‘There’s something going on, Stanley. Last night I was in Baker Street and I saw this very polished black Jaguar… It might be a courtesy car the Playboy Club provide for its clients.’
‘So?’
‘She was sitting in the back seat.’
‘Who are you talking about?’
‘Regina Hernandez.’
‘What?’
‘I haven’t finished yet, Stanley. The man who took her into the Playboy Club was that Andres Hernandez who they say was her uncle. I was told that she was being looked after! Stanley, she is only fifteen and was dressed like a hooker and I’m certain that the club management would be wary of allowing an underage girl into the premises. She’s too young to even be allowed to drink, never mind go into a casino.’
‘Did you make a note of the Jag’s licence plate?’
‘Yes, I did.’ Jane repeated it. ‘The taxi driver suggested it might be a courtesy car.’
‘Where does the taxi driver fit into this?’
‘I told you, when I saw Regina in the car, I hailed a taxi and followed it from Baker Street.’
‘Right, I’ll pass this on to the Vice Squad and just before you hang up, Jane, do you mind if I give you a little word of advice? I wouldn’t try to claim your cab fare on expenses. You were told this was no longer connected to us and you don’t want to piss DCI Church off.’
‘Thank you for the warning,’ Jane said shortly.
Feeling dispirited after her conversation with Stanley, Jane drove to her parents’ flat in Maida Vale. It was just after one when she arrived, and they were delighted to see her. They made such a fuss of her that she felt guilty for not having been to see them before. Her father didn’t speak about the events at Covent Garden, but did say that DCI Church had been to visit them again and left contact numbers in case they had any enquiries.
‘Mr Church said they were all taking good care of you,’ her father said, when her mother went out of the room. ‘He was considerate and supportive, and explained the situation. Mum and I are proud of you, Jane, but I’d rather hear it from you… Are you coping?’
‘Yes, on the whole, but there are moments when it’s hard to focus. Please don’t tell Mum…’
‘You know I won’t, Jane.’
‘I had to bag and tag the victims’ clothing the other day. There was a mother who was killed at the scene, but her baby survived. I had to bag the mother’s torn, bloodstained clothes and the child’s Babygro, which had the mother’s blood on it… I found it really upsetting.’
Mr Tennison hugged his daughter. ‘Your job is really harrowing at times… you are very brave and I admire you… so does your mother, but sometimes she’s not much good at showing it.’
Her mother was cooking a leg of lamb with all the trimmings. Jane offered to help but as usual her mother refused, as she hated anyone getting under her feet in the kitchen.
‘Does Pam know how to cook, Mum?’
‘Good heavens, no! Poor Tony gets more takeaways than he ever has a good cooked meal. Why do you ask?’
‘I’ve lived off canteen food for too long. Now I’ve got a place of my own I’d like to fend for myself on something more substantial than eggs and bacon.’
Mrs Tennison laughed. ‘I was self-taught, dear. Practise is what makes a good cook. Mind you, I burnt a few things and used the wrong ingredients to start with. I’ll give you some of my cookery books to take with you. The Fanny Craddock one is good — you know, the woman who’s always on TV, with the monocled husband? They’re a good double act, a bit like me and your dad.’
They didn’t eat lunch until after two, then sat watching TV whilst Mrs Tennison told Jane that they had booked a two-week cruise. Jane was astonished, even more so when they said they were going to Norway. She could hardly believe they were being such adventurists. They talked about her new flatmate and Mrs Tennison was relieved that Jane was no longer living on her own. Her father was also relieved that the rent was being paid in, and Jane was repaying his deposit loan towards her mortgage.
It was five thirty when Jane left and drove to the salon, hoping that Pam might be able to cut her hair and do some highlight streaks. Pam was obviously tired after a long and busy day but she made Jane a cup of coffee whilst she finished her last client. By the time Jane was in the chair, it was after six. Pam put on a rubber cap, and pulled strands of Jane’s hair through the small holes before she layered the bleach, using square-cut sections of tin foil. It had to be left on for twenty minutes so Pam pulled up a stool and sat beside Jane.
‘I’m still not pregnant… but it’s not for lack of trying!’ She gave a soft laugh, but Jane could tell she was not happy.
‘Maybe if you didn’t worry so much?’
‘But I can’t help it… we want a baby more than anything. Every month I take a test, and it’s so depressing when it’s negative.’
Eventually Pam washed Jane’s hair and cut two inches off before blow-drying it with a large bristle brush into a short pageboy style. She refused to charge her, but Jane insisted that she take ten pounds. She wasn’t sure about the way Pam had styled her hair, and it looked much blonder, but she thought that after she had played around with it, it would look more to her satisfaction.
Jane decided to have an early night, and was looking forward to seeing Natalie again in the morning. She was glad that she had seen her parents and Pam, and felt more relaxed after all the security precautions and pressure she had been under. She didn’t get home until after eight, parking her car a short distance from her flat and getting the usual nod from the plain-clothes officers on watch as she opened the front door. Crowley, for all his tough, blustering manner, had kept his word when he’d told her father he intended to maintain the protection until the ASU members were arrested.
At eleven o’clock the following morning, Jane drove to Natalie’s via St John’s Wood and into Belsize Avenue. She managed to park close to number 44 and walked up to the large, imposing, four-storey house, then descended the steps to the basement.
Natalie opened the front door almost immediately after Jane pressed the doorbell. She was barefooted and wearing an apron over her jeans and T-shirt.
‘Hi there! You found me… come on in.’
Jane wished she’d bought a bunch of flowers, but it hadn’t occurred to her. Natalie seemed so pleased to see her, helping her off with her coat and hanging it on a hook in the narrow hallway.
‘It’s small, but it’s all my own.’ Natalie said, as she drew Jane into a lovely living room with French windows overlooking steps up to a walled garden.
The living room was full, with bright, fabric-covered chairs and a two-seater sofa by a low pine coffee table. There was a fireplace with wooden logs and a coal bucket beside it. The walls were lined with bookshelves and there was a cabinet filled with pottery, coloured glass miniatures and rows of wine glasses. There were some rather amateurish oil paintings, and stacks of magazines. It was a warm and cosy room. Natalie had lit some scented candles and the glow and smell made the room feel welcoming.
Natalie opened the French windows and stepped outside. Stone steps led up to a flourishing plant bed and there was a bench and wooden table. Numerous pot plants were placed around, containing herbs and bulbs, but a lot of the flowering plants were no longer in season. On the table there were empty bottles of wine holding melted candles, and the paved area had moss growing between the cracks. A large oak tree dominated the end of the garden and shaded most of the patio.