Jane and her mother walked home as it wasn’t very far. Mrs Tennison slipped her arm through Jane’s. ‘You should have gone with your sister and the other bridesmaids – a few of the girls from the salon are joining them later as well for her hen night.’
‘Well, for one she didn’t ask me. Anyway, I doubt they’d appreciate me being in uniform, unless they were having one of those silly, haw-haw, dress-up-as-policewomen henparty evenings.’
‘No. She’s booked a table at the Clarendon and Daddy’s paying. I hope Tony doesn’t let him have too much to drink, you know how belligerent he can get when he’s two sheets to the wind, insisting on doing his Greek-dancing routine.’ Tony, rather ill at ease, had asked Mr Tennison to join him and the best man for a few beers.
Jane laughed, recalling how much her father had enjoyed his holiday in Corfu a few years ago. She couldn’t picture him with his soon-to-be-son-in-law doing something so frivolous.
‘How was the lecture? Run over, did it?’ her mother asked pointedly.
‘Dr Harker was absolutely fascinating and I learnt so much. The case was a vicious double murder where a-’
An anxious-looking Mrs Tennison interrupted. ‘Yes, well, I’m glad you were in a classroom and not out patrolling a rough area like Hackney where vicious crimes like that happen.’
‘The murder took place in a cottage in Biggin Hill. That’s in the Kent countryside, Mum.’
When they arrived home Mrs Tennison hung up her coat alongside Jane’s uniform jacket.
‘Let me see you in the dress, Jane, because you know Pam will have a fit if it doesn’t look perfect.’
Jane reluctantly went to her bedroom, took off her uniform shirt and looked at the black zip bag hanging ominously on the back of the bedroom door. It reminded her of a body bag as she slowly unzipped it to reveal the bridesmaid dress. The layers of salmon-pink taffeta burst out again below the corseted waist. Taking it off the hanger she unpinned the wide cummerbund-style belt that had an over-large satin bow round it, but worse still for Jane were the dreadful puff sleeves. ‘Oh my God,’ she said to herself as she held the dress up to her body and looked in the mirror.
Her mother walked in and clapped her hands together with a delighted smile. ‘Oh isn’t it beautiful? You and the other bridesmaids are all in identical dresses, and wait until you see Pam’s wedding gown! Come along now, put it on, let me see you in it. I hope it won’t need any last-minute alterations. I’ll just put our supper in the oven and be back in a minute,’ she said and picked up Jane’s dirty work shirt to put in the laundry basket.
Jane closed her bedroom door then billowed out the skirt before unzipping the back of the dress to step into it. With trepidation she pulled it up; thankfully it was the right length. She twisted the bodice round and zipped it up as best she could before putting her arms through the awful puff sleeves. She looked in the mirror. ‘Shit,’ she muttered, noticing the sweetheart neckline was embarrassingly low and the corset pushed up and accentuated her 34DD breasts. She sighed: there was nothing she could do about it now. She held her hands up in front of her breasts as if holding the imaginary bouquet and thought the flowers might just cover the revealing neckline. She really didn’t want to go to the wedding in what she considered a monstrosity of a dress, and all she could hope for now was that all police leave would be cancelled that day. She had to twist the dress round to get out of it. She hung it up, pulled on her old dressing gown and left the room, calling to her mother,
‘It’s a perfect fit, Mum. Nothing needs to be done.’
Bradfield was putting on his suit jacket, ready to call it a day, when he heard the knock at the door and Sergeant Harris entered.
‘Sorry to bother you, but I’ve just had the control room from the Yard on the blower. There’s a possible crime scene at Regent’s Park and-’
‘That’s not even on my patch. Tell them to call the local DCI out,’ he said tersely as he put on his coat.
‘Sergeant Paul Lawrence, lab liaison, has requested you attend. Apparently a woman walking her dog along the canal towpath saw a body in the water trapped between two stationary barges.’
‘What the hell has that got to do with me?’ Bradfield snapped.
‘DS Lawrence fished the body out and thinks he might be that Eddie Phillips bloke you were looking for.’
‘Jesus Christ, that’s all I need. Can you arrange for a blues-and-twos car to run me to the scene?’
‘Already have, they’re waiting in the yard.’
Bradfield was so tired that he fell asleep in the back of the car, even with the siren blaring away. When he arrived a uniform officer took him down to a stretch of the canal towpath between Regent’s Park Road and Gloucester Avenue. The area was dimly lit with towpath lights. As Bradfield approached he saw DS Lawrence holding a clipboard and writing some notes. He was standing beside the body which was face down on a large white plastic sheet and still dripping wet.
