‘Everybody has black bin bags,’ Simmonds said dismissively.
Moran slowly and carefully explained about the unique striation marks on the bin bags, which were being examined at the lab to determine if they were from the same roll as the ones in Simmonds’ kitchen.
‘Bin bags are mass produced. Thousands will have been made at the same factory and sold around the country,’ Simmonds declared confidently.
‘You’re quite right, of course, but when a bin bag is torn from a roll, each tear is unique. A match between two torn edges is conclusive evidence.’ Moran folded his arms and stared at Simmonds.
Simmonds sat upright and motionless. He didn’t seem to have an answer and Jane sensed he was trying to work out whether what Moran had just said was true.
Moran spoke quietly. ‘Cat got your tongue for once, Simmonds? Or are you not quite as informed about forensics as you like to think you are?’
There was a knock on the door. ‘Getting a bit like Piccadilly Circus in here, isn’t it?’ Moran said, smiling at Simmonds.
Gibbs entered the room and handed a sheet of paper to Moran. ‘Just had a fax through from Paul Lawrence. I think you’ll like what’s on it,’ he added, before exiting the room.
Moran ran his eyes over the fax. He smiled as he showed it to Jane, then carefully folded it in half and ran his index finger over the fold. He held the folded page up in front Simmonds.
‘This is a forensic report. Prints left by blood stained fingers were recovered from the underside of the freezer handle in your cellar.’ Moran paused for a response, but Simmonds didn’t reply, so he continued in an increasingly confident tone.
‘The fingerprints match your second and third right fingers. The blood group is the same as Aiden Lang’s. And the blood on your waiting room carpet at the Peckham surgery is the same group as Sybil Hastings’. I know we can’t say “beyond a doubt” that the blood is theirs, but we can say it’s not yours, as you’re a different blood group. From where I’m sitting, that looks like pretty damning evidence against you. Wouldn’t you agree?’
Moran leant forward, inviting a reply, but Simmonds still said nothing.
Moran sat back. ‘And there was me thinking you were a bit of a forensics expert. But you’re just a perverted son of a bitch who’s incapable of telling the truth. If you have a shred of decency or remorse, then have the guts to admit what you did.’
Simmonds roused himself. ‘I will not be spoken to like this, Detective Moran! If you continue in this manner, I will heed my barrister’s advice and respond “no comment” to any further questions.’
‘So you’re not prepared to answer any further questions?’
Simmonds leant forward. ‘No comment!’ he said through gritted teeth.
Moran stood up. ‘I’d like you to read the questions and answers recorded by Sergeant Tennison in the interview book. If you agree they are a correct account of what was said, then sign and date each page.’ Moran opened the door and asked the custody PC to come in.
‘Remain with Sergeant Tennison while she goes over the record of interview, then take the prisoner back to his cell.’
As he shut the door, Simmonds and Tennison could hear Moran whistling ‘Happy Days Are Here Again.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jane sat next to Simmonds whilst he carefully read through the notes of the interview. It was painstakingly slow, and Simmonds hardly said a word, apart from the odd question where he had difficulty reading what Jane had written. Eventually he had signed and dated each page. Jane stood up, closed the interview book and went back to the opposite side of the desk.
She glanced at the custody officer, about to ask him to take Simmonds to the cells.
‘Tell me, how do you feel when a guilty man isn’t convicted by a jury?’ Simmonds asked softly.
‘I’ve never had a case like that.’
Simmonds smiled. ‘There’s always a first.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Jane asked.
‘You’re the detective — you tell me.’
‘I’m not interested in your silly games, Mr. Simmonds. You pretend to be a good, upstanding citizen who cares about other people, but we both know it’s all an act. You pretended to be shocked when I told you Helen Matthews had been murdered, but you already knew because you’d killed her. You even asked how Simon was and offered your help. I think your behavior is beneath contempt.’
He didn’t seem fazed by her damning indictment. ‘I meant it about Simon. I lost my own father at a young age. I know the pain and heartache the boy must be going through.’
Jane was incensed. ‘I don’t think you do. The officer here will take you back to your cell.’ She picked up the interview book, ready to leave.
‘Please hear me out.’ Simmonds kept his face lowered as he took a deep breath.
Jane was surprised to see that he actually seemed distressed. The troubled look on his face was certainly unlike anything she had observed whilst Moran had been interviewing him. She sat down slowly.
‘My father was killed in the war whilst fighting the Japanese,’ Simmonds resumed. ‘And my brother died in a motorcycle accident aged seventeen. My mother never spoke about their deaths. Without her strength and love I wouldn’t have got over my brother’s death or been a successful dentist. She was so proud of everything I achieved. She took great delight in telling anyone she met that I owned my own dental practice in Harley Street.’
‘I read that you bought her the house in Peckham.’
Simmonds smiled. ‘It was the happiest I’d ever seen her when she moved in there. But I’ll never forget the sound she made when they came to tell her my brother had been killed. It was a horrific accident. He was virtually decapitated. My poor mother had to go to the mortuary to identify him. He was the light of her life and it broke her heart. I don’t honestly think she ever got over losing my brother, and it made her overprotective of me.’
‘Did you keep the house because of your mother?’ Jane asked, thinking about how the bedroom was like a shrine to her.
‘In some ways, yes. As my success grew I was able to develop a lucrative private practice, and eventually buy the property in Harley Street. But my beloved mother always encouraged me to help people less fortunate than myself and I knew setting up my dental practice in Peckham would have pleased her, so that’s what I did. I took great care of my mother, and spent many hours cooking her favorite dishes for her and putting them in the deep freeze, so she didn’t have to go shopping.’ He looked at Jane. ‘As you discovered, of course.’
‘Did you ever live there with her?’
He looked puzzled. ‘No, I had an extremely busy private practice to run, so it made sense to live in the Harley Street flat. But I saw her at every opportunity.’
Jane realized he must have started the Peckham clinic after his mother had died. She felt like saying his mother would be turning in her grave if she knew what a monster he had become, but managed to bite her lip. She didn’t want to alienate him when he seemed to be opening up to her.
‘How did your mother die?’ she asked.
‘She was a munitions worker during the war, handling cordite and sulfur all day, which fatally damaged her lungs.’
Jane decided to turn the screw a little. ‘In some ways you have been more fortunate than the families of the murder victims, though. You know how your mother died. She also lived long enough to witness your success.’
‘Edmund Burke once said, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing,”’ Simmonds intoned.