In March 1976, Jane Tennison successfully completed her ten-week CID course at Hendon and returned to Bow Street, whilst awaiting a transfer to another station as a fully fledged detective constable. DI Gibbs had moved on, but she was still under the strict, watchful eye of DCI Shepherd, nicknamed ‘Timex’ due to his almost obsessive timekeeping schedules.

It wasn’t long before Jane’s posting as a DC came through and to her dismay she was offered a place at Hackney. She requested a private discussion with Shepherd to ask if she could remain at Bow Street. Although she knew that he could be tricky and controlling, she nevertheless admired his tenacity.

Shepherd knew, intuitively, the reason behind Jane’s appeal. Several officers who had been stationed at Hackney at the time of the abortive bank raid, which had tragically killed DCI Leonard Bradfield and WPC Kath Morgan, had been transferred. Jane gave no reason for her request, but encouraged by her previous performance at Bow Street, DCI Shepherd agreed that she could return there.

Jane was in a catch-22 situation. Although Shepherd had agreed for her to remain with the CID at Bow Street, he gave her very little opportunity to prove herself and she was becoming increasingly frustrated. She was due to attend a court appearance for a drunk driver. Usually this kind of case would have been handled by a uniformed officer, but Jane had been driving an unmarked CID car when the drunk driver had driven straight into the back of it. He had been belligerent and quite abusive.

On arriving at the court she was annoyed to find that there was a backlog of cases being heard, so she went to get herself a coffee. As she headed back to the waiting room she was almost sent flying by a DC bounding through the door.

‘God, I’m sorry,’ said DC Brian Edwards, then, recognising her, gave a wide smile.

‘Jane! It’s good to see you!’

‘Hello, Brian. You got a case here this morning as well?’

‘Yeah, Flying Squad job. Committal hearing on a three-hander for armed robbery.’

‘You’re on the Flying Squad?’ Jane tried to hide her surprise. Edwards was young, and almost as inexperienced as she was.

‘Yeah, it’s completely changed my life. The blokes on the squad are a great bunch of guys. We work all over London investigating armed robberies. The adrenaline buzz when you nick an armed blagger on the pavement is incredible.’

‘Congratulations! I must say, you look good.’

Edwards had always been rather untidy and scruffy looking, with his thick curly hair worn long, and his shirt always hanging out of his trousers. Now he was wearing a trendy leather jacket, a white T-shirt, and dark trousers with side-zipper boots.

‘Are there any women on the Flying Squad?’ Jane asked.

‘No way. I doubt they’d ever bring in a woman. It’s tough work, Jane, and we get results.’ Before she could respond to his arrogance and chauvinism, Edwards glanced at his watch, ‘So, what’re you here for?’

‘Just a traffic offence. A drunk bloke rammed into me whilst I was driving the CID car.’

Edwards laughed. He turned to look over at two men dressed in similar clothing to him, as one gestured for him to join them.

‘See y’around,’ Edwards said, as he sauntered over to them.

Jane arrived in plenty of time at Vine Street Police Station, in the heart of London’s West End, for her nine o’clock meeting with her new DCI. The Vice Squad also worked out of Vine Street, but on a different floor, while the much larger Flying Squad was based at Scotland Yard. The duty sergeant directed her downstairs. She walked past the station cells and charge room area, then down the old stone steps and into the darkened basement. A door was ajar with ‘DIP SQUAD’ printed on a card pinned on it. She hesitated and then knocked. Getting no reply, she gently pushed open the door, to reveal a large, dank, squalid room. A string of worn desks, typewriters on a couple of them, ran across the room, and along one wall was a row of battered filing cabinets. The only window, high in the wall, was tiny and covered in cobwebs. It looked as if it had never been opened.

‘Are you WDC Tennison?’

Jane whirled around to face a tall, angular man wearing a full-length leather coat, polo-necked sweater, and baggy trousers with a thick leather belt at the waist, walking out of a small office in the corner.

‘Yes.’

‘Bit early, aren’t you?’ He shook her hand. ‘I’m DCI Jimmy Church. Take a pew and let me fill you in.’ DCI Church spoke with a northern accent and chain-smoked, lighting one cigarette from the other as he moved around the room. He picked up an overflowing ashtray and emptied the butts into a waste bin as he spoke. ‘The team are usually out nicking dippers, so this office is usually empty. We work all over London, but we bring any arrests back here to Vine Street to be processed and charged. The team here consists of me, plus two detective sergeants who each have a team of four detectives working with them. We don’t have any clerical staff, so we take reports for typing up to the main Flying Squad office at the Yard. Bit of a drag, but it’s only a fifteen-minute walk. Or we use the one unmarked car we have.

‘Oh…’ Jane said, trying to take it all in.

Church turned at the sound of voices and heavy footsteps coming down the stone steps outside the office.

‘Here come the lads!’ He grinned. Jane was astonished at how much more youthful Church appeared when he smiled, his heavily lined face immediately lighting up.

The officers, who were all male, piled into the room. All of them wore worn-looking jeans and bomber jackets, and most had long hair and sideburns. They spread out sitting on the odd chair or perched on one or other of the desks. She recognised DS Stanley, who she’d worked with before, but the others were new to her.

‘This is WDC Joan Tennison everybody.’

‘It’s Jane,’ Jane said, as Church cocked his head to one side.

‘Sorry. Jane Tennison. OK, that little wiry DS over there, who looks like the cat just dragged him in, is Stanley—’

‘We worked together a long time ago at Hackney,’ Stanley said, nodding to Jane. He still wore fingerless gloves and was even scruffier than she remembered, looking as if he had slept in a park somewhere.

‘And that’s DS George Maynard.’ Church nodded at a well-built officer who was putting a stick of chewing gum in his mouth. He was dressed in a huge duffel coat, dirty trainers and jeans.

‘Maynard plays drunk better than a drunk,’ Church added.

Jane smiled at Maynard and was rewarded with a cursory nod.

Church gestured with his lit cigarette towards the rest of the group. ‘You can get to know the other reprobates later.’

Jane doubted that she would be able to remember all their names on her first day and realised that the Dip Squad, like the glamorous Flying Squad, had no female officers apart from her. She wondered if the Dip Squad might not be such an attractive proposition after all.

‘Right, before we get into what’s going down today, let me remind you all that the forthcoming Scotland Yard Detective Squad’s big annual black-tie dinner dance is only a couple of weeks away… Good Friday, 16 April, at St Ermin’s Hotel. You can’t miss it — it’s in Caxton Street, right opposite Scotland Yard. If you don’t have your tickets booked then you’d better get on to it, or you’ll lose out.’

Jane watched as a few of them handed over cash to Church. A couple said they would pay by cheque.

A young DC held his hand up. ‘It’s a bank holiday, isn’t it, Guv? Only I was booked to go on a fishing trip… can’t they change the date?’

‘Don’t be an idiot, Mead! It’s always on Good Friday because it is a bank holiday, and the squads are at minimum strength over the holiday weekend. Just cancel your bloody fishing trip… it’s a right knees-up, and worth getting your dickie bow out for.’

Church handed out some crime reports detailing theft incidents on the Underground and in the busy shopping areas around Oxford Street and Regent Street.

‘As you can see, the descriptions of possible suspects are pretty poor and most of the victims didn’t even know they’d been dipped until it was too late…’

Jane was flicking through the crime reports, trying to take in all the information, then realised that Church had stopped talking and, along with everyone else in the room, was looking at her.

‘Sorry?’

‘Tennison, just concentrate and read the reports in your own time.’ He addressed the room again. ‘This bunch are obviously professionals, possibly from abroad. They’re working in a group of around four to six people, and their marks tend to be the wealthier looking members of the public.’

He turned to Jane. ‘D’you know what a “mark” is Tennison?’

‘The intended victim, sir,’ Jane replied.

‘Correct. Now, start counting to ten…’

Jane felt embarrassed and suspected she was about to be the butt of an initiation joke.

‘Come on, don’t be shy,’ Stanley said, nudging her.

She started counting aloud and as she reached number six she felt someone push her from behind, causing her to stumble forward. Stanley grabbed her left arm to catch her, and she heard several chuckles from the other officers. She turned around to face the huge DS Maynard.

‘What did you do that for? It’s not funny.’

‘Carry on counting,’ Maynard said, with a serious expression.

‘What?’

‘From where you left off.’

‘Um… four, five…’

Church interrupted. ‘You’d got up to six.’

Jane looked at him. ‘Had I? Sorry… six, seven…’

Maynard pushed her gently on the shoulder. Jane turned back to him sharply.

‘Would you please stop pushing me!’

Maynard was holding up her warrant card.

‘Is this yours?’

Confused, Jane hurriedly unzipped her handbag to discover that her warrant card was missing. As Maynard handed it back to her, Stanley asked, ‘What’s the time?’

Jane glanced at her left wrist and found that her watch was missing.

Everyone laughed as Stanley held up her watch, swinging it like a pendulum.

‘Tick tock…’

Jane was shocked. ‘How did you get that… and my warrant card?’

Church took her watch from Stanley and pulled up her shirt sleeve to replace it on her wrist.

‘Your mind can only properly focus on one thing at a time. Clever pickpockets distract their marks whilst simultaneously lifting their wallet, purse or watch. The targets don’t notice at the time because they’re too focused on the distraction. It takes a thief to catch a thief, Tennison, and we practice what the bad guys do… but only on each other. It keeps us on our toes. I like to think of myself as Fagin, and these reprobates are my little pickpockets.’

There was a unanimous groan from the squad. Stanley jovially twanged his red braces and launched into the song from Oliver!, ‘Consider yourself…’ Church gave him a good-natured swipe across the head.

‘All right, all right, Dodger, just calm down. I’m going to need you all to step out to the yard and do a little bit of “bump and lift” work for Tennison to observe. I’ll organise some teas all round and a few sandwiches whilst we’re out there.’

Jane was, in fact, observing how attractive DCI Church was, and noticed how much respect he had from the squad.

As they herded out of the room a tall, baby-faced officer stood beside Jane.

‘Don’t worry, I’m pretty new to all this as well. I’m DC Dunston, but they all call me Blondie.’

Jane thought he might be trying to distract her, and held her handbag tight to her side and checked her watch.

‘What’s bump and lift?’ she asked.

‘Sounds like a dance, doesn’t it? It’s the action Stanley and Maynard pulled on you earlier. Maynard distracted you with the push and when Stanley stopped you falling you thought he was helping you. He put pressure on your upper arm, again distracting you, then with his free hand he flicked your watch strap undone and slipped it from your wrist. At the same time, Maynard unzipped your handbag and took your warrant card.’

‘It all happened so quickly.’

‘That’s the way the dippers operate on the streets. This type of theft is a combination of distraction and misdirection, which gives the pickpocket just enough time to make the lift and walk away. If you think Stanley and Maynard were fast, the real dippers are like lightning…’

Jane nodded. ‘I’m certainly going to be wary when I’m out shopping from now on.’

They headed up a heavily worn stone staircase towards the back exit to the station yard.

Blondie continued, ‘There’s a lot to learn about the different distraction techniques and hand movements they use. There’s bump, grab and slip, fake lifts, oops sorry, and—’

‘Is there some sort of manual that I can read?’ Jane asked.

‘No manual, as such, but I’ve made my own list of distraction techniques and methods that the pickpockets use. You can have a copy if you want,’ Blondie offered as he held the back door open for her.

‘Thanks, that would be really helpful.’

‘The difficult part to follow is when one of the gang makes a lift and passes the goods to a “runner”, who then makes off with the property… sometimes they’ll pass a wallet or purse three or four times… it can be like a “guess who” game, and sometimes you end up stopping a suspect who’s empty-handed.’

They reached a small, stone-flagged yard surrounded by a high red-brick wall, with paint-peeled double gates and a run-down bicycle shed next to a row of aluminium dustbins.

‘It’s all much more complicated than I ever imagined. Do the suspects resist arrest?’

‘Sometimes. You need to be careful of the pickpockets who carry small razor blades to cut a rear pocket or handbag open. The cut is made against a wallet or handbag so the mark usually doesn’t feel a thing.’

Jane remembered an old case she’d been involved in.

‘At my previous station we had a bag-slasher who was using a switchblade. Is that the kind of weapon your pickpockets would use?’

‘Most pickpockets avoid using switchblades or flick knives… I know of only one occasion where an officer was cut, and that was just on his hand, by a razor blade. All in all, it’s interesting work and nicking a good team of pickpockets is really rewarding. Keeps Church happy if we get good results.’

An officer appeared with a tray of polystyrene cups and shouted ‘Tea’s up’. Maynard started to hand Jane a half-filled cup of tea. As she reached out to take it, he said. ‘We’re all having a break now, but here’s a word of warning: when you’re out working never be caught with a cup of anything in your hand. Let me show you why.’

Maynard gently bumped into Jane, causing some of the contents of her teacup to spill out. She immediately reached into her pocket for a tissue to mop it up, but Maynard produced a large handkerchief and started to pat down her jacket.

Stanley interjected. ‘Oh, come on, Maynard. Let’s get on with the real demonstrations. Tennison, just take it that you never carry any drinks whilst you’re on the job… it’s the easiest way for a pickpocket to distract and pinch the contents of your coat or jacket pockets whilst they are patting you dry.’

Church clapped his hands saying that the break was over, and it was time to demonstrate the various methods of distraction and misdirection. Although he was serious about the training there were several funny moments when officers, who took turns playing the mark, were oblivious to the fact that their wallet had been stolen. This was usually achieved by Stanley, who was the most adept at ‘dipping’, concealing his hand movements with a folded newspaper.

Jane was not the only victim. The team seemed to take great pleasure in removing Blondie’s wallet, not once but three times. When Stanley accidently dropped some loose change on the floor, Jane, without thinking, bent over to help pick up the coins. Whilst she was kneeling on the ground, Maynard stole Jane’s purse from her handbag.

‘I know what you’ve done,’ Jane said, raising her eyes upwards.

Maynard held his huge hands up, saying, ‘Search me! Search me!’ Jane watched as Stanley made a rugby pass of her leather coin purse across the yard, to be caught by Church on the other side. He held it up.

‘OK, fun’s over. Let’s get back inside.’ Church handed Jane her purse.

Inside, Church showed her a covert radio, which they would be using when they went out on the streets.

‘You have to learn how to listen. Stick with Stanley today to learn the basics. Here’s a list of the radio terms you need to memorise for future jobs.’ Church handed her a rather dirty page of typed radio terminology. Jane barely had time to glance at it before he continued, ‘You’ll be going on a surveillance operation this morning. We work it that when the suspect is in position and looks ready to jostle and do the business, such as nick a wallet or whatever, we move in so he’s surrounded and nicked as soon as he commits the theft. But, in this instance this is an ongoing case: we’re looking out for our suspect’s pals as they’re working in a team and we need to act fast to see who he’s palming off the gear to. I won’t be satisfied with just bringing in one of them. We all have concealed radios, so we cross communicate during the follow and when the arrest takes place, we’ve got a wagon on standby. If it’s a good arrest, often the intended victim hasn’t a clue what just happened. Are you with me?’

‘Er, yes, sir, I do understand… I had to study powers of arrest in my probation. I’m just wondering if you’re going to use me as some kind of decoy, being that I’m the only female on the team?’

Everyone laughed at Jane’s remark as Church picked up the report sheet he had been handing out.

‘Before we can use you as a decoy, you need to get up to speed on exactly how we work, Tennison. I hope there’ll be plenty of opportunities in the future for us to use your feminine attributes…

‘We’ve got this guy in our sights and he’s been nicking gear left, right and centre. Yesterday, Stanley was able to confirm that it’s a three-man unit. So, we’re going to use all our tactics to nab the lot of them. First up, we need to find today’s victim. The thieves seem to work around midday at Oxford Street underground station or during evening rush hour. That means access to shoppers with money… you got that big exclusive store, Liberty, on the corner, and tourists shelling out big money all along Regent Street.’

‘Do you have any surveillance pictures or mugshots of the suspects I can have?’ Jane asked.

Again, there was laughter amongst the team.

‘That’s not how the Dip Squad works, Tennison! There’re loads of mugshots in that big album on the desk, far too many to carry round with us. It takes time, but we memorise photographs and descriptions, then go by eyeball on the street. You’ve got to understand that these guys work in a team. You can see them stalling or distracting a victim… they could have a newspaper concealing their hands, or you can have one of them acting like a helpful stranger whilst their mate is nicking gear out of the victim’s handbag. They can get a watch off your wrist and you wouldn’t feel a thing. Give her description of the bloke you got a look at, Stanley.’

‘I’d say he could be Spanish or Italian. He had dark, greasy hair, with shifty eyes and bad acne. He wears a big double-breasted overcoat and thick crêpe-soled shoes. He can move like lightening.’

Church clapped his hands. ‘OK, Stanley, take our new girl out with you and your guys and meet up back here when you’ve got them bang to rights.’

Accompanied by Stanley, Maynard and two other officers, Jane left the squalid office. She thought they would be using a patrol car to drive to their destination but instead they caught a bus. She was now beginning to have severe doubts about what she had got herself into. The Dip Squad acted like day trippers. They laughed and joked with each other at the bus stop, and when they got on board and herded up the stairs to sit on the top deck, Stanley squashed into a seat beside her. He had overpowering BO and looked so scruffy that Jane had a moment of horror that someone she knew might get on to the bus and wonder what on earth she was doing sitting beside a tramp.

‘You seen anything of Spencer Gibbs since his Hackney days?’ Stanley asked, rolling a cigarette.

‘Not for a while. He was at Bow Street, we worked together on a murder, but he was transferred whilst I was on my CID course.’

‘I heard he was getting pissed every night.’

‘No, he wasn’t. I mean, you were there… you know the terrible events at Hackney hit him badly. He was very close to DCI Bradfield.’

‘Yeah, that was a bad time — and as for that lovely Kath Morgan… At least we got the bastards. Clifford Bentley went down for thirty years. He’ll die inside. Good riddance.’

Jane nodded as Stanley licked his cigarette paper.

‘So, what brings you to the Dip Squad? What fuck-up got you foisted on us?’

She straightened in her seat.

‘No fuck-up, actually… I asked to be transferred. I was told that it could be a way in to the Flying Squad.’

Stanley laughed. ‘Yeah, and pigs might fly, sweetheart! You’re only with us because we need a good-looking stooge to attract dippers. Added to that, the blokes on this unit are ahead of you in the pecking order. Well, most of them. Some got moved to the Dip Squad from the Sweeney because of one screw-up after another…’ He saw the disappointment on her face and added in a gentler tone, ‘We get better overtime in the Dip Squad, anyway.’

Stanley lit his roll-up, then stuck it in the side of his mouth as he checked his radio’s speaker and told Jane to double-check hers.

‘A lot of our equipment is bloody useless and outdated. Flying Squad gets the new gear and we get their hand-me-downs.’

Jane glanced at him. ‘How come you’re with the Dip Squad?’

‘Rapped over the knuckles, darlin’, for being a naughty boy. Besides, I like Jimmy Church — I rate him. But a word of warning: don’t get on the wrong side of him… and his sidekick, DS George Maynard, is also a piece of work. You think it’s his duffel coat makes him look well built, but he’s solid muscle underneath it, and he can throw one hell of a punch.’

Jane was desperately trying to take it all on board, and wasn’t sure how to respond. Stanley turned away from her as if he didn’t want to talk anymore, his roll-up cigarette still stuck between his lips, getting damper and smaller. Why on earth had she left the relative comforts of Bow Street?

After half an hour they piled off the bus in Regent Street and made their way towards Oxford Circus underground station. Jane thought they could have walked there faster. The four of them kept their distance from one another as they looked up and down the street for any suspects. Stanley was next to Jane when he spoke over his radio.

‘Looks like a male suspect from our mugshots heading down into the Underground. Early twenties, tanned face, dark-haired, unshaven, wearing a leather coat.’

Jane pressed her radio earpiece further into her left ear, and checked the mouthpiece was securely attached to her wrist — the wires were hidden along her jacket sleeve and attached to the radio in her pocket.

Stanley nudged her. ‘Radios are bloody useless in the Underground, we go by hand signals, just stick close to me, OK?’

Jane nodded as she followed Stanley down into the Underground. They flashed their warrant cards to the ticket guard, who let them through, and moved on to the escalator, with the other two officers close behind. The southbound Central line platform was crowded with passengers waiting for the next train, it was hard to see through the throng of people as they moved along the platform, keeping their distance from the suspect.

Jane glanced around cautiously and saw the suspect moving in behind a well-dressed man in an unbuttoned camel coat, carrying a briefcase. The man had just taken out a thick wallet and checked something before replacing it inside his coat pocket. Stanley looked at his colleagues, nodded, then touched his eye with his index finger and discreetly pointed to the suspect.

One of the other officers repeated the same signals to Stanley and Jane as a young, tanned, dark-haired man with acne wearing a leather coat slipped in casually to stand beside the target. Jane spotted him glance almost imperceptibly to his right, where an older, grey-haired man in an expensive-looking black raincoat was also moving slowly towards the target. Each undercover officer discreetly confirmed they had eyeballed these three men as possible dippers.

Even though she was watching for it, Jane almost didn’t see the dip. As the unshaven man in the leather coat jostled the victim and lifted his wallet, his two sidekicks moved in, ready to palm it. Stanley and his team stepped in to collar them. The victim, surprised by their sudden appearance, dropped his briefcase. An approaching train screeched in the tunnel, and Jane found herself being pushed backwards by the crowd towards the tracks. She teetered on the edge of the platform as a train thundered towards her. Stanley saw her at the last minute and dragged her to safety.

As the train came to a halt and passengers began to stream onto the platform, it became clear that the pincer move had gone astray. The other officers chased after the two younger suspects but the grey-haired man in the black raincoat managed to get onto the train. The doors closed behind him before Stanley or Jane could fight free of the crowd.

Stanley turned to the badly shaken Jane.

‘What the hell do you think you were doing? Haven’t you got any bloody sense? You should never stand with your back to the tracks!’

‘I’m sorry. I thought they were going to steal his briefcase when he put it down on the platform…’

‘They were after his wallet, Tennison! I thought, after seeing all those demos in the yard earlier, you’d understand what we were doing? Thanks to you, we’ve now lost the guy who was probably running this show… that grey-haired man in the black raincoat was our prime suspect.’

Stanley ran his hands through his hair in frustration. His expression cleared a little. ‘Well, I expect the team have arrested the other two, and I am sure they’ll have retrieved the stolen wallet. No thanks to you, Tennison. DCI Church is not going to be a happy man.’

Jane was crestfallen. ‘Sorry, Stanley.’

‘We’ll get the victim back to the station and take his statement.’

By early evening the whole team were in Shepherd’s Bush. Miguel’s information had brought them to a rundown premises situated above a seedy Moroccan café. From where she stood across the road with the rest of the Dip Squad, Jane could see it was lit inside by red paper lanterns and decorated with a garish Middle Eastern carpet. The charity shop next door had been boarded up. A notice hanging on the graffiti-daubed boards read ‘NO JUNK MAIL — OPEN AT WEEKENDS ONLY’.

Two patrol cars pulled up by the group. Handcuffed, Miguel sat fretfully in the back seat of the front car looking out at his uncle’s building.

Stanley leant through the front passenger window to talk to Church. ‘According to my Moroccan friend who runs the café there, an older man entered the premises at around 4.30 p.m. As you can see, there are lights on in the first and second floors. There’s a back yard, but it belongs to this junk shop… and is full of junk. Fire safety would have a field day here… there’s no fire escape or back exit. The only way in and out is through the front door.’

Church turned around to look at Miguel in the back seat. ‘When you open the main front door and go up the stairs, is there another door at the top of the stairs?’

Miguel looked blankly back at him.

‘Front door… stairs…’ Church mimed a stair-climbing action with his fingers. ‘Second door?’

‘No… only front door,’ Miguel replied.

Church opened the passenger door and climbed out of the patrol car.

‘Stanley, see if you can gain entry. Jane, Blondie, Maynard… I want you to follow me.’

He instructed the other Dip Squad officers to wait in place outside until the first group had gone in. Stanley jemmied open the front door. The threadbare brown carpet on the steep wooden stairs muffled the sound of their steps as they moved upwards. When they reached the top of the staircase they could hear the muted sound of a television set.

Church shouted: ‘Go, go, go! This is the police! Stay where you are! I have a search warrant for these premises.’

A startled man appeared in the doorway of a room at the end of the corridor and quickly retreated as Stanley, Church and Maynard rushed towards him. Dunston pushed open the nearest bedroom door, with Jane behind him. The scene that confronted them shocked Jane to the core. Regina was tied to a bed, naked and gagged, her hands bound together to the metal bedstead and her legs tied apart so they were open. The man who had escaped from them in the Underground was having sex with Regina. He quickly rolled off her, hampered by his trousers and underpants, still halfway down his legs.

Jane was sickened by what she saw. Enraged, she ran at the semi-dressed man, kicking him as hard as she could in the groin. He collapsed in agony onto his knees, raising one hand in a plea for her to stop, but she kicked him again. Dunston pulled Jane to one side.

‘That’s enough, Jane. He’s scum and ain’t worth getting in trouble over.’

Dunston quickly handcuffed the suspect, dragging him out of the room. Jane went swiftly over to the bed to untie Regina, who was writhing in terror and attempting to scream through her gag.

‘Bloody hell — it’s all going on in here,’ Maynard said. He and Stanley were standing in the doorway, taking in the scene. ‘Church has just arrested Andres Hernandez at the end of the corridor.’

‘Get out… Get out!’ Jane screamed, still struggling with Regina’s bonds. Released from her gag, the girl was in floods of tears.

‘Back off, you two!’ Church said sternly behind Maynard and Stanley.

When Jane released her, Regina didn’t move; she was clearly in a state of shock. Jane sat on the bed next to her and gently wrapped a blanket around the young girl’s shoulders.

‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘Está bien, Regina. You’re safe now. We are police officers… policía, somos la policía. Those men won’t ever touch you again… Esos hombres no te tocarán nunca más.’

Regina was in no condition to speak, but Jane could tell from the way she clung to her that the girl knew she was safe in Jane’s arms.

Jane ate breakfast in her dressing gown, then put on a suit and a clean, pressed shirt. She coiled her hair into a pleat and, on looking in the mirror, was satisfied that she was smart enough for her court appearance. It wasn’t even seven yet, so she thought she would contact the Dip Squad at Vine Street to find out if they had a more accurate time schedule for her to be at the court. She dialled the number for the station, but the phone rang without anyone answering. She wasn’t sure whether she should go to Vine Street or straight to Bow Street Court, so decided to wait and then try calling again. Whilst she was waiting she put together an advert, writing it out neatly on two cards — one for the newsagents and, remembering Edith’s advice, one to pin up at one of the nearest colleges.

It was almost seven forty-five when she called the station again. This time the phone was answered by a gruff voice, which she recognised as Stanley’s. Jane asked him if there had been an allocated time for her court appearance.

‘Christ! I dunno, Tennison.’ Stanley sounded groggy. ‘They don’t sit until after ten, so just make your way over there. It could be hours before you get called so you’ll just have to wait it out.’

Jane had a strong suspicion that Stanley had spent the night in the office sleeping off a hangover. She thought he had a nerve talking about Spencer Gibbs’ drinking when it was obvious he had been hitting the bottle himself.

Jane went into the newsagents and paid fifty pence for her advertisement card to be displayed in the window for one week. As she walked to Baker Street tube, she decided that, as the magistrate’s court was close to Bow Street station, she would pop in and maybe have breakfast with Edith in the canteen.

Jane took the Circle line from Baker Street and changed at King’s Cross St Pancras to take the Piccadilly line to Covent Garden. From there it was just a short walk to the Bow Street station.

It was eight thirty when Jane arrived at Covent Garden station, right at the peak of the early morning rush hour. There were groans from the other passengers when they saw that the lift wasn’t working, but Jane didn’t mind as she wasn’t in any great hurry. She followed the throng of people walking up the 193 steps of the spiral staircase, trying her best not to bump into the people heading down the stairs in the opposite direction. Behind her was a woman with a pushchair and a baby in her arms.

‘Can I help you?’ Jane asked.

‘Oh, yes please, thank you, love. These lifts here are always out of order.’

Jane carried the pushchair, and as there were so many people up ahead of her, they moved very slowly. On reaching the top stair she unfolded the pushchair so the woman could put her baby in the seat. Jane paused at the ticket barriers to search her handbag for her warrant card. The area surrounding the faulty lift was heaving with people moving in both directions, and a guard was on duty checking and taking tickets. Behind Jane were queues of passengers waiting impatiently to show their tickets so they could leave the station, and she found herself being pushed forward.

The guard shouted, ‘Please do NOT push! We apologise for the lifts being out of order and ask for your patience. Please proceed in an orderly manner through the ticket barriers!’

Jane made her way through the ticket barrier and out into the packed foyer.

‘Excuse me, sir, you forgot your bag.’

Jane turned to see an elderly woman pointing to a rucksack that had been left on the floor next to the ticket box.

‘Hey, you left your bag!’ the woman repeated. Jane followed her gaze and caught sight of a man wearing a hooded winter coat, walking away with his head down. Instead of turning to acknowledge the old lady he pushed people out of his way as he hurried towards the Long Lane exit.

‘I just saw him put it down!’ the woman said loudly.

Jane hesitated. Was it just a mistake, and the man had simply not heard the woman calling out to him? She hurried after him, in the hope of stopping him and reuniting him with his bag.

‘Excuse me, sir! I’m a police officer and…’

The man kept on moving quickly through the throng of people and Jane picked up her pace as she called out for him to stop. Just as he reached the exit, Jane managed to grab hold of his sleeve. He half turned towards her and she had a momentary glimpse of his profile, but he twisted out of her grasp, batting her away. He pushed people aside as he ran out of the station. Jane stumbled backwards, and then turned to look for the abandoned rucksack. She could feel the panic rising as she realised it had gone, but then calmed down as she reassured herself that the old lady must have been mistaken and the real owner had picked it up.

Jane turned around in a circle, searching for anyone carrying the rucksack. Then she saw the ticket barrier guard holding it against his chest, heading towards the guards’ office. She immediately sensed that something was very wrong. For a second she was paralysed with fear, but then she started pushing people aside and screamed at the guard to put the rucksack down, shouting for everyone to evacuate the area. Some people began to run. But it was too late.

The sound of the explosion was horrific. A ball of flame mixed with shattered glass and metal filled the air, followed by dense smoke which consumed the lift and ticket area.

A huge man blocked Jane and unintentionally shielded her from the blast and flying debris, but his weight pushed her to the ground. Jane was completely dazed, and her ears throbbed with a high-pitched whine. A thick cloud of black smoke quickly filled the air, making it hard to breathe. There were screams of terror from people trying to escape and the pitiful cries of those who had been injured was like a terrible nightmare.

Choking, Jane staggered to her feet, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket to cover her mouth. The ticket guard’s body had been blown apart, and amongst the mass of gasping, terrified people, Jane could make out the body of the old lady lying on the ground. She was badly injured, her leg virtually severed below the knee. Jane stumbled towards her but stopped as she spotted the overturned pushchair that she had carried up the stairs. The woman lay face down in a pool of blood with what looked like a severe head injury. Jane looked around frantically for the baby. She turned the pushchair over, but it was empty. She looked around anxiously and suddenly heard muffled cries from near the woman’s body. She had to push her way past people who were still desperately trying to get out of the station. Jane bent down and turned the woman over. The baby was beneath her, covered in its mother’s blood. Jane felt for the woman’s pulse — she was still alive. She eased the infant out from underneath its mother’s body and held it in her arms. There were no obvious injuries.

It wasn’t long before uniformed officers were at the scene and herding terrified people out of the station, and Jane shouted that she was a police officer. She put the baby into the pushchair and took one of the baby’s blankets, folding it to place beneath the mother’s head. A man bent down to assist her as more officers entered the station, and in the background she heard the sound of ambulances and fire engines approaching.

Now she was sure that the baby was safe and that the mother was being looked after, Jane made her way towards the old lady. She was bleeding profusely from her injured leg. There was too much blood. Jane took off her belt and used it as a tourniquet, wrapping it tightly around the old lady’s thigh. She was conscious but in great pain.

‘What’s your name?’ Jane asked.

‘Daphne. I’ll be all right, love,’ the old lady murmured. ‘You go and help the woman with the baby.’

Jane looked back and saw two ambulance attendants lifting the young woman onto a stretcher. She called out to let them know that it was the mother of the child in the pushchair. One of the attendants acknowledged Jane and rushed over to lift the baby into the ambulance with the mother. Then she used all her strength to tighten the belt some more around Daphne’s thigh.

‘Did you see the man who left that rucksack?’

‘Yes, I called out to him… I saw him,’ she whispered.

‘Would you be able to recognise him again?’

‘Yes…’ she gasped, and her head fell forwards as she passed out.

Jane knew they had to get Daphne to hospital quickly as she had lost a lot of blood.

‘Over here!’ Jane shouted to an ambulance man who came over and knelt beside the victim. ‘I made a tourniquet the best I could to try and stem the blood flow.’ As they lifted Daphne on to a stretcher, she added, ‘I’ll come with you.’

She shouted to another police officer that she was going with the old woman to hospital. She climbed into the ambulance next to her as she was being given CPR. Daphne’s eyes flickered open and she reached for Jane’s hand.

‘Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me… I have no one…’

Jane was unable to question her further. The ambulance man placed a mask over Daphne’s face and instructed Jane to sit further away so they could monitor the old lady’s breathing.

They arrived at St Thomas’ Hospital on the south side of Westminster Bridge in Lambeth. Jane waited in the A & E department as they began working on the old lady’s injuries. It was mayhem. More and more injured people were being brought in and doctors were being called down from all the other wards to assist. The area was filled with the sound of pained cries and weeping, nurses and doctors rushed between the cubicles, and gurneys were hurriedly wheeled up to the operating theatres. Jane watched helplessly as the devastating aftermath swamped the hospital.

A young woman doctor swished back the curtain surrounding the cubicle Daphne had been wheeled into. Jane jumped up and made her way towards her.

‘I am DC Jane Tennison. Could you give me an update on Daphne’s progress?’

‘We need to amputate her leg. It’ll be touch and go if she survives…’

‘Did you get her surname?’

‘No. She’s been unconscious ever since she came in… Excuse me, I’m needed in the cubicle next door.’

Jane watched as the gurney was wheeled out to go up to the operating theatre. Daphne seemed so tiny and vulnerable lying beneath her blanket. As Jane turned to leave, the young doctor pulled aside the curtain from the cubicle next door. A nurse came out carrying the baby Jane had placed in the pushchair after the explosion. The child was screaming, wrapped in a bloodstained sheet.

‘She’s fine, doctor… but I’m afraid the mother…’

The doctor leaned over the bed and slowly drew up the blood-soaked sheet to cover the young mother’s face. Jane put her hands over her ears; sounds were becoming distorted. The baby crying, the screams and shouts… It was a while before Jane could move away from the panic-stricken scene surrounding her. Hospital staff attempted to identify the incoming injured as yet more victims kept on arriving. The nurses and doctors moved with a weary efficiency; this was not the first bomb they had had to deal with and they were used to managing the aftermath. Jane knew there was nothing she could do at the hospital. She would only be in the way if she stayed.

The traffic outside the A & E department was chaotic with ambulances. The road leading to the hospital was almost at a standstill due to the explosion and Jane had no option but to walk to Bow Street. Her mind was frozen, and she kept stopping to take deep breaths to calm herself down. It was impossible to make sense of such terrible violence, of the murder of innocent people who had been going about their everyday lives.

Jane knew that the man who had unintentionally shielded her must have suffered serious injuries, or most likely had been killed. She could still hear the cries of the baby in her head like a tormented echo, and tried to understand what it would mean to the young woman’s husband and her family. She had to force herself to keep on walking, unaware that her clothes were covered in thick, filthy plaster dust. One sleeve of her jacket was torn, and her face and hair were covered with blood and dirt.

‘I should get to court…’ Jane muttered. She kept on walking, in an almost zombie-like manner, until she reached Bow Street Magistrates Court. By now it was midday. She entered the court foyer in the hope of seeing someone from the Dip Squad, but the area was empty. She went to the door leading to the police officers side of the court, and when the sliding hatch opened she showed her warrant card.

On seeing the state that she was in the court sergeant opened the door.

‘Dear God! Are you all right, luv?’

‘Yes… I’m sorry I’m late but I got caught up in the explosion at Covent Garden and then I had to go to the hospital with some of the injured—’

‘Well, the court cases have all been put off for the day.’

‘I’m here for the bail objection to—’

‘Come with me, luv. Come on, now.’

The sergeant led her into a police waiting room and explained that because of the bomb incident her two prisoners had not been brought into court, and they were still at Vine Street Police station.

Jane sat in a daze as he brought her a cup of tea and then produced a small hip flask of brandy. He poured a nip of it into Jane’s mug and a larger one into his own.

‘Did anyone from the Dip Squad turn up for the hearing?’ Jane asked.

‘No. Tell me, are you new to that team?’ The sergeant seemed to sense that Jane couldn’t process the morning’s events and let her change the subject.

‘Yes, it was my first day yesterday.’

‘So, you nicked those two pickpockets, did you?’

Jane turned away from him. It was difficult for her to even contemplate what had occurred on her first day. It was a lot more than two pickpocketers. It made her think about Regina and the whole unpleasant discovery of what the young girl had been subjected to. On top of the shocking events she had just been through, she felt nauseous at remembering the sight of Regina stripped naked and being sexually abused.

The sergeant saw she was having difficulty talking, so he wagged his finger and said, ‘I’ll bet that Dip Squad bunch were all out on the piss last night to celebrate.’

She nodded. She’d left them in the bar drinking, celebrating not so much the arrests, but the news that they’d be able to hand over the paperwork to the Vice Squad.

Jane took a long sip of the tea and felt the brandy warming her, although her hand was still shaking badly.

The court sergeant was white-haired and overweight, with a long service history and experience. There was nothing he didn’t know about the various squads but he had no notion about what had happened the previous night.

‘When that lot make an arrest, they act as though they’ve clobbered the old-time villains like the Krays. Arresting the dirtbags who are nicking stuff is hardly worth the aggro, but you gotta do what you gotta to do to try and protect the public from them. I was nicking dippers while most of the squad were still at school. Those squad lads are all too big for their boots… they usually draw straws for who’s going to remain sober to be in court the following morning. I’d say, as you were on your first day, they gave you the short straw… this morning they’ll all have hangovers, and the magistrate is a teetotaller who gets nasty if he even smells a whiff of alcohol.’

Jane smiled wanly as she drained her mug and handed it to him.

‘Thank you for your time… and I appreciate that nip of brandy.’

The sergeant tapped his bulbous nose. ‘It’s between you and me, luv… and if you want some advice, you call in UC — uncertified sick — and get home now. You’ve obviously had one hell of a morning and you may think you’ve got it all sorted, but then it comes back and hits you like a sledgehammer. Go home.’

Jane was escorted out of the court, but she had no intention of going home. She hailed a taxi to take her to Vine Street and sat back trying to compose herself. At least she had stopped shaking.

The Dip Squad team gathered around a small colour TV. The basement office had poor reception, and Stanley was holding up the aerial trying to get a decent picture. The other men were all yelling different instructions, and eventually he stood up on a chair.

‘How is it now?’

‘Just stay up on the chair,’ Jimmy Church said.

On the screen the news reporter was standing outside Covent Garden station. He announced that the IRA were suspected of being responsible for the bomb, even though the usual coded warning had not been sent prior to the explosion.

They all remained silent as they listened to the reporter confirming that there had been many fatalities and a huge number of people injured. Church gestured for Stanley to get down from the chair.

‘Bastards!’ Stanley snapped.

‘Do we know how many fatalities there are yet?’ asked Blondie.

‘Not yet,’ Church said. ‘They haven’t released any information, but it was rush hour at Covent Garden. I’m guessing there will be quite a few.’

There was an uneasy tension in the room. Church spotted yesterday’s arrest reports on his desk.

He wasn’t exactly changing the subject, but at the same time, work had to commence. ‘The Hernandez case: did Miguel get to see his sister, Regina?’

‘Yeah, he was taken over to St Thomas’ hospital around midnight, but she was heavily medicated. The doctor at the hospital wanted to keep her in overnight for observation. Miguel’s back in the cells upstairs, but even if he pleads guilty, with no previous against him, he’ll make bail. The leather-coated yob, Matías Agatha, probably likewise,’ said Dunston.

‘What about the uncle, any word on him?’

‘All I know is he seems to have friends in high places. The Vice Squad will keep us updated,’ Stanley confirmed.

There was a pause in the room as the television reception cleared up just as the one o’clock news came on. It began with a broadcast of new footage from the bomb scene.

‘Dear God, that was some explosion.’ Church looked at his watch. ‘Where’s Tennison? Anybody seen her this morning? Stanley, call the court and see if she showed up.’

‘I already did, sir… she wasn’t there.’

Despite his hangover, Stanley had felt concerned when Tennison failed to show.

‘Well, does anybody know where she is?’

‘I took a call from her early this morning,’ Stanley said. ‘She was asking about what time the magistrates got into court.’

‘But you just said you contacted the court and she hadn’t showed.’

‘That’s right, Guv, but she sort of implied that she was on her way there.’

Church was looking really concerned. ‘Has anyone called the section house, or her parents?’

At that moment, Jane walked into the room. Everyone stared at her. It was obvious from her dishevelled appearance that she had been at Covent Garden.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ Stanley exclaimed, not intending to sound angry.

Jane snapped at him, ‘I spoke to you earlier this morning, so you should have known precisely where I was. You stitched me up with the court case and I nearly got killed because I was at Covent Garden—’

‘Come on, I was just being facetious… just calm down. You’re here and obviously safe. It was just bad luck that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. We were all really worried about you… but you aren’t dead, so everything’s OK…’

‘Shut up, Stanley,’ said Church. He gestured for Jane to follow him into his office.

Jane glared at Stanley and looked coldly at the rest of the shame-faced team. She tossed her briefcase onto a desk and went into DCI Church’s cramped office. Slamming the door behind her, she said, ‘I called here before I left for the court, and I was at Covent Garden underground station—’

‘Sit down, Tennison.’ Church pulled out a chair, tipping off a bundle of files onto the floor. ‘We were concerned about you. You should have called us from the court to say you were OK. We were told you hadn’t turned up.’

‘Nor did the two men we arrested yesterday.’

‘I know… I know that. But we were not to know what had happened. Stanley called the section house, and I was about to contact your father to find out where you were.’

‘I was at the underground station when the bomb went off, and I was so close to the explosion. There was an old lady called Daphne, who I’m sure saw whoever it was that left the device… but she was badly injured. Afterwards I did what I could to help the other injured people, and I accompanied Daphne to the hospital.’ Jane was speaking so quickly she barely stopped to draw breath. ‘I wanted to see if she could give me any details, but she was unconscious and was taken up to the operating theatre. So, I went to the court much later than I was told to be there.’

Jane found herself hyperventilating, the stress of the events catching up as she tried desperately to process the explosion and aftermath at the same time her words tumbled out about the court case, arrests and all the events of the past twenty-four hours.

‘All right… all right. Now, I’m going to get you a cup of coffee, and maybe you should call your parents? Use my phone. This has been all over the news, so if you use that underground station a lot, it’s best to let them know you’re OK. Then you’re to go home and take the rest of the day off.’

When Church left the room, Jane tried to calm down. Eventually she picked up the desk phone and dialled her parents. The number was engaged. Just as she replaced the receiver DCI Church walked in carrying a mug of coffee.

‘Here you go. I put a couple of sugars in it, but I didn’t know if you needed them so I haven’t stirred. Bad scene, eh?’

She looked at him. DCI Church’s gentle manner confused her. There was such compassion beneath the simple enquiry. For a moment she thought he was going to embrace her but instead he patted her shoulder. ‘Tell me about it when you are ready, but don’t bottle things up. If you want to talk about it further, I’m here and the whole team is here for you, too.’

She turned away, desperate to change the subject.

‘Will the two men we arrested be in court tomorrow morning?’

‘No idea. Don’t waste a moment thinking about them.’

‘I was thinking about the young girl, Regina.’

‘She’s being well looked after. And the Vice Squad are now handling that douchebag Uncle Andres. It seems he has contacts — he’s already organised his own legal representation.’

‘But what about all the passports, the young girls the same age as Regina?’

Church could feel the panic behind her innocuous enquiries, so his response was quiet. ‘It’s not our problem… it’s down to the Vice Squad sorting it.’

He left her in the office to finish the coffee. It was strong, soothing, but her hand was shaking again so she stayed sitting for a while. It was not until she had drained the mug that she felt a bit more in control. She stood up and dusted down her jacket, examining the torn sleeve. She felt much calmer as she walked out into the main office. There was no one around and Jane picked up her briefcase. She had no intention of going back to her flat.

Jane took the tube to New Scotland Yard. The Underground was busy, everyone refusing to let yesterday’s explosion change their way of life. She was impressed by London’s resilience to the IRA attack. Only a day after the horrific explosion everything was up and running, and throngs of people were still using public transport to get to work.

As requested by DCI Crowley, when Jane arrived at New Scotland Yard she showed her warrant card and was told that the Bomb Squad offices were on the seventh floor. She took the lift and walked along the corridor until she came to DCI Crowley’s office.

Jane knocked on the door and it opened sharply. Crowley gestured her in.

‘This is WDC Jane Tennison,’ he announced, and waved an arm at the other man in the room. ‘Commander Gregson.’

Gregson rose from his seat behind a modern desk and shook Jane’s hand. There were numerous files neatly laid out alongside a telephone and notebook, with a large leather-edged blotting pad and a row of pens. The commander was austere and slim and wore an immaculate suit, unlike Crowley, whose clothes were crumpled. He looked as if he had been up all night.

‘Take a seat, Tennison,’ said Crowley, as he sat down himself. ‘How are you feeling after the bombing incident?’

‘I’m fine, thank you, sir. I’m here to give a statement about it.’

‘You read the papers this morning, WDC Tennison?’

‘No, sir.’

Gregson looked at Crowley and drew a file towards him.

‘There was a photojournalist who was exiting the station at the time of the explosion. He took a fair few photographs of you tending to the injured, and of you getting into the ambulance. You accompanied an elderly woman to St Thomas’?’

‘Yes, I did, sir.’ Jane looked from one man to the other. ‘Is there a problem with me going to the hospital, sir?’

‘No, but what is a major problem is this.’

Gregson passed over a copy of a tabloid article. The heading read:

IRA BLAMES WOMAN POLICE OFFICER FOR COVENT GARDEN EXPLOSION

Shocked, Jane couldn’t speak. There was a large photograph of her getting into the ambulance at Covent Garden station.

Gregson lit a cigarette.

‘I’ll give you the gist of the article: the newspaper received a phone call from a man with an Irish accent using a code name known only to the newspapers and the Bomb Squad. As you probably know, we usually get a call, with a coded warning before an IRA bomb goes off, thus giving us time to try and evacuate civilians and reduce any possible casualties.’

‘I don’t understand…’ Jane said, feeling her stomach churning.

Crowley pulled at his tie.

‘The caller told the paper that the plan was to make the coded call after the bomb was left at Covent Garden. But he says that an off-duty policewoman tried to apprehend their Active Service Unit member, and when she grabbed his arm she triggered the detonator he was holding in his pocket.’

‘That’s not true! Yes, I followed him as he left the station, but I barely touched his sleeve before he swiped my hand away — the bomb went off at least a minute later. By then I’d already moved back into the ticket area of the station.’

Crowley got up and put his hands on her shoulders.

‘It’s all right, just stay calm. No one is blaming you, Tennison. The IRA will know there’s a big public outcry coming down because they didn’t give a coded warning. The IRA look for a way to pacify their sympathisers, especially the ones in the US who support them, and they’ll be worried about losing their backing.’

Crowley looked at Gregson, who stubbed out his cigarette.

‘They needed a scapegoat, so they’re using you.’

‘But if I hadn’t warned people, there would have been more fatalities.’

‘It’s possible the suspect set the bomb off early in a panic. Whatever happened, it was a blatant act of terrorism, an attempt to bring mass fear to the streets of London.’

‘The press has been on to us,’ Crowley interjected, glancing at Gregson. ‘They’re trying to find out if the IRA’s allegation bears any truth. They’ve been asking us to name the police officer concerned. We’ve said that the matter is under investigation and the primary fact is that the IRA detonated the bomb and murdered innocent civilians.’

‘But where does that leave me, sir? I don’t know what I would do if the public thought that I was to blame in any way.’

Gregson moved to sit on the edge of the desk and face Jane.

‘Our concern is that someone might identify you from the photographs in the newspaper and reveal your identity to the press. I have every intention of countering the allegation and want the public to be aware of what scum the IRA are. I want this to cause unrest amongst their supporters. To that end…’

He paused to light another cigarette and inhaled deeply before he continued.

‘I want you to appear in a police press conference here at the Yard, stating what happened and the carnage you found yourself surrounded by. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, and we’re not going to allow the IRA to blame the Met for this.

Jane drew in a breath, her heart racing.

Crowley could see she was worried. ‘We want the public to recognise the brave side of policing and see what underhanded lies the IRA will spread to further their cause. I want you to describe in detail the event, and I will make an appeal for assistance from the public. Your actions may make someone step forward with vital information to help identify the suspect.’

Jane didn’t have the chance to reply, as there was a knock on the door and DCI Church walked in, apologising for his late arrival.

‘It took longer than I anticipated to brief all my officers on their new surveillance duties in the aftermath of the explosion.’

Gregson shook Church’s hand, and Crowley acknowledged him with a nod. Church, seeing that Jane was shaken, rested his hand on her shoulder.

‘Are you all right, Tennison?’

She nodded. Gregson turned to sit down behind the desk.

‘DCI Church is aware of the newspaper headline,’ Gregson told Jane, and then added for Church’s benefit, ‘I have just explained that we are organising a press conference this afternoon, using WDC Tennison as the front person, and—’

‘Hang on a minute,’ Church inerrupted angrily. ‘Have you also explained the risk Tennison is taking if she does this?’

‘We were just about to do that when you came in, Jimmy. The press conference will no doubt piss the IRA off. There is, of course, a danger of a reprisal from them, against Tennison…’

Church leant forward. ‘Does Tennison also have the right to refuse to participate in the press conference?’

Jane looked from one man to the other; Gregson stared at her. ‘I believe you are agreeable to taking part?’

Jane didn’t have time to reply as Crowley gestured with his hand.

‘Remember, all of you, that mainland UK police officers are not considered legitimate targets for the IRA.’

‘So, what does that make civilians?’ Church asked, facetiously.

The three men talked across Jane as if she wasn’t in the room, becoming more argumentative as they spoke.

‘Listen, the reason the terrorists give coded warnings is to minimise civilian targets. They give a warning very close to when they intend the bomb to be set off to delay any bomb disposal teams discovering the device. They consider themselves to be an army, not terrorists, and they want to instil fear in the public.’

‘Jesus Christ, you sound like you’re on their side!’ Church snapped.

‘I fuckin’ resent that!’ Crowley shouted back.

Gregson rose to his feet. ‘Come on, now, let’s desist with this petty bickering. It is WDC Tennison’s decision and hers alone. So maybe we should all just let her have some time to think about it.’

‘I want to do it,’ Jane said firmly. ‘On the condition, and with your assurance, that my family will be protected.’

Gregson eagerly shook her hand. He was keen to get everything organised.

‘Thank you, WDC Tennison. I’ll green light the press conference for this afternoon at the Yard. In the meantime, DCI Crowley will brief you on what you should say. He will also take a detailed statement from you about yesterday’s events, and your brave part in trying to apprehend the suspect.’

As Gregson left, the room fell silent for a moment. Crowley looked over at the still-angry DCI Church, then glanced at his watch.

‘Let me arrange for some refreshments whilst you discuss your squad’s new detail with Tennison.’

Crowley walked out and DCI Church moved around the desk to sit in front of Jane.

‘Commander Gregson has ordered the Dip Squad to utilise their skills by patrolling the Underground and main West End shopping areas, to look for possible IRA bomb suspects. We’re already attending yesterday’s scene looking for any explosive devices left nearby, but the bomb squad have their own forensic unit and have gathered evidence to be sent over to the lab at Woolwich.’

Jane looked up at him. ‘Do you know if anyone found Daphne’s handbag at the station? I mean the other witness?’

Church shook his head. ‘Nobody’s mentioned it to me if they have. The Dip Squad’s involved because they’re trained to detect any suspicious movements or body language. Crowley has his teams out searching for possible safe houses, and they’ll be setting up raids utilising armed officers to carry them out.’

‘Will I still be working with the Dip Squad?’

‘Just don’t jump the gun, Tennison. This morning Crowley requested that you be assigned to a desk job with the bomb squad, until the IRA active service unit’s members arrested.’

‘But I want to be on active duty!’

‘There’s no way that can happen.’

‘Why not? I’m doing the bomb squad a big favour by agreeing to be at the press conference, so why should I be grounded?’

‘You won’t be able to change their minds. But I’ve come up with another possible placement, if you agree with it. Crowley can get you attached to the Forensic Explosives Laboratory, which is part of the Royal Armament Research and Development Establishment over at the Royal Arsenal in Woolwich. It’s a secure site patrolled by Ministry of Defence police, so you’ll be safe there and out of harm’s way.’

‘I don’t know…’

‘Look, I had to twist his arm to do this, and he may change his mind depending on what happens in the press conference. But if you agree at least you won’t be stuck behind a desk.’

‘How were you able to twist his arm? I thought what goes on at the Royal Arsenal was supposed to be secret?’

‘I know the detective sergeant there. It’s a terrific unit. They do all the bomb-related forensics and are funded by the MOD.’ Church laughed gently. ‘Better facilities than our dump! No matter what they ask you to do, show you’re keen and offer to help, then they will take you under their wing. When this is all over you’ll walk away with some good forensic knowledge about bombs and explosions, which would be a plus if you ever fancied joining the Bomb Squad. So what do you think?’

Jane thought about it. Being stuck behind a desk was not appealing. ‘I accept. Thank you.’

Church looked pleased. ‘Well, since Crowley is now off somewhere filling his stomach, what do you say to grabbing a bite in the canteen?’

‘He said he needed me to make a statement?’

‘Plenty of time for that. Come on.’ Holding the door open for her, he added, ‘Oh, by the by, have you ordered any tickets for the big dinner dance?’

It was clear that Church was changing the subject, but Jane was glad of the distraction.

‘I don’t think I want any tickets,’ she said as they walked down the corridor towards the lifts.

‘It would be a good way for you to meet everyone. There aren’t many posh nights out with the Dip Squad and Flying Squad lads, along with all the different CID squads based at the yard… and everyone can bring a partner, wives, girlfriends, boyfriends…’

‘I don’t have one,’ she said, as he pressed the button for the lift.

‘Well, you can come solo. Or one of our team can escort you and be your chaperon. At the end of the day, Tennison, they’re all just detectives having a good night out.’

In some ways, Church was relieved Jane was single as it was one less person, who would have been close to her, to worry about. The lift doors opened and they both stepped inside.

‘As far as I can see, a good night out for them involves getting pissed out of their heads.’

‘Well, I’ll put two tickets aside and maybe in the interim you’ll find a good-looking bloke to take with you.’

Jane smiled. ‘I doubt that will happen.’

‘With your looks and figure there’s no reason you shouldn’t. Let’s see what happens in the next few weeks. And I’m a good dancer, so you could always come with me!’

Jane smiled as they stepped out of the lift to head to the canteen. Jimmy Church was quite the charmer and for the moment Jane forgot about the consequences of her decision to do the press conference. Which is just what Church intended.

Jane bought a ham sandwich and a coffee but she was too nervous to eat. Church remained affable as he wolfed down his bacon sandwich. He asked her about her parents and Jane told him about their fears for her safety.

‘I should have called them yesterday. I did try, but the phone was constantly engaged. I feel really guilty about not getting through to them. Pam, my sister, also came over as she had been worried about me, and she suggested I spend the night at my parents’.’

‘Do you get on with your sister?’

‘Yes, sometimes…’

‘But she doesn’t live with your parents?’

‘No, she’s married, they have a flat in Kilburn.’

‘What does her husband do?’

‘Tony? He’s a carpenter. Pam runs a local hairdressing salon.’

‘Do they have kids?’

‘No, but they’re keen to start a family.’

Church checked his watch as he drank his coffee. Jane was completely unaware that he was making a mental note of who might possibly need protection.

‘I’m not having a go at you, Jane, but you should have contacted the Dip Squad office to let us know where you were last night. If you are off duty and not at your usual place of residence, you need to call it in. We should always know where to contact you in the event of an emergency.’ He lit a cigarette. ‘And what’s this I hear about you moving out of the section house without leaving a forwarding address?’

Jane was shamefaced. ‘I’m sorry, but I only just moved into my flat. I did mean to leave my new address and phone number at the office.’

‘That was against police regulations, Tennison. Give me your contact details so I can make sure we have them on file for future reference.’

Jane jotted down her new address in her notebook, then tore out the page and passed it to him. He tucked it into his wallet, checked his watch again, and suggested it was time she went back to see Crowley.

Dexter joined Jane in the canteen. He tried to reassure her but she was apprehensive, constantly looking towards the double doors, waiting for Crowley to call her to the press conference.

‘You’ve got the press statement, the one Crowley made out for you?’ he asked, trying to cheer her up. ‘Maybe just skim over it, so that you feel confident. And put some more sugar in your coffee. It’ll give you an energy boost.’

Jane added two heaped spoons of sugar to the milky coffee and stirred it.

‘There’ll be a lot of press and cameras in there, but don’t be nervous. You want to make the public understand the carnage at the scene, just like you did when I took down your full statement, all right?’

He gently patted her shoulder, taking a sneaky look towards the canteen entrance.

‘OK, he’s here…’

Crowley gestured for them to follow him, disappearing back out of the doors as Dexter and Jane both got up from the table.

‘I need the loo…’ Jane said.

‘There’s a gents off the canteen corridor… I’ll stand guard outside for you.’ Dexter drew her chair back as she picked up her bag and the statement.

Halfway down the corridor they stopped for her to pop into the gents. She went into one of the cubicles alongside the urinals and locked the door behind her. She felt as if she was going to be sick, and had to take deep breaths.

Crowley went to the conference room. While Dexter waited outside the toilet for Jane he was approached by DCI Church.

‘Where is she?’ Church asked.

‘Taking a leak.’

‘For a moment there I thought she might have got cold feet and left.’

‘No, she’s up for it and remarkably calm under the circumstances.’

‘Look, I’ve asked one of my team to be at her flat to look out for her tonight. He can stay until we know how this is going to play out. It may be a good idea to organise an armed special patrol group unit to sit outside her address and make sure she gets to and from work safely.’

Dexter nodded. ‘SPG’s a good idea.’

‘We’ll also have to check out her family,’ Church added. ‘I’ve got her parents’ address… and she has a sister who’s married, living elsewhere.’

As Jane came out of the gents they both turned to her and smiled. It was obvious that they had been talking about her, and Church departed as soon as they saw her.

‘Let’s go,’ Dexter said, taking her arm.

Crowley was waiting in the anteroom with Commander Gregson, who was now dressed in full uniform. Dexter wished Jane luck, and then walked out.

‘Be prepared, Tennison… there’s a room full of journalists and a lot of cameras, but I’ll be right by your side,’ Commander Gregson said, checking his watch. ‘We don’t want to keep them waiting any longer.’

Jane followed the Commander and Crowley out of the anteroom and through the double doors that lead into the conference room. Despite Gregson’s warning, she was unprepared for the frenzy of camera flashes as they all went off in unison, creating a strobe light effect that made her feel quite dizzy.

The large room was crowded with journalists armed with notebooks and small portable cassette recorders, as well as a television crew. The three officers made their way to a raised platform, upon which stood a long table with three chairs placed behind it. The Commander sat in the middle with Crowley to his left and Jane on his right. She focused on placing her statement on the table in front of her and tried to stop shaking.

The buzz in the room quietened as the Commander slowly rose to his feet and spoke in a loud, clear voice.

‘I’d like to thank you all for attending this press conference. As a result of yesterday’s callous bombing carried out by the IRA at Covent Garden tube station, five people were killed. There are also several people still in hospital on the critical list with life-threatening injuries. Many of the survivors will be scarred both mentally and physically for life. I want to make it clear to the press and public that the IRA have lied: a police officer was in no way responsible for causing the detonation of the bomb at Covent Garden. It was the merciless act of a cowardly IRA bomber, who, fearing arrest by a brave police officer, set the bomb off without warning.’

There was a flurry of questions from the press. How could they could be sure that it wasn’t an accidental detonation caused by a police officer? Didn’t the IRA usually give coded warnings before their attacks? Gregson indicated Tennison with a gesture of his hand.

‘This is WDC Jane Tennison, a fine example of a brave Metropolitan police officer who risked her own life in the line of duty.’

The sudden flash of cameras made her blink. Gregson continued.

‘Like everyone at the tube station, she didn’t expect to suddenly find herself in the middle of such a traumatic incident, one in which her own life was threatened. Even after the explosion, and despite being blown to the ground herself, she kept calm and rendered first aid to the wounded and dying. WDC Tennison has bravely come here today to answer your questions and tell you what happened.’

He nodded to Jane to stand as he sat back down in his chair. The cameras started flashing again as the reporters shouted out a barrage of questions. Gregson raised his hand and said loudly that they were to ask questions one at a time, and he pointed to one of the journalists to speak first.

‘How are you feeling about the terrible event?’

‘I am obviously still very shaken, but I have had a lot of support from my fellow officers. There was someone who was in front of me when the explosion occurred and if I had not been shielded by him, I would have had severe injuries, or could even have lost my life.’

‘What made you suspicious of the bombing suspect?’

Jane carefully answered the question, avoiding making any reference to Daphne. She explained that she heard someone calling out “you’ve left your bag,” and then she had noticed a man moving quickly away from the ticket area.

A sullen-faced journalist interrupted before she could continue. ‘Do you feel you are in any way responsible for the explosion? If, for example, you had not approached the subject and attempted to stop him but had waited for him to leave, then maybe a coded warning would have been sent? Then the area could have been cleared and the bomb diffused?’

There was an audible gasp around the conference room and many looked at the man in disgust. Jane was visibly shocked but stood her ground.

‘No, I am not responsible. I was there, and you weren’t. Everything happened very quickly, and I didn’t have time to consider other options. At first I thought the rucksack might have been left innocently, but when I challenged the suspect and said I was a police officer he pushed me aside and ran off. Both of his hands were empty, and not in his pockets.’

‘If you grabbed him, maybe that was what caused the bomb to go off?’ he persisted.

Gregson rose to his feet and looked over at Jane to sit down.

‘This young woman risked her own life knowing the suspect might be an IRA bomber and armed. The suspect assaulted her, ran off, and seconds later the bomb went off. The forensic lab is working flat out to determine if the bomb was on a timer that went off prematurely or was detonated by a radio-controlled device. WDC Tennison followed the correct procedure under the circumstances and we are all very supportive and proud of her. Due to WDC Tennison’s tenacity and forethought we now have an artist’s impression of the suspect. I would appeal to anyone who recognises this man to contact the bomb squad at Scotland Yard.’

This was the first Jane had heard of any artist’s impression. Her description of the suspect had surely been far too vague.

Crowley gave the signal for a large screen behind the table to be turned on, which showed the projected image of the drawing of the suspect. Jane swivelled around in her chair and quickly realised that it was a sketch of the suspected IRA man hailing the taxi in the surveillance photograph Crowley had shown her. She was shocked that this had been done without her knowledge.

There was a frenzy of flash bulbs again, and some of the photographers were up on their feet, desperate to get a good picture. Gregson continued describing their suspect as being 5’8” or 5’10”, aged between twenty-five and thirty. He pointed out the man’s collar-length hair and said that he was wearing a dark overcoat, perhaps some kind of hooded sweatshirt beneath.

‘I was apprehensive about WDC Tennison being here at the press conference because she saw the suspect’s face and would therefore be able to identify him upon his arrest. I am aware this places her in danger from the members of the IRA ASU who committed this atrocity. However, WDC Tennison was asked if she wished to appear in front of you today to aid our appeal for public assistance, and it is to her credit that she has put the investigation and the public’s safety before her own.’

There were loud murmurs of agreement and a few people clapped as Gregson signalled for her to stand. Crowley also rose to his feet.

‘I thank you all for your time and would respectfully ask you to remain seated until we have left the conference room.’

The same sullen-faced journalist held up the paper Jane had seen that morning, and pointed at the photograph of her on the front page.

‘Why were you getting into the ambulance? Were you injured?’

Gregson raised his hand. ‘Fortunately, as you can see, WDC Tennison was unharmed. She rode in the ambulance to accompany a mother who was badly injured and who, sadly, subsequently died. Thankfully her young child was saved.’

Jane was quickly ushered out between Crowley and Gregson, back into the anteroom where DS Dexter was waiting. He gave Jane the thumbs-up. Trying to keep control of herself, she asked if she could have a private word with the Commander.

‘I’m sorry, Tennison… I have to dash. I’ve got a meeting with the Home Secretary and I’m already running late. If you have any questions, DCI Crowley can help you.’

Gregson hurried out of the anteroom as Jane turned angrily to Crowley.

‘Why did you issue that artist’s impression without consulting me, or warning me that it was going to be shown?’

‘When there’s been a terrorist attack we have to move fast, before memories fade. We needed something to reassure the public that the investigation was moving swiftly. If the sketch helps to identify the man, then that will be a bonus.’

‘But you used me, and I feel as if I lied in there.’

‘No, you didn’t. You told me the man in the photograph we showed you looked familiar, or similar, to the suspect you saw at Covent Garden.

‘No, I didn’t say that… you’re twisting my words!’

‘Either way, let’s hope we get a result. Now, I’ve got to go. You did very well, Tennison.’

Stunned, Jane could only watch as Crowley walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Dexter smiled at her. ‘Are you all right?’

‘No, I’m not! I didn’t realise Crowley was even going to show an artist’s impression… Were you in on it as well? Did you know?’

Dexter shrugged. ‘Come on, why would I confide in you about the ASU and the informer if I knew what he was going to do?

She shook her head, bewildered. ‘Sorry for sounding off at you. I’m just…’

‘Under the circumstances I don’t blame you. Now, I don’t want to alarm you but Church is arranging for a couple of armed plainclothes SPG officers to keep watch outside your flat…’

‘Oh my God!’

‘Don’t worry, Jane. It’s highly unlikely the IRA would try anything, especially now the heat is on to find their ASU.’

‘Then why do I need armed protection?’

‘It’s more of a deterrent than anything else… and the bonus is they’ll keep the press away. Your neighbours will be very envious… and your boyfriend will behave himself.’

‘I don’t have a boyfriend,’ Jane snapped, unable to appreciate his jokey manner.

‘Sorry, sorry.’ He paused briefly. ‘Well, that gives me the opportunity to ask you out for a drink. Unless you fancy a spot of dinner?’

Jane smiled. She did find him very attractive.

‘Thank you for the invitation, but I’m exhausted and tomorrow is my first day with the forensic team in Woolwich. I really need an early night.’

Dexter opened the door and gestured for her to go ahead of him.

‘I don’t even know how to get to the Royal Arsenal,’ she added, walking out with him.

‘Well, you can take a train, but if you’ve got a car I’d drive. Oh, and a word of advice… don’t wear anything new. You’ll probably be sifting through rubbish bins full of rubble from Covent Garden, so you’ll get covered in dust.’

They took the lift down to the ground floor and as they were walking to the exit, DCI Church hurried to join them.

‘Press conference went well, Tennison. Do you mind if I have a quick word with Dexter?’

Jane didn’t have time to answer before the two men moved away together.

When he was sure they were out of earshot, Church said, ‘Listen, Al, I’ve organised one of my team to keep an eye on Tennison, plus Crowley’s agreed to the armed SPG officers outside her flat.’

‘There’s no need to be secretive, I’ve already told her about the armed protection. It’s spooked her a bit, but I was going to take her home and reassure her it’s for the best.’

‘I had no doubt Mr “Sex on Legs” would be volunteering to “reassure” her. She’s vulnerable at the moment, so you just back off,’ Church hissed. He saw Jane looking over and changed the subject. ‘By the way, Dexter, do you want tickets for the big black-tie do? We’ve still got a lot of spaces.’

‘Yeah, put me down for two. I’ll sort out a cheque later.’

‘That’s what everyone’s saying. I need it soon or you won’t get a table. Don’t leave it too long or I’ll take you off the list.’

They walked back to join Jane. Dexter gave her one of his smiles and jerked his thumb towards Church.

‘Jimmy’s driving you home. If you don’t mind, let’s take a rain check on drinks and dinner.’ He walked off as DCI Church got out his car key.

‘If you wait here at the entrance,’ said Church, getting out his car key, ‘I’ll bring my car up from the underground car park… Just stay inside until you see me draw up.’

Jane did as he instructed but was astonished when a back-firing Ford Anglia pulled up. She hadn’t envisaged him driving a wreck. He leaned over to open the passenger door and Jane climbed in beside him. As she tried to close the door it got stuck and she had to pull it hard to make it shut.

‘Right, Baker Street…’ Church said, grinding the gears as they moved jerkily away in a cloud of exhaust fumes. The interior of the car was almost as decrepit as the rest of it. The seats were torn, and the ashtray was overflowing. Church gave her a small sidelong glance.

‘These are just the wheels we use for undercover,’ he said unconvincingly. ‘My own car is an E-Type.’

Jane laughed. Grinning, Church continued, ‘The engine’s in good shape. If you really put your foot down she’ll do seventy. That’s if your foot doesn’t go through the floor.’

They hit rush-hour traffic, so it took a while to get down the Euston Road. Jane directed him to take a turning into Regent’s Park and to come out through the gates nearest to Baker Street. As the traffic eased she could feel the tiredness begin to make her eyes droop.

‘I’m exhausted,’ she said, as he drove out of the park and headed down Melcombe Street. ‘That’s it… just stop over there,’ she added.

Church stopped the car and pulled on the handbrake. He opened his door to get out and help her.

‘There’s no need, I can manage,’ Jane said.

He ignored her and walked around to the passenger door. He had to heave it open as it was stuck firm. As Jane climbed out he took her elbow and they walked the few steps to her front door.

‘Right… delivered safe and sound. One of the squad will be over later to check on you, and those are plain-clothes SPG officers in the unmarked car over the road.’ He nodded in their direction and did a thumbs up to indicate Jane was the officer they were there to protect. They nodded back.

‘You’ve been really kind,’ Jane said to Church. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘Any time. Just call me if you need anything.’

Jane turned on the hall lights. They were on a timer and often switched off before she had had time to reach the top floor. She was so tired that her legs felt heavy as she walked up the stairs. Above her, she heard a light cough. Pausing, she listened carefully, then slowly continued up the stairs, stopping again when she heard a creaking sound from the landing above, outside to her flat. Jane hesitated, feeling the panic rise as the timer lights cut out. She was now in almost total darkness and was about turn and run back down the stairs when she saw a man’s legs in the hall above, and screamed.

‘It’s all right! It’s me!’

Jane almost fell backwards as DS Stanley appeared, gesturing at her to stop screaming.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she demanded, gasping for breath.

‘Looking out for you. The boss wanted one of us to keep you company, just in case there were any repercussions after the press conference. I was gonna wait for you to come home, but your neighbour downstairs let me into the building, so I’ve been sitting on your stairs.’

‘I’m surprised she let you in,’ Jane snapped, making her way past him.

‘I do have a warrant card, you know, Tennison, and I gave her some bull about checking out your burglar alarm, and that I was expecting you back any minute. I’ve been sitting here waiting for you for over half an hour.’

Jane unlocked her front door and Stanley followed her inside, picking up an overnight bag he had left on the landing.

‘There’s SPG outside. Surely you don’t need to be here all night?’ Jane asked.

‘I can doss down on the sofa. It’s just an extra precaution… and I’ll take you to work in the morning.’

‘Just for the one night?’

‘Depends… this is nice…’

‘I don’t have a sofa, but there’s a small spare bedroom along the corridor, on your right.’

Jane was now very tense, and also angry. She watched Stanley saunter along the narrow corridor and push open the door to her own bedroom.

‘No, that’s my bedroom.’

‘Just checking it out for safety.’

Jane took off her coat, watching as Stanley crossed to the window in her bedroom, which overlooked the road below. He shone his torch twice to signal to the still-waiting Church that he was inside and all was well.

‘This is really very nice…’ he repeated, as he walked out. Now that she’d calmed down, Jane forced herself to offer him a cup of tea.

‘Lovely… and if you can rustle up a sandwich that’d be great,’ he replied, as he went into the spare room. Jane grimaced. She wished she could ask him to take a bath, as he smelt terrible. But instead she went into the kitchen and put on the kettle.

After a few minutes, Stanley joined her and perched on a stool.

‘Nice little place… compact, though, and a hell of a long walk up. Do you have a TV?’

‘No, I don’t. I’ve only just moved in.’ Jane buttered two slices of bread and took out a packet of ham from the fridge.

‘You having one?’ Stanley asked, rolling up a cigarette.

‘Yes, but I can only make one at a time. Do you want mustard?’

‘Yep, and two sugars in my tea.’

Jane took out some cups and made the sandwiches while the kettle came to the boil. Stanley watched her preparing the tea as he finished assembling his roll-up and put it down in front of him. They eventually sat next to each other and used the same teaspoon to remove the teabags from their cups, placing them on a saucer.

‘When I’ve finished this,’ said Jane, ‘I’m going to have a bath. Perhaps you might like one after me?’

‘No, I’m OK, thanks.’

Stanley was wearing filthy jeans and an old torn T-shirt, both of which looked, and smelt, as though they hadn’t been washed in weeks. She had a lot of questions she wanted to ask, uppermost was why DCI Church had wanted Stanley to be in her flat.

‘Do you think that there could be repercussions about what went down at the press conference?’ she asked Stanley.

‘Possibly.’

‘Does that also mean that it might affect my family?’

‘It might, but that’ll be taken care of… it depends what reaction we get after today.’

‘Should I warn them?’

‘I wouldn’t. Why put the frighteners on them when it might not be necessary? If it is, then they’ll be well protected, but it’s best not to sound the alarm bells. This is a good sandwich,’ he mumbled through a mouth full of food.

‘Is DCI Church married?’ Jane asked.

‘He was. Got divorced a few years ago. He had a right time of it… she was a real bitch and went off with an electrician who was rewiring their house. Actually, she didn’t leave… she stayed and Church moved out. But he doesn’t like talking about it. I’ve probably said too much, but he’s a really good guy. I like him.’

Stanley lit his roll-up as Jane took their plates to the sink.

‘What about DS Dexter from the bomb squad. Do you know him?’

‘Course I do, everyone knows Al. And if you’re interested in him, he’s not married.’

‘I’m not interested in him, for heaven’s sake!’

‘Well, that’s probably a good thing because he’s got quite a reputation with women. If you ask me, out of the two of them Jimmy is the better man.’

‘I was only asking because I work with them, that’s all! Tell me about you, Stanley, are you married?’

‘I certainly am. And I’ve got two kids, aged four and eight. My wife, Alison, is a gem. She has to put up with a lot but never complains.’

Jane smiled. Considering the state of him she reckoned Alison had to be special.

‘Does she know you won’t be home tonight?’

‘Yeah, she understands it’s the job. Listen, you go and take your bath and I’ll clean up in here, and then go and have a kip.’

Jane left Stanley making himself another cup of tea, and went to run her bath. She completely submerged her body in the perfumed, bubbly water, then surfaced and washed her hair. After a long while she thought she should perhaps get out and make up the spare bed, but when she emerged wearing a dressing gown, with a towel wrapped around her wet hair, Stanley was already in the spare room.

‘Oh, I was going to put some sheets on the bed.’

‘Don’t bother, I’ll just lie on top of the cover. I’m in working gear and don’t want to mess up the bed. You just carry on as if I wasn’t here, and get a good night’s sleep.’

‘OK… just help yourself to another cup of tea if you want one.’

‘Ta. Goodnight, then.’

‘Goodnight, Stanley… I’m sorry, I don’t know your Christian name?’

‘Nobody ever uses it. I just go by Stanley.’

Jane checked the kitchen. It was neat and tidy, and Stanley had washed up the cups and the plate, which were now drying on the draining board. She closed her bedroom door and dried her hair. There was no doubt that she felt much safer with Stanley being in the flat. She was just about to climb into bed when the phone rang, so she hurried out to the small hallway to answer it.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello,’ a woman replied. ‘I’m answering your advertisement about a room to let.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘I’m sorry to call late, but I work locally and would be very interested in viewing the room.’

‘Could you give me a contact number where I can reach you?’

‘Yes, I suppose my work place would be the best number as I’m there all day. I work in Madame Tussauds.’

‘Oh, well this area would be convenient for you… but let me call you tomorrow.’

‘Is the room still available to rent? I have to move out of the place that I’m currently living in.’

‘Yes, the room’s still available. Can I take your name and date of birth please?’ Jane asked.

‘Yes, of course… I’m Pearl Radcliff, born 25 October 1951. I have my previous rental details as well as references from where I’ve stayed previously.’

Jane wrote down Pearl’s details and a phone number. She apologised that she couldn’t arrange a viewing straightaway as she was unsure what her availability was, but said that she would call her back as soon as she knew.

‘Oh, is there any chance I could come by tomorrow evening, after I finish work?’

Jane hesitated, then agreed that she would call her back when she returned from work to let her know if it was convenient.

‘Who was that?’ Stanley asked, standing in the doorway of the spare bedroom.

‘It was in response to an advert I put in the local newsagents… I want to rent out the room you’re sleeping in.’

‘Are you sure that’s wise with everything that’s going on at the moment?’

‘I need a lodger to help pay the mortgage. Besides, I don’t see why I should change my plans because of what’s happened.’

‘Well, it’s up to you. Bit small, isn’t it? How much are you charging?’

‘Why? Don’t tell me you’re thinking of moving in… I’m only letting it out to a female.’

Stanley shrugged and pointed to the phone. ‘You make sure you check their background and get a good wad up front, as well as a deposit. You know you need to have it all vetted, as well as fill in a form at the Met? You’d be surprised how many people rent somewhere and have no intention of paying rent, or of ever moving out. I once let out a room to a photographer who paid two month’s rent in advance… Eighteen months later he hadn’t paid another penny, so I threw him out the window by the scruff of his neck, followed by his cameras… So, if you get a dodgy lodger you know who to contact… I’ll sort it.’ He patted his chest, unintentionally revealing a holster and weapon by his left armpit.

‘Really? How do you go about doing that?’

‘It’s called the “Ways and Means Act”… getting somethin’ done without sticking to the rules.’

‘Thanks for the advice, Stanley… Goodnight.’

As soon as her bedroom door was closed Stanley went over to the small hall table and glanced at the notepad. He saw the name ‘Pearl Radcliff’ and the date of birth. Returning to the spare room, he jotted down the details. He’d do a precautionary check in case Jane didn’t follow the Met’s rules about vetting. Then he lay on the bed, smoking.

Jane had been caught up in heavy traffic and didn’t arrive home until after seven. She parked her car in a space a short walk from her flat and as soon as she got inside she called Pearl Radcliff to say that she was at home if she wanted to come over to view the room. She had a quick bath and put on some casual clothes before checking the spare room to make sure that it was immaculate after Stanley’s stay. As she was making herself a cup of tea the doorbell rang. Jane went to the intercom.

‘Who is it? she asked.

‘It’s Pearl Radcliff.’

Remembering the advice about being cautious, Jane asked her to wait for a moment. She went into her bedroom and looked out of the window onto the street below. She could see a woman standing on her own by the front door and went back to the intercom.

‘Come up to the top floor,’ Jane said, pressing the door entry button and replacing the receiver.

She opened the front door to her flat and waited as Pearl came slowly up the stairs. As she appeared on the small landing, Jane greeted her.

‘Hello, I’m Jane Tennison. Could I ask to see some identification?’

Pearl was a slim young woman, with short bobbed hair in a Mary Quant style. She was wearing a green beret and a dark green overcoat, and was slightly out of breath. She smiled at Jane.

‘Quite a way up, isn’t it? Will my driving licence be enough? I’ve got my passport as well, but I’ve never been asked to show it before… hold on a moment.’

Pearl rooted around in her large leather shoulder bag and then produced her driving license and passport for Jane to look at.

‘Sorry if this sounds a bit officious, but it’s just for security purposes.’ Jane glanced at the licence in Pearl’s wallet, then handed it back.

‘Please come in.’

Pearl followed Jane into the flat as she shut the door behind them.

‘I’ll just show you around first,’ Jane said, ‘and if it’s to your liking we can talk over a cup of tea. It’s obviously not a large flat… The bathroom’s here, and then this is my bedroom. The room for rent is this one.’

Pearl said nothing as she followed Jane. She peered into Jane’s bedroom, then went into the small bedroom and walked around, looking inside the fitted wardrobe and the small chest of drawers, which had a mirror and glass tray on the top.

‘Well, that’s it,’ Jane said. ‘Apart from the kitchen.’ As Pearl had not said a word she couldn’t tell whether she liked the room or not. She walked into the kitchen. ‘Fridge, washing machine and cooker are all new.’

Pearl nodded, still not saying anything.

‘I’m charging ten pounds per week, which includes everything… so there will be no expenses on top of the rent.’

Pearl nodded, showing no reaction.

‘So, what do you think?’

‘Well, it’s smaller than I had hoped. But it’s very fresh and clean. My only worry would be that we’ll be sort of on top of each other, unless we come to some arrangement.’

‘Yes, I agree. Do you want to take your coat off and we can discuss how we can make it work?’

Pearl took off her coat and beret, and Jane put them both on a hook in the hallway. When she returned, Pearl was sitting on one of the breakfast stools. Jane put the kettle on and took out two cups and saucers, milk and sugar and a small teapot.

‘What work do you do?’ Pearl asked.

Jane hesitated, then said that she was a detective with the Metropolitan Police.

‘Oh, gosh… Now I understand why you were so officious about seeing my identification. Do you wear a uniform?’

‘No, I’m plain-clothes now.’

‘Oh, that must be exciting.’

‘It is. And you work at Madame Tussauds?’ Jane asked, as she filled the teapot with boiling water.

‘Yes. I’ve been there for a few years now. I run the ticket office and sometimes do the tours when we’re very busy. We’re always busy, but in the summer it can be exhausting, especially during the school holidays.’

Pearl was wearing a neat blouse and pleated skirt. She had on rather sensible lace-up shoes, but Jane presumed this was due to her having to be on her feet most of the day if she was doing tours. She had a nice soft voice, with a slight accent.

‘Where are you from?’

‘Originally Southport in Lancashire, but I came to London about eight years ago, to study at the polytechnic. I never finished the course though. It was economics and I didn’t sort of fit in. Money was short so I did a few part-time jobs. Eventually I called it quits and worked as a receptionist for a couple of companies, whilst doing a secretarial course. Then I went for the job I’m in now. I never meant it to become full-time but I really enjoyed it, so I’ve worked my way up and it looks like I’ll be staying put.’

They chatted while they waited for the tea to brew, establishing that neither had boyfriends, and that Pearl was an only child.

Pearl watched as Jane poured their tea, then helped herself to milk and sugar.

‘You wanted to see my references. I’ve brought a few letters, including one from my present employer, and one from the landlady where I’ve been living for the past two years. I’ve got to move out as she’s sold her house and they’ve already exchanged contracts… So, she wants me to leave as soon as possible.’

Jane smiled as Pearl handed her a stack of papers in a large envelope. She began to sift through them as they drank their tea. She carefully read the letter from her landlady, which said that Pearl had been a pleasure to have as a tenant, and confirmed that she had always paid the rent on time. The landlady had also given her phone number should further information be requested.

The letter from Madame Tussaud’s was equally commendable. Signed authenticated copies of Pearl’s wage slips confirmed she was paid every week.

‘I’m impressed.’ Jane said, passing everything back to Pearl.

‘I have to be methodical in my work, so I’ve tried to give you everything you might need.’ Pearl neatly refolded the letters and placed them back in the large manila envelope.

‘I noticed that you don’t have a television,’ she added. ‘I’ve got a small portable set, if I could bring that… but I don’t have too many personal belongings. As I said, I visit my parents regularly and as I’ve got to wear a uniform to work I don’t have too many clothes. I’m rather careful as you can probably detect, but I’ve sort of been forming a plan for my future, which is why I really wanted to rent the room from you, as it’s well within my budget.’

Jane cocked her head to one side. ‘Can I ask what you’re planning?’

‘I would love to travel to Australia and New Zealand. I’ve got a cousin who lives in Sydney… it will obviously be a couple of years before I’ve saved enough to take a year out, but that’s what I’m working towards.’

‘I’ve never been travelling,’ Jane said, pouring herself another cup of tea.

‘I’d like to go backpacking… you know, really have time out. But it will be costly as I won’t be able to get a visa to work there. So it will be a lengthy holiday. I haven’t been on a proper holiday for as long as I can remember. Southport is such a lovely seaside place, so when I have my week’s holiday that’s where I go, and it doesn’t cost anything more than the train fare.’

Jane lifted the teapot to ask Pearl if she would like another cup, but she shook her head.

‘Are you seeing other people who are interested in renting the room?’

‘I have had a few people applying, but I’ve been very caught up with work,’ Jane lied, hoping she didn’t sound too eager.

‘Well, I’ll really need to know quite soon. I could move in this weekend.’

Jane took her cup to the sink, and ran the water to rinse it out.

‘Pearl, you seem to be perfect… but I really need to have a think about it. And whilst you’re here we should discuss a few things that we need to agree upon before I make any decision.’

‘Oh. I really thought I’d sort of covered everything you’d need to know about me.’ Pearl looked downcast.

‘You’ve been thorough, and I really appreciate it. But when you first came into the flat you said that it was rather small, and that we’d need to agree on how we can live together and not get on top of each other.’

‘Oh yes, I completely agree with that. It’s always best to get things out in the open at the very start, and not let them build up and become awkward.’

‘Obviously, I’ll have to ask for a deposit, as well as a month’s rent in advance.’

‘Yes, I’m happy with that… how much is the deposit?’

Jane thought about what Stanley had said about unpaid rent. ‘Just a week’s advance is fine. Is ten pounds OK?.’

Pearl nodded. The sharp sides of her well-cut hair curved into her cheeks as she leaned forwards. She wore very little make-up, and had pretty, slanting, greenish eyes. Her nose was rather hooked and she had a wide mouth with small, neat, white teeth.

‘I’ve never rented or shared a flat with anyone before,’ added Jane, ‘so I’m rather inexperienced about putting together a list of “dos and don’ts”… but I think we need to discuss it before we finalise anything.’

‘Absolutely. I can give you a cheque for the deposit, and if you want I can have my rent paid directly into your account every month… whatever method you prefer.’

Jane picked up Pearl’s cup and saucer and put them into the sink beside her own.

‘I don’t want any boyfriends staying overnight. I’m willing for you to have friends visit, or perhaps have dinner, but I don’t want anyone staying. It’s obviously a very small flat and I think it would be too inconvenient.’

Pearl cocked her head to one side and gave a slight smile. ‘Does that also include you not having any men staying over?’

‘Yes, it does. Also, we’ll need a bathroom rota as there’s nothing worse than wanting to get off to work and finding the bathroom is occupied.’

Jane continued listing everything she could think of, and was now jotting down details in a notepad. Pearl was very amenable to all her requests, and suggested getting a joint ‘flat’ diary so everything could be organised on a day-to-day basis.

Jane made a few more notes and finally they discussed cooking and how they would arrange their meals. Jane said she would call Pearl the following evening with her decision as she wanted to sleep on everything they had talked about. Pearl was clearly disappointed, but said she would wait for Jane to make contact. By the time Jane had cleared the kitchen and got into her nightdress it was after nine. Jane felt guilty about not calling her parents and was just about to dial their number when the phone rang and it was her father.

‘I’ve just had that nice superior officer of yours, DCI Church, here, giving me advice about how your mother and I should take precautions following on from your press conference.’

Jane was surprised, and concerned for her parents. Church hadn’t mentioned he’d be speaking to them.

‘What did he say? Was Mum OK?’

‘Your mother was out, so it was a private conversation between him and me. He said for me not to get anxious but they were keeping an eye on you, and he gave me some general advice about our own home security, “just to be on the safe side” were his exact words.’

‘He should have spoken to me first.’

‘How bad is all this, Jane? I mean, I don’t want your mother being made even more anxious. She’s been in a terrible state since the bombing and I daren’t let her near a newspaper… you’re front-page news in all of them.’

‘It’s not that bad, Daddy. Church and the others are just being overprotective. Besides, I’m stuck in a lab at Woolwich which is guarded by MOD police, so I’m perfectly safe.’

‘I’m sorry if I overreacted, dear. I’m sure you would have contacted me if you were worried about your safety.’

Jane knew it was the last thing she would do under the present circumstances. She quickly changed the subject and told him about her interview with Pearl Radcliff. She relayed all the questions she had asked, and told him about the letters of recommendation.

‘So, is she moving in?’ her father asked.

‘Not yet. I just wanted to run it all by you first to see what you thought.’

‘I appreciate that, dear… but she’ll be sharing with you, and the most important thing is what you thought about her. Did you like her?’

‘Yes, I did. She’s quiet and unassuming, and spends most weekends visiting her parents in Southport, so she won’t be at the flat and getting in my way. She’s agreed to pay a deposit and a month’s rent upfront.’

‘Well, she sounds like the perfect candidate to me.’

‘I suppose so. I said I would call her tomorrow to give her my answer.’

‘You don’t sound very sure. If there’s anything you don’t feel comfortable about then keep on seeing more girls. You should always go with your gut instinct.’

‘I will. Thank you for all your advice, Daddy… I appreciate it.’

‘That’s what I’m here for, darling, and I love you. I’ll call you soon.’

Jane replaced the receiver. Her father was right. She was feeling strangely nervous, and put it down to the fact that she had hardly eaten at lunch and had only had a cup of tea with Pearl. But she didn’t feel hungry, just uneasy. She was not usually so incapable of making decisions and, as her father had said, Pearl did seem perfect. She just felt unsure for some reason, but couldn’t think why.

Jane went into the bathroom and cleaned her teeth, then splashed cold water over her face and looked at her reflection in the mirror as she patted it dry with a soft white towel. She looked very pale and had dark circles beneath her eyes. The terrible sense of panic overwhelmed her without any warning. Her heart started racing, and felt as if it would burst through her chest. She was struggling to breathe properly and started gasping for air, as if someone was squeezing her lungs too tightly. She slowly slipped onto her knees and grasped the edge of the washbasin. The sound of her own hysterical sobbing frightened her. She was shaking uncontrollably. Her head filled with the screams of the injured and images of the bomb blast: her hand on the terrorist suspect’s sleeve, his half-turned face, tying the tourniquet around the old lady’s shattered leg, the blood, the dust… and then the awful sight of the naked and vulnerable Regina tied down to a bed.

Every recollection felt like heavy blows to her body, and Jane curled up and wrapped her arms around herself to try to keep the images out. But they wouldn’t stop, and she was scared. She even had visions of Stanley on her staircase, the drive through the Blackwall Tunnel, and her yellow VW parked in the wrong space. Everything merged into a terrible, constant nightmare. Then there was the face of Pearl Radcliff, with her short hair and green beret, as if she was the epicentre to the nightmare.

Suddenly she had a flashback to the moment she saw the bomber, then the image quickly changed, replaced by the man in the surveillance photo, both images flickering in and out of her head like a blinding strobe light. The two men were completely different in appearance. In a rush of fear, she thought she could recognise the bomber if she saw him again.

Jane had no idea how long she had been sobbing for, and by the time she had calmed down enough to get to her feet she was drained and totally exhausted. Her whole body ached and she moved slowly out of the bathroom towards her bedroom. She had to keep her hand on the wall to steady herself as it felt as though she was going to fall again. Eventually she made it to her bed and lay face down. She was afraid to close her eyes in case the images returned. She was no longer sobbing, but tears were cascading down her face. Gradually the terror subsided.

Tonight, the horror of everything she had experienced had hit her with full force. She had been in denial, never allowing herself to show her fears and she now understood the cost of holding it together all day, and at the press conference. Anger drowned out the fear. Crowley had used her. She wanted to know why.

Jane had only had two hours sleep when her alarm woke her. After the torment of the previous night she felt strangely calm. She dressed quickly and applied some foundation and rouge to her face, then decided to mascara her eyelashes and use a little brown eyeshadow. She wore one of her smartest and most expensive suits, over a white clerical-collar shirt with starched cuffs. It was only seven thirty but she hoped she would miss the heavy traffic she’d encountered the previous morning with DS Stanley.

Before leaving, Jane put in a call to DCI Crowley at the Yard, but was told he had gone directly to Woolwich from home and wasn’t expected at the Yard until later. She then tried to call DCI Church. He wasn’t in the Dip Squad office but Stanley took the call. He sounded his usual groggy self and Jane was certain he had more than likely slept the night in the office again.

‘Everything all right?’ he asked.

‘Yes, but I wanted to ask a favour. I need a criminal records check on the girl who wants to rent a room in my flat. Her name’s—’

‘Pearl Radcliff… I’ve done it, she’s clean, no record.’

It took a second or two to sink in before Jane realised the obvious. ‘You’ve been snooping round my flat, Stanley. How dare you!’

‘I was only thinking of you, Jane. Besides, you’d have had to check her out anyway…’

‘That’s not the point, Stanley. It’s my flat, my belongings, and—’

‘OK, it won’t happen again.’

‘Too right it won’t, because I don’t want you coming round to my flat anymore.’ Jane put the phone down, seething.

She had miscalculated her travel time again, because if anything the traffic was even worse than yesterday. Her hopes of catching DCI Crowley before he returned to the Yard were looking slim, and she wondered if she should have gone straight to the hospital to see Daphne. By the time she had parked in the allocated area for assistant laboratory staff, it was after nine. She was pleased to see Crowley’s car still there, but vowed that from now on she would take public transport, rather than drive.

Jane showed her ID pass again and was allowed entry to the lab floor. She then proceeded towards the small offices, hoping to find Crowley there. A clerical worker was just coming out as Jane approached. She told Jane that DCI Crowley was in the canteen having breakfast, but as Jane approached the lifts and the doors opened, Crowley stepped out holding a paper plate of sausages and a bread roll, with a mug of coffee in the other hand.

‘Morning, sir.’

He gave her a surly glance, and would have walked past her if she hadn’t asked for a few moments of his time.

‘You told me to go to St Thomas’ this morning, sir, to interview—’

‘Yes, yes… I know. So, what are you doing here?’

Jane followed him along the corridor to his office, and held the door open for him as he had his hands full.

‘Well, I needed to know what name Daphne would now be under as I assume, for security purposes, she wouldn’t be using her own name?’

‘There’s an armed guard by her room. Her full name is Daphne Millbank. She’s registered under the name “Patient C” and I am sure it is obvious that there will be no ID on her door. She has come out of her coma but is still very weak. I checked this morning and they said she’s quite coherent, so the sooner you get there to speak with her, the better.’

After her flashback, Jane was certain that the man in the surveillance photo and artist’s sketch wasn’t the man she had seen at Covent Garden. She realised that if Daphne said the same she’d have further proof she was right.

‘I have a copy of the artist’s sketch of the suspect,’ she said. ‘I’ll show it to Daphne and see if she recognises him.’

‘I’d rather one of my team did that, as her description of the suspect is critical to the investigation. It needs an experienced bomb squad officer to go over the finer facial details. You just deal with her version of events and what she saw.’

Crowley carefully placed his sausages inside the roll, then opened a packet of HP sauce and squirted the contents over the sausages.

‘I understand Church spoke to my father,’ Jane said. ‘Could I ask what protection is in place for my parents?’

‘It’s all in hand, Tennison… So far there’s been only an ominous silence from the terrorists, and it is quite possible the suspect and his cohorts have gone to ground. It remains for you to be extremely vigilant and, as I ordered yesterday, you should to go to the hospital and talk to the other witness.’

‘Yes, sir. I’m then due to go to Covent Garden with DS Dexter, so should I return to work here afterwards?’

‘Yes. Is there anything else, Tennison?’

‘No, sir.’

Jane left Crowley’s office. As she was walking past the lab, DS Lawrence approached her.

‘Looking a bit smart for a day’s work out in the rubble?’ he said.

‘I’m going to St Thomas’, to interview the lady who saw the suspect.’

He nodded, then moved closer. ‘Is everything all right with you?’

‘Yes. Why, does it look as if it isn’t?’

‘No, to the contrary, you look terrific. Will you be coming back later?’

‘Yes, but not until this afternoon.’

‘See you then.’

Lawrence walked off, leaving Jane feeling a bit tetchy. She was getting irritated with everyone checking up on her and asking how she was. Blackwall Tunnel was just as bad as it had been earlier in the morning, and the City was bumper to bumper with rush-hour traffic. By the time Jane reached St Thomas’ hospital it was nearly eleven. She made her way up to the ward and approached the nursing bay where she showed her ID and asked if Nurse Mitchell was on duty.

A stout nurse at the desk looked her up and down. before telling her he was accompanying a patient to theatre.

‘Oh. I’m really here to see a patient. She’s under the name of Patient C.’

The nurse checked Jane’s ID, then gestured for Jane to walk ahead of her. In contrast to the last time she had been here, the atmosphere was now strangely quiet and eerie. The dark green lino floors, the strong smell of disinfectant, combined with the almost echoing silence all made Jane feel uncomfortable. They eventually stopped to speak with a doctor who seemed irritated that Jane had not sought his permission before approaching his patient.

‘She’s quite remarkable, really. She’s very intelligent, but she tires easily and is on strong medication for the pain, although she no longer requires a morphine drip. You’ll see some deep bruises on her arms — those are from the catheters required for her surgery. She’s been breathing on her own since last night. But she’ll need a lot of treatment and care for some considerable time. You can have a few moments with her… the nurse will direct you.’

Jane followed the portly nurse past curtained booths busy with nurses, until they reached the double doors leading to the private rooms at the end of the ward. An overweight armed officer, who looked as if he was about to burst out of his uniform, sat outside Daphne’s room, reading the Sun. He immediately rose to his feet when he saw Jane, folding the paper and placing it on the chair. The straining belt around his rotund stomach had a radio hanging from a clip at his waist, and a.38 revolver.

‘I’m WDC Jane Tennison,’ she said, showing her warrant card.

The officer took her card and nodded.

‘I’ll bring you a mug of tea when I get a minute,’ the nurse said to the officer. ‘Two sugars, right?’

‘Thank you, nurse.’ He passed Jane back her warrant card and then went to the closed door. He knocked lightly and then eased it open. Jane entered the room and the officer closed the door behind her.

The room was as bare as she remembered, and the blind was drawn. The bedside cabinet was covered with kidney bowls, pads and plastic cups. A draped protectivce cage had been placed over Daphne, covering her from the waist down. A glucose drip was attached to a catheter in her left arm, and there was a tube running from her bladder into a urine bag. Wires ran from her chest to a heart monitor, which bleeped steadily. She lay slightly raised on a pillow, her thinning white hair combed away from her face. Small, scabbed wounds stood out on her cheeks and forehead, and her thin arms were black with bruises and raised blue veins that tracked down to her small curled hands. She had her eyes closed, and Jane moved closer to be beside the bed. Not wanting to wake Daphne if she was sleeping, Jane gently stroked her hand. Daphne’s eyes opened.

‘Hello, Daphne. My name is Jane. I was with you at Covent Garden. I’m sorry if I’m intruding but…’ She hesitated, as there was no reaction. ‘Can you hear me?’

‘I’ve got just about everything else wrong with me, but I’m not deaf.’

Jane smiled, then drew a chair from the wall to sit closer beside her.

‘You’ve had such a dreadful time, but I’ve been told you’re really recovering very well. If you feel up to it, I would like to ask you some questions. I understand that your full name is Daphne Millbank. My name is Jane Tennison.’

Daphne turned to look at her through watery, blue eyes. ‘I remember you, dear… you saved my life. To be honest I’m not sure whether to thank you or not. You know they had to amputate my left leg? I can’t feel a thing down there sometimes, but then it aches so much it’s dreadful. It’s going to make it difficult for me to play golf. Not that I was a regular, or even that good… but I keep thinking about it. At least I’ve got my teeth back. The nurse left them in a little cardboard box. I told her I needed a bottle of peroxide as I like to let them soak overnight so they look nice and white, but I have not been given it yet. How do they look to you?’

Daphne gave a wide, open-mouthed smile.

‘Very white… they don’t look like false teeth to me.’

‘I know, my dear. Always get a good, private dentist. The NHS dentures never fit. These were made to measure and cost a fortune.’

‘Can you remember anything that happened?’

‘Not all of it… it’s very hazy. I suppose it’ll come back to me. They found my handbag, but I don’t have my reading glasses. Maybe they got broken, but I can’t read anything… Are you a nurse?’

‘No, I’m a police officer.’

‘I was a Wren in the last war… my husband was a pilot. What did you say your name was again, dear?’

‘Jane.’

Although Daphne was talking relatively coherently, she spoke slowly and with little expression. She opened and closed her eyes as if the effort wearied her.

‘Daphne, I don’t want to tire you too much but do you think you could try to answer some questions for me? If you want me to wait a while I can do that, but it is rather important and time is really against—’

‘Go ahead, dear. I was a Wren, you know, so I’m used to working under pressure. As you are here it must be important, and I was always a stickler for putting duty first.’

‘I want you to try to recall everything that happened in as much detail as you can remember from the moment you arrived at Covent Garden station… what you saw, and how it all occurred.’

Daphne lay with her eyes closed. It took a while before she slowly recounted to Jane how she had noticed the rucksack, and had seen the man walking away. She had called out to him because she thought he had forgotten it, but he didn’t take any notice. She had called a second time, but he’d walked towards the exit. Then she had seen Jane and heard her calling out to the man. Considering what she had been through, her recollection was very clear, but Jane didn’t want to take her to the moment of the explosion. She patted her hand.

‘That’s good, Daphne. Can you describe what he was wearing?’

‘Yes, a dark coat… and he had a scarf around his neck. He was a big man with longish, shoulder-length hair. He didn’t have a full beard but he was unshaven.’

‘Do you think you would recognise him?’

‘Yes, I would, most definitely… because when I called out to him he turned to face me.’

Jane was deep in thought about what to do. Crowley had said he’d send someone from bomb squad to get Daphne’s description but she wanted to know if Daphne recognised the man in the artist’s impression that had been shown at the press conference.

‘Don’t you want to know what he looked like, dear?’

Daphne’s question made up her mind. Jane rummaged in her bag and pulled out a crumpled press release showing the image of the man that Crowley had released to the press.

‘Did he look like this, Daphne?’

Daphne couldn’t lift her head so Jane had to stand close to her to show her the sketch. She pursed her lips and squeezed her eyes open and shut.

‘I need my glasses. Can you hold it a little bit further away from me?’

Jane held the sketch in front of Daphne, until she gave a small shake of her head.

‘No, no… that’s not him. The hair’s not right; he had more of a square face, thin lips, and a sort of flat nose, with bushy eyebrows. That sketch isn’t right at all.’

Jane knew that this would put a spanner in the works for Crowley. It didn’t mean that the man he suspected, in the surveillance photo, wasn’t part of the ASU, but he clearly was not the actual bomber. And this confirmed that Daphne was a more important witness than Jane, as she had seen the bomber’s full face.

‘Thank you, Daphne, you have been extremely helpful, and I’ll make sure you get some new glasses.’

Thank you, dear. I’m being well looked after. I don’t have any family, you know. My husband was a pilot, he was shot down over Dresden… never anyone else, no children…’

Jane listened as Daphne talked about her husband, until her voice became fainter, and when she fell asleep Jane quietly left the room. She headed down the ward and into the corridor, just as DS Dexter came towards her.

‘Hi, Jane, I’ve been waiting for you. How did it go with the lovely Daphne?’

‘Better than I could have hoped for. She’s an incredible lady and has excellent recall of the suspect’s face.’

As they went out of the hospital Jane told Dexter that she’d shown Daphne the artist’s sketch and how Daphne had dismissed it, giving her a detailed description of the man she saw leave the rucksack. She added that she, too, was now almost certain the man in the surveillance photo was not the man she’d seen at the station. Dexter was very attentive and smiled.

Jane was frustrated. ‘This situation has the potential to leave Crowley with egg on his face, as well as making me appear to be an unreliable witness.’

‘I couldn’t agree more, and the press will have a field day if it gets out. Listen, you did a good job with Daphne. Crowley will be pissed off, but he’s got only himself to blame. He took a gamble releasing the artist’s impression at the press conference, and so far it hasn’t paid off. I know how to handle Crowley, so let me talk to him. In fact, I’ll call him now. I can also order a car for us if you wait here…’

‘I’ve brought my own car,’ Jane replied. Dexter hesitated, slightly wrong-footed, and told her to bring the car around to the reception and he would meet her there. He waited for her to move off then made his way back to the nurse’s bay and called Crowley to update him.

‘It’s Dexter. We’ve got a spanner in the works, sir. Daphne Millbank was shown the artist’s sketch by Tennison, she said it isn’t the man she saw and now Tennison’s saying the same thing.’

‘For fuck’s sake, that’s the last thing I need. Tennison disobeyed my order.’

‘On the plus side, Tennison knows this makes her an unreliable witness. She’s not likely to publicise that. You could always raise the possibility of two men working together and…’

‘There’s has never been any reference to a second man,’ Crowley snapped.

Dexter remained calm. ‘I know that, but Daphne Milbank saw the man who left the rucksack, whereas Tennison saw a man who reacted to Daphne shouting “stop”. It’s natural to assume an accomplice would react as well…’

‘Christ, don’t complicate everything. We’ll talk about it later.’ Crowley snapped again and ended the call.

It was about fifteen minutes before Dexter walked back out of the hospital. He stood looking at Jane’s VW, shaking his head.

‘This is very subtle, Detective Tennison. Was this the only colour you could get? I mean, bright yellow? Nobody could miss you!’

Jane didn’t react as Dexter climbed into the passenger seat beside her, and jerked the seat back to accommodate his long legs.

‘What did Crowley say?’

‘What do you think? He wasn’t happy, said he’d talk about it later and slammed the phone down.’

‘Do you want me to be there as well?’

‘No, he’s mad you disobeyed him. I’ll handle it… by the way, I saw DS Stanley earlier. He said he’d upset you over a criminal records check… Pearl somebody, was it?’

‘I’m thinking of letting out a room in my flat to Pearl, but the fact is Stanley was snooping round, saw her details and checked her out…’ Jane said, still annoyed about it.

‘For what it’s worth, he was just concerned for your safety. I told you about sleepers, didn’t I?’

‘You said they’re members of the IRA who appear to be ordinary members of society until they’re needed?’ she said, concentrating on the road.

‘A sleeper for the IRA is someone whose background and demeanour enables them to go unnoticed in England, so that they can better help the IRA in their bombing campaign. When they’re needed, they’re contacted. No big drinkers, and they need to know when to keep their mouths shut and stay as anonymous as possible. Never assume anyone you come into contact with is who they say they are.’

Dexter directed Jane down back streets, from Trafalgar Square along Floral Street until they arrived at Covent Garden. The street was still cordoned off and the tube station was out of service. Police cars and vans parked were scattered outside the station entrance, with forensic officers still searching and gathering the rubble and debris left after the bomb. They had already cleared the rubble outside the station itself, as it was imperative to get it reopened and for daily life to resume.

Jane accompanied Dexter through the crime-scene barrier, and followed him into the wrecked ticket area of the station. A few officers acknowledged Dexter, who held up his ID as he guided Jane towards the top of the staircase that lead to the platform below, stepping over potholes and mounds of rubble.

‘I want you to walk me through exactly where you were positioned from the moment you came upstairs.’

Jane turned to face the ticket barriers, her back to the stairs.

‘I had just walked up from the platform. There was a woman behind me with a pushchair… she was carrying her baby and finding it difficult to manage them both. I was about halfway up when I offered to carry the pushchair. We both reached the top, and I handed back the pushchair, and she put the baby inside.’ Jane turned away from him, recalling the young mother’s face covered with a sheet in the emergency ward. She was almost in tears.

‘I saw the nurses with the baby… the poor woman died from her injuries…’

Dexter dug his hands deep into his trouser pockets. ‘Don’t go there, Jane. Let’s just keep going through your movements.’

She nodded. ‘I was holding my ID up to the ticket collector, who was standing at the far side of the entry from the stairs. It was very crowded, with passengers getting off from the Underground and climbing up the stairs, and then more passengers going down to get to the platform… so it was really thronging with people, because it was rush hour. They were just innocent people going about their daily lives…’

Dexter gripped Jane’s arm tightly. ‘Just focus on why we are here, Jane.’ He gestured for her to continue.

She moved about four steps towards the station exit, with the ticket office on her right.

‘Then I heard Daphne Millbank calling out, “You left your bag!” She was pointing to a rucksack. I followed her gaze and caught sight of a man wearing a hooded winter coat, walking away with his head down. He was moving quickly towards the station exit.

Jane paced out exactly how she had followed the man toward the exit.

‘By now I’d become concerned, so I began to run and called out “Police”, but he didn’t stop. As I got close enough to make a grab at his arm, he turned and swiped my hand away, I stumbled backwards and he ran on.’

Dexter held his hand up. ‘So, he kept on running straight ahead, no turning or crossing the road?’

‘No, he just kept running… So I went back to the ticket office to warn everyone. I was worried about the way he’d had behaved, and the rucksack he’d left behind.’

‘Walk me through what happened next,’ Dexter said gently. He could see that Jane was becoming even more tense. Together they re-entered the station. Jane explained how she’d been hemmed in with people trying to get out and others pushing their way towards the ticket barriers.

‘I saw the mother and child ahead of me, then I saw the ticket collector pick up the bag. Daphne Millbank had already started to walk out and was beside the wall when the bomb exploded. I was saved because a big man moved directly in front of me… if it wasn’t for him I would have been… Dear God, I have no idea who he was! I owe him my life, and I don’t even know if he made it. After the explosion, the thick cloud of smoke and debris made it impossible to see clearly.’

Jane recalled the screams and pandemonium as the terrified passengers tried to get out, the injured lying on the ground. She described again the whine of the bomb in her ears as she spotted the overturned pushchair, the sight of the mother shielding her child, Daphne Millbank’s missing leg…

Dexter nodded and gently patted her shoulder. ‘Just need you for a short while longer… come on outside with me.’

They left the station and Dexter held her elbow as they walked along the pavement a few yards. Up ahead there were two bomb squad detectives with a SOCO dusting a red phone box for prints. The door was propped open with a large piece of concrete that must have been blown loose by the blast.

Dexter indicated to Jane to wait, as he ducked beneath the cordon that marked off the phone box. There was a lengthy conversation between him and the officers, and Jane saw Dexter nodding and looking at the amount of fingerprint dusting that had been taken. He then walked slowly back to Jane.

‘I’ve just been told we have a witness who has described a female using this phone box at the time of the bombing. She was aged twenty to thirty, wearing a headscarf that hid her face, but she was in there for some considerable time. They’re dusting for prints but it’s doubtful they’ll be much good as it’s a public phone box, so God knows how many people have used it. But they’ve got a good high-heeled imprint and scuff marks… although, again, it’ll be a stroke of luck if it pans out.’

‘You think a woman planned this explosion?’

‘We don’t know for sure. The witness had been waiting to make a call to her husband, and there was a woman inside the phone box. She gave us a reasonable description but she never saw her face as she was wearing a very expensive headscarf… it looked like it could have been Hermès, with dogs like red setters printed on it. She said it was tied under the woman’s chin in a knot, just like the Royals wear them. I’m pretty sure the bomb was a radio-controlled device and the woman in the headscarf might have been an accomplice. She might have been attempting the coded call to the newspaper when the panic-stricken bomber pressed the button, or maybe she had the detonator… we just don’t know.’

‘Did your witness see them together?’

‘Not exactly… she was walking away from the phone box to find another one, but recalled seeing a man with the woman, running across the road shortly before the bomb exploded. It’s even possible three people were involved at the scene.’

‘Three people?’ Jane sounded surprised.

‘Sometimes they will use a lookout as well while the bomb is planted.’

Jane sighed. She had been right when she described the man having his hands free, so maybe he hadn’t been carrying the detonator? On the other hand, it could have been in his pocket…

They returned to the underground station and although all items of interest had already been removed to the Woolwich lab, she watched Dexter make a lengthy inspection of the damage. When he was satisfied, he announced he would return to the lab to see if there had been any developments.

‘Why don’t you go home?’ he suggested to Jane, checking his watch. ‘You’ve had a pretty traumatic time going over what had happened. I’ll speak to Church about Daphne and pick you up in the morning and let you know how it went.’

‘You free for dinner tonight?’ he asked.

‘I’m not, actually. I need to call this girl about moving in. But thanks for the invitation.’

‘Rain check again. You look after yourself.’ He grinned.

Jane watched Dexter stride off. She would have liked to spend more time with him but Lawrence’s warnings had made her wary of his intentions. It would better if she kept him at a distance.

Jane’s alarm woke her at seven. It was the first time since the explosion that she had slept soundly and she went out into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee, then returned to her bedroom. There was no sound from Pearl’s bedroom, so Jane went into the bathroom to use the toilet and brush her teeth. She went back to her bedroom to get dressed, then brushed her hair and applied a little make-up.

She was ready to leave just after quarter to eight, and there was still no sound of movement from Pearl’s bedroom. Jane hesitated outside the door, wondering if she should knock and let Pearl know that she was leaving. Having a flatmate was taking some getting used to. Suddenly there was the shrill ring of a loud alarm clock bell, followed by a screech.

‘Fuckin’ hell!’ Pearl came hurtling out of the bedroom. ‘My God, I should have been up half an hour ago! I must have set the wrong time on my alarm clock!’

‘I’m just leaving for Woolwich,’ Jane said, opening the front door.

‘What?’

‘I have to be at the lab early this morning.’

‘Could I borrow your hairdryer? I keep meaning to get myself one.’

Jane hurried back to her bedroom and took her hairdryer out from her wardrobe.

‘Just leave it in the kitchen, will you?’ she said as she closed the bedroom door.

‘Right, yes… OK… See you tonight then. That bloody alarm bell gives me heart failure when it goes off.’

As Jane closed the front door, Pearl was thumping around the kitchen fixing her breakfast. Jane heard the fridge door being slammed shut and crockery and cutlery clanking as drawers were opened and shut. As she went down the stairs she began to feel a little bit unsure of whether flat-sharing with Pearl was going to be a positive experience. She hoped Pearl would leave the kitchen in a better state than she had the bathroom.

As agreed the previous evening, DS Dexter drew up in front of Jane’s block, in an unmarked CID car, at exactly eight o’clock. He leaned over and opened the passenger door for Jane to get in.

‘Morning,’ he said, tetchily.

‘Morning!’ Jane replied, wondering if she’d done something to upset him.

As Dexter drove through Regent’s Park he said nothing. Jane broke the ice by asking about what she thought might be bothering him.

‘Did you speak with Crowley about me showing Daphne Millbank the artist’s sketch.’

‘Yes, last night. He was really pissed off… we had a bit of a slanging match, but he calmed down after I told him that showing Daphne the artist’s sketch was unavoidable.’

Jane looked concerned. ‘What did you tell him?’

‘That Daphne had seen the artist’s sketch in the paper and told you it didn’t look like the man she saw with the rucksack. You then, quite rightly, showed her the sketch to see if she changed her mind, but she didn’t… So he now thinks it was all above board and not your fault.’

‘Thanks, but you didn’t need to lie for me.’

‘It’s more like I bent the truth a little. Crowley is under immense pressure. He knows what he did was wrong, not that he’d ever admit it. He was hoping that the sketch would lead to the discovery and arrest of the IRA man in the surveillance photo. He bent the truth hoping the end would justify the means.’

‘I understand what you’re saying, but it’s still left me in an awkward and vulnerable position.’

‘I know, but my advice would be to let it go. If we get the man Crowley’s after then he may lead us to the whole ASU, and vice versa if we get the man Daphne described. Do you think you actually saw the same suspect as Daphne?’

‘I’m not 100 per cent sure, but it makes sense that I did… Then again maybe it’s like you said… there was another man acting as lookout who caught my eye and he was the one I chased.’

‘It’s possible, Jane, but don’t beat yourself up about it, we’ll get the bastards responsible.’

Dexter headed towards St John’s Wood, before driving towards Belsize Park and Hampstead.

‘I thought we were going to Woolwich?’ said Jane. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Daphne’s place in Hampstead. I’ve got a couple of guys checking it over to make sure it’s secure. If the IRA have got wind she exists they might have been to her house… I’m also having an alarm put in that’s linked to the Central Control Room at Scotland Yard.

Dexter eventually turned off into an area with expensive large houses, many of which had been divided into flats whose gardens overlooked Hampstead Ponds. It was clearly an affluent area and Dexter slowed down as he drove along Nesbitt Avenue. He parked the car and waited for Jane to get out before locking it and striding ahead of her towards number 16.

The glass-panelled front door had a row of doorbells next to it. Dexter pressed the ground floor bell, which had ‘D. Millbank’ neatly printed on the name plate. The door was opened by a plainclothes officer in his mid-thirties. He had red hair and was wearing jeans and a loose jacket over a T-shirt.

‘Anything of interest, Johnny?’ Dexter asked.

‘Not yet, Al. We got in with a set of skeleton keys, did a clean sweep of the entry hall, back door and French windows… there’s no sign of any forced entry.’

Dexter and Jane followed Johnny into the house. The wide, mosaic-tiled floor was well swept and there was a polished mahogany table in the centre for the occupants’ mail and deliveries. The door of Daphne Millbank’s ground-floor flat was wide open. Dexter stopped to have a long, concentrated, look around the entire door frame before he seemed satisfied that it had been checked out.

In comparison to Dexter, Johnny seemed easy-going. He was deferential towards the sergeant, who kept up a quiet conversation. The décor inside Daphne’s flat appeared to almost be stuck in a time warp of the forties. The decorations were faded, and the curtains and furniture equally so. The old-fashioned kitchen was painted in a dull green and contained old appliances, but everywhere was spotlessly clean.

The sitting room had two large French windows overlooking an untended garden, with a tall hedge that needed cutting back and an old rickety gate that led straight onto the Heath. Old plant pots lined the fence, all containing bedraggled and dead plants, and a rusted watering can lay on its side next to a rolled-up hosepipe attached to an outside tap.

Jane followed the two men as they walked around outside, listening to their conversation. Dexter was asking exactly how long it would take to fit the alarm. Johnny was giving him details of the areas that needed wiring and said they should finish it today, by late afternoon. When they went back inside the flat they inspected the dining room and study, which was lined with framed black-and-white photographs. There was one of Daphne on her wedding day, and numerous large photographs of her in ornate ballgowns, as well as one of her in uniform as a Wren.

‘She was very beautiful,’ Jane said quietly.

Dexter nodded and walked around the room. Jane told him that Daphne needed some reading glasses and Dexter told her it was OK to have a look round for some. She opened a drawer in the old desk and took out a few pairs of glasses.

‘Her husband was a pilot,’ Jane said, looking at a photograph of a handsome man in a flying jacket.

Neither of the men seemed interested so Jane continued to look at the other photographs lining the walls, as well as the many silver-framed photographs that covered every available surface. Many of them were of handsome young men in evening suits, and there were some of Daphne in full riding kit, as if about to go on a hunt. She was always smiling, and although there were a few more recent photographs, most of them appeared to be of her past. In one of the oldest shots she was a very young woman, wearing a full white evening gown with a diamond necklace and elaborate tiara.

‘She was a debutante,’ Jane said, softy, as she took an envelope from the desk and put three pairs of glasses into it. ‘Now I’ve got Daphne some glasses we could get an artist’s impression of the suspect she saw,’ she added.

Dexter was quick to reply. ‘Crowley’s got it in hand. He visited her last night. After yesterday, I’d leave it to him.’

Jane nodded in agreement, put the envelope into her handbag and stood waiting patiently as Dexter and Johnny discussed the security of the building.

‘We may be lucky and it won’t be leaked about her being able to ID the suspect… but it’s better to be safe than sorry. When the time comes for her to return I want it all rechecked,’ Dexter told Johnny.

All three of them jumped as a loud voice boomed out, ‘What the hell is going on here?’

Dexter was the first out into the hall, and was confronted by a white-haired elderly man using a walking frame. He was smartly dressed, wearing blazer and flannel trousers, with an RAF tie. His snow-white hair was cut short and he had a small white moustache.

Dexter hastily showed his ID and asked who the old man was, but had to wait whilst his ID was scrutinised.

‘I’m Raymond Brocklesby, an old friend of Mrs Millbank. I was very concerned to see the front door left wide open, and then to discover strangers wandering around her home. Where is Daphne? Has something happened to her? Is she sick? Has she been run over?’

Dexter put on the charm and asked Mr Brocklesby to join him in the sitting room. Despite his infirmity, he moved quickly towards the room.

‘I’ve not heard from her for days. We always have a game of bridge, regular as clockwork. Has something happened to her?’

Dexter waited for him to sit down before he gently explained that Daphne had been in an accident, and that she was in a critical condition. He took down Mr Brocklesby’s address and phone number, which he obtained from a laminated mobility card that the old boy took out of his wallet. Dexter said that they would inform him as soon as she could have visitors, explaining that they were visiting Daphne’s flat as a matter of course because they had been told she had no immediate family.

‘That’s right. She never had children. Her husband died in the war; he was a bomber pilot… brilliant chap. Daphne is my sister-in-law, from my first wife, so we’re not actually related by blood, but we’re very close. As I said, we play a hand of bridge on a regular basis.

‘I see there have been no newspaper or milk deliveries?’

‘No, she likes to walk to the local newsagents and prefers to get her own milk. She says it’s better not to give any burglars a hint when she’s not at home… she travels a lot, you know. I’ve been worried sick because she usually tells me when she’s off on one of her jaunts, and I’ve been calling and calling.’

Jane liked the fact that Dexter was patient with Mr Brocklesby, and that he reassured him that he would most certainly be in touch when Mrs Millbank was allowed visitors. Eventually Mr Brocklesby stood up to make his way to the front door, pausing outside the sitting room.

‘She was one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. Such a great sport, and so full of energy, and her cocktails are lethal! She could tango like no other woman, and despite being short of money she always dressed like a queen. But she would never marry again, although she certainly had plenty of opportunity… the men flocked around her. I hope I’ll be able to see her soon. We go back a long way.’

Jane thought of the small figure of Daphne in the hospital bed, her leg missing. Dexter was clearly eager for him to leave but Mr Brocklesby seemed drawn to the photographs lining the walls.

‘She goes into the West End two or three times a week, to visit the art galleries and theatres. She always keeps abreast of the latest artists and knows all the latest plays, films, and actors… but I’m not that mobile so I rarely accompany her.’

‘Why don’t you see Mr Brocklesby out, Jane?’ Dexter said.

Jane escorted Mr Brocklesby down the hall, and into the main hallway of the building.

‘You seem to care for Mrs Millbank a great deal,’ she said.

‘I adore her and always have. So many of our friends have passed on… I’ve buried two wives. I now live in what they call “sheltered accommodation”, so it took me a while to get over here.’

They walked out of the main front door and Mr Brocklesby became short of breath, leaning heavily on his walking frame.

‘She is coming home, isn’t she? Only it seems strange to have police officers in her flat. She is a very private woman, you know. When will I be able to see her?’

‘Soon I hope. We have your contact numbers, and I’ll pass on your good wishes to Mrs Millbank. I’m sure she will be keen to see you when she has recovered.’

Jane felt badly about not being able to give him more details, and even worse about the fact that she doubted Daphne would be able to cope alone with her injuries, and return to living in her flat but for her safety Jane didn’t dare divulge any more.

Mr Brocklesby shook Jane’s hand and thanked her as he made his way towards his mobility car. It took a while for him to get his walking frame inside before he drove off.

Dexter came outside to watch the pale blue car drive away. ‘Nice chap. Pity to have to lie to him, but it’s basic security until we know how useful she is going to be.’

‘I don’t think she’ll be able to cope coming back home… she’ll be in a wheelchair.’

‘From what Brocklesby said about her, I think Daphne will find a way of managing. As soon as I know she’s allowed to have visitors I’ll make sure he gets driven there to see her.’

‘So you do have a heart.’ Jane smiled, pleased to see Dexter’s mood had lifted.

He cocked his head to one side and smiled. ‘You bet I have… I’m just not a morning person, especially after a row with Crowley. Give me a couple of minutes as I need to call into the station to double-check our walking-frame chap.’

Crowley listened at the other end of the phone as Dexter told him the old lady’s flat had been given a clean sweep.

‘Is Tennison with you?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Can you notify the armed officer at the hospital to allow her to visit? She’s got some reading glasses for Daphne, and it’s a good thing to keep her on friendly terms with our witness. Don’t worry, she won’t be discussing the bomber’s description with her.’

‘Good. Seems you’re on friendly terms with Tennison?’ Crowley asked, mockingly.

‘I’m looking out for her, as requested.’

‘Not got into her knickers yet?’ Dexter glanced over to Jane to make sure she was out of earshot.

‘For Christ’s sake, leave it out, Crowley!

Jane returned home just before seven that evening. Pearl was already there and the TV was switched on in her bedroom. Jane called out that she was back and went into the kitchen. It was immaculate, which pleased her. She was about to put the kettle on for a cup of tea when the phone rang. It was Dexter.

‘Do you fancy fish and chips?’ he asked. ‘I can be at your place in half an hour, and I know a restaurant in Ladbroke Grove that serves the best in London.’

Jane didn’t hesitate and said she would be outside her flat in three quarters of an hour. She needed time to shower and change, and doubted if he had been truthful about being such a short distance away. After seeing Dexter at work on the testing site she had to admit to finding him even more attractive, despite the warnings she’d been given.

Jane went into the bathroom. The shower unit was attached to the bath taps, and there was a small, plastic curtained rail around the bath. She turned on the shower and hurried into her bedroom to decide what to wear. The Coronation Street theme tune echoed from the spare bedroom, but Pearl had not appeared. Just as Jane was hurrying back to the bathroom, naked but carrying a towelling robe, Pearl’s door opened.

‘Oh, sorry! I was just going to make myself some supper.’

Jane quickly wrapped the robe around herself. ‘I’m going out, so I’m just about to have a quick shower… but I shouldn’t be too late.’

‘There were a couple of calls for you earlier. A guy called Church, who said he’d ring back later, and one from someone called Natalie. She said it was nothing urgent, but I left the number in the kitchen.’

‘Thank you… I didn’t see your note.’

‘I thought that call might have been her calling you back. You’re obviously very popular.’

‘Oh, it was just work…’ Jane said, going into the bathroom. Whilst she stood under the shower she couldn’t help smiling. When she came out, she found Pearl in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables.

‘Could I have my hairdryer back?’

‘Sorry, I put it on your dressing table.’

Jane didn’t like the fact that Pearl had gone into her bedroom, but didn’t say anything. As she closed her door behind her, she decided that she would get a lock for it.

Jane dried her hair and pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of fawn trousers. She used a magnifying mirror on her dressing table to quickly apply some foundation, mascara and eyeshadow, finishing with a light lipstick. She put a matching fawn jacket around her shoulders. After checking herself in the mirror, she walked out into the hallway and closed her bedroom door behind her.

Pearl was sitting on one of the kitchen stools, drinking a glass of a greenish liquid. There was a strong smell of cabbage permeating the hall. She glanced at Jane as she passed the doorway.

‘You look very nice.’

‘Thank you… Is that cabbage I can smell?’

‘Yes, I’m making a soup with lentils, onions, spinach, carrots… and cabbage. I usually make a big pot so I can have it when I get home. It becomes thicker the longer I keep on boiling it up.’

Jane was tight-lipped as she went out. The cabbage smell lingered all the way down the stairs, and the thought that Pearl would be boiling it up every night made her feel sick.

Dexter was as good as his word, and Jane only waited a few minutes before he drew up in a silver Porsche. He leaned over to push open the passenger door.

‘A Porsche — I’m impressed!’ Jane said, as she bent down to get inside.

‘It’s my pride and joy. Used to belong to my father. I keep it garaged at a pal’s place, and he keeps it tuned up for me.’

The engine roared as they pulled out, but then he slowed to drive down Melcombe Street, past Balcombe Street and Marylebone Station, before turning right towards Ladbroke Grove. Dexter was wearing pale blue jeans and a leather jacket, and Jane smiled to herself as she remembered Daphne’s description of him looking like Steve McQueen. He was quite similar, although Dexter was much taller. He parked a few yards from a fish and chip shop that had a line of people waiting to be served.

‘I told you this was the best in London… they get customers from all over.’

Dexter was very much the gentleman and moved around the car from his side to open the passenger door for Jane. He held out his hand to help her out, locked the car, then took her by the elbow to join the queue of waiting customers. Jane was unsure how to react. She hadn’t expected to be eating her dinner from a newspaper, and there didn’t appear to be any dining tables inside. Before they reached the counter, Dexter told Jane to look at the blackboard for the fresh fish of the day, or to choose from the lit-up menus above the counter.

‘I’ll have cod and chips, please,’ she said to him.

‘D’you want mushy peas, and salt and vinegar?’

‘Yes, please.’

Dexter ordered the same and their portions were dished up in cardboard take-out cartons with plastic forks, then wrapped in newspaper. Jane was still unsure where they were going to be eating, as she followed him back to the car. Dexter unlocked the passenger door, and because he was holding the fish and chips she opened it and got back into the car.

Dexter then opened the boot, put their dinner inside and got in to the driver’s seat.

‘Right, we’ll eat at my place… I’ve got a nice bottle of Chablis in the fridge, and if I put my foot down the food will still be hot.’

‘Do you live near here?’ Jane asked.

‘Not far… just off Kilburn High Street.’

He leant forward and switched on the cassette player, his choice of Mozart surprising Jane. The journey was longer than he had implied, and they drove past her parents’ block of flats before turning off the Edgware Road and reaching Kilburn High Street. Dexter turned left into a wide street of four-storey Victorian houses. He parked, jumped out and retrieved the fish and chips from the boot, whilst Jane pushed open her door.

‘Out you come!’ he said, holding out his hand towards her. She clasped onto it and heaved herself up from the low-slung Porsche. Dexter locked the car and waited for her as she straightened her jacket, then gestured for her to follow him up wide stone steps to the front door. It was not exactly run-down, but the property had obviously seen better days. There was a row of bells by the front door. Dexter swung his set of keys around to unlock it and on pushing it open he gestured for her to walk ahead, kicking the door shut behind them both.

‘Keep going… up to the first floor.’

Jane climbed up the wide staircase, which would have been light and airy in daylight, as it was overlooked by big windows. A dark stair runner held down by old brass clips, and the stone steps either side, were rather grubby. She arrived at a wide corridor with a fitted grey carpet and whitewashed walls. There were two doors, both of which were painted a similar shade of grey to the carpet.

‘Number 2,’ Dexter said, selecting another door key.

Jane stood to one side as he opened it, and he let her go in ahead of him as he banged the door closed with his hip.

The floor in the hallway was stripped pinewood.

‘The kitchen is straight ahead of you,’ he said, gesturing with his head.

Jane was taken aback by the large kitchen, which was full of modern steel equipment. There was a double-doored fridge-freezer, and a large six-ringed cooker. The counters were granite, and the floor was covered in dark grey lino tiles, whilst the sinks and taps were more suited to a restaurant than a flat. There was a small utility room with a washing machine and dryer. Everything had been designed in a very modern style.

Dexter put the food down on the counter and unwrapped it, switching on the oven and putting the fish and chips into a large white oven dish.

‘Keep them nice and hot… I hate soggy chips. If you open the fridge there’s a bottle of uncorked wine. I’ll be back in a minute.’

Jane was completely surprised by his dexterity in the kitchen. She hesitated in front of the big fridge-freezer, then found the wine bottle and placed it on the counter, then she opened a few cupboards to look for some wine glasses. Jane was eager to keep occupied as she was feeling ill at ease, even more so as in every cupboard she opened she found neatly stacked white plates, cups, saucers, cereal bowls, milk jugs, and a sugar bowl. But she couldn’t find any glasses.

Dexter appeared at the door holding two fluted wine glasses. ‘The cutlery is in the top drawer. If you take these through, I’ll bring in the fish and chips.’

Jane opened the drawer and took out two sets of knives and forks, then Dexter handed her the glasses and she walked down the stripped pinewood floor in the hallway. The main room again took her by surprise. It was huge, with high ceilings, two white sofas, and what looked like a very expensive woven rug lying between them, with a clear glass coffee table on top of it. The large windows had stripped pine shutters that matched the bare wooden floorboards. There was a modern, long, white dresser with silver handles for the nine drawers. Two decorative bowls sat on top of it, one containing bunches of keys and the other containing packs of Marlborough cigarettes and Henri Wintermans Café Crème Cigars, along with several boxes of matches.

There was a rack of records and an expensive-looking stereo system, with two speakers positioned on the wall above it. The dining table was glass-topped pine, with six matching chairs and was positioned in front of a floor to ceiling window. Jane laid the two sets of cutlery out, along with the wine glasses, and took her jacket off to place around the back of one of the chairs. There were no paintings but on the far wall there were some black-and white-framed photographs. Oddly there were three white oblong canvasses with large black dates painted on two and the third was empty. Jane moved closer to look at the photographs. One was of a mangled car and printed beneath it ‘Silver Porsche 550 Spyder sports car 1955 James Dean.’ Another photograph was of Dexter wearing a ski suit, carrying a set of skis with another older man, laughing.

‘Dinner’s served!’ Dexter said, carrying in a tray made up of the fish and chips on white plates, a large tomato ketchup container, and the bottle of wine. He had two mats and napkins and deftly flicked them down onto the table.

‘Sit down, and mind out… the plates are hot.’ He quickly put one plate on each of the mats.

Jane sat down as Dexter poured the wine, then sat at the end of the table.

‘Cheers!’ he said, lifting his glass.

She was trying hard to think what to say. She felt so out of her depth and uncomfortable, but he was completely relaxed. He proffered the ketchup and she shook her head, so he poured a large dollop on the side of his plate and started to eat.

‘You have an amazing flat,’ she said.

‘Thanks. How’s your new flatmate getting along?’

‘Pearl? She’s fine. She was at home when I left, watching Coronation Street. To be honest, I don’t know if it’ll work out. We seem quite different now she’s moved in.’

‘You were wise to have her checked out first… you have to take precautions and you did the right thing. I hope you also make a note of any odd phone calls, and look out for anyone loitering near your flat…’

‘I do… and I appreciate DCI Church is also looking out for me. I even checked with Pearl’s previous landlady and Madame Tussauds, where she works. There was no connection to any Irish background and her family come from Southport…’

‘So, she works at Madame Tussauds?’

‘Yes, she does the guided tours.’

‘You know there was an IRA bomb there in 1974, but a coded warning was sent and they managed to evacuate the premises just before it exploded.

Jane looked shocked, ‘Oh, my God, I had forgotten about that! She never mentioned it.’

‘It’s easy to get a bit blasé, we have so many bomb scares in London nowadays.’

Jane ate sparingly. She was nervous and was still trying to make polite conversation.

‘In comparison to your place, my flat would probably fit into one room! How many bedrooms have you got?’

‘Just one. I had two, but knocked them together. It’s not what I would call guest-friendly… well, not for my mates anyway.’ He smiled. ‘By the way, I had Daphne’s friend, Raymond Brocklesby, checked out. He’s quite a character… been married twice and inherited a fortune when he was in his thirties. He’s also a highly-decorated war hero, but he’s now living in sheltered accommodation as he has Parkinson’s. He’s wealthy enough to have bought his own mobility car and have it adapted to his specifications. He’s got quite a lengthy paragraph in Who’s Who.

Jane was beginning to relax now they were on a subject that she could interact with him on.

‘When I told Daphne we had met him, she wasn’t at all happy we’d been in her flat. She said we should have asked her permission to collect her reading glasses.’

‘We were just being cautious… but I think we’ve kept her well under wraps so far.’

‘She mentioned both you and Crowley spent time with her last night? I thought it was just Crowley.’

Dexter nodded, and poured more tomato ketchup onto his plate. ‘Sorry, I thought I said it was both of us. It was after I had the row with him about you and the artist’s sketch. Crowley wanted to pop in and explain what was happening. She was rather high on morphine, but she’s exceptionally intelligent and, considering what she’s been through, she’s amazing.’

‘Did she give you a description of the man she saw?’

‘Yes. Like she told you, it was different from the artist’s impression. Daphne took great delight in pointing that out to Crowley.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He told her it was possible there were two IRA men working together at the tube station… she saw one and you the other. Anyway, she agreed to an artist’s impression being made of the man she saw. Crowley’s organising it.’

‘So Crowley’s still saying that the man in the artist’s impression is the Covent Garden bomber? Even though Daphne and I have both said it isn’t?’

‘Well, either way, it doesn’t matter now. Crowley can’t issue a press release saying the artist’s impression was wrong and that the Covent Garden team could have been two men and a woman. Whoever the bastards are, they could still be around in London, feeling confident that we haven’t identified them. IRA members don’t fit a single defined stereotype; they come to London under the guise of looking for work, rent flats to live in and store nitro-glycerine and other equipment in a bedroom. What we also need to try and trace is the contact he made in the telephone box… all we know is that she was a woman with a fancy headscarf, but we can’t even be sure she had anything to do with it as we only have one witness who came forward.’

‘So the witness definitely didn’t see the face of the woman in the phone box? And she didn’t see our suspect approach her?’

‘No. The phone-box witness only saw the headscarf with Red Setters on it and the leather gloves she was wearing. Typical woman, she can describe the Hermès scarf and remember the gloves, but she can’t give any useful information after that… no description of her face or height.’ He stopped to take a sip of wine, then continued, ‘Can you take me through what you saw again… maybe something has jogged your mind since we were at Covent Garden?’

‘Being a typical woman, I haven’t recalled anything that I haven’t said already.’

‘I’m not having a go, Jane, it’s just that traumatic things we see or experience are put to the back of our mind. They’re in there somewhere and all I want to do is help you remember. So far, Daphne was the only one who saw him leave the bag by the ticket booth and the only one who can identify him when he’s arrested.’

‘If I’d seen his face I would have immediately told DCI Crowley or you. It all happened very quickly… a minute maybe, before that big man moved in front of me and the bomb exploded… He saved my life, whether he knew it or not. There is nothing more I can add to what I have already said repeatedly. If there was, believe me, you would be the first person I’d tell.’

Jane had only eaten half of her fish and chips but Dexter had wolfed down everything on his plate. He said nothing as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. She tried to think up something else to say, and turned to the three oblong canvases.

‘I’m interested in those dates… what do they mean?’

He looked over at them. ‘The first one, 22 November 1963… you should know that?’

Jane shrugged.

‘It’s the date JFK was assassinated.’

‘Oh.’

‘The other one, 5 August 1962, is when Marilyn Monroe died.’

‘Oh, really? And the blank one?’

‘Well, that could be mine.’ He laughed.

‘I don’t think that’s funny… it’s sort of tempting fate.’

‘I do that for a living. They’re just people that I admire. Well, I admire JFK, and Marilyn is my perfect woman… sexy, that great blonde curly hair, and she was a lot brighter than anyone ever gave her credit for. “If you can make a woman laugh you can make her do anything.” She said that.’

Jane flushed, and sipped her wine as Dexter drained his glass and poured himself another.

‘James Dean’s Porsche was stolen from an exhibition and never recovered… some ghoulish fan has to have it hidden somewhere, but that picture was taken at the scene when he crashed it and was found mangled. It’s my dream car… a big step up from my 1965 911 Carrera.’

He got up to take her plate and stacked it on top of his. ‘Right, I can offer you coffee or cheese? I might have some ice cream.’

‘I’m fine, thank you. Let me help you.’

‘No, stay put, I won’t be a moment.’

‘Actually, could I use the bathroom?’

‘Sure, first door on the left in the hall and through the bedroom.’

The bedroom was as immaculate as the rest of the flat. A bright Mexican rug with a fringe was thrown across the huge double bed. Beside the white fitted wardrobes, a section of low shelves held an electric typewriter and stacks of A4 paper, in front of which stood a leather chair. Next to the bed was a small steel table with a silver Anglepoise lamp, an empty ashtray and a large alarm clock. There were no mirrors or ornaments, and the room was devoid of pictures and photographs. The en-suite bathroom was tiled from floor to ceiling in white. There was a separate shower in a glass booth, next to a free-standing claw foot bath, and a washbasin set in white marble. Above the basin was a large, mirror-fronted cabinet.

Jane eased the cabinet door open. An array of shampoos, deodorants, shaving equipment and aftershave faced her. Oddly there was also a large bottle of Dior perfume. The toilet was set back in an alcove with a bidet next to it. Jane washed her hands and dried them on the pristine white hand towel that was hanging on a heated rail besides thick white bath towels. On the back of the bathroom door were two towelling bathrobes. The smaller one had the belt tied around it, as if it was from a hotel, but the larger one was open and left loose.

Jane went back into the main room to find Dexter lounging on one of the sofas, smoking a cigarette and dangling his glass of wine. He had refilled her glass, which was now on the glass coffee table opposite the other sofa.

‘This place is incredible. Have you lived here a long time?’

‘No, only about six months. It took a year of refurbishment before I moved in. It was a dump when I bought it.’

Jane nodded and smiled. She would have liked to ask how he could afford it on his salary. He must have a wealthy family.

‘Did you design everything, to get it the way you wanted?’

‘Yes and no. I hate clutter and small spaces, so I got an architect to draw up the plans, and a girlfriend helped furnish it and buy some of the stuff. She used to live in Mexico, so this carpet was a housewarming gift, and I brought back the throw in my bedroom from Acapulco.’

Jane sipped her wine. ‘Do you still see her?’

‘Occasionally, when she’s in town. What about you?’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, what about you?’

‘Well, there’s not a lot to tell you really… I was a probationary officer at Hackney, then I moved to Bow Street Station…’

‘I didn’t mean your career, I meant what about your personal life?’

‘Oh, I’ve sort of concentrated on my career. I have a sister, Pam, and my parents live in Maida Vale.’

‘So, no relationship?’

‘Not at the moment.’

It felt as if he was interrogating her and it made her uncomfortable — even more so when he eased himself off the sofa. She thought for a moment he was going to come and sit beside her, but instead he walked to the table and picked up her jacket.

‘I should run you home. I’ve got an early start in the morning, unless you’ve changed your mind about wanting a coffee?’

Jane sprang up. ‘No, really… I should be getting off. It’s been a really nice evening, and very kind of you.’

Dexter moved behind her and held out her jacket. As she slipped her arms through the sleeves, he gently eased her hair away from under the collar, softly touching her neck. He smiled.

‘You have lovely skin, Detective Tennison.’

She blushed at the compliment. Her heart was beating rapidly as she picked up her handbag. Taking her hand, Dexter led her out into the hall.

As they drove back to her flat, Jane wished she could think of something to say. Dexter chatted away, saying that next time he would attempt to cook for her instead of buying fish and chips. Before she knew it, they had pulled up in front of her building and Dexter had switched off the engine. He casually rested his arm along the back of her seat.

‘Goodnight. I’ll probably see you at the lab some time.’

Jane smiled and moved to open the door but Dexter used his free arm to reach across her and open it. She now had both his arms around her, and he kissed her cheek as the door swung open. Then he climbed out and went around to the passenger door to help her out.

‘Goodnight, and thank you again.’ She hesitated. ‘Perhaps I could cook dinner for you one evening.’

‘That would be nice… I’ll look forward to it.’

As Dexter revved up the engine and drove off, Jane sighed. Considering that she couldn’t cook, had never entertained anyone for dinner, and lived in a tiny flat that stank of Pearl’s cabbage soup, it could be a very embarrassing evening.

Jane waved to the SPG officers opposite, and walked slowly up the stairs. At least the awful smell of cabbage had faded. She unlocked her front door and dropped her key down on the small table by the telephone. A note was on top of the receiver: Natalie called again. Jane picked up the note and walked into her bedroom. She took off her jacket and tossed it onto her bed, wishing that she’d worn something less boring. It was old-fashioned and the matching trousers were now creased. She unzipped them and kicked them off. She looked at herself in the mirror and decided that on her first weekend off she would ask Pam to cut her hair and put some highlights in it.

Still feeling disgruntled, she took off her make-up, brushed her teeth and went to bed. She closed her eyes and, unable to sleep straightaway, thought about the evening. She was disappointed at herself for being so overwhelmed. She had never met anyone like Alan Dexter, or been entertained in such an elegant and tasteful flat. She was also surprised and how attractive she found him. She felt as if she had behaved like a besotted teenager, and was now even more confused. Why had he been so attentive? Perhaps he was monitoring her, to try to find out if there was anything more she could add to her statement? She dismissed the thought. She was being paranoid. Dexter had no need to go to such lengths to get her to repeat everything she knew about the Covent Garden bomb. Increasingly restless, Jane couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had touched her neck, and then kissed her. She wondered what it would be like to lie next to him in his big double bed and feel that gentle touch over her entire body. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep.

Jane walked into the Italian restaurant and asked for a table for two. She’d arranged to meet Natalie at eight and had arrived a bit early to ensure she could get in. The tables were covered in red-and-white checked tablecloths, and in the centre of each was an empty Chianti bottle with a candle stuck into the top. A long counter displayed breads and sweet pastries, together with a vast display of cheeses, on the other side of which a dark-haired man was busy cutting wafer-thin slices of cured ham.

Jane opened the menu. There was a lunch menu on one side, then the dinner menu and specials were on a thick laminated page on the other side. It was exactly eight when Natalie walked in. Seeing Jane sitting at the side of the room, she waved and walked over to join her. She tossed a stylish thick, wool jacket over the back of her chair, and tucked her soft leather clutch bag under the table as she sat down.

‘It’s not very posh,’ Jane said.

‘It’s fine… I love Italian food. Have you decided what you want to order?’ Natalie said as she took off her gloves and placed them on the table.

Jane noticed the checked lining. ‘I like your gloves,’ she said. ‘Are they Burberry?’

‘Yes. Christmas present from an old flame. I never spend that much money on gloves.’

‘I think I might have the tomato and basil soup, followed by spaghetti bolognese… unless you’re not having a starter?’

As Natalie looked over the menu Jane admired her pale denim shirt, tight jeans and cowboy boots. Jane thought to herself that as well as getting Pam to cut her hair she’d do some clothes shopping.

‘I’ll have the minestrone, and then the chicken with garlic and mashed potatoes… or maybe the cannelloni.’ Natalie turned to attract the waitress’s attention.

‘Is the cannelloni freshly made on the premises?’

‘Yes, we make all the pasta dishes here… my father is the chef.’ The waitress nodded to the dark-haired man behind the counter.

They ordered their food, and a bottle of Pinot Noir. Natalie smiled at Jane.

‘Isn’t this nice! On my way here I was trying to calculate just how long it’s been… you don’t look all that different.’

‘I remember you used to have very long hair.’

‘Oh God, yes! I had this terrible perm and it went like a frizzy mop, so I had it cut really short, you know that sort of pixie cut… but it didn’t really suit me, so I’ve let it grow a bit.’

‘I was thinking of getting my sister to cut mine, and give me some highlights… I’ve not really taken that much interest in my hairstyle, and always used to put it in a pleat under my police hat. But it was a relief when I came out of uniform. Those policewomen’s hats are not very flattering, and the uniform was continually having to be brushed down and dry cleaned, shirts starched, tie in place…’

‘And those black stockings and awful police-issue shoes,’ agreed Natalie. ‘But you know, I was really heartbroken when I was kicked out of Hendon. Truthfully, I don’t think I would have made the grade, though. Where were you posted to when you came out?’

‘Hackney… one of the toughest areas. Didn’t really have too much time to think about it as I was thrown into the deep end. There was only one other uniformed WPC there.’

Jane was relieved when the waitress came to the table and uncorked the wine, as she didn’t want to get into a discussion about Kath Morgan’s death. Natalie took a small sip of the wine to taste it and nodded in approval.

‘This isn’t too heavy… light and not too fruity.’

The waitress filled their glasses and placed the bottle in the centre of the table. Jane sipped the wine and nodded.

‘Mmm, it is very nice. So, what did you do after you left Hendon?’

‘I did a course in accountancy. I worked in a couple of firms at a low level, but it was so boring… and you know it takes ages to qualify as a fully-fledged accountant. Then I applied for a job on a cruise liner.’ She laughed. ‘I thought it would be a cheap way of seeing the world… but, my God, they worked my socks off. I saw the West Indies, and the Bahamas and the Virgin Isles, but nothing ever prepares you for the pettiness of the crews. And most of the guests on board treat you like a glorified waitress and cleaner.’

At this point their starters arrived. Two more customers came in and were seated as another couple left. The restaurant was still only a quarter full. As they ate Jane gave a brief outline of how she had moved from Hackney to Bow Street and succeeded in qualifying for CID.

‘CID… wow! That’s terrific! Do you deal with murder enquiries?’

‘I have done. But there’s a lot of discrimination in the Met. You learn to deal with it.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, women often get sidelined, or given incredibly boring enquiries… even on murder cases you end up doing tedious paperwork. I remember when I was a probationer it felt like I was nothing more than wallpaper. Only useful for making teas and coffees. It’s better now I’m a detective, but it’s still there.’

‘It’s the same at the bank. Some of the clerks and bank managers I’ve had to deal with would make your hair stand on end… so rigid, and obsessive timekeepers. God forbid that you should make the smallest error… all hell breaks loose.’

‘So, do you live with someone? Are you married?’ Jane asked.

‘I have lived with a few men, and when I was on the cruise ships I was quite naughty… but I haven’t found the right one yet. What about you?’

‘There’s nobody, really. I’ve just rented out the spare room in my flat.’

Jane went on to describe Pearl Radcliff and her vegetarian diet, and relayed the story about asking her if she had many belongings — ‘and now the spare bedroom looks like a book depository,’ she finished. Natalie swapped stories of previous girls she had shared with, making Jane laugh when she told her about one girl who had so many boyfriends coming and going, and that eventually she had found out she was a complete nymphomaniac.

‘Her name was Françoise, and she came from a very upper-class family… I think they owned vineyards in the South of France because she always had loads of money. She made model airplanes, and would spend hours gluing and using thin wires to hang them from her bedroom ceiling. I asked her if she was interested in flying and she said they represented her lovers! Anyway, one time she brought back this handsome chap and kept on saying that he was the one… then she made this small helicopter and pinned it up! So, he was gone and eventually I had to ask her to leave.’

By the time their main course arrived they had drunk almost the entire bottle of wine. Natalie was very complimentary about her cannelloni, explaining how difficult it was to roll the light pastry around the meat and make the rich tomato sauce.

‘I love cooking, and I have to say that I’m not too bad… I even did a Cordon Bleu cookery course, because I really like experimenting and trying out new dishes. Do you like Indian food?’

Jane shrugged, saying that she was embarrassed at how hopeless she was in the kitchen. ‘When I’m at work, or was living in the section house, I always ate in the canteen. My mother’s a good cook… did it all when I lived at home… you know, big roast dinners on a Sunday. I can just about boil or scramble an egg with some bacon. I’ve never tried anything fancy… there are blokes at work who know more about cooking than me.

‘Well, I am going to change that, Jane Tennison! I’m going to give you a beginner’s course in some basic culinary dishes. What are you doing this weekend?’

‘Well, I’ve planned to see my sister tomorrow…’

‘Why don’t you come over on Sunday? I’ll do a grocery shop tomorrow and we can cook lunch together.’

Natalie was wonderful company and Jane realised that she had never had a close girlfriend. She felt so at ease with her, and readily accepted her offer of a cooking lesson.

By the time they had both had coffee and a delicious sweet honey pastry each, they had agreed to meet on Sunday. Natalie wrote down her address in Belsize Park and insisted that Jane come by early so she could start the cookery lesson.

‘It’s just a garden flat in the basement, so don’t be too excited. I’m going to insist I pay for our dinner tonight, and you can pay the next time we eat out. But I’m hoping you’ll be able to invite me to your place to meet your vegetarian Pearl, and then cook for me.’

They were the last customers to leave the restaurant, and the closed sign was flipped over on the main door. As they headed out into the street towards Baker Street station, they paused at the traffic lights.

‘This is where I head back to Melcombe Street,’ Jane said.

‘I had a great evening. See you Sunday,’ Natalie replied. She gave Jane a hug and kissed her on the cheek before hurrying across the road.

Jane was just turning away when a highly polished black Jaguar pulled up at the red traffic light. Jane wouldn’t have noticed the vehicle and its occupants, but for the face in the passenger window. Jane instantly recognised Regina Hernandez, the young girl she had rescued on her first day with the Dip Squad. Regina looked like a startled fawn. As the lights turned to green Jane, hardly believing what she was doing, flagged down a cab.

‘Can you follow that black Jaguar.’

‘Lost your boyfriend, have yer?’ The cab driver smirked as Jane got in.

‘I’m a police officer.’

‘Right, luv, doing an Agatha Christie, are you? I’ll follow it.’

From the back seat, Jane watched as the Jaguar drove along Regent Street, crossing straight over Oxford Circus they passed the London Palladium Theatre’s billboards and then Liberty, taking a right at Brook Street. The cab driver, half turned to Jane, ‘Do you know where your friends are going, luv?’

‘No, I don’t.’ Jane said, wondering if the driver of the Jaguar suspected he was being followed or was unfamiliar with the area.

‘Well, I hope they’re not a sightseeing tour! That looks like a courtesy car.’

‘Just keep following, please.’ Part of Jane was uncertain she had even recognised Regina. As they approached Grosvenor Square and headed into the traffic in Park Lane, they were directly behind the Jaguar and when it stopped abruptly outside the Playboy Club, the cab driver almost drove into the back of it.

‘Did you see that? No indication he was stopping!’

Jane already had her wallet open. Ahead, she saw a man in a shiny suit get out and open the passenger door. Dressed in a plunging top, tight-fitting sequined mini skirt, high-heeled silver sandals and a white fox fur wrap, the fifteen-year-old Hernandez girl did not look her age.

‘Could you wait for me?’

‘No, luv, I can’t park out here. Just pay me off. It’s four pounds.’

Jane thrust a five-pound note at the driver just as the Jaguar pulled away from the pavement. The Playboy Club’s black gleaming door opened as Jane ran towards Regina. That was the moment she saw that the man ushering the frightened girl in front of him was Regina’s uncle, Andres Hernandez. The club door closed and the doorman barred the entrance.

‘I need to speak to that girl.’

‘Members only,’ the bouncer replied without looking at Jane.

‘You don’t understand… it is very important that I speak to that young girl. She’s underage.’

‘You got a membership card, luv?’

‘No, but—’

‘Then you ain’t getting in.’

Jane got out her warrant card, ‘I’m a detective with the Metropolitan Police.’

‘So are quite a few people in there… and a lot more senior than you, sweetheart. Shall I go disturb a commander and get him to come and have a word with you, or would you like to toddle off and get a warrant?’

It was pointless to argue with the doorman. She suspected he was right: there were probably a few senior police officers in the club and they wouldn’t take kindly to being disturbed by the likes of a detective constable. Deciding to give up, she headed home.

On Monday morning at the explosives lab Jane was told to finish bagging and tagging the victims’ clothes and then get to work on the items of personal property that had been recovered, checking them against victims’ statements. There was a large table covered with items of jewellery, wallets and purses, dropped by victims or torn from their clothing by the explosion. She didn’t find it as traumatic as the first time she handled the bloodstained clothing. She realised she was becoming desensitised to the situation, thanks, perhaps, to Dexter’s advice to put the worst of it out of her thoughts.

As Jane sat taking her break in the canteen she was hoping to see Dexter, but he didn’t come in. Just as she was finishing her lunch, however, Crowley approached her table.

‘We’ve had some worrying news about Mrs Millbank. She was taken down for more surgery this morning. I want you to go over there and see how she’s doing.’

‘Is it her leg?’

‘Yes, there’s been a complication. It’s gangrene, so she’ll need more taken off, which, given her age, could be touch and go.’

Jane felt awful and agreed to go straight to the hospital.

‘Keep me updated… Take her in some grapes… you know, look out for her.’

‘Yes, sir.’

As Jane entered the CID office, she saw DCI Church with about twelve plain-clothes officers, who were all male. Through a window she spotted Crowley in a separate office, having a conversation with Dexter and DS Lawrence.

Church was standing beside a table with guns, bullets and shoulder holsters laid out on it, some of which he was handing to the detectives from the Dip and Bomb Squads. There was a tense atmosphere and everyone had a solemn look on their face as they signed for their.38 revolvers and loaded them.

‘You an authorised shot, Tennison?’ Church asked, his eyes scrunched tight as if anticipating danger ahead.

‘No, sir,’ she replied, beginning to feel nervous about the whole situation, but not wanting to show it.

‘Stanley’s got some pickaxe handles in his car if you want one,’ a detective said in earnest.

Jane felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned to see Stanley.

‘A lump of wood will be about as much use as a glass hammer if the raid turns into Gunfight at the OK Corral.’

Jane shook her head and frowned. ‘I could have guessed you’d be the one to make light of a serious situation, Stanley.’

‘Only trying to make you relax, luv. Besides, anyone who’s not carrying a shooter won’t be called into the premises until it’s secure. You’ll be well away from the action.’

Stanley’s comment didn’t bother Jane. The truth was that she’d happily stay at a safe distance when the raid was carried out.

Crowley and Lawrence walked into the CID office followed by Dexter, who was carrying an A1 Plain Paper Flipchart, which he placed on an easel. Crowley clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention.

‘Right, you lot,’ Crowley said. ‘Listen up, and listen well. As you are all aware, it was not that long ago that a police officer was shot and killed in London during a stop-and-search incident with a man who turned out to be a member of the IRA. I cannot emphasise enough how dangerous this operation is. The ASU that we are about to take out will undoubtedly be armed with handguns and explosives so the last thing I want are any fuck-ups by us.’

Crowley nodded at Dexter, who turned over the blank cover of the flipchart to reveal a detailed street map of the address that was about to be raided: 61 Caversham Road, NW5. Crowley pointed to the map.

‘The Intelligence Services informant has proved to be a reliable source in the past. Our targets are holed up in a two-bedroom ground-floor flat in a row of three-storey terraced Victorian buildings. Unfortunately, the information only came in earlier this evening so we haven’t been able to do a full daytime recce to evaluate the surrounding area, or any comings and goings from the target address.’

One of the officers raised his hand and Crowley nodded for him to speak.

‘Do we know anything about the occupants of the other two flats in the building?’

‘Luckily, we do. One of my squad located the landlord and is bringing him over as we speak, with a set of keys for the whole premises. The top-floor flat is currently unoccupied, and a young Jamaican couple with a baby have recently moved into the middle flat. The landlord says that an Irishman, who said he was a delivery van driver, started renting the ground-floor flat about a month ago. When the landlord visited a couple of weeks ago there were two other men in the ground-floor flat, but they didn’t speak to him. On a positive note, the description of one of them fits the artist’s impression we released to the press.’

Dexter interjected, ‘Generally, we’ve found that IRA bomb makers live alone, but as it’s a two-bedroom flat, I wouldn’t be surprised if more than one ASU operative is staying there. Maybe if they’re there together to plan a big explosion we’ll strike lucky and get all of the bastards.’

Crowley turned over to the next sheet on the flipchart, which showed more detail of the surrounding area. Number 61 was next to a builders’ yard, which in turn led directly onto to the overground railway line running through the nearby Kentish Town station.

‘As you can see, they have a good escape line via the yard and onto the train tracks. The last thing I want is to be chasing armed suspects on live rails, or facing a moving train head-on…’ He flipped over to another page showing the details of each team.

‘Stanley, you and a team of three others will go to 107 Gainsford Street, behind the target address. Via those premises you can gain entry to the garden of 61 Caversham to cut off their escape route. If they do come out through the back, then let us know over the radio right away as we don’t want to get caught in any crossfire. Understood?’

Stanley nodded and grinned, as if almost relishing the thought of a shootout. Crowley then explained that his team would be ‘Gold’, Stanley’s would be ‘Silver’ and the third team would ‘Bronze’. Only two people in each team would have a radio, to avoid too much airwave chatter. Crowley said that DCI Church and three other members of the bomb squad would be in his lead team and the rest would continue to cover the outside as backup, if needed.

‘Isn’t DS Dexter in the main team?’ one of the Dip Squad officers asked.

‘As much as Dexter likes to be in the thick of it he won’t be much use to us if he gets shot at the outset… unless anyone else here feels they’re capable of disarming a bloody bomb!’

Everyone could see Crowley was on edge and not in the mood for what he perceived to be silly questions. Stanley raised his hand, causing everyone to glare at him in expectation of an inane remark or question that would further annoy Crowley.

‘What about getting the young couple out?’ Stanley asked.

‘Good point, Stanley. Once we go through the main door and are in position to force entry to the target flat one of my team, accompanied by WDC Tennison, will go up to their flat and remain with them until the premises are secure and they can be safely evacuated… You OK with that, Tennison?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Jane replied, wondering apprehensively how much damage might be caused to the flat above if a bomb went off. She thought of her mother and the state she’d be in if she was listening in on the briefing. The thought made her smile and she knew that her nervousness was caused by adrenaline.

Crowley explained that once the suspects were arrested and the premises secure no one was to touch anything in the flat. Dexter would then search for any explosive devices, or bomb making parts, and Lawrence would deal with the forensic aspects of the search.

The duty sergeant entered the room with a box full of radios for everyone. He spoke with DCI Crowley, who didn’t look pleased as he picked up a radio and talked into it.

‘Oscar Papa One from Gold, receiving, over.’ The radio hissed and there was no reply. Impatiently, Crowley repeated his call to the officers watching the suspect’s address.

‘Oscar Papa One, receiving… go ahead… over,’ came the reply.

‘I’ve just spoken to the duty sergeant… is the situation still the same? Gold over…’ Crowley asked.

‘Yes… nothing further to report… over…’

‘Keep me updated.’

Crowley banged the radio down on the table.

‘This could be a long night, gents… I had two of my officers enter the next door second-floor flat at 59 Caversham with listening devices while we were grouping up here. At present the lights are on at 61 but they can’t detect any movement. It looks like we sit and wait in obo vans and unmarked cars for now, in the surrounding streets.’

There was an air of despondency in the room.

‘It’ll be just our luck if the ASU’s out planting a bomb,’ one of the bomb squad officers said.

‘It’s a possibility,’ agreed Crowley. ‘We’ll know soon enough if they have, it’ll be all over the radios.’

‘How long do you intend to wait, Guv?’ Dexter asked, knowing that Crowley was in an awkward position. If a bomb did go off the ASU might not return to the premises, and might get out of town.

Crowley was silent, apparently thinking about his next move. Instead of replying, he walked over to Jane. ‘Tennison,’ he said. ‘A word with you in private.’

Church followed them out into the adjoining office.

Crowley looked at him. ‘I want a private conversation with Tennison.’

Church shook his head. ‘Not when she’s one of my officers. Her safety is my responsibility… if you want her to stay, I stay as well.’

Crowley didn’t have much option other than to agree.

‘I was thinking that Tennison could go up to the second-floor flat alone and speak with the Jamaican couple… find out what they know about the recent movements at the suspect’s flat. She’s young, like them, and doesn’t stick out as old bill like the rest of us. Anyone watching would think she was just a friend, visiting.’

Church looked apprehensive. ‘And what if it all goes pear-shaped? You seem to forget that when she saw the suspect at Covent Garden, he also saw her. You’ve had a surveillance team protecting her and now, just to satisfy your own ambition, you’re willing to risk her life? No. It’s not on. We sit and wait, or go straight in. Those are the only viable options, and you know it.’

‘This is not about me, Church, it’s about arresting a bunch of murderers. The people in the flat above may be able to tell us more.’

Jane was fed up with the two of them bickering. ‘I’ll do it. I’ve got a scarf in my bag and a different coat from the one I wore at Covent Garden. I can tie up my hair, and take off my make-up so I look older… and keep my head down.’

Church was adamant that it was too risky but Jane stood her ground.

Crowley said he would have her fitted up with a covert radio and asked if she knew how to work one.

‘Yes, sir, I do.’

‘Right, let’s get this show on the road…’ Crowley said. rubbing his hands together.

Within half an hour everyone was in position on the nearby streets. Stanley’s Silver team had gained entry to the builders’ yard from the rear of the opposite premises and were hidden, ready to go when the order was given. Jane had done everything she could to make herself unrecognisable and Dexter, ever the charmer, said she still looked attractive even without make-up. She tested the covert radio before getting out of the obo van and walking slowly down Caversham Street towards the block of flats. The light rain had given a yellow sheen to the pavement. She was wearing her sensible Cuban-heeled shoes and found her own footsteps sounded loud to her.

Crowley gave her the landlord’s keys so she could just let herself in through the front door and go straight up to the first-floor flat.

Jane felt nervous, particularly when someone walked towards, or passed, her. She kept her head down and didn’t make eye contact in case the person was the IRA bomber she had seen. Her heart was pounding as she moved up the worn narrow flagstone path and stepped up to a dirty, sodden doormat. There were two empty milk bottles on the doorstep. The front door had peeling paint with four mottled glass panes. She opened the front door, then placed the key under the mat for Crowley. As she carefully walked up the threadbare, carpeted stairs some of them creaked. There was a yellowing plastic lampshade around a low wattage bulb hanging from what had once been an elegant ceiling rose. Outside flat 2 she got her warrant card out and knocked on the door. It was eventually opened by a young, attractive Jamaican woman in a nightdress. Jane held up her warrant card and put her finger to her mouth to indicate to the woman to be quiet. To Jane’s relief she remained silent and let her in. Jane then introduced herself and the woman looked distressed, speaking in a strong West Indian accent.

‘We done nuttin’ wrong! We only just come here from Jamaica… you can check me passport and visa… and me husband’s… he got a job in de baker’s.’

Jane gave her a reassuring smile. ‘It’s OK… there’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s the downstairs flat I’m interested in, and anything you or your husband can tell me about the residents.’

‘Me husband’s not here at de moment. He’s still out lookin’ for de cat. But he should be back soon.’

Crowley sat impatiently in the obo van with Church, Dexter, Lawrence, and the rest of the Gold team.

‘She’s taking her bloody time. She should have radioed in by now.’

Lawrence was quick to defend Jane. ‘Give her a chance. She’s only been gone a few minutes. If any of us were in her shoes we wouldn’t be in a rush.’

The radio hissed. Everyone sat upright waiting for Jane’s update, but the call was from the officers inside the neighbouring flat.

‘Oscar Papa One to Gold… we just heard movement in target premises… over.’

‘You sure?’ Crowley asked.

‘Yes, certain… someone just dropped a glass and we heard it shatter.’

Crowley spoke over the radio. ‘Silver team go, go, go to rear of target and notify when secure… we’ll drive down closer then go in when you’re in position.’

Dexter said he and Lawrence would wait outside on the street while they made the arrests and secured the scene. It took only seconds for Stanley’s team to climb the garden fence and radio Crowley that they were in position. Crowley and his team were out of the obo van in an instant, crouching down like panthers stalking prey as they moved up the steps, guns held ready.

Crowley retrieved the key from under the mat and quietly opened the front door. He and Church took up position in the hallway either side of the ground-floor flat door. A detective with a large metal rammer stood in front of the door and Crowley raised his hand to give a countdown of three using his fingers and silently mouthing the number ‘one’ as he did so.

‘No! Don’t do it!’ Jane screamed as loudly as she could from the top of the stairs. Everyone froze for a split second, apart from the officer with the rammer, who raised it backwards. Again Jane screamed as she ran down the stairs.

‘STOP! It might be booby-trapped. They’ve left already!’

Crowley raised his palm in the nick of time to stop the officer ramming the door open. Dexter and Lawrence, who had heard Jane’s screams, came running in. Jane’s voice was trembling as she spoke.

‘The woman upstairs said she was looking out of the window a quarter of an hour ago, and saw three men leaving the premises. She recognised the Irishman who occupied the ground-floor flat. They were carrying a suitcase, holdall and rucksacks and got into a black cab. It looks like they’ve moved out.’

There was a unanimous groan.

‘All of you shut it! And back off. I need to check the door for a booby trap. Stand back, stand right back!’ shouted Dexter. Using a crowbar he forced open the front window to access the premises and it wasn’t long before he opened the front door. He was holding a scruffy-looking cat in his arms and stroking it.

‘Doors not rigged to explode… Place is empty, apart from this little bugger, who, it would seem, is the culprit that knocked a glass off the table.’

‘Oh t’ank you, sir! You find Bob Marley!’ the Jamaican woman said, as she walked down the stairs. ‘He must ha got in d’ere when de men leave.’

Dexter handed her the cat. ‘He very nearly used up one of his nine lives, luv.’

Crowley looked furious, but the absurdity of the moment was not lost on the others, who started to laugh. Dexter congratulated Jane on her quick action and said that if the door had been rigged she would have saved a lot of lives.

Crowley wasn’t impressed. ‘The Commander is going to be livid, and I’m the one who’s got to tell him the suspects moved out before we even got here. He said he wanted to know the result right away so I’m going back to the Yard to call him.’

Crowley told everyone to stand down over the radio and asked Dexter to check the rest of the premises with Lawrence for explosives before they carried out a full search.

‘Could I assist with the search of the flat, sir?’ Jane asked.

‘No, I don’t want too many people in there, just the two experts.’

‘I could take a statement from the Jamaican couple…’

Crowley was on edge. ‘Their statement is far too important for someone with your lack of experience to take. Just go home, Tennison!’

As Crowley stomped off, Lawrence saw Jane’s crestfallen face. ‘Listen, you can help me with the exhibits. Is that all right with you, Dexter?

‘Fine by me so long as Crowley doesn’t find out.’

Jane gave a small smile of thanks to Lawrence as he radioed in to Kentish Town and asked them to call the Control room at Scotland Yard to make a request for at least four night-duty SOCOs to attend the scene and carry out a fingerprint search.

The flat had a small living room, kitchen and two small bedrooms. In one of the bedrooms the bed had been placed upright against the wall to make room for a large work table, on which there were a number of small pieces of cut wire and globules of burnt solder wire. All the cupboards and drawers were empty and it was clear to Lawrence that the suspects had used cleaning cloths to remove fingerprint traces. Lawrence took out his camera and started photographing the bedroom and the work table.

‘They may not have been as smart as they think about cleaning up their fingerprints… any idea why?’ he asked Jane, testing her crime scene abilities.

She paused. ‘If they’ve taken the time to remove them, it could mean they have a criminal record and could be identified by fingerprints.’

‘Yes, but there’s something else. Sometimes we miss what we can’t see.’

Lawrence pointed to the table.

‘That table must have been carried in here as it wouldn’t fit if the bed was in its normal place… so…’ He paused and Jane twigged where he was going.

‘You lift a table with your hands on the underside and leave fingerprints that you can’t see.’

‘Exactly… and likewise with the bed and chair. You heard of a mechanical fit?’

Jane nodded. ‘Yes, on the forensic module during my CID course. The tutor tore a piece of paper into six pieces and put it back together like a jigsaw. Because each part came from the same paper each bit was a unique mechanical fit and therefore considered conclusive evidence that all the pieces were of the same origin.’

‘You’ve got a good memory.’

‘I only did the course two months ago, so it’s still fresh in my mind.’

‘Nevertheless, you obviously paid attention and that will stand you in good stead as a detective. See the bits of cut wire on the table? If we can trace the wire cutters that were used to a suspect’s possession, then that is another possible mechanical fit.’

Jane was confused. ‘How?’

Lawrence explained, ‘Often wire cutters and similar implements wear over time and unique nicks or marks are created on the cutting edge. When they are used to cut wire the striation mark from the edge of the cutting implement is transferred to the wire.

‘We then do test cuts with the suspect’s pliers and compare the test wires against those on the table here. If there is a match with the cutting marks… bingo! We have evidence that the same cutters were used.’

Jane watched, fascinated, as Lawrence took a small glass bowl out of his forensic kit, together with some small bottles of liquid. He placed the bowl on top of his kit bag and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves.

‘I’m going to do what is called a Griess test for traces of explosives.’

Jane watched as he rubbed a piece of white filter paper on an area of the table, then placed it in the glass bowl.

‘The test involves taking a sample with the filter paper then sodium hydroxide is added to the bowl followed by the Griess reagent… if the paper turns pink within ten seconds, this indicates the presence of nitrites.’

Jane was rather lost with the terminology of the procedure but was engrossed with what Lawrence was doing. When one of the filter papers turned pink within three seconds she knew that Lawrence had got a positive result. He grinned, but appeared quite calm.

Jane, in contrast, was excited. ‘Is it nitroglycerine?’

‘It’s only a preliminary test… the explosives lab will carry out the more sensitive thin layer chromatography on further samples from the table top… But for my money you can be 99 per cent sure it’s nitro.’

Lawrence handed Jane some rubber gloves and small exhibits bags and asked her to help him bag and list each bit of wire. Dexter called out from the kitchen, asking Lawrence if he could have a word with him.

‘You found something?’ Lawrence asked, as he entered the kitchen.

‘There’s more wire in the bin, along with the remnants of a remote-control car and the shell of an alarm clock… If they had planned to move on then I’d expect a more thorough clean up.’

‘I agree. The attempt at cleaning off fingerprints looks rushed… and I got a positive for nitro on the work table.’

Lawrence looked around the kitchen and noticed a large cooking pot on the stove with some stew in it. He picked up a soup spoon and dipped it into the pot.

Dexter looked shocked, ‘You’re not actually going to eat that shit, are you?’

Lawrence moved the spoon up to his mouth, making Dexter cringe, then with a cheeky grin stopped and dipped his finger in the spoonful of stew.

‘It’s still lukewarm. If they were planning on moving out tonight then why not eat this first?’

‘The bastards must have been tipped off. They knew we were coming!’ Dexter punched a kitchen cabinet with his fist.

Lawrence spoke calmly. ‘Well, it can’t be anyone on the raid. None of us knew where we were going until Church briefed us.’

‘My bet’s on a leak within the Intelligence Services. Keep this between us. I’ll go back to the Yard and tell Church.’

‘Rather you than me. I’ll finish up here with Tennison, the SOCOs can work through the night on the fingerprinting and I’ll arrange for uniform to guard the premises until everything’s been examined.’

‘How long will it take to get results if you find any prints?’

‘A week or two.’

‘What? Why so bloody long?’

‘Because the suspects are probably all paddies, and if they have a criminal record their fingerprints will be held with either the RUC or Garda Síochána fingerprint bureaus. We have to search them manually here first, then send them over to Ireland and that takes time.’

‘And time’s something we haven’t got. I can feel it my blood… the IRA are planning something big in London.’

After a fitful night’s sleep, Jane got dressed for work. She was in a bad mood and very irritated when she saw Pearl had left dirty dishes in the sink.

‘You left all your carrot peelings by the sink,’ she snapped, ‘and your used plates.’

‘Well, how could I clear up when it was full of your bolognese mess?’ Pearl replied equally shortly. ‘But don’t get bad-tempered… if we do it together it’ll be done before I have to go to work.’

‘I have to go to work as well!’ Jane retorted.

Together they washed and dried the dishes, and Pearl wiped over the counters. She then threw the dishcloth towards the sink.

‘Right, all done and dusted. I’ve got to put some make-up on, then I’m off… if that’s all right with you?’

Jane rinsed out the dishcloth that Pearl had thrown over to the sink.

‘Thank you… I’m sorry I was so bad-tempered. I was late getting home last night, and I couldn’t sleep.’

‘How was the patient?’ Pearl asked, hovering in the kitchen doorway.

‘She died. It was very sad… she was a wonderful old lady.’

‘What did she die of?’

‘She was badly injured in the Covent Garden explosion.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry… Michael did tell me, now I think of it. I liked him. And he’s very attractive.’

Pearl went back into her bedroom, as Jane glanced over the now clean kitchen. She washed her hands in the bathroom and ran a comb through her hair before going into her bedroom to get dressed. She opened her wardrobe to take out a clean shirt, and then pursed her lips. She knew that last night she had carefully pushed back the hangers either side of the Chanel dress, as she wanted to let the creases drop from the frilly skirt. The dress was now squashed back alongside her other clothes.

Jane banged open her bedroom door catching Pearl just about to leave.

‘You were in my room again! You can’t deny it because you moved my clothes in the wardrobe.’

‘Oh yeah… I needed the hairdryer. I was just looking in the wardrobe for it, sorry. But that dress is just gorgeous. Bye for now…’

Pearl hurried out, leaving Jane to stew in her anger. She quickly got into her work clothes and was just about to leave when the doorbell rang. She didn’t press the entry buzzer as she thought it might be the postman, so she hurried down to the main front door.

‘Morning, Tennison.’ DCI Church was standing on the pavement. She looked at him with trepidation, certain he was there because of the fiasco the previous night.

‘I wasn’t expecting you, sir.’

‘So it would seem. And you didn’t check who it was before you opened the door. Now Daphne’s passed away you need to be more aware of—’

‘I saw you approaching out the window and was on my way out anyway,’ Jane lied to appease him. She’d had enough of being lectured to about her safety.

‘Right, well it’s always best to double-check. I’m here to take you over to Scotland Yard to meet Crowley. I would have called but, as it’s still early, I thought I might catch you before you left.’

‘Why does Crowley want to see me?’ Jane asked.

‘He wants you to look at some more mugshots, surveillance photographs and artist’s impressions of suspected IRA members. He’s hoping you might recognise the man you saw at Covent Garden.’

As they walked to his car she could feel the blood rushing to her head, certain she was in trouble. He opened the passenger door and Jane climbed in. The door was still sticking and he had to slam it hard before he walked around to the driving side.

‘You all right?’ he asked, starting up the engine.

‘Yes, I’m fine. My flatmate is just winding me up and I’m rather sad about Daphne. I was at the hospital last night. Is that why you’re here?’

‘In a way. How was your evening?’

‘Not that great, I was having dinner with that charge nurse I mentioned, Michael Mitchell, when he got a call about Daphne. I was a bit worried that he had given my number out, but he said he was on call if there was an emergency, so he had to give his contact details.’

‘It’s good to be wary and careful. He should have checked if it was OK with you.’

Church drove in silence for a while, then gave Jane a sidelong glance.

‘So, it’s not working out all that well with the flatmate?’

Jane sighed, staring out of the window. ‘Not really. She did at least help me with the washing-up this morning, but then I found out she’d been in my bedroom again. I specifically asked her not to go in there, but I knew she’d been looking through my wardrobe. She’s very nosey and is always asking questions.’

‘What sort of questions?’

‘Just being generally nosey about everything. I’m going to get a lock put on my bedroom door.’

‘She was vetted, wasn’t she?’

Jane turned to him in surprise. ‘Yes. She works at Madame Tussauds.’

‘Do you know what a “sleeper” is?’

Jane straightened her back. ‘Yes, I do. It was explained to me. Pearl doesn’t concern me in that way… I mean, she isn’t doing anything suspicious.’

She’d started to hope Stanley hadn’t told Church about her mistake with Regina the previous night.

‘But you just said she asks a lot of questions, and that she goes in and out of your bedroom. You need to start thinking whether she might have an ulterior motive. I’m sure she doesn’t, but just be vigilant. You didn’t tell anyone about the raid, did you?’

‘No, I didn’t know anything about the target address until the briefing at the station. Why are you asking?

‘Crowley thinks the ASU may have been tipped off just before we got there.’

Jane was distraught. ‘What! Are you suggesting it was me?’

‘No, not at all, Crowley thinks the Intelligence Services have a leak. Look all I’m saying is you need to be careful… we all do.’

Jane chewed at her lip and stared out of the window again. She began to wonder if she had inadvertently mentioned anything to Pearl after Crowley’s call. Could Pearl’s interest in her work, and what was in her bedroom wardrobe, add up to more than just nosiness? Pearl had asked Michael if he was a detective, and she’d asked about the hospital. Why had Pearl come back early when she knew Jane was cooking dinner? Had she innocently given more details to Pearl than she’d realised?

‘Here we are,’ Church said, showing his warrant card to the PC guarding the entrance to the underground car park at Scotland Yard.

Church had not given any indication that the reason he had shown up to collect Jane was that Crowley was concerned about her vulnerability. He was aware that the news about Daphne Millbank’s death, and role as a vital witness, might be leaked to the press and yet again reflect badly on the investigation. To minimise the risk of this an announcement had been organised and a statement would be made that a further victim of the Covent Garden explosion had died from their injuries.

The day after the raid Crowley had been to Brixton prison where he interviewed the four Balcombe Street IRA men, who, as Category A prisoners, were segregated whilst awaiting trial. Crowley hoped they would give him names of the men connected to the recent IRA activity in London. Three of the men all insisted that the bomb squad had fabricated confessions and convicted the wrong men for the Guildford and Woolwich pub bombings. One prisoner had given Crowley names for two men who were part of the ASU in London, but it turned out they were already in a Northern Irish prison and could not have taken part in either the Guildford or Covent Garden bombings. It infuriated Crowley that the Balcombe Street men were playing games with him and wasting time.

Jane accompanied DCI Church to Crowley’s office. He was as abrupt as usual and gestured for her to take one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

Jane sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching as Crowley laid out a series of photographs face down in front of her.

‘I know you’re adamant that the artist’s impression released to the press was not your recollection of the suspect. Nor did it match the deceased Daphne Millbank’s description.’ Crowley leant back in his large desk chair. ‘I want you to look closely at the photographs in front of you. Some are surveillance photos, others are of men who have been arrested on suspicion of being sympathisers with, or members of, the IRA — not convicted or currently in prison. Take your time, and try as best as you can to recall the moment you tried to stop the suspect at Covent Garden.’

Jane leant forward to the edge of the desk, turning over one black-and-white photograph after another. She took her time, studying each one in turn.

‘No, I’m sorry. None of these men look familiar.’ She tapped the surveillance photograph of the man Crowley suspected with her index finger. ‘I’m sure this wasn’t the man I tried to stop at Covent Garden.’

‘I don’t want to undermine your confidence, Jane, but I believe this man was involved in the bombing at Covent Garden, maybe even as an accomplice. The landlord of the Kentish Town flat stated it was this man he saw when he visited the premises two weeks ago.’

Jane glanced at DCI Church in the hope of getting some response, but he was studying the row of mugshots and surveillance pictures.

‘Would you be prepared to attend an identity parade?’

‘Yes, of course I would. But even if the man I saw was on it I can’t be sure I’d pick him out.’

‘We can get the men on a parade to turn sideways,’ Church added.

Crowley leaned across his desk, gathered up the photographs and stacked them like a pack of cards.

‘I’m not sure you’re aware how much we’re depending on you, Tennison. We have very little evidence to assist us in tracing the woman seen in the phone box. We’ve issued a press release asking for anyone with information to come forward, but we still only have one witness claiming to have seen her, so it seems unlikely we’ll be able to trace her.’

There was a knock on the door and a uniformed officer asked if DCI Church could take an important call from a member of his Dip Squad.

Church placed his chair back against the wall and glanced at Jane as he walked past her. She seemed anxious and was twisting her hands in her lap. Crowley would have to put more pressure on her. He went into an adjoining office to take the call.

‘Guv, it’s Stanley… Something’s cropped up that you need to be aware of.’

Church sat on the edge of a desk and listened as Stanley spoke.

‘Listen, we have a problem. The uniformed duty sergeant at Paddington Green Police Station just rang the office. His uniformed lads just arrested Tennison’s flatmate, Pearl Radcliff, and she’s being held for questioning. She gave WDC Tennison’s address and her name to vouch for her. When they asked her where Tennison worked she said in Woolwich at a lab, but thought it was a bit “hush-hush”. Paddington’s duty sergeant checked with police records who told them Tennison was attached to our squad—’

‘What’s Radcliff been nicked for?’

‘He wouldn’t tell me, just said to inform you as Tennison’s boss… and they want access to her flat.’

‘Tennison’s here with me… I’ll speak with the duty sergeant for more information and inform Crowley.’

He was just about to replace the receiver, but Stanley hadn’t finished. ‘I think Tennison’s a liability, Guv.’

‘What?’

Stanley gave DCI Church the details of Tennison’s interaction with the Vice Squad raid. Church listened without interruption as Stanley made it clear that Jane’s actions had placed the operation, and Regina, in jeopardy.

‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I told Tennison not to get involved and she blatantly disobeyed me!’

‘I think, Guv, she was maybe in a very emotional state, having just left St Thomas’ Hospital after Daphne Millbank’s death. But now, with the Radcliff situation as well, I felt that you should know.’

‘Thanks, Stanley.’ Church hung up, then called the duty sergeant at Paddington and after a brief conversation went back to Crowley’s office.

Jane was looking through a fresh selection of surveillance shots.

‘I’d like to speak with you alone,’ Church said to Crowley.

‘Jane, go and get a coffee while I speak with DCI Church,’ said Crowley.

‘Meet me outside reception in ten minutes,’ Church said sharply to Jane.

She gathered up her things and left the room, puzzled as to why she was being dismissed so abruptly. As soon as she left the room Church told Crowley about his conversation with Stanley regarding Pearl Radcliff.

‘For fuck’s sake, who is this Pearl woman and how much does she know about our investigation?’

‘She’s been living with Tennison for a few days. She’s been arrested for shoplifting. I told the duty sergeant at Paddington to hold her for questioning by your team. It gets worse, though. Last night Tennison managed to screw up a big job the Vice Squad took over from us.’

‘She’s a bloody loose cannon!’ Crowley exclaimed. ‘What on earth does she think she’s playing at?’

‘Paddington want to search her address. They suspect Radcliff may have more stolen gear there. I told them not to force entry and I’ll take Tennison there now to let them in.’

‘Well, give her a good grilling on the way. I want to know everything she’s said to this Pearl from the moment she met her… chapter and verse!’

‘That was already my intention,’ Church said and left the room.

Carrying her plastic cup of coffee, Jane went down to the Scotland Yard reception area to wait for DCI Church. When he arrived, he was abrupt and told her to follow him. As they were driving away in his battered car, Jane, her hands cupped tightly around her coffee, asked anxiously, ‘Is this to do with last night and my interaction with Regina Hernandez?’

Church frowned. ‘Why don’t you tell me about that?’

‘Last night, heading home from the hospital after Daphne Millbank’s death, I was on the bus when I saw Regina Hernandez. She was ducking and diving like a tart and it really upset me because we were supposed to protect her. So I got off the bus to approach her and I inadvertently interrupted a Vice Squad officer taking her into custody.’

Church closed his eyes for a brief moment. Jane had a terrible sinking feeling in her stomach. She had been warned not to get on the wrong side of DCI Church and she knew she was on it.

He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles went white.

‘I warned you to keep your nose out of the Hernandez situation, Tennison. Not once, but twice! I told you the Vice Squad were now handling the case. I don’t care if you have some emotional compassionate attachment to this young girl but she is now missing and the Vice Squad don’t know where she is. If Andres Hernandez discovers she agreed to testify against him we could find her body in a dumpster. If that happens, it’ll be on your head!’

Jane could feel her eyes brimming with tears.

‘Please don’t waste my time answering — and I assure you your tears will not help you in any way. If there wasn’t a more pressing issue to deal with right now, I would have you back in uniform directing fucking traffic.

‘Oh, and you may wonder why we’re driving back to your place. Your flatmate has been arrested… she gave your name and address to vouch for her.’

‘What?’ Jane was so shocked that she spilt some of her coffee over her skirt.

‘I had no choice but to tell Crowley about this: she also knew you currently worked in Woolwich and said it was “hush-hush”.’

‘Oh, my God — how? What has she been arrested for?’

‘She was caught nicking a book from Smith’s in the High Street.’

‘A book? Is this a joke? I mean, I know she’s always coming home with books but surely it must have been a mistake? She probably just forgot to pay for it… I mean, it must have just been an oversight.’

‘Well, we’ll see. You were uptight this morning about her snooping in your bedroom, and always asking you questions… Did you tell her you worked at Woolwich?’

‘I may have…,’ she replied, trying to catch her breath as Church concentrated on manoeuvring through the traffic, swearing at the congestion.

‘The local uniforms are waiting to gain entry to your flat for a search. I’ve given instructions to keep Radcliff in custody. Crowley will want to interview her in case the investigation’s been compromised.’

By the time they drew up outside Jane’s flat her nerves were in shreds. Two uniformed officers were waiting and as soon as Jane joined them they headed up to the top floor. Jane unlocked her front door and Church told her to sit in the kitchen whilst they searched Pearl’s bedroom.

Jane tipped her cold coffee down the sink and took a wet cloth to wipe down her skirt. Church stood in the doorway.

‘She’s got a room full of books. Half of them have been nicked from libraries, they’re knee-deep in there. Are you telling me that you weren’t suspicious? I mean, they’re stacked all around her bed in every available space.’

‘I knew she was always bringing books home, but I didn’t think she was stealing them.’

‘Well, the one she was caught nicking was the Guinness Book of Records. After what we’ve found, she might make it into the next one!’

Jane sat in the kitchen whilst the officers carried out books to the hallway, ready for them to be taken away as evidence. Church said he was going to Paddington to see Crowley and Stanley was coming over to sit with her. The uniforms had made a thorough search of Pearl’s room and found nothing else incriminating, but they also wanted to look in Jane’s bedroom and the loft.

Jane felt humiliated. She offered to make tea, but everyone declined. A uniformed officer brought in some flat cardboard boxes to assemble and fill with books. Stanley arrived about an hour later. He was his usual scruffy self and said very little to Jane as he assisted the uniformed officers separate the library books from others that might have been stolen from elsewhere. After another hour, the boxes were carried out to a paddy wagon to be taken to the property store at Paddington. Stanley came back to sit in the kitchen and have a cup of tea with Jane.

‘Right, the guv wants her belongings moved out of here by tonight. Crowley’s interviewing her just now. She’ll be held in custody until the theft charges are sorted, then taken to a magistrate’s court first thing in the morning. That should give you time to pack up all her gear. She’ll probably be granted bail, so she can return to collect it. Church has suggested that I should be here to make sure she leaves.’

‘But where will she go?’

‘That’s not your problem, sweetheart. You’re a detective constable in the Met, and there could be repercussions about her lodging here with you.’

‘Should I call her work and explain something about her not turning up?’

‘Again, luv, that’s not your problem. We just need to get her out of here, then it’s done and dusted.’

Stanley left. Feeling even worse, Jane went into Pearl’s bedroom. She found her suitcases and placed them on the bed, and started packing clothes. They were soon too full to close, so she began filling up rubbish bags, and placing them in the hall. In the drawer of the bedside table she found bundles of letters and cards, many with New Zealand stamps. She wrapped the TV in one of Pearl’s blankets and then filled a carrier bag with all her toiletries in the bathroom.

The hallway was quickly filled with Pearl’s belongings, and Jane took out the vacuum and began to go over the dirty, food-stained carpet. Jane stripped the bed and bundled the sheets and pillow cases into yet another plastic bag for her to take to the launderette. She polished and dusted every surface. By six o’clock the empty room was devoid of any connection to Pearl Radcliff.

The doorbell rang at eight and Jane looked out of the window to see who it was before she buzzed DCI Church up to the top floor. He gave her a glum smile when he saw the cluttered hallway.

‘Radcliff’s been given a hard time by Crowley, but to be honest, I don’t think there is anything you need to be concerned about. She’ll spend a night in the cells and at about midday tomorrow she’ll be brought here to remove all her stuff.’

‘I never even thought not to mention to Pearl that I was going to Woolwich. I feel so stupid…’ Jane said.

‘Don’t. These things happen. You could actually say we got lucky because if she hadn’t been caught red-handed you might have been arrested along with her, for dishonest handling of a ton of nicked library books.’ He grinned.

‘What did DCI Crowley say about it?’

Church shrugged and tried to make light of it. ‘He’s not exactly happy, but he’s calmed down a bit. Understandably, he wants Pearl out of your flat ASAP.’ The truth was that he had hit the roof, snapping that DC Tennison must be a bloody idiot not to have been suspicious.

Church stood awkwardly in the small hallway. He could see how upset Jane was.

‘Are you ready for the Good Friday do, then?’ he said, changing the subject.

‘Yes, I’ve got my dress.’ she said, rather lamely.

‘Well, it’s only a week to go. The tickets are sold out, so it should be a big bash. There’ll be cocktails before we sit down, and there’s a great menu. Then there’ll be a few speeches, and onto the dance floor with the band.’

Jane felt tearful as she nodded her head. Church reached over and took her hand.

‘Listen, don’t beat yourself up… these things happen. After tomorrow, you’ll be clear of her, and Stanley will be here to make sure she picks up everything. I suggest you just go to work as usual… Stanley will get her front door key and lock up afterwards.’

‘Thank you.’

Church let go of her hand.

‘I may have come on a bit heavy this morning but the reality is, Jane, you have to learn to not allow your emotions to override your professionalism. Regina Hernandez is a sad case but you’ll find there will be many more like her. There is not an officer in the Met who doesn’t have the faces of victims haunting them. It’s quite possible the Vice Squad will find her and this time endeavour to protect her. I’m not going to hold this against you. You have a lot on your shoulders with the situation here in your flat and with Crowley putting pressure on you.

‘You’ve been reassigned so you’re not at the explosives lab anymore,’ he added. ‘As from tomorrow, Crowley wants you working in the bomb squad office at the Yard. He didn’t give a reason but I guess it’s so he can keep a closer eye on you. You’ve had a long day. Get some shuteye and put this all behind you.’

Church waved his hand and she burst into tears as he shut the door behind him.

Jane left earlier than usual for work on the Friday, not just to get out of the flat, but also to see what she would be working on. In some ways it came as no surprise that she had been assigned to the clerical office, typing and filing reports. She felt as if it was Crowley’s way of punishing her over the Pearl incident and just hoped that DCI Church had not made him fully aware of her indiscretions.

Jane missed the lab and working with Paul Lawrence. She knew if she was with him she could speak in confidence, that he would be understanding and give her sound advice on what to do. The day was labourious and she was given nothing of sensitive interest to type up, it was all reports about new office equipment and expenditure. She knew that word of an officers’ indiscretions travelled fast on the police grapevine and it made her feel uneasy. Every time someone walked into the room to put something on her desk she felt as if they were looking at her with disdain because of Pearl’s arrest.

Although she couldn’t wait for the day to end, part of her was dreading going home. When she finally got back to the flat, it was silent. All of Pearl’s belongings had been taken. Jane made an omelette and a cup of tea and sat at the kitchen counter trying to work out how she was going to be able to afford living there alone. The phone interrupted her thoughts. It was Natalie.

‘Natalie, I meant to call you… I’m sorry. I’ve been sort of up against it at work, and I’ve had a situation here at the flat that you just would not believe.’

Jane found it good to talk about Pearl. Natalie was understanding, and sympathised about how dreadful it must have been for Jane to find out she was a thief.

‘I sort of feel sorry for her. But at least I now have the flat to myself.’

‘Oh, I know exactly how you feel. I love being here on my own. How did dinner go?’

‘It was good, but then we had to go to the hospital as there was an emergency and Michael was on call.’

‘Oh dear, I hope it wasn’t serious.’

‘It was, unfortunately. Do you remember when we first met up again I’d been to see one of the victims of the Covent Garden explosion? She was such a wonderful lady, but she didn’t make it… it was very sad.’

‘Poor you. What with that and the Pearl situation you must be totally stressed out.’

‘To be honest, I am. But I’ll get myself together.’

‘Well, the reason I was calling was that I got into rather a panic as I remembered you needed a shawl or a little bolero of some kind, and I wondered if I was too late… is the dinner tonight?’

‘No, it’s next Friday… Good Friday. I do need something, though, and I still haven’t got any shoes.’

‘What about coming over tomorrow to try this little jacket I’ve got? I think it will look really nice… it’s got a few sequins around the edge, with capped sleeves.’

‘I can’t tomorrow as I’m going to my parents’. What about Sunday morning?’

Natalie said that was perfect and suggested Jane came over after ten as she was going out jogging first thing with some colleagues from the bank.

‘Tell you what, I can show you the best stuffing for a roast chicken, and maybe we can have lunch together.’

‘I’ll look forward to it. Thank you for calling.’

Natalie laughed, ‘I’ve noticed your most overused words are “thank you”!’

‘It shows you what a nice, well-brought-up, girl I am! See you tomorrow.’

Jane had a light breakfast that Sunday morning, then drove to Natalie’s flat. She had bought the Sunday newspapers and had 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 and soft in the centre.’

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 cosy 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 traumatised 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 attached to the skin.

‘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 straightaway, 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 unself-conscious 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 on putting 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 whilst 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 towards the open drawer she noticed a Hermès label. Realising it was a scarf, Jane gently pulled the corner of it out from beneath the pile of other scarfs it was under. It was clearly expensive and had a distinctive pattern of red horses’ 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.

‘Yes, 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 home-made.’

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 OK. 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 dialled, knowing that her parents would have already left.

‘Hello, Daddy,’ she said to the dialling 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 afterwards.’

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

‘Right… Gosh, 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 afterwards.’

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; however, 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 recognised 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 barefooted, wearing only a pair of tracksuit bottoms.

‘Jane!’

‘Sorry to disturb you… I just needed to talk something over with someone, and 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 who gave a statement, 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 colour.

‘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 headscarf 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 and 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 notepad 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 dialled the number and waited as the phone rang a couple of times before Natalie picked it up.

‘Hello, it’s me… 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 realise 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.’

‘OK, well, let’s talk during the week. Thanks for calling.’

Jane replaced the receiver, and went to sit back down on the sofa. Confident that Natalie had believed her, she began to make bullet points to describe everything about her interaction with Natalie.

By the time Dexter had showered and returned to sit next to her, she was much calmer. She found his closeness unnerving. He was wearing a loose T-shirt with white tracksuit bottoms, and he smelt of soap and shampoo. Dexter glanced over her notes then, as if he sensed that his closeness was making her feel uncomfortable, he stood up and poured some more whisky into their glasses. This time he added ice cubes.

‘Did you phone her?’

‘Yes… I said I was staying over at my parents’.’

‘Good. So, DC Tennison, let’s crack this. You need to go step by step. Then we’ll either need to take this to HQ in the morning, or we go with the possibility it’s all down to conjecture and coincidence.’ He paused. ‘That said, we’ve never released the information regarding the brand of the two cigarette stubs we recovered from the phone box… Let’s go from the first time you met Natalie Wilde, up until this afternoon.’

Jane concentrated as she recounted how she had met Natalie at the hospital shortly after the bombing. She could recall exactly what they had said and that they had talked about being at Hendon training college. She described their first dinner at Fratelli’s restaurant and the later cooking lesson at Natalie’s flat in Belsize Park. Dexter listened intently and only interjected with reassurance, encouraging Jane to expand and give details about how long Natalie had said she had lived at her flat, and what the furnishing was like. When Jane admitted she had given the names of the officers she was working alongside, Dexter gave no hint of disapproval. But as she spoke more about the things she had discussed with Natalie, Jane felt increasingly alarmed.

After nearly two hours Jane had finished talking and Dexter had been brought up to date with everything to do with Natalie. He had made copious notes and had topped up their drinks again. Jane felt completely drained and was ashamed at how much she had divulged to Natalie, albeit innocently. Only that afternoon she had even told Natalie about their key witness, Daphne Millbank, dying.

‘I didn’t give her Daphne’s name, but I did say she was an important witness.’

Dexter stood up and drained his glass.

‘That might actually be advantageous. If she is who we think she is, and feeds the information to her ASU cohorts, then they will be feeling confident.’

Jane stood up and suddenly felt very dizzy and sick.

‘I’m so sorry but I think I’m going to be—’ She started retching and Dexter grabbed her by her arms and hurried her through his bedroom into the bathroom. Jane didn’t quite make it close enough to the toilet bowl before she threw up into her hands and all over herself, falling to her knees to continue vomiting into the toilet bowl. She emptied her stomach of the lunch, the wine and the whisky, until she was heaving up bile. Her head felt like it was going to explode as she tried to stand back up on her feet.

‘You sure it’s all out of you?’ Dexter said, holding a towel out towards her.

‘Yes. I just feel dizzy.’

Dexter ran some water into the sink and rinsed out a cloth for Jane to wipe her face. He then suggested that she might want to have a shower, as her clothes were covered in sick. Jane leant on the edge of the sink as he turned on the shower.

‘Get undressed and wash yourself down… I’ll leave you something clean to wear afterwards. If you need me, just yell. I’ll be right outside.’

‘Thank you… I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.

Jane took off her soiled shirt and put it in a basin of warm water to soak. Her skirt was even more stained, and she felt so faint that she left it on the floor as she removed her underwear to get into the shower. She used the ‘soap on a rope’ to wash, then shampooed her hair from a bottle in the shower tray. She was beginning to feel less dizzy, and stepped out of the shower to find a thick white bath towel on the heater and a smaller towel to wrap around her wet hair. When she was dry, she put on the oversized James Dean T-shirt that Dexter had left on the radiator for her. As she pulled on her knickers there was a knock on the door.

‘You all right in there?’

‘Yes, I’m just coming out…’ she called. She spent another few minutes checking around the edge of the toilet and using the brush from the stand beside it to make sure it was clean. She took a deep breath and walked out.

Jane went through the bedroom and into the drawing room, where Dexter was sorting through his copious notes whilst eating a sandwich.

‘There’s a glass of iced tonic water on the table… always good to have after you’ve thrown up.’

‘I’m so sorry. It was the whisky, on top of the wine I had at lunch.’

‘No need to apologise. You’ve had a lot to deal with.’

Jane sipped the iced tonic water, and then remembered that her soiled shirt was still in the washbasin and, feeling very embarrassed, asked Dexter if she could have some washing powder so that she could rinse it out.

‘Forget it. Sit down. I’ll sort it for you.’

‘No, really, I insist. I can hang it up to dry, or just take it home in a plastic bag.’

‘Do you know what time it is?’

She had no idea. She had left her watch in the bathroom.

‘Tennison, it’s after midnight. I’m going to get a blanket and kip down here on the sofa… You can have my bed. You’re in no fit state to drive.’

‘No, I’ll go home. I’ve got my car outside.’

‘Just do as you’re told… come on.’ Dexter took her hand and drew her into the bedroom. He threw back the duvet and gestured for her to get into the big double bed.

‘My hair’s still wet.’

He shook his head and went over to the bedside table. He took out a hairdryer from the drawer and plugged it into the socket next to the bed.

‘OK, dry your hair while I clean up in the bathroom.’

Jane stood in front of the bedroom mirror and, not having a brush, she ran her hands through her hair as she dried it. Dexter spent quite a while in the bathroom and she heard the toilet flushing a couple of times before he came out carrying her soiled skirt and her wet shirt.

‘I’m going to put this on the boiler so it’ll be dry by the morning.’

He came back into the bedroom just as she was about to climb into his bed.

‘I don’t know what to say…’ she said softly.

‘I think you’ve said more than enough for one night. You should really try to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be quite a day.’

‘Do you think this is going to put my career in jeopardy? You know… if I’ve been disclosing information that I shouldn’t have?’

He sat down beside her. ‘At the moment it’s just a lot of conjecture and suspicion. But you’ve been upfront about it all with me. Obviously, it will all have to be checked out; you might be wrong. On the other hand, if you are right and Natalie Wilde is a sleeper, then this is a big lead. Let’s face it, right now, with no Daphne Millbank, we are nowhere near identifying the Covent Garden bomber.’

‘Will Crowley investigate?’

‘I would think so. You’re going to have to be prepared for a lot of questions, and it’s a slow process. His team won’t want her tipped off that she’s being investigated and she’ll more than likely be under immediate surveillance. They’ll have to be careful because her contacts could be close.’

He reached out and traced her face with his hand. Whether he instigated the kiss or Jane did, when his lips touched hers she didn’t hold back and the next moment he moved onto the bed to lie beside her. She didn’t want to let him go, even when he leaned up on his elbow and looked uncertainly into her face.

‘You sure about this?’

‘Yes, don’t go… please.’

He cradled her in his arm and she buried her face in his neck, kissing him until he slowly drew up the James Dean T-shirt to kiss her breasts. He made love to her gently at first but then they became more passionate together and Dexter’s obvious sexual experience resulted in explosive orgasms that made her feel as if she was flying. Eventually they lay still together. Dexter drew Jane close to him and she rested her head again in the crook of his shoulder.

‘Well, that was unexpected… but very nice,’ he said, softly kissing the top of her head.

‘Tell me about you,’ she said.

‘I already have… There’s not much more than you already know.’

‘What does it feel like when you have to defuse a bomb?’

‘Well, that part you get used to… it’s what you’ve been trained to do. The worst is always what we call the “long walk”… when you have to slowly approach the bomb… that’s when your heart beats faster. You don’t know if it’s been booby-trapped or whether it’s going to explode in your face before you get to it… that’s always the worst part. I suppose it must be a bit like the bridegroom waiting at the altar, unsure if the bride’s going to turn up!’

‘It’s the bride who has to do the long walk, not the groom,’ Jane replied, but Dexter was silent.

She put her hand on his chest and felt the steady rhythm of his breathing, knowing that he was asleep. She didn’t want to move and all the tension and paranoia she had felt that afternoon and evening evaporated. She was safe, cushioned by Dexter’s warmth, and she quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Arriving at Scotland Yard Jane left Church and went straight to DCI Crowley’s office. He invited her to take a seat and walked over to a trolley with a hot water urn on it and five or six dirty cups alongside a few clean ones.

‘Water’s a bit tepid but is instant coffee all right for you? All the tea’s gone now.’

‘Yes, thank you… milk and no sugar, please.’ She realised from his remark and the dirty cups that he must have had an earlier meeting. It had probably been about her cock-up.

Crowley poured a coffee, placed it on the table in front of her, then sat down at his desk before opening a notebook and picking up his pen.

‘Right, WDC Tennison… let’s go over everything from the moment you met Natalie Wilde in the hospital. This time really concentrate on everything she said or asked.’

‘I told DS Dexter everything. Has he not spoken with you?’

‘Yes, and I made notes,’ he tapped the book with his pen, ‘but under the circumstances you may have been hesitant with Dexter about exactly how much information Wilde was able to get from you… so I want to go over everything again in fine detail.’

Jane wondered what he meant by ‘under the circumstances’. Was he implying he knew she had spent the night at Dexter’s flat, or simply the fact she had been distraught about the whole situation? Crowley opened a packet of Player’s cigarettes. He lit one, then offered the pack to Jane who shook her head.

‘I don’t smoke, sir.’

Again, Jane recounted meeting Natalie at the hospital. She explained that it had taken a moment for her to recognise Natalie from their Hendon days. Jane spoke slowly, trying to remember each time she had met Natalie, the conversations they had had and any probing questions she had asked. Then something struck Jane as unusual.

‘There is something about the first time we met at the hospital, but I’m not sure if it’s relevant.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that, Tennison… so come on, spit it out.’

‘At the hospital, Natalie said she was visiting a friend who’d just had a baby, but she wasn’t carrying any flowers, chocolates or any kind of gift. She didn’t even say if it was a boy or girl.’

Crowley was taking notes as Jane spoke. ‘Good. Anything else strange about that first meeting with her?’

Jane thought about what she’d learned on the Dip Squad. ‘I remember she bumped into me on the same floor that Daphne was on and asked me what I was doing at the hospital… but the maternity ward is on the ground floor. She distracted me by bumping into me so that I didn’t notice she wasn’t in the right place.’

‘If she’d seen the paper then she’d know you had been at Covent Garden… so the bump was probably a deliberate ploy. Anything else?’

‘Yes, she said she was interested in finding out what all our old Hendon classmates were doing now.’

‘What’s strange about that?’

‘She’s never once asked me about them since then. She was more interested in me and what I was doing, but I just didn’t see it as suspicious at the time.’

Crowley moved on and asked Jane when she next saw Natalie.

‘It was at an Italian restaurant called Fratelli’s.’

‘Did you drink much?’

‘A couple of glasses of wine… Why?’

‘Alcohol loosens the tongue, Tennison. Did you say anything about Daphne Millbank or the phone-box witness?’

Jane was upset by his remark. ‘I wasn’t drunk, sir, it was a friendly meal together and I never discussed my work at all.’

Crowley asked her about the next meeting with Natalie. Jane told him it was at Natalie’s flat in Belsize Park and she had said she rented it, but the bank gave her a housing allowance.

‘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, embarassed. ‘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 notebook 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 venue 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 realised 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, just nodded, but 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 time 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 big time. She weaselled 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 now terrified her career in the police could be over. As Crowley continued to question Jane her head began to throb. She told him about the next meeting, their lunch yesterday, which she realised 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 whilst 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’ flat 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 to be 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 towards 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 towards 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 towards a vacant chair and drew it out as he gestured towards 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 gestured 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 exploded. 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 towards 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 docket 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-storey 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 Fingerprint Bureau here at the Yard. Twenty officers from FB One, Two and Three 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 CRO 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 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 sadly, without anything to match what we do have, it’s likely to be a waste of time.’

Jane raised her arm 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 usually 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 fingerprints taken the day they join.’

It was so simple that they had all overlooked it. Dexter gave a slow handclap 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 enquiries are tight and secure. WDC Tennison had a concerned interest in Daphne Millbank, and 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 and 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.

By mid-morning 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 travelling 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.

An observation point, also manned by Dip Squad officers, had been set up opposite the NatWest branch where Natalie worked. Stanley used the landline to call the team and give them the address and phone number of his observation point. He asked one of them to make enquiries with the letting agent about when Natalie Wilde moved in and how long the lease was for. He had not made enquiries with any of the neighbours 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 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.

It was Good Friday, the day of the dinner dance. Natalie Wilde had still not returned to her basement flat, nor did she go to work at the bank as she had called in sick. Without any knowledge of where she was Crowley gave the go ahead for two officers to force entry into her basement flat, accompanied by forensic expert DS Lawrence. Crowley requested that Jane Tennison accompany Lawrence to the flat so, after being collected in an unmarked police vehicle, Jane was taken to 44 Belsize Park Avenue to join the forensic team.

After being given the all-clear from the bomb disposal expert, who had checked the door frames for possible booby traps, Jane and Lawrence made their way down the steps to the front door. It was easy to open the simple Yale lock with a skeleton key. Lawrence pushed the door but it wouldn’t open fully as something was behind it. The smell that greeted them made it clear that bags of rubbish had been left to rot in the hallway.

‘Take those back to the lab for sorting,’ Lawrence told one his team who had now joined them.

As one officer removed the bags the two other officers moved silently round the flat, searching the entire basement. There were numerous empty drawers in the main room, and in the kitchen there were more rubbish bags containing half-opened tins and used food cartons, as well as many empty wine bottles.

‘God, this place is a mess. Was it like this when you were here, Jane?’ Lawrence asked.

‘No — it was neat and tidy. It looks as if other people have been here since I was. The furnishing and the pictures on the walls are the same, but it’s all a façade now that we know who Natalie really is.’ Seeing it like this, empty and neglected, Jane wondered how she’d been fooled.

She crossed to a bookcase filled with Penguin paperbacks and took one down. The browning book smelt musty. Jane and Lawrence went into the bedroom where a few items had been left in the dressing table-drawers.

‘This is where you found the scarf, isn’t it?’ Lawrence asked.

‘Yes. It was with all her underwear, in that drawer there.’ She indicated the bottom drawer.

‘Well, it’s not there now,’ he said, rummaging around.

Jane checked the wardrobe. Inside was an old coat, a rain jacket, two blouses, and a pair of shoes that were down at the heel and had a hole in the sole.

‘I don’t think they belong to her.’ Jane glanced at the scuffed shoes and then looked over to the double bed. ‘She told me it was her mother’s quilt,’ she said.

Lawrence lifted it up. Underneath it there were sheets and pillow cases, all in need of a wash and smelling of mildew. ‘She must have moved most of her stuff out before Stanley set up the observation over the road,’ he said.

‘Church said when they last saw Natalie enter her flat she was carrying a bag of groceries?’

‘All part of the front to appear normal in the eyes of others. She’s a skilled operative, Jane… I doubt any one of us on this investigation would have rumbled her cover.’

In the waste bin they found the unopened groceries and tins of food that Natalie must have bought on the day she’d left work early. Some used candles were also in the bin. Jane bent down and took one out, sniffing it. Lily of the Valley. She held it up.

‘Natalie must have lit scented candles to cover the smell of mildew when I came here. Plus she was always cooking when I was here.’

Lawrence nodded. ‘You never know… Besides her prints we might find some other useful ones here that match to known IRA members.’

He did several spot tests for nitroglycerine but all proved negative and he said he thought it was unlikely that the premises had been used for bomb-making.

They opened the French windows onto the small garden; moss-covered stone steps led to a garden table and two benches. Overshadowed by a huge tree with enormous branches, it felt dank and cold.

‘I keep on making excuses for my naivety… Why didn’t I pick it up? She lied to me about everything, even telling me she had picnics out here.’

Lawrence shrugged. He was surprised that the usually observant Jane hadn’t detected the underlying state of the flat. But instead he said, ‘Don’t beat yourself up about this, Jane. You didn’t have any reason to doubt her.’

Jane looked around, picturing the flat as it had been when she’d last visited. Now all she could see was lies.

Dexter and Stanley stood the other side of the two-way window looking into the interrogation room. Outside the room was a uniformed officer. Inside, Crowley, like the two of them, 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.’

They watched for a while longer. Crowley was repeating the same questions over and 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 demeanour. She sprang forward and spat at Crowley, directly in his face. It took every ounce of control for him not to slap her for her smirking arrogance. She was pure evil.

During 1974 and 1975 London was subjected to a terrifying bombing campaign carried out by Active Service Units (ASU) of the Irish Republican Army (IRA). Over forty bombs exploded, thirty-five people were killed and many were seriously injured. In one day alone the IRA planted seven bombs at locations across central London. Some were defused, some were not.

On 6 December 1975, four armed members of the ASU took two elderly Balcombe Street residents hostage after a botched machine-gun attack on a Mayfair restaurant. A tense stand-off with the Metropolitan Police Bomb Squad ensued, but after six days the siege ended when the IRA men surrendered and released the hostages.

After several days of intense interrogation, the ‘Balcombe Street Gang’ were charged and remanded in custody to stand trial for multiple bombings and murders. The press portrayed the arrests as a major victory for the Met’s Bomb Squad.

It was the lull before the storm. The bomb squad received information that another ASU had come to London. Both police and the public lived in fear: where and when would the IRA strike, and could they be stopped in time?

My sincere thanks to Mark Smith, Kate Parkin, James Horobin for their strategy, vision and commercial acumen and all the staff at Bonnier Zaffre for their hard work on my behalf. Special thanks to Angie Willocks who has travelled all over the world selling Good Friday (are you ever home?). Nick Stearn for such an original and eye-catching jacket, and Ruth Logan for handling my foreign rights sales so brilliantly and for reaching territories my books have never been sold in before.

Robert Gorman, I thoroughly enjoyed our dinner in London, Jim Demetriou, Matt Hoy, Andy Palmer, Alexa Burnell and all the team at Allen & Unwin for their work marketing and selling me in Australia and New Zealand. I look forward to seeing you all next year.

Thank you to everyone at Jonathan Ball in South Africa, I could not have a better team working with me in SA. I would also like to give special thanks to Jenny Crwys-Williams, who has given me so much promotional support over the years.

My thanks to Callum Sutherland who has, as usual, taken so much of the weight from my shoulders regarding the in depth research required for Good Friday. He has become someone I rely on 100 % and his guidance has proved to be invaluable. Specifically I am indebted to Callum’s wife Anne, as she was a young uniformed WPC at Hackney Police Station, so was able to give me authentic details of how a young probationary officer worked during the run up to her promotional exams. I would also express my sincere thanks to Dr Ann Preston who assisted with all the detailed forensic research.

I would also like to thank the team at La Plante Global who are constantly supportive and encouraging. Tory Macdonald I thank whole heartedly for her dedication and to Veronica Goldstein who has recently become part of the team.

However, I have saved my biggest thanks and appreciation to Nigel Stoneman, Head of Development at La Plante Global. Nigel has continued to be supportive and encouraging throughout the process of bringing the character, Jane Tennison, through three successful novels, his genuine enthusiasm for future novels on the life of Jane Tennison and his ability to bring in a terrific Shepherd’s pie for lunch!