“You live on the Maida Vale/Kilburn border, wouldn’t you have gone the other way? It’s a quicker route, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so. I never thought about it, really. I went straight along to Marble Arch, into Edgware Road and straight to Kilburn to get a video.”
“Have you picked up girls in that area before?”
Marlow shook his head and looked down at his hands. “No, and I wish to God I hadn’t picked this one up either, but…”
“But?”
He looked up, and again she was caught by the strange color of his eyes. “She was very attractive, and I thought, why not…”
“George, had you picked this particular girl up before?”
“No, and I must have been crazy, after what happened up north. But I paid for that. I was drunk, and I swear to you she came on to me, I swear I was innocent… I served eighteen months, and when they released me I swore I wouldn’t mess around with other women.”
“Mess around? It was a little more than that two years ago, wasn’t it? You were also charged with aggravated burglary.”
“Like I said, I was drunk. I just snatched her handbag… It was a stupid thing to do, and I lived to regret it.”
“So you never knew this girl you picked up?”
There was a tap on the door and Sergeant Otley peered through the window. Irritated, Tennison went out to talk to him.
“The lab came through, that speck of blood on his jacket, it’s the victim’s. Thought you’d like to know. Oh, and the Super wants to see you.”
“That’s it? Nothing else? They can’t place him in the efficiency?”
Otley shook his head. Tennison said, very softly, “Not enough…”
She turned and went back into the room, leaving Otley cursing to himself.
“How much more does she need, for Chrissake…”
Tennison spent another three-quarters of an hour with Marlow. At the end of that time she stacked her files and notebooks and thanked him for his co-operation. Seemingly intent on putting her things away, she asked, as if it was an afterthought, “You drove home, Mr. Marlow? Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a garage? Did you put the car in a garage?”
“No, I left it outside my flat. There’s a parking bay, under cover, for residents. They say they can’t find it, has it been stolen, do you think? Only, I should get on to my insurance broker if it’s true.”
Without replying, Tennison turned to walk out. He stopped her.
“Excuse me, am I allowed to leave yet?”
“No, I’m sorry, Mr. Marlow, you are not.”
Tennison was exhausted, but she hadn’t finished yet by a long chalk.
Burkin had been falling asleep. He snapped to attention when Tennison knocked to be let out.
“Marlow can go back to his cell. Then I need a search warrant for his flat. We’ll go together,” she told him.
“Right, ma’am… I’ll get the warrant.”
“Meet me in the Incident Room ASAP.” Tennison went down the corridor almost at a run.
For once the Incident Room was fairly quiet. Otley was sitting staring into space when Burkin joined him.
“She interviewed Marlow, then she went to see the Super.”
Otley smirked. “An’ she’ll be interviewing all afternoon, I got girls comin’ in from all over town. Keep her out of our hair!”
He fell silent as Tennison walked in with a big sandy-haired man and introduced him as DI Tony Muddyman, “Tony will be with us as from tomorrow. I’ve given him the gist of the case, but you’ll have to help fill in the details.”
Otley had met him before and wasn’t too sure about him, but several of the others greeted him like a long-lost cousin.
“Anything on Marlow’s car?” Tennison asked Otley.
“No, not yet. There’s a roomful of girls waiting for you.”
“What?”
“All known associates of Della Mornay. You asked for them to be reinterviewed and they’re comin’ in by the carload. There were seventeen at the last count…”
“I haven’t got time to interview them! Why don’t you take their statements and leave them on my desk?”
To cover his fury, Otley crossed the room to the notice-board and pinned up a large poster. It advertised a benefit night for DCI Shefford’s family.
“Is this the list of girls reported missing?” Tennison had picked up a sheet of paper from his desk.
“Yeah, it’s got “Missing Persons Report” on the top, hasn’t it?”
“Cut it out, Sergeant.”
“One in Cornwall Gardens, another in Brighton, one in Surrey looks promising…”
“Fine, I’ll take them, shall I?”
“Why not, I’ve got seventeen slags to interview.”
“Should have staggered them!” Tennison retorted. She beckoned Jones to her side. “Can you check if there’s a handkerchief among Marlow’s things? He said he bandaged the victim’s hand with it, initial G on the corner.”
She reached for the phone as it rang. “Tennison…” Peter was calling her; she gave a quick look around the room. Only Jones was close by, thumbing through the log book and shaking his head.
“OK, put him through.”
She turned to face the wall while she spoke, unaware that Otley was mimicking her behind her back, to the amusement of the men.
“I’m sorry, I can’t really talk now, is it important?”
Burkin was waiting for her at the door. Otley stolled over to him.
“What’s goin’ on, are we chargin’ Marlow?”
“You’re joking…” Over Otley’s head, Burkin called, “Ma’am, we’ve got the search warrant!”
“What’s this for?” asked Otley.
“Marlow’s flat, now we’re looking for a handkerchief!” replied Burkin contemptuously.
With a promise to call Peter later, Tennison put the phone down and joined Burkin. As they left, Otley was at it again.
“Yeah, a bloody handkerchief, for that snot-nosed cow! Doesn’t she know we’ve only got ten hours before that bastard has to be released?”
As Tennison and Burkin mounted the steps towards flat 22, the curtains of number 21 twitched.
Burkin knocked on the door. They waited a considerable time before they heard a lock turn and the door was flung wide open.
Moyra Henson glared at them, then looked to Tennison, who was sizing her up fast. It was the first time she’d seen Marlow’s common-law wife. She knew Moyra was thirty-eight years old, but she looked older. Her face had a coarse toughness, yet she was exceptionally well made-up. Her hair looked as if she’d just walked out of the salon, and her heavy perfume, “Giorgio,” was strong enough to knock a man over at ten yards.
“Yes?” Henson snapped rudely.
“I am Detective Chief Inspector Tennison…”
“So what?”
Tennison was noting the good jewelery Moyra was wearing: expensive gold bangles, lots of rings… Her nails were long and red. She replied, “I have a warrant to search these premises. You are Miss Moyra Henson?”
“Yeah. Lemme see it. Your lot shell out these warrants like Smarties, invasion of privacy…”
She skimmed through the warrant. Tennison clocked her skirt, the high heels and fluffy angora sweater with the tiger motif. Miss Henson might come on as a sophisticated woman, but she was a poorer, taller version of Joan Collins, whom she obviously admired judging by the shoulder pads beneath the sweater.
“I would like to ask you a few questions while Detective Inspector Burkin takes a look around.”
Moyra stepped back, looking past Tennison to the broad-shouldered Burkin. “I dunno why he doesn’t move in, he spends enough time here.”
Tennison was growing impatient. “Could we please come in?”
Moyra turned with a shrug and walked along the narrow hall. “I don’t have much option, do I? Shut the door after you.”
The flat was well decorated and exceptionally clean and tidy. The cosy sitting room contained a three-piece suite which matched the curtains and a fitted carpet.
Tennison looked around. “This is very nice!”