‘I’ll speak with DCS Blake,’ Moran replied. ‘But for the moment, you will all have to work the weekend. Sort it out amongst yourselves and split into two teams. One lot can work Saturday and the other Sunday.’
Some officers looked pleased, knowing that as it was on short notice they would get double pay and days off in lieu. Other weren’t so happy, particularly those with families or those who had made plans for the weekend.
‘Which day are you working, guv?’ Gibbs asked, assuming he’d be doing the other day in charge.
‘Both, and so will you,’ Moran told him firmly. ‘I want contact numbers for everyone in case I need to call you all in. And if I do, you’d better not be pissed. Right, any questions?’
No one said anything. Moran walked over to Jane.
‘After you’ve arranged the Simon Matthews interview with social services, come to my office.’ He strode out of the office.
Jane exchanged a look with Gibbs, then picked up the phone. She contacted Peckham Social Services to arrange the interview for 1 p.m. the next day. Jane then rang Brenda Matthews. They had a brief conversation and Jane told Brenda she’d pick her and Simon up on Friday from Mrs. Rowlands’ at midday.
Jane trudged along the corridor to Moran’s office, suspecting he was going to give her a bollocking for undermining his authority in public. The dark look on his face told her she was right.
‘I don’t like people challenging my views in front of junior officers. It’s not what I expect from anyone, let alone you as supervising DS, who should lead by example.’
Jane sighed. ‘I wasn’t challenging you, sir. I was merely offering an alternative viewpoint, which I felt should be considered. But I accept I may well be wrong.’
Moran seemed satisfied. ‘Good. I appreciate that every theory must be considered — but on the evidence, not wild flights of fantasy. You are very perceptive and have the makings of a good detective, but you still have a lot to learn, so think before you speak. What you said in that meeting could diminish the respect your colleagues have for you. When that happens, you can end up becoming ostracized by the rest of the team. If something’s troubling you, or you want to voice your opinion, you can always speak to me or Gibbs on a one-to-one basis. OK?’
Jane nodded.
‘Everything arranged for the Simon Matthews interview?’
‘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.