‘Does it stain?’ It was one of her good work jackets.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll clean it with a bit of disinfectant,’ Mrs. Tennison offered.
Jane handed Nathan to Pam. ‘I think he needs changing.’
‘This would be a good time to learn, Jane,’ Pam said with a smile.
‘I need to clean my jacket.’ Jane beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen, followed by her mother.
By the time she’d returned, Pam had changed Nathan’s nappy and he was asleep in the wicker basket.
During supper, Mrs. Tennison asked Jane if she wanted to stay the night, but Jane said she couldn’t as she had an early start at work in the morning.
‘Have you got the weekend off?’
‘Just the Saturday.’
‘You could come and stay the night then,’ Mrs. Tennison said.
‘We’re not here, dear, we’re visiting friends in Eastbourne,’ Mr. Tennison reminded his wife.
‘We can make an excuse. Tell them I’ve got a cold.’
‘There’s no need to change your plans,’ Jane insisted. ‘I’ve already got a dinner on Saturday evening.’
Mrs. Tennison looked surprised. ‘Is it a work colleague?’
Pam giggled. ‘Well, that could be a recipe for disaster with your track record.’
Jane frowned. ‘Very funny, Pam.’
‘What his name?’ her father asked.
‘Paul Lawrence. He’s a detective sergeant like me.’
‘Isn’t he the nice forensics man you’ve spoken about before?’
Jane sighed. ‘Yes, he is, Mother. I’ve learnt a lot from him since I joined The Met.’
‘How old is he?’ Pam asked.
‘What is this, the Spanish Inquisition? Paul and I are just good friends, and our relationship is purely platonic. Can we change the subject, please?’ Jane didn’t want to reveal that Paul was at least eight years older than her.
After supper, Pam brought Nathan down after bathing and changing him. In his soft white Babygro, he looked like a sleeping cherub. Jane lent over the wicker basket. She would’ve liked to pick him up and cradle him in her arms, but she was worried she would wake him. She couldn’t resist kissing his cheek. He smelt of talcum powder and milk. The thought of any harm ever coming to him was so awful, she wondered if she could be a mother.
Chapter Eighteen
It was 4 a.m. when Jane woke abruptly, with a cold sweat all over her body. She’d dreamt it was morning and she was on her way to work when she got a flat tire. When she opened the boot to get the tire jack, she discovered Sybil Hastings’ bloody body, eyes wide open and staring at her.
Jane went to the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of water. She sat at the kitchen table whilst she drank it and saw the dental journal she’d brought back from Harley Street. She flicked through it until she found the picture of Simmonds. Suddenly it struck her why he looked familiar. She felt a shudder run through her body as she recalled the photograph Agnes had shown her of Mrs. Hastings and her son playing golf. She was certain now that Simmonds was one of the men in the photograph. She stood up, her heart beating wildly, and the glass of water fell from her hand and shattered on the kitchen floor.
‘Oh my God,’ she said aloud. ‘Simmonds is connected to two of the victims and treated Simon.’
Jane cleaned up the broken glass, knowing she would not be able to get back to sleep after this revelation. So she sat in the kitchen drinking strong black coffee and reading the rest of the article about Simmonds. He’d been born and raised on a Peckham council estate, where he witnessed the daily suffering of others, and became determined to help those in the community less fortunate than himself. To that end, he set up a small NHS surgery in his mother’s house in Peckham after she passed away, where he also treated the homeless and those on benefits without charge, for which he had been awarded the Certificate of Merit for Outstanding Services to the Dental Profession.
Jane checked the date of the journaclass="underline" January 1979. She wondered why Simmonds hadn’t mentioned his Peckham practice. She had found him pleasant and helpful, and he was obviously well respected within his profession. She sighed, realizing there was no reason for Simmonds to tell her. Maybe it was just a coincidence. She took a sip of coffee, wondering if her gut instinct was leading her astray. Then it suddenly crossed her mind that Helen Matthews could also have worked at the Peckham practice and therefore might have come across Lang somewhere in the neighborhood. She made a note in her notebook to speak with Simmonds again, wondering about the possible sighting of Lang outside the Harley Street practice.
Jane went over all her notes on the case, jotting down her new thoughts. Was it possible that Simmonds had lied about knowing Lang because the two of them were involved in the murders of the three women? She contemplated sharing her suspicions with Moran, but after the run-in she’d just had with him, she decided to wait until she had more evidence to support them.
Jane checked Yellow Pages for dental practices in Peckham. There were only a handful, and not all of those listed the dentists’ names, but Simmonds name wasn’t there. Of course, it was possible Simmonds didn’t advertise his Peckham practice. She glanced at the kitchen clock. It was nearly 8 a.m. But she didn’t feel tired. Her thoughts about the case had energized her and she was eager to follow them up. She decided that the first thing to do was go to Mrs. Hastings’ flat in Regent’s Park to confirm that the man in the golfing photo was Simmonds.
Before she left, Jane phoned the office. Edwards answered.
‘Edwards, it’s Jane. Can you book me on duty and let Moran or Gibbs know I’m going to make some further enquiries at the Samaritans office in Soho, then I’ve got to take Simon Matthews to social services for his interview.’
‘Yeah, will do.’
‘Any positive leads on Aiden Lang yet?’
‘Not a thing. The sightings we followed up came to nothing.’ He seemed fed up with the lack of progress. ‘You going to watch Gibbs’ band tonight?’
It was the last thing she was thinking about. ‘I had a restless night. I’ll probably give it a miss.’
‘You should go. It would do you good to let your hair down and mix with the team more often.’
It was true that she rarely socialized with her work colleagues. ‘OK, I’ll see how I feel later.’
Arriving at Viceroy Court, the same porter let her in.
‘Good morning, officer. Can I see your warrant card, please? And you’ll need to sign the visitors’ book.’
Jane looked bemused. ‘You know who I am.’
‘Yes, but as you know, rules are rules.’
Shaking her head, Jane showed her card and signed the book.
‘Do you want this?’ the porter asked, plonking a plastic bag down on the table.
‘What is it?’
‘Mrs. Hastings’ car radio cassette player. I fixed it for her. I can put it back in the car if you want.’
Jane picked the bag up and handed it back to the porter. ‘The car’s still at the police lab. Can you keep it for now?’
‘Suppose so. Cost me a couple of quid to fix it. Do you think it will be all right if I used it in my car?’
‘I don’t know. You’d best speak with Mr. Hastings about it.’
The porter nodded as he opened the lift door. ‘I hope you catch the bloke who murdered Mrs. Hastings and those other women. Hanging would be too good for him.’
When Jane knocked on the door of the flat, she was surprised when it was opened by a bleary-eyed and unshaven Andrew Hastings, still wearing his dressing gown.
‘What do you want?’ he asked, regarding Jane with obvious disdain.
Jane tried not to let his attitude affect her. ‘I just need to ask Agnes a couple of questions about your mother.’