“I’d just like to say thank you, I really appreciate it. I knew you’d help me.”
She looked once again into those wide amber eyes. She said nothing, just gave him a stiff nod of her head and raised the window again. She didn’t see Otley run out of the station towards her until he shouted to her. Then he saw Marlow stepping into the waiting taxi and stopped dead. He stood in the rain as the taxi did a U-turn and slowly headed back towards him. As it passed he could see Marlow’s face pressed against the window, smiling.
Otley tapped on the passenger window of Tennison’s car, gestured for her to open the door. He climbed in and shook his head, showering her with water, and wiped his balding head with a crumpled handkerchief.
“Is this important, Sergeant?”
“Yes, ma’am. I just got a call from DS Eastel at Sunningdale, They’ve found another one, about two hours ago. He’s given me the tip because her hands are tied behind her back and she’s been stabbed and beaten. He reckons, from our description, that it’s Della Mornay.”
By the time Tennison and Otley reached Sunningdale golf course it was after eight. They were directed away from the clubhouse towards a crescent of exclusive houses. There were many cars parked at one end, where a narrow private gateway led directly onto a small wooded area at the perimeter of the golf course.
A uniformed officer in a shiny black cape dripped water over their identification as he checked it, then sent them towards arc lights which had been placed around a nearby bunker on which the silhouettes of a few men could be seen. As Tennison drew nearer she could see more men sheltering beneath the trees.
Otley strode ahead, his shoulders hunched against the downpour. The ground was a shifting mud bath and Tennison gave up picking her way among the puddles. Her shoes were already sodden. As she reached the group on the bunker she found Otley already deep in conversation with his friend, DS Eastel.
Eastel shook her hand, then turned to a man taking shelter beneath the trees. “He was walking his dog. The rain must have washed some of the soil away, exposing her arm. The dog made a pretty good job of digging her up. You want to take a look?”
Tennison stared at the dog-owner, who was obviously agog at what was going on. His dog still strained on his lead, barking continuously.
Neither Eastel nor Otley assisted her up the muddy bank and she slithered the last two feet. She clutched Eastel’s arm to stop herself falling.
Eastel handed her a long stick. “Take a look, see if you can make out her features, but keep off the sheeting if you can. They’re almost ready to lift her.”
Tennison craned forward and gently lifted the matted hair away from the girl’s face. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch as Tennison peered at the pitiful face of the victim. She crouched down, then knelt on the plastic sheeting for an even closer look. The stench of decomposed flesh made her nostrils burn, but she forced herself to study what she could see of the girl’s profile, trying to match it with the photographs of Della Mornay.
Eventually she let the hair fall back into place and accepted help to rise to her feet. She slithered as she tried to climb the bank and Eastel gave her a hand.
“I can’t be a hundred per cent sure, but I think you’re right. It looks like Della Mornay.”
The body was eased onto the plastic sheeting and lifted onto a stretcher, face downwards. The rain still pelted down as four men carried the stretcher up the bank and passed directly in front of Tennison. She stepped back to let them by, then asked them to wait a moment; she could see the rope that bound the corpse’s hands. She turned to Otley.
“Is it the same rope?”
“I don’t know, ma’am, but I think if she is our girl we should have her sent to our patch, get Felix Norman on it.”
Tennison nodded. Despite the mud she could see marks on the victim’s arms, deep weals that looked similar to those on Karen Howard.
“Yes, get Felix. I’ll go back to the station and wait for him to contact me, but I want him out here tonight.”
Otley nodded agreement. He watched as they carried the body away. “You should never have released Marlow. Any money on it, that bastard did this one as well.”
She bristled. “I had no option but to release him. If he’s guilty, I’ll get him back.”
“There’s no if, you know it, we all know it. Why d’you think my guv’nor was so desperate to book him? He knew…”
“Like I said, Sergeant, when I’ve got the evidence we’ll make an arrest, and this time we’ll go by the book. This time there’ll be no cock-ups!”
“Yeah, you do that, love! Go by the book, and if he kills again you can say, “I hadda stick to the rules!” That bastard is guilty, and my guv’nor knew it!”
“If he knew so much why did he foul up the way he did? Don’t give me that bullshit! Right now it’s the last thing I need. And you tell me, if a male officer of my rank had taken over this team, would you call him ‘love’?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, slip of the tongue. But if you blacken my guv’nor’s name, you start raking up the dirt on him, then…”
“Then what?”
“If you were a man I’d punch that snotty look off your face, I’d do it and wouldn’t give a shit about the consequences. Right now I’m off duty…”
Tennison wanted to shriek, but she controlled the impulse to land a punch on Otley’s sharp nose. She snapped, “I don’t give a damn whether you are off or on duty, Sergeant Otley. If Shefford hadn’t been so damned eager to try and beat that bloody stupid Paxman’s record, then maybe he wouldn’t have fucked up!”
Otley looked at her with loathing. “There was never any such person as Paxman, ma’am, it was a joke. The guv’nor just made it up to gee the lads up a bit, there was no record. If you’d known him you would have sussed that out! Just as he sussed that George Marlow was our man. He even reckoned Marlow’d done a girl up north…”
Tennison turned quickly to face Otley. “What did you say?”
“The boss reckoned Marlow had done a girl up north, years ago. That’s why he wanted him nailed, wanted him banged up. And if he bent a few rules, so fuckin’ what? Because Marlow’s gonna kill again… and when he does, it’s down to you and your fuckin’ rules and your precious book.”
She clenched her fists to control her fury. “You’re telling me that Shefford believed Marlow had killed before? And said nothing? Is that what you’re saying?”
Otley backed off, shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not saying anything. I got a lift back with Eastel, I’m on my way…”
Tennison followed him. “If what you say is true, why isn’t it in the records? Or in Shefford’s memos? Why?”
“As I said, ma’am, it was just supposition. He died before he could take it any further, he died, ma’am, remember? That’s how come you’re here!”
“I want your report on my desk first thing in the morning. And Otley, I’ve told you before, if you don’t like working for me, then you can put in for a transfer.”
He stared at her and she was taken aback by the loathing in his small, dark eyes. “You mean like the rest of the lads? Fine, I’ll think about it. Good night.”
As he stomped off, Tennison became aware that their conversation had been overheard. She gave Eastel a cursory nod of thanks, then turned back to repeat her thanks to the officers still searching the area. She was very close to the edge of the bunker; she teetered and lost her footing, landed on her backside in the mud. There were sniggers. Two uniformed men jumped to assist her and she gave a grin. It was all she could do under the circumstances.
“Ah, well, they say mud’s good for the complexion!”
It was the wrong thing to say and she knew it as soon as it was out. No one laughed; they had all seen the body of the girl, stripped, tortured and covered in the filthy, slimy mud.