‘Blimey,’ Eddie said. ‘Rather you than me. I can’t imagine finding something like that.’
Jane didn’t add that she had also found the dried-up body of a baby. She followed him to the front door. ‘Thank you for today, Eddie. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow.’
He gave her a big grin. ‘Yeah, I hope to see you tomorrow night, with not so much damage left behind us!’
Jane shut the door after him and pulled the chain across. There had been no work in her bathroom, so she was able to have a long soak in her bath, the frustrations of the day gradually fading away as she was finally able to relax. But when she got out she saw that there was a stream of water seeping out beneath it and her good mood was instantly gone. With a sigh she decided she would leave a note for Archie asking him to look at the bathroom and give her an estimate for a replacement bath, wash basin and tiling.
Jane was up and out by eight the following morning. She had already looked up Sharon Forgham’s address in the A-to-Z, a flat in a high-rise council estate called Hightower, almost walking distance from where the demolition was taking place. Trusting to luck that Sharon would be in, Jane parked her car and headed into the rundown entrance area. There wasn’t any kind of reception desk, just a stained, dank-smelling carpet, a lift and a fire door to the ground-floor flats.
Sharon Forgham lived at number 312 and Jane was relieved it was only three floors up as the lift was out of order. She felt sorry for the residents who lived on the sixth floor.
Flat 312 looked as if someone had at one time taken good care of it. The front door was well painted and there was a good quality door mat outside. The surround of the doorbell was brass, but it had not been polished for a considerable time. Jane pressed it, then waited half a minute and pressed it again. She heard shuffling footsteps approaching on the other side of the door.
‘Who is it?’ a woman asked.
‘Good morning, I’m Detective Tennison and I’d like to speak to Sharon Forgham.’
‘If you’re here about an appeal, then you’ve come to the wrong place. You can piss off.’
Jane was momentarily confused. ‘It’s not about an appeal. I need to talk to you about the property where your husband worked.’
‘He’s dead.’
‘I know that. Am I talking to Mrs Forgham?’
There was an irritated sigh from behind the door and Jane heard the bolt being pulled back then the door opened. Sharon Forgham was wearing a pale blue satin quilted dressing gown, with greying furry slippers that must have once been blue as well.
‘If that bastard is trying to appeal, I’ve already told the probation department it’ll be over my dead body. He knifed my husband in cold blood, leaving him to die in the street like a dog.’
‘Could I please come in and talk to you?’ Jane persisted. ‘We have a situation which we need some help with.’
‘What help do you want? He pleaded guilty. He did it. It’s not just him in prison, you know. I’m in prison here. I’m on my own. My husband took good care of me. I never wanted for nothing, and now the bloody council are trying to get me out because I have a two-bedroomed flat. They’ve offered me a piece of crap so-called studio apartment. I’m not fucking moving an inch.’
Jane let Mrs Forgham vent her anger as she followed her into a small kitchen. Sitting down at the kitchen table, Sharon pulled a packet of Benson & Hedges from her pocket and lit one, inhaling deeply. After a couple of drags, she seemed to calm down and Jane explained that she was working at Stockwell police station and there was a situation at the house where her husband had worked up until the time of his death, which was now being demolished. Jane could see that Sharon had aged beyond her years and there was a bitter tiredness about her as she said that she knew little about her husband’s work, but he had always felt that he was doing more than he should and not being paid enough.
‘It was steady work, but some of those tenants were shocking, the way the flats were full of their relatives. And there were always problems with the plumbing, but the owner lived in Australia, so whenever poor Brian needed anything he had to go through a lawyer. He wasn’t allowed to spend a penny on repairs without permission.’
Jane was eager to get to the point of her visit and brought up the fact that the basement was never rented. Sharon nodded and said that she and Brian had talked about it.
‘It was strange, this big old basement all empty... and God forbid anyone dared go into the garden, that was out of bounds too. It was just left to rot. There had been an orchard at one time. Brian said it was disgusting, all the fruit just left to rot.’
‘So, your husband used the garden?’
‘I wouldn’t say he used it, but he had access to it. There was a fox that got in which he couldn’t get out. And sometimes there were dead birds in the greenhouse.’
‘Did he ever mention a tunnel to you?’
‘Where from?’
‘It probably led from the basement, under the garden, to an old air-raid shelter.’
‘No, he never mentioned anything like that.’
‘Do you have a daughter, Mrs Forgham?’
Sharon sucked at her cigarette. ‘I had a daughter. Samantha... a right little bitch. She was given everything she wanted. Her dad spoiled her rotten. She’d go off to that shop in the posh part of London, Biba. The clothes that girl had.’
‘Do you know where she is?’
‘No, I don’t. And I don’t want to know. She lied and stole from us. She broke my husband’s heart, then she ran off with that no-good piece of shit. No matter how much he begged her to come home, she wouldn’t leave that disgusting junkie.’
Jane put her hand up. ‘Mrs Forgham, you’re saying your daughter was involved with a drug addict?’
Sharon nodded. ‘She had the audacity to bring him here once, the no-good creep. I told her that if she wanted to keep going out with him then she wasn’t getting a penny from me or her dad. She lost her job at Boots... just didn’t turn up for work.’
‘Would this be Simon Root?’
Sharon pursed her lips then nodded.
‘I can’t stand to even hear his name after what he done. That piece of shit even tried to claim it was self-defence, but it was his flippin’ knife. He was a dirty liar.’
‘When was the last time you saw Samantha?’
‘Just before Brian died... about a month before. She came begging for money, same as always. I shoved her out of the door.’
‘Do you still keep in touch with her?’
Sharon’s mouth turned down. ‘I wouldn’t let her cross this doorstep because it’s all her fault. Brian would still be alive if it wasn’t for her.’
‘Did your husband keep in touch with her?’
Sharon fished in the pocket of her dressing gown and took out a tissue, blowing her nose.
‘He was broken... he came to me and was crying. A neighbour had seen her prostituting herself outside Stockwell Tube station. He got her on the game, that so-called boyfriend. She was twenty-two years old and beautiful, and she was doing that for money. Brian went to find her. What upset him more than anything was that she looked in a shocking state because that bastard had got her on heroin. Anyway, Brian told me he’d sort it and make sure that he’d get her off the junk, but he confronted the no-good boyfriend outside the pub and the bastard pulled out a knife and killed him. That’s what happened to Brian... my daughter’s drug-addict boyfriend killed her father.’
‘Was Samantha ever in court for Mr Root’s trial?’ Jane asked.
‘No, she didn’t dare show her face. Coppers came here asking about her, but I said I didn’t even know where she lived. I still don’t, and I don’t want to know where she is. It was all her fault. My poor husband was just trying to help her and gets murdered for it.’