‘Why do you need to speak with her? Why did you even think she might have been a murder victim?’ Andrew asked in a raised voice.
Jane thought things were getting out of hand, but as objectionable as Mr. Hastings was, he deserved to know about his mother’s car being the real reason for their visit.
‘We didn’t think she was a murder victim, Mr. Hastings. Her car was found near the scene of a murder in Peckham. It is standard procedure to check out nearby parked cars and speak with the owners in case they may have seen something suspicious,’ Jane said.
‘Peckham? My mother doesn’t have friends in rundown places like Peckham,’ Andrew said indignantly.
‘She might know someone in Dulwich Village, which is nearby and more upmarket,’ Gibbs remarked.
‘If she did, I think I’d know,’ Andrew replied.
‘This is all rather distressing,’ Agnes said, looking close to tears.
‘The car was parked neatly up against the curb and locked. Apart from a flat tire, it looked in good condition,’ Gibbs said.
‘I can’t see my mother leaving her car in Peckham for two days without contacting me.’
‘If you’re worried about your mother then I suggest you report her missing,’ Gibbs said bluntly.
‘Then you’d better take down her details, hadn’t you, Inspector Gibbs?’
Gibbs looked at his watch as he spoke. ‘Reporting her missing is entirely up to you, but it needs to be done at your local police station, which is St. John’s Wood. Thank you for your time, Mr. Hastings.’
‘I find your attitude insensitive and unhelpful. Where exactly is my mother’s car, so I can arrange for it to be brought back here before it gets stolen or damaged?’
‘If you have a spare key, we could drop you there on our way back to Peckham, then you could drive it back here yourself,’ Jane suggested, trying to be helpful.
‘There’s a spare key somewhere in the kitchen,’ Andrew said and went to look for it, closely followed by Agnes.
Gibbs glared at Jane and whispered, ‘You shouldn’t have offered Little Lord Fauntleroy a lift. Egotistical people like him look down on the police, as if we’re uneducated and only exist to do their bidding.’ He held his right thumb and index finger close together. ‘I’m that close to sticking my fist down his posh gob!’
Jane suggested he wait outside and calm down a little, but Gibbs decided he’d make his own way back to the station, rather than put up with any more of Hastings’ arrogance, and left.
Andrew returned with the car key in his hand. ‘Where’s Inspector Gibbs gone?’ he asked Jane.
She decided to lie. ‘He’s running late for a meeting at Scotland Yard and had to go.’
‘I find his attitude very unprofessional. He’d better hope that no harm has come to my mother.’
‘Would you like me to come with you to Peckham, Andrew?’ Agnes asked.
‘No, I would not. You stay here in case Mother calls. And the house looks like it could do with a clean...’
Jane looked around the room, which was spotless. She thought to herself it was the pot calling the kettle black after his remarks about Gibbs being rude.
Outside, when Jane pointed to her car, she could see Andrew Hastings looked somewhat shocked.
‘Is this really a police car?’ he asked, looking at the vehicle with disdain.
‘No, it’s a Jaffa Cake on wheels, according to my colleagues.’ Jane smiled.
As she drove out of Viceroy Court, Andrew cleared his throat and looked at her in what she felt was a haughty manner.
‘Do you know Detective Chief Superintendent Michael Blake?’
Jane knew he was deliberately name-dropping and sensed he wanted her to ask how he knew DCS Blake.
‘I’ve heard the name, but I don’t know him,’ she said politely.
‘He’s a senior officer in the Serious Crime Office at Scotland Yard.’
Although Jane had never worked with Blake, she was aware he was commonly known to many officers, especially females, by the nickname ‘WHAT,’ which was an abbreviation for Wandering Hand Trouble. He often tried to touch female officers inappropriately.
‘Michael and I are good friends. We’re members of the same golf club and often dine out together with our wives. He’s very professional in everything he does — unlike your DI Gibbs. Michael would have taken my mother’s details for a missing person’s report if I’d asked him,’ Andrew sneered.
Jane thought Gibbs was right about Andrew Hastings being an insufferable, arrogant arsehole. She wished she’d never offered him a lift, but realizing Andrew’s remark was a veiled threat to tell Blake about Gibbs, she slipped her notebook and pen out of her jacket pocket and handed it to Andrew.
‘If you’d like to write down your mother’s details, date of birth, height etc. at the back of my notebook, I’ll get a telex misper report sent to St. John’s Wood from Peckham. I’ll need your home address and phone number as well, so an officer can contact you as well as Agnes.’
‘There, that wasn’t all that difficult after all, was it, DS Tennison?’ Andrew said with a smug grin as he started to write in her notebook.
‘When did you last see your mother?’
‘Last Sunday, when I played golf with her.’
‘Bit cold for golf, isn’t it?’ Jane remarked.
‘We’re not just summer golfers; we play all year round, unless the course is closed due to severe weather conditions,’ Andrew replied condescendingly.
‘Hopefully your mother will have had a relaxing weekend somewhere and return home later today.’
‘Well, she’ll have ruined my day if that is the case.’
Jane was appalled by his remark. She knew she should ask him to write down details of his mother’s last known movements, but she couldn’t bear to be in his company any longer.
Arriving at Copeland Road, Jane pulled up in front of the Allegro. Andrew confirmed that it looked like his mother’s car, and on trying the key in the driver’s door, the lock popped open. He looked at the flat front offside tire and kicked it.
‘Flat as a pancake.’
Jane wondered why men always felt the need to kick a flat tire when it was fairly obvious it had a puncture.
‘Too flat to get it back to my mother’s without damaging the wheel. I’ll have to change the tire for the spare in the boot. Don’t suppose you could help me, DS Tennison?’
‘Sorry, I’m a woman — as you know, we don’t have a clue about changing car tires. I need to get back to the station.’ Jane returned one of Andrew’s irritating smiles as she walked back to the car, laughing to herself.
Suddenly Jane heard Andrew cry out and turned to see him stumbling backwards, away from the boot of the car, a look of sheer terror on his face. Jane ran to the boot. Inside was a body lying in a fetal position, wearing a full-length mink fur coat. There was an awful stench radiating from it. The face, the body and the coat were heavily blood stained, and Jane could see stab wounds and cuts to the face and back of one of the hands.
‘My mother, my mother... Oh dear God... Who’s done this to her?’ Andrew fell to his knees on the road, gasping for air and clutching his chest.
Chapter Four
‘How the fuck could you two let this happen?’ Moran shouted at Jane and Gibbs as he paced up and down his office.
‘You’re overseeing house-to-house, Tennison, so vehicles are your responsibility as well. You should have checked the bloody car out as soon as it was brought to your attention.’
Jane looked at Gibbs.
‘I told her to go home and get some rest. I checked the car out myself. There was nothing untoward so I rang—’
‘Nothing untoward! Sybil Hastings’ body was in the boot with multiple stab wounds. Some deranged maniac used her as a fucking pincushion. Anyone with a bit of common sense would consider that if the first body was probably dumped, then it might have been taken there by car, making the initial discovery of the abandoned vehicle highly relevant to the investigation.’