“Yes, sir. It’s tomorrow, one p.m., at Peckham Social Services.”
“Good. Now go and get your reports for the case file up to date.”
Leaving Moran’s office, Jane frowned as she saw Gibbs walking towards her.
“What’s up?” he asked.
She shrugged. “You tell me. I was ridiculed from all sides, especially by you and Moran. I thought we were friends.”
“We are, Jane,” Gibbs insisted. “I wasn’t having a go at you; I was just trying to make you see reason. This investigation is getting to everyone—the long hours, lack of sleep, all of that. We all want to find Lang. If he kills again, all hell will break loose in the press—not to mention Scotland Yard.”
Jane sighed. “I sometimes feel like I can’t say anything without someone jumping down my throat. If I was one of the lads, you’d all be patting me on the back and saying, ‘Good job, son.’”
Gibbs smiled. “But you’re not one of the lads. You’re WDS Jane Tennison and should be proud of what you’ve achieved in your career so far. You’ve got more savvy about you than detectives with a lot more experience. All the same, sometimes it’s better to think before you speak. Weigh up the evidence against what you suspect might have happened. Gut feelings aren’t a bad thing, just don’t put them forward until you have firm facts and evidence to support them.”
“Have you been speaking to Moran about me?” she asked.
Gibbs raised his hands defensively. “No, I haven’t.”
“Well, he said virtually the same thing to me.”
Gibbs gave her a sly look. “Then one of us must be right, Jane. Listen, don’t take it personally; consider it as constructive criticism and keep your focus on the investigation.” Gibbs reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out two tickets and held them up. “My band’s playing at the Churchill Arms in Chelsea Friday night. I’d really like you to come and meet my girlfriend. You can bring someone, if you want.”
Jane instantly thought about asking Paul Lawrence. As she reached to take the tickets, Gibbs leant forward and kissed her quickly on the lips.
“I’ve always wanted to do that … but it doesn’t mean I want to shag you.” Gibbs walked off with a contented smile.
Jane rolled her eyes. “And I wouldn’t let you.”
Gibbs turned and gave her a thumbs up. “Good. I’m already spoken for.”
Moran appeared out of his office. “The duty sergeant just called me. He said there’s a woman at the front counter claiming to be Aiden Lang’s sister. Pop down and check her out, will you? See if she’s got any ID. She could be press trying to pull a fast one.”
“And if she’s legit?” Jane asked.
“Bring her to my office and the two of us will interview her.”
Chapter Seventeen
When Jane saw the woman sitting on a bench in the foyer below a wanted poster of Aiden Lang, she realized she wouldn’t have to ask for ID. The resemblance was striking. She was a few years older, probably in her early thirties, very petite, with dark shoulder-length hair that was parted in the middle. She was casually dressed in a long white and brown afghan coat, blue turtleneck jumper and a red and white cotton ankle-length hippie skirt with drawstring waist. She was looking at the floor whilst nervously twisting the multi colored beads that hung around her neck.
“I’m Detective Sergeant Jane Tennison, Miss Lang.”
There was sadness in her eyes as she looked up. “My surname’s Peters. Lang is my maiden name. I’m Aiden’s sister.” She spoke softly but clearly.
“Thank you for coming to the station. I believe you want to talk to a detective about Aiden?”
The woman nodded and slowly stood up.
“My DCI would like to speak with you. I’ll take you to his office.” said Jane. “What’s your first name?” she asked, as they walked up the stairs to the first floor.
“Hilary.”
“Do you live in Peckham, Hilary?”
“No. I live in Woolwich with my husband. He’s a market trader in Beresford Square.”
“I know that area. I worked at the forensic lab in the Royal Arsenal buildings, across from Beresford Square,” Jane added, trying to make Hilary feel more at ease.
Jane introduced Hilary to Moran, who shook her hand and invited her to take a seat. Jane could see from his expression he’d also been struck by the likeness to Aiden Lang.
Moran smiled. “Thank you for coming in. Would you like a tea or coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
“Are you happy for WDS Tennison to take notes of our conversation?”
Hilary nodded. Jane sat down and opened an A4 notebook. She thought Moran would get straight to the point, but first he asked her for some personal details.
“Just for the record, would you mind giving me your full name, date of birth, address and family circumstances, please.”
“Hilary Peters. Twentieth of February 1949. I live at sixty-four Wellington Street, Woolwich, with my husband John and our two children. John’s a market trader and I’m a yoga teacher,” she added timidly.
“How old are your children?” Moran asked as he wrote the details down.
“Charlotte’s five and Duncan is seven.”
“They’re at school, I take it?”
Hilary nodded. “Yes, at St. Columbus Primary.”
Jane also recorded the details, assuming Moran wanted to check Hilary’s details with Woolwich Police and criminal records—standard procedure in a criminal investigation, even with witnesses.
Moran put his pen down. “I take it you’re aware your brother’s wanted on suspicion of three murders?”
Hilary was clearly trying to control her emotions, and didn’t answer immediately.
Moran tapped the table with his pencil. “I have to say, you’ve certainly taken your time getting in touch with us. Could you tell me why?”
She coughed into her hand. “Well, I never really watch television and didn’t pay much attention to the murders, until I saw Aiden’s picture and realized he was … a suspect. To tell the truth, I wasn’t even sure about coming here, because I know my brother is not capable of murder.”
Moran shrugged. “We have a lot of evidence that shows he is, including his fingerprints in two of the victims’ flats. Do you know where your brother is at present?”
Hilary was visibly shocked. “No, I haven’t seen him for at least two months. But I’ve spoken to him on the phone.”
“And when was the last time you spoke with him?” Moran asked.
“A week or so ago. He phones every so often to see how me and the children are.”
Moran sat up. “Did he say where he was calling from?”
“From a payphone in Peckham, I think, only because he said that’s where he was living, but he didn’t tell me an address or anything.”
Moran told Hilary her brother had been living at a homeless hostel in Peckham and the hostel was near where the first two victims were found.
Hilary looked stunned. “Why are you so sure Aiden killed them?”
“The most recent victim was found in your brother’s hostel room and he’s not been seen since.”
Hilary gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “No. No, you’re wrong. Not Aiden. He’s never hurt anyone.”
“He’s also wanted for failing to appear at court on assault and robbery charges, which he admitted when originally arrested.”
Hilary shook her head in disbelief, though Moran had omitted the full details of the incident.
There was a knock on the door and DI Gibbs entered, apologized for interrupting and handed Moran a file. Moran handed him a different file and asked him to get it typed up ASAP. Jane thought it odd that Gibbs would interrupt such an important interview unless the file he had handed Moran contained vital information. Jane looked questioningly at Moran, but he ignored her and continued his questioning.
“What did you and your brother talk about during this phone call?”
Hilary seemed to get
her emotions back under control and spoke calmly. “It was brief. I did most of the talking and asked him how he was doing. He seemed fine and said he’d ring next week.”
“Has your brother visited you recently at home?”
“Like I told you, not for a long time. Aiden and my husband don’t get on. Aiden doesn’t visit on a regular basis, but when he does it’s always when my husband’s at work.”
“Why don’t they get on?”
Hilary paused, avoiding eye contact with Moran, and started fiddling with her beads again.
“I could of course ask your husband what the problem is, but I’d prefer to hear it from you, Mrs. Peters,” Moran said bluntly.
Hilary took a deep breath and looked at Moran. “My brother Aiden is gay. Because of his sexuality, my husband won’t talk to him or allow him in our house. My parents disapprove of him, too, but I don’t. I don’t judge Aiden. I accept him for who he is—a kind, gentle and loving person.”
Moran paused to let Jane catch up with her notes.
“Where do your parents live?”
“They moved to Betts Hill in Sussex five years ago.”
“Is it possible your brother could be there?”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. They completely disowned him. They don’t speak to me, just because I keep in contact with Aiden.”
“Does your brother have a boyfriend?”
“I don’t know. I don’t ask him about his private life. Why do you keep saying ‘my brother’ all the time? Does it upset you to call him Aiden?” Hilary asked, her agitation growing.
Jane could sense from the steely look on his face that Moran thought Hilary was hiding something to protect her brother.
He leant forward. “We suspect your brother has been sexually abusing the nine-year-old son of one of our murder victims. Do you know Helen Matthews?”
Jane knew they had no evidence that Lang had abused Simon Matthews, so Moran was using this assertion as a scare tactic.
Hilary didn’t seem scared, but she was certainly offended. “Aiden is not a monster! He would never abuse or hurt a child, and whoever told you he did is lying!” she said in a raised but steady voice.
“You didn’t answer my question, Mrs. Peters.”
“I don’t know anybody called Matthews,” Hilary insisted firmly, “or the other victims that were in the paper. If I knew where Aiden was, I swear to you I’d tell him to give himself up and clear his name.”
“Why are you being so defensive? What are you hiding?”
“Why are you treating me like a suspect?” Hilary retorted sharply. “I came here to offer you my help in finding Aiden.”
Jane thought the pressure to get results had made Moran too aggressive, and they were now in danger of losing the one person who could possibly get Aiden to give himself up. It was as if Moran was convinced that Hilary had come to the station fishing for information and was actually harboring her brother. Jane contemplated taking over the interview to try to placate her, but before she could, Moran was on the attack again.
“I have officers on the way to your home address as we speak, Mrs. Peters. Is your brother there?” he asked bluntly.
Hilary frowned. “I’m telling you the truth. I haven’t seen Aiden and he hasn’t been to my house in months.”
Jane knew Moran was lying about the search to intimidate Hilary, since they hadn’t known her address before the interview.
“DI Gibbs is currently organizing a thorough search of your premises,” Moran continued. “The officers attending will also speak with your neighbors about your family. If we find your brother, or any trace of him, you will be arrested for perverting the course of justice.”
Jane was shocked at Moran’s underhandedness as she realized he must have discussed his intentions with Gibbs before the interview. It was now obvious Moran had slipped Hilary’s details into the folder he’d handed Gibbs when he came into the room earlier.
Hilary shook her head in disgust. “Why do you need to involve my neighbors? Now they’ll think my husband and me are guilty of harboring a murderer!”
Moran shrugged his shoulders, as if to say he had no choice.
Jane watched as Hilary sat upright, took some deep breaths to calm herself, then glared at Moran with contempt. “I pity you, Mr. Moran. You are a homophobic bigot, who perceives that gay men must be sick in the head and therefore more likely to be child abusers and murderers. You need to open your narrow little mind and understand that being gay doesn’t make you a bad person. You seem incapable of considering the possibility someone else murdered those poor women. I know Aiden didn’t do it. You can tell me till you’re blue in the face that he’s guilty—but I’ll never believe you.”
Moran shrugged again, but Jane could see it was just bravado. Hilary had struck a nerve.
“Sermon over?” he asked.
“I was prepared to help you and persuade Aiden to give himself up, but now I want nothing more to do with you. Aiden is a far better person than you will ever be. If I do hear from him, you’ll never know about it, but rest assured I will tell him to keep running as he’ll never receive any form of justice from the likes of you.” Hilary stood up, leant forward and looked Moran in the eye. “Unless you’re going to arrest me for something I haven’t done, I’d like to go.”
Moran looked at Jane and nodded towards the door. “Show her out.”
Hilary was silent as they walked downstairs to the foyer. Standing together at the front steps, Jane decided she had to say something so Hilary didn’t think she condoned Moran’s behavior.
“I’m sorry for the way DCI Moran treated you. I had no idea he’d sent officers to your house.”
Hilary’s face relaxed slightly. “I could see that from the way you looked at him. But you shouldn’t be the one apologizing, officer. I know Aiden better than anyone. He’s confided in me all his life, and believe me, he is incapable of murder. I hope, for all our sakes, you find the person who did do it.”
For a moment Jane thought back to the discovery of the first victim. “This may sound strange, Hilary, but was Aiden ever in the boy scouts, cadet corps or anything like that?”
Hilary frowned. “No. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just something to do with the investigation. Has he ever done any type of job where he’d have learnt to tie different kinds of knots or ropes?”
“No, that would be impossible for him.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My brother was born with a partially clasped left thumb.”
Jane was puzzled. “What does that mean?”
“Aiden’s thumb is slightly deformed. It faces in towards the palm of his hand, so he can’t straighten it. Every pair of shoes he ever had were slip-on as he can’t tie a shoelace because of his thumb.”
“Do you know if Aiden was working?”
Hilary sighed. “He was, at a pub in Soho. I was told he got sacked for stealing from the till. I expect it was to feed his drug habit.”
Jane recalled the cleaner mentioning the needle and spoon in Aiden’s hostel room. “Was he a heroin user?”
“Heroin? I don’t think he was on that stuff. Cannabis was his weakness, though he did tell me he occasionally popped a tablet of speed.”
Jane remembered her conversation with the barman at the Golden Lion, who said a woman came in looking for Aiden. Jane looked at Hilary and realized her hair color and style was similar to Helen Matthews.
“Did you ever go to the Golden Lion looking for Aiden?”
“Yes, but that was before those women were killed. If you don’t mind, officer, I really need to go. My husband will be angry about the police searching our house.”
Jane told Hilary she’d like to speak with her in more detail about Aiden and asked if they could meet in private. Hilary looked apprehensive, then told Jane she would think about it and maybe call her. Jane gave her the CID office phone number.
“I really am sorry about what just happened. If y
ou want to talk, then please call me.”
Jane returned to Moran’s office, feeling her anger at him building.
Moran looked up. “She say anything else to you?”
“No, for some reason she wasn’t in the mood for conversation,” Jane replied testily. “But she did tell me she went to the Golden Lion looking for her brother. So it was probably her the barman saw and not Helen Matthews.”
Jane picked up her notebook, but decided not to mention Lang’s clasped thumb in case Moran just said Hilary was lying to cover for her brother.
Moran sighed. “The officers searching her house in Woolwich just called in. So far there’s nothing to suggest Aiden Lang has been there. The neighbors were shown Lang’s photograph. No one recognized him.”
“Looks like she was telling the truth then,” Jane remarked.
Moran sensed a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “If you’ve got a problem with the way I interviewed her then spit it out.”
Jane knew better than to get into an argument. “I’ll go and type these notes up,” she replied.
“You’re going nowhere until you answer me,” he growled.
“I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to give my opinions, sir,” Jane replied evenly. “You are leading the investigation, so you make the decisions.”
Moran laughed. “I could see from the sour look on your face you didn’t approve of the way I interviewed her. I don’t have time to listen to how wonderful Hilary Peters thinks her brother is, or pussyfoot around being nice when she refuses to accept he’s a murderer. I’m not going to be accused of failing to do my job, Tennison. Searching her house and speaking with the neighbors is a necessary part of the investigation.”
“As I said, sir, you make the decisions. I’m sorry if I upset you with my sour look. It won’t happen again.” She was managing to keep her emotions in check, but desperately wanted to get out the room before she lost control and said something she’d regret.
“Don’t try and soft-soap me, Tennison. If you think I was wrong, then at least have the balls to tell me.”
Jane looked him in the eye. She recalled him telling her earlier he was happy for her to express her opinions as long as it wasn’t in front of other officers.
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