Murder Mile

Chapter Twelve

Jane woke up early. Despite the fact that she hadn’t had much sleep, she felt buoyant. She phoned the lab to speak to DS Lawrence and was told he’d had a very late night and wasn’t expected in until 9 a.m. Jane then phoned the station and told the duty sergeant she would be in a bit later as she had to see DS Lawrence at the Met lab. As she drove to Lambeth, she looked forward to showing him what she’d found.

After parking her car in the underground car park, she went to Lawrence’s office on the first floor, where he was writing up a report.

‘Morning, Jane. Always a pleasure to see you. Have you heard? There’s been a big development overnight on the investigation.’

‘No, what’s happened?’ she asked eagerly.

Lawrence smiled and got up from his desk. ‘Take a seat while I put the kettle on and I’ll fill you in.’

He shook the kettle to check the water level then switched it on.

‘What brings you to the lab? Something for us to look at?’ he asked, sitting back down.

‘Yes, but I want to hear about the big development first.’

‘The fingerprint lab worked all night developing and examining the prints we lifted at the hostel murder scene and Eileen Summers’ flat. Bad news is they didn’t find any trace of the unknown victim, or Mrs. Hastings’ fingerprints. The guys were red-eyed after doing countless side-by-side comparisons against criminal records. Good news is they found a match to prints on Eileen Summers’ jewelry box and bedroom drawers, which also matched a print on the wardrobe door of Ben Smith’s hostel room.’ Paul put a spoonful of coffee in two cups. ‘I’ve got no milk — is Coffee-Mate OK?’

‘Black, no sugar is fine for me. I thought Gibbs ran a check on Smith’s details at the CRO and it was negative?’

‘Smith is an alias.’ Lawrence handed Jane a mugshot and criminal record sheet, with the name ‘Aiden Lang’ on it. ‘Ben Smith was not referred to the hostel by social services. Turns out the hostel manager was letting the room illegally and pocketing the cash.’

As Lawrence made the coffee, Jane looked at the mugshot of Aiden Lang. He only looked about seventeen, with a fresh complexion and high cheekbones.

‘His hair is light brown, not blond,’ Jane commented.

‘That mugshot was taken a few months ago. Lang is currently wanted on warrant for non-appearance at Hampstead Magistrates Court on assault and theft charges, so he probably used the alias and dyed his hair to avoid arrest. He also has previous convictions for possession of cannabis and taking a motor vehicle.’ Lawrence handed Jane her coffee.

‘He looks so young. Not at all like I imagined him,’ she remarked.

‘Well, I’ve learnt that murderers come in all shapes and sizes, Jane. What’s really sickening is the way he raped those two young women as he strangled them to death.’

Jane nodded. ‘He’s a monster, and he’ll undoubtedly keep on killing until he’s caught.’

‘I’ve told Moran about Lang and the fingerprints. He’s arranged a press conference at Scotland Yard, in the lecture theatre at midday. He wants everyone on the team there for an eleven a.m. meeting in the briefing room beforehand, so he can be brought up to speed with everything before facing the press.’

‘I think Eileen Summers might have phoned the Samaritans and Sybil Hastings dealt with the call on the Thursday evening before she was killed on the Friday.’ Jane picked up her briefcase and took out the call log, which was still protected by the two sheets of cardboard.

She briefed Lawrence on her visit to the Samaritans in Soho, and her conversation with Alice Hodges. She then handed Lawrence the call sheet.

‘The details of this call were written by Alice. Mrs. Hastings wrote something on the previous call sheet, which she didn’t file, for some reason. Obviously I’m hoping the indented writing from Mrs. Hastings’ notes might reveal some details of the caller, or maybe even the suspect. During the conversation there was also mention of a boy receiving treatment somewhere. I looked at the call sheet in the dark using my house torch — there’s something there, but I couldn’t make it out. Can you do a proper examination on it for me, Paul?’

‘Well done for preserving it between the cardboard, but it’ll have to go in the “awaits” pile for now, Jane. I’m up to my eyeballs with forensic work on the case. I still need to compare Mrs. Hastings’ tweed suit with the fibers on the bodies and from the Allegro. And we both need to be at the Yard for eleven.’

Jane pursed her lips and gave him a ‘please, just for me’ look.

Lawrence laughed. ‘You’re very hard to resist, Tennison. There’s a new bit of equipment called the Electrostatic Detection Apparatus — ESDA for short. It was invented recently at the London College of Printing. At present, we’re the only force that’s got it on trial. It’s much better than using a light source, and brings up indented handwriting that’s invisible to the human eye.’

Jane finished her coffee and followed Lawrence into a room with ‘Questioned Documents & Handwriting’ on the door. In the corner was a blue steel box, about the size of a briefcase, marked ESDA. On the top was a bronze plate covered with pin-size holes and there was a rectangular metal wand attached to the side. Lawrence placed the Samaritans call log, written by Alice, onto the brass plate, then stretched a piece of cling film over the document. He turned on the ESDA. It began to whirr then vibrate, and Jane watched as the air was sucked through the pinholes, pulling the document and cling film firmly down on the bronze plate.

Lawrence picked up the wand attachment and told Jane to stand back as he was about to run a few thousand volts of static electricity over the document. Jane took two big steps back as Lawrence waved the wand across it. He lifted the brass plate at a 30-degree angle and gently poured black toner from a jar over the cling film. He explained how the toner would bring up the unseen indented areas of the document onto the cling film. He replaced the wand and tapped the plate, removing the remnants of the toner. Jane was transfixed as darker traces showing the indented impressions slowly appeared on the cling film against the grey background, and the indented writing began to reveal itself. She could identify different styles of handwriting, some on top of each other, and it was hard to separate them.

Lawrence shrugged. ‘That’s one of the problems: bloody machine is so sensitive it can pick up three or four layers of indented writing, which actually makes it difficult and time-consuming to find what you’re looking for.’ Lawrence then made the indented images permanent by placing clear sticky-backed plastic over the toner, thus producing a fixed, transparent image. He then made a second copy and handed it to Jane for the case file back at the station.

‘The documents section will need some samples of Mrs. Hastings’ handwriting, as well as Alice’s, to help narrow down who wrote what.’

‘I’ve got other call logs that Mrs. Hastings and Alice filled out. Will they do?’

Paul nodded. Jane opened her briefcase and handed him a folder.

‘I’ll get a handwriting expert to look at them and the indented writing. It could be two or three days before they get around to it as they’re examining documents in an IRA case for the Bomb Squad, whose work always takes precedence over everything else.’

‘Thanks, Paul.’

‘Right, it’s just after ten, so we’d better make our way over to the Yard for the press conference. We can grab a sandwich and coffee in the canteen, if you want.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Jane said as she put the copy of the indented writing in her briefcase.

Arriving at Scotland Yard, they went straight to the briefing room, where Gibbs and the rest of the murder team were waiting. Moran didn’t look happy.

‘Where have you been, Tennison? I expect you to be in the office by nine a.m. at the latest.’

‘I spoke to the duty sergeant and explained that I had to go to the lab. I thought he’d have told you.’

‘Well, he didn’t. I need to know what you’re doing so that I can be kept up to speed with developments,’ Moran said tersely.

Gibbs was quick to defend Jane. ‘In fairness, Jane did phone me several times with updates yesterday, as you were out the office. Her findings were in the report I left on your desk.’

Moran looked slightly embarrassed. He clearly hadn’t had time to read Gibbs’ report.

‘Well, we’re all very busy, but in future a phone call would be appreciated, Tennison. Is there anything you haven’t told DI Gibbs that I need to know about?’

Jane quickly updated him, focusing on the indented writing and the phone call Eileen Summers had taken at school, from a man calling himself Mr. Smith.

Moran nodded. ‘Good work. I appreciate the labs document section are busy with the Bomb Squad stuff, but keep chasing them up for a result. Right, moving on... Just so you all know, the press are all over the fact that three murders have taken place in Peckham.’ Moran picked up a newspaper from the desk and held it up.

‘As you can see, the headlines in the tabloids are “Peckham’s Murder Mile” and “Peckham Rye Killer Strikes Again.” The press is inferring all three murders are linked and are the work of the same killer. It’s also been leaked that Mrs. Hastings’ body was discovered by her son.’

‘Well, that’s obviously come from that prick Andrew Hastings,’ Gibbs interjected.

Moran ignored him. ‘The press is calling us inept and clueless. The Commissioner is livid and wants DCS Blake and me to explain the complexities of the investigation to the press and release the fact we now have Aiden Lang as a suspect, with forensic evidence to suggest he’s responsible for all three murders.’

Edwards and another officer entered the room.

‘Sorry we’re late, sir,’ he said sheepishly.

‘Where have you two been?’ Moran bellowed.

‘Making enquiries at Hampstead Police Station about Aiden Lang’s arrest for assault and theft — just as you instructed us to do first thing this morning, sir,’ Edwards replied.

Moran looked embarrassed again. ‘Uh, yes, sorry, Edwards. Things have been a bit hectic this morning. What’ve you got for us?’

Jane noted that she hadn’t got an apology from Moran for his brusque manner.

Edwards flicked open his notebook. ‘We spoke with the uniform officer who last arrested Aiden Lang. The circumstances were...’ Edwards paused to look at his notes. ‘The officer was walking past the public toilet block at Hampstead Heath at about two p.m., when he heard a commotion in the men’s. He entered the block and found Lang assaulting the victim — an accountant in his early thirties. The PC broke up the fight, and the accountant said Lang had attacked him and stolen his wallet. The wallet was in Lang’s possession and he was duly nicked.’

‘Did Lang admit the offences under interview?’ Moran asked.

‘Yep. His excuse for committing the offence was because he was homeless and needed money.’

‘What address did he give as his last residence for the charge sheet?’ Moran asked.

Edwards turned a page in his notebook. ‘The Golden Lion pub in Soho. Said he worked there and lived in a small room above it. He didn’t get on with the landlord so left and had been living rough in the West End. He also said he had a married sister who lived in south London, but he didn’t get on with her husband, so he didn’t visit her.’

Gibbs nodded. ‘That doesn’t mean he doesn’t keep in contact with her. Find out who she is and where she lives, Edwards.’

‘The Samaritans branch Mrs. Hastings worked at is in Soho,’ Jane said.

‘The Golden Lion is a gay boys’ pub in Dean Street, just off Shaftesbury Avenue,’ Edwards added.

Gibbs opened his eyes wide in mock surprise. ‘Didn’t take you for a shirt-lifter, Edwards!’

Edwards grinned. ‘Takes one to know one, guv. Funny thing is, the officer who arrested Lang said the area on Hampstead Heath where the incident happened is commonly known as “Gobblers Gulch,” where men go cottaging and looking for a blow job in the men’s toilets.’

‘What’s “cottaging”?’ a young detective asked.

Edwards laughed. ‘It’s a term used when referring to anonymous sex between poofters in a public toilet, or where they’re cruising for someone to have sex with. Some toilets have glory holes they stick their todgers through...’

‘Shut up, Edwards, and stop behaving like a school kid,’ Jane said sharply, annoyed at the way he was treating the subject as a joke.

‘Anything else to add, Edwards?’ Moran asked.

Edwards adopted a more serious tone. ‘The arresting PC suspected there was more behind the incident, but he had no evidence to prove it. Lang was charged and appeared at the local magistrates court the next day, where he pleaded guilty and was released on bail pending a probation service report by social services. He obviously did a runner as he failed to reappear at court for sentencing.’

Moran thought for a moment. ‘Tennison and Lawrence, I want you two to go to the Golden Lion and speak to the landlord and staff. And do a thorough search of the room Lang stayed in there.’

Lawrence frowned. ‘Can I send a local SOCO to meet Tennison there? I’ve got a huge backlog of stuff to deal with at the lab.’

Moran shook his head. ‘Sorry, Paul, you’ve been to all the crime scenes and the post-mortems. I value your experience and I know I can trust you not to miss anything of forensic value.’

Lawrence didn’t look happy, but knew he couldn’t argue.

Moran continued. ‘I agree with the arresting PC. Something doesn’t add up about Lang’s arrest in the toilets. Gibbs, I want you and Edwards to visit the accountant who was robbed by Lang. It’s possible they might have met for sex and are old acquaintances. Find out if there’s more behind the incident.’

‘Why do I always get the shitty jobs?’ Edwards muttered under his breath.

Moran glared at him. ‘You got a problem, Edwards? And before you answer, I’m not in the mood for any more of your frivolous remarks.’

Edwards looked chastened. ‘I just remembered something, sir. Although Lang’s mugshot doesn’t show it because his mouth’s closed, the arresting officer said he had an upper front tooth missing on the left side of his mouth. Believe it or not, Lang told the officer it was knocked out when someone robbed him.’

Moran looked happier. ‘Good, that should help with identifying him.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I want Lang traced and arrested within the next forty-eight hours. All of you need to keep up the hard work. We can’t rest until he’s found. There must be a connection between our three victims and Lang, and finding it will lead us to him. I don’t believe any of the murders are random, so it’s more likely the three women were lured to their deaths, especially as neither Summers nor Hastings were from Peckham. Likewise, I suspect our unknown victim isn’t either.’

Jane spoke up. ‘The Kentish Town primary school that Eileen Summers taught at, and her home address in Chalk Farm, are not far from Hampstead Heath, where Lang was arrested.’

‘Good point. Revisit Eileen Summers’ school and see if Lang was ever a pupil there.’

‘But Eileen is only twenty-three, so she couldn’t have been a teacher when he was at primary school,’ Jane argued.

‘Don’t question, Tennison, just do as I ask. It may be that Lang is an ex-pupil with a grudge against the school and he decided to take it out on one of the teachers. I know there’s more questions than answers right now, and the press are about to give me a grilling, so let’s find Lang before he kills again. Or we might all find ourselves back in uniform.’

Jane bit her tongue as Moran left the room. The impending press conference had clearly made him edgy.

‘Well, if he’s a gay boy, he shouldn’t be hard to break,’ Gibbs remarked.

‘He might just squeal like a piggy... Weee... Weee.’ Edwards grinned, adopting a hillbilly accent in imitation of the film Deliverance.

Some of the officers laughed as everyone began to leave the room.

‘Now that was a great film.’ Gibbs laughed.

‘Yeah, remember that bit where Burt Reynolds shot the pervert hillbilly with a bow and arrow, then buried him?’ Edwards added.

Jane noticed Lawrence shaking his head sadly at his colleagues’ childish and narrow-minded behavior.

As Jane left the team meeting, she saw Moran speaking to Blake in the corridor. She would have liked to have gone into the press conference, but Moran had made it clear he wanted them out on the streets doing everything they could to find Aiden Lang.

Blake lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and let out two streams of smoke through his nostrils. ‘Have Summers’ parents given us the OK to release their daughter’s name to the press?’

‘Yes. They’re coming down today to do an official ID on the body,’ Moran replied.

‘I think it’s best you take the lead at the press conference, Nick. I don’t want to steal your limelight. Besides, you know a lot more about the case than I do, so you’re also in a better position to fend off any dodgy questions.’

Moran frowned. ‘I can take the flak, but if they start to criticize my detectives, then I expect you to step in and defend them. They’ve hardly slept and haven’t stopped grafting since day one.’

‘Of course I’ll support them. I’m also confident you’ll have Lang arrested and charged by tomorrow night. It will be a big deal, and could lead to calls for your promotion to detective superintendent, which I of course will recommend.’ Blake stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the hallway table. ‘I’ll do the introductions, then hand over to you.’

As he led the way to the conference room, Moran resisted the urge to kick Blake up the backside for his condescending manner. Moran wondered how he’d feel if he told the press the investigation had initially been hindered by Blake and Andrew Hastings’ lies.

As Blake and Moran entered the conference room, the high-pitched whine of camera flashes charging up was followed by a strobe of pulsating light as the flashes popped, creating a slow-motion effect as the two officers walked over to the podium. Blake introduced himself as the senior officer overseeing the investigation and Moran as the lead investigator, then made a brief statement.

‘I am pleased to tell you that DCI Moran has identified a single male suspect in all three murders. He will give further details after he has briefed you on the current state of the investigation and appealed for the public’s assistance.’

For a moment the room went silent. This was information the press were not expecting. It was also something Moran had intended to keep to the end. He nodded to one of his detectives at the back of the room, who was operating a slide projector between two television cameras.

Moran pointed to the projection screen behind him. Photographs of Eileen Summers and Sybil Hastings, and an artist’s impression of the unidentified victim, came up on the screen. Moran gave a detailed description of the unknown victim, followed by the others: who they were, where their bodies were found, and brief details of how they had been murdered. He did not reveal that a similar rope had been used to strangle two of the victims.

Blake suddenly stepped forward, as if wanting to show his involvement.

‘To date we have had no one reported missing across the country who matches the unidentified victim’s description. I would appeal to anyone who thinks they might know her to get in contact with the Peckham incident room.’

‘Do you have any connection between the three victims?’ a member of the press shouted out.

Blake didn’t answer, looking at Moran.

‘Not at present. However—’

‘How strong is the evidence against your suspect?’ Moran was interrupted as the cameras started to flash again and a barrage of questions were shouted out.

‘One at a time, please... One at a time.’ Blake raised his voice and pointed to a journalist.

‘More to the point, how many more women will be killed before you arrest him?’

Moran tried to remain calm. ‘I am not prepared to go into the exact details, but there are forensic links between all three murders, pointing to our prime suspect: this man.’ Moran paused as the mugshot of Aiden Lang appeared on the screen, then gave his age and physical description, including his missing tooth and the fact that his hair was believed to be currently dyed blond, and added that he had used the alias Ben Smith. As Moran was about to appeal for the public’s assistance in finding him, Blake stepped forward again.

‘Obviously someone out there knows Lang and we also believe he has a sister who lives in South London. I would appeal to her, or anyone who knows his whereabouts, to contact DCI Moran’s incident room. If you see him, do not approach him as he is obviously very dangerous and prone to violence.’

‘What else are you doing to trace Lang?’ a newspaperman asked.

Blake was quick to answer. ‘Everything we can, of course. All-ports warnings have been sent out and every force in the country has been issued with his photo — which we’re also distributing nationally, in the press and on television.’

‘In less than a week three murders have been committed within a mile of each other. What makes you think you’ll find him now, DCS Blake?’ someone else piped up.

‘I have every confidence that, with the help of the public, DCI Moran will arrest Lang before he commits another murder.’

Some of the press laughed out loud, and one shouted out, ‘But you haven’t a clue where Lang is!’

Moran decided he’d had enough and cut Blake off before he could answer the question.

‘We only identified Lang yesterday after a fingerprint analysis revealed he was using the name Ben Smith. I have a dedicated team of officers working day and night to find Lang, and we need the press to help us, not hinder us by accusations of incompetence. It’s not good for the victims’ families or the morale of the investigating officers. Let me assure you my team will arrest Lang and bring him before the courts. Every one of them is determined to solve these horrific murders and give the grieving families and friends the answers they need.’ Moran paused as he picked up his paperwork. ‘I’m sure DCS Blake would be happy to answer any further questions. I need to get back to my investigation and support my officers in their work.’

There was a buzz of conversation in the room as the journalists looked at one another. Moran seized the moment to exit the room as a flurry of further questions were directed at Blake, delighted to be leaving him in the proverbial ‘shit.’