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 one, 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 disheveled 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. Afterward 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 theater. 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 24 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 okay. 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 dialed 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 inquiry. 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 wanker Uncle Andres. It seems he has contacts—he’s already organized 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 inquiries, 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 and 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.
St. Thomas’ Hospital was quieter now than it had been that morning. At the main reception desk, Jane asked a receptionist with badly dyed hair about Daphne’s condition.
The receptionist scowled at Jane, replying through tight, plum-red lips, “Lots of people came in with severe leg injuries this morning. Unless you have a surname I can’t help you. I have been on duty since 6am and my phone has not stopped ringing.”
Jane stood her ground, holding up her warrant card. “I’m very sorry, but I am a detective with the Metropolitan Police and I would like you to take my inquiry seriously.”
The bad hair job scowled even more as she snapped, “I have been taking everybody seriously all day! If you want any further information I suggest you contact the duty sister on the intensive care ward.”
“Do you have the name of the duty sister?” Jane asked, tight lipped. Only then did she notice that in fact the receptionist seemed close to tears and she felt sorry for her.
“Yes . . . it’s Mitchell. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful but we are inundated, and it’s been a terrible time.”
Jane headed up to the intensive care ward and approached the nurse’s desk. A male nurse was writing on a file.
“Excuse me, I need to speak to Sister Mitchell.”
“You’re talking to him . . . I’m the charge nurse. What can I do for you?”
“I
accompanied a lady called Daphne here this morning. Her leg was severely injured in this morning’s bombing. I’m trying to find out how she is.”
Mitchell glanced down a page on his clipboard and turned it over.
“I’ve got an elderly woman called Daphne who sadly had to have her leg amputated. She’s currently in a drug-induced coma in the intensive care unit. We have no surname for her yet . . . Are you a relative?”
“No, I’m a police officer, WDC Tennison.” Jane showed him her warrant card. “I was with Daphne at the time of the explosion. Would it be possible for me to see her?”
Mitchell beckoned her to follow him to the ward of curtained cubicles. He eased back the curtain of one of the middle beds. Jane was shocked to see just how small and frail Daphne looked. She had breathing tubes in her mouth and nose, a drip attached to her left arm and a protective cage over her injured leg.
“And you didn’t find any ID on her?” Jane asked.
“No, nothing . . . we know her only as Daphne. No one has made any inquiries about her . . . Only time will tell if she’ll survive.” Mitchell waved his arm, taking in the ward. “We’ve got a lot more victims in a really bad condition.”
Jane could hear moans and sounds of weeping from the curtained cubicles. As they stood looking down at the old woman, who seemed so vulnerable and tiny, a voice made them turn.
“Excuse me . . . I need to talk to the doctor in charge here.” A tall man wearing slacks, an open-necked shirt and a tweed jacket, stood behind them. He was a big man, with a tough, square-jawed face and broad shoulders.
“I think they’re all tied up just now . . . Are you a relative of one of the patients?”
“No.” The man peered past Jane. “Is that elderly woman one of the bomb victims?”
Jane moved from the bedside, astonished at the man’s rudeness.
“Yes, she is, and she’s in a coma.”
“Who are you?” He glared at Jane.
Offended by his brusque manner Jane showed him her warrant card.
“I’m WDC Jane Tennison. Can I ask who you are?”
He gave a cursory look at Jane’s warrant card before he took out his own.
“I’m Detective Chief Inspector Crowley, Bomb Squad.” He moved toward her. “What can you tell me about this woman?”
“I only know her first name’s Daphne. I accompanied her from the underground station in the ambulance. I believe she may have seen the man who planted the bomb.”
“Why wasn’t I told earlier about this witness?” he bellowed.
“Please keep your voice down,” said Mitchell.
“You a nurse, are you?” Crowley asked abruptly.
“Yes, I’m the charge nurse on this ward and patient care is my responsibility. So, please, let me show you where you can continue your conversation.”
He ushered them into a small side room with a couple of easy chairs and a coffee table. Crowley stood with his back to the window, which had a green blind drawn over it, as Jane sat down in one of the comfortable chairs. Mitchell remained standing by the door, which he left slightly ajar. He spoke quietly as he gave the details of the old lady’s condition.
“How long will it be before I can talk to Daphne?” Crowley said brusquely.
“I’m afraid I’m unable to say. You will need to speak to a doctor.”
“I want her moved to a private room as soon as possible. Go and talk to whoever necessary to find out when I can speak to her.”
Mitchell nodded and walked out, shutting the door behind him. Crowley opened a notebook, flicking over pages.
“So far, we’ve got a host of injured people unable to give detailed accounts, but one witness heard an old woman shouting about a rucksack being left unattended—”
“That was Daphne, sir. I was standing almost beside her when she first called out about the rucksack. I believe she saw the suspect leaving it.”
Crowley sat down in the other chair. For a moment it appeared that he could hardly take on board what Jane had said. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet, clipped and unnerving.
“You believe she saw the suspect leaving it?”
Frightened by his manner, Jane nodded.
“Right . . . Start from the top, will you?”
“Have the IRA claimed responsibility?” Jane asked.
“Not yet. There was no coded warning prior to the bomb exploding but it has all the hallmarks of an IRA attack. So, tell me exactly what you were doing at Covent Garden station.”
Crowley had exceedingly thick, bushy eyebrows and small, thick-lashed piercing blue eyes. He stared at Jane without blinking as she nervously began to explain exactly what had happened to her that morning.
Almost as soon as she’d started, Crowley held up a finger for her to stop speaking. “So, you were intending to have breakfast at Bow Street police station, where you were previously stationed, with a former colleague? Your intention was to then continue to the Magistrates Court?”
“Yes, sir, which is why I was at Covent Garden station.”
“Right” he said curtly. “We now have you at 8:30am at Covent Garden underground station.”
“Yes, sir, I was heading up the stairs—”
Again he held up his finger. “Why were you on the stairs?”
“Because we were told on the platform that the lifts were out of order.”
“So, you are moving up the stairs at Covent Garden underground station . . .”
Crowley’s unflinching eyes bored into her as he gestured for her to continue. Jane’s mouth was dry as she described helping the mother and baby up the staircase.
“I was looking in my handbag to show my warrant card to the ticket collector when I heard a woman’s voice calling out to a man that he had left his rucksack. That was Daphne.”
Crowley pursed his lips, “So are you saying that Daphne had a good sighting of the suspect and may possibly be able to recognize him again?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
Now Crowley really unnerved her as he clenched his fists. “Why the hell didn’t you inform the Bomb Squad earlier about such a vital witness?”
“I wasn’t sure if she’d got much of a look at him. That’s why I came back to try to see her. She was unconscious in the ambulance, so I couldn’t question her then. I told a uniformed PC that I was accompanying her to the hospital and I assumed the information had been passed on. When I left, I had to go to Bow Street magistrate’s court regarding a pickpocket, but when I got there it was closed. So, I made way to the Dip Squad office, and—”
Crowley interrupted her. “Yes, yes . . . no need to go into details about where you were, or what you did afterward. What’s important is whether you saw the same suspect?”
“Yes, but I only had a side view. I did go after the suspect to stop him. I caught his sleeve and said I was a police officer, but he pushed me away and ran on.”
“Christ! Why the hell didn’t you report this before now? If we’d known at the outset then we might have had got some vital information, like the suspect’s bloody description . . .”
“I’m sorry . . . I was still in shock. All I can remember is that he had dark stubble, and dark hair, and was wearing a thick, greyish raincoat. But it was just a flash really . . . I mean, I didn’t see his whole face—”
“Yes, all right . . . but you should have contacted the Bomb Squad at the earliest opportunity. We’ll need a full statement from you about exactly what you saw, as well as the old lady’s possible closer look. It’d help if we knew exactly who she is.”
“She told me at the scene her name was Daphne, but there was no ID on her when she was brought in. Her clothing must be here somewhere, so we can check that to see if the hospital missed anything. Maybe her handbag will be found in the debris . . .”
“Even in a coma Daphne is still a threat to the IRA, and people like them usually try to eliminate anyone who could cause trouble. They shot a TV personality for daring to offer a reward for information leadin
g to the Balcombe Street ASU’s arrests. The old girl needs to be heavily protected . . . if she got a good look at them I guarantee they’ll want her, dead or alive. I’ll get an armed officer to be on guard outside her room, as soon as they get the poor bloody woman moved. I want you to stay with her until the guard arrives.”
“I’m sorry if I sounded off on you,” he added, towering above Jane as they both rose to their feet, “but it’s been one hell of a day. If you can just keep an eye on her until I get organized and hold the fort here . . . I’ll arrange for a direct line number for you to contact my office. You can ring with hourly updates on her condition, but let me underline to you that she could be targeted . . .” He hesitated. “Do you understand what I am saying? Because you are also going to be a possible witness. You need to be very diligent about anyone making inquiries about the victim, relative or otherwise. Get their ID and don’t allow anyone to see her unless it’s been authorized by me or my team.”
A knock on the door announced Mitchell’s return. He told them Daphne would be moved within ten minutes to a private room. A doctor would also be monitoring her, as she was still in a coma.
Crowley glanced at his watch as Mitchell left the room.
“I’m going to organize the armed officer now. I hope to God you haven’t mentioned this to anyone else? Just stay put and I’ll get you brought into my office at NSY in the morning so I can take a formal statement from you.”
“I have to go to court in the morning, sir. I should also contact my DCI about where I am, as he gave me the afternoon off . . .”
“Just sit tight with the old lady. I’ll contact your Squad. What’s the DCI’s name?”
“Jimmy Church.”
“Oh, right . . . I’ll talk to the doctor first and then contact him. I’ve got to shift and get things organized.”
He walked out, leaving Jane speechless.
While Daphne was moved to a private room, Jane went back through the ward, through the double doors and into the corridor to find the ladies’. Looking at herself in the mirror above the washbasin, she was shocked at her disheveled appearance. Her face was filthy and her hair was full of plaster and dust. She washed her hands and face, and pulled down the towel to dry herself. She took a comb from her handbag and did her best to tidy up her hair. There was nothing she could do about the rip in her jacket sleeve, and she was also minus her belt, which she had used as a tourniquet.
Good Friday Page 6
