Good Friday

by Lynda La Plante

  Jane looked at her mother’s uncertain expression, but then Mrs. Tennison took the jewelry box and closed the lid.

  “Well, you’ll always know when you wear it how much it means to me, because I’ve hardly ever worn it. It reminds me too much of holding him in my arms as a newborn baby. He would reach out to try to grab the pearl and I was always afraid the chain would break. Instead it was my heart . . .”

  Mrs. Tennison walked out with the jewelry box and her father put his arm around Jane’s shoulder.

  “She wants you to have it. I know she was going to give it to Pam for her baby, but when she miscarried it didn’t seem right.”

  “I’ll take good care of it.”

  “I’m sure you will. Who knows, maybe this cruise will give Tony and Pam a break and she’ll get pregnant again. That’d be icing on the cake.”

  They had tea together and it was just after seven when Jane felt it was time to leave. Her parents were keen to get their clothes set out for their journey to Harwich in the morning. She hugged them goodbye, wished them a happy holiday and promised yet again that she’d be careful.

  Jane stripped off her clothes and grabbed her robe before realizing that she didn’t need to worry about bumping into Pearl on the way to the bathroom. She liked the fact she could walk round stark naked in her flat, and not worry about anybody else being there. She looked at her reflection in the long wardrobe mirror, wearing just high heels, and momentarily found herself laughing. The tiny thin gold necklace, with the perfect teardrop pearl, hung down just above the curve of her breasts. She touched it lightly with her fingers, and thought of the gift from her father to her mother on the birth of her beloved little brother, who was now dead. She carefully undid the clasp and cupped it in the palm of her hand.

  So many times she had wished she could be more honest and open with her parents, and be able to tell them truthfully how she was feeling and what she was going through. Over the years she had begun to understand the depth of their grief and she never wanted to subject them to any more pain regarding her chosen career. She hadn’t made a conscious decision to keep her fears and tribulations from her parents. The caring, loving, side of Jane had made her always want to protect them, as if she was the parent and they were her children.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jane had a light breakfast that Sunday morning, then drove to Natalie’s flat. She had bought the Sunday newspapers and picked up the bottle of wine that Michael had given her when he had come to dinner.

  Natalie had already prepared the potatoes and vegetables for their lunch, which were waiting in pans on the stove. The small chicken lay on a board and Natalie insisted on showing Jane how to make the sausage meat, herbs and lightly fried onions into stuffing to put inside it.

  “This is always a good stuffing because the sausage meat keeps the chicken moist. And I always use a few strips of bacon to cover the wings and breast . . . it stops them burning.”

  Jane sipped her glass of wine and nodded in approval as she watched Natalie transfer the chicken to a roasting tin and put it in the oven. Then Natalie went on to explain that the best roast potatoes were made by boiling them up first until they were fluffy round the edges. She then said that the trick was to score them all over with a fork, then place them in a very hot baking tray with good olive oil drizzled over the top. “They come out really crispy on the outside, but lovely in the center.”

  Jane nodded again as she sipped some more wine.

  “Right, got that. For my next dinner guest I’ll serve chicken.”

  They went into the cozy lounge and Natalie asked for a blow-by-blow account of everything that had gone on with Pearl. She roared with laughter about the stolen books and Jane almost joined in, but did feel some compassion for poor Pearl.

  “So, you’re now living alone, just like me.” Natalie lit a cigarette and poured them both another glass of wine.

  “Yes. It’ll be a strain financially but I’m already enjoying the privacy. I just hope Pearl won’t be too traumatized by her arrest, and that she finds somewhere else to live.”

  “So, tell me all about Michael.”

  Jane told Natalie that he had seemed to really enjoy the spaghetti, and had even had two servings, but then he had received the emergency call so they had to leave, just as they were getting to know each other better.

  “What happened at the hospital?”

  “It was awful, because—” Jane hesitated.

  “You can tell me, Jane. What happened?”

  “We had a very important patient and sadly she didn’t make it. She died from the injuries she suffered during the explosion at Covent Garden.”

  “Really? Why was she so important?”

  “She was a witness, so without her—This is very confidential and I shouldn’t really even be discussing it.”

  “Let’s change the subject. Tell me, did Michael make a pass at you?”

  “Sort of. He’s really very nice. In fact this is the wine he brought round when he came, but I’d already opened a bottle.”

  They continued chatting, glancing through the Sunday papers as they talked. Natalie went in and out of the kitchen to oversee the cooking, and eventually they sat down to have lunch. Natalie carved the golden-brown chicken with the crispy bacon on top.

  “These roast potatoes are absolutely delicious,” Jane said. The gravy had been made from the juices in the roasting tin, and was thick and very tasty.

  Natalie had produced an apple pie but they were both too full to eat it straight away, so they decided to wait for a while.

  “I know, why don’t I show you my wrap and bolero? You can try them on and see which one you’d like to borrow to go with that amazing dress.”

  They went into Natalie’s bedroom and she opened the wardrobe door and took out a velvet bolero. It had a tiny row of sequins decorating the edge of the sleeves and the hem.

  Jane took off her jacket and unbuttoned her shirt as she wouldn’t be wearing anything but the velvet bodice with the tiny straps. She felt unselfconscious as she slipped the bolero over her bra.

  “I love it. It’s perfect!”

  “I think so too, but I’ve got a lovely nice pink shawl as well, which is a good length to wrap around and toss over your shoulder.”

  Natalie opened a drawer in her chest of drawers and rooted around, pulling out a long, delicate, shawl.

  “See—it’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”

  “Oh yes,” Jane wrapped it around the velvet bolero and stood in front of the full-length mirror inside the wardrobe door. She couldn’t decide between the two, and kept taking it on and off as she looked at herself in the mirror.

  The oven timer suddenly went off and Natalie yelped.

  “Oh, that’s the apple pie done! I’ll make some custard while you decide. Personally, I like the bolero and I think it’ll look absolutely perfect with that Chanel dress.”

  Jane took off the shawl and held it in one hand as she studied herself in the bolero again. She knew Natalie was right and carefully folded the shawl to put it back. As she went toward the open drawer she noticed a Hermès label. Realizing it was a scarf, Jane gently pulled the corner of it out from beneath the pile of other scarves. It was clearly expensive and had a distinctive pattern of red horse heads and gold horseshoes. An icy chill spread through her veins and she took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding as she remembered the description their witness had given of the woman seen in the phone box outside Covent Garden when the explosion had happened.

  Jane swallowed and pushed the Hermès scarf back underneath the other scarves, then placed the shawl on top and closed the drawer. She was shaking as she took off the bolero and put her shirt and jacket on. Many women wore Hermès scarves, she reminded herself, trying to dismiss it as a coincidence. She wanted to have another look at the scarf and was about to open the drawer when Natalie came into the room.

  “Have you decided?” Natalie asked, holding a jug of custard in her hand.

  “Y
es, it’s the bolero.”

  “Good. Now, come and have some pie. It’s ready on the table, and I’ve made the custard.”

  Jane picked up the bolero and followed her into the lounge where they had eaten at her small, drop leaf dining table.

  “Gosh, I don’t know if I can manage anything else. I’m so full.”

  “Don’t be silly! Sit down and have another glass of wine.”

  Jane sat quietly opposite Natalie, watching as she sliced the apple pie and proffered the custard jug.

  “Just a really small piece for me, honestly.”

  Natalie gave her a thin slice and took a larger piece for herself.

  “I didn’t make the pie, but it’s from a fabulous deli on Hampstead High Street.”

  Jane thought back over her time with Natalie. The coincidence of bumping into her at the hospital, her repeated calls to the flat, her determination to meet up after not seeing each other for years. But here was Natalie cooking dinner for her, offering her apple pie. Surely there was nothing sinister going on? But as she struggled to eat a small mouthful of pie, doubts niggled away.

  “It’s delicious. Tastes just like it was homemade.”

  Her head was spinning as she tried to think of a way she could leave. She was feeling sick to her stomach.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Natalie asked, pushing her half-eaten dessert away. She lit a cigarette. “Or perhaps we could have a walk on Hampstead Heath, then maybe have coffee when we come back?”

  “Actually, I really need to call my parents just to double-check everything’s okay. They’re leaving for Harwich this afternoon to go on their cruise. Can I use your phone?”

  “Sure. Let me start clearing up the kitchen and then we can set off. Hampstead Heath and Parliament Hill’s not far from here, and sometimes there are a few shops open on a Sunday.”

  Jane watched as Natalie stacked the dirty dishes and carried them out to the kitchen. She quickly crossed over to the phone and dialed, knowing that her parents would have already left.

  “Hello, Daddy,” she said to the dial tone. “It’s Jane. Just checking everything’s all right before you leave?”

  Natalie was in the kitchen when Jane returned.

  “I’m so sorry, but I need to go. One of the locks on my mother’s suitcase has broken and they can’t close it. I’m going to have to pick up one of mine and drive it over there now. They’re in a real flap and they’ll miss the ship if I don’t go.”

  “Oh, no!” said Natalie. “I was hoping we could have a lovely evening together, and go to a nice pub.”

  “Well, let me see how I get on. I can always come back afterward.”

  Natalie held up the bolero as Jane headed toward the front door. “Take this with you, just in case you can’t get back. It’s Good Friday at the end of the week.”

  “Right. Gosh, I’m sorry. My parents can be rather needy sometimes, but I’d hate them to miss their cruise.”

  “Don’t worry. Just call me if you can make it back afterward.”

  Jane hurried out to her car and climbed inside. She sat in the driver’s seat for a few minutes, telling herself that she was being an idiot and was probably just being paranoid after the Pearl situation. She started the engine and drove home, worried that she had drunk too much wine to be driving. By the time she arrived at her flat she was a nervous wreck.

  Letting herself in, Jane tried to work out whether she had been jumping to ridiculous conclusions about the Hermès scarf she’d seen at Natalie’s. She lay on her bed and closed her eyes, trying to recall exactly what was in the statement she had read from the witness. Something was nagging her. The scarf that the woman in the phone box had been wearing had been described as possibly Hermès style, with red setter dogs on it, which was obviously different from the one in Natalie’s drawer, which had horses’ heads and horseshoes. But perhaps the witness had been mistaken. When she’d first seen it in Natalie’s drawer, she’d thought for a moment the pattern had been dogs—that’s why she’d pulled it out.

  Jane thought through her all of her interactions with Natalie. She wavered constantly between refusing to believe that any connection could be possible to questioning all their conversations. Eventually she decided that perhaps she needed to talk to DCI Church.

  Jane rang the Dip Squad but Church wasn’t available. She was told that Stanley would be in later that afternoon and he would know where Church could be contacted. Jane replaced the receiver and, almost as if she were on automatic pilot, went back out to her car. Desperately trying to remember the exact address, she drove to Kilburn.

  Jane passed Dexter’s road twice before she recognized it. She drove down it slowly until she found his building. She told herself that if Dexter was not in she would just go back home and call Stanley again. Maybe by then she would have come to the conclusion that she was just being paranoid.

  Her stomach was churning as she rang the bell for Flat 2. There were no names listed, but she remembered that he lived on the second floor. She rang the bell three times and was just about to turn away when the main front door opened.

  Dexter was bare-footed, wearing only a pair of tracksuit bottoms.

  “Jane!”

  “Sorry to disturb you. I just needed to talk something over with someone, and Jimmy—DCI Church—wasn’t available. If I’m interrupting you I can—”

  “No, come in.”

  Jane followed him up the stairs and along the landing to his flat, where the door had been left wide open.

  “I was just going to have a shower, but sit down. Do you need a drink? You look a bit shaken.”

  “I am rather shaken, actually. No, I don’t want a drink. I just need some advice. I might just be adding two and two to get five, or whatever the saying is.”

  Dexter sat opposite her on one of his big comfortable sofas, as Jane sat perched on the edge of the other sofa, clasping and unclasping her hands.

  “So, what’s the problem? I heard about your flatmate being arrested.”

  “It’s not about her, it’s about someone else I befriended, and . . . er . . .”

  Jane stuttered her way through the story of how she had met up with Natalie again years after they had been at the training academy together, and that Natalie had failed the course and was now working in a bank.

  Dexter held up his hand.

  “Do you want to get to the reason you’re here, Jane?”

  “Her name is Natalie Wilde.”

  “That’s a good Irish name.”

  “What?”

  “Oscar Wilde . . . Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  Jane took a deep breath and explained that she had seen the headscarf with the Hermès label and the horses’ heads in Natalie’s drawer, and that she wondered if it could possibly be the same scarf that had been described by the woman regarding the suspect in the phone box at the time of the Covent Garden explosion.

  Dexter smiled.

  “Well, I’d say it’s a long shot . . . unless she happens to smoke Kool cigarettes as well!”

  “What?” Jane’s face completely drained of color.

  “We believe that the female suspect connected to the bomber smoked a brand of menthol cigarettes called ‘Kool.’ We recovered two stubs from the phone box with lipstick on them. According to the witness, the suspect was smoking and was also wearing leather gloves.” Dexter laughed. “Incredible really. She was able to describe a head scarf and gloves, but not her bloody face!”

  Jane felt as though she was suffocating, and swallowed hard as Dexter stood up. It was clear that she was very distressed.

  “Natalie Wilde smokes menthol cigarettes, and I’ve seen the packet. They’re called Kool.”

  “Jesus Christ!”

  Dexter walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured two glasses of whisky before returning to sit down next to Jane.

  “Here you go. Drink this. You look like you’re going to faint.”

  Jane’s hand was shaking as she took the glass a
nd gulped from it. Tears began to stream down her face.

  “Listen, sweetheart,” said Dexter. “I want you to take your time and give me a blow by blow account of how you met this woman. Start from the beginning and take me right up to the point you found the scarf. You didn’t take it, did you?”

  “No. I made an excuse and left her flat. I said I was going to my parents and that I would call to say if I could get back to see her later. She wanted to go out to a pub this evening.”

  Dexter went into the bedroom and came out with a note pad and pencil, which he put down on the coffee table in front her.

  “I’m going to have a quick shower, and put some clothes on. You just calm down and sip your whisky, then we’ll talk everything through, all right?” Dexter hesitated, then rubbed his head.

  “You know, just in case you may have made her suspicious, why don’t you give her a quick call now and say you got held up at your parents’? Make some excuse.”

  Jane nodded, and Dexter gave her a gentle, affectionate, pat on her head. He went into his bathroom and shut the door, letting out a long, deep, sigh.

  “Jesus Christ Almighty,” he said quietly under his breath, as he turned on the shower. He was so stunned by Jane’s revelation that he forgot to take off his tracksuit bottoms and swore as the jets of water soaked them.

  Jane had to really talk herself into making the phone call, but it was easier without Dexter there. She dialed the number and waited as the phone rang a couple of times before Natalie picked it up.

  “Hello, it’s Jane. I’m just ringing to say thank you so much for lunch, and for the bolero. It’s perfect. I’m sorry not have been able to get back to you earlier, but I had quite a time sorting out my parents’ luggage.”

  “I tried to call you at your flat,” Natalie said, and Jane had to think fast.

  “I’m still at their flat. I didn’t realize how much I’d had to drink, and got really worried that I might be stopped, and being a police officer it would have been really embarrassing. So I’m going to sleep here and go back home in the morning.”