‘What was she wearing?’ Moran asked.
‘Pardon?’
Moran sighed. ‘You’ve never seen this woman before, but you let her in?’
‘I’ve let lots of people in I’ve not seen before.’
‘Out of visiting hours?’
‘Well, no, but—’
‘Can you describe what she was wearing?’ Moran asked.
‘Oh right. Yes: a long dark coat and red dress, I think. She was a young lass, pretty with brown hair. It was cut in a bob style like me daughter’s. She said she’d come to see Ben Smith. I told her visiting hours were over, but she said it was urgent she speak to him.’ He went silent.
Moran was becoming irritated. ‘Well, go on, then what happened?’
‘She seemed a bit anxious and I said I’d go get him, but she said it was a private matter. She knew he was in room six...’
‘So you just let her in?’
‘Yes. I thought she might be his social worker, because in God’s truth, we do have some right tarts coming in and out, but she looked quite respectable. Was she a social worker?’
‘We don’t know yet, Eric, but we’ll check it out. Did you hear any noises coming from the direction of Smith’s room, or see him at all that evening?’ Gibbs asked.
‘No, nothing. I never saw Ben. I was in the communal room for a while, chatting with some of the residents and playing cribbage. I didn’t think any more about the woman and assumed she’d left after she’d seen Ben.’ Eric’s eyes started to well up and he took a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. ‘Will I lose me job over this?’
Moran put his hand on Eric’s shoulder. ‘You could never have anticipated what happened to her and what you’ve told us is very helpful. If there’s anything else you think we should know, then please contact me at Peckham CID, OK?’
Eric nodded and blew his nose again.
‘Sorry to interrupt you, sir.’ Jane entered the room. ‘DS Lawrence has found something of significant interest that he wants you to see.’
‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’ Moran turned back to Eric. ‘Do you know if Ben Smith was ever visited at the hostel by other woman?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
‘Have you ever seen him out and about with other women?’
‘No. The few times I’ve ever spoken with him he’s always been polite and well mannered.’
Moran smiled. ‘Thanks for your help, Eric. I’m sure the manager won’t mind if you want to take the rest of the day off.’
‘No, thanks, I’d rather work, to be honest.’
When Moran and Gibbs arrived back at room six, Lawrence held up a tweed jacket.
‘This was in the wardrobe. Not the kind of thing you’d expect a homeless junkie to wear.’
‘It’s probably nicked,’ Gibbs remarked.
‘Or bought from a charity shop, like yours was, Gibbs,’ Lawrence jested. ‘I’ll need to get it examined at the lab, but under my magnifying glass it looks to be very similar to the fibers we found on the other two bodies and from the Allegro. Talking of which...’ Lawrence motioned towards Jane, who held up a set of keys on a fob.
‘I found them wedged up behind the basin in here,’ she said, displaying the badge on the fob. It had a blue background with a red crown and large silver italic style ‘VP’ on it.
‘Does the badge mean anything to you?’ Lawrence asked.
Moran and Gibbs looked at each other and in unison said ‘no.’
‘It’s the Allegro Vanden Plas Princess badge, and I’ll bet these are Sybil Hastings’ keys,’ Jane said.
‘You little beauty, Tennison,’ Gibbs exclaimed.
‘Good find, Jane,’ Moran added.
‘Thank you, sir. There’s no purse, house or car keys in the room that might belong to the victim, so the suspect might have nicked them.’
‘There’s still a holdall and men’s clothes in the wardrobe, as well as in the chest of drawers. Looks like Smith left in a hurry,’ Lawrence added.
Jane looked pensive. ‘I was just thinking...’
‘Don’t spoil the moment, Jane,’ Gibbs interjected wryly.
She continued: ‘There’s a high mortality rate amongst the homeless, not just due to drugs and alcohol, but also from suicide due to depression. People contemplating suicide often call the Samaritans.’
‘And your point is?’ Moran asked.
‘Maybe Ben Smith phoned Samaritans and spoke with Sybil Hastings. She could have arranged to meet him?’
‘She’s really on a roll today,’ Gibbs said, impressed by her train of thought.
Moran agreed. ‘Get a court warrant to seize the call logs from the Samaritans, and check out the people Mrs. Hastings dealt with.’ He patted Jane’s shoulder. ‘Good girl, Tennison.’
Chapter Ten
Jane and Edwards had driven the CID car straight from the hostel to the magistrate’s court to obtain a warrant, and were now on the way to the Samaritans branch in Soho to seize the documents relating to the callers Mrs. Hastings had dealt with.
‘Moran looks like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders at the moment,’ Edwards said.
‘That’s hardly surprising — he’s got a maniac on the loose and three murders to deal with,’ Jane replied.
‘WDS Tennison from DI Gibbs... you receiving, over?’ Gibbs’ voice boomed from the radio.
Jane picked up the receiver. ‘WDS Tennison receiving, over.’
‘Where are you?’ Gibbs asked.
‘En route to the Samaritans in Soho with a warrant.’
‘OK. An “all stations” telex we sent out has turned up a call to Kentish Town nick about a missing teacher, Eileen Summers, aged twenty-three,’ Gibbs relayed.
Jane looked at Edwards. ‘Pull over while I get my notebook out.’
‘Did you get that, Tennison?’ Gibbs asked impatiently.
As Edwards parked at the side of the road, Jane opened her notebook and pressed the radio transmitter button. ‘Yes, guv. Go ahead with the details. Over.’
‘Summers works at Southfield Primary school in Kentish Town. She was reported missing by the headmistress, Mrs. Rowlands. I’ve a gut feeling Summers is the East Dulwich murder victim. The misper form described her as having a mole beside her right lip and a bob haircut. She also wears a coat that matches the victim’s,’ Gibbs said.
‘What are the circumstances of her going missing?’ Jane asked Gibbs.
‘Summers was at work yesterday but didn’t turn up this morning. Mrs. Rowlands repeatedly tried ringing Summers’ flat but got no answer. She was concerned, so called Kentish Town.’
‘Shall I delay executing the warrant at the Samaritans... over?’ Jane said.
‘Yes, go to the school first and get back to me as soon as you’ve spoken to the headmistress.’
‘On way, guv... Tennison out,’ Jane said and replaced the handset on the radio holder.
‘Looks like things are starting to step up,’ Edwards said as he put the car into gear and moved off.
The two-story Victorian-built school was imposing, with its English Renaissance-style features, fancy gables, colorful brickwork and terracotta ornamentation. As they walked across the playground, the noise of happy children enjoying their afternoon break filled the air. Groups of boys were kicking a football about and the girls were playing hopscotch or skipping to the song ‘Pease pudding hot, pease pudding cold.’ Jane smiled to herself, fondly remembering her own primary school days. Edwards couldn’t resist stepping into the boys’ football game and trying a bit of ‘keepie uppie.’ He only managed three and lost control of the ball, which caused the boys to mockingly chant ‘rubbish.’
‘Oi, watch this, mister!’ a young boy shouted. Flicking the ball into the air with his foot, he proceeded to make Edwards’ effort look lame. The other boys counted, shouting out the numbers for Edwards’ benefit, and by the time they had reached the school entrance, the young footballer was already up to twenty.