Surprised, Jane watched as Bradfield knelt down beside the broken, weeping man, speaking softly to him whilst gently rubbing his hunched shoulders. He told Mr Collins that they had arrested a suspect who was still in custody and would keep him informed of the progress of the investigation, and that detectives would visit his home in the morning to take a statement from him and his wife. Eventually Mr Collins was calm enough to be helped outside to the waiting police car.
‘I didn’t expect that,’ Bradfield said as Jane followed him back inside.
‘Thank you for taking me with you, sir. It was a good learning experience for me.’
‘You can show a couple of hours’ overtime and I’ll sign it off. Have you ever been to a post-mortem?’
‘No, sir, not yet,’ she said, not relishing the thought but excited at what she hoped he was about to say.
‘It’s arranged for midday tomorrow, so meet me here.’
‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir.’
‘One word of advice though.’ Jane listened intently. ‘Always carry a spare pair of tights in your locker or handbag,’ he said and winked.
As it was well after midnight, and public transport sparse, a uniform night-duty patrol car gave Jane a lift home to the flat in Maida Vale. She was relieved neither her parents nor her sister were up so that she could sneak into her bedroom and crash out. She looked round the familiar room. Above her bed was a large poster of Janis Joplin which she’d bought after the concert as a reminder of how much she had admired her. She was pleased to be home after the experience in the mortuary and had just changed into her nightdress when her sister, Pam, walked in.
‘You know you should ring Mum and Dad if you are going to be so late. They were worried about you and you should have more respect. Have you tried it on?’
‘What?’
Pam turned and pointed to the large black-plastic zip bag hanging on the back of the door.
‘You can hardly miss it, but you have to make sure all the alterations have been done; she’s finished all the dresses now, and done lovely puffed sleeves. You know she used to make dresses for Alma Cogan?’
‘Sorry, I’ll try it on in the morning.’
‘Make sure you do. You seem to forget I’m getting married in a few days and you’d better not forget the rehearsal at the church either.’
‘Pam, I’m really tired out,’ Jane said as she got into bed.
Pam started to walk out and then stopped and did a childish little twirl, flapping her hands. ‘Wait till you see my wedding gown – it’s amazing; and I’ve got a long veil edged with lace – it’s so beautiful.’
‘Goodnight, Pam.’
As soon as the door closed Jane shut her eyes. Pam’s dance reminded her of Mr Collins’ memory of his daughter. She could see the pale white face of Julie Ann in the mortuary and suddenly her mind was filled with images from the crime scene pictures. The hot pants, the platform boots and the way her bra had been tied in a knot around her slender throat. Julie Ann wasn’t beautiful any more. Her face was bloated and her purple swollen tongue made it look as though she was wearing a grotesque mask.
As Jane thought of Mr and Mrs Collins’ loss, the soulful words of her favourite Janis Joplin song came into her head, and suddenly seemed so poignant.
Jane got up early and had a shower. She decided to try on the dreaded bridesmaid dress. She unzipped the black bag and the salmon-pink taffeta skirt spilled out: just looking at the dress made her feel ill. The boned corset had a sweetheart neckline and there were now puffball sleeves. The huge satin bow and wide sash were pinned to the hanger. She sighed. The frock was hideous. She pushed the skirt back and zipped up the bag. She quickly dressed and made her escape without waking her parents or sister. She left a note to apologize for being so late home and left it on the breakfast counter.
Jane arrived at the station early; she didn’t want to miss the post-mortem of Julie Ann Collins. She knew how lucky she was to be asked to attend, as most probationers got to attend only run-of-the-mill, non-suspicious postmortems.
