Good Friday

by Lynda La Plante

  Jane heard another radio communication come through. Stanley called out from the kitchen to say that so far all was quiet and that there had been no sign of Natalie yet. She could hear him slurping his tea as she looked at her bedside clock. It was now five past five.

  She looked up to see Stanley standing in her bedroom doorway holding a mug of tea.

  “Time’s ticking. She said five o’clock to you, didn’t she? It’s after that now.”

  “I said five thirty, and she said she would be here earlier as she would come straight from working at the bank.”

  “Well, we know that’s a lie as she’s not been back to the bank, or to her flat.”

  Jane was almost ready for Stanley to do up the buttons on her dress, but the radio transmitter suddenly crackled in the kitchen and he went to find out what the update was.

  “Still no sight of the target,” he called back to Jane. He finished his tea, washed up the mug and left it on the draining board. When he tried to make contact via the radio again, he just got bad static and no reception.

  Jane was becoming nervous. She went out into the hall.

  “She’s not coming. I don’t think she ever intended to.”

  “Then why the phone call? Stay positive,” said Stanley. “She might just be taking her time.”

  “It’s five thirty.”

  “I know . . . we all know.” He came over to stand behind her. “Now, let me do your buttons up.”

  Just then, the doorbell rang. Jane ran into her bedroom and looked look down to the main front door. A large truck was double parked across the road outside the dry cleaners, blocking the undercover officers’ view to her flat. Jane could see Natalie standing below, and spotted the soft top of a blue Triumph Herald driving away from the pavement, passing the parked truck as the driver returned to move it. Jane turned to Stanley, trying not to sound panic-stricken.

  “It’s her! It’s Natalie. She’s here. There’s a truck blocking the undercover SPG officers’ view. I don’t think they’ve seen her!”

  “Let her in. I’ll radio for back-up.”

  Jane buzzed the front door open and Natalie stepped inside just as the truck moved away. They heard her hurrying up the stairs as Stanley desperately tried to make radio contact, but there was no pick-up signal. If Stanley was seen, Natalie would be tipped off, and there was no way he could head down the stairs now. She might be armed.

  “Go into the spare bedroom,” she hissed at him. “The wardrobe’s empty—you can hide in there.”

  Stanley hesitated, but Jane pushed him toward the room.

  “She’ll want to look around. She’s never been here before. I’ll keep her talking and take her into my bedroom, then you call for backup.”

  Stanley hurried into the spare bedroom just as Natalie knocked on Jane’s flat door.

  “Hi there . . . it’s me!” she called out.

  With a quick glance to check that Stanley was inside the wardrobe, Jane opened the front door.

  Natalie jokingly heaved for breath and laughed. She was carrying a large leather and canvas shoulder bag.

  “My God, those stairs must keep you fit!”

  “They do! Come on in.”

  Jane ushered Natalie inside and closed the door.

  “Well, this is it. Just down the hall here is the kitchen—”

  “Let me get my breath back. You sound like a desperate estate agent!”

  “Sorry,” Jane forced herself to slow down. “It’s just that you were a bit late and I have to get ready. Would you like a coffee?”

  “No thanks. It’s very nice and compact,” Natalie said, looking around the kitchen.

  “The bathroom is in here,” Jane pushed open the bathroom door.

  “Nice tiles—and you’ve got a shower as well.”

  Jane gestured to her bedroom. “My bedroom’s in there. I’m so glad you made it. As you can see, I can’t possibly do these buttons up.”

  “You look terrific, though. What’s in that room?”

  “Oh, that’s just my small spare bedroom. The one Pearl had. I’m thinking of making it into a dining and TV room.”

  Natalie took a step into the spare bedroom and took a good look round. The single bed was piled high with boxes.

  “Yes, I think that’s a good idea. It’s a bit small, but you could get a sort of folding table.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking. I’d get rid of the single bed and maybe buy a two-seater sofa.”

  Jane’s heart was pounding. She was terrified that Natalie would be able to hear Stanley calling for backup on the radio. In fact he was crouched down inside the wardrobe, with his back pressed against the door.

  Natalie turned and smiled.

  “You’ve got it made, haven’t you? Right, let me do your dress up.”

  They walked back into Jane’s bedroom and Natalie went over to the bed to pick up the bolero jacket.

  “This will look really lovely with your dress. It’s fabulous, and it was a real bargain.”

  Jane left her bedroom door slightly ajar. As Natalie placed her bag on the bed Jane turned her back toward her so that she could begin doing up the buttons.

  “Gosh, they really are tricky. They’re so small, and some of the button holes are really tight.”

  Natalie did one button up after another, pulling the velvet top tightly together. In the spare bedroom next door Stanley was still crouched down in the wardrobe, unable to make radio contact. He slowly eased open the wardrobe door and stepped out, moving cautiously into the hall and standing outside Jane’s bedroom door to listen.

  “You’re going to have quite the cleavage, but it makes you look very sexy.” Natalie said.

  “Did you come on the underground?” Jane asked. She was finding it hard to maintain her composure.

  “No, I got a lift from a friend. We’re meeting up later for dinner, and we might go to Fratelli’s. You know, where we had our first dinner together?”

  Natalie fastened the last two buttons of her dress and stepped back.

  “You’re shaking! Don’t tell me you’re nervous about tonight? You look gorgeous. Anyway, I’d say that after what you’ve been through recently nothing should make you anxious. Do you ever worry about the consequences?”

  “What consequences?”

  “Well, according to what it said in the newspapers about that bombing at Covent Garden, you saw him, didn’t you? I mean, could you recognize him?”

  Now, Jane realized exactly why Natalie was there. “No,” she said. “I told you, the witness who could have identified him sadly died in the hospital. Now, what about my hair?”

  “Oh, well . . . I don’t think you need to put it up in a chignon. It looks lovely loose.”

  Stanley overheard the relaxed conversation and moved silently to the front door, easing it open. He began to hurry down the stairs.

  Natalie ran her fingers through Jane’s hair and shook it out to make it looser.

  “I like it the way it is. You’ve done your makeup beautifully. What about earrings?”

  “Oh, I’ve got a necklace. It’s in the box on the bedside table.”

  Natalie opened the little leather box and took out the gold chain with the small teardrop pearl.

  “Oh, this is lovely! Turn around and let me put it on for you. The clasp is tiny.”

  Jane turned her back to Natalie and waited while she carefully hung the necklace chain around her neck and did up the clasp.

  “There. Let me see. Oh, it’s really sweet.”

  “It was given to my mother.”

  Halfway down the stairs, Stanley’s radio chattered into life, and the transmitter bleeped loudly. He froze and looked back at Jane’s flat door. He had left it wide open.

  Natalie turned toward the bedroom door.

  “What was that?”

  “Oh, it might have been the bell on the cooker? I haven’t got used to the timer yet and I keep on setting it by mistake.”

  Natalie stood still, listenin
g. She suddenly seemed very wary. She crossed over to the bed to pick up her handbag.

  “I have to go.”

  “Oh, just wait—let me try your jacket on to see what it looks like.”

  Jane put on the velvet bolero just as Natalie pulled open the bedroom door and saw that the flat door was wide open. She turned back to Jane.

  “Yes, that looks good,” she said mechanically. She put her arm through the shoulder strap of her handbag, but Jane stepped forward and snatched it.

  “What are you doing?” Natalie exclaimed.

  “Isn’t it more what you’re doing? I don’t know how you can live with yourself!”

  Natalie’s face twisted as she tried to pull her handbag away from Jane. There was a moment when they were both tugging to hold onto it, but then Jane yanked hard and stepped backward, almost losing her balance as she held onto it. Natalie threw a hard punch, which Jane dodged by stepping sideways, but Natalie made contact with her shoulder. Jane hurled the handbag aside and all the contents tumbled out onto the carpet. Using all her training Jane went for Natalie’s right arm, pulling it back and up almost out of the socket before bending it behind her back and then twisted her hand toward her wrist.

  “You murdered a young mother and injured God knows how many others, and for what?”

  Natalie was bent over in agony, but she didn’t scream or call out as she was forced to lie on the ground. She stopped struggling.

  “The British army murdered my father,” she snarled. “I hate you, and all that you stand for! Tonight you’ll see what we’re capable of!”

  Jane was leaning over, still putting pressure on Natalie’s arm but Natalie had such strength and venom that she seemed completely numb to the pain. In a flash, she turned and caught hold of Jane’s necklace with her free hand. The next moment she had pulled Jane down and was twisting the necklace like a garrote, chocking her until Jane could hardly breathe.

  Just then, Stanley hurtled into the bedroom and grabbed Natalie by her hair, stamping with all his force on her back to make her release Jane. Pressing her face into the ground with his foot, he dragged her arms behind her back. Natalie screamed in agony, her face twisting with rage as she realized she was helpless. By the time the two other officers Stanley had called in rushed into the flat, it was over.

  Stanley cuffed Natalie and dragged to her feet.

  She spat in his face. “You bastards, you’re all fucking bastards who’ll rot in hell!”

  Stanley handed her to the uniform officers “Get that bitch out of here. Take her to the Yard, and radio ahead for DCI Crowley to meet you.” He helped Jane to her feet.

  Natalie kicked and swore, but it was pointless. Together the two uniform officers hauled her out into the hall, and dragged her down the stairs screaming at the top of her voice.

  Stanley yelled at them to wait as he picked up the contents of Natalie’s handbag and stuffed them back inside. He looked up at Jane as he picked up a small .22 Ruger pistol.

  “I know why she came here,” said Jane. “She was asking about me being able to identify the bomber.”

  “I think the bitch would have used this on you. Let me take this out to the guys.”

  Left alone, Jane took a few deep breaths, then went over to the mirror. She had a vivid red welt around her throat and, touching her neck, she realized that her mother’s pearl necklace was missing. She began to search the room getting down on her hands and knees to pat the carpet where she had been forced down by Natalie.

  Stanley walked back into the bedroom holding his radio and swearing.

  “This is dead as a fucking dodo. The guys called in to Crowley to pull in all officers still around Baker Street underground station with their thumbs up their arses.”

  Jane was close to tears as she searched for the necklace. Stanley knelt beside her.

  “Hey . . . come on, it’s over. You were brilliant. Let’s get you up. I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”

  “No, it’s my mother’s necklace. Natalie tore it from my throat and I can’t find it!”

  “All right, all right. Let me help you. What does it look like?”

  “It’s a teardrop pearl on a thin gold chain.”

  Stanley patted the carpet with the flat of his hand, lifting the bedspread from around her bed. He peered under the bed, then sat back on his heels.

  “I’ve found it!” Jane exclaimed, standing up and holding the broken chain between her fingers.

  Stanley looked up at her. “I’ve found something too.” In his hand he held a radio-controlled detonator. “Either Natalie was going to set a bomb off or hand this detonator over to someone else. Without this, there’s no bang.”

  “Can you make it safe?”

  “No, but Dexter can and he’ll be at the hotel.”

  Jane’s voice shook. “Oh, my God! Natalie said ‘Tonight you’ll see what we’re capable of.’ There could be a spare detonator for the bomb. Crowley and Dexter were using more than one when I watched them on the explosives range.”

  “Pull yourself together!” Stanley almost lost his cool as he tried his radio again to contact Crowley.

  “DS Stanley to Crowley, are you receiving? Over.” There was a hissing noise but no reply. “God damn this bloody cheap piece of shit!” Stanley swore at the dead radio.

  “Use my phone.”

  Stanley picked up the receiver, but Crowley’s number was continually engaged.

  “Come on, come on, Crowley, put the phone down!” Stanley shouted, becoming more and more impatient as he tried to redial with no success. He slammed the phone down.

  “We need to get to the hotel right now.” He quickly ushered Jane ahead of him. “Go on! Get moving! We can’t wait for a patrol car.”

  Jane moved as quickly as she could down the stairs, which was not easy in evening wear. Stanley stepped on the back of her dress, and Jane stopped dead as the frill around the bottom of her skirt came loose. She bent down to look at the damage.

  “Never mind your effing dress Jane, move it! Come on, hurry up!”

  Holding the loose frill in her hand, Jane hurried out into the street. At first she thought Stanley was hailing a cab as he stepped into the middle of the road holding his warrant card. He raised his hand to stop an approaching old Ford Anglia, which braked sharply. The driver swore loudly and was even more shocked when Stanley suddenly opened the door and pulled him out.

  “DS Stanley, Met CID. I’m sorry but I have to commandeer this vehicle for a police emergency. Get in, Tennison.”

  The young driver was so shocked he didn’t say a word as Stanley clunked the car into first gear, put his foot down hard on the accelerator and drove off at high speed.

  Stanley weaved expertly through the traffic. When they reached Caxton Street he turned into the large courtyard in front of the hotel. The car park was already quite full, and a uniform PC was directing the new arrivals into empty spaces. Outside the hotel a queue of officers and their guests in evening suits and dresses waited to have their names and warrant cards checked by uniform officers who were standing at the top of the entrance stairs. Stanley pulled up in the courtyard and jumped out of the vehicle. Jane followed more slowly, hampered by her dress. As she got out of the car, torn frill in one hand and warrant card in the other, a voice called out:

  “Tell him to come back and park that car properly!”

  She looked up to see the uniform PC directing a driver to reverse into a parking space beside a blue Triumph Herald. Suddenly she experienced a nightmare flash of recognition. It replayed rapidly before her eyes: the moment she had run after the bomber at Covent Garden, how she had called out to him, reached for the sleeve of his coat, how he had half turned toward her and shoved her roughly away. She was in complete shock and couldn’t call out or move. She was frozen.

  “Jane . . . Jane!”

  Dexter had grabbed her by the shoulders and was shaking her. She heard his voice as if waking from a nightmare.

  “You look fabulous
! Let’s ask Stanley to set up the champagne.” He took her by the elbow to escort her into the hotel, but she was stuck to the spot.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.

  Jane turned away from the uniform PC and slowly nodded her head. She tried to speak but there was no sound.

  Dexter had been told that they had arrested Natalie Wilde inside Jane’s flat, and found a detonator. Assuming she was suffering from delayed shock, he put his arms around her.

  “Everything is going to be all right, I’ve taken the battery out of the detonator, so it’s disarmed. And the whole place was swept for explosives this afternoon. Come on, let me take you inside and get you something to drink.”

  Jane leaned against him and took more deep breaths as he tried to move her, but she held on to him tightly.

  “The bomber from Covent Garden . . . I recognize him. He’s here. Don’t turn around. He’s the uniform PC directing cars into the parking bays.”

  Dexter tensed, then moved closer to her as if embracing her. His lips were close to her ear as he turned a fraction. He could now get a better view of the officer, who was assisting a driver to park at the far end of the bays, in almost the last space left.

  Dexter gave her a reassuring smile. “Because Natalie was aware of the big do, Crowley’s had uniform and police dogs go over the hotel with a fine tooth comb. It’s safe, nothing was found, and there’s a heavy uniform presence inside and outside the hotel.”

  Jane tensed up again. “But I recognize him. I recognize him!”

  “All right, all right, just stay calm. I’ll ask the duty inspector in charge of security about the PC dealing with parking.”

  Jane nodded as Dexter took her by the arm and, to the annoyance of the queuing officers, led her straight into the hotel. Dexter got her safely through security and told her to find Stanley and wait for him in the saloon bar, while he spoke with the duty inspector. Dexter showed his warrant card to the Inspector who was holding a clip board.

  “The officer directing the parking. Do you know him?”

  “What’s his shoulder number?” the inspector interrupted.

  “I don’t know.”

  The Inspector flicked through the paper attached to his clip board. “Uniforms have been drafted in from various stations so I don’t know them all personally. Let’s see now . . . parking duties . . .” He ran his finger down the list of names, numbers and allocated duties. “Ah here we go: PC 332. A. Crane from Cannon Row directing parking. Does he need help?”