Murder Mile

Chapter Ten

Jane and Edwards had driven the CID car straight from the hostel to the magistrate’s court to obtain a warrant, and were now on the way to the Samaritans branch in Soho to seize the documents relating to the callers Mrs. Hastings had dealt with.

‘Moran looks like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders at the moment,’ Edwards said.

‘That’s hardly surprising — he’s got a maniac on the loose and three murders to deal with,’ Jane replied.

‘WDS Tennison from DI Gibbs... you receiving, over?’ Gibbs’ voice boomed from the radio.

Jane picked up the receiver. ‘WDS Tennison receiving, over.’

‘Where are you?’ Gibbs asked.

‘En route to the Samaritans in Soho with a warrant.’

‘OK. An “all stations” telex we sent out has turned up a call to Kentish Town nick about a missing teacher, Eileen Summers, aged twenty-three,’ Gibbs relayed.

Jane looked at Edwards. ‘Pull over while I get my notebook out.’

‘Did you get that, Tennison?’ Gibbs asked impatiently.

As Edwards parked at the side of the road, Jane opened her notebook and pressed the radio transmitter button. ‘Yes, guv. Go ahead with the details. Over.’

‘Summers works at Southfield Primary school in Kentish Town. She was reported missing by the headmistress, Mrs. Rowlands. I’ve a gut feeling Summers is the East Dulwich murder victim. The misper form described her as having a mole beside her right lip and a bob haircut. She also wears a coat that matches the victim’s,’ Gibbs said.

‘What are the circumstances of her going missing?’ Jane asked Gibbs.

‘Summers was at work yesterday but didn’t turn up this morning. Mrs. Rowlands repeatedly tried ringing Summers’ flat but got no answer. She was concerned, so called Kentish Town.’

‘Shall I delay executing the warrant at the Samaritans... over?’ Jane said.

‘Yes, go to the school first and get back to me as soon as you’ve spoken to the headmistress.’

‘On way, guv... Tennison out,’ Jane said and replaced the handset on the radio holder.

‘Looks like things are starting to step up,’ Edwards said as he put the car into gear and moved off.

The two-story Victorian-built school was imposing, with its English Renaissance-style features, fancy gables, colorful brickwork and terracotta ornamentation. As they walked across the playground, the noise of happy children enjoying their afternoon break filled the air. Groups of boys were kicking a football about and the girls were playing hopscotch or skipping to the song ‘Pease pudding hot, pease pudding cold.’ Jane smiled to herself, fondly remembering her own primary school days. Edwards couldn’t resist stepping into the boys’ football game and trying a bit of ‘keepie uppie.’ He only managed three and lost control of the ball, which caused the boys to mockingly chant ‘rubbish.’

‘Oi, watch this, mister!’ a young boy shouted. Flicking the ball into the air with his foot, he proceeded to make Edwards’ effort look lame. The other boys counted, shouting out the numbers for Edwards’ benefit, and by the time they had reached the school entrance, the young footballer was already up to twenty.

‘I hate kids,’ Edwards said jovially, as he held the door open for Jane.

Mrs. Rowlands was in her office doing some paperwork. She was in her early fifties and looked rather dowdy, dressed in an ankle-length heavy brown skirt, white frilly shirt and grey cardigan. Jane informed her that they were police officers and had come about Eileen Summers. Mrs. Rowlands stood up and, with a warm smile, shook their hands and invited them to sit down.

‘That was quick. I only reported Eileen missing at Kentish Town a few hours ago. The officer I spoke to took down Eileen’s details, but said that because she was an adult, and there’s no evidence she’s in immediate danger, police enquiries wouldn’t commence until twenty-four hours had elapsed.’

‘There’s been a development, Mrs. Rowlands, but we’re not sure yet if it involves Miss Summers. Do you have a photograph of her I can have a look at, please?’ Jane asked.

‘Has something happened to Eileen? Was she involved in a car accident on the way to work?’ Mrs. Rowlands nervously asked, walking over to a filing cabinet in the corner of the room.

‘I’ll be able to tell you more when I’ve seen the photograph.’ Jane didn’t want to unduly alarm her.

‘Eileen’s never missed a day since she’s been here. She teaches the nine- to ten-year-olds, and is one of the best young teachers I’ve ever come across. The children absolutely adore her, as do the parents and staff.’ Mrs. Rowlands spoke with a tremor in her voice, anxious about what could have happened. She pulled out a folder from the cabinet with ‘Year Five — Class Photographs’ written on it. She took out the most recent picture and handed it to Jane. ‘That’s Eileen, in the middle.’ Mrs. Rowlands pointed.

Jane looked at the photo of the young and attractive teacher, her face glowing with warmth and pride as she sat amongst the smiling young children. Jane thought of the poor victim strangled to death in room six at the hostel, her bulging eyes and bloodstained face flashing into her mind as she looked at the picture. She was in little doubt that Eileen Summers was the murder victim in Ben Smith’s room. Jane looked at Edwards, who hadn’t seen the body, and nodded.

‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’ Mrs. Rowlands exclaimed.

Jane had been in this position many times before, but this time it felt different. She knew Eileen Summers’ death would have a devastating effect on the entire school.

‘We are investigating a murder that occurred in Peckham last night. Having seen the body, I’m almost certain that it is the same woman in this photograph.’

Mrs. Rowlands was close to tears, but kept her composure and asked Jane what had happened. Jane gently told her that Eileen had been strangled and that they had a suspect they were currently looking for. Jane asked if she could have Eileen’s parents’ contact details, and Mrs. Rowlands went back to the filing cabinet.

‘Here we are... Her parents live in Manchester. Eileen came to London to teach a couple of years ago and lives on her own in Chalk Farm. I think she may have gone up to see them over half term.’

Edwards took the folder from Mrs. Rowlands and jotted down Eileen’s address, as well as the parents’ details, in his notebook.

‘Did she have a boyfriend?’ Edwards asked.

‘Not that I know of. But she could have done.’

‘Did she ever mention the name Ben Smith to you?’ Jane asked.

Mrs. Rowlands paused. ‘Not that I recall... Is he the suspect you spoke of?’

‘It’s a name that has come up in the investigation and he’s someone we’re interested in tracing.’ Jane was keen to change the subject and asked how Eileen had seemed on Monday.

‘She was in good spirits and was happy to be back teaching the children. She really did love them so much.’

‘Did Eileen have a car or did she use public transport to get about?’ Jane asked.

‘She had a car — a green 1973 Morris Minor. She hadn’t had it long.’

Jane jotted the details down.

‘I appreciate your help, Mrs. Rowlands. I know Eileen’s death must be a terrible shock to you. Could I ask that, for now, you say nothing about this to anyone as we’ve yet to inform Eileen’s parents or make a press release.’

‘Yes, I understand, officer. I’ll do whatever is best under the circumstances.’

‘Mrs. Rowlands, it is a very difficult thing to ask of you, but would you be prepared to identify the body for us? The mortuary is in Lewisham,’ Jane asked tentatively.

‘Yes, of course. I could be there after school, at about five o’clock, if that’s suitable?’

Jane nodded and thanked her again, whilst Edwards jotted down the mortuary address and handed it to Mrs. Rowlands.

Before leaving the school Jane phoned the office and asked to speak to Moran. She was informed that he’d gone to the post-mortem, but that Gibbs was available. Jane updated him on what had happened at the school and told him that she now had an address for Eileen Summers as well as for her parents in Manchester. Gibbs took down the details and said he’d contact Manchester CID to instruct them to inform the parents.

‘Mrs. Rowlands has agreed to ID the body at the mortuary after school today. Edwards and I are now going to the Samaritans, if that’s OK?’ Jane told Gibbs.

‘Go and check out Eileen Summers’ flat first. Force entry if you have to.’

‘Another gut feeling?’ Jane asked.

‘No, but there could be some paperwork or something that might help us find Ben Smith.’

Eileen Summers lived in Ferdinand House, near Chalk Farm tube station. It was a 1930s grey and red brick, four-story, council-owned building with no lifts.

‘Christ! Is there nowhere in London that’s rubbish-free?’ Edwards remarked, observing the large overflowing council rubbish bins.

‘Mind the rat!’ Jane shouted.

‘Where?’ Edwards exclaimed in a squeaky voice, jumping to one side.

‘It’s just darted under the bin over there,’ Jane said, trying not to laugh.

‘I thought things might be a bit better this side of London, but it’s just as much of a shithole as Peckham.’

‘At least there’s no burnt-out cars or graffiti here, and once the rubbish is cleared away this place won’t look half as bad.’

‘What exactly are we looking for?’ Edwards asked, as they climbed the stairs to Eileen’s flat.

‘Anything that might help us. Hopefully she’ll have something that can help us trace, or link her to, Ben Smith, such as an address book with names and contact details,’ Jane replied.

‘He’ll be well gone by now,’ Edwards remarked unenthusiastically.

‘Well, if he killed all three women, he didn’t run off after the first two, did he?’

‘Then maybe he’s hiding out somewhere. We should be back in Peckham, hassling the drug dealers for info, not wasting time here.’

Jane was becoming annoyed with Edwards’ attitude. ‘Just stop moaning about what we should be doing and get on with the job at hand.’

Edwards sullenly continued climbing the stairs. Arriving at Eileen’s flat on the top floor, he peered through the letter box. An elderly male, in his mid-seventies with a hunched back and walking stick, came out of the flat next door.

‘What you doing snoopin’ about? I’ll call the police.’

‘We are the police.’ Edwards showed his warrant card. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Frank, Eileen’s neighbor.’

‘I’m Detective Sergeant Tennison. We’re making enquiries about Eileen Summers. She’s been reported missing, so we’re just checking to see if she may have returned to her flat.’

The neighbor looked surprised. ‘I saw her last night. She’s a lovely young lady. Gets me newspapers and does me shoppin’, as I’m pretty much house-bound these days. I was a prisoner of war, you know — captured by the Japs and held in Changi prison until the end of the war. They treated us terribly and killed a lot of me mates. Me right leg was badly broken while I was being tortured for information.’ He gasped for breath and had a coughing fit before he could continue.

Jane felt sympathy for the old man but was keen to find out more information about their latest victim.

‘When did you last see Eileen?’

‘About five last night. She was going to the chippy down the road — got me a lovely bit of plaice and a portion of chips. I offered to pay but, bless her, she refused to take me money. She’s a teacher, you know. Loves her job, and the kids. You sure she’s not in?’

‘We tried knocking but there’s no answer.’ Jane didn’t want to upset the old man by telling him that his neighbor was now dead. ‘Obviously we’re concerned she might have had an accident indoors, so we’ll have to force entry to check it out.’

‘There’s no need to do that — I’ve got a spare key. Eileen leaves it with me in case of emergencies, and I also water her plants when she’s away.’ The old man went into his flat and returned a minute later with the key.

Jane took it. Lawrence had taught her that it was always worth keeping latex gloves in her bag. She pulled some out and handed a pair to Edwards. They both put them on and then let themselves into Eileen Summers’ flat. There was a strong smell of joss sticks, which Jane knew was sometimes used to cover the smell of cannabis, but she doubted Eileen was a user. The first room, to the right of the corridor, was the kitchen. It was very tidy, with a spotless electric oven and spotless work surfaces. It reminded Jane of her own small kitchen and it suddenly struck her that Eileen was very similar to her, being a single professional woman who was enjoying her career whilst maintaining her independence.

Jane noticed a knife, fork and plate in the kitchen sink, with remnants of white fish and tomato sauce on it. She opened the bin and saw the discarded fish and chip newspaper.

Edwards called out to her. ‘Someone’s turned the place over, Sarge.’

Jane hurried into what was obviously Eileen’s bedroom. The dressing table and bedside cabinet drawers were all half open, or pulled out completely. The mattress had been pulled off the bed and on top of the cabinet there was an open and empty jewelry box.

‘No forced entry, so whoever did this must have had a key,’ Jane remarked.

‘Well, I think we can rule out the old boy next door,’ Edwards replied.

‘Eileen Summers didn’t have any house keys in her pocket, and no handbag or purse was recovered,’ Jane stated.

‘Then that bastard Ben Smith must have burgled the place after he murdered her. You need cash or valuables to sell if you’re a heroin addict on the run.’

‘It’s possible, but we don’t know that for certain.’ Jane looked around the room.

‘It’s bloody obvious, I’d say,’ Edwards exclaimed, going over to pick up the empty jewelry box.

‘Don’t touch it! You might smudge any prints on it,’ Jane said firmly. ‘We need Lawrence down here to start fingerprinting the place.’

Edwards nodded.

‘I want to speak to the neighbor again. Edwards, you go and radio the station for DS Lawrence to attend.’

Frank’s living room was filled with military memorabilia and photographs, of which he was clearly very proud. He picked one up of himself and his colleagues and showed it to Jane.

‘Most got killed in the war or died in the prison camp.’

Jane was unsure about telling Frank that Eileen was dead, but she knew he would eventually find out through the newspapers or TV. She gently encouraged him to sit down.

‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Frank: Eileen was killed last night, and we’re treating her death as murder.’

Frank was beside himself and tears rolled down his face.

‘Is there anyone I can call to be with you?’ Jane asked.

‘I ain’t got no family... Eileen was like a daughter to me... She was so kind... What am I going to do without her?’ Frank wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jumper.

Jane comforted Frank, sitting on the edge of the chair with her arm around him. She didn’t know what to say and it was terrible to see a man who’d survived horrific torture and the horrors of war in such emotional pain. A feeling of sadness overwhelmed Jane as she thought about her parents and remembered the pain they suffered when her younger brother had drowned. She had cried at the time but had been too young to really understand what grief was. It was clear that Frank’s only connection with the outside world had been through Eileen Summers, and now that world had ended for him.

Edwards entered and realized that Jane had informed Frank of Eileen’s death. He took Jane to one side.

‘Lawrence is attending Summers’ post-mortem. I spoke to Gibbs and he’s sending a couple of SOCOs down to start printing the flat. I’ll stay with Frank for a bit whilst I wait for them to arrive. You may as well head off to the Samaritans.’ He handed Jane the CID car keys.

‘Thanks.’ Jane looked at her watch. It was quarter to three. She felt physically and emotionally drained, and would have liked to go home and execute the Samaritans warrant the next day.

‘Did you have a look in the living room for an address book?’ Jane asked Edwards, about to hand him Eileen’s flat key.

‘You said not to touch anything.’

‘I’ll have a quick look before I go.’ Jane held onto the key.

Eileen’s living room had also been ransacked, but Jane noticed a phone on a small side table and next to it was an address book. Wearing gloves, she picked it up and flicked through it, but didn’t see the names of Ben Smith or Sybil Hastings. There was also the latest edition of Woman’s Own magazine on the table, which Jane flicked through to see if any phone numbers or names had been scribbled in it. She suddenly came across a Samaritans advert giving a phone number, and Jane could see that the top right corner of the page had been folded over, as if to bookmark it. She wondered why Eileen Summers had done this and whether there could be a connection to Sybil Hastings.