Jane had a long lie-in on the Saturday morning and didn’t get up until ten o’clock. After a filling breakfast of Weetabix, followed by a chunky bacon and egg sandwich, with percolated coffee, she felt re-energized, but decided she wouldn’t think about the investigation or look at her notebook for the whole day. She set about cleaning the flat and doing her washing and ironing. The household chores always gave her a feeling of independence, as her mother had done everything for her when she’d lived at home.
The flat tidy and gleaming, she spent the afternoon lazing on the settee, watching the weepy Lease of Life, starring Robert Donat and Kay Walsh, about the vicar of a small Yorkshire parish who is dying from cancer. It was early evening when the film finished. Happily wiping the tears from her eyes, Jane switched off the TV and went to her bedroom. Opening her wardrobe, she looked for something suitable to wear for dinner with Paul Lawrence. She knew it was informal and looked for something smart but casual. She eventually decided on a white shirt, light brown sleeveless pullover, matching gabardine knee-length skirt, skin-color tights and brown leather shoes with a braid trim. She had a shower, then dried her hair and put on some hair spray. Before leaving, she picked up the dental journal for Paul to have a look at.
En route to Paul’s, Jane stopped at an off-licence. She asked the cashier for a nice red wine to go with beef Wellington and he recommended a Cabernet Sauvignon. It was the most she’d ever paid for a bottle of wine, so she hoped Paul appreciated it.
The journey to Paul’s 1930s semi-detached two-bedroom house in Fulham didn’t take long. She rang the doorbell and Paul, wearing an apron, welcomed her with a hug and kiss on the cheek. She handed him the wine.
“You look gorgeous, Jane, and thanks for this.” He looked at the wine. “Cabernet Sauvignon . . . Perfect choice.”
Jane just smiled, not wanting to look stupid by admitting she’d never tasted it before.
“Come on through while I finish making supper. I changed my mind about the beef Wellington, actually. Do you like Spanish paella?”
“Yes, I love it,” Jane fibbed, having no idea what it was.
“I first tried it in Benidorm on holiday. The fish one’s all right, but I’m cooking a chicken one tonight. The magic ingredient is saffron, apparently.”
“Sounds lovely,” Jane said. As she walked through the living room, she remarked how modern it looked with its stone fireplace, orange leather sofa, matching armchairs and ottoman, a light brown shag pile carpet and wood paneled walls.
“I rented the last place I had in Sussex Mews from an aunt. The University of London’s Bedford College were expanding their campus and made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. I had to mortgage myself up to the hilt for this place, but I like it here.”
In the kitchen, Paul opened Jane’s bottle of wine, poured her a glass and one for himself. Whilst he cooked, Jane recounted what happened to Spencer Gibbs at the pub gig.
“I wish I’d been there,” Paul laughed. “But Gibbs better hope Andrew Hastings doesn’t find out. Or he may get more than a slap from him—” He was interrupted by the doorbell.
He was stirring the paella at a crucial moment, so Jane went to open the door. A man in his mid-thirties, wearing a black winter coat, was standing in the porch, holding a bunch of flowers.
“Jane Tennison?” he asked, and she nodded. “These are for you.” He handed her the flowers.
Jane couldn’t believe Paul had gone to the effort of surprising her with a flower delivery.
He came into the hallway. “Everything OK?”
“Thank you for the flowers, Paul. They’re beautiful. Do you have any loose change?”
Paul and the man at the door burst out laughing.
Jane gave Paul a bemused look. “What’s so funny?”
The man stepped into the hallway and closed the front door.
“This is Stuart, my friend. I invited him to dinner so you could meet him,” Paul explained.
“I feel like a right fool.” Jane blushed.
The three of them chatted in the kitchen as Paul put the finishing touches to the paella. Stuart explained that he was a jewelry designer for Dunhill and Paul showed her the elegant cufflinks he was wearing, which were a Christmas present from Stuart. Jane instantly warmed to him, feeling he shared many of Paul’s endearing qualities.
“Excuse me while I nip to the loo,” Stuart said.
“What are you thinking?” Paul asked Jane.
“Nothing,” Jane replied, wondering to herself.
“What do you think of Stuart?”
“He seems lovely. An absolute gentleman, like you.”
“He’s more than that—he’s my partner. We’re in a relationship.”
Jane nodded. “I thought so, but wasn’t totally sure. I didn’t want to put you in an awkward position by asking anything that might seem offensive.”
Paul gave her a relieved smile. “I wanted to tell you after we’d visited the Golden Lion. I was angry about the homophobic remarks Edwards and the others were coming out with at the office meeting. I know they think it’s just a joke, but I don’t, and it’s impossible for me to say anything without raising suspicion.”
“People like Edwards are idiots and best ignored.”
“You’re a good friend and take people as you find them, Jane. That’s why I decided to tell you about Stuart. I wish there were more police officers as understanding as you.”
Jane knew that not all police officers were homophobic, but knew it would be many years yet before the force as a whole was truly accepting of gay men and women.
She went over to Paul and gave him a big hug. “Whatever happens I will always be on your side, Paul.”
As if on cue, Stuart returned to the kitchen. “If I didn’t know you better, Paul Lawrence, I’d be jealous.”
Jane let go of Paul and gave Stuart a hug. “I’m pleased for both of you. You’re clearly meant for each other.”
During dinner, Paul asked Jane how her side of the investigation was going. She told him about her visit to social services, the result of their interview with Simon Matthews and her suspicions about David Simmonds.
“It’s clear Simmonds didn’t sexually assault Simon, but there’s things about him that just don’t add up. He’s not very forthcoming, for some reason. He never told me he knew Sybil Hastings, or that she was a patient of his, or about his dental practice in Peckham. I think Helen Matthews was his cleaner there as well.”
“Have you told Moran all this?” Paul asked.
“No—or the result of the social services interview. He’s already given me a dressing-down about jumping to conclusions without supportive evidence. There’s still some questions I’d like to ask Simmonds, but Moran would probably tell me to back off.”
“If I were you I’d sit down and go over everything you’ve got with a fine-tooth comb, and then see what you can find out about his past.”
“I’ve brought a dental journal with an article about him. I was going to leave it for you to read.”
“I’ll have a look now—while you and Stuart do the washing up.” He smiled.
“Very crafty!” Jane grinned.
Jane did the washing whilst Stuart dried.
“Paul and I have such a good relationship, but his erratic working hours mean we don’t get to see each other as much as we’d like.” Stuart sighed.
Jane nodded sympathetically. “Paul’s highly respected for his forensic work. He’s always in demand to attend murder crime scenes, often in preference to his fellow lab liaison sergeants.”
“I appreciate he has a difficult job and unsociable working hours—I’m just grateful he puts our relationship first whenever he can.”
Paul came into the kitchen brandishing the magazine. “Very informative. However, it does leave me wondering if Simmonds is hiding something from you.”
“The few lines about him being in the army are interesting. It was a long time ago now, though,” Jane added.
“I worked with the Army SIB on a murder at the Royal Artillery base in Woolwich a year ago.”
“What’s SIB?” Stuart asked.
“Specialist Investigation Branch,” Paul explained. “I still have a few contacts at SIB, Jane. I could make some discreet enquiries about Simmonds’ army career if you wanted?”
“Oh, that would be fantastic, thank you. I’ve brought my notebook with me. I was wondering if—”
Paul’s red Trimphone rang before Jane could ask him if he would look over her notes of the investigation to see if he felt there was anything she’d missed or should follow up.
“That better not be work,” Paul said with a frown as he got up to answer it.
After a moment, she heard Paul telling the caller politely but firmly that he was not the on-call lab liaison sergeant. But instead of putting the phone down, he continued to listen, his expression changing from annoyance to concentration.
“Bloody hell! Are there any other parts nearby? Give me the location.” Paul grabbed a pen and paper and started writing. “I’ll be with you shortly. Make sure the area is totally sealed off. Tennison’s here with me. I’ll let her know and we’ll meet you there.”
He put the phone down and turned to Jane. “That was Edwards. Someone walking his dog in Peckham Rye Park found a human forearm by the piles of rubbish.”
“Oh my God. Please don’t let it be connected to our cases.”
Lawrence was already shrugging on his overcoat. “It could be a coincidence, but Peckham is becoming a favorite place to dump dead bodies.”