‘She’s moved out to her sister’s.’ He started to close the door.
She remembered Agnes telling her she was no longer needed as a housekeeper and would have to find somewhere else to live. But she was determined to get a look at the photograph if she could. ‘Then you might be able to help me, Mr. Hastings. I’ll only take a minute or two of your time.’
He opened the door. ‘I suppose you’d better come in then. Are you any nearer finding that queer bastard who murdered my mother?’
Jane knew the fact that Lang was gay hadn’t been released to the press. She suspected DCS Blake was keeping Hastings updated on the investigation and had told him about Lang’s sexual orientation.
‘Not yet, Mr. Hastings. But I can assure you we’re doing everything we can to find him.’
Jane followed him into the living room. It was in a state of disarray. Dirty plates, cups, knives and forks were on the coffee table, along with a half-eaten curry in a tinfoil container. There was also an empty whisky bottle and crushed beer cans on the floor. The ashtray was full of cigar stubs and, not surprisingly, the room smelt strongly of stale cigar smoke. Hastings didn’t seem bothered about it and didn’t apologize for the mess. Jane wondered why he was now living at the flat.
‘Was it you or Moran who told my wife I was having an affair?’ he asked abruptly.
Jane was taken aback.
‘I didn’t, and neither did DCI Moran. It’s not our job to get involved in your private life,’ she replied.
‘Well, someone from your Keystone Cops department must have said something to her. She’s kicked me out the house and I’ve had to move in here.’
Jane realized it must have been Gibbs since he was the only person on the team who had contact with Jo Hastings. She suspected he was still in contact, but in more than a professional capacity.
Jane quickly changed the subject. ‘As part of the investigation we’re speaking to people who played golf with your mother. They could help with regards to her movements on the day she died.’
She moved over to the photograph Agnes had shown her. She was certain now it was David Simmonds standing beside Andrew and his mother.
Jane pointed to the picture. ‘Agnes showed me this picture when I was last here. Obviously we’d like to speak with them and—’
Hastings interrupted. ‘The other woman’s Lady Helen Woosnam, but she’s died since the photograph was taken, which must have been at least three years ago. The other chap is David Simmonds. I haven’t seen him at the club or any functions for ages. He’s not much of a golfer,’ he said dismissively. ‘I reckon he only joined so he could drum up business for his Harley Street dental practice.’
Jane was excited that Hastings had confirmed Simmonds’ identity but didn’t want to make her interest in him obvious.
‘Oh, was your mother a patient of his?’ she asked, as casually as she could.
Hastings nodded. ‘Yes, along with quite a few other members of the golf club.’
‘Thanks for your time, Mr. Hastings. I’m sorry I didn’t have any positive news for you on the investigation. But I’m sure DCS Blake will keep you updated of any developments.’
She felt elated as she got in the car. She now had Simmonds directly connected to Sybil Hastings, as well as Helen and Simon Matthews. Jane remembered Simmonds telling her he’d heard the news about the murders on the radio. She knew Helen Matthews hadn’t been identified at that point, but Sybil Hastings’ name had been released to the press. It seemed strange, if Simmonds had listened to the news, that he didn’t mention Sybil Hastings was a patient. If Simmonds was hiding something, she’d have to tread carefully from now on.
Realizing she still had a bit of time before she had to pick up Brenda and Simon Matthews, Jane decided to go back to Harley Street, ask Simmonds a few open-ended questions and gauge his reaction. She knew it was risky, but Simmonds didn’t know she’d read the dental journal, or that she’d discovered Sybil Hastings was a patient of his.
Jane parked her car a few minutes’ walk away from Harley Street. She felt strangely nervous and wanted time to compose herself. She knew she had to be careful with her line of questioning, as the last thing she wanted was for Simmonds to think she now considered him a suspect.
Jane walked up the marble steps, took a deep breath and pressed the intercom.
‘Who is it, please?’
Jane recognized the receptionist’s voice. ‘It’s Detective Sergeant Tennison.’
A buzzer sounded and the electric latch on the door was released.
‘Good morning, Sergeant Tennison. How can I help you?’ the receptionist asked with a wide smile that showed off her gleaming white teeth.
‘I’d like to speak with Mr. Simmonds, please.’
‘I’m afraid he’s not here today. He works in his Peckham practice on Mondays and Fridays, treating his non-paying patients.’ She beamed.
‘Oh, I thought he owned the Peckham clinic but someone else ran it for him.’
‘No. He does all the work there himself.’
‘Can you give me the address?’
‘Certainly.’ She proceeded to write the address on a piece of paper.
‘Do the other dentists mind him working in the Peckham clinic?’ Jane asked.
The receptionist looked up at Jane. ‘This is Mr. Simmonds’ clinic and they work for him, so he can do as he pleases, but between you and me, it does annoy some of them.’
Jane recalled Simmonds had told her he hadn’t kept a record of Simon Matthews’ treatment in case the other dentists in the practice were upset he was doing dental work for free. This was clearly a lie if he owned the business.
‘You can’t please everyone,’ Jane said.
‘Unless you’re Mr. Simmonds,’ the receptionist replied, and handed Jane the address.
61 Brayards Road. Jane knew from the house-to-house enquiries that Brayards Road was close to Copeland Road, where Sybil Hastings’ body had been found. Jane thought about asking the receptionist when Mrs. Hastings had last attended the clinic, but worried she might tell Simmonds.
As if she was reading her thoughts, the receptionist leant forward and whispered, ‘I heard on the news Sybil Hastings was a victim. She was a patient here, you know.’
Jane hesitated. She didn’t want the receptionist to think that Simmonds hadn’t shared that information with her. ‘Yes, Mr. Simmonds told me. He was most upset, especially with Helen being a victim as well. I expect he didn’t talk about it so as not to worry you.’
‘He’s so considerate,’ the receptionist agreed.
‘Yes, he is,’ Jane said, slipping the address in her pocket. She looked at her watch and realized she’d have to get a move on to pick Brenda and Simon Matthews up. ‘Thanks for your help.’
Jane ran back to her car, then headed to Mrs. Rowlands’ house.
Jane sat with Brenda and a frail-looking Simon, who was clutching his grandmother’s hand, in the social services waiting room. It was painted a dull grey, with wooden chairs lined along the wall and a small coffee table with a few tattered magazines on top. Jane was disappointed to find it was as dreary and unwelcoming as police station interview rooms.
A tall woman in her mid-forties with short brown hair walked in, accompanied by a woman in her early thirties, casually dressed in a red turtleneck jumper and grey skirt. The older woman introduced herself as Mary Williams, the senior child care worker.
Jane stood up, shook hands and introduced Brenda and Simon.
Mrs. Williams knelt in front of Simon. ‘Hello, Simon. My friend Claire wants to show you our special children’s room. It’s got lots of toys in it. Would you like to see it?’
Her colleague smiled and put her hand out towards Simon.