‘I hate kids,’ Edwards said jovially, as he held the door open for Jane.
Mrs. Rowlands was in her office doing some paperwork. She was in her early fifties and looked rather dowdy, dressed in an ankle-length heavy brown skirt, white frilly shirt and grey cardigan. Jane informed her that they were police officers and had come about Eileen Summers. Mrs. Rowlands stood up and, with a warm smile, shook their hands and invited them to sit down.
‘That was quick. I only reported Eileen missing at Kentish Town a few hours ago. The officer I spoke to took down Eileen’s details, but said that because she was an adult, and there’s no evidence she’s in immediate danger, police enquiries wouldn’t commence until twenty-four hours had elapsed.’
‘There’s been a development, Mrs. Rowlands, but we’re not sure yet if it involves Miss Summers. Do you have a photograph of her I can have a look at, please?’ Jane asked.
‘Has something happened to Eileen? Was she involved in a car accident on the way to work?’ Mrs. Rowlands nervously asked, walking over to a filing cabinet in the corner of the room.
‘I’ll be able to tell you more when I’ve seen the photograph.’ Jane didn’t want to unduly alarm her.
‘Eileen’s never missed a day since she’s been here. She teaches the nine- to ten-year-olds, and is one of the best young teachers I’ve ever come across. The children absolutely adore her, as do the parents and staff.’ Mrs. Rowlands spoke with a tremor in her voice, anxious about what could have happened. She pulled out a folder from the cabinet with ‘Year Five — Class Photographs’ written on it. She took out the most recent picture and handed it to Jane. ‘That’s Eileen, in the middle.’ Mrs. Rowlands pointed.
Jane looked at the photo of the young and attractive teacher, her face glowing with warmth and pride as she sat amongst the smiling young children. Jane thought of the poor victim strangled to death in room six at the hostel, her bulging eyes and bloodstained face flashing into her mind as she looked at the picture. She was in little doubt that Eileen Summers was the murder victim in Ben Smith’s room. Jane looked at Edwards, who hadn’t seen the body, and nodded.
‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’ Mrs. Rowlands exclaimed.
Jane had been in this position many times before, but this time it felt different. She knew Eileen Summers’ death would have a devastating effect on the entire school.
‘We are investigating a murder that occurred in Peckham last night. Having seen the body, I’m almost certain that it is the same woman in this photograph.’
Mrs. Rowlands was close to tears, but kept her composure and asked Jane what had happened. Jane gently told her that Eileen had been strangled and that they had a suspect they were currently looking for. Jane asked if she could have Eileen’s parents’ contact details, and Mrs. Rowlands went back to the filing cabinet.
‘Here we are... Her parents live in Manchester. Eileen came to London to teach a couple of years ago and lives on her own in Chalk Farm. I think she may have gone up to see them over half term.’
Edwards took the folder from Mrs. Rowlands and jotted down Eileen’s address, as well as the parents’ details, in his notebook.
‘Did she have a boyfriend?’ Edwards asked.
‘Not that I know of. But she could have done.’
‘Did she ever mention the name Ben Smith to you?’ Jane asked.
Mrs. Rowlands paused. ‘Not that I recall... Is he the suspect you spoke of?’
‘It’s a name that has come up in the investigation and he’s someone we’re interested in tracing.’ Jane was keen to change the subject and asked how Eileen had seemed on Monday.
‘She was in good spirits and was happy to be back teaching the children. She really did love them so much.’
‘Did Eileen have a car or did she use public transport to get about?’ Jane asked.
‘She had a car — a green 1973 Morris Minor. She hadn’t had it long.’
Jane jotted the details down.
‘I appreciate your help, Mrs. Rowlands. I know Eileen’s death must be a terrible shock to you. Could I ask that, for now, you say nothing about this to anyone as we’ve yet to inform Eileen’s parents or make a press release.’
‘Yes, I understand, officer. I’ll do whatever is best under the circumstances.’
‘Mrs. Rowlands, it is a very difficult thing to ask of you, but would you be prepared to identify the body for us? The mortuary is in Lewisham,’ Jane asked tentatively.
‘Yes, of course. I could be there after school, at about five o’clock, if that’s suitable?’
Jane nodded and thanked her again, whilst Edwards jotted down the mortuary address and handed it to Mrs. Rowlands.
Before leaving the school Jane phoned the office and asked to speak to Moran. She was informed that he’d gone to the post-mortem, but that Gibbs was available. Jane updated him on what had happened at the school and told him that she now had an address for Eileen Summers as well as for her parents in Manchester. Gibbs took down the details and said he’d contact Manchester CID to instruct them to inform the parents.
‘Mrs. Rowlands has agreed to ID the body at the mortuary after school today. Edwards and I are now going to the Samaritans, if that’s OK?’ Jane told Gibbs.
‘Go and check out Eileen Summers’ flat first. Force entry if you have to.’
‘Another gut feeling?’ Jane asked.
‘No, but there could be some paperwork or something that might help us find Ben Smith.’
Eileen Summers lived in Ferdinand House, near Chalk Farm tube station. It was a 1930s grey and red brick, four-story, council-owned building with no lifts.
‘Christ! Is there nowhere in London that’s rubbish-free?’ Edwards remarked, observing the large overflowing council rubbish bins.
‘Mind the rat!’ Jane shouted.
‘Where?’ Edwards exclaimed in a squeaky voice, jumping to one side.
‘It’s just darted under the bin over there,’ Jane said, trying not to laugh.
‘I thought things might be a bit better this side of London, but it’s just as much of a shithole as Peckham.’
‘At least there’s no burnt-out cars or graffiti here, and once the rubbish is cleared away this place won’t look half as bad.’
‘What exactly are we looking for?’ Edwards asked, as they climbed the stairs to Eileen’s flat.
‘Anything that might help us. Hopefully she’ll have something that can help us trace, or link her to, Ben Smith, such as an address book with names and contact details,’ Jane replied.
‘He’ll be well gone by now,’ Edwards remarked unenthusiastically.
‘Well, if he killed all three women, he didn’t run off after the first two, did he?’
‘Then maybe he’s hiding out somewhere. We should be back in Peckham, hassling the drug dealers for info, not wasting time here.’
Jane was becoming annoyed with Edwards’ attitude. ‘Just stop moaning about what we should be doing and get on with the job at hand.’
Edwards sullenly continued climbing the stairs. Arriving at Eileen’s flat on the top floor, he peered through the letter box. An elderly male, in his mid-seventies with a hunched back and walking stick, came out of the flat next door.
‘What you doing snoopin’ about? I’ll call the police.’
‘We are the police.’ Edwards showed his warrant card. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Frank, Eileen’s neighbor.’
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Tennison. We’re making enquiries about Eileen Summers. She’s been reported missing, so we’re just checking to see if she may have returned to her flat.’