‘I think it’s best you take the lead at the press conference, Nick. I don’t want to steal your limelight. Besides, you know a lot more about the case than I do, so you’re also in a better position to fend off any dodgy questions.’
Moran frowned. ‘I can take the flak, but if they start to criticize my detectives, then I expect you to step in and defend them. They’ve hardly slept and haven’t stopped grafting since day one.’
‘Of course I’ll support them. I’m also confident you’ll have Lang arrested and charged by tomorrow night. It will be a big deal, and could lead to calls for your promotion to detective superintendent, which I of course will recommend.’ Blake stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the hallway table. ‘I’ll do the introductions, then hand over to you.’
As he led the way to the conference room, Moran resisted the urge to kick Blake up the backside for his condescending manner. Moran wondered how he’d feel if he told the press the investigation had initially been hindered by Blake and Andrew Hastings’ lies.
As Blake and Moran entered the conference room, the high-pitched whine of camera flashes charging up was followed by a strobe of pulsating light as the flashes popped, creating a slow-motion effect as the two officers walked over to the podium. Blake introduced himself as the senior officer overseeing the investigation and Moran as the lead investigator, then made a brief statement.
‘I am pleased to tell you that DCI Moran has identified a single male suspect in all three murders. He will give further details after he has briefed you on the current state of the investigation and appealed for the public’s assistance.’
For a moment the room went silent. This was information the press were not expecting. It was also something Moran had intended to keep to the end. He nodded to one of his detectives at the back of the room, who was operating a slide projector between two television cameras.
Moran pointed to the projection screen behind him. Photographs of Eileen Summers and Sybil Hastings, and an artist’s impression of the unidentified victim, came up on the screen. Moran gave a detailed description of the unknown victim, followed by the others: who they were, where their bodies were found, and brief details of how they had been murdered. He did not reveal that a similar rope had been used to strangle two of the victims.
Blake suddenly stepped forward, as if wanting to show his involvement.
‘To date we have had no one reported missing across the country who matches the unidentified victim’s description. I would appeal to anyone who thinks they might know her to get in contact with the Peckham incident room.’
‘Do you have any connection between the three victims?’ a member of the press shouted out.
Blake didn’t answer, looking at Moran.
‘Not at present. However—’
‘How strong is the evidence against your suspect?’ Moran was interrupted as the cameras started to flash again and a barrage of questions were shouted out.
‘One at a time, please... One at a time.’ Blake raised his voice and pointed to a journalist.
‘More to the point, how many more women will be killed before you arrest him?’
Moran tried to remain calm. ‘I am not prepared to go into the exact details, but there are forensic links between all three murders, pointing to our prime suspect: this man.’ Moran paused as the mugshot of Aiden Lang appeared on the screen, then gave his age and physical description, including his missing tooth and the fact that his hair was believed to be currently dyed blond, and added that he had used the alias Ben Smith. As Moran was about to appeal for the public’s assistance in finding him, Blake stepped forward again.
‘Obviously someone out there knows Lang and we also believe he has a sister who lives in South London. I would appeal to her, or anyone who knows his whereabouts, to contact DCI Moran’s incident room. If you see him, do not approach him as he is obviously very dangerous and prone to violence.’
‘What else are you doing to trace Lang?’ a newspaperman asked.
Blake was quick to answer. ‘Everything we can, of course. All-ports warnings have been sent out and every force in the country has been issued with his photo — which we’re also distributing nationally, in the press and on television.’
‘In less than a week three murders have been committed within a mile of each other. What makes you think you’ll find him now, DCS Blake?’ someone else piped up.
‘I have every confidence that, with the help of the public, DCI Moran will arrest Lang before he commits another murder.’
Some of the press laughed out loud, and one shouted out, ‘But you haven’t a clue where Lang is!’
Moran decided he’d had enough and cut Blake off before he could answer the question.
‘We only identified Lang yesterday after a fingerprint analysis revealed he was using the name Ben Smith. I have a dedicated team of officers working day and night to find Lang, and we need the press to help us, not hinder us by accusations of incompetence. It’s not good for the victims’ families or the morale of the investigating officers. Let me assure you my team will arrest Lang and bring him before the courts. Every one of them is determined to solve these horrific murders and give the grieving families and friends the answers they need.’ Moran paused as he picked up his paperwork. ‘I’m sure DCS Blake would be happy to answer any further questions. I need to get back to my investigation and support my officers in their work.’
There was a buzz of conversation in the room as the journalists looked at one another. Moran seized the moment to exit the room as a flurry of further questions were directed at Blake, delighted to be leaving him in the proverbial ‘shit.’
Chapter Thirteen
Lawrence sat silently looking out of the passenger window of the ‘Jaffa cake’ as Jane parked outside the Golden Lion. He certainly didn’t seem his normal enthusiastic self, chomping at the bit to examine the crime scene and find forensic evidence that could break open the investigation.
‘You were very quiet in the meeting, Paul. Are you OK?’
He didn’t look at her. ‘I’m fine, just really tired. There’s a load of work piling up at the lab, and with everything Moran wants done, it’s just getting bigger and bigger. The danger is that when you get tired, you make mistakes and miss things that might be important.’
Jane smiled. ‘You, miss something? As if! You could sleepwalk your way around a crime scene and still find more than the rest of us put together.’
Lawrence sighed. ‘Believe me, Jane, I’ve made mistakes. I’ve been lucky so far, and I’ve been able to hide or rectify them before anyone else notices.’
Jane thought for a moment. ‘What do you reckon to this Aiden Lang? I mean, if he is gay, as Edwards was inferring, then why would he rape two of the victims?’
‘Maybe he’s bisexual,’ Lawrence replied brusquely.
‘Never thought of that,’ Jane admitted.
Once again Lawrence didn’t look at her, clearly not wanting to discuss Aiden Lang. Jane shrugged and got out of the car. Lawrence followed.
The Golden Lion had many original features dating back to the late seventeen hundreds. The exterior carved oak façade, interior rustic oak floor, and ornate red and gold ceiling all suggested the pub’s former glories and a time when Soho first became known for its theatres and music halls. Now it was busy with lunchtime trade and the customers were predominantly male.
Jane and Lawrence approached the bar and she asked the barman if the landlord was available. He bent down, lifted the wooden trap door to the cellar and shouted, ‘The Old Bill’s here, John — they want to speak to you!’ The conversation in the pub went quiet as everyone looked towards the bar.