‘You don’t have to because I will check them. You’re so tired you could easily miss something. Go on, the pair of you — scoot and get some sleep. Give me your home numbers, then if anything important comes in I’ll ring you so you won’t miss out.’
Jane was about to leave when the uniform PC who had called her ‘love’ at the earlier briefing walked in with more completed house-to-house forms. He asked her if she’d like them or should he put them in the appropriate tray. Jane held out her hand to take them but Gibbs stepped forward and took them from the officer.
‘Anything of interest for me?’ Gibbs asked the PC.
Jane frowned at Gibbs, feeling that he was undermining her. ‘Or that needs my urgent attention as the house-to-house supervisor?’ she said.
The officer took out his notebook from his jacket breast pocket and glanced at them both. ‘There was a light blue 1976 Austin Allegro outside 86 to 96 Copeland Road — they’re a two-story block of flats that I visited on my house-to-house enquiries—’
‘And?’ Jane interrupted, wanting him to get to the point.
‘The vehicle looked a bit out of place as—’
Gibbs looked bemused as he interrupted, ‘Allegros are one of the most common cars on the road. It may have missed your attention but virtually every police force in the country uses them because they’re so cheap to run.’
‘It was a top-end Allegro, 1976 Vanden Plas Princess 1500 automatic, deep-pile carpet, leather seats and walnut trims — all in pristine condition. I asked in the flats and no one owned it or had seen it there before. Admittedly it did have a flat front offside tire with a screw stuck in it.’
Jane wondered if the PC was trying to impress them in an effort to make up for his earlier behavior towards her.
‘Have you recorded the details about the Allegro in your house-to-house folder?’ Gibbs asked, hoping he’d say ‘yes’ and so wouldn’t have to listen to the matter-of-fact, boring tone of the officer anymore.
‘No, I couldn’t find an owner for it in the flats, so I wrote my observations down in my notebook. The vehicle’s reg is tango, lima, yankee, two, two, five, romeo. All the doors and boot were locked and it did not appear to have been hotwired. The radio was missing and the connecting wires were exposed, so it may have been nicked.’
Jane took a deep breath. ‘Have you done a computer check on the car to see who the owner is, or if it’s been reported lost or stolen?’
‘Not yet. Wanted to report it to you first before any further action. I’ll nip downstairs and do that right now,’ the PC said and started to walk off.
Jane tried not to smile as Gibbs clenched his fists towards her, indicating his frustration with the PC.
‘No, no, we’ll do the checks and make further enquiries about the car. Thanks for informing us — very diligent of you,’ Jane said, forcing a smile.
The PC handed Jane the copy of his notes and left.
‘I’ll pop over to Copeland Road and have a look at the vehicle on my way home, see if there’s anything untoward and get it brought in if necessary.’
Gibbs shook his head and took the notes. ‘You get off home. I’ll make further enquiries, but looks like the PC, as irritating as he is, did a good job checking it out. If it’s got a flat tire, that may be why it was left there. We should also check into the missing radio because it doesn’t quite make any sense if it was stolen and then the thief locked up the car.’
Jane struggled to concentrate whilst driving home along the Marylebone Road. She pulled up at the red traffic lights by the junction with Gloucester Place and nodded off whilst waiting for them to turn green. The sound of repeated beeping of the car horn behind made her muscles tense as she jerked awake. For a split second she wondered where she was, then raised her hand in an apologetic manner and pulled away, turning right into Gloucester Place, then into Melcombe Street, where she lived in a top-floor flat of a three-story Victorian building. Thankfully, being a weekend, the parking restrictions were lifted so she didn’t have to drive up and down the back streets looking for a residents’ space.
Jane had grown to like Melcombe Street, with its narrow three-story white stucco-fronted houses and its proximity to Regent’s Park, where she regularly jogged. Baker Street tube was virtually on her doorstep and was handy for getting into central London, shopping in Oxford Street or a night out in the West End. It wasn’t so great for getting to Peckham, however, which is why she used her car to travel to and from work. Spotting a space close to her flat, Jane parked the car, got out and locked it. Her first car had been a second-hand VW that was an unfortunate bright yellow, but she had now traded it in for a newer version, which the team had jokingly nicknamed ‘the Jaffa Cake’ due to its orange body and black roof.
As Jane headed for her flat, she contemplated popping into the Spar shop to buy something to cook for supper, but she was so tired that she decided she would just heat up some leftovers.
She smiled to herself as she stopped to catch her breath on the stairs. She was fit and could normally manage the three flights at a brisk pace, but her body was physically drained from lack of sleep and food.
The flat had been in good condition when Jane first moved in almost three years ago. Other than a lick of paint here and there, and a few pieces of furniture, she’d done little to it by way of further maintenance. Although small, it had two bedrooms and a well-equipped kitchen incorporating a small dining area. There was no sitting room and her mother was always saying ‘the place is so small you can’t even swing a cat in it.’ Despite the fact she’d nearly been murdered in her flat by an active member of the IRA, she felt safe there.
Natalie Wilde had deliberately befriended Jane to cajole police information out of her about IRA suspects, whilst at the same time planning to bomb Scotland Yard’s annual CID Good Friday party. On realizing Jane had discovered her deceit, Natalie tried to murder her, and if it weren’t for the intervention of one of her colleagues she would have died. At the time, she felt emotionally drained and depressed, but after the experience with Natalie she’d learnt to develop her own coping mechanisms, and face her demons head on.
Jane ate some reheated spaghetti bolognese, had a relaxing hot bath and went straight to bed. She was woken by the bedside phone ringing and, looking at her alarm clock, saw that it was only 6:30 p.m. Feeling groggy, she stretched out for the receiver, picked it up and heard her mother’s voice.
‘Hello, dear. I know it’s a bit last minute, but your father and I were wondering if you’d like to come over for Sunday lunch? Pam and Tony are coming with baby Nathan.’
‘I’d love to, Mum.’ Jane’s mouth was so dry she paused to lick her lips before continuing.
‘Great. I’ll do roast beef, Yorkshire puds and veg. We’ll eat at one o’clock.’
‘Mum, I’m sorry, but I can’t come as I’ve got to work tomorrow.’
‘I noted on the wall calendar that you were off this weekend, after a night shift?’ her mother replied brusquely.
‘We had a murder last night, Mum. I’m on the investigation team, so—’
‘You’ve only been at Peckham two weeks and already someone’s been murdered?’
‘I don’t think my arrival at Peckham has anything to do with it.’
‘Don’t be flippant, dear. You know I worry about you, especially if you are having to arrest people who commit such violent crimes... Was it a woman or man that was killed?’
‘A woman. I’m in charge of the house-to-house enquiries, not the arrest team, so don’t worry yourself. I’m really tired and need to get some sleep, so I’ll ring you later.’
Jane didn’t dare worry her mother more by telling her any details about the murder, especially as the victim was around the same age as her.