“I wish to God I didn’t have to ask you such upsetting questions, Brenda. Unfortunately, we don’t know which boy Eileen Summers thought was being abused. It may not even be Simon, but we need to be sure either way.”
Brenda sighed. “I appreciate you’re only doing your job, but if Simon was being abused, I know he would have said something to Helen or me.”
Jane remembered what Moran had told her. “Sometimes children are threatened by their abusers and too frightened to say anything. Did Helen have a boyfriend or any friends who had regular contact with Simon?”
“She dated a man about two years ago, but that’s all over. As far as I know, she hasn’t been seeing anyone since. She hasn’t any close friends—she’s always too busy working.”
“I’d still like to interview Simon with a social services officer who specializes in child welfare.”
Mrs. Matthews looked worried. “They’ll take Simon away from me if he was abused!”
Jane shook her head. “That won’t happen.” She pulled the photograph of Aiden Lang from her pocket. “Have you ever seen this man before? His hair may have been dyed blond since the photograph was taken.”
Mrs. Matthews looked closely at the photo. “No. Who is he?”
“His name is Aiden Lang. He also uses the name Ben Smith. Eileen Summers’ body was found in his hostel room.”
Mrs. Matthews put her hand to her mouth. “Did he kill Helen as well?”
“We don’t know for sure. We are doing everything we can to trace Aiden Lang and have released his picture to the press.”
“I hope he rots in hell.” Mrs. Matthews pushed Lang’s photograph back across the desk.
“How did Helen seem when you saw her on the afternoon of Friday sixteenth of February?” Jane asked.
“A bit moody, as I recall. I thought it was because she was tired after taking on the extra cleaning work over the half-term break.”
Jane flicked back a couple of pages in her notebook. “You said before that Helen visited about three thirty p.m. Can you remember when she left?”
Mrs. Matthews thought for a moment. “It wasn’t long after … between four and four thirty, I think.”
“Did Helen say where she was going when she left your flat on the Friday?”
Mrs. Matthews shook her head. “No. I just assumed she was going to do another cleaning job.”
“Do you know where Helen did her cleaning work on Fridays?”
“No. It was various places for cash-in-hand. I know she did some work for a dentist in Harley Street.”
“Do you know the name or address of the dentist?”
“No, but Helen said he was a nice man. He fitted Simon’s braces for him.”
“That must have been expensive.” Jane wondered how Helen had been able afford dental treatment in a posh Harley Street clinic.
“He did the work for nothing because she was his cleaner. Simon had crooked front teeth and Helen had mentioned it to the dentist. Mind you, Simon wasn’t too happy, seeing as the braces gave him a lisp and some of the boys in his class started teasing him and calling him Jaws, after that big bloke with the scary teeth in the Bond films.”
“Children can be very mean to one another at that age without even realizing it. Did Helen tell Miss Summers about the bullying?”
“No. She just had a word with the two boys—put the fear of God in them. Believe me, they soon stopped calling Simon names.” Mrs. Matthews smiled at the memory, then suddenly started to cry. “I just can’t believe I’ll never see my Helen again. And the thought Simon may have been abused is unbearable.”
Jane quickly made a note to make enquiries about Helen Matthews’ cleaning work in Harley Street, then put her hand gently on Mrs. Matthews’ shoulder.
“I’ll arrange the interview at social services and be in touch tomorrow, Brenda. I’ve got a few things to do back at the station now, I’m afraid. Will you be OK if I get a uniform patrol car to take you to see Mrs. Rowlands?”
Mrs. Matthews nodded as she blew her nose on a tissue and wiped the tears from her cheeks.
Jane was exhausted, physically and emotionally, but made sure she updated Moran before she left the office. Driving home to an empty fridge, she stopped at a kebab shop and chose a chicken shish with salad. At least it was healthier than a doner kebab, she thought wryly to herself as she got back in the car.
Once home, she wolfed down her kebab, had a relaxing bubble bath and went straight to bed. But sleep eluded her as the events of the day replayed themselves in her mind. So many lives had been changed for ever. The thought of little Simon losing his mother was almost unbearable, but Jane knew that even Andrew Hastings, as obnoxious as he was, must be suffering at the loss of his own mother. Jane suddenly found herself welling up as she thought of the three dead women, their families and how happy times could turn to misery and grief in the blink of an eye. She thought again of her own parents, and how it must have been for them when her brother drowned aged three. She was only four herself then, and didn’t really understand what had happened at the time, but right now she imagined herself in the mortuary viewing her brother’s body with her parents. In the darkness, her tears began to flow.
The bedside phone rang. Jane didn’t want to speak to anyone, but knowing it might be something to do with the investigation, she reluctantly picked it up. It was Paul Lawrence.
“Hi, Jane, sorry to bother you at home. I just wanted to apologize for my surly behavior today. I hope I didn’t upset you.”
Jane took a moment to compose herself, but her voice sounded hoarse. “You didn’t. We’re all under pressure, Paul, and I know you’ve got a lot more on your plate than most of us.”
“You OK?”
Jane wanted to pour out her feelings, but was scared Paul might think she wasn’t coping. “Yes, I’m fine. I’ve had a busy day and I’m tired, that’s all.”
Paul wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure? If there’s anything bothering or upsetting you, you know you can tell me in confidence. It’s better to let it out than bottle it up.”
There was such obvious concern in his voice, Jane began to well up again. “I know it’s stupid, Paul, and it’s not like me, but I feel like I’m on an emotional rollercoaster and can’t get off.” She began to tell him about her day. She was speaking so quickly, he could hardly keep up with her, let alone get a word in himself. In the end, he just let her pour out her feelings and listened.
“… and ever since I got home I can’t stop thinking how sad it all is. To be honest, I don’t even know why I’m crying.”
“You’re crying because you care, Jane,” he said finally. “Shedding a tear, even as a police officer, is nothing to be ashamed of. Believe me, I’ve had many a blubber under the sheets when I’ve got home from some horrific crime scene. Especially where children are the victims. You’re strong, Jane, a good detective, and although you may not think it, well respected.”
“Thanks, Paul.” Jane sniffed and took a deep breath. “Did you do a search at Helen Matthews’ house?”
“Not personally. I was busy at the lab. Moran sent Edwards and two SOCOs to the address. Just like Eileen Summers’ flat, the place had been ransacked but there was no forced entry. Aiden Lang’s fingerprints were found on the dressing table drawers and the wardrobe.”
“He must have stolen Helen’s house keys when he murdered her and went looking for money and valuables,” Jane mused.
“Certainly looks like it. Moran’s now worried the three women’s murders may be linked to sexual abuse on Simon.”
“Then that means Simon could be in danger!” Jane exclaimed.
“It’s OK,” Paul reassured her. “Moran already thought of that. Simon and his grandmother are staying at Mrs. Rowlands’ and there’s an armed PC at the front and rear.”
There was a brief silence before Paul continued. “I was just wondering—and I know it depends on how the investigation is going—but would you like to come round to my place for dinner on Sat
urday night?”
“That would be lovely, thank you, Paul.”
“Do you like beef Wellington?”
“I do. And I’ll bring a nice bottle of red to go with it. Are you still at the same address?”
“No, I moved from the mews house.”
Jane grabbed a pen and notepad off her bedside table and wrote down the new address.
“Pop into the lab tomorrow if you want to talk more,” Paul said finally.
“I’m going to Harley Street. Helen Matthews was a cleaner for a private dentist there, so I want to speak with him.”
“OK, take care then.”
She put the phone down and realized how much better she felt after speaking to Paul. She smiled to herself as she snuggled up in bed. Paul was a very attractive man, and maybe it would be nice if something did develop between them.
Chapter Fifteen
Jane woke refreshed, which she put down to a mixture of sheer exhaustion and Paul Lawrence’s kind words making her feel more relaxed. After breakfast, she looked through the Yellow Pages and found twelve dental practices in Harley Street, then phoned the office and told Gibbs she was going to make enquiries about Helen Matthews.
It was a cold but sunny morning, and Jane decided to walk from her flat to Harley Street, an area renowned around the world for its high quality private medical and dental clinics and hospitals. Jane walked at a brisk pace and arrived at Harley Street in fifteen minutes. Standing at the north end of the street, she admired the rows of large Georgian townhouses, most of which were now used as clinics, with their beautiful detailing: cast iron balconies, arched doorways and vast first-floor windows. Jane couldn’t help but notice how devoid the street was of rubbish, compared to other parts of London. She saw a man dressed in overalls come out of a building, carrying two bags of rubbish which he threw into the back of a large open-back lorry. She realized that it was a private company who the wealthy residents must have hired to clear their refuse.
The receptionists at the first two clinics told her snootily over the intercom that they’d never heard of Helen Matthews. She was just looking at her list for the next address when she saw DCS Blake coming out of one of the buildings further up the street. She wondered at first if he was on police business, but then noticed he was holding his hand to the side of his mouth, as if he was in pain. He didn’t appear to see her as he got into the passenger seat of an unmarked police Ford Granada, which immediately drove off. Jane wondered how he could afford to be treated in Harley Street, even on a DCS’ pay, and decided to take a look.
She walked up the white marble steps to the large wooden double doors and saw that there were four dentists listed on the plaque. She was about to press the intercom when the door was opened by a woman in a long camel hair coat making her exit, allowing Jane to slip inside. The interior oak-paneled reception hall was even bigger than Jane had imagined, with two large chandeliers, a grey and white marbled floor, and matching wide staircase with oak banisters to the upper floors.
“Do you have an appointment, madam?”
Jane looked to her left and saw a smartly dressed lady in her early thirties sitting behind a Georgian mahogany desk, partially hidden beneath the stairs. Jane got out her warrant card, introduced herself, and asked if Helen Matthews worked at the surgery as a cleaner.
“She does, or rather she did. Helen hasn’t turned up for work this week.”
“Did you hire Miss. Matthews?”
“No, one of the dentists did.”
“Which one?”
“I think it was Mr. Simmonds,” the receptionist said vaguely.
“Do you know if he fitted Helen Matthews’ son with braces?”
The receptionist frowned. “I doubt that very much. This is a private clinic, not an NHS practice,” she added dismissively.
Jane took no notice of her superior tone. “Can you check the patient cards for me, please? His name is Simon.”
The receptionist huffed as she pushed her chair back, opened one of the filing cabinets behind her and flicked through the “M” files. “There’s no Simon Matthews on record.”
Jane realized it was possible Helen Matthews worked as a cleaner at more than one dentist’s in Harley Street, but a gut feeling told her she was in the right place.
“I’d like to speak with Mr. Simmonds, please, so I’d be grateful if you could tell him I’m here.”
“I’m afraid he’s busy with patients all day. If you’d like to leave me your contact details, I’ll speak with him later and get back to you.”
Jane decided it was time to bring the receptionist down a peg or two.
“I’m here on official police business. Mr. Simmonds can decide whether he wants to speak to me, not you. So please kindly inform him I’m here before I do it myself.”
The receptionist went pale, then quickly scuttled off to speak with Mr. Simmonds.
She returned a minute or two later, all her haughtiness gone. “Mr. Simmonds said he’ll speak with you as soon as he’s finished with his current patient. The waiting room is to the left of the stairs. Please help yourself to a hot drink and biscuits,” She added with an ingratiating smile.
Jane’s curiosity got the better of her. “As I was walking here, I could have sworn I saw a friend of mine leaving. Michael Blake? Poor chap looked to be in quite a bit of pain, which is probably why he didn’t see me. Is he all right?” Jane asked in a concerned voice.
The receptionist leant forward and whispered, “I’m not supposed to divulge any information about our clients or their treatment, but seeing as he’s a friend of yours … He had an emergency appointment with Mr. Simmonds for terrible toothache.” She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “I know it must have been bad as normally he’s quite flirtatious, but today he was in and out without even telling me how gorgeous I looked.”
Jane forced a smile. “He’s quite a character is our Michael. Must be expensive, though, being treated here.” She suspected Blake was taking advantage of his rank getting treatment at a reduced fee, which was against the rules but not uncommon.
“Any fees for treatment are strictly between the dentist and the patient, of course. Though rates for individual clients can differ,” the receptionist added with a conspiratorial smile.
Jane nodded. “Mum’s the word.”
The waiting room was three times the size of Jane’s lounge, with red velvet curtains, matching Edwardian sofas, armchairs and antique sideboards. Jane poured herself a coffee from a sterling silver pot into a Wedgwood teacup with matching saucer. There were three choices of milk and cream in little silver pourers, and delicate silver tongs for the sugar. She didn’t feel hungry, but the chocolate biscuits looked very tempting. An immaculately dressed couple sat on a sofa by the window, looking as if they were preparing for a night out at the theatre rather than waiting to be seen by the dentist. The woman had a sable coat over her knees and sparkled with gold and diamond jewelry.
Jane put her cup down on the table, beside the neat piles of Tatler, Vogue and Country Life magazines. Deciding those were more suited to the elegant couple on the sofa, she picked up a copy of the British Dental Journal and started flicking through it. The articles seemed mostly technical and rather boring, but one featuring a picture of a handsome, blue-eyed, blond-haired man in a dental coat caught her eye. The subject of the piece was a dentist called David Simmonds, who had been awarded a Certificate of Merit for Outstanding Services to the Dental Profession. Jane thought Simmonds looked familiar, but she couldn’t recall having ever met him. She looked over at the woman with the sable coat.
“Excuse me, this is my first time here. Do you know if this is the same Mr. Simmonds who works here?” Jane asked, holding up the picture in the magazine.
The woman smiled graciously. “Yes, my dear, it is. He’s a wonderful dentist and exceedingly charitable, too. He does work for the poor people, you know.”
Jane ignored her snobbish remark and started to read the article. Simmonds, she rea
d, was raised in a South London council flat. In the early fifties he passed a scholarship exam for a boys grammar school in Tulse Hill, and when in 1956 the General Dental Council created bursaries for poorer families, Simmonds applied and was accepted to study dentistry at the renowned King’s College Dental School in South London. After qualifying, he applied for a commission in the army as a dentist, was accepted for the Royal Army Dental Corps and posted to a military base in Germany as a lieutenant.
Jane was absorbed by the story of Simmonds’ upward climb, and impressed by what he’d achieved. The receptionist walked into the waiting room and bobbed her head towards Jane.
“Mr. Simmonds can see you now, Miss Tennison.”
The lady with the sable coat promptly stood up and insisted that she was Mr. Simmonds’ next patient, and didn’t seem at all mollified by the receptionist’s assurance that Miss Tennison would not be long, glaring at Jane as if she’d just tried to steal one of her diamonds.
As they walked up the marble stairs to the first floor, the receptionist apologized for not addressing Jane as Sergeant Tennison, but explained that she didn’t want anyone to know the police were on the premises making enquiries, as it might reflect badly on the dental practice.
Jane forced herself to smile. “Oh, I quite understand.”
The receptionist knocked on Mr. Simmonds’ surgery door, and it was opened by a young and very attractive dental assistant. Jane could see a tall blond-haired man in a white medical smock with his back to her, putting some ivory-handled dental implements into an autoclave sterilizer.
“This is Sergeant Tennison, Mr. Simmonds.” The receptionist left the room, closely followed by the dental nurse.
Simmonds turned with a smile and put his hand out. “Please, call me David.”
Jane shook his hand, noticing he was wearing an expensive gold Rolex watch, and thought he looked younger and even more handsome in the flesh.
“My receptionist mentioned you were looking for Helen. We’ve been wondering why she suddenly stopped turning up for her cleaning job. Left us in a bit of a pickle, actually. She’s not in any trouble, is she?”
Murder Mile Page 19
