Good Friday

by Lynda La Plante

“Crowley really put me through it. I must say, you were pretty fast off the mark telling him everything I told you.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “Maybe to give me some space when I got here? But it felt like an interrogation. He made me repeat everything again and again. He said that ‘under the circumstances’ I might not have told you everything . . . What did he mean by that?”

  “I dunno. I didn’t tell him you spent the night in my bed, if that’s what you’re implying.” Dexter sounded evasive.

  That whole day, she realized, he hadn’t shown the slightest sign of affection toward her—not even when he’d woken her up. She wasn’t convinced and couldn’t look at him. It felt as if their night together had never occurred.

  “I have to go,” she said. “DCI Church is taking me home.”

  “Okay. You’ll obviously be kept informed about any developments, if not from me then I’m sure Jimmy will take care of you.”

  Jane stood up and picked up her handbag from beside her chair.

  “Are you all right about last night?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes. I’ll get your T-shirt washed and back to you.”

  “Keep it. Jane, are you—”

  “I’d better go down to reception,” she interrupted, unable to look at him. “I suppose I’ll see you when I see you.”

  “You know where I am if you need me.”

  “Yes, I do . . . bye for now.”

  Jane walked away feeling deeply depressed and humiliated. It was obvious she was nothing more to Dexter than a one-night stand.

  Dexter finished his coffee and lit a cigar. He knew he should have been more caring toward her, but he didn’t want to encourage something between them. Although he had to admit the sex had been good.

  Mrs. Eileen Douglas, a widow in her late fifties, lived in a pleasant second-floor flat in Aldwych, furnished with good antiques and some ornate oil paintings. Articulate with an aristocratic accent, she had once been more affluent, judging by the contents of the flat.

  She had begun to get used to the sight of police officers in her home since the bombing at Covent Garden. Even though she’d given a full statement about what she had seen, they always seemed to be back with more questions. Even so, she was always very accommodating when the officers arrived at her flat, explaining again that she didn’t have her own telephone, and that she’d wanted to use the phone box to ask a friend to meet her in Covent Garden.

  This time one of the policemen handed her a Hermès catalog and asked her to find the scarf she’d seen. She sat in a large wing backed chair turning one glossy page after another. She peered at the officers over her half-moon glasses.

  “Well, now I do feel really rather stupid. I was so certain the scarf had a pattern with red setters because I knew someone who had a pair of them. Such a lovely red-brown color . . . but I see that I was wrong. I do apologize, but this is the scarf here. You see the similarity of the colors? But they’re horses, not dogs. I distinctly recall that golden color around which I thought was some kind of ribbon, but of course they’re horseshoes. Oh, and I remembered another thing about the leather gloves the woman in the phone box wore: I think they may have been Burberry, as I recall they were turned slightly over at the wrist revealing the Burberry check, but I’m not certain.”

  Eileen had picked out the same scarf as Jane. By the time the information reached Crowley, Jane had already left the Yard.

  On the journey back to her flat Jane had been quiet, and Church hadn’t attempted to make conversation. It was not until they were parked that he stopped her from getting out of the car.

  “You are to remain at home until we contact you. But I don’t want you thinking that this whole situation is going to be detrimental to your career. So, don’t think—”

  “Don’t think what?” Jane snapped, interrupting him.

  Church was taken aback by her tone. She was about to get out of the car when she turned angrily to him.

  “I suppose it will be common knowledge by now that DS Dexter shagged me, and it will be round the whole Yard. I don’t believe ‘nothing detrimental’ will happen. I know my career is screwed, in the literal sense. ‘Stay at home, you’ve done enough damage, Tennison.’”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “You think I’m stupid? Well, obviously I am with regard to bloody Natalie Wilde, never mind the Regina Hernandez situation. How do you think I’m feeling about it, DCI Church? Or have you brought me back home for a one-night stand as well?” Jane was becoming hysterical. Church grabbed her shoulder hard and shook her.

  “Shut it! I mean it, Jane. You need to be careful about making any judgments. We’re all protecting you. If we do get a result and can prove that this bitch Natalie Wilde is the connection, it will be because of you and your suspicions. You recognized the scarf and were wise enough not to confront her. No one, and I mean not one officer, is not looking out for you, and that includes me. Any sexual encounter you had with DS Dexter is not public knowledge, and I can guarantee it will remain private.”

  Jane bowed her head.

  “I’m sorry I shook you. You heard Crowley at the meeting, he’s gathering a big team of officers and using some of the Dip Squad to assist. All this is entirely down to your information. We did have a static observation on your flat, but from now on it will be round-the-clock protection. You are of vital importance, Jane. You need to stay in your flat and wait for us to contact you.”

  Church patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. She apologized, and then got out of the car. Church waited until she was inside the main front door and gave a quick wave of acknowledgment to the two SPG men on duty outside her building before driving off. Given her present state, he made no mention of the fact that they had already been inside and double-checked that her flat was safe.

  Chapter Nineteen

  By midmorning, Stanley had arranged a suitable observation point in a second floor flat opposite Natalie Wilde’s home. The owner, a professional photographer, had agreed to allow his flat to be used as he was traveling to the Bahamas to shoot a commercial. He was inquisitive about why the police wanted to use his flat, and Stanley told him there had been a spate of daylight robberies in the street and he would be compensated for the use of his flat and calls made on his telephone. The owner told Stanley he would be back in a week and left.

  Another observation point, also manned by Dip Squad officers, had been set up opposite the NatWest branch where Natalie worked. Stanley called the team and gave them the address and phone number of his observation point. He asked one of them to make inquiries with the letting agent about when Natalie Wilde moved in and how long the lease was for. He had not made inquiries with any of the neighbors living either side of Natalie’s rented flat, or in the flats above the basement, in case this alerted Natalie to their surveillance. It was also possible that Natalie’s contacts could be living close by.

  A short while later Stanley received a call from the office about Wilde’s flat. He was informed that it was a fully furnished and had only been rented in the past two months, for a six-month period, with the option to extend the lease. As Wilde had not made any contact regarding the extension of the lease it was possible it might become vacant. It would seem Natalie had lied to Jane about how long she had lived in and rented the premises.

  DCI Church rang Jane to let her know that the observation on Natalie was up and running and that she was currently at work.

  “She lied to you about how long she’s lived in that flat,” he added. “And the phone box witness has identified the same Hermès scarf that you did. Says she was mistaken about it being dogs on it. She also mentioned the suspect might have been wearing designer gloves and we wondered if you had seen—”

  “Were they Burberry?” asked Jane. “At Fratelli’s, Natalie had a pair of Burberry gloves. She said a boyfriend gave them to her at Christmas.”

  “Yes, that corroborates our other witness’s description. The gloves and scarf are now crucial evidence
, Jane, and you are a witness to the fact even if Natalie throws them away before we get to her. Things are moving along fast now. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. But being at home with nothing to do is hardly making the time pass.”

  “Just sit tight and keep calm. I will update you if and when there are any further developments. We’re taking it slowly in case she gets wind that we’re onto her.”

  Jane replaced the receiver and went over to the ironing board. She slowly ironed Dexter’s clean t-shirt and folded it neatly, feeling mixed emotions about everything that had happened. She had really liked Natalie and enjoyed her company. She’d thought she’d at last found someone she could talk to and share her feelings with. She felt bad about poor Pearl and her stolen books, but Natalie had stolen Jane’s trust. It hurt her deeply that she could have been taken in by someone so easily. She was now beginning to hate Natalie for all the lies and, above all, for the terrible devastation and loss of life caused by the bomb at Covent Garden.

  Stanley was with a colleague at the window watching Natalie’s flat for visitors when, at 1pm, he received a call from the other OP that Wilde had left the bank and traveled to North London, stopping at a supermarket. It didn’t look like she was planning on returning to the office. Although she had left work early, the trip to the shops suggested she would return home. A short while later she got out of a taxi, carrying a bag full of groceries, and went into her flat. There was a light knock on the door as DS Maynard waited to be let in to relieve the officer who was with Stanley.

  Maynard removed his duffel coat and put down a black holdall. He sat down in the easy chair by the window. There was a small telescope set up, alongside a camera. Stanley’s roll up cigarette stubs were piled high in an ashtray next to a dirty cup and saucer. Maynard pulled out a flask of tea and some sandwiches from his holdall, which he shared with Stanley. As they both settled down to watch Natalie’s flat, the phone rang with the information that Natalie had gone sick at work. She’d said she had flu, and that she wouldn’t be in tomorrow.

  Hours later, Natalie was still indoors, no one had visited her, and it seemed she wasn’t going out. Stanley had fallen asleep in the armchair and was snoring. Maynard nudged him and suggested he get off home for some kip. Stanley said he’d sleep in the flat owner’s bedroom and told Maynard to wake him if anything happened, but Natalie remained in her flat all night.

  The following morning, Blondie Dunston arrived to take over the surveillance from Maynard.

  “It’s quarter to nine so it doesn’t look like she’s going to work,” Maynard said, putting on his duffel coat.

  Blondie suddenly clocked Natalie leaving her flat. “Target’s on the move, Sarge.”

  “Shit. Stanley’s in the bedroom, go and wake him. I’ll stick with Natalie and call him on the radio with my location. You stay here and keep eyeball on Wilde’s flat.” Maynard grabbed a covert radio and left.

  Natalie walked to Hampstead Underground station and bought a morning paper from the newsstand. Maynard stayed a short distance behind her and radioed his location so Stanley could join him. Stanley was already out of the flat and quickly caught up with Maynard. They agreed that it was best for them to split up but keep in radio contact, in case she saw them together and sussed they were Old Bill. Stanley said he’d follow Natalie first for a while and then call in Maynard to take over so as not to blow their cover.

  Stanley had Natalie in sight as she boarded the southbound Northern Line. He kept his distance and got on the carriage behind the one she was in. Maynard was in the carriage behind Stanley. The train was busy as it was still the rush hour, but Stanley was able to position himself so he could see Natalie through the adjoining carriage window. She was looking around and he wondered if she was aware she was being followed. As the train stopped at Tottenham Court Road, Natalie jumped off at the last second, just before the doors closed. Stanley was quick to react and just managed to get off himself. He breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t turn round and see him. Perhaps she was just being surveillance conscious and wasn’t aware she was being followed.

  Stanley radioed Maynard with his location, but had no reply. He hadn’t got off the train in time.

  Stanley followed Natalie out of the station into Oxford Street. Shoppers and commuters thronged the street, and Natalie weaved in and out of his sight as she walked westward. She’s well trained, he thought to himself, but she didn’t look back, which made him think she was carrying out a standard IRA anti-surveillance routine rather than actively trying to lose a tail. He radioed Blondie and said he needed backup.

  Just then, Stanley’s radio crackled into life again. Maynard had just surfaced at Leicester Square.

  “Target’s heading on foot toward Oxford Circus,” Stanley told him. “Get a cab.”

  Maynard hailed a cab. When he got to Oxford Circus, he spotted Natalie on the other side of the street. He paid off the cab and took over the tail from Stanley, following her as continued down Oxford Street.

  “She’s outside Selfridges. Have you got eyeball?” he radioed to Stanley.

  “Not yet. I’ll make contact as soon as I see her.” Stanley picked up his pace as Maynard came back on the radio.

  “She’s gone into Selfridges.”

  Stanley’s stomach sank as he radioed back. “Shit. The IRA planted a bomb there last August, in the south-east corner. Don’t lose her, Maynard!”

  On that occasion, the IRA had given a coded message to the press, the store had been evacuated, and the bomb diffused by Dexter. Now, both officers were becoming very tense. There were large crowds of shoppers milling around. If their target was planting a bomb, they needed to contact the store’s security services—but first they needed to find Natalie. Stanley eased past the wandering shoppers, but there were so many different departments. He was still on the ground floor passing the makeup and perfume counters when he caught sight of Natalie’s reflection in one of the mirrors. She was moving fast.

  “Target eyeballed. She’s heading toward the south-west corner exit.”

  Stanley picked up his pace, shoving shoppers aside, and ran out to the street. Maynard joined him and they looked around desperately trying to sight Natalie. They breathed a sigh of relief when Blondie’s voice came over the radio saying he had eyeball on Natalie and she was heading down into Marble Arch underground station. They sprinted across the road, weaving in and out of the traffic, then down the stairs and escalator, splitting up to check both the east and west-bound platforms, but Natalie was gone. They had lost her. All three of them were gasping and Stanley had to bend over to catch his breath.

  “Christ! Do you think she planted a fuckin’ bomb?” Blondie asked.

  Maynard shook his head. “No, I barely lost sight of her in Selfridges. She was only carrying a shoulder bag and it never moved from her shoulder. If she didn’t know she was being tailed, she certainly made it tough for us to follow her.”

  Stanley banged his fist against the underground map on the wall. “Fuck knows where she might get off or where she’s going. Crowley’s going to be livid when he finds out we lost her!”

  It had been another long day for Jane. She’d cleared out the fridge and, with the day stretching ahead of her and still unable to leave the flat, she’d made a list of groceries that she’d have to ask one of the officers to get for her. The highlight of the morning had been finding one of Pearl’s herbal teabags at the back of a drawer. It was midafternoon and she was busy cleaning the bath when the phone rang, making her jump. It was Church.

  “Have you eaten?” he asked.

  “No, I don’t actually have anything in the flat and it’s a bit early for supper.”

  “I’ll come around six with fish and chips,” he said and put the phone down.

  He could have at least asked what I wanted, she thought. She hoped he didn’t want to go over everything that had happened again as she was sick of repeating herself. She finished the housework and put two plates in the ov
en to warm. She thought about the fish and chips that Dexter had bought for their first dinner. Was DCI Church going to go to the same well known fish and chip shop in Ladbroke Grove?

  At 6 o’clock on the dot the doorbell rang. Jane checked through the bedroom window that it was Church, and let him in. Unlike most of her visitors, Church demonstrated his fitness moving up the stairs two or three at a time, carrying his newspaper wrapped parcel.

  “I’ve got the plates warming,” Jane said, showing him into the kitchen.

  “Never mind plates. Always eat fish and chips out of the newspaper.” He plunked the paper down on the kitchen counter and started eating.

  “First,” he went on, “the bad news, and it’s not about you for a change. Natalie went sick from work. Stanley and Maynard tailed and lost her in Oxford Street after she’d been into Selfridges. Thankfully she didn’t plant a bomb, but she could have been doing a recce, looking for a suitable target.”

  “If she knows she’s being watched then she’ll have told the ASU. They’ll all do a runner and we’ll never find them.”

  “Stanley was pretty sure she didn’t know she was being followed, plus she did a grocery shop the previous evening. Our guys are still watching her flat, but she hasn’t returned home yet. In fact, we don’t know where she is. My guess is the ASU is planning something big and she’s gone to meet up with them, thus her use of counter surveillance tactics.”

  “How did Crowley take it?”

  “Do you really need to ask? The good news is we have more information about Natalie Wilde. She’s of Irish Catholic descent and moved to England from Belfast with her parents when she was six years old. It was a time when sectarian tensions were rising thanks to widespread discrimination and resentment. Her father managed his own small business and they were financially secure, although by no means wealthy. She is their only daughter and was well educated at an established grammar school.”

  Jane made a pot of tea. “Why did she become a sleeper for the IRA?”