Lawrence smiled to himself, knowing that Moran was calling Martin to the scene to avoid incurring his wrath again.
Moran turned to Lawrence. ‘Paul, you can start photographing the scene and commence a cursory examination before Prof Martin arrives. Myself and Gibbs will speak with the manager.’
‘Would you like me to assist DS Lawrence?’ Jane asked enthusiastically.
‘No, I want you to speak to the cleaner, Tennison.’
As they entered the building through the large wooden door, the pungent smell of stale smoke and damp permeated the air. The interior was grubby, with stained and torn white woodchip wallpaper and a threadbare carpet. The manager’s office was small and cramped, even more so now with five people in it. The room was unkempt, with two chairs and a wooden desk that was propped up with some folded cardboard under one leg to stop it wobbling. A rotund man in his fifties, wearing a coffee-stained white polo shirt and black trousers, was sitting at the desk with a cigarette in his mouth, reading the Sun newspaper. The distraught-looking cleaner was sitting opposite him, still wearing her light blue button-up housecoat and headscarf. Her hands shook as she sipped at a cup of tea.
Moran stepped forward. ‘I’m DCI Moran from Peckham CID. This is DI Gibbs and WDS Tennison. I take it you’re the manager?’
The man put the paper down. ‘Yeah. This is Gladys, the cleaner. She found the body. I knew something was up when I heard her screaming.’
‘You heard the victim screaming?’ Moran asked.
‘No, Gladys screamed when she found the poor girl in room six.’
Moran turned to Gladys. ‘It must have been a terrible shock, Gladys. WDS Tennison will need to ask you a few questions, if you feel up to it?’
A nervous Gladys nodded. Moran asked the manager if there was another room that WDS Tennison could use to interview the cleaner. The manager stubbed out his cigarette and said there was a communal room down the hallway. Jane smiled at Gladys, helped her up and the two of them left the room.
‘Who occupies room six?’ Moran asked the manager.
‘I’ve already got his hostel residents’ form out.’ He handed it to Moran, who moved closer to Gibbs so that he could read the details as well. The form showed room six was let six weeks ago to a Ben Smith, aged 19, date of birth August 26, 1959.
Gibbs got out his notebook and jotted down the name and date of birth. ‘Can you describe him to me, please?’ he asked.
‘Ben’s a skinny lad, about five ten, with blond hair — I reckon it was dyed cause his eyebrows were dark. Oh, and he had a tooth missing at the front, about here,’ the manager said, pointing to the left side of his teeth, just off the center.
Gibbs noted the details. ‘Did you speak to him much?’
‘Nope, only when I filled out his registration form. Told me he couldn’t read or write. From what I heard, he kept himself to himself and didn’t mix with the other residents, though I don’t blame him, as some of ’em in here are right low life. Half of ’em use the sinks in their rooms to piss in, some even have a dump in ’em. Dirty bastards, they are.’
‘Why was Ben Smith here?’ Moran asked.
‘Social services referral. He was homeless and had a drugs problem.’
‘How many residents are in their rooms at the moment?’ Moran asked.
‘Most of them! The lazy bastards don’t get up until after midday, when the pubs open. Or they stagger down the road to the off-licence, then get pissed in the park.’
Gibbs closed his notebook and put it back in his pocket. ‘I’ll nip out to the car and radio the station to tell everyone in the CID office to come to the hostel right away so we can interview all the residents.’
‘And get a criminal record check done on Ben Smith,’ Moran added.
Gibbs nodded and left the room.
‘You reckon Smith killed her then?’ the manager asked.
‘We don’t know yet,’ Moran replied, irritated by the manager’s manner and attitude.
‘I read in the paper about that bird who was murdered in Bussey Alley. That bastard Smith could have done her as well, you know. She were strangled, weren’t she?’
‘Can we stick to this incident, please. Are women allowed on the premises?’ Moran asked.
‘Rules is residents ain’t allowed any guests outside of visiting hours, which is ten to eleven in the morning and three to four in the afternoon in the communal room, and one visitor only. But it’s almost impossible to enforce. We have a hostel warden on duty day and night, but the residents bring people in through the fire exit doors, or someone distracts the warden so they can sneak people in. All the residents have a front door key and a room key, but often the front door is just left on the latch because the druggies and drunks amongst them regularly lose their keys and start banging on the door at all hours of the night.’
‘I’ll need the details of the day and night duty wardens.’
‘No problem. I could ring Eric and get him to come in early — he’s on the late shift all this week.’
‘That would be helpful. In the meantime, I’d like you to remain on the premises while I view the scene. Where is room six, please?’
‘First floor, turn right and it’s the end room on the left.’
Jane was in the communal room with Gladys. Like the entrance area, it was shabby, but reasonably neat and tidy. There was a TV and pool table, as well as a small kitchen area with some tables and chairs at the far end. Jane sat the trembling Gladys down at one of the tables.
‘I’m sorry, love, but I didn’t catch your name earlier,’ Gladys said with a Jamaican accent.
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Jane Tennison.’ Jane reached out and held her hand. ‘I know it must have been an awful shock for you this morning. The good thing is I don’t need you to tell me what you saw as the uniform officer has already informed me.’
Gladys squeezed Jane’s hand and started to cry. ‘It was awful, officer. There was a lot of blood and her knickers was on the floor.’
‘Did you know the man who occupied room six?’
‘He said his name was Ben. Young lad, he was, face like a baby and lovely blond hair, though I think it was dyed. I can’t believe he’d do a thing like that,’ Gladys said, becoming more distressed.
‘Did you ever chat to him?’
‘A few times. He was always very pleasant and asked how I was and if I had any grandchildren. I told him I didn’t — me and my Winston couldn’t have kids, you see. He said he had a young niece and nephew, but didn’t get to see them or his sister very much as he didn’t get on with his brother-in-law. He seemed quite sad about not seeing them.’
‘Did he say where they lived?’
‘No, never.’
‘Any signs he’d had women in his room before?’
‘Not that I noticed, but I think he was a heroin user. I found a burnt spoon and rubber tube under his bed one morning while he was out. You get to know what those things is used for when you work in these sorts of places. Mind you, the people ain’t as bad in here as you’d think, they just don’t have anyone to love and care for ’em, and sometimes choose the wrong path in life.’
Jane warmed to Gladys, who was becoming less distraught. She seemed to be an honest and upright woman with a kind heart, and clearly didn’t judge people for the problems they had.
‘When did you last see Ben, and how did he seem?’
‘I’m not sure exactly when it was — maybe a couple of days ago. I was putting on me coat, about to leave, and he was on his way out. He asked me how I was. I said fine and he left the hostel.’
‘I’ll need to get a full statement from you, Gladys, but I think you’ve been through enough today and probably want to get back home to your husband.’