‘I do, I was just dealing with the blood grouping first and saving the best till last.’ Lawrence smiled. ‘Fibers from the clothing of the unknown victim were found on the rear seat of the Allegro, as well as two hairs that match in color and length.’
Moran looked pleased. ‘So the Allegro was used to transport the victim before she was dumped in Bussey Alley.’
‘Most probably, yes, but she could have been a willing passenger in the car prior to the murder. Fibers from Mrs. Hastings’ fur coat were also found on the unknown victim, but again they could have got there innocently or by the killer carrying both bodies and transferring fibers from one to the other in the process. On the balance of probabilities, I’d say both victims were killed by the same person, probably at or about the same time. It’s also reasonable to assume the killer, or killers, are male.’
‘Any idea where they were killed?’ Edwards asked.
Lawrence shook his head. ‘Only the victims know that, and I’m not a psychic. We also found some tweed fibers in the car, similar in color and texture to DI Gibbs’ tweed suit.’
Everyone looked at Gibbs, who wagged his finger and was quick to defend himself. ‘Hey, I never went near the inside of the car or the victims. And I can assure you I’m no murderer, guv!’
There was more laughter around the room.
Lawrence continued. ‘The tweed fibers were mostly on the driver’s seat in the car, with a few on both victims. They could have come from something the killer wore or from something Mrs. Hastings had previously worn.’
‘I’ll check with Agnes, the housekeeper, to see if Mrs. Hastings has any tweed outfits,’ Jane said.
‘Strange the killer didn’t dump Mrs. Hastings as well,’ Edwards said.
‘Maybe he saw something in Copeland Road that made him panic after he’d dumped the first victim, and he ran off before he could dump Hastings,’ Jane suggested.
‘He probably couldn’t drive the car away because of the flat tire,’ Edwards added.
Lawrence had more forensic evidence to reveal. ‘I found a half-full can of petrol in the boot of the Allegro. There wasn’t a single fingerprint on it, just what appears to be glove marks.’
‘If the killer wore gloves to hide any fingerprints, then they might already have a criminal record,’ Jane remarked.
Moran nodded. ‘Good point, Tennison. I’ll have a word with the collator and get him to draw up a list of everyone on our patch who has form for assault on females.’
Lawrence continued. ‘I’m surmising here: if the petrol can didn’t belong to Mrs. Hastings, it’s possible the killer may have intended to drive her body somewhere secluded, pour petrol over her and the car, then set light to the vehicle. But as Edwards suggested, the flat tire prevented that outcome.’
‘If that had happened in another police force area like Kent or Surrey, then we’d never have had any reason to connect the two murders,’ Moran said.
‘I’ll ask Agnes about the petrol can,’ Jane said.
‘Call her now, please, Tennison, while we all take a quick break. You can use my office phone. In the meantime, the rest of you can grab a tea or coffee from the canteen. I want you all back here in ten minutes.’
After the break, everyone was back in the office, waiting for Jane to return. When she walked in, all eyes were on her.
‘Agnes confirmed that Mrs. Hasting had a tweed outfit, but she doesn’t think she’s worn it since last winter. She often went grocery shopping with Mrs. Hastings and has never seen a petrol can in the boot of the Allegro.’
Lawrence responded, ‘I’ll need to go to Mrs. Hastings’ flat to seize the tweed outfit as evidence. The lab can do a comparison to the tweed fibers we recovered in the Allegro and on the victims. If they don’t match to Mrs. Hastings’ clothes, it’s even more likely they came from something the killer wore.’
‘Maybe Andrew Hastings has a tweed suit?’ Gibbs asked, noticing that Moran was frowning. ‘I’m just saying. He may have driven his mother’s car at some point, and tweed suits tend to be worn by the posher gentleman.’
‘Not always — you wear one,’ Edwards said wryly to Gibbs.
‘DI Gibbs has made a valid point,’ Lawrence remarked.
‘You could get Blake to ask Hastings?’ Gibbs looked at Moran.
‘I’ll see. We all need to step up our game and identifying our unknown victim will be a big step forward. I think it’s time we set up a full press conference and reveal to the public that both murders may be linked. Edwards — arrange for an artist’s impression of the unknown victim’s face to be made for the press release. Somebody out there must know her.’
‘They might be too scared to come forward,’ Jane suggested.
Moran agreed. ‘I’ll ask Blake if we can offer witness confidentiality and a reward. We need to catch this bastard before—’
The duty sergeant walked in looking very somber. ‘Sorry to interrupt, sir, but we just received a call from the manager of the Peckham Rye homeless hostel on East Dulwich Road. The body of a young woman with a possible head injury has been found in one of the rooms. I’ve got a uniform panda car with two officers en route to check it out and seal the scene, pending your attendance.’
‘Is she a resident?’ Moran asked.
‘I doubt it, sir. The hostel is for men only.’
There was an unnerving silence as Gibbs drove Moran and Jane to the East Dulwich hostel. Although just over a mile from Peckham Police Station, which was surrounded by deprived housing estates and urban decay, East Dulwich was a very different area, with many large detached and terraced Victorian and Edwardian homes. It was a short distance from Peckham Rye Park and Common, which together made up 113 acres of open recreational grassland, ornamental and water gardens, a lake and woodland. Sadly, the East Dulwich Road end of the park was still littered with rotting rubbish due to the dustbin strike and was a stinking eyesore for the residents.
As they passed Bussey Alley, Jane noticed the look of anxiety on Moran’s face. The silence was broken by a call on the car radio from the PC who was at the hostel scene. Moran picked up the radio and told the officer to go ahead.
‘I’ve had a quick look at the victim, sir. She’s clearly dead and the hostel manager has put a blanket over her. She’s lying on the floor, face down. There’s blood around her head and on the carpet next to her is a broken wine bottle, as well as a pair of ladies’ knickers.’
‘Seal the scene off. I’ll be with you shortly.’ Moran banged the radio mike against the dashboard. ‘I hope to Christ this isn’t connected to the other two murders!’
Neither Gibbs nor Jane said anything, wondering if the killer had struck again. Gibbs parked in the street outside the three-story red-brick Edwardian house, which had been converted to a hostel eight years ago by the local council. Lawrence pulled up behind them in his own vehicle and took his crime scene case out of the boot. An elderly uniform PC was standing on the white washed stone steps of the building waiting for them. He opened his notebook as Moran approached.
‘Good morning, sir. My colleague is standing guard outside the scene. The hostel cleaner, Gladys Jackson, a fifty-two-year-old black female, found the body in room six this morning. She’s currently with the hostel manager in his office. All the residents on the premises have been told to remain in their rooms until informed they can leave by the CID.’ The officer paused as he flicked over a page in his notebook. ‘The hostel has twelve bedsit-style rooms over three floors, and provides accommodation for male-only residents — down-and-outs, alcoholics and drug abusers. The manager lives in the basement area.’
‘Good work. Radio the station for me and get them to send Professor Martin to the scene, please.’