‘Thank you, DC Tennison, that’s really made my day.’
Dexter walked off and, rather than get into any further conversation with the two girls, Jane took her crockery and cutlery to the wash bowl provided for everyone to deposit their used dishes. She didn’t escape as the girls caught up with her as she was stacking her tray.
‘How much did he overhear?’ the skinny girl asked nervously.
‘Just the bit about Crowley… I told him it was a joke.’
‘Oh.’
They looked at each other as Jane started to walk off, because they had seen Dexter kissing her cheek.
‘Another one bites the dust…’
Jane turned and glared at them.
‘If you are referring to me, I resent that remark. We are working together, nothing more. You should grow up and stop gossip-mongering.’
They watched her heading out of the canteen and nudged each other.
‘Well, I’d say the lady doth protest too much! We need to be careful what we say around her… she’s obviously smitten.’
Jane banged through the doors of the canteen and bumped into DS Lawrence. He threw up his hands.
‘It’s bloody unbelievable, that guy needs someone to straighten him out!’
‘Who are you talking about?’
‘Bloody Dexter, he thrives on risk-taking and thinks he’s indestructible. He’s nabbed a disarming device I’d left in the lab to test.’
‘He was in the canteen a minute ago…’
‘I’ll go find him. We are all on tenterhooks and he’s playing silly buggers with untested equipment. If you ask me he has a death wish.’
‘You know, maybe he lives life to the full because he knows each day could be his last, and every time there is a warning call from the IRA he could be killed disarming one of their bombs.’
‘I doubt it,’ whispered Lawrence. ‘His best pal, who went in ahead of him to assess the bomb at Selfridges, was killed when it exploded. Dexter’s got some guardian angel sitting on his shoulder.’
‘I hope so,’ Jane said quietly, then asked Lawrence what he wanted her to do for the day.
‘The victims’ clothing needs bagging and tagging… if you don’t mind doing that. Everything’s hanging up in the drying room down the corridor.’ He pointed to a room on the left.
Jane knew that much of the clothing was heavily bloodstained. It wasn’t a job she relished doing, but she was determined to show willing. Paul handed her the key and she unlocked the door. There were no windows in the drying room; it was in total darkness and felt like an eerie sauna. Jane switched on the neon strip lighting, which flickered for a few seconds before illuminating the room. She inhaled deeply at the sight of the torn and tattered bloodstained clothing hanging from washing lines strung up around the room. Her eyes instantly caught sight of a bloodstained Babygro, and for a moment she was back at Covent Garden, hearing the child’s muffled cries. She relived carrying the pushchair up the stairs, then less than a minute later turning the seriously injured mother over. The sight of the baby beneath its mother, covered in blood, and the weight of the baby in her arms.
Jane unpegged the Babygro from the washing line. She held it tightly in her hands and the good smell it made was like sweet pancakes and a cup of warm milk. The musty smell of dry blood then came through and the grit from the explosion rubbed against her hands. It was wretchedly sad. The child would never know its mother.
Chapter Twelve
Jane walked into the Italian restaurant and asked for a table for two. She’d arranged to meet Natalie at eight and had arrived a bit early to ensure she could get in. The tables were covered in red-and-white checked tablecloths, and in the centre of each was an empty Chianti bottle with a candle stuck into the top. A long counter displayed breads and sweet pastries, together with a vast display of cheeses, on the other side of which a dark-haired man was busy cutting wafer-thin slices of cured ham.
Jane opened the menu. There was a lunch menu on one side, then the dinner menu and specials were on a thick laminated page on the other side. It was exactly eight when Natalie walked in. Seeing Jane sitting at the side of the room, she waved and walked over to join her. She tossed a stylish thick, wool jacket over the back of her chair, and tucked her soft leather clutch bag under the table as she sat down.
‘It’s not very posh,’ Jane said.
‘It’s fine… I love Italian food. Have you decided what you want to order?’ Natalie said as she took off her gloves and placed them on the table.
Jane noticed the checked lining. ‘I like your gloves,’ she said. ‘Are they Burberry?’
‘Yes. Christmas present from an old flame. I never spend that much money on gloves.’
‘I think I might have the tomato and basil soup, followed by spaghetti bolognese… unless you’re not having a starter?’
As Natalie looked over the menu Jane admired her pale denim shirt, tight jeans and cowboy boots. Jane thought to herself that as well as getting Pam to cut her hair she’d do some clothes shopping.
‘I’ll have the minestrone, and then the chicken with garlic and mashed potatoes… or maybe the cannelloni.’ Natalie turned to attract the waitress’s attention.
‘Is the cannelloni freshly made on the premises?’
‘Yes, we make all the pasta dishes here… my father is the chef.’ The waitress nodded to the dark-haired man behind the counter.
They ordered their food, and a bottle of Pinot Noir. Natalie smiled at Jane.
‘Isn’t this nice! On my way here I was trying to calculate just how long it’s been… you don’t look all that different.’
‘I remember you used to have very long hair.’
‘Oh God, yes! I had this terrible perm and it went like a frizzy mop, so I had it cut really short, you know that sort of pixie cut… but it didn’t really suit me, so I’ve let it grow a bit.’
‘I was thinking of getting my sister to cut mine, and give me some highlights… I’ve not really taken that much interest in my hairstyle, and always used to put it in a pleat under my police hat. But it was a relief when I came out of uniform. Those policewomen’s hats are not very flattering, and the uniform was continually having to be brushed down and dry cleaned, shirts starched, tie in place…’
‘And those black stockings and awful police-issue shoes,’ agreed Natalie. ‘But you know, I was really heartbroken when I was kicked out of Hendon. Truthfully, I don’t think I would have made the grade, though. Where were you posted to when you came out?’
‘Hackney… one of the toughest areas. Didn’t really have too much time to think about it as I was thrown into the deep end. There was only one other uniformed WPC there.’
Jane was relieved when the waitress came to the table and uncorked the wine, as she didn’t want to get into a discussion about Kath Morgan’s death. Natalie took a small sip of the wine to taste it and nodded in approval.
‘This isn’t too heavy… light and not too fruity.’
The waitress filled their glasses and placed the bottle in the centre of the table. Jane sipped the wine and nodded.
‘Mmm, it is very nice. So, what did you do after you left Hendon?’
‘I did a course in accountancy. I worked in a couple of firms at a low level, but it was so boring… and you know it takes ages to qualify as a fully-fledged accountant. Then I applied for a job on a cruise liner.’ She laughed. ‘I thought it would be a cheap way of seeing the world… but, my God, they worked my socks off. I saw the West Indies, and the Bahamas and the Virgin Isles, but nothing ever prepares you for the pettiness of the crews. And most of the guests on board treat you like a glorified waitress and cleaner.’
At this point their starters arrived. Two more customers came in and were seated as another couple left. The restaurant was still only a quarter full. As they ate Jane gave a brief outline of how she had moved from Hackney to Bow Street and succeeded in qualifying for CID.