‘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.
St Thomas’ hospital was quieter now than it had been that morning. At the main reception desk, Jane enquired of 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 six 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 enquiry 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.