‘CID… wow! That’s terrific! Do you deal with murder enquiries?’
‘I have done. But there’s a lot of discrimination in the Met. You learn to deal with it.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, women often get sidelined, or given incredibly boring enquiries… even on murder cases you end up doing tedious paperwork. I remember when I was a probationer it felt like I was nothing more than wallpaper. Only useful for making teas and coffees. It’s better now I’m a detective, but it’s still there.’
‘It’s the same at the bank. Some of the clerks and bank managers I’ve had to deal with would make your hair stand on end… so rigid, and obsessive timekeepers. God forbid that you should make the smallest error… all hell breaks loose.’
‘So, do you live with someone? Are you married?’ Jane asked.
‘I have lived with a few men, and when I was on the cruise ships I was quite naughty… but I haven’t found the right one yet. What about you?’
‘There’s nobody, really. I’ve just rented out the spare room in my flat.’
Jane went on to describe Pearl Radcliff and her vegetarian diet, and relayed the story about asking her if she had many belongings — ‘and now the spare bedroom looks like a book depository,’ she finished. Natalie swapped stories of previous girls she had shared with, making Jane laugh when she told her about one girl who had so many boyfriends coming and going, and that eventually she had found out she was a complete nymphomaniac.
‘Her name was Françoise, and she came from a very upper-class family… I think they owned vineyards in the South of France because she always had loads of money. She made model airplanes, and would spend hours gluing and using thin wires to hang them from her bedroom ceiling. I asked her if she was interested in flying and she said they represented her lovers! Anyway, one time she brought back this handsome chap and kept on saying that he was the one… then she made this small helicopter and pinned it up! So, he was gone and eventually I had to ask her to leave.’
By the time their main course arrived they had drunk almost the entire bottle of wine. Natalie was very complimentary about her cannelloni, explaining how difficult it was to roll the light pastry around the meat and make the rich tomato sauce.
‘I love cooking, and I have to say that I’m not too bad… I even did a Cordon Bleu cookery course, because I really like experimenting and trying out new dishes. Do you like Indian food?’
Jane shrugged, saying that she was embarrassed at how hopeless she was in the kitchen. ‘When I’m at work, or was living in the section house, I always ate in the canteen. My mother’s a good cook… did it all when I lived at home… you know, big roast dinners on a Sunday. I can just about boil or scramble an egg with some bacon. I’ve never tried anything fancy… there are blokes at work who know more about cooking than me.
‘Well, I am going to change that, Jane Tennison! I’m going to give you a beginner’s course in some basic culinary dishes. What are you doing this weekend?’
‘Well, I’ve planned to see my sister tomorrow…’
‘Why don’t you come over on Sunday? I’ll do a grocery shop tomorrow and we can cook lunch together.’
Natalie was wonderful company and Jane realised that she had never had a close girlfriend. She felt so at ease with her, and readily accepted her offer of a cooking lesson.
By the time they had both had coffee and a delicious sweet honey pastry each, they had agreed to meet on Sunday. Natalie wrote down her address in Belsize Park and insisted that Jane come by early so she could start the cookery lesson.
‘It’s just a garden flat in the basement, so don’t be too excited. I’m going to insist I pay for our dinner tonight, and you can pay the next time we eat out. But I’m hoping you’ll be able to invite me to your place to meet your vegetarian Pearl, and then cook for me.’
They were the last customers to leave the restaurant, and the closed sign was flipped over on the main door. As they headed out into the street towards Baker Street station, they paused at the traffic lights.
‘This is where I head back to Melcombe Street,’ Jane said.
‘I had a great evening. See you Sunday,’ Natalie replied. She gave Jane a hug and kissed her on the cheek before hurrying across the road.
Jane was just turning away when a highly polished black Jaguar pulled up at the red traffic light. Jane wouldn’t have noticed the vehicle and its occupants, but for the face in the passenger window. Jane instantly recognised Regina Hernandez, the young girl she had rescued on her first day with the Dip Squad. Regina looked like a startled fawn. As the lights turned to green Jane, hardly believing what she was doing, flagged down a cab.
‘Can you follow that black Jaguar.’
‘Lost your boyfriend, have yer?’ The cab driver smirked as Jane got in.
‘I’m a police officer.’
‘Right, luv, doing an Agatha Christie, are you? I’ll follow it.’
From the back seat, Jane watched as the Jaguar drove along Regent Street, crossing straight over Oxford Circus they passed the London Palladium Theatre’s billboards and then Liberty, taking a right at Brook Street. The cab driver, half turned to Jane, ‘Do you know where your friends are going, luv?’
‘No, I don’t.’ Jane said, wondering if the driver of the Jaguar suspected he was being followed or was unfamiliar with the area.
‘Well, I hope they’re not a sightseeing tour! That looks like a courtesy car.’
‘Just keep following, please.’ Part of Jane was uncertain she had even recognised Regina. As they approached Grosvenor Square and headed into the traffic in Park Lane, they were directly behind the Jaguar and when it stopped abruptly outside the Playboy Club, the cab driver almost drove into the back of it.
‘Did you see that? No indication he was stopping!’
Jane already had her wallet open. Ahead, she saw a man in a shiny suit get out and open the passenger door. Dressed in a plunging top, tight-fitting sequined mini skirt, high-heeled silver sandals and a white fox fur wrap, the fifteen-year-old Hernandez girl did not look her age.
‘Could you wait for me?’
‘No, luv, I can’t park out here. Just pay me off. It’s four pounds.’
Jane thrust a five-pound note at the driver just as the Jaguar pulled away from the pavement. The Playboy Club’s black gleaming door opened as Jane ran towards Regina. That was the moment she saw that the man ushering the frightened girl in front of him was Regina’s uncle, Andres Hernandez. The club door closed and the doorman barred the entrance.
‘I need to speak to that girl.’
‘Members only,’ the bouncer replied without looking at Jane.
‘You don’t understand… it is very important that I speak to that young girl. She’s underage.’
‘You got a membership card, luv?’
‘No, but—’
‘Then you ain’t getting in.’
Jane got out her warrant card, ‘I’m a detective with the Metropolitan Police.’
‘So are quite a few people in there… and a lot more senior than you, sweetheart. Shall I go disturb a commander and get him to come and have a word with you, or would you like to toddle off and get a warrant?’
It was pointless to argue with the doorman. She suspected he was right: there were probably a few senior police officers in the club and they wouldn’t take kindly to being disturbed by the likes of a detective constable. Deciding to give up, she headed home.
Jane woke up early the following morning and walked to the nearest laundrette, which was on Edgware Road. She couldn’t wash bed linen in the flat as there was only a small washing machine and no tumble dryer. As she waited for the dryer to finish she was haunted by Regina’s scared face as she was pulled into the club. She hurried home and was glad to see that Pearl had already left to visit her parents in Southport. She called DCI Church. He wasn’t in his office, but she spoke to Stanley, who seemed almost to live in the squalid office.