“Come on, I’ll buy you a drink over at the Warburton . . . Just want to have a bit of a chat.”
“If it’s to have a go at me I’m not interested.”
Gibbs grinned. “I think you’ve had enough goes. I just need a moment of your valuable mind!”
She didn’t bother fetching her coat as it was just a short walk across the road. Gibbs strode ahead of her, always seeming to have an excess of energy. Even though he was striding ahead he would half turn back toward her and then move forward; he was surprisingly elegant in his movements and had a natural rhythm. He shouldered the pub door, and held it open for her to pass him before he let it swing closed behind them. He ushered her to the bar and ordered a pint and a whisky chaser for himself. Jane asked for a dry white wine, which was never very dry and was usually rather tepid but Ron, the pub landlord, always dropped in a couple of ice cubes whether you asked him to or not.
Gibbs moved around the full pub to grab a small table in the corner, at the far end of the bar. He put his pint down and lit a cigarette, heaved in the smoke and then downed his whisky in one. Jane took an unenthusiastic sip of wine, waiting for him to explain why he wanted to talk to her. His right foot twitched as he picked up his pint and took a large gulp before he placed it back down onto the soggy beer mat.
“OK . . . I got to the meeting this afternoon halfway through as I was over at the Magistrates’ Court with this bag snatcher. But I have to tell you that you’ve got a fan in DS Lawrence. He was very complimentary about your queries with the non-suspicious death. Shepherd was a bit tight-lipped and prissy about you being unethical et cetera, but he had to stand down a bit as it’s now a murder inquiry. The old boy, Prof Martin, did a second PM and discovered an additional abrasion to the dead woman’s head, right side on in an odd V shape. He’s stated that this would have been the first blow. Anyway, I’m not here to go into that until we’ve done more of whom did what to whomever . . .”
Gibbs spoke very fast, his foot still twitching, and his eyes darting around the pub and snooker area.
“What did you want to talk to me about, Spence?”
“Well, I need you to explain how you got the information from the suspect—this girlfriend of the husband, Katrina Harcourt—and then how you saw the shoes that Dawson’s neighbor gave a statement about, saying she didn’t see the woman from above the knee.”
Irritated, Jane replied, “There was nothing unethical about it. Katrina’s mother invited me to see their home décor upstairs, and took me into Katrina’s bedroom. She was very proud of her husband’s DIY efforts and showed me the inside of Katrina’s wardrobe with all the shoes. I didn’t touch them.”
“Don’t get tetchy with me, I’m just looking out for you. When the judge hears that it wasn’t exactly an eyeball witness who only saw a pair of legs and feet, it’s going to be a tricky one, your Honor!”
“I’ll tell you what was really interesting: Katrina Harcourt had a photographer to take glamorous pictures of her as a bride. She had the full wedding dress, veil, all designed by Ossie Clark, and because she was jilted it left her in debt up to her neck.”
“I’ve heard of him. In fact, I bought a second-hand pair of snakeskin shoes designed by him.”
Jane gave Gibbs a curious look before telling him exactly where she had seen Katrina’s shoes, and relayed how she had asked Katrina’s mother about her traveling to London on the day of the murder.
“Just need to check that you didn’t mention anything about the coincidence, or say why you were interested in the patent leather high heels?”
“I just saw them because I was shown the inside of her wardrobe. They fit the exact description . . . five inch heels, pointed toes and black patent leather.”
“Well, I shouldn’t think they are going to be that useful . . . We might get you to parade up and down in them, but I doubt it. Anyway, we’re going to Brighton with a search warrant and we have to get the local plods on our side. God forbid you should tread on anyone’s patch . . . and it’s imperative we don’t give this Katrina any signals to do a runner.”
“So is she a suspect?”
“Yeah, and DS Lawrence strongly believes they were in it together. But we’re going to bring Barry Dawson in for questioning first thing in the morning. I could do without the schlepp out to Brighton, but you gotta do what you gotta do . . .”
“Was Professor Martin able to give a clearer time of death?”
Gibbs drained his pint.
“Nope . . . you know these pathologists, anywhere between eight and nine hours. I love it when they say possible nearest five hours or six. They won’t ever allow themselves to be on the line.”
“Well, we can put a time on it. If we take the neighbors’ information, that they heard the buzzer go at eight o’clock, and we know there was no one in the basement, no one in the first or second floor flat, it would have had to have been Shirley.”
“Yeah, I know that. Prof Martin said it was possible she’d been dead three hours. He also came out with the fact that the cut to her forehead was not that deep and would not necessarily have bloodied the water.”
“But something did, because I saw it on the ceiling of the bathroom below,” Jane interjected.
“The prof said it was a possibility that Shirley Dawson had a severe nosebleed, which could’ve been the outcome of her hitting her head on the tap. But due to her being in the water for however long she was, her lower nostrils were clear. He found a substantial clot up in the bridge of her nose. Apparently it was even harder with this victim because she was in the water and had drowned, but both PMs agree that she was unconscious, but still alive, in the bath, and Martin thinks that maybe she was held down.”
Gibbs didn’t ask Jane if she wanted another drink but pushed his chair back. His mood suddenly changed.
“He always used to sit over there, you know.” He nodded toward a similar-sized table on the opposite side of the room.
“Most nights I’d find him eating one of those disgusting steak and kidney pies from the heated cabinet on the bar. He always said he was never going to eat another one, so when I saw him with a greasy sausage roll I said to him, ‘Oh, not eatin’ your usual crap then?’ and he grins up at me and says, ‘Some bastard ate the last one!’”
Jane could see the grief in Gibbs’s face and knew he had yet to get over the death of DCI Bradfield. Struggling with her own feelings of loss, Jane didn’t know what to say. But he quickly masked his sadness, turned back to her and thanked her for coming for a drink. He said he was going over to the snooker section to have a game, but he didn’t wait for her reply as he moved away. Jane didn’t even bother to finish her wine and left shortly after.
Jane clocked in for duty early at 7:15 the following morning. She was heading toward the incident room when DCI Shepherd approached her.
“Give me a minute in my office would you, Tennison?”
Feeling apprehensive, she popped her handbag in the drawer of her desk, picked up her notebook and hurried to the DCI’s office. The door was open and he was sitting at his desk typing—he was very fast. He signaled to her to wait a moment as he finished and drew the paper out of the typewriter, removing the carbon and copy. He passed the top page over to Jane.
“I hope to have all these queries you noted confirmed before we begin the interrogations. It’s imperative I have a firmed-up time line. I think perhaps I was a bit hard on you yesterday, but for obvious reasons. DS Lawrence was very complimentary about your investigative abilities, but learn from this, Tennison. Please attend the briefing meeting at 12:30 p.m. today, as a team of detectives have been working flat out.”
Jane returned to the incident room and sat at her desk. Edith glanced over at her, then pushed her chair back.
“Do you mind if I say something, Jane? It was obvious yesterday that your nose was put out of joint. I am very aware of how much work you have been doing when you have been off duty, because I had to break down the reports for Shepherd.”
/> Jane chewed her lip, not wanting to get into a discussion with Edith.
“You have to understand the pecking order, dear. DCI Shepherd accepted the non-suspicious death, so how do you think it looks when a young trainee who has only been here less than two weeks, and a female to boot, goes off and does her own investigation? And now they have confirmation that the first PM was not adequate and it is being investigated as a murder.”
“I hear what you’re saying, Edith . . .”
“Good. Make moves slowly, Jane, or they will have you back in uniform for insubordination. You were lucky you had DS Lawrence looking out for you.”
“Thank you, Edith. Can I get you a coffee?”
“No, thank you, dear. But at the briefing just sit tight and listen. I’ve been there before you, Jane . . . they’ll wipe the floor with you if you overstep the mark.”
Jane gave Edith a rueful smile and went out to go to the canteen.
Jane arrived at the board room on the dot of 12:30, but already there was a team of detectives, some of their faces familiar to her, sitting around the table quietly discussing their notes. She was acknowledged but no one spoke to her as she sat down on one of the vacant chairs, hoping she hadn’t taken anyone’s seat. She placed her notebook down in front of her, along with two sharpened pencils.
The air was thick with tobacco smoke. Everyone fell silent as DCI Shepherd walked in and sat at the top end of the table, placing a thick folder in front of him. DS Lawrence was the last to arrive. He sat opposite Jane and was very intent on placing a large manila envelope on the table.
“Right, everyone . . . time is against us so let’s run through everything as fast as possible before the interviews begin. Paul, what have you got for us?”
DS Lawrence laid out various black and white photographs on the table, showing the victim’s head wounds and also the shaven head clearly showing the deep V indentation.
The photographs were passed around as Lawrence spoke.
“I am certain that this wound to the victim’s head was the result of being hit exceptionally hard from the right side. The weapon, without doubt, is this . . .”
Lawrence pushed forward the photographs of the iron.
“As you can see, the iron was yanked out of the plug socket when the victim was attacked. Close-up pictures reveal the loose wires, and when tested the iron did not connect. As you can see from this photograph, the victim may have been standing up ironing, and there was a female’s blouse on the ironing board.”
Shepherd put up his hand to indicate that he wanted Lawrence to pause.
“We can conclude what the victim was doing before being struck, but as we are bringing in two suspects I need a clearer time frame of when this attack possibly took place.”
“The neighbor Mrs. Cook, from the basement next door, is adamant that she saw a woman—but only from the knees down—wearing black patent leather high heels, pacing back and forth. Then she heard a very loud click, which indicated that someone, possibly Shirley Dawson, had pressed the entry release to open the front door.”
“Time?” Shepherd asked briskly.
“It was between 8 a.m. and 8:15 a.m. This time was pinpointed by the paper delivery as the paperboy delivers at the same time every day, like clockwork according to his boss at the newsagent.”
“Shirley Dawson had a hair appointment, not at 9 a.m. as we had first been told, but for 9:30 a.m. Her mother-in-law had agreed to babysit but due to her washing machine breaking down she could not be there. So she called the phone on the landing at the Dawsons’ flat at a quarter to nine, but received no reply.”
Shepherd flicked through his notes.
“Detective Summers, you were checking this out—what did you come up with?”
Detective Summers was a thin, balding man. He tapped his notebook.
“The hair salon, Pearls and Curls in Brick Lane, confirmed that they had Shirley’s appointment booked in the diary for more than two weeks. Shirley was a regular customer: apparently she had exceptionally thick hair which had to be straightened and thinned. The salon say that they did not receive any call to say that Shirley was unable to keep the appointment. She had never missed any previous appointments.”
Shepherd nodded as another detective held up his hand.
“I interviewed Mrs. Dawson yesterday evening and she confirmed that she had received a call from her son, Barry Dawson, at around 9 a.m. Mrs. Dawson was unable to confirm the exact time but the engineer had not shown up to repair her washing machine yet. Barry wanted to know why she was not at the flat as she was supposed to be babysitting. Barry told her that he had tried to call Shirley but had got no reply and Mrs. Dawson suggested that perhaps she had taken their daughter, Heidi, to the hair salon with her.”
Shepherd was making notes, then looked up.
“Sir, I don’t know if this is of interest but when I arrived at Mrs. Dawson’s house she was out walking the dog and a friend was babysitting her granddaughter. She was quite elderly and her name was Norma Hall. She said she had been Shirley’s foster carer, and that it was all very sad, particularly as Shirley had believed that this was going to be everything she had dreamed—”
“Is there a point to this?” Shepherd interrupted.
“Just that the last time Shirley had seen this foster carer she had been very depressed. Although they owned their flat and Barry paid the mortgage, he had done nothing to redecorate or refurbish it for them to resell and make a profit, which was the original intention, and he kept breaking his promises. She said that it was stressful having the dog to take care of, and having to carry the pushchair up and down the stairs. Even the rubbish had to be carried all the way downstairs into the basement and—”
“One second—is the basement used for bins?”
“No, sir, I checked first thing this morning and there’s an old coal hole where all the tenants keep their bins. You gain access from the basement.”
“Anyone checked these bins out?” Shepherd glanced round the table. “No? Let’s do it then. I think we have a picture taken of a bucket with soiled nappies, yes? DS Lawrence, check out the bins. Can anyone tell me the value of the Dawsons’ property?”
The same detective lifted his hand. “Yes, sir. The flat beneath them, which is being refurbished, is on the market for forty-five thousand pounds and the Dawsons’ on the top floor is estimated at between thirty-five and thirty-eight thousand pounds. It’s a good location.”
“Good God! That’s a lot of money,” Shepherd muttered, then tapped the desk with the point of his sharpened pencil.
“If I could just continue, sir . . . I felt that I should talk to Norma Hall, the foster carer, again as she left when Mrs. Dawson returned. She has been taking kids into foster care for thirty years. She was not in the best of health but was very informative about Shirley, who was placed into her care when she was in her teens. She also said that it was via her that Barry Dawson had met Shirley. I was about to leave when Norma said something that seemed rather odd. When she had first found out about Shirley’s death she went over to see Barry. She said that he was very emotional, crying and sobbing, but when she left the room he put on the television and seemed more interested in some football match . . . In fact, she said she heard him cheering and laughing.”
Shepherd shrugged and looked around the table.
“I am hoping you have saved the best until last, DC Tomlinson?”
Jane looked across at the overweight detective who was stubbing out his cigarette.
“I re-questioned Mr. Goncalves, the hospital porter, as we have a statement from him and from Mr. Dawson regarding the calls made from the phone kiosk in the hospital corridor. You may recall that Barry Dawson said that he called home at 10 a.m., and on getting no reply became very worried as he claimed Shirley was not well and had been very depressed. He appeared to be very anxious and asked Mr. Goncalves for change, expressing his concerns over his wife’s health and his need to call his mother again. He then claimed to l
eave the hospital and returned home to find his wife dead in the bath.”
Tomlinson had everyone’s attention as he explained tracking down the porter and then standing with him in the corridor and asking him if he could recall the exact timings. The porter said he was unsure and thought he had been told by Barry that he needed to leave as it was coming up to his break at 10 a.m. He said that he had given him some coppers and returned to the wing as he had a patient to take up to theater.
“I asked him to be very clear about exactly what he had heard. Did he hear the coins being returned as the call wasn’t answered, or did he hear the call connect? He couldn’t answer, but by my calculations Barry Dawson made one call to Shirley and got no reply. The next call was, he claimed, to his mother who was obviously not at his flat. Then there was a third call that the witness saw him ending when he returned to the corridor, and this time he said that Barry Dawson was very anxious. I was eventually able to get closer to the exact time because we went back to the theater records and it showed that Mr. Goncalves had brought the patient up into theater at five past ten, so adding on ten minutes to get back to the corridor he would have seen the agitated Barry Dawson much later than he had originally stated.”
Jane noticed how Shepherd doodled on his notepad before looking around the room.
“I am just estimating this, sir, but going on the original time line from WDC Tennison, our victim Shirley Dawson could have been dead shortly after 8:30 a.m. I made some further inquiries and then spoke with another porter in their rest room at St. Thomas’ and he checked over the old listings of on and off duty porters. He kept on referring to something being the ‘Rose Cottage’ duty and when I asked him what he meant he said that it was the porters’ joke terminology for the mortuary.”
Jane wrote this down and underlined it because she had never heard it mentioned before.
“Barry Dawson had a body to take to the mortuary at just after 8 a.m. When I went over there, a number of bodies were actually lined up, obviously covered over. Apparently there is often a delay or backlog . . . but Dawson delivered the body on time. So if we go by the time frame, he dropped off the body at 8 a.m. and was not seen again until after 10 a.m.”
Hidden Killers Page 28
