‘I want you to look at a surveillance photograph.’ Crowley interrupted.
He opened a drawer and removed a thick photograph album which was marked ‘Highly Confidential — Special Branch Surveillance’, dated March 1976. He flicked through the album and stopped at a photograph with an exhibit mark on it. He showed Jane this picture, a shot taken at a distance, of two young men standing outside a café. One man was holding his hand up as if to hail a taxi.
Dexter remained silent, smoking and occasionally looking towards Jane. He had very blue eyes, which were hooded and heavily lined, as if he’d spent endless hours in the sun, squinting against the glare.
‘Is one of these men the suspect you chased at Covent Garden?’ Crowley asked Jane.
Jane carefully examined the photograph, then shook her head.
‘I can’t be sure. I didn’t really get a good enough look at him. All I can remember is that he had dark, collar-length hair and he might have had a thin beard or heavy stubble.’
‘Think… what about his height, and his clothing?’
‘Er, he was about 5’8” or 5’10”, and he was wearing an overcoat — a type of donkey jacket or labourer’s coat — and dark trousers. The coat might have had a hood, or he wore a top with a hood underneath the overcoat… maybe even a woollen hat.’
‘Take another look. The man on the right is wearing a dark jacket, has dark hair, and is the right height. Do you think it could have been him?’
Jane took her time looking at the photograph. ‘I honestly don’t know, sir… it might be him, but I can’t honestly say for certain. Neither of the men leap out at me as being people I have seen before.’
Dexter leaned forwards, stubbing out his cigar. He turned to Jane.
‘You must have had a pretty traumatic experience, Tennison, and you might even be suffering from a mental block. I’ve seen it many times before after people have gone through an event like this.’
He had a soft, cultured voice, unlike the brusque and impatient Crowley, who leaned over Jane and snapped the album shut, startling her.
Crowley grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. ‘Dexter will take your statement. I’ve got some business to deal with.’ He swung his jacket over his shoulder and marched out the office, slamming the door behind him.
‘I’m a bit confused. I thought I had already read and checked my statement? Am I now making another one?’ asked Jane as she held up the statement Crowley had given her before Dexter arrived.
‘That’s your statement for the press conference, but I need to take a full and detailed statement from you. This one’s for the trial, when the suspects are arrested and charged.’
‘Oh… I’m sorry, it’s all been such panic. Have I upset DCI Crowley in some way?’
Dexter smiled at Jane. ‘Don’t worry about Crowley. He’s obviously under a lot of pressure. His bark is always worse than his bite. Maybe in a couple of days you’ll have a clearer recall and might remember more about the suspect. For now, you’ve done a fantastic job.’
‘Did any other witness at the tube station see the suspect?’ Jane asked.
‘No one else can give a good description, or they’re too frightened to come forward. God forbid that Daphne dies, because we’re depending on her to give us more details.’
‘Does Crowley think the man in the photograph is an IRA bomber? If he does, why doesn’t he arrest him?’
Dexter stood up and moved around the desk, putting his hands in his trouser pockets.
‘This is in the strictest confidence, Detective Tennison, but it might help you to understand the pressure Crowley is under… I’d appreciate it if you kept it between the two of us. That photograph was taken by a Special Branch officer. One of the men in the photo is an IRA informant and the one hailing a taxi is believed to be part of an IRA Active Service Unit, or ASU, who has just arrived in the mainland to initiate a bombing campaign in London.’
‘But why hasn’t he been arrested?’ Jane asked.
She could see that Dexter was apprehensive about answering. He took his time lighting another cigar.
‘Because we don’t know who or where he is yet. We couldn’t risk putting an undercover officer in that café or putting a wire on our informant. Although we had surveillance officers following the black cab, they lost the suspect. We don’t know if he sussed that he was being tailed, but later that night our informant was found hanged in his bedsit. It was staged to look like suicide.’
‘No wonder Crowley’s under pressure,’ Jane responded.
‘That’s not the half of it. The shit hit the fan after the our informant’s death, because he’d already passed us information that suggested the IRA were building up a sophisticated and extremely secure network of operatives and logistical teams in the country. He was about to give us details with names, dates, times and places. Some of his contacts are what we call “sleepers”… you know, appearing to be good and valued citizens until they’re needed. The informant wanted a whole new identity in another country before giving up everything he knew and Crowley had it all in motion… he was just waiting for approval. Anyway, we’ve got nothing now.’
Jane shook her head as Dexter sat behind the desk.
‘Commander Gregson got a dressing-down from the Home Secretary, and in turn he gave Crowley a bollocking just before the Covent Garden explosion. So it’s obvious why Crowley was hoping you’d recognise the man in the photo. The only positive lead from the photo is that the informant was associated with him and then murdered.’
‘I’m sorry, but I literally only saw the man for a second.’
‘It’s not your fault. Now, I need to walk you through exactly what happened so I can take your official statement.’
Jane began once again to go through everything she could recall. Dexter glanced up only once, when she was describing finding the small child beneath the body of her mother. He held up his pen every now and then, for her to slow down whilst he wrote every word, and then nodded his head for her to continue.
‘Hang on a second. Can you just go over the description again of the suspect?’
‘Well as I’ve said, I didn’t get a good look at him, just his profile. I remember he had dark hair, perhaps stubble on his face, but I can’t really recall his features at all.’
The copious detail of the statement covered page after page, and it took a further hour and a half before it was concluded. Repeatedly Dexter questioned her about the possibility that she might be able to identify the suspect. Jane continued to assert that she doubted that she could, then she surprised Dexter.
‘I remember his rucksack.’
‘You mean you can describe it?’
‘Yes. A gym instructor had one that was similar. It was made of a thick, grey cloth with a brown… maybe leather… bottom.’
‘How come you can remember details of the rucksack but you can’t recall the suspect’s face?’
‘I remember the face of the ticket collector and the way he was holding the rucksack before he was blown up and killed.’
Dexter eventually passed over the written statement to Jane, and stood up to stretch his long legs.
‘Read it carefully, just in case I’ve missed something. And let me know if you have any questions.’
Dexter paced around the room and lit another cigar. Jane skimmed through the statement as she could sense his impatience. Then he leaned in close, handed her a pen and asked her to sign it. He wore a soft-smelling cologne, which mingled with his cigar smoke but was not in any way offensive. Quite the contrary. Dexter was a very attractive, relaxed man, and Jane noticed his clean, manicured hands.
‘How many bomb scenes have you dealt with?’ Jane asked as he put the signed statement in a neat pile on Crowley’s desk.