Murder Mile

Chapter Thirty

The PC left Jane with Simmonds’ body whilst he went to inform the duty sergeant of the death. Jane couldn’t believe it. She crouched down and looked at the back of Simmonds’ head, but there was no noticeable injury. Could he have fallen over and split his forehead open on the floor? She slowly lifted his head. His face was covered in blood, but there was no visible injury.

‘What the hell have you done to him?’ Davidge shouted.

‘Nothing. We opened the cell door and found him like this.’

Davidge scowled at her. ‘I don’t believe you!’

The duty sergeant approached the cell. ‘Back off, Davidge. Simmonds was checked half an hour ago and he was fine.’

‘I want Simmonds examined by an independent doctor,’ Davidge insisted.

‘I’m calling a forensic pathologist to examine the body in situ, and a lab liaison sergeant to examine the scene,’ the sergeant replied firmly.

‘I want to be present when that happens,’ Davidge told him.

The duty sergeant ushered him away from the cell. ‘Please go and wait in the station foyer.’

As Davidge walked off, the sergeant took Jane to one side.

‘I’m playing this by the book, Sergeant Tennison, and not just because Davidge is here, but to protect you, Moran and everyone else involved in the investigation.’

Jane knocked nervously on Moran’s door before opening it. He was on the phone with a smile on his face and waved for her to sit down.

‘That’s unbelievable... Cutting his first tooth... But isn’t he too young?... Are you sure he said it?... I can’t wait to come home... Yes, I hopefully won’t be too late.’

Replacing the receiver, Moran clapped his hands. ‘Did you hear that? Cutting his first tooth, which explains why he’s been so ratty. And he said “Dada”! Could just be wind, of course, but—’ From the expression on Jane’s face, he knew something was wrong. ‘What is it?’

Before she could say anything, they were interrupted by a knock at the door. The duty sergeant entered and looked at Moran.

‘SOCOs finished taking photographs and Professor Martin should be here in about five minutes. I spoke with A10 and they’re happy for DS Lawrence to deal with the scene.’

Moran looked confused. ‘What? Don’t tell me we’ve had another bloody murder. And what’s A10 got to do with it?’

The sergeant looked at Jane.

Moran banged his fist on the desk. ‘Will someone tell me what’s going on?’

Jane took a deep breath. ‘I found Simmonds dead in his cell.’

Moran, Gibbs, Jane and the duty sergeant watched as Professor Martin and DS Lawrence carefully examined Simmonds’ head. Davidge was taking notes.

‘How do you think he died?’ Moran asked.

‘In the interests of my client, Mr. Simmonds, I’d like to see the detective sergeant’s notes of his alleged confession.’

Moran turned on him. ‘For Christ’s sake, shut up, Davidge. Your client’s hardly in a position to deny it now, is he!’

Martin took some medical pliers out of his bag and inserted the end in Simmonds’ left ear, which was covered in congealed blood. He slowly pulled out a six-inch pencil with blood and brain matter stuck to it. Gibbs and Moran looked at each other in shock. Jane recognized it as one of her pencils, and realized with horror that when he asked to be returned to his cell, Simmonds must have slipped it into his pocket with the intention of using it to kill himself.

Martin placed the pencil in an exhibits bag. ‘I’d say he put the pencil a little way in his ear, then lay sideways on the floor so it was touching the ground. Once in this position he placed his right hand on his head and rammed it towards the ground, causing the pencil to penetrate the brain. He would have died slowly through blood loss and brain hemorrhaging. “Slowly” — in this case being a matter of minutes rather than seconds.’

Davidge looked stunned. ‘Why wasn’t my client searched before being put in the cell?’

‘I can assure you he was searched, and all his pockets emptied. He must have hidden the pencil somewhere in the cell,’ the duty sergeant replied.

‘I guess this is a case where the pen, or rather pencil, is mightier than the sword,’ Gibbs quipped, to nervous laughter.

Davidge was white as a sheet.

‘Spence, Jane — my office,’ Moran ordered.

‘I’d like to see Sergeant Tennison’s statement,’ Davidge insisted.

Moran sighed. ‘No need to be so impatient, Mr. Davidge. I’ve not even read it yet.’

‘I’m entitled to a copy on my client’s behalf.’

‘Simmonds is hardly a client anymore, and as you can see, he isn’t going anywhere. I’ll get a copy of the statement to your office tomorrow morning.’

Davidge walked off without another word.

Gibbs watched him go. ‘He’ll soon lose interest. A dead man isn’t going to stand trial, let alone pay him, so there’s nothing in it for him.’

As Moran, Gibbs and Martin walked down the corridor, Jane stayed behind to have a quick word with Lawrence.

‘The pencil was mine, Paul. Simmonds must have taken it when we were in the interview room.’

‘Well, if I were you, I’d say nothing. He’s committed suicide and that’s that. If he didn’t have the pencil he’d have found another way.’

‘But I might have pushed him to suicide.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Lawrence chided.

‘I’m not. I brought up the army thing and the young cook he slept with. I also asked if he was in a sexual relationship with Aiden Lang. It seemed to affect him. Then when I said his mother would be disgusted with him, he broke down.’ Jane couldn’t bring herself to tell Lawrence exactly what she had said to Simmonds about his jealousy towards his brother and his mother hiding the fact he was a homosexual.

‘I hope you haven’t put any of that in your statement, Jane. The army stuff is hearsay. There’s no record of it, so A10 could say you lied to a suspect in an effort to extract a confession.’

‘I haven’t put it in. And thanks for chasing up the indented writing.’

‘No problem. Pity there was... nothing of interest,’ Lawrence said hesitantly.

Jane tilted her head to one side. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me something, Paul?’

‘It doesn’t matter now. Simmonds is dead.’

‘It does matter to me, Paul. Did the indented writing reveal something?’

Lawrence checked to make sure no one could overhear them. ‘The document section still hadn’t had a chance to examine it so I took a look myself. It was hard to make out, because Sybil Hastings had written a few notes across the page, not down as you’d normally expect.’

‘What was on it?’ Jane asked apprehensively.

Paul took a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Jane.

‘Eileen Summers teacher... Dentist Peckham...?’

‘Lang and the women were already dead before you got the Samaritans forms, Jane.’ Paul put his hand on Jane’s shoulder. ‘I only spotted some of the indented writing was across the page through experience. As the forensics officer in the case, I should have taken the time to examine it before submitting it to the document section.’

‘Will you have to mention the indented writing in your forensic report?’

‘I don’t want either of us getting hauled over the coals about something that’s of no evidential value now. I’m going to say I couldn’t find any identifiable handwriting or indentations that could be attributed to Sybil Hastings. Let sleeping dogs lie, learn from mistakes and move on.’

The duty sergeant walked down the cell passageway towards them.

‘I’ve had a word with the custody PC. Apparently Simmonds asked if he could have some plain paper and a pen so he could start writing his confession. The PC gave him a few sheets of A4 paper and a pen. I asked him if it could have been a pencil and he said it might have been. Anyway, that clears the matter up and should satisfy A10 since prisoners are allowed writing material.’

‘Thanks, Sarge.’ Lawrence turned to Jane. ‘We didn’t find any confession, did we?’ He lifted up the plastic mattress in Simmonds’ cell, revealing a folded sheet of paper. He handed it to Jane. ‘Take it to Moran and let him decide what to do with it.’

Jane went to Moran’s office and gave him the sheet of paper. Gibbs stood beside Moran, reading over his shoulder.

I, David Simmonds, am totally innocent of the murders I am accused of. Detectives Tennison and Moran have ignored all evidence that points to the real killer being a man called Aiden Lang, whom I knew as Benjamin ‘Ben’ Smith. I gave him a Harris tweed jacket and he repaid my kindness by stealing items of property from my premises (dental chisel, curtain tie backs) and used them in the commission of his crimes. Because of Tennison and Moran’s desire to arrest a suspect AT ALL COSTS, my reputation and career have been destroyed. They have made me an outcast in a world where I was respected for my achievements and honoured for my charitable work. I find myself in a position where I have no choice other than to end my life. The police have driven me to suicide through their biased and ruthless quest to frame me.

Signed: David Simmonds

Moran looked furious. ‘There’ll be a coroner’s inquest into Simmonds’ death. If these notes are part of it, the press will have a field day saying we got the wrong man for the “Murder Mile” killings. I’m not having Simmonds laugh at us from his grave.’

He tore the page in half and then quarters, before throwing the pieces into a confidential waste bag.

‘Anyone have a problem with this?’ Moran asked.

‘Not at all,’ Gibbs replied.

They both looked at Jane.

‘No, sir. As you said, it’s all lies.’

‘What are you going to tell DCS Blake?’ Gibbs asked.

‘That Simmonds made a full confession to WDS Tennison, then committed suicide because he couldn’t live with what he’d done.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Jane said.

‘Be wary of Blake, Jane. He doesn’t like what you know about his involvement with Simmonds and Andrew Hastings. He won’t say anything to your face, but behind the scenes he will try and persuade other people that you’re not up to the job. So watch your back.’

‘Thank you. I appreciate the warning.’

‘We may still get a slap on the wrist and some words of advice from A10,’ Moran said.

Jane shrugged. ‘I’ve been in the firing line with A10 before. But I was naive back then. I can justify my actions from start to finish where the investigation against Simmonds is concerned — even the fact I mistook his mother’s bedroom for the toilet, I reckon.’

Moran laughed. ‘I was wrong about you, Tennison. You’re much wiser than your years in the job would suggest. You’re turning into an excellent detective and earning the respect of your colleagues. Next time you have a hunch or gut feeling, speak up. I for one will listen. Go and finish your statement then bring it to me to read. Make a copy as well so I can show A10 that your interview skills led to Simmonds’ confession.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Jane left the room, glowing from Moran’s words of praise.

Gibbs waited until Jane had closed the door. ‘You know A10 won’t just sweep Simmonds’ death under the carpet, guv? They love to screw the department whenever they can. They’ll go through the investigation with a fine-tooth comb looking for any fuck ups.’

Moran shrugged. ‘I’m not worried about being interviewed by the rubber heels, Spence. As far as I’m concerned, the “fuck up” just left the room.’

Jane volunteered to deal with the unenviable task of informing the London-based victims’ families about Simmonds’ arrest, confession and subsequent suicide, while Gibbs travelled to Manchester to inform the Summers family, as he’d already met them when they were in London.

Jane visited Andrew Hastings first. He was still living at his mother’s flat, since his wife had apparently asked for a divorce. He was his usual arrogant self and moaned once again about the fact that he’d been arrested. Jane suspected that underneath it all, he’d been hit hard by his mother’s death, but he was so self-obsessed, he found it hard to show his emotions. Jane told him the coroner had released his mother’s body for burial. Hastings was quick to tell Jane that he didn’t want any police at the funeral and asked her to leave.

Hilary Peters cried profusely when Jane told her that her brother, Aiden, was dead. It was of some comfort for her to know that Aiden had been framed by Simmonds and had had no involvement in the women’s murders. Even Hilary’s husband commented that, regardless of Aiden’s sexuality, he didn’t deserve to die in the way he did. Both he and Hilary were grateful for all that Jane had done as it proved his innocence, but Hilary was still scathing about Moran’s bigotry and the way he had spoken about her brother.

Jane’s hardest visit was with Brenda and Simon Matthews. She found it upsetting to see the bright young boy happy to see her. It showed he still had no understanding of what had happened to his mother. Brenda would have liked to see Simmonds spend the rest of his life suffering in prison and felt cheated by his suicide. Jane was about to leave when Simon came up to her holding a drawing book.

‘Grandma said to show this to you, Jane, because you are so nice to me and to her.’ Simon opened the book and handed it to Jane.

The drawing, in pencil and crayon, had ‘Mummy’ written at the top. Helen had a smiley face, red cheeks and brown hair, with a gold halo above her head. She was wearing a long yellow dress with angel wings. A voice balloon coming from her mouth said, ‘Thank you, Jane.’

‘You can keep it, if you like.’

‘That would be lovely. Thank you, Simon. Is it OK if I tear the drawing out as I don’t want to take your whole book?’

Simon nodded. Jane gently removed the drawing from the book.

‘I’ll keep this on my bedroom wall.’ Jane felt herself well up as she gave Simon a hug and kiss on the cheek.

As Jane left, she looked at her watch and realized she would have to get a move on to get to the church in time for Nathan’s 11 a.m. christening.

Simon was in his bedroom and opened the drawing book to the back page. He had already started a picture with the words ‘Bad Dentist’ written at the top of the page. Picking up a red crayon, he started to draw the devil’s horns on the head of the dentist. He had been too frightened to ever tell anyone about what had happened.

Jane parked and ran up the gravel driveway to the church. Her mother was pacing up and down at the doors. She was wearing a wide-brimmed hat, tailored navy suit and crisp frilled white blouse.

‘You’re late,’ her mother said sternly.

‘Sorry, I got caught up with work.’

‘Really, Jane, there are times when family should come first.’

Biting back a sarcastic retort, Jane took Simon’s drawing out of her coat pocket. ‘I was visiting the little boy whose mother was murdered. He gave me this.’ Jane handed the drawing to her mother. ‘Things like this reassure me that what I do as a police officer is worthwhile.’

Mrs. Tennison looked at the picture briefly and handed it back. ‘It’s a lovely drawing.’

Jane realized her mother hadn’t looked at it properly.

‘Everyone’s waiting inside for you. Pinch your cheeks, dear. You look all washed out. You should have let Pam do your hair.’

Jane followed her mother into the church. She ran her fingers through her hair and, even though she loathed doing it, pinched her cheeks.

Pam, Tony and his brother, who was to be the godfather, were standing at the christening font with the vicar. There was a small gathering of close family and friends sitting in the front two pews.

‘You cut that fine,’ Pam whispered.

‘Sorry, heavy traffic.’

Pam gave her a knowing smile. ‘You shouldn’t tell fibs in church.’

‘Can I hold Nathan?’ Jane asked.

‘Of course. You’re his godmother!’ Pam handed him over.

Jane could feel the warmth of his body through the white christening gown as she cradled him. His little face glowed with innocent happiness as he let out a gurgled laugh and smiled at her.

It was an emotional moment for Jane as the vicar baptized Nathan with holy water and made the sign of the cross on his forehead. She saw her parents’ adoring glances fixed on their grandchild, whilst Pam’s eyes brimmed with tears of pride as she held Tony’s hand.

Jane held Nathan closer to her chest, silently vowing that she would always protect him.