‘There’s no major damage to the skull or brain. The blow to the head with the wine bottle didn’t kill her, though it would have knocked her out. The hyoid bone in her throat is broken due to strangulation, which is the primary cause of death. Like your first victim, the suspect straddled her from behind as he strangled her. The cord is the same type as found on the first victim, as is the slip knot, and both ends are cut and frayed.’
‘Sexual assault?’ Moran asked.
Martin nodded. ‘The torn underwear at the scene was an obvious indication, but there are also scratch marks on her inner thighs and vaginal bruising consistent with rape. I’ve taken swabs for semen. I also suspect, from the injuries to her back, that the rape occurred whilst she was face down and unconscious, which may explain why no one heard any screams.’
The duty leader at the Soho Samaritans was polite and helpful, but had clearly been very shocked to hear about Sybil Hastings’ death.
‘Would you like something to drink while you go through the paperwork?’ he asked Jane as he pulled out copies of all the sheets relating to Sybil Hastings’ duties for the previous six months.
‘A coffee would be nice,’ she replied.
‘I’ll get one of the volunteers to bring you one. I was wondering,’ he added, ‘can I tell the other volunteers about Mrs. Hastings?’
‘Well, seeing as they’re all trusted Samaritans... But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go into any detail.’
He looked relieved. ‘Of course. Now I’ll leave you to it.’
Jane decided to start looking from the previous Thursday, when Sybil Hastings was last on duty, and work backwards. As she looked through the records of calls and one-to-one meetings, Jane saw nothing that leapt out at her. Two of the calls Sybil dealt with were from women and one from a man who had become paralyzed after a serious car accident. The names Ben Smith and Eileen Summers weren’t recorded anywhere, and there was nothing to suggest any of the callers were teachers or homeless drug addicts.
She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling exhausted, and knew that it would be better to look at the documents back at the station, with the assistance of Edwards and Gibbs.
There was a knock at the door and a pretty young woman in her mid-twenties, dressed in jeans and a turtleneck jumper, came in carrying a cup of coffee and some biscuits on a plate. She looked as if she’d been crying.
‘Are you OK?’ Jane asked.
‘Yes... sorry... I just heard about Mrs. Hastings. I can’t believe anyone would want to harm her. She was so gentle and kind.’ She put the coffee and biscuits down on the desk.
Jane picked up her coffee and took a sip. ‘Thank you. What’s your name?’
‘Alice. Alice Hodges.’
‘Had you known Mrs. Hastings long, Alice?’
‘A few months. She was training me to be a Samaritan, so we worked the same shifts.’
‘Were you working together last Thursday?’
Alice nodded.
‘How did she seem to you?’
‘She was fine to start with. Then she took a call that seemed to bother her. It was unusual because one of the most important parts of our training is not to show any emotion or distress when dealing with a caller.’
‘What time did the call come in?’
‘Between quarter past and half seven, I think.’
Jane checked the call log for that evening. ‘According to the records, the last call Mrs. Hastings dealt with was at 7:10 p.m., from a woman whose husband had repeatedly assaulted her. After that there’s no record of her dealing with another call before she finished at eight p.m.’
Alice closed the office door and sat down opposite Jane. ‘Mrs. Hastings started to make some notes on a call sheet. Then she picked up a bit of paper, put it on top of the call sheet and started writing on it. I thought it strange at the time, as she told me every call should be logged and filed.’
Jane realized the importance of the information and instantly forgot about her tiredness. She took out her notebook to make some notes. ‘Did you hear what was said during the call?’
‘Only bits. I was sat next to Mrs. Hastings at the time, completing the paperwork from the last call for filing. It was a female caller, and I think she had a northern accent.’
Jane remembered Mrs. Rowlands telling her that Eileen Summers was from Manchester. ‘I need you to take your time and think hard, Alice. Try to remember anything strange that was said during the conversation.’
Alice sat quietly, her eyes closed, trying to remember the call.
‘She asked the caller if the boy’s mother was aware of the situation, and the last thing she said before she put the phone down was: “When you find out where he was treated, you must tell the police.” That’s really all I can remember.’
‘Did you hear any names during the conversation?’ Jane asked.
Alice shook her head. ‘No names, and Mrs. Hastings didn’t say anything to me about the call afterwards.’
‘What did Mrs. Hastings do with the notes she made?’
Alice paused. ‘She folded the call sheet and bit of paper up and put them in her handbag.’
There had been no call sheets in Mrs. Hastings’ handbag when she had searched it. Jane wondered if her killer had destroyed the notes because it linked them to Sybil Hastings. She also realized the note could be somewhere in Mrs. Hastings’ house and decided to contact Agnes about it later.
‘Did you or Mrs. Hastings deal with any other calls or visitors that night?’ Jane asked.
‘I dealt with the next two calls, under Mrs. Hastings’ supervision. I think you have copies of the call sheets?’
Jane looked through them and saw the two calls. She heard sniffing and looked up to see Alice wiping tears from her face.
‘I should have told the leader about that call, shouldn’t I? Do you think if I had, Mrs. Hastings might still be alive?’ She looked distraught.
Jane leant forward. ‘Don’t blame yourself, Alice. You’re in no way responsible for what happened. You’ve done the right thing by telling me about the phone call. It could really help the investigation. As far as I’m concerned, this conversation is just between us, and you won’t get into any trouble.’
Alice smiled gratefully, as Jane jotted down her office phone number. ‘Call me if you remember anything else about the call or just anything you think might be significant.’
Jane was keen to get from Soho to Ladywell mortuary before 5 p.m., to make sure everything was ready for Mrs. Rowlands to identify Eileen Summers. She turned on the CID car siren but didn’t like driving at high speed. Other officers found it exhilarating, but Jane constantly worried about having a police vehicle accident or ‘POLAC,’ as it was known in the police.
She arrived at the mortuary at ten to five and was shocked to see that Eileen Summers’ body had been left on a trolley in the storage area, with just a white sheet over it. She pulled back the sheet and could see that Eileen’s tongue was still slightly protruding from her mouth and her face still had blood smears on it. Seeing the morgue attendant, Jane asked him to make the body presentable and take it to the small chapel for identification by the victim’s head teacher.
The attendant casually leant over and pushed the victim’s tongue back in her mouth. ‘I should get more warning about preparing a dead body to be taken to the viewing room. There ain’t anything more I can do to make her look better without proper notice,’ he said gruffly.
‘Please go and get the viewing room ready,’ Jane said sharply.
The disgruntled morgue attendant walked off, muttering to himself.
Jane soaked a sponge in water and used it to wipe the blood from Eileen’s hair and face. She could now see how pretty Eileen Summers had been, almost angelic.