Jane showed her ID pass again and was allowed entry to the lab floor. She then proceeded towards the small offices, hoping to find Crowley there. A clerical worker was just coming out as Jane approached. She told Jane that DCI Crowley was in the canteen having breakfast, but as Jane approached the lifts and the doors opened, Crowley stepped out holding a paper plate of sausages and a bread roll, with a mug of coffee in the other hand.
‘Morning, sir.’
He gave her a surly glance, and would have walked past her if she hadn’t asked for a few moments of his time.
‘You told me to go to St Thomas’ this morning, sir, to interview—’
‘Yes, yes… I know. So, what are you doing here?’
Jane followed him along the corridor to his office, and held the door open for him as he had his hands full.
‘Well, I needed to know what name Daphne would now be under as I assume, for security purposes, she wouldn’t be using her own name?’
‘There’s an armed guard by her room. Her full name is Daphne Millbank. She’s registered under the name “Patient C” and I am sure it is obvious that there will be no ID on her door. She has come out of her coma but is still very weak. I checked this morning and they said she’s quite coherent, so the sooner you get there to speak with her, the better.’
After her flashback, Jane was certain that the man in the surveillance photo and artist’s sketch wasn’t the man she had seen at Covent Garden. She realised that if Daphne said the same she’d have further proof she was right.
‘I have a copy of the artist’s sketch of the suspect,’ she said. ‘I’ll show it to Daphne and see if she recognises him.’
‘I’d rather one of my team did that, as her description of the suspect is critical to the investigation. It needs an experienced bomb squad officer to go over the finer facial details. You just deal with her version of events and what she saw.’
Crowley carefully placed his sausages inside the roll, then opened a packet of HP sauce and squirted the contents over the sausages.
‘I understand Church spoke to my father,’ Jane said. ‘Could I ask what protection is in place for my parents?’
‘It’s all in hand, Tennison… So far there’s been only an ominous silence from the terrorists, and it is quite possible the suspect and his cohorts have gone to ground. It remains for you to be extremely vigilant and, as I ordered yesterday, you should to go to the hospital and talk to the other witness.’
‘Yes, sir. I’m then due to go to Covent Garden with DS Dexter, so should I return to work here afterwards?’
‘Yes. Is there anything else, Tennison?’
‘No, sir.’
Jane left Crowley’s office. As she was walking past the lab, DS Lawrence approached her.
‘Looking a bit smart for a day’s work out in the rubble?’ he said.
‘I’m going to St Thomas’, to interview the lady who saw the suspect.’
He nodded, then moved closer. ‘Is everything all right with you?’
‘Yes. Why, does it look as if it isn’t?’
‘No, to the contrary, you look terrific. Will you be coming back later?’
‘Yes, but not until this afternoon.’
‘See you then.’
Lawrence walked off, leaving Jane feeling a bit tetchy. She was getting irritated with everyone checking up on her and asking how she was. Blackwall Tunnel was just as bad as it had been earlier in the morning, and the City was bumper to bumper with rush-hour traffic. By the time Jane reached St Thomas’ hospital it was nearly eleven. She made her way up to the ward and approached the nursing bay where she showed her ID and asked if Nurse Mitchell was on duty.
A stout nurse at the desk looked her up and down. before telling her he was accompanying a patient to theatre.
‘Oh. I’m really here to see a patient. She’s under the name of Patient C.’
The nurse checked Jane’s ID, then gestured for Jane to walk ahead of her. In contrast to the last time she had been here, the atmosphere was now strangely quiet and eerie. The dark green lino floors, the strong smell of disinfectant, combined with the almost echoing silence all made Jane feel uncomfortable. They eventually stopped to speak with a doctor who seemed irritated that Jane had not sought his permission before approaching his patient.
‘She’s quite remarkable, really. She’s very intelligent, but she tires easily and is on strong medication for the pain, although she no longer requires a morphine drip. You’ll see some deep bruises on her arms — those are from the catheters required for her surgery. She’s been breathing on her own since last night. But she’ll need a lot of treatment and care for some considerable time. You can have a few moments with her… the nurse will direct you.’
Jane followed the portly nurse past curtained booths busy with nurses, until they reached the double doors leading to the private rooms at the end of the ward. An overweight armed officer, who looked as if he was about to burst out of his uniform, sat outside Daphne’s room, reading the Sun. He immediately rose to his feet when he saw Jane, folding the paper and placing it on the chair. The straining belt around his rotund stomach had a radio hanging from a clip at his waist, and a.38 revolver.
‘I’m WDC Jane Tennison,’ she said, showing her warrant card.
The officer took her card and nodded.
‘I’ll bring you a mug of tea when I get a minute,’ the nurse said to the officer. ‘Two sugars, right?’
‘Thank you, nurse.’ He passed Jane back her warrant card and then went to the closed door. He knocked lightly and then eased it open. Jane entered the room and the officer closed the door behind her.
The room was as bare as she remembered, and the blind was drawn. The bedside cabinet was covered with kidney bowls, pads and plastic cups. A draped protectivce cage had been placed over Daphne, covering her from the waist down. A glucose drip was attached to a catheter in her left arm, and there was a tube running from her bladder into a urine bag. Wires ran from her chest to a heart monitor, which bleeped steadily. She lay slightly raised on a pillow, her thinning white hair combed away from her face. Small, scabbed wounds stood out on her cheeks and forehead, and her thin arms were black with bruises and raised blue veins that tracked down to her small curled hands. She had her eyes closed, and Jane moved closer to be beside the bed. Not wanting to wake Daphne if she was sleeping, Jane gently stroked her hand. Daphne’s eyes opened.
‘Hello, Daphne. My name is Jane. I was with you at Covent Garden. I’m sorry if I’m intruding but…’ She hesitated, as there was no reaction. ‘Can you hear me?’
‘I’ve got just about everything else wrong with me, but I’m not deaf.’
Jane smiled, then drew a chair from the wall to sit closer beside her.
‘You’ve had such a dreadful time, but I’ve been told you’re really recovering very well. If you feel up to it, I would like to ask you some questions. I understand that your full name is Daphne Millbank. My name is Jane Tennison.’
Daphne turned to look at her through watery, blue eyes. ‘I remember you, dear… you saved my life. To be honest I’m not sure whether to thank you or not. You know they had to amputate my left leg? I can’t feel a thing down there sometimes, but then it aches so much it’s dreadful. It’s going to make it difficult for me to play golf. Not that I was a regular, or even that good… but I keep thinking about it. At least I’ve got my teeth back. The nurse left them in a little cardboard box. I told her I needed a bottle of peroxide as I like to let them soak overnight so they look nice and white, but I have not been given it yet. How do they look to you?’