Good Friday

by Lynda La Plante

  Crowley asked her about the next meeting with Natalie. Jane told him it was at Natalie’s flat in Belsize Park.

  “I’d gone there because Natalie said she’d give me a cooking lesson.”

  “Makes a change from cooking up bombs, I suppose,” Crowley said flippantly.

  Jane felt his remark was uncalled for, but kept her head down as she recounted their discussions about her relationship with Michael, the charge nurse, and DS Dexter and DCI Church.

  “So you gave her the names and ranks of officers you were working with?”

  “No,” said Jane, embarrassed. “I don’t think so. It was just a flippant conversation about who I found attractive.”

  Crowley tapped the table with his pen, and shook his head. “So, inadvertently, or any way you like to describe it, you were giving away confidential details and discussing officers involved in a major investigation.”

  Jane nodded, her head down, as Crowley looked at his note book and continued, “She then encouraged you to accompany her to find a dress at a hire company she knew.”

  “Yes. When I got home I remembered that she hadn’t given me the address, but when I called her she wasn’t at home. She called me later the next day to suggest we meet up in a café in Sloane Square before going to the dress hire company together. So, the following evening, after I finished work, I met her.”

  “Did she know what you were hiring a dress for?”

  “Yes, the Good Friday Ball . . .” As she spoke Jane realized the importance of what she’d given away to Natalie.

  “And did you tell her the location of the ball?”

  Jane couldn’t speak. She felt so ashamed she just nodded, and was surprised Crowley didn’t shout at her.

  “Did she ever come to your address?”

  “No. There was one possible Irish connection, which at the time I didn’t register. Some of the clients who hired dresses were debutantes, and during the hunting season some clients would even come from Ireland for the hunt balls.”

  “Did Wilde tell you she had been in Ireland?”

  “No, she didn’t. But I presumed she must have hired a dress from Mrs. Hunt at some point as she seemed to know her quite well.”

  “Did it never occur to you that Natalie was being over helpful, especially as you hadn’t seen her since being at Hendon in 1972?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, it’s clear to me that she may have had you over, weaseled her way back into your life and slowly tapped you for information. As a result you may not only have put yourself at risk, but your colleagues and the public. We don’t know for certain yet if Natalie is part of an IRA ASU, but from what you have just told me I’d say it’s highly probable.”

  Jane felt awful; there was nothing she could say. She knew he was right. She had messed up terribly and was terrified her career in the police could be over. As Crowley continued to question her, Jane felt head began to throb. She told him about the next meeting, their lunch yesterday, which she realized had again been instigated by Natalie. She remembered with a lurch in her stomach that they’d talked—over yet more wine—about her dinner date with Michael, and about the emergency call from the hospital regarding Daphne Millbank. She could not look at Crowley as she admitted she’d told Natalie that an important patient had died and that Natalie had seemed interested in this news.

  “Did this not trigger your suspicions about her?”

  “Not directly . . . it was only when I was left alone in her bedroom that I accidentally came across the scarf.”

  “Does she know you’ve seen it?”

  “No. I made an excuse to leave when I remembered the description the witness who saw the woman in the phone box had given. Although I knew about the headscarf, I didn’t know that two Kool cigarette stubs had been found in the phone box until DS Dexter told me. Natalie smokes that brand.”

  “Yes, yes, we’ve already discussed that. I’m concerned that she may have been aware of what you found.”

  “No, she wasn’t. I said when I left that I would hopefully be back later. I told her that my parents were leaving for Harwich to embark on a cruise and I had to help them.”

  “How did you explain about your parents?”

  “I pretended to make a phone call to them while she was in the kitchen.”

  Crowley nodded as she told him again the events of the previous evening, and about the phone call she’d made from Dexter’s flat.

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That I was staying over at my parents’ house because I had drunk too much wine and I didn’t want to drive all the way back to Belsize Park.”

  Crowley lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply.

  “I’m sorry if this seems pedantic of me, but I need you to go over everything you’ve told me again. You’ve admitted that you were drinking on virtually every occasion you met with Natalie Wilde. As a result, you divulged information about the officers investigating the Covent Garden bombing, and you gave her details that would allow her to conclude that our star witness was deceased.”

  Jane was close to tears, but Crowley got up and stood behind her.

  “Tennison, listen to me. You’re still inexperienced and Natalie Wilde, if she is a sleeper, will undoubtedly have been coached. I can’t condone or make excuses for your unprofessional conduct; it might have severe repercussions for your future with the CID. That said—”

  He rested both of his hands on her shoulders and they felt like dead weights.

  “If we find evidence that Natalie Wilde was involved in, or detonated the Covent Garden bomb, she could lead us to the IRA unit she is working with. Your reacquaintance with Natalie could be our first major step toward finding the bomber and ASU. On the other hand, it might just be a wild goose chase. If that’s the case, there’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  Crowley squeezed her shoulders, then returned to his seat. Jane was not comforted by his encouragement because he had hinted at repercussions and if things fell apart she was certain he would make her the scapegoat and put her back in uniform.

  There was a knock on the door. DCI Church entered and said they were ready in the conference room. Jane remained seated as Crowley picked up his notebook and pen and started to walk toward the door.

  “Shall I wait here until your meeting’s over, sir?”

  “No, Tennison, you’re very much a part of it. Come along. And don’t look so worried. I’ll be doing the talking.”

  Jane was glad to have DCI Church with her, but as they entered the conference room she felt overwhelmed with nerves. There were several men sitting around an oval table, and they all fell silent as she walked in. Crowley guided her toward a vacant chair and drew it out as he gestured toward Dexter.

  “You obviously know DS Alan Dexter and DS Lawrence from forensics. Next to him is Commander Gregson, head of the bomb squad; a representative from the Intelligence Services; Mr. Quick from the Home Office; and Chief Superintendent Jones from Special Branch.”

  Jane could hardly take in the introductions, but kept nodding politely. Only DS Lawrence acknowledged her with a small smile. Church sat in a chair further round the table and Crowley sat next to Jane.

  “Right, let’s get moving on this,” Crowley said and pointed to Jane with the palm of his hand. “This is WDC Tennison, who came forward with information that may be important to our investigation concerning the Covent Garden bombing and the IRA Active Service Unit responsible. So, let me make it clear that this entire discussion is and must remain highly confidential, until we are ready to take an agreed and appropriate course of action. I assume DS Dexter has already briefed you concerning Natalie Wilde and her association with WDC Tennison.” He paused while everyone in the room nodded.

  “It’s possible Wilde may be an IRA sleeper and deliberately rekindled her friendship with Tennison to surreptitiously gain information about our investigation. She may also be the woman seen in the telephone box close to Covent Garden just before the bomb explod
ed. If she is, then she could lead us directly not only to the bomber, but the whole ASU. We need to check out her background and movements to be certain. If she is a sleeper she will be wary of anything untoward. One slip-up could leave us with nothing. Let me reiterate, we have to move with extreme caution. With that in mind, I have put together a plan of action.”

  Crowley removed some sheets of paper from a file marked “Highly Confidential” and handed them out to everyone in the room apart from Jane. She glanced discreetly toward Dexter but he was lighting up one of his cigars. The Intelligence officer sitting next to her asked if he could get her a coffee and indicated that there were some doughnuts on the trolley if she was hungry. He refilled his own cup as Crowley began to go through the notes he had handed out.

  “First on the agenda is to get a surveillance photograph of our suspect.”

  Jane nervously raised her hand. “You could contact training school, sir. They may still have her photo from when she joined the police.”

  There were a few nods of approval at her suggestion but Crowley dismissed it.

  “We need an up-to-date photograph. To that end, I will be using DCI Church’s Dip Squad, who are highly skilled in surveillance operations. Detectives on the bomb squad will compile a full intelligence report on Wilde’s background, covering family history, current and previous employment and places of residence. Special Branch and the Intelligence Services will liaise with their counterparts in Northern Ireland to see if Wilde has connections over there.”

  The Commander asked if they knew where Wilde was currently living as her exact address didn’t appear on the action plan.

  “Tennison has been to the flat and will draw up a layout of the premises after the meeting,” Crowley remarked in an attempt to deflect the question and was about to continue when Jane spoke up.

  “It’s a small basement flat in a four-story block, sir. She’s lived there for five years. There’s one bedroom, kitchen, garden and—”

  The Commander frowned. “I’m not interested in the layout right now. What’s the street and number?”

  “It’s in Belsize Avenue, number forty-four, the basement.”

  Crowley moved on to the discovery of the scarf.

  “We will be asking Hermès about the different scarf designs they sell, and get some brochures and photographs to show our phone box witness so she can pick out the one she saw the woman wearing.”

  The Commander nodded his approval at this idea and Crowley asked Lawrence to give a forensic update.

  “As expected, we recovered a large number of prints from the public phone box which were submitted to the Fingerprint Bureau here at the Yard. Twenty officers from the FB have been working on them day and night; even the Senior Fingerprint Officers have been helping. We’ve had several hits but only to small-time criminals, and none with any IRA or Irish connections. Some of the prints are still unidentified and may belong to people without a criminal record.”

  Dexter added, “I did a Criminal Records Office check on the name Natalie Wilde and she’s never been arrested. Also, the witness did say the woman in the phone box was wearing gloves.”

  Lawrence looked at Dexter. “Well, when Wilde is arrested her prints can be taken for comparison against the outstanding marks, or we could do a covert entry to her flat to seize something we can examine for her prints.”

  Crowley shook his head, “That’s a bit risky just now, I’d rather do some surveillance on the premises first.”

  Lawrence nodded. “If she puts a dustbin out we could try to get a discarded envelope or something from the contents. Also, if she took a glove off to put a coin in the call box we might get a result. On a previous investigation with WDC Tennison, we examined the coins from a call box and discovered the print of a woman who was later charged with murder. But without anything to match what we do have it’s likely to be a waste of time.”

  Jane raised her hand and everyone turned to look at her.

  “What about the two Kool menthol cigarette butts that were discovered in the phone box?”

  “I know you told DS Dexter Miss Wilde smokes the same brand, but that is not really incriminating evidence.”

  “I just thought that opening a cigarette pack and taking out a cigarette is quite cumbersome if you are wearing gloves. I was wondering whether it was possible that she may have taken off a glove to light a cigarette.”

  Lawrence interjected. “As everyone probably knows, fingerprints are left due to sweat, oil and grease on the hands. Heat from a cigarette may possibly destroys those marks, but it was a good point, Jane, and worth a try.”

  Crowley snapped, eager to get on, “This operation has to be totally covert. If Wilde gets so much as a sniff we’re on to her we could lose our only hope of tracing the bombers.”

  Jane held up her hand again and he glared at her impatiently.

  “Then what about the training school at Hendon?” she asked. “Sir, all officers have their finger prints taken the day they join.”

  It was so simple that they had all overlooked it. Dexter gave a slow hand clap which annoyed Crowley, but he instructed Lawrence to get onto it immediately.

  “I don’t need to remind you all that it’s imperative we tread carefully so we don’t spook our target. Take it slowly and make sure that all inquiries are secure. WDC Tennison rekindled a friendship with someone who had been at Hendon with her. In her naivety, she believed Natalie Wilde to be a good and honest person.”

  Jane felt her cheeks flush and was embarrassed by Crowley’s reference to her naivety, which had made everyone glance in her direction, apart from the man from the Home Office, who did not seem all that keen on Crowley.

  “She may have been duped, DCI Crowley,” Mr. Quick said, “but to her credit she did come forward to you with her suspicions. If it wasn’t for WDC Tennison then we wouldn’t be sitting here now.”

  “And that is why I am taking her concerns seriously, Mr. Quick. We know from experience how IRA sleepers operate and we need to work on the premise that Natalie Wilde deliberately set out to befriend Jane as a source of information. Thank you all for coming in at such short notice. Now that we have the full picture we can get started.”

  The room filled with the sound of scraping chairs as everyone stood up. Jane remained seated, her heart pounding as everyone else left the room.

  Two hours later the team had acquired a Hermès catalog of all the scarf designs that depicted animals. They were sold at Harrods, Liberty and from the Hermès store in Bond Street. Jane sat in Crowley’s office leafing through the catalog, but found it off putting that he kept leaning over her shoulder asking if she’d seen the scarf yet. She was determined to take her time and eventually held up the page showing the identical scarf she had seen at Natalie Wilde’s home. Crowley instructed one of his officers to show the catalog to the witness who had seen the woman in the phone box, hoping she’d pick the same scarf as Jane.

  When the officer left the room, Crowley sat in front of Jane and leaned forward. “Just a while longer and you’ll be free to go. I didn’t mention it earlier in our private meeting or in the conference room, but I believe you mentioned the date and venue for the Good Friday bash to Natalie Wilde?”

  “Yes, sir, but it was only in passing. You don’t think . . .”

  “Who knows, Tennison? Anything is possible if she’s really part of an IRA cell. Rest assured I will take precautions. Our priority right now is to get her to lead us to the bastards who killed innocent people at Covent Garden.”

  DCI Church found Jane in the canteen, morosely contemplating a plate of inedible cottage pie and a glass of milk.

  “Well, the story Natalie told you about working at NatWest was true, at least.” He glanced at his notebook. “Head office says she’s been employed by them for four years and resides at 44 Belsize Avenue. She’s worked in two of their London branches and sounds, for all intents and purposes, like a diligent and trustworthy employee.”

  “She fooled everyone t
here as well,” Jane said quietly in an effort to show she was not the only person Natalie deceived.

  “Seems so, but unlike you, Jane, they’re not detectives. Crowley has suggested you get off home, so I can run you back there when you’ve finished your lunch.”

  “I have . . . I’m not hungry.”

  “Gimme ten minutes. I have to make a couple of phone calls, then I’ll see you outside reception.”

  Jane took her plate and scraped the cottage pie into the rubbish bin. She returned to the table to clear her still-full milk glass when Dexter walked in. He walked over to the coffee and tea section and gestured to her to see if she wanted anything. Jane shook her head.

  She sat down and waited for him to join her with his coffee. Dexter nodded toward her untouched glass of milk.

  “That for your hangover?”

  “I don’t have one. But I could do with another drink. I think Crowley would like to see me back in uniform directing traffic.”

  “I doubt that. If it wasn’t for you we’d not have much going for us.”

  “What did you tell the people in the conference room before I came in?”

  “Not much really; I kept it simple and recounted what you told me and that you may have been used by Natalie Wilde. I also told them you informed me and Crowley as soon as you became suspicious of her.”

  “Thanks. Crowley didn’t tell them much of the detail of my private conversation with him.”

  “That’s because he’s worried about how he’ll come out of it all. When a junior officer screws up it often reflects on their superior, so he wouldn’t want to have said too much. After all, he was the one who decided you should work under his supervision.”

  “They checked out that she worked at the Nat West, and she does, so maybe I’m wrong about her.”

  “Yeah, but that’s part of a sleeper’s agenda, to look totally legitimate and blend in with society so as not to raise any flags. If you’re right about Natalie, and the evidence is there, then we’ll all comes up smelling of roses. It’s just the way it works round here, so don’t beat yourself up about it.”