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 else 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 he had not protected and shielded me 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 may 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 armed IRA bomber. The suspect assaulted her then ran off, and seconds later the bomb exploded. 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 recognizes 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 swiveled around in her chair and quickly realized 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 foot 8 or 5 foot 10, aged between 25 and 30. 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. Jane read her prepared statement, and then Gregson signaled 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 ante room 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 ante room 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 realize 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 neighbors 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 to
morrow 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 organized 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 check 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 toward 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.”
“Anytime. 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 backward 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 neighbor downstairs let me in to 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 tea bags from their cups, placing them onto 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 okay, 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 quest
ions 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.”
Good Friday Page 10
