When Moran, Lawrence and Jane arrived at Ladywell Mortuary, Peter Carey, the forensic odontologist from Guy’s Hospital, was already there waiting for them. Entering the mortuary examination area, they could see the flayed head had already been placed on a table by the pathologist.
“Bloody hell, it’s even worse than you described, Sergeant Lawrence,” Carey remarked.
Although Lawrence, Jane and Moran had already seen the head, it still made them wince. Carey gowned up before attaching dental forceps to the four corners of the mouth to hold it open. The upper and lower teeth, as well as the gums, were now all fully exposed, making the wide-open mouth look like an evil, smiling clown.
“We think the victim may be—” Moran started to say.
Carey was quick to hold his hand up and stop him. “Sorry, DCI Moran. It’s best I don’t know anything about who you think it may be, or the victim’s background. I don’t want anything to influence my examination.”
Using a pair of dental probes, Carey started to examine the teeth and make notes.
“It’s strange looking into a mouth with no tongue. The teeth are in good condition, though, and I would estimate an age range for the victim of between eighteen and twenty-two years. The upper left lateral incisor has recently been replaced with a temporary plate.”
“Could we have things in layman’s terms, please?” Moran asked.
“Your victim’s wearing a plastic plate, which has a false tooth attached to it. I’d say it’s just a temporary replacement used while the gums and supporting bone are healing.” Carey put his fingers into the mouth. He unclipped the temporary plate and handed it to Lawrence. “There should still be a plaster mold in existence for this plate. It would have been made by whoever did the dental work. If you find the plaster mold, I’ll be able to tell you if it was made for this poor chap.”
“Who makes the plates?” Lawrence asked.
“A dental lab, usually, though some dentists do it themselves.”
“I noticed you made notes on a diagram. Would the dentist have done the same?” Moran asked.
“Most certainly, yes. And they should have taken X-rays of the teeth prior to any examination.”
“Would the dentist have used novocaine?” Jane asked.
“Yes, when the abutment tooth was prepared for the temporary plate. And when the new plate was fitted.”
“Could a novocaine injection kill someone?” Jane asked.
“It’s possible, if the patient had an unknown allergy to the drug. They could suffer a severe hypersensitive reaction, which could result in death. And if injected into a blood vessel in a large quantity, novocaine can cause heart seizure and death in anyone.”
Jane made a mental note to contact Hilary Peters to see if she knew where and when her brother Aiden was last treated by a dentist. And if he was allergic to novocaine.
“What makes you ask about novocaine, officer?” Carey asked.
“We think a dentist may be involved in the murder and dismemberment of our unknown victim,” Moran replied.
Carey didn’t look surprised. “It takes all kinds to make a world. I can assure you I won’t say anything outside of this room,” he said, removing his surgical gloves. “If your victim had a tongue, I’d expect to find the needle wound and traces of novocaine around it.”
“Could a toxicology test find novocaine in other parts of the victim’s body or the blood?” Lawrence asked.
“I doubt it if his death was from an instantaneous heart seizure. The decomposition of the dismembered parts will also affect the blood and destroy any traces of novocaine.”
“So we’ll have no way of telling if he was given a fatal dose of novocaine?” Moran said, the disappointment clear in his voice.
“There’s something new that might be worth a try,” Carey suggested. “The toxicology department at Guy’s Hospital have been doing some ground-breaking work testing vitreous humor for drugs.”
Moran perked up. “What’s vitreous humor?”
“Fluid contained within the globe of the eye, between the retina and the lens. It’s suitable for post-mortem chemical analysis. Vitreous is relatively isolated from blood and other body fluids that are affected by decomposition,” Carey said, picking up a needle and syringe from the equipment trolley.
Jane and Moran cringed as Carey pushed a needle into one of the eyeballs and slowly withdrew the vitreous into the syringe. He then ejected it into a small glass container.
Carey held up the eye fluid. “I’ll take this direct to Guy’s toxicology department for urgent analysis.” He pointed to the head. “Your victim had previous dental treatment—a couple of fillings, at least. It might have been done by someone other than your suspect dentist. If so, a written record and X-rays of his treatment should still exist. If you find them, I can do a comparison and tell you if it’s the same person.”
Moran waited until Carey had left the post-mortem room to speak with his colleagues.
“Good work, Paul. After what Carey said, it looks like you were right about the dismembered body being Aiden Lang.”
“We still have to prove it,” Lawrence replied. “But if that is Lang, and Professor Martin is right about the time of death being seven days ago, then he certainly can’t have murdered Eileen Summers.”
Jane picked up on Lawrence’s observation. “If Lang was involved, or knew about the first two murders, he would have posed a serious threat to Simmonds.” The inference was that Simmonds had murdered Lang.
Moran kicked the leg of the mortuary table in frustration, causing the severed head to wobble. “Getting Lang to confess would have been our best chance of nailing Simmonds. Now it’s gone.”
Jane knew she had to take some of the blame. “Because of my stupidity at his Peckham practice, Simmonds must know we suspect him. He’ll probably have destroyed every shred of evidence linking him to the three women and Lang’s murders.”
Moran wasn’t in the mood to reprimand her. “What’s done is done, Jane.”
“Simmonds is clearly a highly intelligent man. He’s always been one step ahead of us all,” Lawrence said reassuringly.
“Are you going to arrest Simmonds?” Jane asked Moran.
“Not yet. Even intelligent men make mistakes. And there’s more than one way to skin a cat,” he answered with a wry smile.
Driving into the station yard, Moran and Jane saw Edwards striding towards them. As they got out of the CID car, Edwards held up a plastic property bag.
“I found it, guv. I’ve used one of these myself a few times fishing for trout. You’re not going to believe what it’s called,” he added with a grin.
Moran peered at the bag. “I’ve no idea, Edwards. Why don’t you tell us?”
“A Bloody Butcher!”
Moran smiled. “Good work, Edwards. Now tell me, when did you last visit the dentist?”
Edwards looked confused. “I don’t know. About two years ago.”
Moran smiled. “Then you’re just the man for the job.”
“What job?”
“The one that might rattle Simmonds’ cage enough to make him slip up and lead us to some evidence.”
Twenty minutes later a peeved-looking Edwards walked into the CID office, followed by Moran and Lawrence. Everyone stopped what they were doing to gawp at him. His hair was a tangled mess and his face was smeared with dirt. He was dressed in worn black trousers, which just about covered his ankles, a jumper with holes in it, a coat with what looked like vomit stains down the front, and scuffed shoes, one of which had no laces. A few of the detectives started to laugh.
“Edwards didn’t need to change his clothes, guv. He already looked like a down-and-out,” one of them quipped, setting off another round of laughter around the room.
Moran glared at them. “Stop it, the lot of you, and listen up. After consulting with a forensic odontologist, I believe the dismembered body is that of Aiden Lang. As DI Gibbs briefed you earlier, our prime suspect is now the dentist David Simmonds. However, the evidence that Simmonds killed him, and the three female victims, is weak and circumstantial. If we want to nail him, we need hard evidence. To that end, Edwards here has volunteered to go undercover.”
There was a ripple of applause, and Edwards visibly relaxed.
“Where did he get the clothes?” Jane asked Lawrence quietly.
Lawrence chuckled. “As luck would have it, there was a down-and-out drunk in the cells. He was happy to get a few quid and a tracksuit in exchange for his clothes.”
Moran continued. “It’s likely Simmonds suspects WDS Tennison is on to him. However, DCS Blake has spoken with him on the phone. Simmonds has been told Tennison is off the case and being investigated by A10 for breach of police regulations and an illegal search of the Peckham dental premises. Hopefully Simmonds now thinks Tennison’s career is over and he’s in the clear.”
“Do you think Simmonds will fall for it, guv?” a detective asked.
Moran nodded. “As it’s come from Blake, yes. They’re . . . members of the same golf club, so hopefully Simmonds will believe what he’s told.”
There were a few raised eyebrows around the room, but no one asked exactly what the relationship was between Blake and Simmonds.
Moran put his hand on Edwards’ shoulder. “Edwards is going to the Peckham surgery under the pretext of a bad toothache. I’m hoping to rattle Simmonds’ cage a little. Hopefully it’ll provoke him into doing something that will lead us to the evidence we need to arrest him on suspicion of murder.”
“What if he rumbles I’m Old Bill?” Edwards asked anxiously.
“If you play your part right, he won’t. But even if he does, Simmonds won’t risk arrest by harming a police officer. We’re putting a wire on you as well, to record everything he says.”
Gibbs held up a covert microphone. “Slip your jumper off so I can put this on you.”
Edwards started to panic. “No! No, wait a minute, I’m not sure I can do this.”
Gibbs just grinned. “Come on, Edwards. You can do this. And who knows, there might be a promotion in it for you if you can get Simmonds to spill the beans.”
Moran stepped in. “Just cut all this bullshit and get on with wiring him up, Spence.”
Edwards reluctantly pulled up his grubby jumper. “It’s just that dentists scare the shit out of me, guv.”
“By your own admission you haven’t been to one in ages, so you’re bound to need some work done. That’s what we need. All you have to do is fake a bit of toothache, then ask Simmonds if he’ll take a look,” Moran assured him.
Gibbs tightened the strap of the listening device across Edwards’ chest. “Simmonds made a name for himself treating the homeless. He’ll welcome you with open arms.”
Edwards frowned. “I won’t be able to say much if I’ve got my mouth wide open and he’s sticking things in it.”
Moran patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. If Simmonds says you need fillings, just say you’ll think about it and leave.”
“We’ve got officers in observation vans and unmarked cars. We’ll all be listening in and ready to tail Simmonds,” Gibbs added.
“You know what you got to say?” Moran asked.
“Yes, guv, you been over it with me five times already,” Edwards sighed. “Engage Simmonds in conversation about Aiden Lang and the Peckham murders and the search of the hostel.”
“And the code if you’re in trouble?” Moran asked.
“Use a sentence with the word red in it,” Edwards replied.
Gibbs held his hand up. “Can I have a bit of silence, please?” He nodded to the surveillance officer in the far corner of the room. “You ready for a test?”
The officer held his hand up and put on a headset, which he plugged into a radio on the table.
“OK, Edwards, give us a sample of your best South London accent,” Gibbs said.
“My name is Michael Caine,” Edwards said in flat voice.
The surveillance officer gave the thumbs up to acknowledge he’d received the transmission.
“Right, then, we’re good to go.” Gibbs patted Edwards on the shoulder.
“I need the loo first,” Edwards said sheepishly.
“Pee in your pants—it’ll go with the disguise,” a detective shouted.
There was a chorus of laughter, followed by more applause for Edwards.
Jane didn’t join in. Instead, her face wore a look of concern. From her experience at the Peckham surgery, Edwards was not going to have an easy time.
Half an hour later, Edwards nervously approached Simmonds’ Peckham surgery. Although he’d done a sound test before leaving the station, he now had no way of knowing for sure if his colleagues were still receiving him. It was too risky to wear any form of earpiece to receive calls. He looked at his watch, then, knowing everything was being recorded for evidential purposes, lowered his head and spoke quietly into the covert listening device attached to his chest.
“It’s four thirty p.m. . . . Monday twenty-sixth of February 1979 . . . I’m outside sixty-one Brayards Road, SE15.” Edwards took a deep breath, rang the doorbell and held his hand to his right cheek, as if he was in pain. He waited, then rang the doorbell again. “Christ, I don’t think he’s in.”
A few seconds later, Simmonds opened the door wearing a white dental coat.
“Me name’s George Jenkins. I’m from the hostel up the road. I heard you could sort me toof ache out for noffin.” Edwards did his best to sound as if he was in pain.
Simmonds invited him inside. “I’ll have a look and see what I can do to help. You’ll have to wait until I finish with my current patient, though.”
“I’ll wait all night if you can fix it.” Edwards moaned.
Simmonds showed him into the lounge. “Can you read and write, George?”
Simmonds handed him a personal details form and pen. “I’ll need you to fill this out, please. Help yourself to coffee or tea from the kitchen. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”
Simmonds returned to his surgery room and Edwards started to fill out the form. He suddenly heard the unmistakable high-pitched whirr of the dental drill, and just managed to stop himself swearing out loud. He made himself a coffee and went to sit in the lounge, enduring a nervous twenty minutes before Simmonds ushered his previous patient out of the door and invited Edwards into the surgery.
Edwards cautiously sat down in the dental chair.
“Do you live here in Peckham?” Simmonds asked.
“Not exactly. I’ve been homeless for almost a year. But I’ve got a meeting about benefits, so I can get off of the streets.”
“So you’ve been living rough, then?”
“Nah, I’ve been in a down-and-outs hostel but I’ve been warned about staying there because of all them murders round here.”
“Yes, it’s very sad.” Simmonds used the foot pump to raise the dental chair.
“The Old Bill was all over the hostel after they found that woman’s body in some bloke’s room.”
Simmonds made the chair recline. “I’m sure. Well, let’s hope they catch whoever did it. I feel so sorry for the families who’ve lost a loved one.”
“They said on the news they don’t know who the cut-up body in the park is . . . I reckon it was the same person done it who killed them women.”
Simmonds didn’t seem interested in that line of conversation. “Can you tell me which tooth it is that’s causing you pain?” he asked, picking up a small dental mirror and probe.
“It’s one of them back ones.” Edwards pointed with a grubby finger.
Simmonds put the probe into Edwards’ mouth. “I’m going to tap your teeth, George. I want you to tell me if you feel any pain.”
Edwards grimaced as he felt the probe touch his back tooth. “Yeah, that hurt.”
“Looks like you’ve got some decay there.”
“Do I need a filling?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. I’ll give you an injection to numb the tooth, hollow it out, remove the decay and put a filling in. I can assure you it will be quick and painless.”
Edwards was trying to stop himself shaking. He was terrified of having the procedure, but even more worried that he hadn’t got Simmonds to let slip anything incriminating. He knew everyone in the surveillance vehicles would be listening in and counting on him to get more out of Simmonds.
“If it’ll stop me toof ache then I guess you’d better do it.”
Edwards watched nervously as Simmonds filled the dental syringe with novocaine. He knew he had to try and unsettle Simmonds before the injection numbed his mouth.
“Who at the hostel recommended me?” Simmonds asked.
“Eric, the warden. He said you treated the bloke whose room the dead woman was found in. He said he used the name Ben Smith, but he was actually called Aiden somefing.”
Simmonds didn’t react as he squirted a little of the novocaine from the syringe. “I have so many patients, I can’t remember all their names.”
“Some lady detective was back at the hostel this morning, lookin’ in his room and asking questions.”
Simmonds stopped as he was about to put the needle in Edwards’ mouth. “Did she find anything?”
“I reckon so. She was carrying a little blue and red thing in a plastic bag.”
Without warning, Simmonds pushed the needle into Edwards’ gum.
Edwards gripped the arms of the dental chair as he felt a sharp pain. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed Moran to talk him into doing this.
Simmonds waited for a minute or so, then used the probe again, tapping it against Edwards’ tooth. “Can you feel that?”
Edwards tried to say he couldn’t feel anything, but his words were slurred. Simmonds picked up a dental drill and turned it on. Edwards’ knuckles turned white as he gripped the chair, the horrible sound filling him with fear. As Simmonds drilled into his tooth, he was relieved not to feel any pain, but the sound of the drill still caused his heart to pump so fast he thought was going to have a heart attack.
Simmonds didn’t say anything else as he finished off the filling, and the whole procedure was over in twenty minutes. He helped a still-shaky Edwards down the stairs and showed him to the door.
“You’ll feel some discomfort when the injection wears off, I’m afraid. Take some painkillers if you need to.” Simmonds opened the front door.
“’anks for yer ’elp, mate,” Edwards replied.
Simmonds put a hand on his arm. “The lady detective you mentioned—was her name Tennison?” His voice was cold.
Edwards tried not to look surprised. “Yeah, I fink it was. You know her, then?” he added casually.
“We’ve met socially. She’s a very interesting lady. You could say we share a common interest.” Simmonds gave him a chilly smile and closed the door.
Edwards returned to the station feeling miserable as the novocaine began to wear off. He made his way to Moran’s office but was finding it hard to focus his thoughts because of the pain.
Moran seemed pleased with him. “Well done, Edwards. I heard you actually had a filling done.”
“Yes, sir. I’d like to say it was worth it, but my jaw hurts like mad. Did they manage to record everything?” His speech was no longer slurred, but he still didn’t quite sound himself.
“Yes. Gibbs radioed in with the basics. I haven’t had a chance to listen to the actual tape recording yet. The surveillance team is waiting to tail Simmonds when he leaves. Gibbs said they were feeling your pain as they listened. Apparently one officer nearly threw up when he heard the sound of the drill.”
“He wasn’t the only one, sir.”
“Do you think Simmonds sussed you were Old Bill?”
“I don’t think so. He didn’t really react to anything. Apart from when I said a lady detective had been back to the hostel. That got a reaction, like he knew it was Tennison I was talking about.” Edwards sighed. “I can’t help feeling like I haven’t achieved anything that helps us, sir.”
“Don’t be silly, Edwards. You should be proud of what you did. Go on, get yourself off home and get some rest.”
“If this tooth stops hurting I might,” Edwards grumbled.
Halfway to the door, he realized he’d hadn’t told Moran what Simmonds had said at the door.
“I forgot to mention, sir: as I was leaving, Simmonds mentioned Tennison by name. He said they’d met socially. Then his parting words about her were weird.”
Moran looked concerned. “What did he say?”
“That Tennison was a very interesting lady . . . and they shared a common interest.”
Moran’s face turned red with anger. “The conceited bastard is talking about the murders!”