DCI Carter folded his arms and leaned against the wall by his office door.
‘Tennison, you’ve gone from suspecting the women who lived at the house to now bringing in some nephew and adding in fraud. To be honest, it’s getting fucking out of control.’
The entire incident room went quiet as Carter raised his voice. Jane glanced at the officers, all trying to look as if they weren’t listening. She turned back to Carter.
‘I really don’t like the way you’re talking to me, sir. I am just doing my job, attempting to investigate the murder of that infant. To me, it seems quite obvious that the family must have known what was in that shelter. Just as they knew there was a tunnel from the house leading to it. That’s why no one was allowed in the basement or garden.’
Carter blew air out through his lips.
‘All right, all right... I apologise. I spoke out of turn, but I’ve got a lot of new cases to deal with and, as you are well aware, we work to a budget. This situation with the dead child has already been too costly. Do what you have to and get closure as quickly as possible. Right now, I could really use you on at least one of the other new cases that we’re trying to deal with.’ He walked off and banged through the double doors of the incident room.
Jane returned to her office. She didn’t hear exactly what anyone was saying but it was obvious that Carter’s lack of respect for her was now public knowledge.
As she closed her office door, her desk phone rang. It was Arnold Hadley, who apologised for taking such a long time to return her call. Jane tried to keep her voice under control, although she was still seething about the way Carter had spoken to her. She asked Mr Hadley if he could arrange for her to meet with Helena Lanark as soon as possible.
His reply was hesitant. ‘Well... she’s not in good health, to be honest. She’s in a care home in Hove.’
‘Can you give me the address, please?’ Jane said curtly. ‘And I’d like a meeting with you at your office tomorrow morning if that would be convenient.’
While she was on the phone, she calculated how long it would take for her to drive to Hove. She wanted to be back at home by seven to meet Eddie, and it was already two o’clock. Almost as an afterthought she asked Hadley about Beatrice Lanark. He told her that she was living in Australia with her son.
‘In fact, her son, Mr Thorpe, is here in London. I informed him about what had occurred in the shelter. I believe he’s discussing the situation at the Stockwell property with the developer.’
Jane’s suspicions concerning Jason Thorpe and the sale of the house were reignited. She made an effort to soften her tone. ‘Where does his mother, Beatrice, live?’ she asked.
‘Just outside Sydney... and Jason lives there with her.’
‘Thank you so much, Mr Hadley. Could I also just ask you about their younger sister, Marjorie? As far as we have been able to establish, she died very young? But we have no information on the cause of death.’
Mr Hadley paused, then spoke quietly.
‘I was obviously not representing the family in those days, but I believe that, very sadly, Marjorie took her own life... although I have no further details about the tragedy.’
‘Could I ask you how you knew about the suicide, Mr Hadley?’
‘My client, Helena Lanark, told me. She said that it had been a tragic and traumatic time in her life, but I know very little about the actual suicide.’
Jane thanked him for his time and ended the call. She realised that it was possible that Marjorie Lanark had given birth to the infant they had found and had then committed suicide. However, to date they had found no reference to the suicide, just a date of her death, and no details of an inquest. There was still a lot she needed to find out.
Chapter Eight
The residential home in Hove was a large, pleasant, double-fronted house with a small wooden sign saying HILLCREST — PRIVATE RESIDENTIAL CARE HOME. The pathway was immaculate, with beds of flowers either side. At the large glass double-door entrance was a wheelchair ramp and a tub of brilliant red geraniums.
Jane entered through the first set of glass doors into a small, tidy porch area. There was a printed notice stuck to the glass: PLEASE REMOVE ANY SANDY SHOES. Jane opened the door from the porch into a large reception area that had a thick floral carpet, two wingback chairs and a small carved wooden desk. The walls were adorned with beach prints and there were vases of fresh flowers on various side tables. There were further glass doors the other side of the desk leading into a corridor.
Jane approached the desk, which had telephones and a large leather diary on top, with a couple of filing cabinets behind. She was wondering if there was a bell for her to ring, when a smiling, rather plump woman appeared, wearing smart overalls with ‘Hillcrest’ embroidered on the breast pocket.
‘You must be Detective Inspector Tennison?’ she said, offering her hand.
‘Yes, that’s right. And you are?’ Jane shook her hand.
‘I’m Emily Thompson. Unfortunately, Miss Simmons, who is the main proprietor, has had to attend a staff meeting. But she asked me to be of every assistance to you. I believe that you’ve come to see Helena Lanark?’
Jane smiled. ‘Yes, that’s right. I do hope this isn’t an inconvenient time?’
‘Not at all. We have actually just finished serving afternoon tea, so I can take you straight through to her suite. If you’d like a cup of tea, I can ask one of the girls to bring it to you.’
‘No, thank you very much,’ Jane replied. ‘Miss Thompson, could I just ask you if Miss Lanark has many visitors?’
‘No, the only visitor she has on a regular basis is her lawyer, Mr Hadley, who is the most charming man and very protective of her. Her nephew occasionally comes to see her. Also, she has regular visits from a hairdresser and manicurist. I don’t know if you’ve been told that Helena is incommunicative.’
‘Incommunicative? Is she ill?’
‘It is an illness, yes... she has severe early onset dementia. But she is a very sweet-natured woman. We are very fortunate to have her,’ Miss Thompson replied.
Jane was led through the glass doors into a long, carpeted corridor. Everything about the place was immaculate. More seaside prints lined the walls and each of the freshly painted cream doors had a discreet nameplate at eye level.
Miss Thompson gestured to the doors as they walked past. ‘These are all private residents’ rooms, and now we are going into the area of private suites. These comprise a bedroom, an en-suite bathroom and a sitting room.’
Jane could only guess at how much this kind of residential home cost, but she was certain it would not be cheap. They turned right at the end of the corridor, into a thickly carpeted bay with French doors leading out onto manicured gardens.
‘We have a very good cook,’ Miss Thompson continued, ‘and three kitchen staff. We also have four nursing staff. And Miss Simmons is a highly qualified matron. She is very security conscious, and we have a security officer who watches the grounds. At Hillcrest, we are proud to be able to say that no resident has ever lost any personal item of clothing or jewellery.’
Jane was beginning to find Miss Thompson’s glowing recommendation of the care home a bit tedious. But it made her wonder exactly how much it cost and whether the proceeds from the sale of the Stockwell property were being used to pay for Miss Lanark’s care. She made a mental note to ask Mr Hadley.
Miss Thompson tapped on a door with number 12 on it. There was no answer, but Miss Thompson ushered Jane in ahead of her anyway. Jane was instantly impressed by the beautifully decorated and comfortably appointed room. It had a thick woven carpet, a chaise longue, a glass-topped coffee table and two elegant velvet-covered armchairs.