Hidden Killers

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Two days later, after all the investigation she had instigated, Jane was very upset that DCI Shepherd excluded her from the inquiry. DI Gibbs and DS Lawrence were given the overall lead, with three other DCs who had been with Bow Street a lot longer than Jane. She had presumed that Shepherd would ask for her to be present and had even expected some acknowledgement from him when he had been asking Edith what DCs were available.

‘Excuse me, sir, will you want me to discuss the report and my notes from my enquiries?’ Jane asked.

He glanced towards her and then went back to looking over the lists of available officers, making suggestions of who he wanted for the briefing.

‘As you will see, I have underlined sections that we will need to discuss, so please put them on my desk straight away,’ he told Edith.

Edith scurried out of the office and only after she had left did he turn his attention to Jane.

‘Tennison, I think you have proved yourself to be very diligent. However, I also have major issues with the fact that you have acted, or appear to have been acting, without authority. As you have only recently completed your probationary period and joined us here at Bow Street just over a week ago, I am warning you that I do not, and will not, have any detectives working without the full co-operation of the team. Your priority should have been to inform me of any new evidence or suspicions you acquired.’

Shepherd walked out, leaving Jane shocked and confused.

Edith returned carrying a large stack of papers she had to check through and banged them down on her desk.

‘My God, this has created a lot of extra work. I now have to sort out what meetings he can be available for with all this new development.’

‘What exactly is going on in the Board Room?’ Jane asked, watching as officers including Shepherd and Lawrence gathered round a large oval table in the room opposite.

‘I am not privy to what their intentions are, dear, but this Shirley Dawson case is leaving the desk sergeant pulling out his hair.’

Jane felt awful after the dressing down from Shepherd. As she was almost at the end of her shift she went into the ladies’ locker room. She sat in a cubicle and, as much as she hated herself for doing so, she burst into tears. She was loath to admit it, but after a good cry she was feeling increasingly irritated that she had not been brought onto the case, after all the work she had done on it. She was also hurt that DS Lawrence had not intervened on her behalf. She collected her bag and jacket and left the station to return to the section house. She went to the laundry room and ironed a fresh shirt for the morning, then returned to her room. Sitting on the edge of her bed as she flicked through her notebook, she came across the message she had jotted down about Mrs Allard calling Hackney Station, which had been forwarded on to the duty sergeant at Bow Street. She had not really given it much thought, having been so caught up with the Shirley Dawson situation. Glancing at her watch she saw that it was after seven, she hoped it wouldn’t be too late to return Mrs Allard’s call.

Jane was also intrigued to find out what Mrs Allard wanted, so she made her way down to the reception to use the payphone. It rang unanswered for a long time, and Jane double-checked that she was dialling the correct number. She replaced the receiver, waited five minutes and tried again but it still rang with no one picking up. She was about to go back upstairs to her room when DI Gibbs came hurrying through the reception doors.

‘Ah! Just the person I was coming to see.’

He gestured towards her to join him.

‘Come on, I’ll buy you a drink over at the Warburton… Just want to have a bit of a chat.’

‘If it’s to have a go at me I’m not interested.’

Gibbs grinned. ‘I think you’ve had enough goes. I just need a moment of your valuable mind!’

She didn’t bother fetching her coat as it was just a short walk across the road. Gibbs strode ahead of her, always seeming to have an excess of energy. Even though he was striding ahead he would half turn back towards her and then move forward; he was surprisingly elegant in his movements and had a natural rhythm. He shouldered the pub door, and held it open for her to pass him before he let it swing closed behind them. He ushered her to the bar and ordered a pint and a whisky chaser for himself. Jane asked for a dry white wine, which was never very dry and was usually rather tepid but Ron, the pub landlord, always dropped in a couple of ice cubes whether you asked him to or not.

Gibbs moved around the full pub to grab a small table in the corner, at the far end of the bar. He put his pint down and lit a cigarette, heaved in the smoke and then downed his whisky in one. Jane took an unenthusiastic sip of wine, waiting for him to explain why he wanted to talk to her. His right foot twitched as he picked up his pint and took a large gulp before he placed it back down onto the soggy beer mat.

‘OK… I got to the meeting this afternoon halfway through as I was over at the Magistrates’ Court with this bag snatcher. But I have to tell you that you’ve got a fan in DS Lawrence. He was very complimentary about your queries with the non-suspicious death. Shepherd was a bit tight-lipped and prissy about you being unethical et cetera, but he had to stand down a bit as it’s now a murder inquiry. The old boy, Prof Martin, did a second PM and discovered an additional abrasion to the dead woman’s head, right side on in an odd V shape. He’s stated that this would have been the first blow. Anyway, I’m not here to go into that until we’ve done more of whom did what to whomever…’

Gibbs spoke very fast, his foot still twitching, and his eyes darting around the pub and snooker area.

‘What did you want to talk to me about, Spence?’

‘Well, I need you to explain how you got the information from the suspect – this girlfriend of the husband, Katrina Harcourt – and then how you saw the shoes that Dawson’s neighbour gave a statement about, saying she didn’t see the woman from above the knee.’

Irritated, Jane replied, ‘There was nothing unethical about it. Katrina’s mother invited me to see their home décor upstairs, and took me into Katrina’s bedroom. She was very proud of her husband’s DIY efforts and showed me the inside of Katrina’s wardrobe with all the shoes. I didn’t touch them.’

‘Don’t get tetchy with me, I’m just looking out for you. When the judge hears that it wasn’t exactly an eyeball witness who only saw a pair of legs and feet, it’s going to be a tricky one, your Honour!’

‘I’ll tell you what was really interesting: Katrina Harcourt had a photographer to take glamorous pictures of her as a bride. She had the full wedding dress, veil, all designed by Ossie Clark, and because she was jilted it left her in debt up to her neck.’

‘I’ve heard of him. In fact, I bought a second-hand pair of snakeskin shoes designed by him.’

Jane gave Gibbs a curious look before telling him exactly where she had seen Katrina’s shoes, and relayed how she had asked Katrina’s mother about her travelling to London on the day of the murder.

‘Just need to check that you didn’t mention anything about the coincidence, or say why you were interested in the patent leather high heels?’

‘I just saw them because I was shown the inside of her wardrobe. They fit the exact description… five inch heels, pointed toes and black patent leather.’

‘Well, I shouldn’t think they are going to be that useful… We might get you to parade up and down in them, but I doubt it. Anyway, we’re going to Brighton with a search warrant and we have to get the local nobs on our side. God forbid you should tread on anyone’s patch… and it’s imperative we don’t give this Katrina any signals to do a runner.’

‘So is she a suspect?’

‘Yeah, and DS Lawrence strongly believes they were in it together. But we’re going to bring Barry Dawson in for questioning first thing in the morning. I could do without the schlepp out to Brighton, but you gotta do what you gotta do…’

‘Was Professor Martin able to give a clearer time of death?’

Gibbs drained his pint.

‘Nope… you know these pathologists, anywhere between eight to nine hours. I love it when they say possible nearest five hours or six. They won’t ever allow themselves to be on the line.’

‘Well, we can put a time on it. If we take the neighbours’ information, that they heard the buzzer go at eight o’clock, and we know there was no one in the basement, no one in the first or second floor flat, it would have had to have been Shirley.’

‘Yeah, I know that. Prof Martin said it was possible she’d been dead three hours. He also came out with the fact that the cut to her forehead was not that deep and would not necessarily have bloodied the water.’

‘But something did, because I saw it on the ceiling of the bathroom below,’ Jane interjected.

‘The prof said it was a possibility that Shirley Dawson had a severe nosebleed, which could’ve been the outcome of her hitting her head on the tap. But due to her being in the water for however long she was, her lower nostrils were clear. He found a substantial clot up in the bridge of her nose. Apparently it was even harder with this victim because she was in the water and had drowned, but both PMs agree that she was unconscious, but still alive, in the bath, and Martin thinks that maybe she was held down.’

Gibbs didn’t ask Jane if she wanted another drink but pushed his chair back. His mood suddenly changed.

‘He always used to sit over there, you know.’ He nodded towards a similar-sized table on the opposite side of the room.

‘Most nights I’d find him eating one of those disgusting steak and kidney pies from the heated cabinet on the bar. He always said he was never going to eat another one, so when I saw him with a greasy sausage roll I said to him, “Oh, not eatin’ your usual crap then?” and he grins up at me and says, “Some bastard ate the last one!”’

Jane could see the grief in Gibbs’s face and knew he had yet to get over the death of DCI Bradfield. Struggling with her own feelings of loss, Jane didn’t know what to say. But he quickly masked his sadness, turned back to her and thanked her for coming for a drink. He then said he was going over to the snooker section to have a game, but he didn’t wait for her reply as he moved away. Jane didn’t even bother to finish her wine and left shortly after.

Jane clocked in for duty early, at 7.15 the following morning. She was heading towards the incident room when DCI Shepherd approached her.

‘Give me a minute in my office would you, Tennison?’

Feeling apprehensive, she popped her handbag in the drawer of her desk, picked up her notebook and hurried to the DCI’s office. The door was open and he was sitting at his desk typing – he was very fast. He signalled to her to wait a moment as he finished and drew the paper out of the typewriter, removing the carbon and copy. He passed the top page over to Jane.

‘I hope to have all these queries you noted confirmed before we begin the interrogations. It’s imperative I have a firmed-up time line. I think perhaps I was a bit hard on you yesterday, but for obvious reasons. DS Lawrence was very complimentary about your investigative abilities, but learn from this, Tennison. Please attend the briefing meeting at twelve-thirty p.m. today, as a team of detectives have been working flat out.’

Jane returned to the incident room and sat at her desk. Edith glanced over at her, then pushed her chair back.

‘Do you mind if I say something, Jane? It was obvious yesterday that your nose was put out of joint. I am very aware of how much work you have been doing when you have been off duty, because I had to break down the reports for Shepherd.’

Jane chewed her lip, not wanting to get into a discussion with Edith.

‘You have to understand the pecking order, dear. DCI Shepherd accepted the non-suspicious death, so how do you think it looks when a young trainee who has only been here less than two weeks, and a female to boot, goes off and does her own investigation? And now they have confirmation that the first PM was not adequate and it is being investigated as a murder.’

‘I hear what you’re saying, Edith…’

‘Good. Make moves slowly, Jane, or they will have you back in uniform for insubordination. You were lucky you had DS Lawrence looking out for you.’

‘Thank you, Edith. Can I get you a coffee?’

‘No, thank you, dear. But at the briefing just sit tight and listen. I’ve been there before you, Jane… they’ll wipe the floor with you if you overstep the mark.’

Jane gave Edith a rueful smile and went out to go to the canteen.

Jane arrived at the Board Room on the dot of 12.30, but already there was a team of detectives, some of their faces familiar to her, sitting around the table quietly discussing their notes. She was acknowledged but no one spoke to her as she sat down on one of the vacant chairs, hoping she hadn’t taken anyone’s seat. She placed her notebook down in front of her, along with two sharpened pencils.

The air was thick with tobacco smoke. Everyone fell silent as DCI Shepherd walked in and sat at the top end of the table, placing a thick folder in front of him. DS Lawrence was the last to arrive. He sat opposite Jane and was very intent on placing a large manila envelope on the table.

‘Right, everyone… time is against us so let’s run through everything as fast as possible before the interviews begin. Paul, what have you got for us?’

DS Lawrence laid out various black and white photographs on the table, showing the victim’s head wounds and also the shaven head clearly showing the deep V indentation.

The photographs were passed around as Lawrence spoke.

‘I am certain that this wound to the victim’s head was as a result of being hit exceptionally hard from the right side. The weapon, without doubt, is this…’

Lawrence pushed forward the photographs of the iron.

‘As you can see, the iron was yanked out of the plug socket when the victim was attacked. Close-up pictures reveal the loose wires, and when tested the iron did not connect. As you can see from this photograph, the victim may have been standing up ironing, and there was a female’s blouse on the ironing board.’

Shepherd put up his hand to indicate that he wanted Lawrence to pause.

‘We can conclude what the victim was doing before being struck, but as we are bringing in two suspects I need a clearer time frame of when this attack possibly took place.’

‘The neighbour Mrs Cook, from the basement next door, is adamant that she saw a woman – but only from the knees down – wearing black patent leather high heels, pacing back and forth. Then she heard a very loud click, which indicated that someone, possibly Shirley Dawson, had pressed the entry release to open the front door.’

‘Time?’ Shepherd asked briskly.

‘It was between eight a.m. and eight-fifteen a.m. This time was pinpointed by the paper delivery as the paperboy delivers at the same time every day, like clockwork according to his boss at the newsagent.’

‘Shirley Dawson had a hair appointment, not at nine a.m. as we had first been told, but for nine-thirty a.m. Her mother-in-law had agreed to babysit but due to her washing machine breaking down she could not be there. So she called the phone on the landing at the Dawsons’ flat at a quarter to nine, but received no reply.’

Shepherd flicked through his notes.

‘Detective Summers, you were checking this out – what did you come up with?’

Detective Summers was a thin, balding man. He tapped his notebook.

‘The hair salon, Pearls and Curls in Brick Lane, confirmed that they had Shirley’s appointment booked in the diary for more than two weeks. Shirley was a regular customer: apparently she had exceptionally thick hair which had to be straightened and thinned. The salon say that they did not receive any call to say that Shirley was unable to keep the appointment. She had never missed any previous appointments.’

Shepherd nodded as another detective held up his hand.

‘I interviewed Mrs Dawson yesterday evening and she confirmed that she had received a call from her son, Barry Dawson, at around nine a.m. Mrs Dawson was unable to confirm the exact time but the engineer had not shown up to repair her washing machine yet. Barry wanted to know why she was not at the flat as she was supposed to be babysitting. Barry told her that he had tried to call Shirley but had got no reply and Mrs Dawson suggested that perhaps she had taken their daughter, Heidi, to the hair salon with her.’

Shepherd was making notes, then looked up.

‘Sir, I don’t know if this is of interest but when I arrived at Mrs Dawson’s house she was out walking the dog and a friend was babysitting her granddaughter, Heidi. She was quite elderly and her name was Norma Hall. She said she had been Shirley’s foster carer, and that it was all very sad, particularly as Shirley had believed that this was going to be everything she had dreamed-’

‘Is there a point to this?’ Shepherd interrupted.

‘Just that the last time Shirley had seen this foster carer she had been very depressed. Although they owned their flat and Barry paid the mortgage, he had done nothing to redecorate or refurbish it for them to resell and make a profit, which was the original intention, and he kept breaking his promises. She said that it was stressful having the dog to take care of, and having to carry the pushchair up and down the stairs. Even the rubbish had to be carried all the way downstairs into the basement and-’

‘One second – is the basement used for bins?’

‘No, sir, I checked first thing this morning and there’s an old coal hole where all the tenants keep their bins. You gain access from the basement.’

‘Anyone checked these bins out?’ Shepherd glanced round the table. ‘No? Let’s do it then. I think we have a picture taken of a bucket with soiled nappies, yes? DS Lawrence, check out the bins. Can anyone tell me the value of the Dawsons’ property?’

The same detective lifted his hand. ‘Yes, sir. The flat beneath them, which is being refurbished, is on the market for forty-five thousand pounds and the Dawsons’ on the top floor is estimated at between thirty-five and thirty-eight thousand pounds. It’s a good location.’

‘Good God! That’s a lot of money,’ Shepherd muttered, then tapped the desk with the point of his sharpened pencil.

‘If I could just continue, sir… I felt that I should talk to Norma Hall, the foster carer, again as she left when Mrs Dawson returned. She has been taking kids into foster care for thirty years. She was not in the best of health but was very informative about Shirley, who was placed into her care when she was in her teens. She also said that it was via her that Barry Dawson had met Shirley. I was about to leave when Norma said something that seemed rather odd. When she had first found out about Shirley’s death she went over to see Barry. She said that he was very emotional, crying and sobbing, but when she left the room he put on the television and seemed more interested in some football match… In fact, she said she heard him cheering and laughing.’

Shepherd shrugged and looked around the table.

‘I am hoping you have saved the best until last, DC Tomlinson?’

Jane looked across at the overweight detective who was stubbing out his cigarette.

‘I re-questioned Mr Goncalves, the hospital porter, as we have a statement from him and from Mr Dawson regarding the calls made from the phone kiosk in the hospital corridor. You may recall that Barry Dawson said that he called home at ten a.m., and on getting no reply became very worried as he claimed Shirley was not well and had been very depressed. He appeared to be very anxious and asked Mr Goncalves for change, expressing his concerns over his wife’s health and his need to call his mother again. He then claimed to leave the hospital and returned home to find his wife dead in the bath.’

Tomlinson had everyone’s attention as he explained tracking down the porter and then standing with him in the corridor and asking him if he could recall the exact timings. The porter said he was unsure and thought he had been told by Barry that he needed to leave as it was coming up to his break at ten a.m. He said that he had given him some coppers and returned to the wing as he had a patient to take up to theatre.

‘I asked him to be very clear about exactly what he had heard. Did he hear the coins being returned as the call wasn’t answered, or did he hear the call connect? He couldn’t answer, but by my calculations Barry Dawson made one call to Shirley and got no reply. The next call was, he claimed, to his mother who said she was not at his flat. Then there was a third call that the witness saw him ending when he returned to the corridor, and this time he said that Barry Dawson was very anxious. I was eventually able to get closer to the exact time because we went back to the theatre records and it showed that Mr Goncalves had brought the patient up into theatre at five past ten, so adding on ten minutes to get back to the corridor he would have seen the agitated Barry Dawson much later than he had originally stated.’

Jane noticed how Shepherd doodled on his notepad before looking around the room.

‘I am just estimating this, sir, but going on the original time line from WDC Tennison, our victim Shirley Dawson could have been dead shortly after eight-thirty a.m. I made some further enquiries and then spoke with another porter in their rest room at St Thomas’ and he checked over the old listings of on and off duty porters. He kept on referring to something being the “Rose Cottage” duty and when I asked him what he meant he said that it was the porters’ joke terminology for the mortuary.’

Jane wrote this down and underlined it because she had never heard it mentioned before.

‘Barry Dawson had a body to take to the mortuary at just after eight a.m. When I went over there, a number of bodies were actually lined up, obviously covered over. Apparently there is often a delay or backlog… but Dawson delivered the body on time. So if we go by the time frame, he dropped off the body at eight a.m. and was not seen again until after ten a.m.’

Everyone waited as Tomlinson lit a cigarette, drew on it deeply and then exhaled the smoke before he continued.

‘Along with Detective Johnston, who was with me at the hospital, we checked out the mortuary. The main doors into the mortuary are directly across a courtyard into the hospital, and there is an exit door that opens straight onto the street.’

At this point Johnston, a young, fresh-faced officer, took over.

‘We decided that it would be possible for Dawson to take off his porter’s uniform and leave the mortuary via the street exit without being seen. We then timed the journey from the mortuary to Dawson’s address. If he got a taxi he could travel there in under half an hour. There are also a number of bus routes that he could have taken and that would add a good half-hour on to his journey. But it is possible that he could have returned to his flat, and been there at around eight forty-five a.m.’

Jane leaned forward, taking it all in. Her annoyance at not being involved was superseded by excitement. She was stunned by the amount of basic legwork the detectives had achieved, and by what they were suggesting.

Shepherd nodded his approval.

‘Well done. I don’t suppose you were able to find any witnesses who actually saw Dawson leave the mortuary?’

‘No, sir, but at that time in the morning the hospital is very busy with breakfasts and patients waiting to go into theatre for operations.’

Again Shepherd tapped the page in front of him with the tip of his pencil.

‘So, let’s just walk through what we’ve got… Shirley is expecting mother-in-law to babysit. She prepares her little girl’s food, then puts her in the playpen. She has a hair appointment for nine-thirty a.m. and is maybe ironing the blouse she is going to wear. The door bell goes, and this might even coincide with the phone ringing, but Shirley buzzes open the front door. It is possible that it was Katrina Harcourt, but Shirley is expecting her mother-in-law so she presses the door release. Shirley was already suspicious that her husband is having an affair, and has even taken photographs of this woman. Then there is a bitter argument-’

‘Could I just interrupt here, sir?’ It was Tomlinson again. ‘What I didn’t mention was the fact that inside the porters’ rest room there is a phone that connects to the wards. You can’t make any outgoing calls as it’s just intended for calling the porters for duties, and is an extension. If Katrina Harcourt worked as a nurse at the hospital she would be aware of the extension number and could actually call the hospital directly and ask to be put through to the porters’ rest room.’

‘That’s supposition, isn’t it? Unless you have a witness who saw Dawson take a call in the rest room early that morning?’

‘No luck, sir. But Dawson was there, and was on his way to the mortuary. It’s possible that Katrina Harcourt could have contacted him there to tell him his wife was dead.’

Shepherd rubbed his head and checked his watch. Lawrence pointed to the photographs of the iron and the wound to Shirley’s head.

‘Not dead but unconscious. We can conjecture what might have happened next… Barry returns and he and Katrina run a bath. Maybe Shirley started to come round, struggled, hit her head on the tap… they might even have held her down… It’s imperative we find a time frame that confirms that the pair had liaised together.’

‘Of course it bloody is,’ Shepherd replied. ‘Did Barry and Katrina plan this murder? Or did Katrina, who may possibly have been wearing the patent leather high-heeled shoes and was maybe let into the flat by Shirley, become part of a spur of the moment attack? Because we have to be on firm ground to charge this duo.’

Shepherd glanced at his watch. ‘Let’s take a late lunch break, and be on standby for the interrogations this afternoon.’

Jane returned to the incident room and flopped into her chair. She was exhausted and felt completely deflated. She knew that every one of the detectives had worked from the information that she had compiled, and she had received no credit for it. It was as if she hardly existed.

DS Lawrence appeared in the doorway and gave her a rueful smile.

‘Well, that was impressive in there. I have to say, when old Shepherd gets to work he really shows his experience.’

‘And everything that I had reported was taken and used, but not one of them even looked in my direction.’

‘Get over it, Jane – they all worked their butts off.’

‘And I didn’t? If it wasn’t for me, Shirley Dawson would have been buried by now!’

Lawrence held up both hands in a gesture of peace.

‘Look, I’m just on my way to the Dawsons’ flat to check the rubbish bins… do you want to come along?’

‘Why not? Give me the dirty work…’

Edith watched with narrowed eyes as Jane followed Lawrence out.

Jane sat in the passenger seat of the patrol car. Lawrence found a parking space a short distance from the Dawsons’ building and together they moved down the basement steps, the old iron gate swinging back on its rusty hinges.

Lawrence wrenched open the wooden door into the old coal hole of the property. The bricks were coated in dusty cobwebs and the curved walled outhouse had a grid in the ceiling that, in the old days, would have been opened and filled with coal for the fires in the house. Now it only contained four large lidded bins with flat details painted on each. They opened the bin labelled ‘Top Floor’. It was empty but still had a very strong odour of mouldy food and soiled nappies.

‘Nothing here,’ Lawrence said, replacing the lid.

‘Did you empty that bucket we saw in the bathroom?’ Jane asked.

‘No.’

‘Well, maybe somebody else did…’

‘Yes,’ he said tetchily, checking the other bins. Two of them contained a lot of paper bags and rubbish.

‘Mrs Dawson told me there used to be a person that cleaned the hallways, a sort of maintenance cleaner, who was hired by the landlord. But he’d got rid of her, so Shirley would have had to cart the rubbish up and down the stairs.’

‘What is the point to this, Jane?’

‘It’s the small trapdoor by the front door. You would put your bags of rubbish inside, lock it and the maintenance cleaner would collect them on certain days and take them down to the basement for you.’

Jane sensed that she was irritating Lawrence, but couldn’t really see why. As they still had the house keys they let themselves in and moved up the stairs to the top floor. They could see that the ground-floor flat had blocked in their trapdoor, and the same on the newly decorated second-floor flat. Workmen were inside painting, and from the amount of packing cases and boxes it looked as if a new kitchen and bathroom had now been delivered.

They reached the top floor, and Lawrence sniffed. He bent down and slid the small bolt across the trapdoor to remove a dirty bag full of mouldy food and soiled nappies. Without saying a word, he took the bag downstairs with Jane following quickly behind. Lawrence placed the stinking rubbish bag in the boot of the patrol car and they headed back to the station.

In the incident room Lawrence tipped the bag out onto a desk covered with newspapers. Ignoring Edith’s protests, he began to pick through the rubbish. The stench was overwhelming. There were old milk cartons, clusters of rice and baby food, dirty disposable nappies, and even an old terry nappy had been thrown out. There were dog food tins and numerous soup and baked bean cans. Caught on the edge of a jagged tin lid was a small, folded, pale pink gingham headscarf, the type worn under the chin by models. On one side of the scarf was a burnt V scorched into the cotton, with strands of dark hair attached.

Lawrence glanced at Jane and carefully used a pair of tongs to place the scarf into a paper bag. It was a very important find because it meant it had to have been removed from the victim by the person that struck Shirley across her scalp. The question was who had wilfully murdered Shirley by placing her unconscious body in the bath?

DI Gibbs opened the door and instantly covered his nose.

‘Christ… what is the stink in here?’

‘Rubbish from the Dawsons’ bins. How was Katrina?’

‘She’s being held in cell one. She’s refused to have a solicitor and is creating merry hell.’

He handed over the patent leather shoes in an evidence bag, and perched on the edge of the desk.

‘You do know Katrina’s mother has changed her statement regarding the day her daughter went to London? But we checked with the petrol station where the father holds an account – they verified that he authorized for her to fill the tank of her Mini on the seventh of October. We might be able to use this when we question her.’

Lawrence reacted. ‘At the same time, we don’t actually have a witness that saw her in London that day.’

‘I know. Are you in on the interrogation, Paul?’

Lawrence shook his head. ‘Nope, I’m down to be in when they question Barry Dawson. But I want to get this over to the lab to do a few checks.’

DS Lawrence gestured to Jane. ‘Right, I’ve got everything I need… you can get rid of the rest of it.’ Before Jane could protest he’d already left.

Jane found it really extraordinary that both men seemed capable of not only talking across her but completely ignoring her presence. When they left the incident room Jane looked over to Edith.

‘Am I invisible?’ Jane asked tetchily.

‘Yes, dear… that’s why I’m doing clerical work. I got frozen out of any hope for promotion and this job will pay towards my pension. You can’t change anything, as I have repeatedly told you. And you had better supply this incident room with some form of air freshener. That disgusting heap of rubbish should have been taken to the laboratory, not tipped out here. God forbid that DCI Shepherd should come in – it smells like a lavatory.’

Jane began to wrap the newspaper around the remains of the rubbish as Edith continued speaking.

‘Do you know why we put up with it? I’ll tell you why… DCI Shepherd may have a rather pasty face, and thin twitchy fingers, but you underestimate him at your peril. I know he’s had words with you, as have I, and I can tell that you’re not exactly a happy bunny, but I’m not asking you to lick DCI Shepherd’s boots… although there are some here that are more than happy to do so-’

She stopped abruptly as DCI Shepherd appeared in the doorway.

‘I want you to sit in on the Katrina Harcourt interrogation, WDC Tennison. Fifteen minutes, my office.’

Jane nodded, and waited for him to leave before she looked at Edith. She had two bright pink spots on her cheeks.

‘Oh God, do you think he heard me?’

Jane, rolling two sheets of paper into the typewriter, answered, ‘ I don’t think he heard you.’

‘Thank God. He’s got the stealth of an ocelot.’