It was nearly 1.30 p.m. Jane stood in front of her bedroom mirror, put her wide-brimmed hat on and did a left and right half-twirl.
‘You look good,’ she said to herself with a smile. She went to the living room, looked out of the window to the street below and saw Teflon pull up in the black cab. She picked up her coat, then checked her Kodak Instamatic camera was in her clutch bag, along with a spare film, before leaving the flat.
Teflon waved when he saw her walking towards the cab.
‘You look absolutely stunning,’ he said, his eyes wide.
‘No need to look so surprised,’ she laughed, getting in the back. ‘I last wore this outfit when I was godmother at my nephew’s christening.’
‘Where to, lady?’ Teflon asked in a cockney accent, as if he was a real cabbie.
‘All Saints Church, Chigwell, please.’ She smiled.
‘Right you are,’ he said and moved off.
*
Teflon drove slowly so he didn’t arrive at the church too early.
‘You be careful, Jane. No matter what Murphy said, the wedding surveillance isn’t worth putting your neck on the line for. All we really need is the camel hair coat guy’s car registration so we can identify him. If he doesn’t turn up, then you may as well call it a day.’
‘I was only intending to stay until the evening reception starts, then I’ll make an excuse to pull out.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll wait in the canteen at Chigwell nick. Call me when you want picking up.’
He handed her the station phone number.
*
The sun was shining and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky as they pulled up on the road outside the church. Jane saw Carl outside, anxiously pacing up and down the gravel path. He had a top hat in his hand and was wearing a black and grey morning suit. As soon as he saw her he smiled broadly and waved.
‘You look gorgeous, Jane,’ he said as he helped her out of the cab.
‘Thanks. You look very elegant in your suit.’
She winced as if feeling a sudden sharp pain.
‘You all right?’ he asked, looking concerned.
‘It’s just a bad stomach cramp.’
‘Is it something you ate?’
‘No, it’s just that time of the month.’
He looked embarrassed. ‘Oh, right, I see . . .’
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll go away.’
‘We’d best go into the church. Tina will be here soon.’
She followed him inside, feeling bad that she was lying to him about period pains, but she needed to lay down an excuse she could use later. Carl escorted her down the aisle to the front row on the left. It hadn’t crossed her mind that he would want her to sit next to him and his family. He introduced Jane to his mother, Maureen. She shook Jane’s hand limply.
‘Pleased to meet you, darlin’. My Carl can’t stop talkin’ about you. He was right, as well – you’re a real looker.’
Jane sat at the end of the pew and a minute later she felt a tap on her shoulder, making her jump. She turned around and saw a smiling Tommy behind her with the much younger Maria Fernandez, who was wearing a red dress with a low cleavage that showed off her full figure.
Tommy whispered to Jane, ‘Thanks for coming, luv, you’ve made Carl’s day. I’ve not seen him as happy in a long while. This is Maria, me girlfriend. Maria, this is . . .’ He paused, awaiting a reply.
‘Jane. Pleased to meet you, Maria.’
As they shook hands, Jane recognised Graham Smith and Aidan O’Reilly from the surveillance photographs. They were sitting in the row behind Tommy. O’Reilly still had visible signs of the cut to his forehead, but he also had a rash all over his face, which he was rubbing with his hand.
The room was suddenly filled with the sound of the organ playing Mendelssohn’s ‘Wedding March’ and everyone stood up. Jane thought Tina looked beautiful in her wedding dress, though she felt nothing but contempt for George Ripley when she saw him. She wondered if Tina knew what her father was really like, and how the proceeds of crime had probably paid for her extravagant wedding.
*
The service was over in half an hour. Carl linked arms with Jane as they walked out of the church, then shook the vicar’s hand and said it was a lovely service. The bride and groom, bridesmaids, best man and ushers had a few pictures taken outside the church, and George announced that the family’s and friends’ photos would be taken in the grounds of Farthings.
Jane scanned the church car park to see if the Jensen Interceptor was there, but couldn’t see it. She looked around the guests for a man resembling Bela Lugosi, but again with no joy.
When the photos were done, Jane travelled with Carl to the house in a wedding limousine. The six-bedroom mock Tudor house was approached via electric gates and a sweeping gravel driveway, and surrounded by over an acre of land, with a small fishing lake and woods at the bottom of the vast gardens. The impressive marquee was close to the house and several waitresses and waiters were serving champagne and canapes. Carl picked up two glasses from a tray and handed one to Jane.
‘Thanks again for coming, it really means a lot to me. George reckoned you’d give me the boot after our first date.’
‘Well, he reckoned wrong . . . Cheers.’
She raised her glass and he did the same.
George’s booming deep voice filled the air.
‘Right, listen up, you bunch of reprobates. If anyone wants a piss, the ladies’ is in the entrance hallway to the left of the staircase, and the gents’ is in the utility room off the kitchen. Have an enjoyable day and make sure you drink all the booze.’
The photographer called out that he’d like the Ripley family to gather around for a photograph.
‘Come on, Jane,’ Carl said, taking her gently by the hand.
‘I’m not part of your family, Carl, I wouldn’t feel right being—’
‘Maria will be in it and she’s not family. Please, I’d like a proper photo of us together.’
She didn’t have the heart to say no, and also realised she could use the moment to her advantage. She handed her pocket camera to a guest and asked if they’d take some pictures for her. Carl asked the guest to take a quick one of him and Jane before they joined the family.
Although Jane forced a smile, inside she was mortified – standing in the Ripley family photograph next to Tommy, with George only a few feet away. After the photograph was taken she started to move off, but the photographer told everyone to stay where they were, then asked for close friends of the bride’s family to join them for a group shot. It went from bad to worse as she watched Graham Smith and Aidan O’Reilly join the group and stand right behind her.
‘You should put some of Maria’s make-up on that rash for the photo,’ George told Aidan and laughed, as did Tommy.
‘Now we know why he prefers the soft touch of nylon,’ Tommy added in a simpering voice.
‘Fuck off, the pair of ya,’ Aidan grumbled.
‘Right, everyone smile at the camera,’ the photographer said.
Jane thought how surreal it felt to find herself dressed up to the nines and standing in the middle of a group of hardened criminals who hated the police and would have shot her without a second thought.
As the photographer took the pictures, Jane saw a maroon Jensen Interceptor, with a man and a woman in it, coming down the driveway towards the house. She felt her heart rate increase as the Jensen pulled up by the house. The man and woman got out and walked across the lawn towards the assembled guests. The man was carrying a large gift-wrapped box, and wearing the exact same coat as Rachel described – a knee-length brown camel hair coat with a black suede collar. He did look like Bela Lugosi, too. He was nearly six feet tall, in his early fifties, with dark slicked-back hair that she suspected was dyed. He wore a blue three-piece pinstripe suit and walked with an air of confidence. The woman with him wore a wedding ring and was about the same age, elegantly dressed in a figure-hugging red dress and hat.
When George saw him, he went straight over and shook hands. Tommy Ripley, Smith and O’Reilly also greeted him warmly with big smiles. The man handed George the present, and he asked one of the waiters to put it in his study next to the lounge.
Jane looked at the registration of the Jensen, HLT 354N, and memorised it by repeating it over in her mind using the mnemonic HiLT-35-4 Nick. If and when she got the opportunity, she’d try and take a photograph. She managed to take a few photographs of the guests as they gathered for the large group photo and, holding her camera down by her side, took a few risky potshots of the man in the camel hair coat.
The professional Master of Ceremonies, dressed in a red jacket and black trousers, called everyone into the marquee and announced that the meal was about to start. The receiving line consisted of the bride and groom and both sets of parents. Jane felt her stomach churn as she shook hands with George.
‘Lovely service, Mr Ripley,’ she told him.
‘You the girl from the cafe?’ He smiled.
‘Yes, Carl invited me.’
He looked her up and down. ‘You’re far too good-looking for him, darlin’.’
Jane forced a smile and moved on.
She was about to look at the seating plan when Carl came over and said she was on the end of the top table with him. In some ways she felt relieved. At least it was better than sitting with Smith and O’Reilly.
Jane looked at the menu card. A prawn cocktail starter, a main course of chicken breast with vegetables and boiled potatoes, followed by Black Forest gateau, then coffee, cheese and biscuits. As she put the card down on the table, she felt an eerie sense of unease, as if someone was watching her. She scanned the marquee and saw the man in the camel hair coat sitting at a table in the middle of the room. He was looking at her with his head tilted to one side and tapping his lips with his left index finger.
‘Who’s the chap that owns the Jensen?’ she asked Carl casually.
‘Tony. He’s a nice guy. He’s in the same Masons’ lodge as George. Lovely car, isn’t it? Me and Smudge do the servicing and MOT. He let me have a drive of it once; it’s fast but drinks petrol. I could ask him if he’d let me take you for a drive some time.’
‘That’d be nice.’
Jane was apprehensive about questioning Carl further about Tony. Knowing he was sitting at table 8, she thought she’d sneak a look at the seating plan by the marquee entrance to find out his surname.
‘I’m just going to the toilet.’
‘It’s in the hallway by the stairs,’ Carl told her.
She walked slowly, then stopped briefly by the seating plan, which had Mr A. Nichols where Tony was sitting. She went to the toilet, then returning to the marquee she suddenly felt her left wrist being grabbed from behind. She spun around, thinking it was Carl, and found herself face to face with Tony, who tightened his grip on her wrist.
‘Do I know you?’ he asked with a nasty expression.
‘Let go, you’re hurting me,’ she said, trying not to show she was scared.
He let go of her hand and smiled. ‘Sorry, I thought we might have met before.’
‘I don’t think so, you must have got me mixed up with someone else.’
‘Maybe, but I never forget a pretty face,’ he said, walking off to the marquee.
Jane was shaking, desperately trying to think where or when they might have met. She went back into the house to phone Teflon and, seeing the study room door open, made sure no one was about and nipped in. She picked up the phone and noticed a long metal case tucked under the large oak writing desk and gift-wrapping paper in the bin. She called Chigwell Police Station, then asked to be put through to the canteen and Teflon answered.
‘I need you to pick me up outside the house in about half an hour.’
‘Will do. You all right?’
‘The man in the camel hair coat thinks he knows me.’
‘Come out right now, Jane,’ Teflon insisted.
‘I can’t. It would look suspicious.’
She put the phone down.
She was about to go back to the marquee when curiosity got the better of her. Realising the metal case was the same size as the present Tony Nichols had handed George, she pulled it out from under the desk, put it on the top and opened it. Inside the silk-lined case were the barrel and stock of a Purdey shotgun. Jane got her camera out of her clutch bag and took a picture.
She returned to the marquee and saw Tony standing beside George at the top table, leaning down and whispering in his ear. As she walked to her seat, she tried not to look at them, but out of the corner of her eye she could see George glaring at her.
‘I thought you’d done a runner for a minute,’ Carl said. ‘George is about to start his father of the bride speech.’
‘I’m really sorry, Carl, but I’ve got to go. My stomach cramps are killing me and my period’s really heavy.’
‘You can have a lie-down in the house if you want.’
‘No thanks, I’m worried about staining my dress.’
‘I understand. I’ll call a cab for you.’
‘I did it while I was in the house. You stay for George’s speech and I’ll see myself out.’
‘When can I see you again, Jane?’ he asked, a little forlornly.
‘I’ll be in the cafe next week. I’ll see you then.’
She kissed him on the cheek, feeling ashamed.
*
It was still light as Jane walked along Gravel Lane. One second she was thinking about the Ripleys and Tony Nichols, and the next about Carl. Part of her was excited that she’d identified the infamous ‘Camel Hair Coat Man’, but she wondered if in doing so she’d jeopardised the whole operation and the Ripley gang now suspected they were being watched. But worse than that was the thought of the danger she’d put Carl in if George suspected she was a police officer.
She saw Teflon approaching in the cab and waved him down. He stopped and she got in.
‘You look awful.’
‘I feel awful.’
‘What happened?’
‘I’ll tell you on the way home.’
*
The speeches finished and the DJ was setting up his equipment for the disco.
George smiled as he approached Carl.
‘All right, son? Where’s your girlfriend?’
‘She wasn’t feeling well and went home.’
‘That’s a shame. She seemed a lovely girl.’
‘She is. I really like her.’
‘I’d like to have a word with you in my office.’
‘What about?’
‘Your future. I know I’ve been a bit hard on you over the years, but you’re a good worker, Carl. I’d like to give you a little something to show my appreciation.’
His eyes lit up. ‘Really? What is it?’
‘Just a few quid to help you—’
‘Set up my own business?’
‘You can do what you like with the money – maybe get a flat of your own. I’ll see you in the study in a minute, after I’ve had a word with your uncle Tommy.’
George patted Carl on the shoulder.
*
After a few minutes, George walked into the study, smiled at Carl, then closed the door behind him and quietly locked it. He got a key out of his pocket and opened the desk drawer, which was filled with bundles of cash. He took a few out and placed them on the table. He picked up the nine-inch letter opener by the point, and flipped it up and over so the wooden handle was in the palm of his hand.
‘There’s two grand for you, son.’
‘I don’t know what to say, George,’ Carl said as he went to pick up the money.
Before he knew it, George had grabbed him around the back of the neck and slammed his head down hard onto the desk. He turned Carl’s head sideways and pressed the tip of the letter opener against the skin by the side of his eye.
‘Your fucking tart’s a rozzer.’
‘She’s not, she’s a secretary,’ Carl said, his voice trembling with fear.
George slowly applied more pressure on the letter opener.
‘Well, whatever she is, you’ll never be able to see her again if I take your eyes out.’
‘She never asked me anything about you or Tommy,’ Carl said, realising he made it sound as if she had.
‘You dumb shit! Don’t fucking lie to me!’
George lifted Carl off the table and punched him hard in the stomach. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. George stood over him.
‘What did you tell her?’
‘Nothing . . . I didn’t tell her nothing,’ he pleaded.
George slapped him hard across the face.
‘Your precious Jane doesn’t give a toss about you – she even asked me if you were a retard.’
Carl looked at up at him. ‘I don’t believe you.’
George slapped him again. ‘She used you to watch me and Tommy because she thinks we’re criminals.’
‘You’re not going to hurt Jane, are you?’ Carl wept.
‘Not as much as I’m going to hurt you.’
He removed his thick leather belt, then held it so the metal buckle end was dangling over Carl.
‘Please, no, don’t,’ he begged.
‘Don’t you dare scream.’
George raised the belt and brought it down hard on Carl’s back. He let out a muffled scream, then fell to the floor and curled up in a ball. George whipped him again and again across his back and legs, leaving him shaking and sobbing. When he’d finished, he looked down at Carl and sneered.
‘Take the money and get out of my flat. If I ever see your face again, I’ll kill you.’
He put his belt on and kicked Carl in the stomach, then ran his hands through his hair, brushed himself down and left the room.
*
George was at the bar speaking to Tommy and Smudge when Maureen came over.
‘I just seen Carl leavin’ in ’is car,’ she said, looking concerned.
‘That tart he brought to the wedding gave him the boot and he’s gone running after her.’
‘Fuckin’ bitch. Wait till I get me ’ands on ’er!’ Maureen snapped, her eyes filled with rage.
*
Teflon parked up outside Jane’s block of flats and got in the back of the cab with her.
‘Come on, stop beating yourself up about Carl.’
‘I can’t help it.’
‘Are you sure you’ve never seen Tony Nichols before?’
‘Nowhere I can think of.’
‘Like you said, he might be mistaken, but it does sound like he sussed you were Old Bill. You’re going to have to tell Murphy.’
‘I know.’
‘Granted he’ll be pissed off, but at the end of the day he chose to send you in there. What you did took a lot of guts.’
‘I feel like shit about what I’ve done to Carl. George Ripley’s used him as a punchbag for years. If he so much as thinks I’m a police officer, I dread to imagine what he might do to Carl.’
‘Look, I know it’s tough, but sometimes when you’re doing UC work, people on both sides get hurt. At the end of the day you were doing your job.’
‘That’s easy to say.’
‘You have to forget about Carl; think about why we’re doing this. We’re trying to put away some violent criminals. There’s going to be a few tears along the way.’