That was the first time he became aware of the two separate sides of Jane Tennison; the one he knew at home, the other a DCI. Today he’d caught a glimpse of the policewoman, and he didn’t particularly like her.
The moment Tennison reached her office the telephone rang. She pounced on it like a hawk. She replaced the receiver a moment later and gave it a satisfied pat. She took a small mirror from her desk drawer and checked her appearance. She suddenly realized that Maureen Havers was sitting quietly in the corner.
“Wish me luck!” she said, and gave Havers a wink as she opened the door.
Havers sat at her neatly organized desk and stared at the closed door. She’d seen Tennison’s satisfaction and knew something was going down. Wish me luck? She put two and two together and knew that Tennison was going after John Shefford’s job. She was disgusted at Tennison’s lack of sensitivity; she seemed almost elated.
Havers picked up the phone and dialed her girlfriend in Records. “Guess what, I think my boss is going after Shefford’s job… Yeah, that’s what I thought, real pushy bitch.”
3
Otley was the last to arrive in the Incident Room. He apologized to the Super and received a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
The room was filled with palpable depression; there was a heaviness to every man. Some of them couldn’t meet Otley’s eyes but stood with heads bent. Only yesterday they had been laughing and joking with their big, burly boss. Shefford had been loved by them all and they took his death hard.
Kernan cleared his throat. “OK, I’ve gone over all the reports on the Marlow case and it looks in good shape. I think, when I’ve had time to assess it all, we can go ahead and charge him. But until that decision is made, and I know time is against us, I am bringing in another DCI to take over. You all know Detective Chief Inspector Tennison…”
A roar of shock and protest drowned his next words, and he put up a hand for silence. “Now come on, take it easy, just hear me out. As it stands, I reckon we’ll have to try for a three-day lay-down, so I want all of you to give Inspector Tennison every assistance possible. Let her familiarize herself with the case, and then we can charge Marlow…”
Otley stepped forward. “I’m sorry, sir, but it isn’t on. Bring in someone from outside, we don’t want her. We’ve been working as a team for five years, bring in someone we know.”
Kernan’s face tightened. “Right now she is all I have available, and she is taking over the case at her own request.”
“She moved bloody fast, didn’t she, sir?” Otley’s face twisted with anger and frustration, his hands clenched at his sides.
DI Haskons raised an eyebrow at Otley to warn him to keep quiet. “I think, sir, we all feel the same way. As you said, time is against us.”
“She’s on the case as from now,” Kernan said firmly, unwilling to show his own misgivings. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss this further. She will access the charges; just give her all the help you can, and any problems report back to me. Thank you…” He got out fast to avoid further argument, but he heard the uproar as he closed the door, heard Otley calling Tennison a two-faced bitch, a cow who couldn’t wait to step into a dead man’s shoes. Kernan paused outside the room, silently agreeing with him. But the investigation was at such an advanced stage, they wouldn’t be stuck with Tennison for long.
The Commander’s voice was gruff as he briefly outlined the procedure for Tennison to familiarize herself with the Marlow case and to do everything necessary to ensure that he was charged. He told her abruptly to take it easy with Shefford’s team, who had been working together for so long that they would not welcome an outsider. He didn’t actually say, “especially a woman,” but he hinted as much. “The Superintendent will give you every assistance, so don’t be afraid to use him. And… good luck!”
“It would help if he could handle the application for the three-day lay-down,” Tennison replied, and the Commander agreed.
They shook hands and Tennison said she would do everything within her power to bring the case successfully to court. It was not until she was back in her own office that she congratulated herself, grinning like the Cheshire Cat because, at last, she had done it. She, DCI Tennison, was heading a murder case.
Late that afternoon, still stunned by his guv’nor’s death, Bill Otley was clearing Shefford’s desk. He collected the family photographs and mementos together and packed them carefully into Shefford’s tattered briefcase. Finally he picked up a photo of Tom, his little godson, and looked at it for a long moment before laying it carefully on top of the others.
He snapped the locks on the case, hardly able to believe that John wasn’t going to walk in, roaring with laughter, and tell them it was all a joke. His grief consumed him, swamping him in a bitterness he directed towards DCI Tennison, as if she were in some way responsible. He had to blame someone for the hurting, for the loss. He hugged the briefcase to his chest, knowing he now had to face Sheila and the children, he couldn’t put it off any longer. Maybe it would be best if he left it till the weekend, and in the meantime he’d keep John’s briefcase at the flat along with his shirts and socks…
He was still sitting at his desk, holding the case, when DI Burkin looked in.
“She’s checking over the evidence, you want to see her?”
Otley shook his head. “I don’t even want to be in the same room as that slit-arsed bitch!”
Tennison was ploughing methodically through all the evidence on the Marlow case. The ashtray was piled high and a constant stream of coffee was supplied by WPC Havers. She was just bringing a fresh beaker and a file.
“Deirdre, alias Della, Mornay’s Vice record, ma’am. The reason they gave for not sending it before was that King’s Cross Vice Squad’s computer records are not compatible with Scotland Yard’s, or some such excuse.”
Flicking through the file, Tennison took out a photograph of Della Mornay and laid it beside the photos of the corpse. She frowned.
“Maureen, get hold of Felix Norman for me and find out how long he’ll be there. Then order me a car and tell DC Jones he’s driving me. I want to see the body tonight, but I need to interview the landlady first. And ask for another set of dabs from the victim, get them compared with the ones on Della Mornay’s file.”
Leaving Havers scribbling furiously, she walked out.
All the items from Della Mornay’s room that Forensic had finished with had been piled onto a long trestle table. It was a jumble of bags of clothes, bedding and shoes. There was also a handbag, which Tennison examined carefully. She made a note of some ticket stubs, replaced them, then pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and turned to the clothing taken from the victim’s body. The bloodstains were caked hard and black. She checked sleeves, hems, seams and labels.
Engrossed in what she was doing, she hardly noticed WPC Havers enter.
“Ma’am? Ma’am, DC Jones is waiting in the car.”
Tennison turned her attention to the filthy bedclothes. The smell alone was distasteful, and she wrinkled her nose.
“Dirty little tart… Tell Jones I’ll be with him in a few minutes. And tell all of Shefford’s team that I want them in the Incident Room at nine sharp tomorrow morning-all of them, Maureen, understand?”
DC Jones sat in the driving seat of the plain police car. He had left the rear door open for DCI Tennison, but she climbed in beside him.
“Right, Milner Road first. What’s your first name?”
“David, ma’am.”
“OK, Dave, put your foot down. I’ve got a hell of a schedule.”
Della’s room was still roped off. Tennison looked around and noted the fine dusting left by the Scenes of Crime people, then used the end of her pencil to open the one wardrobe door that still clung to its hinges. She checked the few remaining items of clothing, then sat on the edge of the bed, opened her briefcase and thumbed through a file.