Hidden Killers

CHAPTER TEN

Jane arrived at Bow Street, refreshed and on time but feeling slightly nervous. She had to write up a coroner’s report, which she had never done before, and she was worried she would make a mistake. On entering the building she found Gibbs coming out of his office carrying a cup of coffee. He was very obviously in need of a shave and a clean shirt, and Jane was unsure whether he had come into work early, or if he had in fact been there all night. Gibbs beamed at her.

‘Morning, Tennison! I see you have replaced the official uniform with something a little more glamorous… the navy suit and crisp white shirt suit you well.’

‘Thank you. I’ve got to do a coroner’s report and I could really do with a bit of guidance.’

He made a point of looking at his watch.

‘… if you have the time?’ Jane added.

‘For you, WDC Tennison, I always have time.’

Jane couldn’t tell if Gibbs was being serious or sarcastic. However, he took her through exactly what was required. They recorded the date the body was found, Monday, 7th October, and that it had been reported by the victim’s husband, Barry Dawson. They also recorded the doctor’s notes and as she typed up the report Gibbs sat on the edge of her desk, making sure everything had been done properly.

‘You’ve got to make two copies: one for the coroner and one for records. Then get it over there ASAP as they’ll want to do the PM at the mortuary. Although as far as I can make out it’s all done and dusted.’

Edith marched in, looking as though she was in a foul temper.

Gibbs opened his arms wide and grinned at her.

‘Good God, Edith, you grow more lovely every day!’

‘And you look as if you’ve had another night on the tiles. Go and have a shave before DCI Shepherd sees you looking like that.’

Gibbs laughed and walked out.

Edith thumped her briefcase down on the desk, opened it up and took out her sandwiches and flask.

‘Is everything all right, Edith?’ Jane asked.

‘No, it is not. I’ve had problems with my mother. The carer was late… She’s such a dope of a girl, but Mother can’t be left on her own as she has dementia. It’s very difficult making sure she doesn’t wander off. I have had to put child gates at the top of the stairs as she’s very adept at sneaking out of the house, often only in her nightdress. One time she was stark naked!’

‘That sounds very stressful. Has she been suffering for a long time?’

Edith muttered, ‘Too long.’

Jane handed Edith the copies of her report and folded the top sheet into an envelope to take it over to the Coroner’s Office.

‘I’m just going up to the canteen for breakfast – can I get you a cup of tea, Edith?’

‘No, thank you, I bring my own,’ said Edith, indicating the Thermos. ‘I like to get everything sorted before the others get here.’

Jane nodded then she hurried out, losing her bearings slightly before heading up the stone stairs to the third floor. As it was still early she didn’t have to queue, so she picked up a tray and got a plate of scrambled eggs with bacon and toast, and a cup of coffee. As she turned to make her way towards the rows of Formica-topped tables she saw Gibbs sitting at the far side, finishing his breakfast.

‘Do you mind if I join you, Spence?’ she asked, and he shrugged.

Jane sat down opposite him and noticed that most of his eggs and bacon were untouched as he lit a cigarette and pushed the plate away.

‘I just spoke to DS Lawrence… he said he wasn’t too happy about some of the photographs from the Dawsons’ flat. He said he was going over there, and asked if you could leave the keys with the duty sergeant so that he can collect them,’ Spence said, putting the lighter back in his pocket.

‘I don’t mind going over there to meet him.’

‘Fine, but when you’ve finished with him go and find out when they’re doing the PM on Dawson’s wife.’

‘Are you going to take a statement from him?’ Jane asked.

‘If you want to do it, go ahead. We might as well get the case closed, and move on to something else.’

Jane started to eat her scrambled eggs and felt the table shaking from Gibbs’s foot constantly twitching beneath it. He looked around the canteen, then back at Jane as she pushed her unfinished plate aside. The toast was soggy and the eggs were overdone.

‘Shall I also check out St Thomas’ Hospital, where Barry Dawson works?’

‘Why?’ Gibbs snapped.

She shrugged. ‘It’s just that he said he left work because his wife didn’t answer the phone and he was concerned, so he came home…’

‘Well, I doubt you’ll need to go there if it’s a non-sus death. Any reason to think he was lying?’

‘There were a few things at his flat that didn’t quite add up. For example, the little girl’s high chair had her drinking bottle and bowl of cereal on it, untouched. Yet the neighbour who found Mrs Dawson said the baby was sleeping in her playpen.’

Gibbs leaned on his elbows. ‘So?’

‘Well, if Barry Dawson found his wife in the bath when he got home, why didn’t he call 999 instead of going to a neighbour? And why didn’t he pick up his daughter?’

‘Come on… He finds his wife dead in the bath, freaks out and runs next door. The guy was totally emotionally drained, and if his daughter was asleep why wake her up? Listen, Jane, if you don’t mind me saying so, don’t start digging around trying to find something untoward. The Doc confirmed accidental non-suspicious death.’

Gibbs pushed his chair back.

‘I’m going to get a shave… beady-eyed Edith doesn’t miss a trick. A word of warning about her: you start nosing around about a case that’s not your business – that’s out of order. She’s known as “Cop Out” because she left the force to be chained to a typewriter. And she’s all over DCI Shepherd like a rash.’

Jane didn’t reply as he walked out of the canteen. He was obviously impatient to get on to another case. She finished her coffee and carried her dirty dishes to the counter, tipping her cutlery into the tub of soapy water.

At the Coroner’s Office she was told that, as yet, no PM had been organized for that morning. Jane decided she would go to the mother-in-law’s address in Rotherhithe to get a statement from Barry Dawson as she needed details regarding the time he had returned home and found his wife.

She also wanted to ask a few more personal questions regarding his relationship with Shirley, to see if there was anything that gave further indication of exactly how the ‘accident’ had occurred. Something didn’t feel quite right, whatever Spencer said.

Jane gave the details of her whereabouts to the duty sergeant, then caught a bus. It was almost ten o’clock when she arrived at 15 Allcott Road. It was a rather rundown area with council houses that had small, mostly paved, front gardens strewn with bicycles, and motorbikes parked up alongside the rubbish bins. Number 15 had a chipped blue door with an empty milk crate standing next to the doormat.

Jane rang the bell and waited. There was the sound of a dog barking loudly, which Jane presumed was the one taken from the Dawsons’ flat. Rita opened the front door, still wearing a dressing gown and slippers, and holding the dog back by its collar. She pursed her lips in irritation on seeing Jane.

‘I’ve only just fed Heidi… She’s been crabby all night long and has had me up and down. But come on in and I’ll get Barry down… he’s still in bed. Down, Buster, good dog.’

Mrs Dawson restrained the dog as Jane nervously followed her inside into an immaculate, lino-covered hallway with flowery wallpaper. Mrs Dawson gestured towards a door leading into a lounge.

‘Go on in, and he’ll be with you. I’ll put Buster out in the back yard. Do you want a cup of anything?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘What’s your name, dear, I’ve forgotten?’

‘I’m WDC Jane Tennison.’

Mrs Dawson nodded and closed the door. The room was spotless, with a large, overstuffed sofa and chairs and a coffee table in front of a big fake coal electric fire. On the mantelpiece were numerous photographs of the little girl, Heidi, and a few wedding pictures of Barry and Shirley. Jane sat on the comfortable easy chair and opened her notebook, waiting for Barry. She heard Mrs Dawson calling him, and the dog started barking again. Then there was the sound of someone hurrying down the stairs.

‘Did you call the hospital? I don’t want you losing your job.’

‘Yes, I’ve called them. Can I have a cup of tea, Mum?’

‘I’ll bring one in for you. I’m not going into the school today so I’ll give Heidi a bath.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’

Jane turned to the door as Barry walked in. He was wearing a clean pressed denim shirt and jeans with loafer shoes but no socks. It was obvious that he had just bathed as his wet hair was combed back from his face and he smelt of some kind of lemon soap. Jane stood up and Barry shook her hand.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting… I didn’t get much sleep. I don’t know what I would do without Mum.’

Jane sat back down and Barry stood for a moment, deciding where he should sit, then went over and sat in the centre of the sofa.

‘I heard your mother saying she wasn’t going into school – is she a teacher?’

‘No, she’s a cleaner at the local primary school, and does the kids’ lunches as well. She’s always worked, even when my dad was alive. He passed away a few years ago. He was a hard grafter and ran a small garage repair yard, and Mum sold it on to his partner. She could have moved out from here but all her friends are local, and if it wasn’t for her we’d never have been able to get the deposit for our flat. She also helps out with the mortgage.’

‘Oh, so you own the top-floor flat?’

‘Yes. The one below us was rented, then the landlord got rid of the tenants and now he’s doing it up to sell it. The couple on the ground floor also own theirs.’

‘What about the basement?’

‘That’s just full of junk and I think he’s going to do that up as well. He owns the head lease of the property and he’s supposed to keep the communal areas painted and carpeted but hasn’t done anything since we moved in despite charging us maintenance. The roof has problems as well, but he’s a typical shark landlord.’

Jane made a few notes, more interested in putting Barry at his ease as he constantly kept looking over at the photographs, then turned back to face her.

‘My mum only works part time, doing the lunches, and she can probably take Heidi with her. I don’t know what I’d do without her… She’s going to see about a local nursery school that takes them at Heidi’s age. Shirley was going to start looking into it…’ Barry turned away, close to tears.

‘This shouldn’t take too long, Mr Dawson. I just need to have a clear time frame of exactly what happened yesterday. I’m sorry if it distresses you, but if you could give me the details of when exactly you left for work…’

‘Six o’clock in the morning. I was on early shift. We do alternate two weeks, of days and then nights.’

Jane jotted in her notebook, while Barry continued. ‘I was quite busy up to around my break time, then I went into the canteen for breakfast.’

‘What time was that?’

‘Oh, it’d be about seven thirty. Then at ten o’clock I went to use the payphone in the casualty department. It was a regular thing I did… call home to see if Shirley was OK. Usually she would be waiting with Buster and Heidi to go out for a walk. Anyway, I rang, but got no reply. I remember I had to ask one of the other porters for some change, so it might have been a bit after ten when I called. As I got no answer I stood around a while, then I started to get worried.’

‘Why was that?’

‘Well, she hadn’t answered and the night before she’d not been feeling very well. She used to get these sort of anxiety feelings, which was why I always made sure I called her. I started to get worried. I’m not sure how many times I tried the number. You see, she was still in bed when I left for work, and so I really got concerned.’

Jane waited. Barry clasped and unclasped his hands, then gave a long sigh.

‘I left the hospital and got the bus home. I’m not sure of the exact time but I let myself in and called out to her, but got no reply. Heidi was in her playpen fast asleep, so I went into the bedroom and then…’ He bowed his head as his eyes filled with tears.

‘I went into the bathroom and I found her…’ he sniffed, trying to control himself. ‘I’m sorry, but I still can’t really take it all in. It all seems like a blur, you know… running next door and getting the old bloke to go and see Shirley… He went over and the next minute he’s got Heidi and he’s calling 999.’

‘Why didn’t you call the police yourself?’

‘I don’t know… I don’t know… it was seeing her in the bath… Oh God! If only I’d come home earlier, you know, not waited, because she really wasn’t herself the night before. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone into work… I just keep on asking myself these questions, over and over… what if… what if…?’

‘Did Shirley suffer from depression?’

He looked up and gave a small shrug. ‘Not really, it was just that she would get very anxious.’

‘Was she on any medication?’

‘No, just took something from over the counter at Boots.’

‘Did she see a doctor about her anxiety?’

‘No. We have a local GP, but I don’t think she’d been to see him recently.’

The door opened and Mrs Dawson walked in carrying a mug of tea and a tea towel. She crossed over to a small coffee table and lifted it up to put it beside her son. Then she picked up a magazine to place down on the polished surface and put down his mug.

‘Are you all right, son?’

Barry’s face crumpled and he stood up, saying that he needed to go to the bathroom.

‘Excuse me,’ he said to Jane and left the room.

‘He’s taken it very badly… done nothing but cry. I mean, for all her faults he loved Shirley. He was a good husband and dotes on Heidi.’

Mrs Dawson picked up one of the wedding photographs and, with almost a compulsive need to clean, wiped the glass and frame.

‘She was lovely looking, but oh dear… shocking at keeping the flat clean. I was always going over there to give it a good hoover and dust. I’ve even taken home bags of washing for Heidi and Barry. I was there one time and she was ironing his best shirt. I told her that wasn’t the best way to iron, that you should always start on the sleeves, then the two sides and lastly the back. Then use a spray starch for the cuffs and the collar. Shirley says to me that it was a waste of time as who sees all of the shirt when you wear a jacket. Lazy she was, but he didn’t mind. Not even when it was more takeaway than anything cooked.’

‘So did this create friction between you and your daughter-in-law?’

‘Oh no, she was a lovely girl… just not used to looking after the flat. To be honest, Barry was always about to do some redecorating, but working such long hours he never really got around to it. Shirley never had a mother to teach her anythin’ domestic… well, she obviously had one but she was placed in foster care when she was Heidi’s age… she was shoved from pillar to post until she was in her teens… that’s how they met.’

‘I’m sorry… how did they meet?’

‘One of my best friends, Norma, is a foster carer. God knows how many kids she’s looked after in her lifetime. She’s a bit too old to take on any more kids now… But she brought Shirley around here a few times, and they got on well, and the next thing he’s got engaged to her.’

Jane remained silent as Mrs Dawson picked up one framed photograph after another, dusted it and replaced it in exactly the same position. She then turned to look towards the door and moved closer, lowering her voice.

‘You know, one time there was a bit of a rumour that Heidi wasn’t his – Shirley was a few weeks gone when they married, you see – but he wouldn’t have it. Worships that little girl, and she’s got his blond hair and blue eyes. Shirley was… well, we never really knew anything about her background, but she was not all white.’

‘So was there someone else Shirley was seeing?’

‘Now listen to me… don’t go adding two and two and making it five. It was just a rumour. Shirley was engaged to Barry at eighteen and there was never anybody else since they were married. She might have been a bit jealous and that made her anxious, but Barry never messed around. He loved her and I’ve been out of line saying anything against her. The way I like to keep everything spick and span was the way his dad used to like it. He always said he could eat his dinner off my kitchen floor.’

Barry walked in and she immediately straightened up.

‘What you been saying, Mum?’

‘Nothing… I was just saying how your dad liked the house immaculate. He’d come in from work and straight into the bath for a scrub up, because being a mechanic he wore greasy overalls and had filthy hands.’

‘I don’t think this is the time to go into that, Mum. He’s been gone a long time and you know how grateful I am, and always will be, for what he did for me and Shirley.’

Mrs Dawson realized she had said too much and gestured to his mug of tea.

‘Don’t let that go cold, Barry.’

Jane watched as he ushered his mother out of the room, closing the door behind her.

‘She’s always had a few things against Shirley, me marrying her for one. She reckoned she was too young, but she paid for the wedding, her frock and everything. Shirley had no family and had been in foster care for most of her life, but I never wanted anyone else.’

Jane watched him as he stared at his wedding photographs. He was close to tears, and Jane stood up, closed her notebook and picked up her handbag.

‘I’ll type this up and then you’ll be asked to sign the handwritten copy. I have to inform you that you will be required to make a formal identification at the mortuary.’

‘What? I don’t understand…’

‘I’m afraid it’s necessary. Maybe you could ask your mother to accompany you? Or she could make the identification herself?’

‘But I’ve already seen her. I really don’t want to do this… I can’t… I mean, I don’t want to have to see her again!’

‘I can make a call from here and order a car to take you to the mortuary. Or if you agree I can make an appointment for later this afternoon, and meet you there? May I use the telephone to arrange it?’

Jane was shown into the hall and used the telephone on a small table to call the Coroner’s Office.

She was relieved when Barry agreed to make his own way to the mortuary and said he could be there at two o’clock. He was obviously distressed but said that he needed his mother to stay at home to look after Heidi. As he went upstairs to get ready, Mrs Dawson came into the hall.

‘Let me show you out, dear. He’s taken this very badly… I keep on thinking that if I hadn’t had trouble with my washing machine, I’d have been there, and I would have found her instead of poor Barry.’

‘Yes, you said you were going to babysit…?’

‘That’s right… but my washing machine went on the blink so I had to wait for the engineer. Shirley had a hair appointment so I was going to their flat to look after Heidi. She used to get her hair straightened, because it was so curly. I was relieved, I can tell you, when Heidi was born and had Barry’s blond hair. It’s impossible to get a comb through those curls… I know because some of the kids at the school need a special type of Afro comb.’

Jane tried to steer her back onto the subject.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Dawson, I’m just trying to piece together the time frame. So, you were going to go to your son’s flat on the morning that Shirley was found in the bath?’

‘Yes… I did try to call her, you know, to let her know I wouldn’t be coming, but she didn’t answer the phone.’

‘What time was that, Mrs Dawson?’

Rita hesitated, then shrugged.

‘Well, it would’ve been early… like a quarter to nine… but like I said, the phone rang and rang. Maybe she didn’t hear it because she was running a bath… but I wasn’t that worried.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, if I didn’t turn up she would’ve taken Heidi to the salon with her… to Pearls and Curls, over in Brick Lane by the market.’

‘Did Barry know you were going to be at the flat?’

‘Yes – like I said, I often go over there to give Shirley a hand-’

She suddenly stopped and took a sharp intake of breath.

‘Oh God!… I can’t believe she’s never going to be there again!’

After comforting her Jane thanked Rita and went to the front door to leave. As the door closed behind her she took out her notebook and jotted down some notes, including the name of the hair salon. Something didn’t quite add up.

Jane went back to the station to type up the statement ready for Barry to sign when they met at the mortuary. Edith was in the incident room and told Jane that DS Lawrence had called and wanted to speak to her regarding some photographs. There were a number of detectives working in the room at the various desks. The two clerks were busy as there had been a spate of break-ins and a complaint from market holders about being threatened.

Edith was carrying an overflowing ashtray across to the waste bin. Pulling a face in disgust she emptied out the cigarette butts into the bin.

‘The DCI wanted to see you as well. There’s been a pickpocket incident on a female tourist in Soho – the perp is slashing handbag straps with a razor. DCI wants you to go to the Marquee Club on Wardour Street to interview the manager about it.’

Sighing, Jane checked her watch and grabbed her coat.

Jane was sitting on a bar stool taking notes from a young barman with a Newcastle accent. The nightclub was being vacuumed and the dingy bar was filled with dirty glasses and bags of empty beer bottles being removed to the bins.

‘So are you aware of anyone inside the club being robbed?’

‘No, but I only work on certain days of the week… I mostly do clearing up in the mornings, and different staff come in for night work.’

‘Do you know what time they will be coming on duty?’

‘No, you’ll have to ask the manager as he lists the staff. But he’s not here right now.’

Jane took down what few details she could report and left the club, walking back down Wardour Street. She passed a seedy strip club called ‘Dolls House’, with a heavy-set bouncer standing outside, his arms folded across his huge chest. There were afternoon and lunchtime shows advertised outside: ‘Live Girls, Live Dancers, Live Girls, Live Dancers’, flashed the neon signs. Loud music was thudding from the narrow entrance that was concealed with cheap plastic curtains.

As Jane stepped off the pavement into the road to avoid the bouncer, a woman came out of the club. Jane stopped and stared. The woman was wearing the same, or similar, blue rabbit fur coat that Jane had worn when she had acted as a decoy. She looked at the woman’s face, certain it was the same woman she had seen in the photographs, the woman who had been pushing the baby stroller. But before Jane could even contemplate approaching her the woman hailed a taxi and climbed inside, passing within feet of Jane.

‘Tarra, Angie!’ the bouncer yelled. Jane was confused for a moment, then she recalled the list of aliases on the charge sheet and knew it had to be Janet Brown, aka Angie, who had been held at Hackney Station. She watched the taxi disappear then walked back to the strip club as the bouncer ushered in the nervous punters. There were various sexy photographs of the strippers in provocative poses displayed in a cracked glass cabinet.

Jane looked over the photographs and noticed a seminude shot of the woman. The bouncer swished through the plastic curtains and confronted her.

‘Live girls, you want to see live girls, darlin’?’

Jane turned away abruptly and could hear him laughing.

‘Takes all sorts, love!… Live girls, dancing jig jiggy.’

Jane caught the bus back and finished her half-eaten sandwich. She had so many things to think about. Having to show Barry Dawson the body of his wife, detail the so-called bag snatcher, and yet uppermost in her mind was the woman called Angie. There was something that kept on niggling her about her arrest. The photographs of her beaten face, and why Jane had been asked to wear her coat the night she had been assaulted. Lastly she thought about the forthcoming trial of Peter Allard. There was no confirmed date but she knew it would be announced soon and she wasn’t looking forward to it.

Jane sighed. ‘Why do you care?’ she muttered to herself. After what he had subjected her to, she felt angry with herself for wasting time thinking about him. She had loathed being grilled by his defence council and she knew the interrogation was likely to be worse at the trial. But what really worried her was the fact she was certain Moran had planted the knife and lied about the confession. She wondered if Moran had also lied about Janet Brown, or Angie; and why he had her rabbit fur coat?

Jane opened her notebook and jotted down a reminder to contact old Donaldson from Hackney Collator’s Office. She knew he would have the home address of Janet Brown because she remembered seeing it on the charge sheet. She couldn’t recall it offhand but just for her own peace of mind she wanted to have an off-the-record meeting with the woman in the blue rabbit fur coat.