‘Do you have any idea where Mrs. Hastings might be at present?’ Jane asked.
‘Noo. She went out late Friday afternoon in her car an’ I havnae seen her since. To be honest, I’m a wee bit worried. It appears she’s nay been home and usually she’d leave me a message. Mind, I was out Friday night and stayed over at a friend’s, I got home late last night and went to bed, then this morning I went to check on Mrs. Hastings, to see if she wanted breakfast, but she was no’ in her bed. I even checked the underground car park and her car was no’ there. Where did this accident happen?’
Jane told Agnes it was in Peckham.
‘Peckham? But her golf course is over in Coombe Hill. Ohh, now I’m confused. I cannae remember if she said on Friday that she was going to see a friend from the golf club or she was going to the golf club to see a friend Or was she going to see Andrew...?’
Jane was finding it hard to keep up with what Agnes was saying. ‘You mentioned you phoned Mrs. Hastings’ son, Andrew?’
‘Aye, I called him about eight thirty this morning to say I was worried about his mother’s whereabouts. Andrew said to stop worrying as his mum was probably visiting friends for the weekend, or decided to have a night or two away on her own in a hotel, which she has done before... Normally she’d always tell me or leave a wee note if she was going anywhere. Andrew said he’d make a few phone calls and get back to me.’
Jane asked if Mrs. Hastings had any friends in the Peckham or Dulwich areas. When Agnes said that she didn’t know of any, Jane, now becoming a bit concerned, asked Agnes what Mrs. Hastings looked like. She doubted, due to the apparent age of their victim, that it was Mrs. Hastings who had been murdered. Agnes went over to one of the teak cabinets, picked up a photograph and handed it to Jane, who could see it was two women and two men, standing by a putting green holding golf clubs.
‘That was taken last summer at Coombe Hill in the mixed four-ball competition. Mrs. Hastings is on the left — she’s a good golfer — and that’s her son Andrew next to her — he’s her only child. I don’t know who the other two are.’
‘How old is Mrs. Hastings?’
‘She’s sixty-six now.’
Jane estimated Agnes was a few years younger than Mrs. Hastings. It was clear from her age and the photograph that Sybil Hastings was not their murder victim. Jane realized there wasn’t much more she could ask Agnes and it would be best to ring later to see if Mrs. Hastings had returned home. However, she could see Agnes was still worried so decided to stay and chat with her. Just then the doorbell rang, which made the nervous Agnes jump.
‘I’ll get it. It’s probably my colleague, Detective Inspector Gibbs,’ Jane said in an effort to calm Agnes.
Gibbs looked disheveled and hungover. Jane introduced Agnes to him as Mrs. Hastings’ housekeeper and Gibbs asked if he could have a glass of water. Agnes went off to the kitchen to get him one. Jane wondered if Gibbs was still drinking heavily, or had recently fallen off the wagon. He stood beside Jane, his hands deep in his coat pockets.
‘Dickhead porter wanted to know the ins and outs of a duck’s arse... “May I ask why you are here, sir?”’ Gibbs said, exaggerating the porter’s ostentatious manner and tone. ‘The pretentious git shut up when I told him we’d had a complaint that someone in a porter’s uniform was flashing at elderly women in Regent’s Park.’
Jane refrained from laughing. Only Gibbs could come out with quick put-downs like that. She told him she hadn’t mentioned anything about the murder they were investigating to Agnes as she didn’t want to unduly worry her. Jane showed Gibbs the photograph she was still holding and pointed to the woman on the left.
‘That’s Mrs. Hastings and her son Andrew next to her. As you can see, she’s clearly not our victim. Sybil Hastings owns the blue Allegro, but she’s been away since Friday afternoon. Her son thinks she could be with friends or having a weekend away somewhere on her own.’
Gibbs shrugged his shoulders. ‘Then we’re wasting valuable time here. The priority is identifying our victim.’
Jane replaced the photo on the cabinet. ‘Seems strange she should just leave her car in Peckham without contacting her son or Agnes.’
‘She’s a grown woman who can do as she pleases. She might even have a secret toy boy lover over Peckham way. Her whereabouts are not our problem,’ Gibbs said.
Agnes came back into the living room with a glass of water and handed it to Gibbs, who gulped it down. Jane thanked Agnes for her assistance, asked for the flat phone number and said she’d ring back later to see if Mrs. Hastings had been in touch. Suddenly they heard an aristocratic voice bellowing down the hallway.
‘Have you heard from Mother yet, Agnes? I phoned a few of her friends but no luck.’
‘That’s Andrew,’ Agnes whispered nervously to Jane and Gibbs.
‘I was supposed to be playing golf this morning, you know, and I’ve had to ruddy well cancel it,’ Andrew said as he entered the living room. He looked every inch the sophisticated golfer in a white nylon turtleneck top, with a woolen magenta jumper over it, hound’s-tooth pattern golf trousers and black brogues. He was good-looking, in his late thirties and six-foot tall, with swept-back blond hair, which he ran his hand through as he looked inquisitively at Jane and Gibbs.
‘Who are you?’ he asked, looking at them in a disparaging manner.
‘They’re police officers, Andrew,’ Agnes told him.
Andrew gave Agnes a stern look. ‘I told you not to call the police.’
‘I didn’t,’ Agnes replied timidly, and gesticulated towards Jane. ‘Sergeant Tennison is investigating a car accident your mother was involved in. She’s no’ hurt, but she drove off without stopping. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why she hasn’t come home...’
‘Utter nonsense, Agnes. You know as well as I do Mother is as honest as the day is long. She’d never drive off after an accident.’ He looked at Gibbs. ‘And who, may I ask, is Tennison’s sidekick?’
Jane could see from the way Gibbs pursed his lips that Andrew’s sidekick remark had irritated him.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Gibbs and we’re here—’
‘On false pretenses, I suspect,’ Andrew interrupted. ‘I’m friends with a very senior police officer, so I know for a fact detectives wouldn’t be investigating a minor car accident. So why are you really here?’
Jane looked at Gibbs, wondering if she should say something. She intended to be polite and tactful, but Gibbs, who had clearly taken a dislike to Andrew, spoke up before she could.
‘We are investigating a murder of a female in Peckham.’
Agnes gasped, then Gibbs continued with a hint of disdain towards Hastings. ‘Having seen a photograph of your mother, she’s clearly not the victim, so you can go and play your golf match if you want.’
Andrew looked offended. ‘I find your attitude most rude, officer!’
Gibbs smiled. ‘When your mother returns, could you ask her to contact Peckham CID so we can have a quick chat with her about why she was in Peckham and why her car is there?’