Good Friday

by Lynda La Plante

  Jane liked working with Lawrence. When it came to honesty, he was above reproach, and as usual she was learning so much from him. Now Lawrence showed her two bits of different colored wire under a double-microscope, which he told her was called a comparison microscope. He pointed out how the striation marks on each were identical, which meant the same cutters had been used on each wire.

  Jane helped Lawrence for the rest of the day, dealing with the bits of wire and piecing wires together. Apart from the time she’d watched Dexter disarm the fake bomb, it was the best experience she’d had at the lab so far.

  Jane got home just after six, having stopped off to pick up a bottle of Saint-Nicolas-de-Bourgueil red wine on her way. She quickly changed into jeans and a T-shirt, then poured a cup of the wine over her pre-prepared sauce, ready to heat it up. She filled a pot with water to boil for the pasta. As she was laying out the cutlery and plates for dinner, Pearl appeared in the doorway to say that she was going to have a drink with her friend Eric, so Jane would have the flat to herself.

  By seven fifteen, Jane felt confident that everything was ready. She applied some fresh makeup, combed her hair loose, and sprayed on her favorite perfume, Diorissimo by Dior. Just as she was coming out of the bathroom the doorbell rang. Jane pressed the intercom to open the main front door, and went out onto her landing to wait for Michael. Unlike most of her other visitors, he wasn’t gasping for breath and moved quickly up the stairs carrying a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers.

  “Perfect timing!” Jane said, as she ushered Michael into the flat.

  “These are for you,” he said, handing her the flowers. He was wearing a tweed jacket with leather-patched elbows, over a polo neck sweater and jeans.

  “Thank you. I’m sorry, I don’t have a dining table so we’re eating in the kitchen. I’ve got a bottle open so come on through.”

  Jane poured two glasses of wine and drew out the kitchen stools.

  “Cheers,” Michael said, clinking his glass against hers. “I wasn’t sure what to wear, so I went for the casual look.”

  Jane smiled, turning on the gas ring to heat up the sauce. “I should have got some salad, but I have some garlic bread which I’ll pop in the oven when everything is almost ready.”

  “Smells delicious.”

  “Do you cook?” Jane asked.

  “Yes and no. To be honest I mostly eat in the canteen, and lately I’ve been on such long shifts that I’m completely exhausted by the time I get home.”

  They chatted about how long she had been in the flat as she busied herself at the cooker.

  “Do you live here on your own?”

  “No, I have a flatmate but she’s out for the evening. It’s obviously not really the sort of flat for entertaining, but it’s the first place I’ve owned.”

  Jane made Michael laugh as she recounted her parents’ first visit when they were heaving for breath by the time they got to the top of the stairs, and then said they thought it was too small.

  They drank more wine as the sauce began to simmer, but the water for the pasta was taking ages.

  “Maybe switch the pans over to different rings,” Michael suggested, and got up to lift the water pot as she moved the sauce onto a smaller ring. She had turned on the oven ready to put in the garlic bread, and the heat in the kitchen was becoming uncomfortable.

  “I’ll open a window,” he said. He squeezed past her to lean over the sink and opened the kitchen window a fraction. “There you go. That’s better.”

  Jane was relieved when the water finally boiled and she gently lowered in the spaghetti, waiting for it to bend and soften in the pot. Michael perched on his stool as she peered into the pot. She was unsure exactly how long it was going to take to cook, and didn’t know when to put the bread in.

  The front door banged open and Pearl walked in holding a carrier bag.

  “Sorry, Jane, Eric’s got a migraine. I won’t get in anybody’s way, but if I could just have a minute to peel some carrots for my tub of humus . . .”

  Jane felt like throttling Pearl, but introduced her to Michael as she hung up her coat and squeezed past Jane to get to the sink with her bag of carrots.

  “I’m not cooking them . . . I just need to peel them so that I can dip them into my hummus.”

  “I think the pasta is ready,” Jane said tersely.

  “You know the best way to tell? Take out a piece of it and throw it up onto the ceiling. If it sticks, it’s cooked!” Pearl laughed, and began scraping her carrots.

  Just as Jane was about to take the pan off the stove and drain the spaghetti, the phone rang. Michael volunteered to look after the pasta while Jane went into the hall to answer the phone.

  “Hello?” she said angrily.

  “Jane dear, it’s Edith. I’ve not heard a peep out of you for so long, I was worried.”

  “I’m fine, thank you, Edith. In fact, I’m just about to serve dinner.”

  “Well I won’t keep you. I just wanted to give you an update on my mother . . .”

  Jane rolled her eyes up to the ceiling as Edith went into a lengthy description of her mother’s latest escape antics. In the kitchen Jane could hear Pearl laughing and Michael joining in. She was obviously throwing spaghetti up at the ceiling.

  “You see, perfectly cooked! Here, let me help you drain it. Pop a knob of butter in it, as it tastes much better. Why don’t you stir the sauce, as it’s bubbling? So, what do you do? Are you a detective like Jane?”

  “No, I’m a charge nurse at St. Thomas’.”

  “Oh, a male nurse . . . that’s a new one on me. How do you know Jane?”

  “Through a patient we’re looking after. Do you remember the bomb at Covent Garden?”

  “Oh God, yes I do. I have to tell you that I was a bit worried when I first came here. You know Melcombe Street is very close to that awful siege in Balcombe Street? I work at Madame Tussaud’s, just around the corner from there. It was so dreadful because it went on for days . . . all the streets around here were cordoned off during the siege, but I never mentioned it to Jane. Have you put the garlic bread in yet? It needs to be wrapped in tin foil.”

  Jane had heard enough and interrupted Edith mid-flow.

  “Edith, I really have to go. I’m sorry about your mother but I have to serve dinner, as I have a guest waiting.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry dear. I’ll call back another time.”

  Just as Jane replaced the receiver the phone rang again. She was so frustrated she snatched it up. “Hello?”

  “It’s Daddy, darling. I’m just checking in as we haven’t heard from you for a while.”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy, could I call you back?”

  “I just wanted to see if you’re coming over for Saturday lunch? As you know we’ll be leaving for Harwich on Sunday for our cruise and your mother and I wanted to see you before we went.”

  Jane heard Michael offering Pearl a glass of wine and quickly told her father that she would be there for lunch on Saturday, then hung up.

  Pearl had a small plastic tray with a plate of peeled carrots, a pot of humus and a glass of wine.

  “I think we’ve sort of got it all ready for you,” she said, smiling at Michael.

  “Thank you,” Jane said curtly.

  “Nice to meet you, Michael. And if you ever want a free ticket for Madame Tussaud’s, just ask for me.”

  Michael was standing by the stove with the pasta in a large bowl and a serving bowl of the sauce with a ladle.

  “Just got to get the garlic bread out and we’re ready to go,” he said.

  “Please sit down and let me serve it. I’m sorry, that was a friend from my old station and she’s very hard to get off the phone. Her mother has dementia and goes on walkabout. Then my Dad called. My parents are going away on a cruise on Sunday. Amazing really, as they hardly ever take holidays.”

  Jane retrieved the rather charred garlic bread from the oven, then served the spaghetti and Bolognese sauce in soup bowls. She took out some
grated Parmesan cheese from the fridge as Michael poured himself another glass of wine and topped Jane’s glass up.

  “This is so good,” he said, winding the spaghetti around his fork, against a spoon.

  Jane was delighted when he had a second bowlful, and afterward she laid out a cheese platter with biscuits. Michael rinsed their dirty dishes in the sink and noticed Pearl’s carrot peelings lying on a brown paper bag to one side, which he placed in the bin as well.

  “You’re well trained,” Jane said, smiling. She started to make some coffee.

  “Yep, there’s nothing worse than having to wash up a stack of dirty dishes.”

  They finished the bottle of wine with the cheese and biscuits, then both had some coffee. Irritated by the sound of Pearl’s TV, Jane knocked on her door.

  “Pearl, can you turn the volume down please? It’s too loud.”

  Michael joined her in the hall, carrying their cups of coffee. He obviously presumed there was a lounge area somewhere and Jane, feeling rather embarrassed, explained that there was no place to sit comfortably, other than her bedroom.

  “You’re welcome to sit there if you don’t mind. I don’t have a TV, as I can hear Pearl’s every night!”

  Jane opened her bedroom door. She had placed throw pillows over her bedspread so that it didn’t appear like an invitation to get too cozy. Michael sat down on her bed and put his coffee on her bedside table. Jane sat down beside him.

  “My parents said I should have gotten a bigger place as there’s no sitting room, and I’m beginning to think they’re right. But I really need the rent from Pearl.”

  “I live in a bedsit, but it’s actually very spacious,” he said. “It’s in one of those huge Victorian houses that have been split into flats. I’ve got a small cupboard as a kitchen, and I share the bathroom with two other guys on my floor. I’m saving up to buy my own place, but for now it suits me. And, like you, I don’t do much entertaining.”

  “You noticed!” she said, feeling totally at ease beside him. Michael put his arm around her and drew her closer.

  “So, tell me all about you . . . because on our next date I’d like to take you out to dinner and a movie.”

  “I’d like that. I haven’t been to the cinema for ages. I’d hate to go by myself, and as I am often on night duty there’s not that much opportunity. I go to my parents as much as possible at the weekend, and—”

  Michael tipped her chin up and leaned close. It wasn’t a lingering kiss, just a light touch of his lips against hers. Jane was about to move closer toward him when the phone rang again.

  “I’m not going to answer it,” she said, enjoying the feel of being curled up next to him with his arm around her shoulders.

  The phone continued ringing and Jane was about to get up when she heard Pearl came out of her room.

  “I’ll get it!” she called.

  The next moment she knocked on Jane’s door. “It’s for Michael.”

  He jumped to his feet. “I’m so sorry. I had to leave a number where I could be contacted if there was an emergency. We’re short-staffed, and I’m on call.”

  Michael went out into the hallway and spoke briefly to the caller before he returned, looking worried.

  “It’s the hospital. Daphne Millbank’s fading fast. Her organs are shutting down.”

  Pearl went into the kitchen to put her plate into the sink. She considered washing it up, but then couldn’t be bothered.

  In her haste to leave with Michael, Jane had left her bedroom door open. Pearl looked inside and noticed the coffee cups left on the floor. She pushed the door open wider and went into the room. She had a nose around, pretending to herself that she was looking for the hairdryer. She peered into the large box that had contained Jane’s dress and neatly reclosed the lid. Then she opened some drawers and checked inside them before looking in the wardrobe. The dress was hanging in the middle with space either side of it, made by pushing the other clothes along the rail. Pearl took the dress out and admired it, reading the Chanel label before she read the tag attached to the dress. It had the price, date of hire and date of return. Pearl replaced the dress and flicked through Jane’s other clothes before she closed the wardrobe door, stepping back over the coffee cups on the floor as she left the room.

  Jane sat in the brightly lit reception area, impatient to know how Daphne was doing. When they arrived at St. Thomas’ Michael had rushed off to find the night duty doctor. The large reception area was eerily silent, with just one administrator manning the desk. There was the continual sound of ambulances going back and forth to the A&E department, where there would be a lot more action than here in the private section.

  It was just after ten pm when Michael walked through the double doors. He was now wearing his uniform and Jane could tell by his expression that it was bad news. He came and sat beside her and took her hand.

  “She didn’t make it. I’m sorry Jane. She was such a fighter, but she started having difficulty breathing and then complications set in. It was hopeless.”

  Jane blinked back tears and asked if she would be allowed to see Daphne. Michael hesitated, then agreed to take her up to the ward. He walked ahead of her down the private corridor where the armed guard was still standing at the door. He looked bewildered, confused about what he should do.

  “Only the nurses and doctors have been allowed entry. No one else has been here,” he said, shuffling his feet.

  Ignoring him, Michael opened the door to Daphne’s room and ushered Jane inside. The cage that had been protecting her amputation was no longer over the bed. Daphne lay with just a sheet covering her tiny body, her arms tucked underneath it. Without all the paraphernalia that had surrounded her she seemed even more vulnerable and fragile. Jane moved closer to the bed. She could see that Daphne’s hair had been combed away from her face, and her mouth and closed eyes were sunken.

  “She would have liked to have her teeth in . . .” Jane said quietly.

  Michael opened the box and, moving Jane aside, he put in Daphne’s precious white false teeth.

  “That’s better,” Jane said. After a moment, she turned to Michael. “It was natural causes? I mean, there was nothing suspicious, was there?”

  He shook his head. Jane knew that Michael could not really have any notion of the significance of Daphne Millbank’s death. And she didn’t want him to know. She forced herself to sound calm as she asked if she could use a phone.

  “There’s one in the nurse’s bay,” Michael said.

  He waited as she called Scotland Yard and asked the duty sergeant to inform DCI Crowley that Daphne Millbank was dead.

  “All done?” he asked softly as she replaced the receiver.

  “Yes,” she whispered, “all done.”

  “Would you like me to call you a cab?”

  “No, thank you, I think I need to walk for a while.”

  He gently took her arm to escort her out of the hospital. “I’d come with you, but I have to stay.”

  “I understand. I really just need to walk for a while.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  Jane took off walking briskly across Westminster Bridge. It was by now nearly 11pm and cold, with a sharp wind from the river. She knew she should have phoned for police transport to take her home, but she wanted to be alone and she couldn’t believe she was in any real danger. Her mind was churning: she had now become the only witness. One moment she felt almost panic stricken but then she quickened her pace again, feeling angry at the waste of lives the bomb had caused. She passed the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben’s clock face looming in the moonlight as she pulled her jacket tightly around her. As she headed toward Westminster tube station she could see the bars were across the entrance: it was closed. She had no option but to keep walking toward the bus stop and hoped the next N. 24 wouldn’t be too long.

  Fifteen minutes later she was thankful to see the brightly lit red double decker bus heading toward her stop. There were few passengers traveling so late. She to
ok a lower level window seat, opening her purse to show the bus conductor her warrant card.

  The bus seemed to take forever heading across Trafalgar Square, round Nelson’s Column, and left into Charring Cross Road. Late as it was, the streets were thronging with people, mostly young. All the theaters along Charing Cross Road were closed, the shows over. As they passed Oxford Street she glanced at her wristwatch. Midnight. It felt as if she was never going to get home.

  The bus stopped next to Foyle’s on Charing Cross Road and Jane was surprised as to how many passengers were getting on. Two drunk young men began to argue with the bus conductor. That was when Jane saw Regina on the corner of Manette Street. The bus was just about to move off when Jane hurried down the aisle and jumped down from the platform. Jane was familiar with the area from a previous case involving the search for a prostitute, and knew she was heading into the red-light district. This is where she had checked out all the strip clubs and porn shops. She saw Regina turning right off the narrow dark road into Greek Street. Greek Street was packed with small lit up cafés and restaurants and way up ahead of her she could see Regina pushing and shoving anyone in her way aside. She was wearing a cheap white PVC jacket, mini skirt and very high platform boots. Jane was shocked as she watched her approach a car and lean in, but she swiftly moved away. Five minutes later, she approached another man and did the same thing. Jane had seen enough. She strode toward Regina, grabbed her by her arm and pushed her against the wall.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The driver from the last car, in a red Cortina, swore at Jane and told her to mind her own fucking business. Still gripping Regina’s arm tightly, Jane turned to the driver. “I’m a detective with the Metropolitan Police. This girl is underage. Do you want to be arrested with her?”

  He drove off fast, Jane now grabbed Regina’s other arm, pinning her up against the wall. She didn’t struggle and Jane only needed one look at her face to see she was out of her head.