Lawrence looked at Moran. ‘It’s standard procedure for a lab sergeant to be called to all suspicious deaths and murder scenes at the earliest opportunity. Preserving the handbag for fingerprints showed good crime scene awareness by WDS Tennison.’
Moran ignored Lawrence and spoke to the divisional surgeon. ‘Can you give me an estimation of time of death?’
The doctor shrugged his shoulders. ‘There are many variables due to the weather conditions, breeze in the alley and other factors, which can affect body temperature. It’s hard to be accurate, but possibly just before or after midnight.’
Just about managing to keep his umbrella up, Moran wrote in his notebook. Jane could see Lawrence was not pleased. She knew his view was that divisional surgeons were not experienced in forensic pathology or time of death, and should confine their role to nothing more than pronouncing life extinct.
Lawrence looked at Moran. ‘Excuse me, sir, but now the sleet’s stopped, it would be a good idea to get a pathologist down to see the body in situ. He can check the rigor mortis and body temp—’
Moran interrupted him, shutting his umbrella. ‘The weather’s constantly changing, and more snow is forecast, so I want the body bagged, tagged and off to the mortuary as a priority for a post-mortem later this morning.’
Lawrence sighed, but he didn’t want to get into an argument about it. Opening his forensic kit, he removed a white body sheet and latex gloves. Using some tweezers, he picked up the three buttons beside the body and placed them in a plastic property bag. Then he unfolded the body sheet and placed it on the ground next to the body.
Lawrence looked up at Jane and Edwards. ‘I want to turn her over onto the body bag. If one of you can grab her feet, I’ll work the shoulders. Just go slow and gentle.’
Jane took a step forward, but Edwards said he’d do it and grabbed a pair of protective gloves from Lawrence’s forensic bag. As they turned the body over, Jane shone her torch on the victim, lighting up her contorted face and the rope around her neck. The strangulation had caused her tongue to protrude and her eyes were puffed and swollen. The victim wore little make-up, and looked to be in her late twenties to early thirties. She was medium height, with brown shoulder-length hair parted down the middle, and was wearing a pink blouse, which was torn, and her bra was pulled up over her breasts.
Lawrence pointed to the pavement area where the body had been lying. ‘It’s dry underneath her,’ he observed.
‘The sleet started about three a.m.,’ Jane said.
‘Then it’s reasonable to assume she was killed before then.’
‘How can you be sure it was three a.m., Tennison?’ Moran snapped, tapping the ground with the steel tip of his umbrella.
Jane got her notebook out of her inside coat pocket. ‘We’d just stopped a vehicle and I recorded the details and time in my notebook. I remember the sleet starting as I was taking the driver’s details. Let me find it...’ She flicked through the pages. ‘Ah — here it is. Time of stop, 3:03 a.m.’
‘Well, I want it checked out with the London weather office in case it becomes critical to the case,’ said Moran. ‘The body is a stone’s throw from Peckham Rye railway station. She might have been out late Friday night and attacked in the alleyway if using it as a cut-through to Copeland Road.’
Lawrence shrugged. ‘She might have thrown it away, but there was no train ticket on her. She may have been walking from the Copeland Road end and heading towards Rye Lane. The fact there were no house keys on her could suggest she was returning home and expecting someone to let her in.’
Moran nodded. ‘We can put out a press appeal with the victim’s description and ask if anyone recalls seeing her on the train Friday night. Also we can run a check with Missing Persons for anyone matching her description.’
‘Already in hand, sir,’ Jane said, without receiving so much as a thank you back. She glanced at Edwards, reminding herself to check exactly what description he had given Missing Persons.
Lawrence crouched down next to the body, looked at Moran and pointed to the victim’s torn blouse. ‘She may have been sexually assaulted as well. There’s four buttons missing on her blouse. I only recovered three beside the body and there’s no more underneath her.’
Jane raised her finger. ‘I had a good look up and down the alley before DS Lawrence arrived and didn’t find any more buttons.’
Lawrence stood up. ‘Best we check the soles of our shoes in case one of us has accidentally trodden on it and it’s got lodged in the tread. It won’t be the first time something has unintentionally been removed from a crime scene in that way. When you see the market trader who found her, check his footwear as well.’
Everyone checked the soles of their shoes.
‘Someone tread in dog shit?’
Jane turned around. Spencer Gibbs was wearing a trendy full-length brown sheepskin coat. His hands were deep in the pockets, pulling the unbuttoned coat around his front to keep out the cold. He had a big smile and Jane could instantly see he was looking a lot better now than when she last saw him, almost younger, in fact. His hair had changed as well. It no longer stood up like a wire brush, but was combed back straight from his forehead.
Gibbs’ smile widened when he saw Jane.
She held out her hand. ‘Hello, Spence. You look well.’
‘Jane Tennison — long time no see!’ He pulled her forward to give her a hug.
Jane noticed that DCI Moran didn’t seem too impressed and wondered if Gibbs’ jovial mood was due to drink, although she couldn’t smell any alcohol.
Gibbs walked over to Moran. ‘Good morning, sir,’ he said, and they shook hands. Gibbs’ coat fell open to reveal a blue frilled shirt, tight leather trousers, blue suede shoes and a large peace sign medallion. Everyone went quiet.
Moran frowned. ‘So you really think that sort of outfit is suitable for a senior detective, DI Gibbs?’
‘Sorry, guv. I did a gig in Camden town with my band last night, then stayed at my girlfriend Tamara’s pad. Thankfully I’d added her phone number to my out of hours contact list at the old station. I didn’t want to waste time by going home to change when I got the call-out, so after a quick dash of Adidas aftershave, I came straight to the scene by cab.’
Gibbs’ looks and patter had become even more ‘rock and roll’ than they used to be.
‘Your band do glam rock, guv?’ Edwards asked, trying not to laugh at Gibbs’ dress sense.
‘No, we’re more progressive. Serious rock and roll. Girlfriend’s in the band as well. Looks like Debbie Harry — she’s a real stunner.’
‘Well, you look like a real poofter in that gear,’ Edwards replied, earning a playful slap on the back of his head from Gibbs.
Moran coughed loudly to get Gibbs’ and Edwards’ attention. ‘Show a bit of respect, you two. We’re supposed to be investigating a murder, not discussing bloody music!’
‘Sorry, sir,’ they said in unison.
‘What have you go so far?’ Gibbs asked Moran.
Moran frowned. ‘A murder, obviously. I want you to organize house-to-house enquiries, DI Gibbs. Start with any flats in Rye Lane, and all the premises in Copeland Road. Tennison and Edwards can return to the station to write up their night duty report, then go off duty.’
Jane knew that organizing house-to-house was normally a DS’ responsibility and she was keen to be part of the investigation team.
‘I should have the weekend off, sir, but I’m happy to remain on duty and assist the investigation. You’ve got a DS on sick leave, one at the Old Bailey on a big trial starting Monday, and one taking over nights from me tonight. House-to-house is normally a DS’ role, so I could—’