Good Friday

by Lynda La Plante

  “No, I just wanted his name.”

  Back in the saloon bar, the drinks were flowing. Everyone was in evening dress. Jane had to hold up her ripped ruffle as she searched for Stanley, but he was nowhere to be seen. She eventually caught sight of Blondie Dunston from the Dip Squad and grabbed his arm, causing him to almost drop his glass of champagne.

  “My God, Tennison, you look terrific! But what’s the matter?”

  “I urgently need to speak to DS Stanley. Where is he?”

  “Went off to call Crowley. By the way, this is Alison, Stanley’s wife—and that’s my girlfriend.” Blondie pointed at a glamorous redhead who was busy talking to Maynard.

  Jane turned to Alison, a pretty girl, wearing a thick decorative band in her hair.

  “It’s lovely to meet you,” Jane said, “but I’m really looking for your husband.”

  “You all right, Jane? What’s happened to your skirt? You need a surgeon to stitch it up?” Maynard joked.

  “Where did Stanley go? Please—I really need to speak to him.”

  Maynard shrugged and gestured to the wide staircase beside the dining room. “Probably the police security room. It’s somewhere on the first-floor corridor.”

  Jane pushed her way through the growing throng, who were all intent on kicking the evening off at the free bar. She ran up the stairs and down the red carpeted corridor, shouting at the top of her voice.

  “Stanley . . . STANLEY!”

  Stanley appeared at the door of one of the rooms.

  “You have to come downstairs, NOW! Dexter’s waiting. The bomber from Covent Garden—I’ve just seen him—” Jane was gasping for breath.

  “What?”

  “He’s directing the parking! He’s wearing a police uniform.”

  “Jesus Christ! Are you serious?”

  “Yes. YES! Come on, Stanley, PLEASE!”

  Stanley followed Jane back down the corridor. As she approached the top of the stairs she tripped and had to tear off the now trailing frill from her dress, almost falling head first down the stairs in the process. Stanley grabbed her arm and they barged through the crowd.

  Dexter was in the gents at the urinal when a uniform PC walked in and stood next to him. It took a couple of seconds before Dexter noticed that the officer having a piss next to him had the number 332A on his shoulders.

  “Are you PC Crane?” Dexter asked as he zipped up his fly.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you were on parking duties.”

  “I was, but another officer said he’d been posted to it so I let him take over.”

  “Go and find the duty inspector and bring him to the reception right now.”

  “No need to get uptight!” said the PC. “I haven’t disobeyed an order. Just swapped roles, that’s all.”

  “Well this is my order: find the inspector now and tell him it’s an EMERGENCY!” Dexter barked, making the officer jump and pee on his own boots.

  Dexter hurried back to the foyer and looked out of a window from a safe distance. He could see the car park was full and a queue of vehicles was now blocking the entrance and lined up in Caxton Street. He looked for the uniform officer Jane had recognized as the Covent Garden bomber, but couldn’t see him. He turned, heart beating fast, as Jane and Stanley approached.

  “You were right, Jane,” he said urgently. “The officer out front isn’t the PC assigned to car parking. It could be nothing—but he could be our man posing as a police officer.”

  “Shit,” Stanley gasped.

  The duty inspector appeared. Dexter pointed from the foyer window where they could now see the suspect standing between two parked cars.

  “That PC out there, standing on the left. Did you tell him to take over parking duties?”

  “No, never seen him before. What’s his shoulder number?”

  “I don’t think he has one. We suspect he may have planted a bomb on the premises.”

  The Inspector looked offended. “We’ve searched this place top to bottom, sniffer dogs ’n’ all and it’s clean. There’s no bomb in here!”

  “Well, check again, but make it discreet,” Dexter ordered. “I don’t want a mass panic on our hands. Look for a rucksack or holdall hidden in or near the ballroom.” He turned to Jane. “Are you sure you recognize him?”

  “Yes, I caught his profile and it came back to me, just like you said it would. It’s him. I know it is.” Jane was relieved that she had been right, but fearful of what would happen if he had succeeded in planting a bomb.

  Dexter took a deep breath. How devious the IRA were to dress one of their own as a police officer to blend in with all that was going on at the hotel. It was audacious, but so simple, and it would have fooled them all but for Tennison’s flash of recognition.

  “Let me go and get Maynard and the lads out of the bar,” Stanley suggested.

  Dexter shook his head. “We’ve wasted enough time. I’ll walk past him while you approach from the left, then I’ll turn on your shout and we take him out together.”

  Dexter took off his jacket and threw it at Jane. “Hang onto this for me.”

  The suspect was now walking out from between the parked cars toward the exit onto Caxton Street. He had to move to one side as there were two vehicles attempting to look for a free parking space. Stanley and Dexter looked at each other: they had to reach their target before he got to the street. They moved quickly, but the suspect stopped and instinctively looked over his shoulder. Dexter and Stanley froze instantly, not wanting to give themselves away. It was no more than a fraction of a second, but the suspect started to run.

  Dexter and Stanley were ten feet behind and closing as the suspect ran up Caxton Street and right into Buckingham Gate where all three of them narrowly missed being hit by passing vehicles. As the suspect crossed the road and ran left into Castle Lane, he threw something into the basement area of a row of terraced flats. Neither of them stopped, but Stanley was flagging as the suspect turned left into a narrow dustbin-lined alleyway which, to their relief, turned out to be a dead end. They thought they had him trapped, but the building along one side of the alley was the rear of a four-story office complex with a fire escape leading up to the top floor at the far end. The suspect ran up the fire escape two steps at a time and reaching the top hesitated as he looked down to see Dexter and Stanley moving up below him. He kicked at the fire escape door but it didn’t budge, so he pulled himself up onto the narrow safety rail and crouched down like a monkey.

  “Shit. He’s going to jump onto the church roof opposite!” Dexter shouted, running up the fire escape. As he reached the top, he lunged forward, attempting to grab the suspect’s leg, but it was too late. The man sprang forward through the air, his arms outstretched as he just managed to grab hold of the parapet edge and, with his legs dangling, pulled himself up onto the roof. Dexter now climbed onto the safety rail behind him.

  Stanley, still laboring up the fire escape, called out, “That’s nearly ten feet across and twenty-five down! Don’t risk it, Dex. We can get back up and surround the area.”

  Stanley had hardly finished his warning when Dexter took off through the air in pursuit. Stanley shut his eyes, expecting to hear a sickening thud, but when he opened them again he saw Dexter dangling from the parapet by one hand. Then, in a swinging motion, Dexter managed to get his other hand on the roof and pull himself up. He was gasping for air, but once safe he seemed to find a new surge of energy and set off along the roof in pursuit of the suspect, feet slipping on the tiles as he went.

  Realizing the suspect was probably doubling back, Stanley decided to get back down to the ground and track them along Castle Lane and Buckingham Gate. Due to the narrow lane and angle Stanley couldn’t see them, but from the loose tiles that broke free and crashed down near him, he knew he was heading in the right direction. He prayed that a tile didn’t hit him on the head. By the side entrance of Westminster Chapel Evangelical Church, Stanley could hear people singing “All Things Bright and Beauti
ful.” A poster on the church wall showed a steeple-shaped graph, colored lines indicating how much money had been raised for restoration of the church roof. Judging from the number of loose tiles falling, they’d need a lot more money.

  Up on the roof, Dexter was getting closer to the target, who had climbed even higher up the sloping roof. As he tried to keep his balance he looked across the roof and could see the suspect crouched down on his haunches, ready to make another terrifying leap. Dexter slid down the steep roof slowly for fear of slipping over the edge if he went too fast, shouting to the suspect to give up.

  Stanley heard the shout. Looking upward, he could just make out Dexter approaching the suspect high up on the rooftop opposite. He watched as the man made the insane leap, and screamed out to Dexter not to jump, but it was too late. Suddenly there was an almighty crashing sound as the roof gave way. The last verse of the song rang out from inside the Church: “How Great is God Almighty, Who has made all things well,” followed by hysterical screams.

  Fearing the worst, Stanley ran inside. Lying on the altar in a pool of blood, his head cut to shreds from the sharp-edged tiles, was the suspect. The church choir huddled together by the pulpit, some of them crying. Stanley was desperately scanning the area for Dexter’s body when he heard a voice from above and looked up. Peering through a big hole in the roof was Dexter.

  “Do us a favor and call the fire brigade. I don’t fancy going back the way I came to get down.”

  The vicar, a small balding man, was rigid with shock.

  “Officer,” he stammered. “There is a roof edge that we had reinforced and if your c . . . c . . . c . . . colleague follows it round to the left he’ll find a bell tower with a d . . . d . . . d . . . door where he can let himself in.”

  Stanley looked up. “Did you get that, Dex?”

  By the time Dexter was down from the roof, several uniform officers were at the scene dealing with the small but distraught group of people who had been rehearsing for the Easter Service. A uniform officer approached Dexter and handed him his radio.

  “The duty inspector wants to speak to you, sir.”

  Dexter spoke into the radio. “Go ahead, DS Dexter receiving, over.”

  “We found a radio-controlled bomb in a rucksack. It was left with the hotel reception staff by the suspect PC after the first search.”

  “Jesus Christ, I’ll be right there.”

  “No, no, it’s okay. The device has been successfully defused by one of your colleagues.”

  “Did you evacuate the hotel?”

  “No. Everything is now secure and there was no need for an evacuation.”

  “Yes, but where’s the bloody bomb now?”

  “It’s been taken back to the explosives lab for further examination and fingerprinting.”

  “Have you informed DCI Crowley?” Dexter asked.

  “Yes, and after consultation with the Bomb Squad Commander it’s been decided that the ball’s going ahead. They’ll be summoning all the guests for dinner in fifteen minutes.”

  Dexter handed the radio back to the PC. “What a wanker,” he remarked, and the PC nodded.

  Stanley tapped Dexter on the shoulder. “I’m sure the suspect threw something away in the basement area of the flats in Castle Lane.”

  “How big was it?” Dexter asked Stanley.

  “I didn’t get a good look. It wasn’t big, but it kind of jangled.”

  “You know what it could be? A backup radio transmitter for the rucksack bomb. We’d better instruct a couple of uniform officers to go and search the area.”

  They didn’t have to wait long before two SOCOs arrived to bag the body and have it removed to Westminster mortuary. Dexter had searched the pockets, but he found nothing more than a wallet with a few one and five pound notes in it. He turned to one of the SOCO officers.

  “Can you do me a favor and get me a dead set of fingerprints? I’ll get someone to take them straight over to the Yard’s fingerprint bureau so we can check them against the prints we found at the Kentish town flat and criminal records.”

  The young PC gestured to Dexter.

  “Excuse me, sir. DCI Crowley wants to see you and DS Stanley in his office, now.”

  Stanley raised his eyes to the vaulted ceiling.

  “Oh, shit! My wife’s going to file for divorce if I miss this dinner with her.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dexter and Stanley stood the other side of the two-way mirror looking into the interrogation room. Outside the room was a uniformed officer. Inside, Crowley was wearing evening dress with a large black velvet bow tie. It looked odd to see him dressed so formally opposite Natalie. Two uniformed officers stood at either end of the room and DCI Church sat beside Crowley making notes.

  This was the first time that Dexter and Stanley had seen Natalie Wilde. She was wearing a police issue overall and was looking remarkably unruffled.

  “Well, she’s no Maureen O’Hara, is she?” Stanley commented.

  “Who?” Dexter looked at him.

  “You know, the red-headed Irish movie star. Natalie just looks pretty ordinary.”

  “That’s the whole point, Stanley. She just fits into everyday life. Just a cashier in a bank, or another wannabe plonk.”

  They watched for a while longer. Crowley was repeating the same question over again. Natalie kept saying “No comment” to everything she was asked.

  Dexter spoke to the officer outside the door. “Can you get DCI Crowley out for us?”

  “She’s a nasty little bitch,” Crowley said to them as he emerged from the interrogation room.

  “Well, maybe she’ll react when you tell her that her partner’s dead,” said Stanley. “We found the rucksack planted at the hotel, and when he tried to make his escape he fell through a church roof and split his head open. He’s a goner.”

  “It’s a shame I won’t be able to question him about the ASU safe house and other IRA members.” Crowley loosened his bow tie. “But if he’s anything like that bitch he probably wouldn’t tell me anything. You two did a great job tonight, not to mention risking your own lives.” He took a ten pound note out of his pocket and handed it to Dexter. “Go and enjoy your evening. You deserve a stiff drink on me. I’ll join you after I’ve finished questioning her and then I’ll have her taken to Paddington.”

  Dexter slipped the note into his pocket. “Thanks. I’ll have a large scotch waiting for you, and Church as well.”

  As Crowley re-entered the interrogation room, Natalie pointedly turned her face away from him.

  “Well, Miss Wilde, we found the bomb in the rucksack at the hotel. Seems your intention to harm as many of our officers as possible has failed.” He leaned across the table but Natalie didn’t react.

  “And your partner, attempting to escape arrest, had an unfortunate fatal accident.”

  This was the only time Natalie showed what lay beneath her controlled demeanor. She sprang forward and spat at Crowley, directly in his face. It took every ounce of control he had not to slap her for her smirking arrogance. She was pure evil.

  Dexter and Stanley returned to the hotel just as pudding was being served. Stanley had lost his bow tie and a cufflink, and Dexter’s white evening shirt had dark stains all over it and the caps of his shiny shoes were badly scuffed.

  “It’s all over!” Stanley raised his hands in the air.

  Jane still had Dexter’s evening jacket and was waiting anxiously in the empty bar.

  “Didn’t you go in for dinner?” Dexter asked.

  “No, I couldn’t eat a thing. I was too worried.” She handed him his jacket. “Is it really all over?”

  “Yeah. We got him, but we won’t be getting anything out of him. The madman fell through a church roof and broke his neck on the altar.”

  Stanley smiled. “They were singing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ and literally on the words ‘How great is God Almighty’ the suspect fell through the roof. His face was smashed to pieces, and—”

 
Dexter held up his hand. “That’s enough, Stanley.”

  Jane moved closer to Dexter. “What about Natalie?”

  “Crowley’s been interrogating her. He said she’s a hard nut to crack.”

  “Did she say anything about me?” Jane asked, anxiously.

  “Not as far as I know.”

  Despite their air of bravado, Dexter and Stanley ordered stiff drinks. They were on their second scotch when Crowley and Church joined them. Dexter pointed to the bar where their drinks were waiting for them. Crowley raised his glass.

  “I’d like to propose a toast to Dexter and Stanley for their brave and unselfish actions. Mind you, the Commissioner may be a bit miffed if he has to donate a couple of grand to the Westminster Chapel roof fund.”

  They all laughed and raised their glasses. They could hear the noise coming from the busy banquet room, which was buzzing with chatter, laughter and the clinking of glasses and crockery. Everyone was in a good mood, all getting along and having a laugh at each other’s expense.

  “Come on you lot. If we don’t get in there we won’t get anything to eat,” Dexter said. He was about to go to the banquet room when the duty inspector walked in.

  “We searched the whole of Castle Lane and the basement flat areas as best we could using torches. I sealed the area off for a daylight search, but so far this is all we’ve found. It’s a Triumph car fob and key.” He placed the item on the bar.

  Dexter sighed. “Yes, I can see that, but it’s hardly likely to detonate a bomb. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to go and eat.”

  The duty inspector picked the key up and was about to walk off when Jane spoke up.

  “Excuse me, but I think there’s something else that could be important.”

  The inspector stopped and Crowley turned to her as she looked toward Dexter, who was busy lighting a cigar.