‘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 leading 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 organised 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 enquiries about the victim, relative or otherwise. Get their ID and don’t allow anyone to see her unless it’s been authorised 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 organise 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 New Scotland Yard 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 organised.’
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 dishevelled 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.
Refreshed and calmed by the cold water, she returned to the ward to find Mitchell looking for her. He led her out of the ward, to the far end of the corridor, and through a second set of double doors. The private rooms were situated along this short corridor, a fire escape door marked the end.
‘She’s in here,’ said Mitchell, showing her in to one of the rooms. ‘We still haven’t had any response but considering what she’s been through it might be a while.’
Daphne lay unmoving in a single bed, wired up with drips and covered in a lightweight white blanket. Her childlike hand rested on top, the cannula held in place by two plaster strips. Between the bed and a small chest of drawers was a wingback chair, with a trolley on the opposite side of the bed.
Jane sat down beside her and gently touched her fingers, talking softly to her in the hope that Daphne could hear her voice, and that it would be a comfort to know someone was with her. Even though there was no response, Jane continued to hold her hand. Suddenly, Daphne’s hand moved, and Jane jumped to her feet. She was about to go and find someone when Mitchell appeared. Jane explained what had happened. Mitchell moved to Daphne’s side and checked his patient, then turned to Jane.
‘It was probably just an involuntary muscle twitch. I came in to let you know that an armed officer is here.’
They left the room together. The armed officer had placed a chair outside and was already sitting down. He looked a bit surprised when Jane asked to see his warrant card, but showed it to her with a grin.
As Jane walked back down the corridor with Mitchell, she thanked him for his help.
‘Where are you off to now?’ he asked.
‘I probably should go and see my parents in Maida Vale. Apparently one of the team I am working with called them, but I think they must have been concerned when they heard about the bomb — Covent Garden station is close to where I worked until last week.’
‘Can you wait a few minutes? I’m going off duty and could walk you to the tube.’
Ten minutes later he joined her, having changed his nurse’s tunic for a T-shirt, with a raincoat over the top. Together they left the hospital. Jane was grateful Mitchell was with her to show her the way. She also liked the fact that he took her elbow and guided her across the road. He was rather pleasant-looking, tall and broad-shouldered with sandy hair and a lovely gentle manner.
‘What’s your first name?’ she asked.
‘Michael. And yours?’
‘Jane. How long have you been a nurse?’
He smiled. ‘A long time — ten years. I usually get disparaging looks when I’m asked what I do. Most people assume that nursing is a woman’s profession, and automatically think I must be homosexual. I think air stewards get the same reaction…’
Jane laughed. ‘Well, if it’s any consolation I’m probably regarded as being a woman in a man’s world most of the time. The male officers refer to us as “plonks”, or even worse, “a bit of skirt”.’
‘How long have you been in the Met?’
‘Nearly four years. Before that I worked in my dad’s office but I wanted to do something more challenging than surveyors’ tedious paper work. It’s odd, you know… I can’t remember the exact moment when I considered joining the police force. I think it may have stemmed from an article I read in the newspaper about the Met; it said the role of women within the organisation was changing, and that female officers were being fully integrated with the men on shift work.’
‘So, it wasn’t exactly a calling…’
‘No, not really. I think it was more of an opportunity to get out from behind a desk, stand on my own two feet and do something rewarding. My parents, especially my mother, didn’t approve. What about you?’
‘I don’t often tell people this, but when I was eight my dad had a brain tumour. He was an incredibly fit man… used to have me out playing football with him every spare minute, even after a hard day’s work in the printing factory. But then he became frail and dependent… he couldn’t even feed himself. My mum was forced to go out to work, so I used to wash him and cook for him — it’s awful to be on a liquid diet for so long. His speech gradually went but I could understand what he needed. When he was lucid he used to give me this look… “Thank you, son,” he’d try to say. So, I became a nurse.’
Mitchell shook his head. ‘I dunno how you got all that background from me.’ He turned to face her. ‘I’m going over to the pub now to have a few well-earned beers with some of my colleagues. Do you want to join us?’
Jane hesitated. For a few minutes she had forgotten about the awful things she had seen that morning. Mitchell had been easy company and she had enjoyed talking to him.
‘No, I really should get home and see my parents… but thank you.’
‘OK. Just go straight on down here and the underground station is on your right.’
They shook hands and parted. She had only walked a few yards when he called her name and hurried back towards her.
‘Listen, would you like me to phone you when I find out more about Daphne?’