By midmorning, Stanley had arranged a suitable observation point in a second floor flat opposite Natalie Wilde’s home. The owner, a professional photographer, had agreed to allow his flat to be used as he was traveling to the Bahamas to shoot a commercial. He was inquisitive about why the police wanted to use his flat, and Stanley told him there had been a spate of daylight robberies in the street and he would be compensated for the use of his flat and calls made on his telephone. The owner told Stanley he would be back in a week and left.
Another observation point, also manned by Dip Squad officers, had been set up opposite the NatWest branch where Natalie worked. Stanley called the team and gave them the address and phone number of his observation point. He asked one of them to make inquiries with the letting agent about when Natalie Wilde moved in and how long the lease was for. He had not made inquiries with any of the neighbors living either side of Natalie’s rented flat, or in the flats above the basement, in case this alerted Natalie to their surveillance. It was also possible that Natalie’s contacts could be living close by.
A short while later Stanley received a call from the office about Wilde’s flat. He was informed that it was a fully furnished and had only been rented in the past two months, for a six-month period, with the option to extend the lease. As Wilde had not made any contact regarding the extension of the lease it was possible it might become vacant. It would seem Natalie had lied to Jane about how long she had lived in and rented the premises.
DCI Church rang Jane to let her know that the observation on Natalie was up and running and that she was currently at work.
“She lied to you about how long she’s lived in that flat,” he added. “And the phone box witness has identified the same Hermès scarf that you did. Says she was mistaken about it being dogs on it. She also mentioned the suspect might have been wearing designer gloves and we wondered if you had seen—”
“Were they Burberry?” asked Jane. “At Fratelli’s, Natalie had a pair of Burberry gloves. She said a boyfriend gave them to her at Christmas.”
“Yes, that corroborates our other witness’s description. The gloves and scarf are now crucial evidence, Jane, and you are a witness to the fact even if Natalie throws them away before we get to her. Things are moving along fast now. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. But being at home with nothing to do is hardly making the time pass.”
“Just sit tight and keep calm. I will update you if and when there are any further developments. We’re taking it slowly in case she gets wind that we’re onto her.”
Jane replaced the receiver and went over to the ironing board. She slowly ironed Dexter’s clean t-shirt and folded it neatly, feeling mixed emotions about everything that had happened. She had really liked Natalie and enjoyed her company. She’d thought she’d at last found someone she could talk to and share her feelings with. She felt bad about poor Pearl and her stolen books, but Natalie had stolen Jane’s trust. It hurt her deeply that she could have been taken in by someone so easily. She was now beginning to hate Natalie for all the lies and, above all, for the terrible devastation and loss of life caused by the bomb at Covent Garden.
Stanley was with a colleague at the window watching Natalie’s flat for visitors when, at 1pm, he received a call from the other OP that Wilde had left the bank and traveled to North London, stopping at a supermarket. It didn’t look like she was planning on returning to the office. Although she had left work early, the trip to the shops suggested she would return home. A short while later she got out of a taxi, carrying a bag full of groceries, and went into her flat. There was a light knock on the door as DS Maynard waited to be let in to relieve the officer who was with Stanley.
Maynard removed his duffel coat and put down a black holdall. He sat down in the easy chair by the window. There was a small telescope set up, alongside a camera. Stanley’s roll up cigarette stubs were piled high in an ashtray next to a dirty cup and saucer. Maynard pulled out a flask of tea and some sandwiches from his holdall, which he shared with Stanley. As they both settled down to watch Natalie’s flat, the phone rang with the information that Natalie had gone sick at work. She’d said she had flu, and that she wouldn’t be in tomorrow.
Hours later, Natalie was still indoors, no one had visited her, and it seemed she wasn’t going out. Stanley had fallen asleep in the armchair and was snoring. Maynard nudged him and suggested he get off home for some kip. Stanley said he’d sleep in the flat owner’s bedroom and told Maynard to wake him if anything happened, but Natalie remained in her flat all night.
The following morning, Blondie Dunston arrived to take over the surveillance from Maynard.
“It’s quarter to nine so it doesn’t look like she’s going to work,” Maynard said, putting on his duffel coat.
Blondie suddenly clocked Natalie leaving her flat. “Target’s on the move, Sarge.”
“Shit. Stanley’s in the bedroom, go and wake him. I’ll stick with Natalie and call him on the radio with my location. You stay here and keep eyeball on Wilde’s flat.” Maynard grabbed a covert radio and left.
Natalie walked to Hampstead Underground station and bought a morning paper from the newsstand. Maynard stayed a short distance behind her and radioed his location so Stanley could join him. Stanley was already out of the flat and quickly caught up with Maynard. They agreed that it was best for them to split up but keep in radio contact, in case she saw them together and sussed they were Old Bill. Stanley said he’d follow Natalie first for a while and then call in Maynard to take over so as not to blow their cover.
Stanley had Natalie in sight as she boarded the southbound Northern Line. He kept his distance and got on the carriage behind the one she was in. Maynard was in the carriage behind Stanley. The train was busy as it was still the rush hour, but Stanley was able to position himself so he could see Natalie through the adjoining carriage window. She was looking around and he wondered if she was aware she was being followed. As the train stopped at Tottenham Court Road, Natalie jumped off at the last second, just before the doors closed. Stanley was quick to react and just managed to get off himself. He breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t turn round and see him. Perhaps she was just being surveillance conscious and wasn’t aware she was being followed.
Stanley radioed Maynard with his location, but had no reply. He hadn’t got off the train in time.
Stanley followed Natalie out of the station into Oxford Street. Shoppers and commuters thronged the street, and Natalie weaved in and out of his sight as she walked westward. She’s well trained, he thought to himself, but she didn’t look back, which made him think she was carrying out a standard IRA anti-surveillance routine rather than actively trying to lose a tail. He radioed Blondie and said he needed backup.
Just then, Stanley’s radio crackled into life again. Maynard had just surfaced at Leicester Square.
“Target’s heading on foot toward Oxford Circus,” Stanley told him. “Get a cab.”
Maynard hailed a cab. When he got to Oxford Circus, he spotted Natalie on the other side of the street. He paid off the cab and took over the tail from Stanley, following her as continued down Oxford Street.
“She’s outside Selfridges. Have you got eyeball?” he radioed to Stanley.
“Not yet. I’ll make contact as soon as I see her.” Stanley picked up his pace as Maynard came back on the radio.
“She’s gone into Selfridges.”
Stanley’s stomach sank as he radioed back. “Shit. The IRA planted a bomb there last August, in the south-east corner. Don’t lose her, Maynard!”
On that occasion, the IRA had given a coded message to the press, the store had been evacuated, and the bomb diffused by Dexter. Now, both officers were becoming very tense. There were large crowds of shoppers milling around. If their target was planting a bomb, they needed to contact the store’s security services—but first they needed to find Natalie. Stanley eased past the wandering shoppers, but there were so many different departments. He was still on the ground floor passing the makeup and perfume counters when he caught sight of Natalie’s reflection in one of the mirrors. She was moving fast.
“Target eyeballed. She’s heading toward the south-west corner exit.”
Stanley picked up his pace, shoving shoppers aside, and ran out to the street. Maynard joined him and they looked around desperately trying to sight Natalie. They breathed a sigh of relief when Blondie’s voice came over the radio saying he had eyeball on Natalie and she was heading down into Marble Arch underground station. They sprinted across the road, weaving in and out of the traffic, then down the stairs and escalator, splitting up to check both the east and west-bound platforms, but Natalie was gone. They had lost her. All three of them were gasping and Stanley had to bend over to catch his breath.
“Christ! Do you think she planted a fuckin’ bomb?” Blondie asked.
Maynard shook his head. “No, I barely lost sight of her in Selfridges. She was only carrying a shoulder bag and it never moved from her shoulder. If she didn’t know she was being tailed, she certainly made it tough for us to follow her.”
Stanley banged his fist against the underground map on the wall. “Fuck knows where she might get off or where she’s going. Crowley’s going to be livid when he finds out we lost her!”
It had been another long day for Jane. She’d cleared out the fridge and, with the day stretching ahead of her and still unable to leave the flat, she’d made a list of groceries that she’d have to ask one of the officers to get for her. The highlight of the morning had been finding one of Pearl’s herbal teabags at the back of a drawer. It was midafternoon and she was busy cleaning the bath when the phone rang, making her jump. It was Church.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“No, I don’t actually have anything in the flat and it’s a bit early for supper.”
“I’ll come around six with fish and chips,” he said and put the phone down.
He could have at least asked what I wanted, she thought. She hoped he didn’t want to go over everything that had happened again as she was sick of repeating herself. She finished the housework and put two plates in the oven to warm. She thought about the fish and chips that Dexter had bought for their first dinner. Was DCI Church going to go to the same well known fish and chip shop in Ladbroke Grove?
At 6 o’clock on the dot the doorbell rang. Jane checked through the bedroom window that it was Church, and let him in. Unlike most of her visitors, Church demonstrated his fitness moving up the stairs two or three at a time, carrying his newspaper wrapped parcel.
“I’ve got the plates warming,” Jane said, showing him into the kitchen.
“Never mind plates. Always eat fish and chips out of the newspaper.” He plunked the paper down on the kitchen counter and started eating.
“First,” he went on, “the bad news, and it’s not about you for a change. Natalie went sick from work. Stanley and Maynard tailed and lost her in Oxford Street after she’d been into Selfridges. Thankfully she didn’t plant a bomb, but she could have been doing a recce, looking for a suitable target.”
“If she knows she’s being watched then she’ll have told the ASU. They’ll all do a runner and we’ll never find them.”
“Stanley was pretty sure she didn’t know she was being followed, plus she did a grocery shop the previous evening. Our guys are still watching her flat, but she hasn’t returned home yet. In fact, we don’t know where she is. My guess is the ASU is planning something big and she’s gone to meet up with them, thus her use of counter surveillance tactics.”
“How did Crowley take it?”
“Do you really need to ask? The good news is we have more information about Natalie Wilde. She’s of Irish Catholic descent and moved to England from Belfast with her parents when she was six years old. It was a time when sectarian tensions were rising thanks to widespread discrimination and resentment. Her father managed his own small business and they were financially secure, although by no means wealthy. She is their only daughter and was well educated at an established grammar school.”
Jane made a pot of tea. “Why did she become a sleeper for the IRA?”
“In May 1964, her father returned to Belfast for his eldest brother’s funeral. There was a gun battle between the UVF and the army, and he was killed in the crossfire. It isn’t clear if the shooter was UVF or a British soldier. Natalie was only sixteen at the time and the loss of her father was undoubtedly traumatic. Not long after that, her mother committed suicide. It would seem those two incidents were the turning point in her life.”
“So she must have already been recruited as a sleeper when she joined the Met?”
Church nodded and continued to eat the remainder of his fish and chips at an incredibly fast rate. Jane found them rather greasy and soggy.
Jane was shocked at the thought. “It’s frightening. If she hadn’t caused a scene and been kicked out of Hendon, she could have made detective by now.”
“Yep and the inside information she could have given the IRA would be immense.” Church wrapped up his last few remaining chips in the newspaper. “We can only surmise that she became involved thanks to her cousin, who we now know to be an active member of the IRA, and it may have been as far back as her father’s death that she became a sleeper. She had all those jobs she told you about before she joined as a trainee at the bank—Have you got any sugar?”
Jane got off the stool and found the sugar. Church added three spoonfuls to his tea before continuing.
“Natalie was a cashier at the bank—that’s a very useful position for an underground organization. She could be used by the ASU to pass communications while her contact was cashing checks, for example. But as yet we have not seen anything subversive or suspicious at the bank.”
Jane sighed. “She may have told the truth about working at the bank, but I suspect what she told me about working on a cruise ship and her cordon bleu course was all lies.”
“Probably.” Church crumpled up the greasy newspaper that had contained his fish and chips. “I want you at the Yard in the morning for a 11am briefing in the main conference hall. Go to Crowley’s office first at half ten, okay?”
Jane nodded. “What’s it about, sir?”
“You’ll find out when you get there, but it’s nothing to worry about. See you in the morning.” He finished his tea and left.
Crowley seemed to be in a permanent bad mood these days. As Jane sat on the edge of the chair in front of his desk, forcing herself to maintain eye-contact, she tried to forget that she was usually the cause of it.
“I believe DCI Church informed you of his squad’s fuck-up yesterday,” he said sharply.
“Yes, sir. Have they found Natalie yet?”
“No they haven’t, but we’d all better pray they do—and soon!”
“Yes, sir.”
“We ran some checks at St. Thomas’ Hospital regarding births on the day you say Natalie Wilde was there. We spoke with the four women who had a baby and not one of them knew her. There were two on the previous day but ditto, and the staff couldn’t recall anyone visiting the maternity ward who fitted Natalie’s description.”
He opened a thick file on his desk. “These are surveillance photographs of people passing her flat, and during her time at the bank the day she went sick. We have not had any recognition from our team, but they photographed everyone entering and leaving the bank. Have a look through them and see if you recognize anyone.”
Jane looked through the stack of photographs but eventually shook her head and said she did not know or recognize any one.
“Do you have enough evidence to arrest her?”
“If I knew where she bloody well was, then yes. But what we don’t want to do is tip off her contacts. IF we find her we could grab her off the street, or even at her flat, but that might jeopardize our tracking down who she’s working with. So we’re waiting in the hope we find her or she returns to her flat.”
Crowley lit a cigarette, stood up and, checking his watch, gestured for Jane to accompany him. “Come on, time to go.”
Jane was surprised at just how many officers were attached to the surveillance operation as various uniform, plain clothes and undercover officers began filtering into the conference hall. On the small raised podium, there was a large notice board covered with all the surveillance photographs taken outside the Belsize Park flat and the bank, which Jane had already seen. There were also numerous shots of the dress hire property, and the hospital reception area. A lot of work had been done to cover Natalie’s every move. As Jane tried to slip into a seat at the back of the room Crowley called out loudly to her.
“DC Tennison, please come up to the podium.”
Jane flushed as she stepped up to sit beside him.
“Right, everyone: an update on the Natalie Wilde case. Her whereabouts are at present unknown, but we are actively looking for her. We still need to discuss whether or not we arrest her when she’s found in the hope she’ll tell us the identities of the men responsible for the atrocity at Covent Garden, or whether to keep up surveillance in the hope that she will lead us to them.”
Jane listened as various officers discussed the two options, and which was best for the investigation. Some wanted to know why they hadn’t broken into the basement flat to see if they could find any incriminating evidence, or any connection to their bomber. Crowley said it was too risky as the neighbors might see something and tell Wilde.
The doors opened and DS Lawrence walked in. He was holding an envelope, and went straight up to the podium to hand it to Crowley.
“We’ve got a match. Wilde must have taken a glove off to put money in the coin box when attempting to make a coded call to the press. We found prints from an index finger and part of the right palm on the coin box that match Natalie Wilde’s prints from Hendon, but of course we can’t date a fingerprint and say it got there on the day of the explosion.”
Crowley was elated. Although the print could be classed as circumstantial evidence, it was still evidence of Natalie Wilde’s connection to the bombing at Covent Garden.
“Right. You lot get out there and find Natalie Wilde. When you do, contact me and I’ll make the decision as to arresting or tailing her.”
“Was Natalie’s phone tapped?” Jane asked, as Church drove her home.
Church shook his head. “Problem with phone taps is that they cause a slight click and delay on picking up the receiver. She’d be trained to look out for that and wouldn’t use her phone if she heard it.”
Jane opened the passenger door, hesitating. “Do you want a coffee?”
“You know, I would. Thank you.”
Jane filled the kettle as Church made a call to Maynard, who was at the observation point opposite Natalie’s basement flat.
“Any show?” he asked.
“Not yet, guv, it’s all very quiet.”
“Okay. I’ll get you relieved in a couple of hours.”
Church was about to walk back into the kitchen when he saw the ironing board left up outside Jane’s bedroom. Neatly folded on top of it was a man’s t-shirt. He unfolded it and saw the faded design of James Dean wearing a cowboy hat. He knew where he had seen it before, and it was Alan Dexter’s. He checked his watch and went back into the kitchen.
“She’s still not shown up at her flat.”
Jane handed him a mug of coffee. “It’s only instant I’m afraid.”
“I don’t mind. But I wouldn’t mind a slice of toast if you’ve got some bread.”
“Of course. How about cheese on toast?”
“Lovely, thank you.”
“Do you think Natalie was tipped off?”
“I don’t know. She might have just been a lot better at sussing us out and became wary enough to do a runner. I know my team have been cautious . . . maybe that caused them to lose her at Oxford Circus.” He sipped his coffee.
Jane lightly toasted two slices of bread, then put cheese on top. Placing them under the grill she watched the cheese begin to bubble before using a fork to place them both onto a plate. She opened the fridge to take out a bottle of tomato ketchup and held it up.
“I’ve also got HP or Lea & Perrins if you’d prefer it?”
“Yes, please, L&P.”
Jane put the bottle down on the counter and was about to sit next to Church when the phone rang. Jane went out into the hall and picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hi there.”
Jane almost dropped the phone and moved closer to the kitchen.
“Natalie! I was going to call you.”
Church jumped off his stool and turned on the tape recorder they had installed and connected to Jane’s phone. He took a pen out of his pocket, then gestured for Jane to keep talking as he opened his note book.
“I’ve been back and forth to Woolwich and have only just got home. I feel bad about not calling to thank you for Sunday. I had a terrible hangover . . . I didn’t realize how much I had been drinking.”
Church wrote on his note pad: SEE HER TONIGHT?
Jane nodded. “I haven’t eaten dinner yet. How about us meeting up and having something at Fratelli’s?”
“What, tonight?” Natalie asked.
“Yes, the food was good there. Or you can choose somewhere else.”
“I can’t, Jane. I’ve only just got home myself. We had a lengthy session after the bank closed because there were some discrepancies in the accounting department. I can’t tell you . . . one slip up and all hell breaks loose.”
Jane had broken out in a sweat. She took the pen and wrote N SAYS SHE’S AT HOME. Both of them knew she wasn’t, and Jane also knew she was lying about having been at the bank. It was unnerving that Natalie could lie so easily.
Church held up another note: GET HER TO MEET YOU.
Jane was now lying every bit as much as Natalie was, and she was finding Church’s closeness unnerving. She waved her hand at him to move away.
“So, are you all ready for the big dinner dance?” Natalie asked.
“Just about, but I wonder . . . could I ask you a big favor regarding tomorrow night?”
“Ask away.”
“You know Pearl has left? I mean, she’s not living with me anymore. I really don’t know how I’m going to do my dress up tomorrow, as I was banking on her helping me.”
“Oh God, yes . . . all those little buttons.” Natalie said.
“It’ll be impossible for me to do it up by myself. Besides, I’d really like you to give me your opinion about accessorizing with your jacket, and whether I should wear my hair up or down.”
“What time will you be getting ready? I have to go to work, but I suppose I could come over to you straight afterward?”
“Oh, that would be fantastic! If you could be here for about 5:30pm, or before . . . whatever suits you. You’ve never seen my flat and I’d love to show it to you and see what you think of it.”
“What time does your dinner start?”
“It’s not until 7:30, but there’s drinks beforehand.”
Church finished his cheese on toast as he listened to Jane giving Natalie her address. He was astonished to hear her laughing.
“No, no! Not Balcombe Street! That was where the siege happened—it’s Melcombe Street. The first turning on the left if you’re coming from Baker Street Underground. It’s not far from Fratelli’s.”
Jane replaced the receiver and felt her legs turn to jelly.
“She’s agreed to come here tomorrow about 5:30 to help me get dressed for the dinner dance.”
Church cocked his head to one side.
“At first I couldn’t fathom what the hell you were talking about—Pearl and the dress. Then when you laughed and mentioned the siege . . . I’m really impressed.” He took out a lighter and flicked it open to light his cigarette. “It’ll be perfect, she’s hiding out, but it looks like she doesn’t know she was under surveillance and her shenanigans yesterday were to see if she was. Our boys may have lost her, but they didn’t blow their cover.”
Jane sat back on the kitchen stool and sipped her coffee. “I’m dreading her coming here. The thought of her being in my flat makes me feel sick, but the other side of me knows she has to turn up if she’s to be arrested.”
“She’s coming to you because she has to be certain that you haven’t got any suspicions about her. We’ll be onto her as soon as she comes out of the underground station. With the evidence piled up against her, she’s looking at twenty-five years. She’ll talk . . . they always do.”
Jane swallowed and nodded at Church’s packet of cigarettes. “Do you mind if I have one?”
He took the packet and opened it. Jane hesitated before taking a cigarette out and placing it between her lips. She leaned forward and before he could pick up his lighter she had it in her hand. She held it for a moment, then used her thumb to flick it open and light the flame, inhaling the smoke and flicking the lighter closed again. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears and Church gently touched her cheek.
“No need for tears, Jane. You did good. I’m proud of the way you handled that phone call.”
She blew out the smoke, which tasted rancid on her tongue, then turned away.
“The tears are not about that. I was just remembering something . . . someone else.”
The memory of DCI Bradfield was still so strong in her mind. She knew he would have been proud of her. Church reminded her of the man she had loved, who had died so tragically.
“Listen, Jane, I’m going to have to get to the Yard to set things up for tomorrow and give old Crowley the good news. If there are any further developments, call me. I can come back later tonight and stay with you if you want.”
She inhaled another deep lungful of smoke, but it still tasted awful so she slowly stubbed the cigarette out in the saucer he had used.
“That’s really nice of you, but to be honest I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day and I need to get organized for tomorrow. If there’s any news just call me and let me know if I have to see Crowley again.”
Church leaned over and kissed her cheek. He seemed embarrassed and kept his arm around her shoulders as she walked with him to her front door. He gestured toward the ironing board.
“That t-shirt . . . I know who it belongs to. I’ve seen him wearing it.”
Jane moved away from him a fraction.
“Oh, that. I had to borrow it. As you know, when you weren’t available to talk to I went to see Dexter and very embarrassingly I was sick over myself. So, he gave me that to change into, to get home.”
Church gave her a sardonic smile and dropped his arm from around her shoulders.
“Take care with him Jane. He’s an amazing guy, but takes terrifying risks. He’s also got a bad reputation over his relationships with women.”
“Thanks for the warning,” she said with a weak smile. She shut the flat door behind him and locked it as he went down the stairs.
Returning to the kitchen, she washed up the dishes, then picked up the packet of cigarettes that Church had left on the counter. She shook out another one and lit it from the gas ring on the cooker. She inhaled and this time it didn’t taste as bad. Holding the cigarette between her lips she tucked Dexter’s t-shirt under her arm, not caring that she was creasing her careful ironing. Still smoking, she collapsed the ironing board and stashed it away in the hall cupboard, then went into her bedroom. She slowly unfolded Dexter’s t-shirt and held it to her as she closed her eyes.
“Don’t hurt me,” she said, softly.