The landlord, John Davis, was a portly man in his fifties, with greasy hair and a beer belly. He was dressed in a white open-necked shirt with a sweat-stained collar, black trousers and brown suede shoes. Once they were seated in the corner, out of earshot of the staff and the regulars, Jane briefed him about the murders and showed him a photo of Aiden Lang.
‘Yeah, that’s Aiden. He was working here as a trainee barman up until seven or eight weeks ago. I rent the rooms out on the first floor to the bar staff. Aiden had one, but his replacement’s living in it now — he’s the bloke you spoke to behind the bar.’
‘Did Aiden have blond hair when you last saw him?’ Jane asked.
‘No.’
‘What about a missing upper tooth?’
‘Yeah, on the left side.’
Lawrence picked up his forensic bag and looked at Davis as he stood up. ‘I need to search the room for anything that might help us find Lang, or assist the investigation, so if you could tell me where it is, I’ll get on with it. We’re pressed for time.’
‘It’s on the first floor, second room on the right. The barman’s got the key. The top floor’s all mine if you need to search it.’
‘No, Lang’s room is the only one I need to see.’ Lawrence walked off to get the room key from the barman.
‘So why did Lang stop working here?’
‘I sacked him after I caught him with his fingers in the till. He denied it, but I told him I saw him slip the money in his pocket. He said he was going to pay it back, but I didn’t believe him. I went to get the money out of his pocket and he pushed my hand away, so I thumped him. Truth is, it was me that knocked his tooth out. I didn’t mean to, it was an instinctive thing. An accident, if you see what I mean.’
‘It’s still assault, Mr. Davis. But under the circumstances, I think we can forget about it. So tell me, why did you hire Lang in the first place?’
He laughed. ‘His boyish good looks attracted the gay punters. I gotta tell you, officer, Aiden was a well-spoken lad, who always dressed in fashionable gear. Apart from the thieving incident, he was never any bother. I suspected he might have a drug problem, ’cause his eyes used to look a bit too big for his head sometimes.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe he’d murder anyone, especially a woman, considering it’s a fair bet he was gay. I never saw him get aggressive when any of the male punters grabbed his arse or squeezed his bollocks. Sorry, pardon my language.’
Jane shrugged. ‘I’ve heard worse. Did Lang ever mention if he had any family? A sister, perhaps?’
Davis paused. ‘Not that I recall. I never asked Aiden about his personal life, to be honest.’
‘Was he in a relationship with any of the punters, or anyone you know of?’
‘Don’t know. I did tell him I was against staff having relationships on the premises, but what he did outside the pub was his own business.’
Jane showed him pictures of Sybil Hastings, Eileen Summers and the artist’s impression of the unknown victim. ‘Do you recognize any of these women?’
Davis took his time looking at the pictures before shaking his head. ‘Sorry, I don’t recognize any of them. We don’t get many women in here, and if we do, they’re usually lesbians. Can I show these pictures to my bar staff?’
‘Sure. I’ll nip upstairs and see how my colleague is getting on.’
Davis pointed Jane towards the door that led to the staff accommodation.
‘Find anything of interest?’ Jane asked Lawrence, entering the dingy room.
‘No. I’ve had a good look around. But the barman said he chucked anything out that Lang had left behind.’
‘Are you going to dust for fingerprints?’
‘What for? We know he lived here, so finding his prints won’t prove anything or help us find him.’ Lawrence picked up his bag. ‘Have you finished downstairs?’
‘Just about.’
‘I’ll wait in the car then.’
Jane handed him the car keys, then went to retrieve the victims’ pictures from the landlord, who was standing next to Aiden Lang’s replacement. As Jane approached the barman, he held up the black and white artist’s impression of the unidentified victim.
‘Last Thursday or Friday afternoon, a woman who looked a bit like this came in and asked for Aiden. I told her he’d been sacked for stealing cash from the till. She looked upset and walked out.’
‘Can you tell me anything more about her?’
The barman thought for a second. ‘She had brown hair, shoulder-length — a sort of sandy color and parted in the middle.’
‘How old would you say she was?’
‘I dunno, late twenties, early thirties?’
‘Can you remember what she was wearing?’
‘Bloody hell, I only saw her for a few minutes. Her coat was buttoned up so I didn’t see what was under it.’
‘Was the coat blue?’ Jane asked, realizing the woman’s description was very like the unknown victim’s.
‘It could have been, but I can’t remember now. It’s freezing cold; everyone who comes in here is wearing a coat.’
‘OK, thanks for your help.’ Taking the artist’s impression back, she walked quickly out to the car, got in and turned to Lawrence.
‘The barman gave a description of a woman who came to the pub looking for Aiden Lang. It could’ve been our unidentified victim. She seemed upset when he told her Aiden had been fired for stealing.’
‘Well, that’s something positive to tell Moran,’ Lawrence agreed, but his tone was unenthusiastic. ‘Can you drop me off at the lab, please?’
Paul was silent on the journey back. Jane knew he had been working long hours and could see he looked tired, but was still surprised by his uncharacteristic behavior.
Gibbs and Edwards were on their way to Highgate, one of London’s most affluent suburbs, to see the accountant who had been robbed by Aiden Lang.
‘What’s this accountant’s name again?’ Gibbs asked Edwards.
‘Mr. Poofter?’ Edwards smirked.
Gibbs laughed. ‘That might be why he only gave his work address on his victim statement.’
‘Yeah, I’ll bet he’s married and doesn’t want his wife to know what happened.’
‘Well, he’ll be in for a shock when we turn up at his office unannounced. Best I ask the questions.’
‘I won’t argue with that.’ Edwards snorted.
Arriving at the elegant building, they guessed that Peter Barnes was a wealthy man. Gibbs spoke with the receptionist, who rang Barnes then escorted them to a plush office. Barnes was in his late thirties and well dressed in a three-piece pin-stripe suit, white shirt, silk tie and black brogues. He was six foot tall, well groomed and athletic-looking.
‘Good afternoon, officers,’ he said, holding a hand out to Gibbs. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘We’d just like to ask you a few questions about Aiden Lang, Mr. Barnes, the man who robbed you a few weeks ago in the toilets at Hampstead Heath.’
‘That was some time ago now. But it was a terrifying experience. To be honest, I don’t know what he’d have done to me if the constable hadn’t intervened.’
Gibbs nodded sympathetically. ‘You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, I guess.’
‘Indeed. I won’t be going there again, that’s for sure.’
‘As a matter of interest, what were you doing on Hampstead Heath that day?’ Gibbs asked.
Barnes pushed a hand though his hair. ‘I, uh, was out, um, visiting a client and got caught short on the way back to the office. So I, uh, popped into the toilets on the Heath. If I’d known it was a thief’s hangout, I certainly wouldn’t have gone there,’ he added.
‘It’s not renowned for thieves, actually, but it is a notorious haunt for gay men looking for blow jobs,’ Edwards told Barnes, unable to resist putting some pressure on him.