Good Friday

by Lynda La Plante

  Mr. Tennison was folding his newspaper to tuck under his arm when he caught sight of the front-page headline about the Covent Garden explosion. He walked out of the shop and opened the newspaper, stopping in his tracks when he saw the black-and-white photograph of Jane, her hair matted and face smeared with what was obviously blood. He thanked God that they didn’t have their newspapers delivered. If his wife had seen what he was looking at, the lengthy conversation about Jane’s work and her promise to be supportive about their daughter’s career would have disintegrated into hysteria. As he passed a dustbin he threw the paper in it.

  Chapter Five

  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 7th 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 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 toward 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 sympathizers, 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 recognize 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, apologizing 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 organizing a press conference this afternoon, using WDC Tennison as the front person, and—”

  “Hang on a minute,” Church interrupted 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 leaned 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 minimize 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 instill 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 organized.

  “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 while you discuss with Tennison your squad’s new detail.”

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

  “Commander Gregson has ordered the Dip Squad to utilize 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 with 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 favor 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 MOD 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 toward 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 to worry about protecting. 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.

  Chapter Six

  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 I think 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 note book, 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.

  Jane sat opposite Crowley as he handed her a prepared press statement.

  “I drafted this from what you’ve already told us about the events at Covent Garden.”

  Jane read through the document, and glanced up.

  “You’ve made no mention of Daphne, or why I was at the hospital?” />
  “Of course not—we need to protect her identity. How does everything else read?”

  “Well, it’s concise and correct, apart from the fact that it’s missed out the part where I tried to stop the suspect by grabbing his sleeve.”

  Crowley sighed. “That’s because, Tennison, the IRA are saying that the bomb went off because you tackled the bomber. We don’t want to acknowledge that possibility in any way, shape or form. I’m not asking you to lie . . . we simply don’t want to draw attention to the issue.”

  “What should I say if the press asks about it?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Commander Gregson will be by your side and he’ll fend off any dodgy questions. Just read through it again so you feel confident that you’ll be able to handle it.”

  Jane started to read the statement again as Crowley picked up his phone and dialed an extension.

  “Can you get DS Dexter to come into my office to take WDC Tennison’s official statement? Thanks.”

  He replaced the receiver and sat drumming his fingers on the desk as Jane carefully finished reading through the press statement. A few moments later there was a gentle knock on his door.

  “Come in,” Crowley barked. “This, Tennison, is DS Alan Dexter. He’s one of the Bomb Squad’s most experienced bomb disposal experts and has saved the day on more than one occasion.”

  Jane looked up as Dexter walked in and nodded politely at her. He had an athletic build, about 6 foot tall, with blond hair combed back from his angular high cheek-boned face. He was wearing a casual soft leather jacket over a black polo neck sweater and jeans. Dexter picked up a high back chair, carried it over to the desk and confidently sat astride it, leaning his elbows along the back.

  Dexter turned to Jane. “DCI Crowley has already briefed me about your involvement. Your reaction under immense pressure at the scene was admirable.”

  Jane blushed.

  Dexter took out a packet of Henri Wintermans Café Crème cigars and lit one.

  “Dexter is aware you grabbed the suspect, but it’s imperative at the press conference that we use the fact you shouted at the suspect to stop, he assaulted you and made his escape, then the bomb went off. You could not have caused the detonation. Do you understand, Tennison?”