other members of the bomb squad would be in his lead team and the rest would continue to cover the outside as backup, if needed.

  “Isn’t DS Dexter in the main team?” one of the Dip Squad officers asked.

  “As much as Dexter likes to be in the thick of it he won’t be much use to us if he gets shot at the outset. Unless anyone else here feels they’re capable of disarming a bloody bomb!”

  Everyone could see Crowley was on edge and not in the mood for what he perceived to be silly questions. Stanley raised his hand, causing everyone to glare at him in expectation of an inane remark or question that would further annoy Crowley.

  “What about getting the young couple out?” Stanley asked.

  “Good point, Stanley. Once we go through the main door and are in position to force entry to the target flat, one of my team, accompanied by WDC Tennison, will go up to their flat and remain with them until the premises are secure and they can be safely evacuated. You OK with that, Tennison?”