‘You always seem to be busy with work, Jane. The family haven’t seen you in ages. You should at least make the effort to see Pam and your new nephew.’
‘I saw Pam and the baby last weekend. I went round to her place and she did my hair before I started night shift.’
‘Oh, Pam didn’t mention your visit to me,’ Mrs. Tennison replied, sounding annoyed that she wasn’t told.
Jane was irritated. ‘Why should she, Mum? It was just a haircut. Look, I really need to get some sleep. I’m sorry about tomorrow but I’ll let you know when I’m next free and can come over.’
‘It would be nice if you offered to babysit for Pam and Tony so they could have a night out together. Honestly, Jane, sometimes it feels like you put the needs of the police force before your family. I’m sure the CID could cope without you now and again...’
‘So can you, Mum. I’m sorry if my work inconveniences you,’ Jane replied abruptly.
Mrs. Tennison said nothing and put the phone down. Jane instantly regretted her thoughtless remark. Despite her tiredness, she wondered if she should ring her back to apologize. However, not wanting to get into another argument, she decided not to until she’d had a decent sleep. Jane pulled the duvet over her shoulders and snuggled into the fetal position. No sooner had she closed her eyes than the phone rang again.
She picked up the receiver. ‘I’m sorry for upsetting you...’
‘You haven’t,’ a surprised Gibbs replied, curious about who Jane had just been speaking to.
‘Sorry, I thought you were my mother. I was tired and I snapped at her... Has there been a development in the case? Do you need me to come in?’
‘No. Just thought I’d let you know I’ve been up to Copeland Road to have a look at the Allegro car and it’s not reported lost or stolen. It was locked, the ignition was not hotwired and the front tire was as flat as a pancake. I doubt the radio was nicked as the loose wires had tape on the end to stop them sparking if they touched. Definitely not the sort of thing a thief would do if they’d just nicked it.’
‘Do you think the car could belong to our murder victim?’ Jane asked as she sat up in bed.
‘No. Clean as a whistle inside, pair of driving gloves on the front passenger seat, with a tartan rug and cushions on the back seat. It’s more an older person’s type of car. The registered owner is ex-directory, lives in St. John’s Wood, just by Regent’s Park. It’s probably not connected to the investigation, but you need to find out why it’s been left in Peckham.’
‘I know where it is, but I’m in bed now. I’ve hardly slept...’
‘You can do it in the morning on your way in. The address is—’
‘Hang on, let me get a pen and paper.’ Jane opened the bedside cabinet drawer. She had quickly learnt that having a pen and notepad close to hand was crucial, even in bed. She told Gibbs to go ahead and he gave her the car registration as TLY 225R. The owner, shown on the police national computer, was a Mrs. Sybil Hastings, flat 42, Viceroy Court, Prince Albert Road.
‘Have you checked her name against missing persons?’ Jane asked.
‘Of course. She isn’t reported missing and there’s no one on mispers matching our victim’s description either.’
‘Anything else, or can I get some sleep now?’ Jane asked irritably as she tore the bit of paper from the notepad.
‘I’ll meet you there at nine a.m.,’ Gibbs said.
‘I’m quite capable of doing a simple vehicle enquiry on my own, you know.’
‘Yes, but I need a lift as my Triumph Stag’s in the garage having a new head gasket fitted. Tamara’s flat is in Mayfair so I’ll get her to drop me off at Viceroy Court. We’re doing a gig at a pub in Belsize Park tonight — why don’t you come along, Jane?’
‘No thanks, Spence, I just need to get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.’ Jane put the phone down, realizing, with slight annoyance, that Gibbs had given her the vehicle enquiry so he could get a lift in to work. She didn’t mind too much as he’d at least been to Copeland Road to check the vehicle out and someone would have to have spoken with the owner anyway.
Pulling the duvet over her head, Jane was in a deep sleep within seconds, all thoughts of the investigation pushed from her mind for the time being.
Chapter Three
It was cold outside. Jane had the engine running and heating on as she sat in her car facing the entrance to Viceroy Court. The brick-built 1930s modernist building consisted of eighty luxury apartments, laid out in the form of an elongated ‘H,’ with an underground garage and a white four-column porte-cochère covering the main entrance. The apartments overlooked Regent’s Park and, even though it was winter, the surrounding lawns and hedgerows were well maintained, and the flowerbeds were filled with an abundance of color from winter pansies, violas and cyclamen.
Looking at her watch, Jane realized that it was 9:15 a.m. and Gibbs still hadn’t arrived. She wasn’t sure if he was running late or had changed his mind about accompanying her, so she decided she’d make the enquiry at Mrs. Hastings’ flat herself. Standing at the main entrance, she pressed the buzzer and a smartly dressed uniformed porter came to the door. Jane introduced herself and showed him her warrant card.
‘Follow me, madam.’
The reception area had a thick red carpet, a desk area for the porter and two large floral displays either side of a wide marble staircase to the upper floors. The porter, who looked to be in his late fifties, turned out to be a bit of a nosy ‘jobsworth,’ making Jane sign the visitors’ book and asking what the purpose of her visit was. Jane told him it was a minor enquiry regarding the theft of property from a resident’s car.
‘May I ask which resident, madam?’
‘I’m sure the resident will reveal his or herself to you if they feel inclined to do so,’ Jane said as she walked towards the lift.
‘Would you like me to accompany you, madam?’ he asked as he opened the old-fashioned sliding grille gate of the lift and ushered Jane inside.
‘No, thanks,’ Jane replied, smiling as she closed the gate and pressed the button for the fourth floor.
Apartment 42 was to the left. Jane pressed the doorbell and after a few seconds the door was opened by a woman in her mid-sixties, wearing a floral pinafore apron over a white shirt, calf-length tartan skirt, dark tights and flat-sole black house shoes. Jane held up her warrant card.
‘Mrs. Hastings, I’m Detective Sergeant Jane Tennison.’
‘I’m no’ Mrs. Hastings, dear. She’s no’ in just noo. I’m Agnes Anderson, her housekeeper. I thought you might be Mrs. Hastings, or her son Andrew. I phoned him earlier. Did he call you?’ The woman spoke quickly, but in a soft, almost melodic, Scottish highland accent.
Jane was confused by what Agnes was saying, and thought she seemed rather anxious about something.
‘Is her husband in?’ Jane asked.
‘He’s no’ alive, dear. Passed away a few years ago now from a heart attack.’
Jane reached into her coat pocket and got out the bit of paper she’d written the details on. ‘Does Mrs. Hastings own a light blue Vanden Plas Princess Allegro, registration TLY 2—’
‘Yes. Oh my goodness. Has she been in an accident? Is she in hospital? Have you told Andrew?’ Agnes looked very worried as she fired her random questions at Jane.
Jane didn’t want to say she was investigating a murder, but needed to know more about the car. ‘There was a minor car accident that we believe Mrs. Hastings may have been involved in, but failed to stop and exchange details with the other driver. Can I come inside and speak with you, please?’
Jane followed Agnes down the interior hallway into a large, plush living room, which had two white sofas and two armchairs, with hand-embroidered cushions scattered over them. An expensive Persian rug lay at the foot of a large white marble fireplace, the centerpiece of which was a Regency-style brass and chrome electric fire, with colored glass coals that gave off a flickering flame effect. Carved teak cabinets and chests had porcelain and china ornaments displayed on them, as well as what appeared to be family photographs. Various oil and water paintings were hanging from the walls, and in front of the long balcony, which overlooked Regent’s Park, was a carved eight-seater teak dining table and matching Regency-style chairs. It was clear that Mrs. Hastings was a woman of considerable wealth.