Dark Rooms

Chapter Three

Jane arrived at the station and was impressed to see how much the team had already accomplished in tracking down the former residents of the house in Stockwell. One name was underlined, Brian Forgham, and Jane turned to the eager-looking young DC who was writing up the details.

‘Why is this name underlined?’ she asked. DC Tim Taylor, a probationary DC, checked his notebook.

‘We were told that he was not a resident but was employed by the previous owners as a sort of maintenance and security man. We haven’t traced him yet, but we think that he could have a lot of information for us.’

Jane nodded. ‘Who gave you his name?’

‘That was a man from the one family we have traced, Rachit Agarwal. He lived in one of the middle flats. He’s married with two children and has a small grocery shop he now lives above. He said he recalled there was another family still living there when he left.’

‘Did you interview him?’ Jane asked.

‘No, it was one of the others who’s gone off trying to trace Forgham at Companies House. We don’t have an address for him. Apparently, according to Rachit, the basement was always out of bounds and no tenant was allowed in the garden. He also described Forgham as being a rather unpleasant bloke, ex-army.’

Jane took off her coat and was heading for her office when she turned and suggested to DC Taylor that they make it a priority to find the whereabouts of Mr Forgham. As she opened her office door, Barbara looked over from her desk in the corner of the incident room and waved at her.

‘The governor asked for you to go in and see him as soon as you returned,’ she said.

Jane nodded her thanks and went into her office. After she had hung up her coat and run a brush through her hair, she went next door to see Carter. She would have liked to go up to the canteen to grab a sandwich first as she hadn’t eaten since very early that morning, but thought it was probably unwise to keep Carter waiting.

She tapped on the door and entered Carter’s office. He was finishing what looked like a toasted ham and cheese sandwich, which made Jane’s stomach rumble, and had a large mug of coffee in front of him. He gestured to Jane to sit down.

‘Now, what is this new bloody development, Tennison?’

Jane found his tone annoying, but replied calmly. ‘I went to the site where the body was found, as there was no real action at the station, and I felt it might be informative.’

‘Informative?’ he snapped.

‘Yes, sir. As it turned out, it was more than that. I spotted two concrete slabs tied together with a leather belt and thought I should examine them. Actually, sir, I think perhaps someone should have a word with SOCO as they must have overlooked them.’

‘Don’t you start having a go at any of those lads,’ Carter said firmly. ‘They were working under tremendous difficulty and the bloody shelter was unsafe. Getting the arc lights in was quite a business, along with the generator. Anyway, so, you found these blocks, did you? Near the wall that was damaged by the digger?’

‘Yes, that’s right, sir. I was assisted by the foreman who carried them out of the shelter. He cut the leather belt as it was tied securely around the two blocks. When I examined the contents, I discovered it was an infant wrapped very tightly in a blanket and some kind of waterproof material. The material had mummified the baby.’

Carter sighed as he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and threw it in the waste bin.

‘Right now, Tennison, we are waiting for as much information as we can get from old Professor Johnson who, as I am sure you know, is very diligent... but he likes to take his time. All we have to date is that our victim is between twenty to twenty-five years old, and she possibly starved to death. Our priority now is that we get her identified because Johnson estimates she has been down in that shelter for five years at least. This is also reinforced by the cinema ticket they found in a pocket, but it might have been there for God knows how long.’

‘Well, hopefully mispers will have some information on a missing woman,’ Jane suggested. ‘The pathologist hasn’t had time to estimate how long the baby has been in the shelter, but Emra, who was at the lab when I went there, felt that it could have been put there many years earlier. She also said there was no visible signs that the woman had ever been pregnant or had a child.’

Carter sighed again. ‘Many years earlier... well, there’s nothing we can do about any identification. As I said before, our priority is getting information on the adult female. I’d like you to focus on that until we have any further information regarding the second body.’

He dismissed Jane by returning to his typewriter. Frustrated by Carter’s lack of interest in what she’d discovered in the bunker and feeling that her first day at Stockwell station was going swiftly downhill, Jane went up to the canteen to grab something to eat. Whilst she was there, DC Taylor came over to her table.

‘The sarge has just checked on Mr Forgham’s whereabouts. It’s not good news. He was murdered five years ago. We’re getting the details up, along with some press reports.’

‘You would have thought the tenant who was questioned would have mentioned it,’ she said, the news not improving her mood. But anyway, get me the criminal reports and case file that’ll be at the general registry archives on the murder and find out if Mr Forgham was married and if he had a family.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Taylor said, leaving Jane to eat a tasteless tuna salad.

It was after six and Jane was closeted in her office catching up on the information about Brian Forgham. He had no criminal record and had been married with one daughter. On his release from the army he had worked at various different security positions. Eight years ago he was employed full time by the owner of the Stockwell property as a maintenance man, and to make sure there were no subletters or squatters using the empty basement. The previous owner was listed as a Jason Thorpe, who lived in Australia and had sold the property when all tenants had left eighteen months ago. Jane also now had the name of Jason Thorpe’s lawyer, a Mr Arnold Hadley, of Hadley & March. It had been Hadley who had given the team the information regarding Jason Thorpe.

Jane typed up her notes and then, checking the time, decided she should go home. There was a brisk knock on her door and DCI Carter, wearing a fashionable Burberry raincoat, looked in.

‘I’m off. We’re still waiting for Johnson’s report and until there’s any development from missing persons, it’s just a lot of tedious interviews.’

‘I’d like to see if I can trace the widow of someone called Brian Forgham,’ Jane said. ‘He took care of all the flats and tenants and—’

‘Well, he’s no use,’ Carter interrupted. ‘He’s been dead five years. Didn’t you get the information from records? He was killed outside a pub in Stockwell by a drug dealer called Simon Root who is still serving time in Wandsworth. Two witnesses saw the attack, so it was done and dusted pretty quickly.’

He shrugged his shoulders.

‘I have a nasty feeling that this is going to be one of those bloody cases that takes up hours of time tracking down Christ knows how many people who lived in that house. And I’ve got the new owners calling me up all the time asking when they can finish the demolition.’ He gave a strained laugh. ‘I don’t want you going back there and digging up any more bodies. Just crack on with the paperwork and I’ll see you in the morning.’ He walked out.

Jane gathered up her notes and put on her coat, which still smelled of the shelter. She was heading into the incident room as the night officers were all coming in and she really didn’t feel like either introducing herself or checking for updates. She logged her report and was about to leave when Barbara, wearing a cherry red coat with a wide velvet trim, waved a sheet of notepaper towards her.

‘Detective Tennison, apparently you wanted to question Brian Forgham’s widow? We have an address for her, but no phone number. Would you like me to try and get you a phone number for tomorrow?’

‘That would be very useful, Barbara, thank you. I’ll take the address, though.’

She was feeling guilty about being irritated by Barbara for no good reason. The truth was she was feeling frustrated that her hopes of making a good first impression seemed to have failed.

When Jane arrived home, it was dark. As she walked up the path to her front door a security light came on and she was able to see clearly to put the key in the lock. She smiled, deciding that this Eddie Fraser was a good find. But when she walked into the hall she quickly changed her mind as the carpets had been pulled up and some floorboards had been lifted, forcing her to step gingerly around them.

She hung her coat up and went into the kitchen. It was in an appalling state. The sink had been pulled out from the wall, and tiles had been removed. On the bright side, a note by the washing machine said that it had been plumbed in, and she could see there were new pipes and a recently cemented wall section for the flue.

Pinned to the back door was a note from the plumber saying that he had completed the installation of the washing machine but needed to find new pipes for behind her sink unit. He would be back the following day.

Jane looked in the fridge and checked the sell-by date on a quiche, then opened a bottle of wine. She had just finished a glass when the doorbell rang. Jane made her way through the obstacle course to the front door. When she opened it there stood Eddie, holding a large cardboard box.

‘Sorry to disturb you so late,’ he said with a smile, ‘but I’ve brought the piping that Archie needs, and some tiles for you to approve.’

Jane swallowed her annoyance at the state of the house and returned his smile. ‘That’s all right. I’ve only just got in from work.’

‘I’m really sorry to have left this in such a mess,’ he said as he followed her into the kitchen. ‘The thing is, I have major concerns about the wiring through to your hallway. That dimmer switch had been put in incorrectly and kept tripping the hall electrics. I had to go out and get a modern dimmer and delay working in the kitchen so Archie could get your washing machine plumbed in. I think most of the problems with the wiring in the kitchen are due to leakage behind your sink unit, which has probably been going on for years.’

Jane felt she needed another glass of wine and offered one to Eddie.

‘Thanks, but I’ve got to get back home to finish a little job.’

‘You work long hours,’ Jane said.

‘Yeah, I do now I’ve taken on your job. The other few bits and pieces I’ve put on the backburner, but I still need to complete them. It will take me a few days here, if that’s all right with you. If you pick the tiles you want to put up behind the sink, Archie and I will work on that in the morning.’

Jane watched as he put the large box down by the back door. ‘If it’s easier for you, I don’t mind you working in the evening to get things done as soon as possible.’

‘OK,’ Eddie said. ‘Let me see how I get on tomorrow.’ He paused. ‘Did you have a good day?’ he asked, surprising her with the change of subject.

‘Not really,’ Jane admitted. ‘It’s definitely been a long one. A woman’s body was found in an old air-raid shelter. It was a bit shocking because she had been chained to the bed, and now we have to try and find out who did it and why.’

‘Blimey,’ Eddie said. ‘Rather you than me. I can’t imagine finding something like that.’

Jane didn’t add that she had also found the dried-up body of a baby. She followed him to the front door. ‘Thank you for today, Eddie. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow.’

He gave her a big grin. ‘Yeah, I hope to see you tomorrow night, with not so much damage left behind us!’

Jane shut the door after him and pulled the chain across. There had been no work in her bathroom, so she was able to have a long soak in her bath, the frustrations of the day gradually fading away as she was finally able to relax. But when she got out she saw that there was a stream of water seeping out beneath it and her good mood was instantly gone. With a sigh she decided she would leave a note for Archie asking him to look at the bathroom and give her an estimate for a replacement bath, wash basin and tiling.

Jane was up and out by eight the following morning. She had already looked up Sharon Forgham’s address in the A-to-Z, a flat in a high-rise council estate called Hightower, almost walking distance from where the demolition was taking place. Trusting to luck that Sharon would be in, Jane parked her car and headed into the rundown entrance area. There wasn’t any kind of reception desk, just a stained, dank-smelling carpet, a lift and a fire door to the ground-floor flats.

Sharon Forgham lived at number 312 and Jane was relieved it was only three floors up as the lift was out of order. She felt sorry for the residents who lived on the sixth floor.

Flat 312 looked as if someone had at one time taken good care of it. The front door was well painted and there was a good quality door mat outside. The surround of the doorbell was brass, but it had not been polished for a considerable time. Jane pressed it, then waited half a minute and pressed it again. She heard shuffling footsteps approaching on the other side of the door.

‘Who is it?’ a woman asked.

‘Good morning, I’m Detective Tennison and I’d like to speak to Sharon Forgham.’

‘If you’re here about an appeal, then you’ve come to the wrong place. You can piss off.’

Jane was momentarily confused. ‘It’s not about an appeal. I need to talk to you about the property where your husband worked.’

‘He’s dead.’

‘I know that. Am I talking to Mrs Forgham?’

There was an irritated sigh from behind the door and Jane heard the bolt being pulled back then the door opened. Sharon Forgham was wearing a pale blue satin quilted dressing gown, with greying furry slippers that must have once been blue as well.

‘If that bastard is trying to appeal, I’ve already told the probation department it’ll be over my dead body. He knifed my husband in cold blood, leaving him to die in the street like a dog.’

‘Could I please come in and talk to you?’ Jane persisted. ‘We have a situation which we need some help with.’

‘What help do you want? He pleaded guilty. He did it. It’s not just him in prison, you know. I’m in prison here. I’m on my own. My husband took good care of me. I never wanted for nothing, and now the bloody council are trying to get me out because I have a two-bedroomed flat. They’ve offered me a piece of crap so-called studio apartment. I’m not fucking moving an inch.’

Jane let Mrs Forgham vent her anger as she followed her into a small kitchen. Sitting down at the kitchen table, Sharon pulled a packet of Benson & Hedges from her pocket and lit one, inhaling deeply. After a couple of drags, she seemed to calm down and Jane explained that she was working at Stockwell police station and there was a situation at the house where her husband had worked up until the time of his death, which was now being demolished. Jane could see that Sharon had aged beyond her years and there was a bitter tiredness about her as she said that she knew little about her husband’s work, but he had always felt that he was doing more than he should and not being paid enough.

‘It was steady work, but some of those tenants were shocking, the way the flats were full of their relatives. And there were always problems with the plumbing, but the owner lived in Australia, so whenever poor Brian needed anything he had to go through a lawyer. He wasn’t allowed to spend a penny on repairs without permission.’

Jane was eager to get to the point of her visit and brought up the fact that the basement was never rented. Sharon nodded and said that she and Brian had talked about it.

‘It was strange, this big old basement all empty... and God forbid anyone dared go into the garden, that was out of bounds too. It was just left to rot. There had been an orchard at one time. Brian said it was disgusting, all the fruit just left to rot.’

‘So, your husband used the garden?’

‘I wouldn’t say he used it, but he had access to it. There was a fox that got in which he couldn’t get out. And sometimes there were dead birds in the greenhouse.’

‘Did he ever mention a tunnel to you?’

‘Where from?’

‘It probably led from the basement, under the garden, to an old air-raid shelter.’

‘No, he never mentioned anything like that.’

‘Do you have a daughter, Mrs Forgham?’

Sharon sucked at her cigarette. ‘I had a daughter. Samantha... a right little bitch. She was given everything she wanted. Her dad spoiled her rotten. She’d go off to that shop in the posh part of London, Biba. The clothes that girl had.’

‘Do you know where she is?’

‘No, I don’t. And I don’t want to know. She lied and stole from us. She broke my husband’s heart, then she ran off with that no-good piece of shit. No matter how much he begged her to come home, she wouldn’t leave that disgusting junkie.’

Jane put her hand up. ‘Mrs Forgham, you’re saying your daughter was involved with a drug addict?’

Sharon nodded. ‘She had the audacity to bring him here once, the no-good creep. I told her that if she wanted to keep going out with him then she wasn’t getting a penny from me or her dad. She lost her job at Boots... just didn’t turn up for work.’

‘Would this be Simon Root?’

Sharon pursed her lips then nodded.

‘I can’t stand to even hear his name after what he done. That piece of shit even tried to claim it was self-defence, but it was his flippin’ knife. He was a dirty liar.’

‘When was the last time you saw Samantha?’

‘Just before Brian died... about a month before. She came begging for money, same as always. I shoved her out of the door.’

‘Do you still keep in touch with her?’

Sharon’s mouth turned down. ‘I wouldn’t let her cross this doorstep because it’s all her fault. Brian would still be alive if it wasn’t for her.’

‘Did your husband keep in touch with her?’

Sharon fished in the pocket of her dressing gown and took out a tissue, blowing her nose.

‘He was broken... he came to me and was crying. A neighbour had seen her prostituting herself outside Stockwell Tube station. He got her on the game, that so-called boyfriend. She was twenty-two years old and beautiful, and she was doing that for money. Brian went to find her. What upset him more than anything was that she looked in a shocking state because that bastard had got her on heroin. Anyway, Brian told me he’d sort it and make sure that he’d get her off the junk, but he confronted the no-good boyfriend outside the pub and the bastard pulled out a knife and killed him. That’s what happened to Brian... my daughter’s drug-addict boyfriend killed her father.’

‘Was Samantha ever in court for Mr Root’s trial?’ Jane asked.

‘No, she didn’t dare show her face. Coppers came here asking about her, but I said I didn’t even know where she lived. I still don’t, and I don’t want to know where she is. It was all her fault. My poor husband was just trying to help her and gets murdered for it.’

Jane took a furtive look at her watch and picked up her bag.

‘Mrs Forgham, I can’t thank you enough for your time. There are one or two other things I need from you. One is a photograph of your daughter.’

‘What do you want that for?’ Sharon asked, screwing up her eyes.

‘I’m unable to give you any details right now, Mrs Forgham, but it would be for elimination purposes. Added to that, could you possibly give me the name of her dentist?’

Sharon blew her nose. ‘Have you found her? I’m not stupid, love, I’ve seen enough detective programmes. You don’t ask for dental records unless you’ve found someone dead. And let me tell you something, love, for what she done to this family, if she is dead, I’m glad. She’s been dead to me since I buried her father anyway.’

Sharon stubbed out her cigarette and left Jane in the kitchen for a few moments. Jane could hear her opening and closing drawers in another room before she came back.

‘Here’s one, when Samantha was at a Christmas party. She’d be about twenty, but I don’t have no others. I burned them. I’ve written her dentist’s name on the back, but I don’t know if he’s still in practice.’

Jane took the photograph and put it in her bag. ‘Thank you so much, Mrs Forgham. I promise I’ll be in touch if we have any more information about your daughter.’

Sharon crossed her arms, shaking her head. ‘Don’t bother. We gave her everything we had, and she threw it all back in our faces. I’ll never forgive her, and I don’t want you back here whatever it is you find out.’

Jane left, deeply saddened that Sharon was living in such pain and bitterness and hoping that she wouldn’t have to go back and talk to her about her daughter again. But she knew that the date Samantha was last seen by her father matched the pathologist’s estimate of when the young woman in the bunker had died, and she was afraid that could only mean one thing.