Chapter Seven
After a restless night, Jane left for work early to finish typing up her reports. It was 8 a.m. and she was the only one in the office. She was glad of the peace and quiet so she could concentrate. She’d just been to the canteen to get a coffee, and some toast and marmalade, when the office phone rang. She answered it via the link to her own desk phone.
“Peckham CID, can I help you?” Jane said politely.
“Yes, I was trying to get hold of Detective Inspector Gibbs. Is he there?” It was a well-spoken woman with a soft voice.
“DI Gibbs is not in yet, but he should be here shortly. Can I take a message, or a number he can ring you back on?”
“I’m Tamara, his girlfriend. He called me last night at about six p.m. to say he’d be working late. I haven’t seen or heard from him since. I’ve tried ringing his flat, but there’s no answer. I’m rather worried about him, especially as I know he’s working on a murder investigation.”
Tamara was clearly very anxious, but Jane didn’t have a clue where Gibbs was and wasn’t sure what to say. She felt slightly annoyed that she was having to make excuses to Gibbs’ girlfriend about his whereabouts.
“Spencer was very busy yesterday, and was still in the office when I left last night,” Jane said, wondering if he had lied to her about his drinking and was actually crashed out somewhere after a night in the pub. “Can you just hold on a second, Tamara?”
Jane dashed across the room to Gibbs’ office, opened the door and looked inside. He wasn’t at his desk, or on the floor asleep, as she’d hoped. She hurried back to the phone.
“Sorry, I got distracted by someone asking me a question. Spencer didn’t have his car, as it was in the garage, so if it was really late when he finished work he may have stayed at the local police section house overnight.”
“But why didn’t he phone me? They must have phones at the section house, don’t they? Oh God! What if something happened to him on his way there?”
“If anything had happened to him I think we’d know, Tamara, so try not to worry. I’ll see if I can find out where he is and get him to ring you as soon as possible.”
Just then a beaming Gibbs walked into the office, carrying a cup of coffee and a dripping bacon bap in his hands.
“Morning, Jane. How are you this fine day?” he asked, taking a big bite of the bap and causing the red sauce to dribble over the sides of his mouth.
Jane put her hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s Tamara. She’s got herself all worked up, wondering where you’ve been all night!”
“Shitttt” he muttered, grabbing the receiver from Jane.
Jane was pointing to the side of her mouth, hoping Gibbs would realize his was covered in sauce before he wiped it all over the phone. It was too late.
Jane heard Gibbs groveling to Tamara, saying that he’d been out on an all-night observation and had only just got back to the station. He was claiming that he hadn’t been able to call her as he had been confined to the observation van in case the suspect turned up.
“I’m really, really sorry, Tamara. I promise I’ll take you out for dinner tonight to make up for it … Love you too, sweetie.” Gibbs made a few kissing sounds, then put the phone down.
Jane gave him a sideways glance, knowing full well there had been no overnight observations.
“You got a problem?” he asked.
“Not at all, guv, not at all.” Jane noted that Gibbs was wearing the same clothes as yesterday.
He went to his office and kicked the door shut. No sooner had Jane sat down to continue typing her report than the phone rang again. She thought Gibbs might have heard it and answered it from his office, but he didn’t. Jane sighed. She would probably have got more peace and quiet if she’d sat at home typing up her reports. She answered the phone.
“Could I speak with Spencer Gibbs, please?” a woman’s voice asked.
Jane could tell it wasn’t Tamara. “I’ll just see if he’s available. Who’s calling, please?”
“Jo Hastings.”
Jane was wary about disturbing Gibbs in his bad mood. “I’m afraid he’s busy at the moment. Can I take a message?”
“Actually, I forgot to tell him something last night and would rather speak to him personally. I’ll ring back later. Thank you.” Jo Hastings put the phone down.
Jane wondered if Gibbs had spent the night with Andrew Hastings’ wife. She knew it wasn’t her business but she hoped he would not have been so unprofessional.
Professor Dean Martin was unable to attend the mortuary until late morning. Sybil Hastings’ body lay on the mortuary table, still fully clothed in the expensive fur coat, a black turtleneck jumper, skirt, tights and leather boots. As Andrew Hastings was still in hospital, Jane identified the body to Professor Martin as Mrs. Sybil Hastings, whom she’d first seen in the boot of the Allegro.
Jane was thankful that the body had been held in cold storage, so the overriding smell of decomposition was not as strong as it had been when she had first been discovered. Seeing Sybil Hastings’ face, Jane felt a tinge of sadness as she realized that she wasn’t much older than her own mother.
DS Lawrence took some photographs before the pathologist and Martin removed the clothing, which Lawrence then placed in separate exhibits bags. Moran had a large notebook open and pen in hand, ready to take down details of Martin’s findings and conclusions.
Martin stood over the now naked body, taking measurements of every stab wound whilst Lawrence recorded the position and size on a female post-mortem body diagram form. He had suggested that Moran should wear a protective face mask as he had a very young baby and should avoid the possibility of picking up any infections.
Martin pointed to the bruising around the chest injuries. “The high number of injuries suggests a frenzied attack, with great force behind the stabbing motion. The shape of the bruising around some of the entry wounds is consistent with the weapon having a small circular hilt of some sort. There are also marks to her right palm, consistent with raising the hand to defend herself from the blows.”
“What sort of knife are we looking for?” Moran asked, muffled behind the mask.
Martin said he wasn’t sure the injuries were caused by a knife, but wanted to check the back and internal injuries before commenting further. Once all the wounds were measured and photographed, the pathologist helped Martin turn the body over, revealing a number of wounds to the back of the head, neck and right shoulder blade.
“These injuries are all similar in shape and size to the frontal ones, so I’m confident the same weapon was used to inflict all of the stab wounds. The pattern and position of the rear injuries indicate the suspect chased the victim, stabbing her as she ran. Also, the rear injuries are predominantly to the right side, which suggests the attacker was right-handed.”
All the injuries were painstakingly photographed and measured before the body was rolled onto its back. As Martin proceeded to cut the chest cavity open with a large scalpel, Jane recalled her first post-mortem as a probationer. The smell of the internal organs had nearly made her faint, but now she had got used to it. She found the workings of the human body fascinating, unlike Moran, who was sucking his breath in and out behind the mask covering his mouth.
Having measured the depth of injuries and removed the internal organs, Martin took a close look at the heart. “Most fatal stab wounds to the chest involve the heart or the aorta.” He pointed to a cut section at the top of the heart. “There you go: the left anterior descending coronary artery, which supplies blood to the left side of the heart muscle, has been severed. Her death would have been pretty quick once that had occurred.”
“At least it wasn’t slow and painful,” Jane remarked.
Martin looked at her over the rim of his glasses. “Sadly, it was probably the last injury to her body, and inflicted while she was in a prone position on her back.”
Jane realized the sheer terror that Mrs. Hastings must have been in at the time of her death. Ini
tially attacked from the front, she tried to defend herself, then running for her life she was repeatedly stabbed in the back, before falling to the ground and rolling over to see the fatal blow coming towards her. Jane felt a shiver run through her body as she thought about it. She wondered if Gibbs was right about Andrew Hastings being a murderer. Although she thought Hastings was arrogant and objectionable, he had no criminal history of violence and so far there was no direct evidence against him.
It was another half an hour before Martin completed his examination of the body, brain and all the internal organs, taking blood and urine samples, which he placed in small glass phials and handed to Lawrence.
At midday Martin finally removed his pathology gown and handed it to the morgue attendant. “Cause of death was obviously the fatal stab wound to the heart. As for the weapon, the entry wounds are narrow with abraded edges, as opposed to fish-tailed, which you’d get from a knife. Also, the bruising from the hilt of the weapon is circular, so you could be looking for something like a screwdriver or chisel.”
“Unusual weapon to use in a stabbing,” Jane remarked.
“I’ve seen it before, but not often,” Martin replied.
Lawrence said there was no screwdriver, chisel or similar implement in the victim’s car. Any suspect murder weapon they found could now be compared to the injury measurements, both on the body and her upper clothing. He also added that the killer could be a tradesman of some sort and it might be worth checking if Sybil Hastings had had any work done in her flat recently. Jane said she would check with Agnes, adding that the murder weapon may have been close to hand when an argument started and that the killer lost his/her temper, grabbed it and in a frenzied attack stabbed her to death.
Moran sighed. “The type of weapon doesn’t get us much further.”
“Well, looking for a screwdriver is better than looking for a needle in a haystack,” Martin said, grinning at Moran.
“Is there any change in your opinion on the time of death, since you attended the scene to view the body in the car boot?” Moran asked.
“No. She died on the Friday within the same time frame as the unknown victim, give or take an hour or two. And before you ask, DCI Moran, I can’t confirm if the same person is responsible for both murders. Both victims are women and were found in close proximity to each other, but with Mrs. Hastings there are no signs of any form of sexual assault or strangulation.”
Moran looked at Lawrence. “I really need the lab to pull out all the stops on this, Paul. Right now, forensics might be our only way to link or disassociate the two murders.”
“The lab was closed at the weekend, so the scientists have only just started working on the fibers and blood grouping on the unknown victim’s coat this morning. There’s a good chance the blood may have come from the suspect.”
“Get Mrs. Hastings’ fur coat checked as well—it’s covered in blood.”
“The suspect’s blood may be the same blood group as both or one of the victims, plus there’s—”
“I don’t want to hear about problems. I need results, and evidence that gives me answers, so get working on it.” Moran banged his notebook closed, tossing his mask into the bin. He thanked Professor Martin and stomped out of the mortuary.
“Unpleasant bugger, isn’t he?” Martin said.
Chapter Eight
Moran was taken aback when DCS Blake walked into his office, accompanied by a subdued-looking man that Moran hadn’t seen before.
Blake shook Moran’s hand. “Good to see you, Nick. This is Andrew Hastings. He’s just been discharged from King’s and I’m taking him home, but I thought we’d pop in here first. I’ve explained that you need to speak to him about his mother and her last known movements, as it will assist the investigation.”
Moran shook hands with Hastings. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Hastings. Please take a seat. Are you feeling better? It must have been terribly traumatic for you.”
“Obviously I’m still deeply shocked, but under the circumstances I’m bearing up.” Andrew sat in the chair on the other side of Moran’s desk, opposite him.
Blake looked at Andrew. “DCI Moran won’t keep you any longer than necessary, as he understands you need to be with your wife and children at this sad time.”
Moran didn’t want to interview Hastings in Blake’s presence without another officer there. “With your permission, I’d like to ask someone in to take notes of our conversation.”
Hastings frowned. “Is that really necessary?”
Blake nodded to Hastings. “It will speed things up, Andrew. Notes need to be taken and made into a statement. The statement can be put together in your absence and you can read and sign it later.”
“Please excuse me whilst I see who’s free in the CID office. I’ll organize some coffee as well.” Moran stood up and left the room.
Jane was on the phone when Moran approached her. She looked up at him and mouthed “nearly finished.”
“I’m really sorry, Agnes … If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.” Jane put the phone down and turned to Moran. “Agnes went to the hospital this morning to see Andrew Hastings. He informed her that she was no longer needed as a housekeeper and would have to find somewhere else to live.”
“Heartless bastard! Seems he’s not as shocked about his mother’s death as he likes to make out.”
“His behavior is very odd,” Jane added.
“Blake’s just brought him in from the hospital for an informal interview about his mother. I want you to take the notes whilst I talk to Hastings, with Blake in attendance.”
Jane was surprised. “I thought you didn’t want me or Gibbs anywhere near Hastings or Blake? Wouldn’t it be better if you used Edwards?”
“No. You know from what Gibbs found out at the golf club that Hastings is lying.”
“Then surely Gibbs should sit in,” Jane replied.
“The interview needs a subtle approach. I can’t risk using Gibbs as he’s got it in for both of them and is liable to let rip with his accusations, which won’t help if Blake lies to me again.”
“You’ve already spoken to Blake?” Jane asked, taken aback.
Moran hesitated. “Yesterday, late afternoon. I asked him if he’d spoken to Hastings about his mother’s murder and he said he hadn’t. I’m beginning to think there may be some substance to Gibbs’ belief that Blake is hiding something. I don’t know why, but I just hope and pray it’s nothing to do with the murders. It could all turn nasty. I need someone present to cover my back and take notes of everything that’s said. Are you OK with that?”
“Yes, sir,” Jane replied, glad that Moran trusted her and relied on her integrity. “Will you be asking Hastings about both murders?”
“We’ll start with his mother’s and see what happens. I need you to grovel a bit and apologize to Hastings about the way he found his mother’s body. We need to keep him sweet.”
Jane realized that the more Andrew Hastings thought he had the upper hand, the more crushing it would be when Moran tripped him with up his lies.
“Do you mind getting some coffee and biscuits while I tell them that you’ll be taking the notes?”
Jane made her way to the canteen whilst Moran returned to his office.
“I know it may not be to your liking, Mr. Hastings, but the only officer available to take notes is WDS Tennison.”
Hastings sighed. “Well, let’s hope she’s a better note-taker than she is an investigator.”
Although Moran had only just met Hastings, he could understand why Gibbs thought he was an arrogant prick.
Carrying the tray of hot drinks and biscuits, Jane used her foot to knock on Moran’s office door. It was opened by Blake. On seeing Jane, he took a step back to get a better look and asked if she was DS Tennison.
“Yes, sir,” Jane replied.
This was the first time Jane had met Blake. He was in his late forties, around 5′10″, and was wearing a dark blue three-piece pin-stri
ped suit and shiny black shoes. His greased-back black hair and staring eyes made him look like Bela Lugosi, the famous Dracula actor. She thought Blake might at least have had the manners to take the tray from her, and could almost feel him leering at her bottom as she leant over and placed the tray on Moran’s desk. She turned to Andrew Hastings and handed him a coffee.
“I’d like to apologize, Mr. Hastings. I’m sorry your mother’s body wasn’t found earlier, and I can’t begin to imagine how you must be feeling. I want you to know we will do everything we can to find who did this terrible thing to Mrs. Hastings.”
“Let’s hope so,” Hastings said bluntly.
“We all learn from our mistakes, Tennison, and DCI Moran tells me you’re one of his best officers,” Blake said ingratiatingly.
Moran handed Jane a large notebook and pen, before picking up a chair and placing it to the left of his. He invited Jane to sit down, with Andrew Hastings sitting opposite him. Blake remained standing. Moran started the questioning by asking Hastings for his mother’s full name and date of birth. They then spent a bit of time going over Sybil’s background, from the time she met Henry and married him, to Henry’s death and then her move to Viceroy Court.
“We are pretty sure your mother wasn’t killed during a robbery as none of her property seems to have been taken—other than her car keys. Do you know if your mother had any enemies, or anyone she’d argued with recently?” Moran asked.
Hastings eyes were red as he shook his head. “No, there’s no one I can think of. If she had, I’m certain she would have said something to me. My mother was a kind and generous woman. She didn’t have a bad bone in her body. It’s totally beyond me why anyone would want to hurt her. She was a Samaritan, you know.”
Murder Mile Page 10
