She didn’t bother unpacking her notebook or the envelope containing all the photographs they had taken from the Thorpes’ boathouse. She left everything in her bag to take to the station the next morning. Jane was so tired that without any memory of having got into bed, the next thing she knew was being jolted awake out of a deep sleep by her alarm going off at six. She had slept soundly for nine hours.
Sipping a cup of coffee in her kitchen, she made a few notes to remind herself that she still needed to arrange for blinds to be fitted in her bedroom, and to get some curtain fabric for her sitting room. She was just rinsing out her coffee cup when she noticed the overflowing ashtray. She picked it up gingerly, about to tip it into the waste bin when she noticed the charred ends of some rolled-up cigarette papers among the cigarette butts. She sighed, knowing exactly what they were, and placed some of them on a paper towel before tipping the rest into the bin.
Jane knew she would have to confront Eddie with the evidence, and ask if it had been him smoking cannabis or one of his guys. Jane was already concerned about the stuff that had come ‘off the back of a lorry’ but dope being smoked at her house was even more serious. Did Eddie not understand that she was a police detective? Or perhaps he didn’t really take her job seriously.
And on top of all that, Jane she knew she was going to have a confrontation with DCI Wayne Carter that morning. She certainly had a bone to pick with him about his choice of hotel.
She got to the station by eight thirty and began typing up an extensive report on her Australia trip, providing concise details of her conversations with Beatrice, and mentioning that she might be coming to England for the funeral of her sister. She was still typing when her door swung open, and Carter breezed in, neglecting to knock as usual.
‘So how was Sydney, Detective Tennison?’
‘It would have been a lot better if I had been in a decent hotel. Whoever had the audacity to book me in there...’
He laughed, then held up his hands. ‘Hey, it wasn’t me. Do you really think I’ve got the time? Check with Barbara... I think she was handling it with someone from Scotland Yard.’
Jane pursed her lips. Yes, she thought to herself, it had to have been her. She must have gone out of her way to ensure she could find the worst hotel in Kings Cross.
Carter sat on the edge of her desk, swinging his leg.
‘So, our prime suspect, now deceased — actually, she was deceased before you even left — has been fingered by her sister as the baby-killer. Do you have a signed statement?’
Jane knew he must have already spoken with Tim Taylor. ‘Not as yet, but...’
Carter slapped his palms on his thighs. ‘What a waste of a fucking trip... especially if she’s now going to be coming to England for her sister’s funeral. How the hell am I going to justify the expense of you schlepping over to Sydney?’
Jane glared at him. ‘I will compile a detailed statement to be sent to Mrs Thorpe’s solicitors in Sydney for her to sign and return in the post. If she is here for the funeral, she could possibly come into the station and make a formal statement in person.’
He casually stood up from her desk and glared back. ‘Anything else you want to tell me about, Detective Tennison?’
‘Not that I can think of, sir,’ she said.
‘I guess in all the excitement you must have forgotten to tell me about the post-mortem you asked Sussex police to do on Helena Lanark.’
‘I didn’t get a chance before I left and no firm time was set for it,’ Jane said defensively. ‘Also, as far as I was concerned, it would be a Sussex investigation.’
‘Well, you better hope they don’t send us the pathologist’s bill... as it will be coming out of your pay!’
‘What was the result?’ Jane asked, trying to keep her voice level.
He pushed the half open door with the toe of his elegant boot. ‘The post-mortem is today, as it happens. It seems the death of an sixty-one-year-old woman who resided in a care home for ten years is not exactly a priority.’
‘But her pearl necklace was missing from her room, so there’s a case for saying her death was suspicious...’
‘Maybe, Detective Tennison, if you thought her death was so suspicious, you should have made it a priority, instead of wasting your time and my money going all the way to Australia.’
Jane took a deep breath and asked Carter if he had any pressing cases he wanted her to work on.
He turned back to look at her. ‘There’s a number of domestic situations you can run your lovely blue eyes over, Tennison.’
The door swung closed behind him and Jane sighed. There was no way that she was going to be able to keep working with Carter. She would put in for a transfer and didn’t care where to, as long as it was nowhere near him.
Jane made herself focus on completing her report and then filed it. She called Sussex police to find out when the post-mortem was and was told it had been scheduled for that morning and that she should call back after lunch.
Glad of the opportunity to get out of Carter’s way, Jane decided she would go to the mortuary in person. On her way out, she passed DC Taylor standing at the incident board, writing up details of a car and driver wanted in a hit and run.
‘Shouldn’t traffic or uniform be dealing with that?’ she said quietly.
He shrugged. ‘Carter has got it in for me. I just do what I’m told.’
‘Thank you for giving Carter the information regarding our Australian trip,’ Jane went on. ‘In future, Tim, make sure you’ve spoken to the senior officer accompanying you before you start giving out details.’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but he was very insistent... and he creased up laughing when he asked me about the hotel. But I never mentioned anything about the photographs, ma’am,’ he added.
‘And you had better keep it that way,’ Jane said. ‘I’m going to Helena Lanark’s post-mortem if anyone needs to know where I am.’
Before making her way to the mortuary, Jane took several detours to John Lewis, Harrods, Selfridges and Liberty, choosing stair carpets, blinds and curtain fabric, not arriving at the labs until almost three. As she was walking along the corridor she met her old friend, DS Paul Lawrence.
‘Hey, how are you doing, Jane?’ he asked, affable as always. ‘I was hoping to see you. DCI Carter asked me to attend the post-mortem on Helena Lanark. You got the supersleuth pathologist working today so you’re in luck, but if you wanted to talk to him, you just missed him.’
‘Shit,’ Jane said.
‘I have all the details if you want. Do you fancy a cup of coffee?’
Jane realised she hadn’t even had lunch, so agreed to join Paul at a coffee bar not far from the labs. When they got there she ordered a toasted cheese sandwich and a cappuccino, and he had a BLT with a black coffee.
‘I hear you went to Australia?’ Paul said.
‘Yeah, I was still making inquiries about the deceased’s relatives,’ Jane said. ‘One of her sisters lives out there.’
‘Oh, I know, this is all about the baby in the shelter, isn’t it?’ Paul asked.
Jane nodded. ‘I managed to find out what actually happened. It turned out that Helena Lanark’s young sister gave birth in the shelter and, even though the baby was born alive, Helena smothered it, intentionally or not we will never know. At least that part of my investigation can be put to rest now. So, what was the outcome of the post-mortem?’
Paul took a bite of his BLT and reached down to his briefcase. He rested it on his knee and opened it as he continued to eat.
‘Well, the lady was actually in surprisingly good shape — physically, anyway. The prof said that she must have fallen face forward onto the floor. Her nose was dislocated, both eyes bruised, particularly the right eye, and her eyebrow was cut. She had been lying face down for a considerable time because of the way the lividity showed when she was examined by the doctor at the care home. He reckoned she possibly could’ve been lying there unconscious for hours before she died. Cause is partly suffocation, plus she suffered a major stroke due to the fall.’