Murder Mile

by Lynda La Plante

  Twenty minutes later a peeved-looking Edwards walked into the CID office, followed by Moran and Lawrence. Everyone stopped what they were doing to gawp at him. His hair was a tangled mess and his face was smeared with dirt. He was dressed in worn black trousers, which just about covered his ankles, a jumper with holes in it, a coat with what looked like vomit stains down the front, and scuffed shoes, one of which had no laces. A few of the detectives started to laugh.

  “Edwards didn’t need to change his clothes, guv. He already looked like a down-and-out,” one of them quipped, setting off another round of laughter around the room.

  Moran glared at them. “Stop it, the lot of you, and listen up. After consulting with a forensic odontologist, I believe the dismembered body is that of Aiden Lang. As DI Gibbs briefed you earlier, our prime suspect is now the dentist David Simmonds. However, the evidence that Simmonds killed him, and the three female victims, is weak and circumstantial. If we want to nail him, we need hard evidence. To that end, Edwards here has volunteered to go undercover.”

  There was a ripple of applause, and Edwards visibly relaxed.

  “Where did he get the clothes?” Jane asked Lawrence quietly.

  Lawrence chuckled. “As luck would have it, there was a down-and-out drunk in the cells. He was happy to get a few quid and a tracksuit in exchange for his clothes.”

  Moran continued. “It’s likely Simmonds suspects WDS Tennison is on to him. However, DCS Blake has spoken with him on the phone. Simmonds has been told Tennison is off the case and being investigated by A10 for breach of police regulations and an illegal search of the Peckham dental premises. Hopefully Simmonds now thinks Tennison’s career is over and he’s in the clear.”

  “Do you think Simmonds will fall for it, guv?” a detective asked.

  Moran nodded. “As it’s come from Blake, yes. They’re … members of the same golf club, so hopefully Simmonds will believe what he’s told.”

  There were a few raised eyebrows around the room, but no one asked exactly what the relationship was between Blake and Simmonds.

  Moran put his hand on Edwards’ shoulder. “Edwards is going to the Peckham surgery under the pretext of a bad toothache. I’m hoping to rattle Simmonds’ cage a little. Hopefully it’ll provoke him into doing something that will lead us to the evidence we need to arrest him on suspicion of murder.”

  “What if he rumbles I’m Old Bill?” Edwards asked anxiously.

  “If you play your part right, he won’t. But even if he does, Simmonds won’t risk arrest by harming a police officer. We’re putting a wire on you as well, to record everything he says.”

  Gibbs held up a covert microphone. “Slip your jumper off so I can put this on you.”

  Edwards started to panic. “No! No, wait a minute, I’m not sure I can do this.”

  Gibbs just grinned. “Come on, Edwards. You can do this. And who knows, there might be a promotion in it for you if you can get Simmonds to spill the beans.”

  Moran stepped in. “Just cut all this bullshit and get on with wiring him up, Spence.”

  Edwards reluctantly pulled up his grubby jumper. “It’s just that dentists scare the shit out of me, guv.”

  “By your own admission you haven’t been to one in ages, so you’re bound to need some work done. That’s what we need. All you have to do is fake a bit of toothache, then ask Simmonds if he’ll take a look,” Moran assured him.

  Gibbs tightened the strap of the listening device across Edwards’ chest. “Simmonds made a name for himself treating the homeless. He’ll welcome you with open arms.”

  Edwards frowned. “I won’t be able to say much if I’ve got my mouth wide open and he’s sticking things in it.”

  Moran patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. If Simmonds says you need fillings, just say you’ll think about it and leave.”

  “We’ve got officers in observation vans and unmarked cars. We’ll all be listening in and ready to tail Simmonds,” Gibbs added.

  “You know what you got to say?” Moran asked.

  “Yes, guv, you been over it with me five times already,” Edwards sighed. “Engage Simmonds in conversation about Aiden Lang and the Peckham murders and the search of the hostel.”

  “And the code if you’re in trouble?” Moran asked.

  “Use a sentence with the word red in it,” Edwards replied.

  Gibbs held his hand up. “Can I have a bit of silence, please?” He nodded to the surveillance officer in the far corner of the room. “You ready for a test?”

  The officer held his hand up and put on a headset, which he plugged into a radio on the table.

  “OK, Edwards, give us a sample of your best South London accent,” Gibbs said.

  “My name is Michael Caine,” Edwards said in flat voice.

  The surveillance officer gave the thumbs up to acknowledge he’d received the transmission.

  “Right, then, we’re good to go.” Gibbs patted Edwards on the shoulder.

  “I need the loo first,” Edwards said sheepishly.

  “Pee in your pants—it’ll go with the disguise,” a detective shouted.

  There was a chorus of laughter, followed by more applause for Edwards.

  Jane didn’t join in. Instead, her face wore a look of concern. From her experience at the Peckham surgery, Edwards was not going to have an easy time.

  Half an hour later, Edwards nervously approached Simmonds’ Peckham surgery. Although he’d done a sound test before leaving the station, he now had no way of knowing for sure if his colleagues were still receiving him. It was too risky to wear any form of earpiece to receive calls. He looked at his watch, then, knowing everything was being recorded for evidential purposes, lowered his head and spoke quietly into the covert listening device attached to his chest.

  “It’s four thirty p.m… . Monday twenty-sixth of February 1979 … I’m outside sixty-one Brayards Road, SE15.” Edwards took a deep breath, rang the doorbell and held his hand to his right cheek, as if he was in pain. He waited, then rang the doorbell again. “Christ, I don’t think he’s in.”

  A few seconds later, Simmonds opened the door wearing a white dental coat.

  “Me name’s George Jenkins. I’m from the hostel up the road. I heard you could sort me toof ache out for noffin.” Edwards did his best to sound as if he was in pain.

  Simmonds invited him inside. “I’ll have a look and see what I can do to help. You’ll have to wait until I finish with my current patient, though.”

  “I’ll wait all night if you can fix it.” Edwards moaned.

  Simmonds showed him into the lounge. “Can you read and write, George?”

  Edwards nodded. “Just about.”

  Simmonds handed him a personal details form and pen. “I’ll need you to fill this out, please. Help yourself to coffee or tea from the kitchen. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

  Simmonds returned to his surgery room and Edwards started to fill out the form. He suddenly heard the unmistakable high-pitched whirr of the dental drill, and just managed to stop himself swearing out loud. He made himself a coffee and went to sit in the lounge, enduring a nervous twenty minutes before Simmonds ushered his previous patient out of the door and invited Edwards into the surgery.

  Edwards cautiously sat down in the dental chair.

  “Do you live here in Peckham?” Simmonds asked.

  “Not exactly. I’ve been homeless for almost a year. But I’ve got a meeting about benefits, so I can get off of the streets.”

  “So you’ve been living rough, then?”

  “Nah, I’ve been in a down-and-outs hostel but I’ve been warned about staying there because of all them murders round here.”

  “Yes, it’s very sad.” Simmonds used the foot pump to raise the dental chair.

  “The Old Bill was all over the hostel after they found that woman’s body in some bloke’s room.”

  Simmonds made the chair recline. “I’m sure. Well, let’s hope they catch whoever did it. I fe
el so sorry for the families who’ve lost a loved one.”

  “They said on the news they don’t know who the cut-up body in the park is … I reckon it was the same person done it who killed them women.”

  Simmonds didn’t seem interested in that line of conversation. “Can you tell me which tooth it is that’s causing you pain?” he asked, picking up a small dental mirror and probe.

  “It’s one of them back ones.” Edwards pointed with a grubby finger.

  Simmonds put the probe into Edwards’ mouth. “I’m going to tap your teeth, George. I want you to tell me if you feel any pain.”

  Edwards grimaced as he felt the probe touch his back tooth. “Yeah, that hurt.”

  “Looks like you’ve got some decay there.”

  “Do I need a filling?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. I’ll give you an injection to numb the tooth, hollow it out, remove the decay and put a filling in. I can assure you it will be quick and painless.”

  Edwards was trying to stop himself shaking. He was terrified of having the procedure, but even more worried that he hadn’t got Simmonds to let slip anything incriminating. He knew everyone in the surveillance vehicles would be listening in and counting on him to get more out of Simmonds.

  “If it’ll stop me toof ache then I guess you’d better do it.”

  Edwards watched nervously as Simmonds filled the dental syringe with novocaine. He knew he had to try and unsettle Simmonds before the injection numbed his mouth.

  “Who at the hostel recommended me?” Simmonds asked.

  “Eric, the warden. He said you treated the bloke whose room the dead woman was found in. He said he used the name Ben Smith, but he was actually called Aiden somefing.”

  Simmonds didn’t react as he squirted a little of the novocaine from the syringe. “I have so many patients, I can’t remember all their names.”

  “Some lady detective was back at the hostel this morning, lookin’ in his room and asking questions.”

  Simmonds stopped as he was about to put the needle in Edwards’ mouth. “Did she find anything?”

  “I reckon so. She was carrying a little blue and red thing in a plastic bag.”

  Without warning, Simmonds pushed the needle into Edwards’ gum.

  Edwards gripped the arms of the dental chair as he felt a sharp pain. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed Moran to talk him into doing this.

  Simmonds waited for a minute or so, then used the probe again, tapping it against Edwards’ tooth. “Can you feel that?”

  Edwards tried to say he couldn’t feel anything, but his words were slurred. Simmonds picked up a dental drill and turned it on. Edwards’ knuckles turned white as he gripped the chair, the horrible sound filling him with fear. As Simmonds drilled into his tooth, he was relieved not to feel any pain, but the sound of the drill still caused his heart to pump so fast he thought was going to have a heart attack.

  Simmonds didn’t say anything else as he finished off the filling, and the whole procedure was over in twenty minutes. He helped a still-shaky Edwards down the stairs and showed him to the door.

  “You’ll feel some discomfort when the injection wears off, I’m afraid. Take some painkillers if you need to.” Simmonds opened the front door.

  “’anks for yer ’elp, mate,” Edwards replied.

  Simmonds put a hand on his arm. “The lady detective you mentioned—was her name Tennison?” His voice was cold.

  Edwards tried not to look surprised. “Yeah, I fink it was. You know her, then?” he added casually.

  “We’ve met socially. She’s a very interesting lady. You could say we share a common interest.” Simmonds gave him a chilly smile and closed the door.

  Edwards returned to the station feeling miserable as the novocaine began to wear off. He made his way to Moran’s office but was finding it hard to focus his thoughts because of the pain.

  Moran seemed pleased with him. “Well done, Edwards. I heard you actually had a filling done.”

  “Yes, sir. I’d like to say it was worth it, but my jaw hurts like mad. Did they manage to record everything?” His speech was no longer slurred, but he still didn’t quite sound himself.

  “Yes. Gibbs radioed in with the basics. I haven’t had a chance to listen to the actual tape recording yet. The surveillance team is waiting to tail Simmonds when he leaves. Gibbs said they were feeling your pain as they listened. Apparently one officer nearly threw up when he heard the sound of the drill.”

  “He wasn’t the only one, sir.”

  “Do you think Simmonds sussed you were Old Bill?”

  “I don’t think so. He didn’t really react to anything. Apart from when I said a lady detective had been back to the hostel. That got a reaction, like he knew it was Tennison I was talking about.” Edwards sighed. “I can’t help feeling like I haven’t achieved anything that helps us, sir.”

  “Don’t be silly, Edwards. You should be proud of what you did. Go on, get yourself off home and get some rest.”

  “If this tooth stops hurting I might,” Edwards grumbled.

  Halfway to the door, he realized he’d hadn’t told Moran what Simmonds had said at the door.

  “I forgot to mention, sir: as I was leaving, Simmonds mentioned Tennison by name. He said they’d met socially. Then his parting words about her were weird.”

  Moran looked concerned. “What did he say?”

  “That Tennison was a very interesting lady … and they shared a common interest.”

  Moran’s face turned red with anger. “The conceited bastard is talking about the murders!”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Arriving at work on the Tuesday morning, Jane went straight to Moran’s office. She knew the surveillance team had tailed Simmonds from his Peckham clinic back to his residence at Harley Street. Simmonds had left the premises at 7:30 p.m., but only to dine alone at a local restaurant, and Gibbs’ team were stood down at 10 p.m. whilst other officers took over the surveillance for the night.

  “Morning, sir. Lawrence told me the coroner wanted further enquiries to be made to trace Lang’s dental records.”

  “Yes, Lawrence and Professor Martin re-examined the severed hand and confirmed the clasped thumb. Lawrence also shared the odontologist’s findings with the coroner. But the coroner’s not willing to issue a death certificate in Aiden Lang’s name without conclusive evidence. So we need his dental records. It’s a long shot, but I’ve got some of the team making discreet enquiries at other dental practices in Peckham and other areas we know Lang frequented or lived.”

  “I could contact Hilary Peters. She might know if he had any fillings and which dentist did them.”

  “Not at the moment. Until the coroner allows for a death certificate to be issued in Lang’s name, we can’t tell anyone we suspect the body may be his.”

  “Doesn’t she have the right to know we think it might be Aiden?”

  “I understand your sentiments, Jane, but think what would happen if she went to the press. We’d have to say we don’t know if it’s him and the coroner would be livid. Get the team to help you compile a list of dentists in the areas we know Lang frequented.”

  The surveillance operation continued at Simmonds’ Harley Street clinic all day and night on the Tuesday. As before, he left the building at 7:30 p.m. and dined alone at the same local restaurant. The detectives watching Simmonds began to wonder if he knew, or suspected, he was under observation. A frustrated Moran called for a full office meeting at ten o’clock on the Wednesday morning.

  The team had a dejected air as they gathered in the CID office. Moran entered the room and called for attention.

  “Thank you for all your hard work and long hours on surveillance over the last two days, even though it didn’t get the result I’d hoped for. On the positive side, if it wasn’t for Tennison’s dogged determination, we’d still be looking for Lang and David Simmonds might never have become a suspect. DCS Blake spoke with the Commissioner, and they agreed we have ground
s to arrest and interview Simmonds on suspicion of murder. A magistrate has also issued search warrants for Simmonds’ Peckham and Harley Street surgeries.”

  The atmosphere in the room instantly lifted. Moran got the warrants out of a folder.

  “I’d ask Edwards to lead the search at the Peckham clinic, but I’m worried he might have a flashback to his nightmare experience,” Moran joked.

  Everyone, including Edwards, laughed.

  Jane was surprised when Moran handed her the warrant for the Peckham address.

  “You and Lawrence execute the warrant for Brayards Road. Rip the place to bits, if necessary. Same with the Harley Street practice, Gibbs.”

  “I’ll get another lab sergeant and SOCOs to assist us,” Gibbs replied as Moran handed him the warrant.

  Moran read out the names on each team. Jane wondered if Simmonds was expecting to be arrested. If so, she was certain he would have a well-rehearsed cover story and alibi. He would also, no doubt, be able to afford the best barristers in London.

  Moran shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “Right, now everyone, be aware that Simmonds is highly intelligent but also arrogant. I guarantee, if he’s our killer, he will have made mistakes and it’s our job as a team of detectives to find them.”

  Jane and Lawrence went to the Peckham surgery with two SOCOs and a uniform PC, who was to stop any unauthorized people entering the premises, as well as record the police officers who came and went. They had been informed that Simmonds was at his Harley Street practice and were eager to get in and do a thorough search. Lawrence rang the doorbell, just in case they were mistaken, but on the third ring he stepped back and one of the SOCO officers used a sledgehammer to break open the front door, which yielded easily, having only one small Yale lock.

  Lawrence stepped into the hall and told the SOCOs to wait whilst he assessed what needed to be done. Jane and Lawrence put on some latex gloves and went into the living room. She showed him the discolored area on the red and brown Axminster carpet.

  Lawrence placed his forensic case to one side, knelt and sniffed the carpet.

  “I can smell the faint remnants of bleach. You were right. Looks like it’s been used to clean a stain of some sort. When someone tries to clean up blood, the scrubbing motion pushes it down through the carpet,” he explained.