Murder Mile

Chapter Thirteen

Lawrence sat silently looking out of the passenger window of the ‘Jaffa cake’ as Jane parked outside the Golden Lion. He certainly didn’t seem his normal enthusiastic self, chomping at the bit to examine the crime scene and find forensic evidence that could break open the investigation.

‘You were very quiet in the meeting, Paul. Are you OK?’

He didn’t look at her. ‘I’m fine, just really tired. There’s a load of work piling up at the lab, and with everything Moran wants done, it’s just getting bigger and bigger. The danger is that when you get tired, you make mistakes and miss things that might be important.’

Jane smiled. ‘You, miss something? As if! You could sleepwalk your way around a crime scene and still find more than the rest of us put together.’

Lawrence sighed. ‘Believe me, Jane, I’ve made mistakes. I’ve been lucky so far, and I’ve been able to hide or rectify them before anyone else notices.’

Jane thought for a moment. ‘What do you reckon to this Aiden Lang? I mean, if he is gay, as Edwards was inferring, then why would he rape two of the victims?’

‘Maybe he’s bisexual,’ Lawrence replied brusquely.

‘Never thought of that,’ Jane admitted.

Once again Lawrence didn’t look at her, clearly not wanting to discuss Aiden Lang. Jane shrugged and got out of the car. Lawrence followed.

The Golden Lion had many original features dating back to the late seventeen hundreds. The exterior carved oak façade, interior rustic oak floor, and ornate red and gold ceiling all suggested the pub’s former glories and a time when Soho first became known for its theatres and music halls. Now it was busy with lunchtime trade and the customers were predominantly male.

Jane and Lawrence approached the bar and she asked the barman if the landlord was available. He bent down, lifted the wooden trap door to the cellar and shouted, ‘The Old Bill’s here, John — they want to speak to you!’ The conversation in the pub went quiet as everyone looked towards the bar.

The landlord, John Davis, was a portly man in his fifties, with greasy hair and a beer belly. He was dressed in a white open-necked shirt with a sweat-stained collar, black trousers and brown suede shoes. Once they were seated in the corner, out of earshot of the staff and the regulars, Jane briefed him about the murders and showed him a photo of Aiden Lang.

‘Yeah, that’s Aiden. He was working here as a trainee barman up until seven or eight weeks ago. I rent the rooms out on the first floor to the bar staff. Aiden had one, but his replacement’s living in it now — he’s the bloke you spoke to behind the bar.’

‘Did Aiden have blond hair when you last saw him?’ Jane asked.

‘No.’

‘What about a missing upper tooth?’

‘Yeah, on the left side.’

Lawrence picked up his forensic bag and looked at Davis as he stood up. ‘I need to search the room for anything that might help us find Lang, or assist the investigation, so if you could tell me where it is, I’ll get on with it. We’re pressed for time.’

‘It’s on the first floor, second room on the right. The barman’s got the key. The top floor’s all mine if you need to search it.’

‘No, Lang’s room is the only one I need to see.’ Lawrence walked off to get the room key from the barman.

‘So why did Lang stop working here?’

‘I sacked him after I caught him with his fingers in the till. He denied it, but I told him I saw him slip the money in his pocket. He said he was going to pay it back, but I didn’t believe him. I went to get the money out of his pocket and he pushed my hand away, so I thumped him. Truth is, it was me that knocked his tooth out. I didn’t mean to, it was an instinctive thing. An accident, if you see what I mean.’

‘It’s still assault, Mr. Davis. But under the circumstances, I think we can forget about it. So tell me, why did you hire Lang in the first place?’

He laughed. ‘His boyish good looks attracted the gay punters. I gotta tell you, officer, Aiden was a well-spoken lad, who always dressed in fashionable gear. Apart from the thieving incident, he was never any bother. I suspected he might have a drug problem, ’cause his eyes used to look a bit too big for his head sometimes.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe he’d murder anyone, especially a woman, considering it’s a fair bet he was gay. I never saw him get aggressive when any of the male punters grabbed his arse or squeezed his bollocks. Sorry, pardon my language.’

Jane shrugged. ‘I’ve heard worse. Did Lang ever mention if he had any family? A sister, perhaps?’

Davis paused. ‘Not that I recall. I never asked Aiden about his personal life, to be honest.’

‘Was he in a relationship with any of the punters, or anyone you know of?’

‘Don’t know. I did tell him I was against staff having relationships on the premises, but what he did outside the pub was his own business.’

Jane showed him pictures of Sybil Hastings, Eileen Summers and the artist’s impression of the unknown victim. ‘Do you recognize any of these women?’

Davis took his time looking at the pictures before shaking his head. ‘Sorry, I don’t recognize any of them. We don’t get many women in here, and if we do, they’re usually lesbians. Can I show these pictures to my bar staff?’

‘Sure. I’ll nip upstairs and see how my colleague is getting on.’

Davis pointed Jane towards the door that led to the staff accommodation.

‘Find anything of interest?’ Jane asked Lawrence, entering the dingy room.

‘No. I’ve had a good look around. But the barman said he chucked anything out that Lang had left behind.’

‘Are you going to dust for fingerprints?’

‘What for? We know he lived here, so finding his prints won’t prove anything or help us find him.’ Lawrence picked up his bag. ‘Have you finished downstairs?’

‘Just about.’

‘I’ll wait in the car then.’

Jane handed him the car keys, then went to retrieve the victims’ pictures from the landlord, who was standing next to Aiden Lang’s replacement. As Jane approached the barman, he held up the black and white artist’s impression of the unidentified victim.

‘Last Thursday or Friday afternoon, a woman who looked a bit like this came in and asked for Aiden. I told her he’d been sacked for stealing cash from the till. She looked upset and walked out.’

‘Can you tell me anything more about her?’

The barman thought for a second. ‘She had brown hair, shoulder-length — a sort of sandy color and parted in the middle.’

‘How old would you say she was?’

‘I dunno, late twenties, early thirties?’

‘Can you remember what she was wearing?’

‘Bloody hell, I only saw her for a few minutes. Her coat was buttoned up so I didn’t see what was under it.’

‘Was the coat blue?’ Jane asked, realizing the woman’s description was very like the unknown victim’s.

‘It could have been, but I can’t remember now. It’s freezing cold; everyone who comes in here is wearing a coat.’

‘OK, thanks for your help.’ Taking the artist’s impression back, she walked quickly out to the car, got in and turned to Lawrence.

‘The barman gave a description of a woman who came to the pub looking for Aiden Lang. It could’ve been our unidentified victim. She seemed upset when he told her Aiden had been fired for stealing.’

‘Well, that’s something positive to tell Moran,’ Lawrence agreed, but his tone was unenthusiastic. ‘Can you drop me off at the lab, please?’

Paul was silent on the journey back. Jane knew he had been working long hours and could see he looked tired, but was still surprised by his uncharacteristic behavior.

Gibbs and Edwards were on their way to Highgate, one of London’s most affluent suburbs, to see the accountant who had been robbed by Aiden Lang.

‘What’s this accountant’s name again?’ Gibbs asked Edwards.

‘Mr. Poofter?’ Edwards smirked.

Gibbs laughed. ‘That might be why he only gave his work address on his victim statement.’

‘Yeah, I’ll bet he’s married and doesn’t want his wife to know what happened.’

‘Well, he’ll be in for a shock when we turn up at his office unannounced. Best I ask the questions.’

‘I won’t argue with that.’ Edwards snorted.

Arriving at the elegant building, they guessed that Peter Barnes was a wealthy man. Gibbs spoke with the receptionist, who rang Barnes then escorted them to a plush office. Barnes was in his late thirties and well dressed in a three-piece pin-stripe suit, white shirt, silk tie and black brogues. He was six foot tall, well groomed and athletic-looking.

‘Good afternoon, officers,’ he said, holding a hand out to Gibbs. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘We’d just like to ask you a few questions about Aiden Lang, Mr. Barnes, the man who robbed you a few weeks ago in the toilets at Hampstead Heath.’

‘That was some time ago now. But it was a terrifying experience. To be honest, I don’t know what he’d have done to me if the constable hadn’t intervened.’

Gibbs nodded sympathetically. ‘You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, I guess.’

‘Indeed. I won’t be going there again, that’s for sure.’

‘As a matter of interest, what were you doing on Hampstead Heath that day?’ Gibbs asked.

Barnes pushed a hand though his hair. ‘I, uh, was out, um, visiting a client and got caught short on the way back to the office. So I, uh, popped into the toilets on the Heath. If I’d known it was a thief’s hangout, I certainly wouldn’t have gone there,’ he added.

‘It’s not renowned for thieves, actually, but it is a notorious haunt for gay men looking for blow jobs,’ Edwards told Barnes, unable to resist putting some pressure on him.

‘Well, that’s news to me... and another reason I’ll avoid the area,’ Barnes said with a nervous smile.

‘Had you ever met Aiden Lang before at the Heath toilets?’ Gibbs asked.

‘No, I had not, and I resent your insinuation that I was there for anything other than a pee.’

Gibbs held his hands up. ‘I wasn’t insinuating anything, Mr. Barnes.’

Barnes didn’t look convinced. ‘I’m very busy, officers, and have a business to run. I don’t know anything about Aiden Lang — other than that he’s a criminal. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to leave.’

‘Lang is also a triple murder suspect,’ Edwards said evenly.

Barnes now looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

‘How did your wife take it when you told her you were robbed in a toilet on Hampstead Heath?’ Gibbs asked.

‘She was upset... of course.’

‘Best we speak with her then. What’s your home address?’ Edwards asked.

Barnes stiffened. ‘I will not be spoken to like some criminal! Please leave now.’

‘You leave us no choice than to arrest you for perverting the course of justice in a murder investigation, Mr. Barnes. You are not obliged to say anything—’ Gibbs began.

‘All right, all right.’ Barnes’ body seemed to go slack. ‘I’ll tell you what happened, but please don’t say anything to my wife. She’d leave me and take the children.’

‘I’m not interested in your home life, Mr. Barnes, just your association with Aiden Lang,’ Gibbs said.

Barnes looked relieved. ‘I’d never met or seen Aiden Lang before that day. I’d had a working lunch with a client in the Jack Straw’s Castle pub next to the Heath. When I left, Lang approached me in the car park and propositioned me.’

‘Why would he approach you in particular?’ Edwards asked.

‘I don’t know. He might have seen me at the toilets before with another man. We went to the toilets, then... in a cubicle he performed oral sex on me and demanded ten pounds. We’d originally agreed a price of five pounds, so I handed him a fiver. Lang became aggressive and started screaming at me. He grabbed me round the throat and took my wallet. The PC turned up and arrested him. I assume, like me, he didn’t want the officer to know what we’d been doing.’

Gibbs gave him a curt nod. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr. Barnes. If we need to speak to you again, we know where you are.’

Barnes said nothing as they walked out of his office.

‘Where to now?’ Edwards asked as they got in the car.

‘Jack Straw’s Castle. We can have a bit of lunch and a pint, and ask a few questions about Lang in case he’s still a regular.’

Edwards didn’t look very excited about Gibbs’ suggestion, but he knew he had no choice in the matter.

Arriving at the top of Hampstead Heath, it was easy to find Jack Straw’s Castle, an imposing building that stood alone like a sentinel looking down over the greenery. They spoke with the landlord over lunch and showed him pictures of Lang and the victims, but he didn’t recognize any of them and neither did any of his staff. Already uncomfortable with the idea of enjoying a pub lunch whilst on duty, Edwards felt like it was a wasted visit. Gibbs, however, had one more idea up his sleeve. Leaving the pub, he told Edwards to park the car up near the toilets, so they could keep observation for a while and see if Lang, or anyone else who might be cruising for gay sex, turned up.

Edwards cheered up. ‘We’ll be the dog’s bollocks in the office if we get Lang.’ He grinned.

It wasn’t long before they saw a youth hanging around outside the toilets. He was then approached by an older, camp-looking man, who was walking a small black and tan Yorkshire terrier. The two men then went into the toilets.

‘You don’t think the dog’s involved in a threesome, do you?’ Edwards joked.

Gibbs laughed. ‘Let’s have a word and see if either of them know Lang or have seen him in the area.’

Edwards sighed. ‘Can’t we wait until they come out? If we go in there we might get one of them SID things, like gonear.’

Gibbs laughed even harder. ‘It’s gonorrhoea, you pillock, and STD, which is short for Sexually Transmitted Disease, and you can’t catch them off a toilet seat or urinal, so shift your arse.’

When they got to the toilet, the two men were just coming out.

‘That was a quick one,’ Edwards quipped as he held his warrant card up to stop them.

‘Pardon?’ the older man said.

Edwards gave them a stern look. ‘Gross Indecency in a public toilet is a criminal offence under the Sexual Offences Act 1956.’

But the man showed no sign of being intimidated. ‘As a barrister, I’m fully aware of that offence, officer, as is my son here, who’s currently studying law at university.’

Edwards shook his head. ‘Yeah, good try, mate — these toilets are a well-known haunt for you bum bandits.’

The older man looked incensed. ‘We’ve just met up to go for lunch in Jack Straw’s Castle. I hope, for your sake, you’re not implying that we have just committed a sexual act in the toilets?’

Gibbs realized the man was telling the truth and quickly stepped in to defuse the situation. He apologized for any misunderstanding and told the two men they were looking for a murder suspect who frequented the Heath and showed them a picture of Lang, but neither the solicitor nor his son had seen him before. Gibbs thanked them for their assistance and hoped they had an enjoyable lunch.

The barrister nodded at Gibbs, then turned to Edwards.

‘I suggest you don’t jump to blinkered conclusions in future, officer. My son and I could just as easily have mistaken you and your colleague for a gay couple, but we’re not as narrow-minded as you. Good day.’

When the pair were out of earshot, Edwards muttered, ‘Fucking wankers. I reckon that lawyer is a closet poofter like our Mr. Barnes.’

Gibbs shook his head. ‘You need to wind your neck in and change your attitude, Edwards. We could have ended up with a serious complaint there.’

Edwards looked at him in surprise. ‘What? You make remarks about poofters as much as I do.’

‘That’s just having a laugh amongst ourselves. I don’t have a problem with gay men. To be honest, I couldn’t care less if Aiden Lang is a gay rent boy; the fact he’s brutally murdered three women is what makes me detest him.’

‘I need a pee.’ Edwards stomped off to the toilets with a disgruntled look.

Gibbs waited a few seconds before sneaking into the toilets and creeping up behind Edwards, who was muttering to himself about queers. Gibbs reached out and squeezed Edwards’ bottom, making a startled Edwards jump forward, urinating on his trousers and shoes.

As Gibbs burst out laughing, Edwards turned and shouted angrily, ‘That’s not funny, guv. Look at the state of my bloody trousers!’

After dropping Lawrence off at the lab, Jane rang Moran to update him about the visit to the Golden Lion and the woman who’d been looking for Aiden Lang. Moran also had some positive information.

‘We’ve had a call from a woman in Kilburn called Brenda Matthews. She was so distressed it was hard to understand what she was saying, but anyway, the gist of it is she thinks her daughter Helen may be the unidentified victim. Everyone’s busy so I’ll get the local plods to visit her.’

‘I’m on my way to Eileen Summers’ primary school in Kentish Town to see Mrs. Rowlands. Kilburn’s nearby so I could follow up on Brenda Matthews first,’ Jane said, hoping he’d say yes.

‘OK, do that. The address is flat forty, Bronte House on the South Kilburn Estate.’

Jane parked in the street outside Bronte House, an eighteen-story concrete tower block in South Kilburn. The grass area outside the block was littered with rubbish bags spilling out rotting waste due to the bin strike. But Jane knew the rundown appearance of the estate was also due to the area’s drug problem, which brought a lot of crime to the neighborhood.

Brenda Matthews lived on the tenth floor and Jane knew before she even pressed the lift button that it would be out of order — probably not through any mechanical fault, but deliberate damage caused by some of the many young criminals and hooligans who lived on the estate. Jane, like so many of the unfortunate residents, had no choice other than walking up the stairs.

She was breathing heavily when she reached the tenth floor, and thanked her lucky stars Mrs. Matthews didn’t live on the eighteenth. She waited a few moments to get her breath back, then knocked on the flat door. It was instantly opened by a small woman in her mid to late fifties. She wore glasses, had short wavy hair with a few grey streaks, and was casually dressed in a brown shirt, brown and white checked knee-length skirt, with a white apron over it and slippers. But what Jane noticed most was the tremor in hands and the distraught look on her face.

She also immediately saw a strong resemblance to the unknown victim.

‘Brenda Matthews?’ Jane asked as she showed her warrant card and the woman nodded. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Tennison. I’ve come about the call you made to the incident room regarding your daughter, Helen. Can I come in and speak to you?’

‘Are you investigating them murders in Peckham?’

Jane didn’t answer. She could see Mrs. Matthews was unsteady on her feet, so took her gently by the arm and helped her onto the settee. The living room in the small two-bedroom flat was neat and tidy, though sparsely furnished, with just the settee, an armchair, side dresser in one corner and a small dining table pushed up against the wall, along with three wooden chairs. In another corner of the room there was a small cardboard box overflowing with Dinky and Corgi toy cars, some Action Man dolls and accessories.

Jane got Mrs. Matthews a glass of water from the kitchen and handed it to her. Once Brenda had taken a few sips, Jane sat next to her on the settee and noticed an old wedding picture on the wall.

‘Is your husband at work, Brenda?’

‘I’m a widow. He died some years ago in a car accident.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I can imagine this is very distressing for you, Brenda, but can I ask why you called the incident room?’

Mrs. Matthews’ lower lip trembled, and she began to cry. ‘I’d been out shopping for groceries and bumped into my neighbor on the landing. She’d watched the lunchtime news about the murders in Peckham and said a drawing of one of the victim’s looked just like... my Helen.’ She paused to wipe her eyes. ‘I’d seen in Monday’s paper about them two women who was murdered in Peckham, but it didn’t say no names.’ She turned to Jane with a pleading look. ‘I’m scared, so scared... Please tell me it’s not my Helen.’

Jane felt desperate for her, but couldn’t help wondering, if it was Helen, why she hadn’t reported her daughter missing earlier. She decided, rather than prolonging the agony asking painful questions about Helen, to resolve the situation in a more direct way.

‘Do you have a photo of Helen I can look at?’

Mrs. Matthews pointed to a picture on a wooden side dresser. ‘There’s one of her with my grandson Simon at the fun fair. He’d just turned nine.’

Mrs. Matthews began to rock back and forth, clutching her hands together below her chin, as if praying for Helen’s safety. Jane realized the box of toys in the corner must be Simon’s. She got up to look closely at the photograph. It was a poor quality black and white picture, taken from a distance, which made it hard to be certain if the victim was Helen.

‘Please, God, officer, tell me it’s not my Helen,’ Mrs. Matthews sobbed.

Jane could see Brenda was in shock and she really didn’t want to take her to the mortuary to view the body in case it wasn’t her daughter.

She crouched down in front of her. ‘It’s hard to say from that photo. Do you have another picture, a close-up, perhaps?’

Mrs. Matthews pointed to the chest of drawers. ‘There’s some photos in the top drawer. One of them is her and Simon in one of them Woolworths photo booths what takes pictures of you.’

Jane opened the drawer and immediately saw an A4-size school photograph. Sat in the middle of the children was a smiling Eileen Summers. It was the same picture Mrs. Rowlands had shown Jane when she first visited the school. Jane’s heart raced as she rummaged through the drawer. She found the black and white passport-sized photo booth picture of Helen and Simon, who was sitting on his mother’s lap, with his arms around her neck. Jane held it next to the school photo and could see Simon sitting on the floor in front of Miss Summers.

There could be no doubt anymore: Helen Matthews was the killer’s first victim, and there was now a definite connection between her and Eileen Summers. Mrs. Matthews could tell from the somber look on Jane’s face that her worst fears were true.

‘The dead girl’s my Helen, isn’t it?’

Jane nodded, unable to find any consoling words.

Mrs. Matthews began rocking back and forth on the settee, holding her arms tightly around herself. She realized that Brenda had no idea Eileen Summers had been murdered, and thought it best not to tell her yet.

Jane sat down next to her on the settee and held her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, but I will need you to formally identify Helen at the mortuary. I will be there with you, but we don’t have to do it right away. My main concern at this moment is obviously for you and Simon. Is he at school just now?’

Helen nodded as she continued to rock back and forwards, her eyes still filled with tears.

‘We will also need to notify Simon’s father.’

Mrs. Matthews shook her head. ‘Helen was a single mother and never told anyone who Simon’s father was, not even Simon. Oh dear God, how am I going to tell him his mother’s dead? I need to see Simon. Can we go to his school?’ Brenda pleaded.

‘Yes, of course. Brenda, I know you are very upset right now, but I just need to ask you a few important questions about Helen before we go and see Simon. Is that OK?’

Brenda nodded.

‘I’ll also need to search her bedroom.’

‘Helen doesn’t live here; she has a place of her own.’

‘Whereabouts?’

‘Number four Willbury House, on the Hilldrop estate. It’s near Tufnell Park tube station.’

Jane jotted down the address, realizing that answering questions was somehow helping Mrs. Matthews to keep from completely collapsing. ‘I don’t mean to pry, Brenda, but does Simon live with you?’

‘Sometimes. But it’s just so Helen can go out and work. She’s a cleaner, you see. It’s hard for her to earn money when Simon’s not at school. During the school holidays he spends most of the time with me. He’s been with me over the half term.’

Jane was a little confused about the arrangements concerning Simon, as she knew he must have returned to school on the Monday just gone.

‘I take it you made the arrangements about Simon before the half term started?’

‘Yes and no. We’d spoken about it beforehand but then Helen came here last Friday afternoon to see Simon.’

‘What time was that?’

‘About three thirty, I think. Helen gave me some money for looking after Simon. She said she’d been busy and doing lots of extra hours cleaning.’

‘Are you looking after Simon this week as well?’

‘Well, I didn’t think so, but then again I wasn’t sure, cos I thought Helen said she’d collect him from me on the Monday evening after school. When she didn’t, I thought maybe Helen said she’d pick him up on the Tuesday from mine after school, but again she didn’t. I was a bit annoyed with her, to be honest, and neither of us has a phone, so after I dropped Simon at school this morning, I went to her flat to see what she was playing at, but she wasn’t there.’ Mrs. Matthews started to cry again at the realization her daughter was already dead when she went to the flat.

‘Did you speak with any of the neighbors?’ Jane asked, realizing Mrs. Matthews wouldn’t have got an answer at Helen’s flat.

‘No. I thought she might have been at work. I put a nasty note through the letter box about her responsibilities as a mother.’ The memory sent her into a fit of sobs.

Jane rubbed her arm. ‘It’s not your fault, Brenda. You weren’t to know what had happened to Helen, and she never saw the note.’

There was more that Jane wanted to ask Mrs. Matthews about her daughter, especially about how she seemed when she came to her flat last Friday, which must have been shortly before she was murdered. But she realized talking about Helen’s last known movements would simply be too upsetting. She would speak with her in more depth later. Instead, she told Mrs. Matthews that they would go to the school, see Simon and speak with Mrs. Rowlands, the headmistress. The prospect of seeing Simon seemed to calm her down, and Jane was able to help her down the stairs and into the car, before driving the short distance to the school, the dark clouds overhead making the silent journey feel even more oppressive.

Twenty minutes later, Brenda Matthews sat in numbed silence in the headmistress’ office as Jane took Mrs. Rowlands to one side and told her that Helen Matthews had also been murdered.

Mrs. Rowlands was clearly shocked, but kept her composure for Mrs. Matthews’ sake. ‘Is there no end to this madness? You do have a hard job, Sergeant Tennison. I don’t know how you cope with so much death and misery.’

‘I sometimes wonder myself, Mrs. Rowlands,’ Jane admitted. ‘But I have a job to do and that’s what keeps me going, I suppose.’

Mrs. Rowlands smiled sadly. ‘Your DCI Moran rang me this morning. He told me there would be a press release at lunchtime, naming Eileen as one of the victims. I was going to hold an assembly with the teachers, children and parents at the end of class today and inform them.’

‘Mrs. Matthews doesn’t know about Eileen yet. I couldn’t tell her earlier due to the state she was in. She’d like to see her grandson and then, if she’s up to it, I’ll take her to formally identify Helen’s body. I asked her on the way here if there was anyone who could look after Simon, but she doesn’t appear to have any other family in London. Do you have a contact number for the local social services so I can arrange—?’

‘I am happy to look after Simon,’ Mrs. Rowlands interjected. ‘If Brenda agrees, that is, and wants to view Helen’s body. He knows me, so he’ll feel safe. I can take him home, and you and Brenda can collect him later. And if they both need a room for the night then I’ve plenty of space.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ Jane said gratefully.

‘It’s the least I can do under the circumstances. Are you going to tell Simon about his mother’s death now or later?’

Jane thought for a moment. ‘Now is probably best. I’m not sure if Mrs. Matthews is up to it, but I best ask her if she wants to.’ Jane walked over to Mrs. Matthews. ‘Would you like to tell Simon about his mother? or I can, if you want?’

Mrs. Matthews looked pale as she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t do it... Please could you tell him for me?’

‘Of course.’ It was what she had expected Brenda to say. But Mrs. Rowlands sensed Jane was anxious and quietly asked if she was OK.

‘Yes, it’s just a new situation for me. I’ve informed adults about the loss of a loved one many times during my career, but never a child.’

‘I can do it if you like, officer. I have had previous experience in these types of situations.’

‘Thank you. But as Brenda has asked me to, I feel I should.’

Mrs. Rowlands smiled. ‘You’ll be fine. The best way is to be caring and use words that are simple and direct. I’ll go and get Simon.’

Jane nervously rehearsed in her mind what she was going to say as she waited for Mrs. Rowlands to return with Simon. In her desire to get it right with Simon, she had forgotten about how traumatic it would be for his grandmother, so sat in the chair next to her.

‘I know you must be dreading this, Brenda, but we all need to be strong for Simon. I’m not going to tell him anything about what happened to his mum, just that she’s passed away.’

Mrs. Matthews nodded, and Jane told her about Mrs. Rowlands’ offer of a room for the night and to look after Simon if they went to the mortuary.

Just then Simon came into the room, with Mrs. Rowlands holding his hand. The small blond-haired boy looked a picture of happiness as he shouted out: ‘Nana’ with a big smile that revealed his braces. He bounded over to his grandmother and gave her a big hug. As Mrs. Matthews hugged him back she couldn’t control her emotions and started to cry.

‘Why are you crying, Nana?’ Simon asked, his smile turning to a curious frown.

Mrs. Matthews pointed a trembling finger at Jane. ‘This is Jane, Simon. She’s a police lady and wants to speak to you about Mummy.’

‘Is Mummy in trouble?’ he asked nervously, with a noticeable lisp.

Jane crouched down to his height, smiled and put her hand out. ‘Mummy’s not in trouble, Simon.’

Simon stepped back from Jane and looked at his grandma.

‘Is Mummy in trouble because of me, Nana?’ he asked, his bottom lip quivering.

Mrs. Matthews forced a smile. ‘It’s OK, Simon. Jane is a nice lady and has been very kind to Nana.’

Simon looked at Jane, who held her hand out again, and this time he took hold of it.

‘Nana’s crying because something’s happened that’s made us all sad.’ Jane paused to take a deep breath.

‘Is Mummy sad because I shouted at her?’ Simon asked as a tear rolled slowly down his cheek.

Jane squeezed his hand, struggling not to cry herself. ‘No, Simon, you’ve done nothing wrong and Mummy loves you very much. We’re sad because Mummy had an accident and has gone to heaven.’

Simon looked confused and didn’t reply. Jane wondered if he’d understood what she’d said.

After a few moments, he said, ‘Only dead people go to heaven. Is my mummy dead?’

‘Yes, Simon, and she’s with God now, who will be looking after her,’ Jane replied, her voice choking.

He looked quizzical. ‘Why did Mummy die?’

Mrs. Rowlands crouched down beside Jane. ‘Jane doesn’t know yet, Simon, but although Mummy’s gone to heaven, she will always be here in your heart.’ She gently touched his chest with her hand before continuing. ‘And Nana will look after you now, just like Mummy did.’

Simon turned and looked at Mrs. Matthews, who stepped forward and hugged her grandson, whilst struggling to control her emotions.

‘Nana has to go with Jane for a while,’ she said, squeezing Simon tightly.

A panicked look came into Simon’s eyes. ‘Where are you going, Nana?’

‘Mrs. Rowlands is going to look after you and I’ll see you later. OK, sweetheart?’

Simon clung to his grandmother. ‘I want to come with you, Nana,’ he cried.

‘We can do the viewing tomorrow,’ Jane said.

‘I’d rather do it now, thank you,’ Mrs. Matthews insisted, trying to gently detach herself from the weeping Simon, who wouldn’t let go.

Mrs. Rowlands knelt beside him. ‘You can come and see my house, Simon, and have whatever you want for your supper. Do you like ice cream?’

Simon turned, looked at Mrs. Rowlands and nodded. ‘Do you have chocolate flavor?’

Jane made a quick phone call to the mortuary before leaving the school, and told the coroner’s officer she was bringing Brenda Matthews over to identify the unknown victim, who was possibly her daughter.

Once in the car, she decided to broach the subject of Eileen Summers’ murder.

‘I know it’s been a harrowing day for you so far, but I’ve some other sad news I have to tell you.’

Mrs. Matthews looked dejected as she stared out the car window. ‘What can be worse than my daughter’s death?’ she muttered.

‘There have been three murders so far, Brenda — not two, like you thought. The most recent happened on Monday evening, but the body wasn’t discovered until Tuesday morning in a hostel in East Dulwich.’

Brenda slowly turned and looked at Jane. ‘Who was she?’

Jane was saddened that she assumed it was another woman. ‘Simon’s teacher, Eileen Summers.’

Brenda’s breathing became shallow. ‘Oh God, no... Not her as well. Simon adored Miss Summers.’

‘Mrs. Rowlands had reported her missing. She didn’t want to worry the children so said she was ill. Obviously, Helen and Eileen are connected through the school.’

‘Who’s the other victim?’

‘A woman called Sybil Hastings. Does the name mean anything to you?’

Brenda shook her head.

‘Did Helen and Eileen socialize together?’ Jane asked.

‘I don’t know... they might have. Helen rarely went out, and if she did I’d usually look after Simon for her.’ Fresh tears came as she spoke about her daughter.

There was so much more Jane wanted to ask. What was the connection among the three women? What dark secret had led to their deaths? But for now all that would have to wait.