‘Well, it’s up to you. Bit small, isn’t it? How much are you charging?’
‘Why? Don’t tell me you’re thinking of moving in… I’m only letting it out to a female.’
Stanley shrugged and pointed to the phone. ‘You make sure you check their background and get a good wad up front, as well as a deposit. You know you need to have it all vetted, as well as fill in a form at the Met? You’d be surprised how many people rent somewhere and have no intention of paying rent, or of ever moving out. I once let out a room to a photographer who paid two month’s rent in advance… Eighteen months later he hadn’t paid another penny, so I threw him out the window by the scruff of his neck, followed by his cameras… So, if you get a dodgy lodger you know who to contact… I’ll sort it.’ He patted his chest, unintentionally revealing a holster and weapon by his left armpit.
‘Really? How do you go about doing that?’
‘It’s called the “Ways and Means Act”… getting somethin’ done without sticking to the rules.’
‘Thanks for the advice, Stanley… Goodnight.’
As soon as her bedroom door was closed Stanley went over to the small hall table and glanced at the notepad. He saw the name ‘Pearl Radcliff’ and the date of birth. Returning to the spare room, he jotted down the details. He’d do a precautionary check in case Jane didn’t follow the Met’s rules about vetting. Then he lay on the bed, smoking.
Jane was oblivious to the fact that, throughout the night, Stanley checked the flat over every hour, even going down to the front door and back up the stairs. He only had a couple of hours sleep and had used the bathroom, cleaned his teeth and washed his hands and face by the time Jane surfaced.
‘Good morning! I’ve made a cup of tea and some toast for you… I’ve had mine.’
‘Gosh, thank you. I might change my mind about having only a female flatmate… you’re very domesticated.’
Stanley smiled and told her he was just going out to fetch some newspapers, giving Jane time to have her breakfast and get dressed. She handed him her front door key and he left.
Stanley crossed the road and headed into the newsagents. He bought a selection of papers before returning to the flat. He didn’t go back up to the top floor, but sat on the stairs looking at the front page and inside coverage of the press conference. One of the headlines read ‘Brave Met Detective Stared Death in the Face’, and under it was a picture of Jane and the artist’s impression of the suspect. All the papers had similar headlines and articles about how she ‘stood up to’ or ‘tried to arrest’ the bomber, along with pictures of Jane, some at the Covent Garden explosion and others at the press conference. It concerned Stanley that the Bomb Squad’s eagerness to trace the suspect now meant Jane could be easily recognised. After he had accompanied her to Woolwich he would talk to DCI Church again about the likelihood of retaliation from the IRA, as the articles made it clear that Jane could identify the bomber.
Jane was dressed and ready by the time Stanley returned. Letting himself in with her key, he put the newspapers into his holdall and then stood in the narrow hall, ready to go. Jane was wearing an old skirt and a worn jacket with a polo-necked sweater. She also had on a pair of old hiking boots.
‘I was told not to wear anything decent as I’ll be sifting through the debris brought in from Covent Garden,’ Jane explained, as she caught him staring at her boots. ‘I want to drive there.’
‘Right, we should get a move on. It’ll take a good hour to get over to the unit. We’ll have to go through the Blackwall Tunnel but as we’re in good time we should miss the traffic.’
They left Jane’s flat and walked some distance down Melcombe Street before stopping beside Jane’s VW. Stanley put out his hand to stop her opening the door. Only once he had checked beneath it and walked all around the car did he give her clearance to get in.
‘You’ve not registered this vehicle with us at the office?’ he asked.
‘I’ve only had it a few weeks. I mostly just use it at weekends, and will probably park it near my parents’ flat.’
‘That sounds sensible, since we get our tube fares paid anyway. It’s a nice car… although yellow’s not my colour, a bit on the bright side. I’ve never been in one of these. What did it cost?’
‘It was second-hand… my dad got it for me at a good price. Now, do you want to map read? There’s an A — Z in the glove compartment.’
Jane was impressed by Stanley’s street knowledge, although his delivery left something to be desired as he often shouted out instructions at the last minute, not giving her enough time to indicate. She was not yet a proficient driver and he made her jump more than once as he swore and became annoyed when she missed a turning. He took her though back streets to avoid the congestion in central London, but as they neared the Blackwall Tunnel the cars were already bumper to bumper. By the time they entered the tunnel their progress was very slow. Stanley leaned back and went to sleep, snoring loudly, as Jane drove on, realising that even with an early start she was going to be late for her first day.
By the time they left the tunnel Stanley had woken up and barked another instruction as they arrived at an ornate brownstone building. A security barrier was in position and after seeing their warrant cards the MOD police officer pointed to the guard house and told them to book themselves and their vehicle in. They were issued with personal passes and a car pass. The estate was big and they drove over to the Royal Armament Research and Development Establishment, where the Forensics Explosives Lab was based.
They parked the car and after Jane had been authorised to access the lab, Stanley left, telling her that he would be at the Dip Squad base at Vine Street if she needed him. He disappeared before she could thank him, and she felt rather nervous. Not only was she late, but she was about to start working in a totally different environment to the offices she was used to at Hackney and Bow Street. As she entered the main lab she saw several white-coated forensic scientists at work on long trestle tables. Jane was relieved to see DS Lawrence, whom she knew from working on other cases. He seemed pleased to see her and walked towards her smiling.
‘Hi, Jane, I was only told this morning that you’d be coming. You need to go see the head scientist first and he’ll brief you on what you’ll be doing here. His office is down the corridor on the left… and don’t worry if you hear gunfire or explosions — they test the stuff out on the wasteland. Maybe we can catch up at lunchtime in the canteen.’
The head scientist was stern-faced as he took down her details and made her sign a non-disclosure form about working at the explosives lab. He appeared displeased at having her foisted onto the team, as she had no forensic qualifications. However, he knew the reasons for her being there and eventually told her to go and see the MOD police sergeant at a large hangar style building with a corrugated roof at the rear of the premises.
As Jane entered the building she could see a group of men and two women at work sifting through numbered dustbins filled with debris which she realised must be from the Covent Garden bomb site. Most of them were dressed in industrial style buff boiler suits, although a few were wearing white laboratory coats. Some of them were also wearing masks to protect themselves from the dust particles that permeated the room like a morning mist haze. There were numbered white groundsheets on the floor and numbered sheets covering trestle tables. Next to each groundsheet was a large numbered bin bag.
‘You WDC Tennison?’ a gruff-voiced man asked her bluntly.
Jane read the tag on his boiler suit breast pocket — MOD SGT — and produced her pass and warrant card to introduce herself. The sergeant went over to a metal cabinet and took out a boiler suit that he threw to Jane, followed by long rubber gloves and a mask. He explained that the staff in the boiler suits were police officers, and those in lab coats were forensic scientists. As Jane put it on, the sergeant told her she would be sifting through the debris for bomb shards and other material. Jane said that she didn’t know exactly what bomb shards looked like. Irritated by her comment the sergeant shook his head and told her that was why the scientists were in the hangar.