Jane suspected as much. She glanced at Moran, who was glaring at Simmonds. Jane felt let down by Moran’s impulsive actions, which he would know could jeopardize the investigation.
‘You’re a liar. I never touched you. We both know you killed those women and Aiden Lang,’ Moran said bluntly.
Simmonds sighed. ‘I understand you have a job to do, DCI Moran. But why are you trying to make anything I’ve done or said fit your ill-conceived notion that I am the murderer? It seems to me you’ve failed to consider that this Aiden Lang may have committed the crimes and framed me for the murders.’
Before Moran could reply there was a knock on the door.
‘What?’ Moran shouted.
Gibbs put his head around the door and asked if he could have a word with them both. They left the room to join Gibbs while the uniform PC entered to keep watch on Simmonds.
Moran punched the corridor wall. ‘He’s fucking unbelievable, sitting there, cool as a cucumber. He must think we’re all idiots.’
Jane said nothing as she followed them down the corridor, away from the interview room.
Gibbs turned to Moran. ‘I just got a phone call from one of the lads searching Harley Street. They found the box files for the Peckham patients, and Simon Matthews’ record was in there.’
‘Simmonds has already told us that!’ Moran said and started to walk off.
‘Has he told you there’s also a file for a Benjamin Smith, and not only does his description fit, he has the same date of birth as Aiden Lang?’
Moran froze as he took this in. ‘No, he hasn’t!’
‘When I went to Harley Street, I asked Simmons if he knew Aiden Lang and showed him the photograph. I also said he might be called Ben Smith,’ Jane added, realizing the implications.
Gibbs stepped forward. ‘According to the file, Ben Smith first went to the Peckham clinic nearly two months ago. He had a missing upper left incisor, the same as the severed head. Simmonds’ report noted that the socket was badly infected, with a possible abscess, and he prescribed a course of antibiotics and painkillers, before he could fit a temporary plate.’
‘Fuck me. So Simmonds has known Lang for about six weeks,’ Moran said.
‘It gets better, guv.’ Gibbs flicked through his notes. ‘Simmonds fitted him with a temporary plate at his Peckham clinic on Monday the twelfth of February.’
‘Shit, that’s one... two... That’s four days before Matthews and Hastings were murdered. What else was in the file?’ Moran asked, adrenalin pumping.
‘In his appointments book, Simmonds has a return date for him on the following Monday, the nineteenth of February.’
Moran paced up and down, rubbing at his hair. ‘OK, OK... I need to get this straight. At the post-mortem, Professor Martin estimated the dismembered victim had been dead around seven days. That’s right, isn’t it?’
Gibbs nodded.
‘Which means that Lang’s murder happened before Simmonds killed Eileen Summers.’ Moran rubbed his hands together. ‘We’ve fucking got him, Spence!’ He turned to Jane. ‘When we go back in, I want you to mention that you showed Simmonds the photograph of Aiden Lang. Have you got the photo of him with you?’
‘It’s in a folder on the desk, sir.’
‘I’ll let you know when to get it out.’
They re-entered the interview room and sat down. As the PC left, Jane opened the A4 notebook to continue making notes.
‘Do you know a young man called Ben Smith?’ Moran asked.
‘Not that I recall.’
‘That’s strange, because he’s a patient of yours at Peckham,’ Moran said.
‘I’ve had hundreds of patients over the years. Many of them have the surname Smith, or at least claim to.’
‘We’ve had someone check the Peckham files at your Harley Street flat. There’s one for a Benjamin Smith, who attended your Peckham clinic several times over the last six weeks. In fact, you fitted him with a temporary plate on Monday the twelfth of February.’ Moran paused to monitor the effect of this information, but Simmonds didn’t react.
Moran continued. ‘When you first met WDS Tennison, she told you Lang used the alias Ben Smith, who we now know has the same date of birth as Aiden Lang.’
Simmonds put his hands to his face. ‘Oh my God, I’ve just realized... it’s the young man from the homeless shelter you’re talking about. You’re right, I fitted him with the temporary plate. I think he was supposed to come back last Monday for the actual porcelain tooth to be fitted, but he never turned up.’
‘So you did know Ben Smith,’ Moran concluded.
‘He gave his name as Benjamin, not Ben.’
Moran looked at Jane. ‘Show him the photo, please.’
Jane opened the case folder and slid the picture of Aiden Lang across the table.
‘I showed you this picture of Aiden Lang at your Harley Street surgery when we first spoke. Is this the man you knew as Benjamin Smith?’
Simmonds picked up the picture and studied it. ‘Now I remember: his hair was dyed blond, not dark like in this photo.’ He looked at Jane with an apologetic expression. ‘I didn’t make the connection when we first met.’
Moran couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. ‘Well, I guess we all make mistakes. So what can you tell us about Aiden Lang?’
‘I only knew him as a patient. He seemed like a nice young man, always very polite. That’s really all I can say about him.’
Moran nodded. ‘I take it you’ve heard about the body parts found in Peckham Rye Park?’
‘Yes, it was on the radio.’
‘Some monster chopped the victim up and left the body parts with the rubbish.’
Simmonds shook his head. ‘How someone could do that to another human being is beyond belief.’
‘The victim was Aiden Lang, the same young man you just identified as Benjamin Smith.’
Simmonds looked shocked. ‘You can’t seriously think I had anything to do with his death?’
Moran leant forward. ‘You wouldn’t be sitting here under arrest if I didn’t. We also suspect Lang’s body parts were kept in a freezer before they were dumped on the piles of rubbish. You have a freezer in the cellar at your Peckham surgery, don’t you?’
Simmonds shook his head in disbelief. ‘Why would I be so stupid as to keep Benjamin Smith’s — or Aiden Lang’s — dental records if I was involved in his murder?’
‘Because getting rid of them would be even more suspicious.’
Simmonds didn’t seem to have an answer to that, and Moran sensed he was getting to him.
‘The forensic officers found some bleach stains on the living room carpet at Brayards Road. I think you used the bleach to clean up bloodstains.’
Simmonds found his voice again. ‘This is ridiculous! One of the alcoholics from the homeless shelter was sick on the carpet recently. I used bleach to clean it up.’
Moran sat back in his chair. ‘Well, you didn’t do a very good job. When the stained section was cut away, blood was found on the underside of the carpet. In your rush to clean up the blood, you actually helped to push it down through the carpet, so I’d like to thank you for that.’
‘Are you always so condescending to someone who’s telling the truth, Moran? If there was blood on the carpet, it could have got there at any time. My mother lived alone in that house for many years. She was on warfarin to stop her blood clotting. One of the side effects was sudden heavy nose bleeds.’
‘You have a well-prepared answer for everything, don’t you, Simmonds? If I was a juror listening to you in a murder trial, I’d probably think everything you said was perfectly plausible. But as a detective, I know better. You’re lying.’ He paused. ‘I’m confident the black bin bags we found in the kitchen at your Peckham surgery will prove it.’ Moran let Simmonds think about that for a moment.