Murder Mile

by Lynda La Plante

  “This is strictly between us. On a one-to-one basis?”

  Moran looked around the room. “Well, I can’t see anyone else in here, can you?”

  Jane took a deep breath and spoke calmly, but without holding back. “Hilary Peters is an innocent victim of her brother’s crimes, but it seems to me you treated her as if she was a criminal just because Aiden Lang is a homosexual. Hilary didn’t make her brother gay, and wanting to protect him doesn’t make her a bad person. Surely, as police officers, we should treat suspects’ families with a bit of decency and understanding.”

  Moran shrugged. “Hilary Peters will get over it. What’s done is done and I stand by my decision.”

  Jane shook her head in disbelief. “Hilary’s husband hates Lang because he’s gay, a poofter, faggot or any one of the derogatory terms I’ve heard bandied round the office. Do you really think he’ll brush off his house being searched and neighbors questioned with a ‘what’s done is done’?”

  As far as Moran was concerned, their one-to-one was over. “You can call it a day now and book off duty,” he said brusquely as he picked up a folder on his desk and started reading.

  Jane banged the door closed behind her and went straight to the ladies’ locker room to compose herself. Standing at the sink, she looked in the mirror and was taken aback by how worn out she looked. But she didn’t regret speaking her mind to Moran, and after splashing some water on her face, she felt restored.

  The CID office was empty, with everyone out searching Hilary Peters’ house or following up suspected sightings of Aiden Lang after the press appeal. Jane looked at the roster and saw she was off Saturday and working Sunday, which meant she could still go for dinner with Paul Lawrence. But realizing she needed something to cheer her up now, so she didn’t just sit at home thinking about the investigation, Jane decided to pay a surprise visit to her parents in Maida Vale. She gathered up her things, flicked off the lights and closed the door behind her, leaving the photos of the three murdered women and Aiden Lang in darkness.

  Jane still had her own key to her parents’ flat, but wanting to make her visit a nice surprise rather than a shock, she knocked on the door.

  The Tennisons’ large flat in Maida Vale was pleasantly decorated. It had three good-sized bedrooms, an open-plan lounge with dining room, and a kitchen with a breakfast bar along one wall.

  Jane’s father opened the door, beaming from ear to ear. He was dressed casually in a white shirt, grey trousers and slippers. He stepped forward and gave Jane a big hug and kiss on the cheek.

  “Lovely to see you, Jane. Come on in.”

  Jane walked into the hallway and instantly smelt the sweet aroma of home-baking. “That smell always makes my mouth water.”

  “Your mother’s in the kitchen making some bread and scones. Mother, come and see who’s here,” he called.

  Mrs. Tennison came out of the kitchen, wiping her flour-dusted hands on a long pink and red pinafore. It was one that Jane and her sister Pam had bought her for Christmas five years earlier.

  “Jane!” They kissed and hugged. As Mrs. Tennison stepped back, Jane smiled and brushed flour off her coat.

  “Sorry I’ve not been in touch recently—I’ve been really busy at work, but my DCI let me finish early today.”

  “I’ve seen the news on TV and read the papers about those terrible murders. I hope you’re not on the investigation.”

  “I am, Mum, I am.”

  Her mother took a moment to consider her response. “Then maybe I spoke out of turn the other night, and I’m sorry. But you know if you ever need us we’re here.”

  Jane was not expecting her mother to be so sympathetic, especially after their last telephone conversation had ended so abruptly.

  “It’s not been pleasant, Mum. But it’s far worse for the families who lost a loved one.”

  “I’ll put the kettle on and butter some scones.” Mrs. Tennison hurried into the kitchen.

  Jane looked at her father. “Some things never change,” she said, realizing her mother didn’t really want to discuss her work.

  “Your mother told me she was upset and put the phone down on you the other evening. I had a word with her about being more understanding when it comes to your work as a detective. She is trying, but you know how she worries about you, especially after you got caught up in that IRA bomb.”

  “I was off duty when the explosion happened, Dad. It was just wrong place, wrong time.”

  “And then there was that IRA sleeper woman who tried to kill you.”

  “Natalie Wilde fooled me and a lot of other people, but I learnt a valuable lesson.” Jane followed her father into the lounge and sat down on the sofa.

  “How is the investigation going? Are you any nearer catching the suspect?” her father asked quietly, after checking Mrs. Tennison was still in the kitchen.

  Although Jane had promised herself she wouldn’t think about work for the rest of the day, she didn’t mind discussing it with her father. He had always been supportive of her career choice, and had a genuine interest in her investigations, offering sensible advice or words of comfort when she felt down. Jane also knew she could trust her father to keep what she told him to himself. She filled him in briefly about the three murders—the hardest thing to talk about being that a nine-year-old boy had lost his mother.

  Her father shook his head sadly. “That poor boy.”

  “Simon may have been sexually abused. I have to take him to be interviewed by a social services welfare officer and he’ll be examined by a pediatrician,” Jane said.

  Jane’s father could hear the pain in her voice. “That side of police work must be heart-wrenching.”

  “Yes, it is. But if Simon was abused, it will give us further evidence against the suspect and reveal some of his motive for the murders.”

  “Well, I hope to God you catch him, Jane. Cases like that make you wonder if it was right to abolish hanging.”

  Jane was surprised. “We don’t always get it right in the police, Dad. In the past, innocent people have been convicted by a jury and hung for murders they didn’t commit. To be honest, I’m not convinced our suspect acted alone. He may have had an accomplice.”

  “Really? Have you told your boss what you think?” Mr. Tennison asked.

  “I made the mistake of airing my opinion in an office meeting and got a severe dressing-down from DCI Moran and DI Gibbs about my gut feelings and jumping to wild conclusions.”

  Her father nodded sympathetically. “I watched a TV documentary recently about human intuition. It said that gut feelings and instinct play a big part in a detective’s search for the truth—especially knowing when someone is lying. You shouldn’t dismiss a gut feeling just because others disagree with you.”

  Jane smiled. Her dad really was a wise old soul. “I know, and thanks for the advice, Dad. Anyway, I wanted to have a job-free evening, so if it’s OK with you, can we talk about something else?”

  “I’ll get the slide projector and screen out. You haven’t seen the slides of our last cruise, have you?”

  Jane was on the point of saying she had, but didn’t want to disappoint her father. “I’d love to see them, thanks.”

  “Tea’s up.” Mrs. Tennison walked in with a tray of tea and plate of fresh buttered scones and jam.

  Watching the cruise slides, Jane bit into a scone and realized how much she missed her mother’s home cooking. “These are the best, Mum.”

  “Thank you, dear. I’ve put some in a cake tin for you to take home. I’ve got a homemade steak and kidney pie, with mash and peas, for supper later.”

  “You’re spoiling me now, Mum.” Jane smiled.

  Jane’s father kept up a running commentary as he went through the slides, and she had to fight to stop herself from drifting off. Then the doorbell rang.

  “See who it is, please, dear,” her mother asked, looking at Jane.

  She opened the door to a smiling Pam and her husband Tony, who was holding baby Nathan. Pa
m was carrying a wicker baby basket and had a patchwork baby bag slung over her shoulder.

  “Mum rang to say you were visiting, so we thought we’d surprise you,” Pam explained.

  Tony held Nathan’s tiny hand and made him wave to Jane. “Say hello to your aunty Jane, Nat.”

  “Nat?” Jane wasn’t sure if she’d heard Tony correctly.

  “It’s short for Nathan. It was my idea and Mum liked it,” Pam said.

  Jane just smiled, even though she thought Nat sounded like a bug. Jane followed her sister and Tony into the living room.

  Mrs. Tennison came out from the kitchen, delighted to see her grandson, as was Mr. Tennison.

  “I’ve got some good news for you all,” Pam announced.

  “You’re pregnant again?” Mrs. Tennison ventured.

  “No, Mother. The date for Nat’s christening is set.” Pam turned to Jane. “I want you to be his godmother.”

  Tony handed Nathan to Jane. “We both want you to be his godmother.”

  “Me? Really? I don’t know what to say,” Jane stammered.

  “That’s a lovely idea.” Her mother beamed.

  “Of course I’d be honored.” Jane felt chuffed as she cradled six-month-old Nathan in her arms.

  Mrs. Tennison put her arm around Jane’s shoulder. “Being a godmother is a big responsibility, dear.”

  “You’ll be like an extra parent to Nat,” Pam added.

  Mrs. Tennison nodded in agreement. “You’ll have an important role to play at the christening. Make sure to book a day off from work as soon as you can.”

  “And try not to be late,” Pam added with a smile.

  Jane looked into her nephew’s beautiful blue eyes. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Nathan gurgled, burped and started to cry.

  “Nat’s hungry.” Pam took him from Jane, then sat down to breastfeed him.

  Mr. Tennison looked away.

  Mrs. Tennison shook her head. “Don’t be so prudish. Breastfeeding is perfectly natural.”

  Mr. Tennison got up from his armchair. “There’s something I need to do in the kitchen.”

  Pam finished feeding Nathan, then handed him to Jane. “He needs burping now.”

  “I haven’t a clue how to do that, Pam.”

  “Hold him against your chest, so his chin is resting on your shoulder, then support him with one hand and gently rub his back with the other. Like this.”

  Suddenly Nathan burped, then passed wind. It made Jane laugh, but she didn’t find it so funny when he burped the second time and was sick.

  “Sorry, I forgot to put a cloth on your shoulder. It’s not much anyway,” Pam said casually as she rubbed Jane’s shoulder with the cloth.

  “Does it stain?” It was one of her good work jackets.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it with a bit of disinfectant,” Mrs. Tennison offered.

  Jane handed Nathan to Pam. “I think he needs changing.”

  “This would be a good time to learn, Jane,” Pam said with a smile.

  “I need to clean my jacket.” Jane beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen, followed by her mother.

  By the time she’d returned, Pam had changed Nathan’s nappy and he was asleep in the wicker basket.

  During supper, Mrs. Tennison asked Jane if she wanted to stay the night, but Jane said she couldn’t as she had an early start at work in the morning.

  “Have you got the weekend off?”

  “Just the Saturday.”

  “You could come and stay the night then,” Mrs. Tennison said.

  “We’re not here, dear, we’re visiting friends in Eastbourne,” Mr. Tennison reminded his wife.

  “We can make an excuse. Tell them I’ve got a cold.”

  “There’s no need to change your plans,” Jane insisted. “I’ve already got a dinner on Saturday evening.”

  Mrs. Tennison looked surprised. “Is it a work colleague?”

  Pam giggled. “Well, that could be a recipe for disaster with your track record.”

  Jane frowned. “Very funny, Pam.”

  “What his name?” her father asked.

  “Paul Lawrence. He’s a detective sergeant like me.”

  “Isn’t he the nice forensics man you’ve spoken about before?”

  Jane sighed. “Yes, he is, Mother. I’ve learnt a lot from him since I joined The Met.”

  “How old is he?” Pam asked.

  “What is this, the Spanish Inquisition? Paul and I are just good friends, and our relationship is purely platonic. Can we change the subject, please?” Jane didn’t want to reveal that Paul was at least eight years older than her.

  After supper, Pam brought Nathan down after bathing and changing him. In his soft white Babygro, he looked like a sleeping cherub. Jane lent over the wicker basket. She would’ve liked to pick him up and cradle him in her arms, but she was worried she would wake him. She couldn’t resist kissing his cheek. He smelt of talcum powder and milk. The thought of any harm ever coming to him was so awful, she wondered if she could be a mother.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was 4 a.m. when Jane woke abruptly, with a cold sweat all over her body. She’d dreamt it was morning and she was on her way to work when she got a flat tire. When she opened the boot to get the tire jack, she discovered Sybil Hastings’ bloody body, eyes wide open and staring at her.

  Jane went to the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of water. She sat at the kitchen table whilst she drank it and saw the dental journal she’d brought back from Harley Street. She flicked through it until she found the picture of Simmonds. Suddenly it struck her why he looked familiar. She felt a shudder run through her body as she recalled the photograph Agnes had shown her of Mrs. Hastings and her son playing golf. She was certain now that Simmonds was one of the men in the photograph. She stood up, her heart beating wildly, and the glass of water fell from her hand and shattered on the kitchen floor.

  “Oh my God,” she said aloud. “Simmonds is connected to two of the victims and treated Simon.”

  Jane cleaned up the broken glass, knowing she would not be able to get back to sleep after this revelation. So she sat in the kitchen drinking strong black coffee and reading the rest of the article about Simmonds. He’d been born and raised on a Peckham council estate, where he witnessed the daily suffering of others, and became determined to help those in the community less fortunate than himself. To that end, he set up a small NHS surgery in his mother’s house in Peckham after she passed away, where he also treated the homeless and those on benefits without charge, for which he had been awarded the Certificate of Merit for Outstanding Services to the Dental Profession.

  Jane checked the date of the journal: January 1979. She wondered why Simmonds hadn’t mentioned his Peckham practice. She had found him pleasant and helpful, and he was obviously well respected within his profession. She sighed, realizing there was no reason for Simmonds to tell her. Maybe it was just a coincidence. She took a sip of coffee, wondering if her gut instinct was leading her astray. Then it suddenly crossed her mind that Helen Matthews could also have worked at the Peckham practice and therefore might have come across Lang somewhere in the neighborhood. She made a note in her notebook to speak with Simmonds again, wondering about the possible sighting of Lang outside the Harley Street practice.

  Jane went over all her notes on the case, jotting down her new thoughts. Was it possible that Simmonds had lied about knowing Lang because the two of them were involved in the murders of the three women? She contemplated sharing her suspicions with Moran, but after the run-in she’d just had with him, she decided to wait until she had more evidence to support them.

  Jane checked Yellow Pages for dental practices in Peckham. There were only a handful, and not all of those listed the dentists’ names, but Simmonds name wasn’t there. Of course, it was possible Simmonds didn’t advertise his Peckham practice. She glanced at the kitchen clock. It was nearly 8 a.m. But she didn’t feel tired. Her thoughts about the case had
energized her and she was eager to follow them up. She decided that the first thing to do was go to Mrs. Hastings’ flat in Regent’s Park to confirm that the man in the golfing photo was Simmonds.

  Before she left, Jane phoned the office. Edwards answered.

  “Edwards, it’s Jane. Can you book me on duty and let Moran or Gibbs know I’m going to make some further enquiries at the Samaritans office in Soho, then I’ve got to take Simon Matthews to social services for his interview.”

  “Yeah, will do.”

  “Any positive leads on Aiden Lang yet?”

  “Not a thing. The sightings we followed up came to nothing.” He seemed fed up with the lack of progress. “You going to watch Gibbs’ band tonight?”

  It was the last thing she was thinking about. “I had a restless night. I’ll probably give it a miss.”

  “You should go. It would do you good to let your hair down and mix with the team more often.”

  It was true that she rarely socialized with her work colleagues. “OK, I’ll see how I feel later.”

  Arriving at Viceroy Court, the same porter let her in.

  “Good morning, officer. Can I see your warrant card, please? And you’ll need to sign the visitors’ book.”

  Jane looked bemused. “You know who I am.”

  “Yes, but as you know, rules are rules.”

  Shaking her head, Jane showed her card and signed the book.

  “Do you want this?” the porter asked, plonking a plastic bag down on the table.

  “What is it?”

  “Mrs. Hastings’ car radio cassette player. I fixed it for her. I can put it back in the car if you want.”

  Jane picked the bag up and handed it back to the porter. “The car’s still at the police lab. Can you keep it for now?”

  “Suppose so. Cost me a couple of quid to fix it. Do you think it will be all right if I used it in my car?”

  “I don’t know. You’d best speak with Mr. Hastings about it.”

  The porter nodded as he opened the lift door. “I hope you catch the bloke who murdered Mrs. Hastings and those other women. Hanging would be too good for him.”