‘Hi, Paul. How’s it going?’ she asked.
‘Haven’t started on the inside yet. There’s a handbag in the boot, which was under the body. Grab some gloves and have a look in it for me while I bag and tag the body.’
‘Is the PM this afternoon?’ Jane asked as she took some latex gloves out of Lawrence’s forensic kit bag.
‘No. Prof. Martin’s got his granddaughter’s christening today so it’ll be tomorrow morning at Ladywell mortuary, ten a.m. kick-off. The Prof. popped out to the scene for a quick look at the body this morning. He reckons that, from the skin discoloration, mild decomposition and the fact rigor had passed, she died on the Friday within the same time frame as the unknown victim.’
Lawrence knelt beside the body to take a closer look. ‘From the multiple stab injuries to her face and body, this was a frenzied attack. The one to the heart probably killed her.’
‘Gibbs doesn’t like Hastings and thinks he might be responsible for his mother’s murder,’ Jane said, taking the handbag out of the boot and carrying it over to the examination table.
‘As the textbook says — thinking something and proving it are very different, Jane. Without evidence, you have nothing,’ Lawrence said.
Jane looked at the handbag. It was an expensive Kelly bag, with a patchwork brown snakeskin exterior and leather-lined interior.
‘Do you think the two murders could be connected?’ She asked, removing the contents of the handbag and placing them on a brown paper exhibits bag.
‘The methods are different, but who knows... Fibers might help us, especially if we find some from the unknown victim’s clothing on Mrs. Hastings’ clothing, or vice versa. But that’s going to take time and they won’t start work on the clothes until tomorrow.’
The contents of the handbag included a make-up compact, lipstick, some leather gloves and a purse containing £50 in different bank notes. There were also a couple of credit cards and a cash card, all assigned to ‘Mrs. Sybil Hastings.’
Jane held the money and cards up for Lawrence to see. ‘Doesn’t look as though robbery was a motive.’ She double-checked the bag to make sure she’d got everything in it. ‘There are no keys of any kind in here.’
‘I checked her coat pockets and the inside of the car, but no keys there either. Suggests the killer drove her car to Copeland Road and has either still got her keys or disposed of them somewhere.’
Spencer Gibbs arrived at Rookwood Close just after one o’clock. It was a quiet, opulent area, just off Kingston Hill, with four big houses, each built in a different architectural style. Andrew Hastings’ residence was a large, six-bedroom, medieval Tudor house with big dormer windows and decorative half timbering. The roofs were steeply pitched, with side gables, and there was a massive stone chimney capped with an elaborate chimney pot. It seemed that Andrew Hastings was a man of wealth, but Gibbs knew that often things were not always as they appeared on the surface.
There was a 1978 grey Mercedes station wagon parked on the driveway, and Gibbs wondered if it was Hastings’ wife’s car, given that Andrew’s car must still be at the mother’s flat. Gibbs approached the oak front door and used the large brass lion knocker. It was opened by a very attractive woman in her early thirties. She was about five foot eight inches tall, with an hour-glass figure and long blond hair that flowed around her soft, glowing complexion and striking blue eyes. She wore black figure-hugging trousers and a white T-shirt. Gibbs was expecting a polished accent and was surprised when she spoke with an East London lilt.
‘Whatever yer selling, I ain’t interested, darlin’.’ She started to close the door.
Gibbs held up his warrant card, introduced himself and asked if she was Mrs. Hastings. She nodded and he asked if he could come in to speak with her about her husband.
‘He’s still at the golf club, love.’
Gibbs thought it strange that Andrew hadn’t phoned his wife from hospital to let her know what had happened.
‘I’m afraid your husband’s in hospital, Mrs. Hastings. It’s nothing serious, he’s just under observation after an incident earlier.’
The young Mrs. Hastings didn’t seem concerned as she opened the door and let Gibbs in. ‘The living room’s this way. Has Andrew been hit by a golf ball?’ she joked, closing the front door.
‘No, Mrs. Hastings, he—’ Gibbs started to explain as he followed her across the hallway, but was interrupted.
‘He’s crashed the Bentley, ain’t he? I’ve told him time and time again not to drive home pissed from the golf club.’
‘No, he hasn’t been involved in a car crash. It’s to do with his mother, Mrs. Hastings.’
She looked at Gibbs with a friendly smile. ‘Please, officer, you don’t need ter be so formal. My name’s Joanne, but everyone calls me Jo.’
As they approached the living room, Gibbs heard the sound of children. Entering the vast room, he saw a young boy and girl chasing each other around a sofa. Joanne shouted at them to go upstairs and play in their rooms.
‘We don’t want to,’ they argued back, almost in unison.
‘Inspector Gibbs is a policeman. He’ll arrest yer if yer don’t behave, so do as I say.’
They ran out of the room without a backwards glance.
Gibbs always thought it was wrong of parents to make remarks like that to their children as it led to them regarding police officers in a negative light.
‘So what did the old battle-axe do to put my husband in hospital?’
Gibbs asked Jo to sit down, then explained the full circumstances surrounding Andrew’s discovery of Sybil Hastings’ body and his subsequent collapse.
‘My God! That’s awful! Poor Andrew. What hospital’s he in?’
‘King’s, in Camberwell,’ Gibbs replied, wondering why she was so calm. She didn’t seem unduly concerned about her mother-in-law’s death. ‘Mrs. Hastings was stabbed multiple times. It was a vicious attack and at present we have no idea who did it.’
‘You must think I’m a bitch for referring to me mother-in-law as a “battle-axe.” Sybil and I didn’t see eye ter eye and we didn’t really speak.’
Gibbs was keen to find out more about her husband’s movements on the Friday and Saturday, so didn’t continue asking about Jo’s relationship with Sybil.
‘Did your husband mention that Agnes was worried that something had happened to Mrs. Hastings and wanted to report her missing?’
Jo shook her head. ‘To be honest I wouldn’t have been that interested if he had told me. He doesn’t talk about his mother to me cos it usually ends up in a row. But I’m sorry she was murdered. She adored her grandchildren and they loved her.’
‘I thought Andrew might have phoned you from the hospital before I got here,’ Gibbs remarked, trying not to sound suspicious about him.
Jo shrugged. ‘He knew I was taking the kids to visit me parents in Bermondsey for the day, so he probably thought I was still there.’
‘But you didn’t go?’ Gibbs asked, wondering if he had misunderstood her.
‘Shortly after Andrew left this morning, my mum rang to say there’d been a power cut in their block and they had no heating. With it being so cold, I decided to stay home.’
‘Is Bermondsey where you’re from?’ Gibbs asked, realizing it wasn’t far from Peckham.
‘Yeah, born and bred. Accent give me away, did it?’ she asked with a cheeky smile.
Gibbs smiled back. ‘Just a little.’ He looked around the lavish living room. ‘Looks like life’s a bit different for you now.’
Jo frowned. ‘Yeah, but trust me, money don’t always bring yer happiness.’