Murder Mile

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jane arrived at work at eight o’clock on a freezing Monday morning and went straight to the collator’s office on the ground floor. Every police station had a collator, and at Peckham it was PC Burt Oliver, a rotund officer with a bald head. He had worked there for nearly twenty-five years, and there wasn’t much he didn’t know about the criminal underworld. He received and collated information about criminals in the division and dispersed intelligence to the beat officers about criminal trends and people suspected of particular crimes. His accumulated knowledge was invaluable, and he was highly respected by everyone in the station. He also happened to be a genuinely nice man who had time for everyone, male or female.

‘What can I do for you, Sergeant Tennison?’ He smiled as Jane entered his office.

‘It’s about the dismembered body in Peckham Rye Park.’

‘Yeah, I heard about the flayed head. Must have been a real sickener for the officer who found it.’

Jane nodded, but decided not to tell Burt it had been her. She was eager to get to the point of her visit. ‘Whoever skinned the head also cut out the tongue. DCS Blake is convinced it’s a gangland murder. He thinks the tongue was removed because the victim was a grass.’

Burt laughed. ‘That’s more the mafia’s style, not your South London mobsters.’

‘Even so, I was wondering if you knew of any local gangs who’re at war with each other?’

‘I haven’t heard anything on the grapevine recently. Mind you, Eddie Harrison might be trying to reclaim his manor.’

‘Eddie Harrison? I’ve not heard of him.’

‘That’s probably because you’ve always worked north of the big divide,’ Burt laughed.

Jane knew he was right. The Met was a sprawling force, covering over six hundred square miles of London, and it was hard to keep tabs on everything that was going on. She’d only ever worked at Hackney and Bow Street, in the West End, and felt she hardly knew what went on south of the river since she’d just arrived in Peckham.

Burt continued. ‘Eddie and his brother Charlie are serious South London gangsters. They pretty much ruled South London in the sixties when they were known as the “torture gang.” Charlie got sentenced to fifteen years. He’s still inside, but Eddie was released only recently after an eight-year stretch. While they were inside, some other villains took over their patch, and did very nicely out of it.’

‘What did the Harrisons do?’ Jane asked.

‘They pulled rivals’ teeth out with pliers, cut off toes and fingers with bolt cutters, nailed people to the floor. Basically they got pleasure from other people’s pain.’

‘No, I meant how did they make their money?’

‘Oh, fraud and extortion mostly.’

‘Do you think the dismemberment could be the work of Eddie Harrison or one of his henchmen?’

‘It’s possible. But like I said, I’ve not heard anything. Between you and me, there’s a guy who used to work for them as an enforcer called The Clown. There’s a sort of mutual respect between the two of us. I can have a word with him, see if he’s heard anything.’

‘That’s a strange nickname for a villain,’ Jane remarked.

Burt chuckled. ‘He liked making people smile with a razor. He’d cut their mouth open from ear to ear, so it looked like a clown’s smile.’ Burt drew a finger across his face to illustrate what he meant.

Jane winced. ‘If he’s capable of that, then maybe he skinned the head and cut out the tongue.’

‘I doubt it. He’s been in a wheelchair since a rival gang threw him off a roof five years ago. He still drinks in the villains’ pubs and keeps his ear to the ground, though. More to the point, in my experience, people like the Harrisons wouldn’t skin the head or remove the tongue of a grass. They’d want their rivals to know exactly who it was.’

‘Why?’ Jane asked.

‘Because it sends out a message not to mess with them.’

‘Thanks, Burt. As ever, you’ve been a fount of wisdom.’

Jane went up to the CID office, thinking about what Burt had told her. The clerk handed her a large brown envelope with her name on it from Peckham Social Services. She also told Jane that Moran wanted a team meeting at 10 a.m.

Opening the envelope, Jane found it contained two reports. One was from Mary Williams, detailing her interview with Simon Matthews, and the other was from the pediatrician. Jane started to scan Mary Williams’ report but quickly realized it didn’t contain anything she hadn’t already discussed with her. Jane sighed as she put the report back in the envelope and wrote on the front: Social Services Reports — Simon Matthews — No Further Action.

Jane was about to give the CID clerk the envelope, so it could be filed with the case papers, when she recalled something Lawrence had said at dinner on Saturday night. He had called her tenacious, and advised her to go over everything connected to Simmonds with a fine-tooth comb. Despite Moran’s insistence that they focus on Lang, something about Simmonds was nagging at her. Jane also knew she lacked experience in child abuse cases, so looking at the types of questions Simon was asked would also be beneficial.

She removed the report from the envelope and read it again. What stood out this time was the part where Simon said his mum was angry because he told her he didn’t like the dentist touching him. Jane remembered Mrs. Williams telling her a listener hears what they want to hear if they are already convinced something bad has happened. It struck Jane that even if Helen Matthews had dismissed Eileen Summers’ fears about Simon being abused, it might still have created doubt in her mind. In turn, it was possible that the doubt became a conviction when Simon told his mother he didn’t like the dentist touching him. Jane flicked through her notebook. Brenda Matthews had said Helen could be impulsive and had confronted the bullies who tormented him. Jane wondered: was it possible that a volatile Helen went to Peckham that Friday to confront Simmonds?

Jane flicked through her notebook to the time she first met Agnes. She’d asked her if she knew where Mrs. Hastings was going when she left the flat on the Friday afternoon. Agnes said Mrs. Hastings was going to see a friend from the golf club. Jane now knew that Simmonds wasn’t just Sybil Hastings’ dentist, but she also played golf with him — so he could surely be considered a friend. It was reasonable to assume that Sybil Hastings would have known Simmonds worked in Peckham on a Friday. Even more significant was the fact both Mrs. Hastings and Helen Matthews were murdered on the same Friday, around the same time, and their bodies were found in Peckham a short distance from each other.

Then a possibility struck her. Jane picked up her desk phone and rang the Kentish Town Police Station communications room.

‘It’s WDS Tennison from Peckham. I’m on the Helen Matthews murder investigation. I wonder, could you do me a favor and radio the uniform PCs who’re guarding Brenda Matthews and her grandson Simon? Mrs. Matthews hasn’t got a phone and I need to know where Simon had his braces fitted and where the check-ups were done.’

‘No problem, Sarge. Hang on and I’ll radio the officers.’

Jane waited anxiously for the next two minutes before the comms officer came back on the phone.

‘Mrs. Matthews thought it was at Harley Street. Simon didn’t know exactly where it was. He said his mum took him there on the underground, then a train. The dentist’s was in a house, with a room like his grandmother’s, where they had to wait to see the dentist. Is there anything else you need to know?’

‘No, that’s fine for now. Thanks for your help.’

Jane got a tube map out of her desk drawer and laid it on her desk. Looking at the map, she realized that if Helen took Simon to Harley Street from her home address, the most direct route was by tube or bus. Jane knew Peckham had no tube stations, so if Helen went to Simmonds’ Peckham practice in Brayards Road, she’d have taken Simon on the tube, then the train to Peckham Rye railway station — just like he’d said. Jane was now certain Simmonds had lied because he didn’t want anyone snooping around his Peckham clinic.

Jane was determined to prove to Moran that Simmonds had repeatedly lied to her. She knew, as it was a Monday, that the Peckham practice would be open. Jane put her coat on and left the office.

The ten-minute walk from the police station gave Jane time to think. She decided she’d speak with the dental receptionist first, casually asking if Simon Matthews was a patient there, and if Helen was the cleaner. She didn’t want to make Simmonds suspicious, so would explain to him that Brenda Matthews had told her Simon was treated there and gauge his reaction.

As Jane walked along Brayards Road, she realized how close it was to Bussey Alley and Copeland Road, where Helen Matthews and Sybil Hastings’ bodies had been discovered. Arriving at the 1930s terraced house, Jane felt her heart racing. She could hear the high-pitched whirr of a dentist’s drill from inside and, feeling a little more relaxed knowing Simmonds was working on a patient, rang the bell. She stepped back, her warrant card in her hand, and waited. The sound of the drill stopped and a few seconds later the door opened.

‘Good morning, I’m—’ Jane was surprised to see Simmonds, dressed in his white dentist’s coat.

‘Sergeant Tennison, what can I do for you?’

Jane had to think quickly. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Simmonds, I didn’t mean to interrupt while you were with a patient. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions.’

He looked at his watch. ‘I’m going to be at least another fifteen to twenty minutes with my patient, so—’

‘It’s OK. I don’t mind waiting.’ Jane stepped past Simmonds into the hallway.

Simmonds pointed to a door on the right. ‘I use the lounge as a waiting room. Please help yourself to tea and coffee — it’s in the kitchen at the end of the hallway.’

‘No receptionist today?’ Jane enquired.

‘I don’t bother with one since I’m only here two days a week.’

The lounge turned out to be a world away from the opulent Harley Street surgery waiting room. Though clean and tidy, the furniture was very old-fashioned, with dark wood side cabinets, a brown sofa, two armchairs, a coffee table, and a worn red and brown Axminster carpet. The floor-to-ceiling white curtains were pulled back and Jane could see a neat rear garden with a large shed on the left. The flock wallpaper had long since faded and the fireplace was covered over with a thin sheet of plywood. On the mantelpiece above it was a picture frame containing mounted fishing flies of various colors, with odd names such as Damsel Nymph and Goat’s Toe printed under each one.

Jane noticed some well-thumbed Reader’s Digest magazines on the coffee table, along with a copy of the dental journal with the article about Simmonds. She bent down to pick the journal up and caught a faint smell of bleach. She stepped back from the table and, looking underneath, could see a patch of carpet that was discolored. She also spotted four table leg impressions in the carpet a few feet away and realized the table must have recently been moved. She knelt and touched the carpet. It was dry, but definitely smelt of bleach.

She looked at her watch. Only five minutes had passed since Simmonds had let her in. She had time for a quick look around before he was finished with his patient. Jane crept slowly up the hallway stairs, gently turned the handle on the door to the first bedroom on the left and eased it open. The sickly sweet smell of mothballs permeated the small room, which was full of cardboard boxes. There was also a clothes rack filled with old-fashioned women’s blouses, dresses and coats. Jane remembered reading that Simmonds’ mother had died about six years ago.

Jane gently closed the door and turned towards the room opposite. A floorboard creaked, and she froze on the spot. Carefully sidestepping the creaking floorboard, she slowly opened the door. The room was clean and tidy, with the same dated furniture and decor as downstairs. Jane stepped into the room and looked around. Faded photographs hung on the walls, and hanging on the back of the door were a woman’s nightdress and dressing gown. The dressing table had a powder puff and spray perfume bottle on it, and a vase with fresh flowers. Jane realized this must have been his mother’s bedroom, and it had been preserved like some sort of shrine to her memory. Jane looked in a couple of the dressing table drawers, but they were empty.

Jane noticed a photograph of a casually dressed Simmonds on the bedside table, and picked it up to have a closer look. Simmonds was holding a large fish by the gills in one hand and a fishing rod in the other. Stuck on the picture was a brown and gold Dymo printer label with Salmon Fishing — River Spey — 1978. Jane thought it a bit creepy Simmonds should put a year-old picture next to the bed of his dead mother. Jane had her back to the door when she suddenly heard Simmonds’ voice.

‘What are you doing?’ His voice was calm but there was an edge of anger to it.

Startled, Jane dropped the photograph and heard glass breaking as it hit the floor.

Simmonds stepped into the room with a furious look on his face, a large metal dental syringe held menacingly in his right hand.

He saw Jane’s anxious look. ‘It’s novocaine... to numb the pain.’ He held the syringe up and pressed the plunger, causing a clear liquid to spurt. A few drops landed on Jane’s coat.

Simmonds bent down and picked up the broken picture frame. ‘I was just about to give my patient an injection when I heard footsteps upstairs.’

Jane thought quickly. ‘I was looking for the toilet, then I saw the photograph. My father’s a keen fisherman and I couldn’t help noticing the size of the salmon you caught in the picture.’

‘You must have missed the notice in the living room,’ Simmonds said with a forced smile as he placed the picture frame on the bed. ‘It says the toilet’s at the far end of the kitchen.’

‘I’m sorry about the picture. I’ll clean up the glass. Do you have a dustpan and brush?’ Jane asked, even though she was anxious now to get out of the house and away from Simmonds.

‘It’s fine. I’ll do it later,’ he insisted. ‘I need to get back to my patient, so if you don’t mind waiting downstairs, I shouldn’t be much longer.’ Simmonds ushered Jane out of the bedroom.

‘Would it be all right if I came back later? I’ve got another appointment,’ Jane told him as she walked down the stairs.

‘I finish about five p.m., so if you’d like to come back then I’ll be free.’

Jane nodded as she opened the front door. ‘I’ll try and do that, work permitting, of course.’

‘Have a good day, Sergeant Tennison.’ Simmonds smiled and shut the door.

Jane concentrated on walking at a normal pace, in case Simmonds was watching her from a window. As soon as she rounded the corner, she stopped and took some deep breaths to calm her nerves. It felt as if her visit had been a big mistake.

She’d uncovered nothing and now Simmonds would be wary of her. She looked at her watch and saw it was ten o’clock.

‘Shit!’ she exclaimed and started to run back to the station. To cap it all, now she was going to be late for Moran.