They all knew that he had been in prison for rape, and that his job had been held open for him. When he had returned to work he had thrown a big champagne party, inviting all of them to ask anything they wanted, to discuss it and get it out in the open. He talked of his trial, the prison, and still he claimed he was innocent.
It had taken him a few months and some obvious ill-feeling and embarrassment before he was again the champion, accepted and fighting to regain the best-salesman sash. Never mind the bonus, it was the sash he wanted, and he won it fair and square the year he returned. He also won the respect of his colleagues, and because he was such a good worker and always ready to give assistance to the others, no one ever mentioned his spot of trouble.
Marlow was a known collector of jokes, he could outjoke the professionals and keep on going. He was the man who knew everyone by name, their wives and their sisters, their troubles. There was always a special joke, and one their mothers could be allowed to hear. The secretaries flirted with him, a few had even dated him, he was so attractive, but Moyra was a strong woman who made it known that he was her man.
The men loved Moyra, because she was as good as Marlow with the wisecracks, and they socialized quite a lot, although Marlow’s frequent trips north meant that they had few close friends as a couple. There were occasional dinners and parties at the factory.
When Marlow crossed the factory floor, the cat-calls and shouts that usually filled the cavernous building were ominously missing. Secretaries appeared around the sides of the vats, then vanished. Marlow could see police everywhere he looked, talking to the paint mixers, the sales personnel, the accountants… He couldn’t find a joke inside him even if he tried.
He kept his head down and hurried towards the Fish Tank. He was pink with embarrassment, hearing the whispers following his progress, and he was glad to make it to his office, especially when he found it empty. He peered through the blinds, wondering why they were doing this to him. Echoing footsteps hurried past his window, the distant giggles made him sweat. Was he dreaming it, or were they all watching him, whispering about him?
It was no figment of his imagination. As the morning wore on it grew worse, and no one came to his office. The worst moment was when he spotted young Nicky, who stared at him with unabashed distaste, so obvious that Marlow thought he was joking. When he approached the boy he turned his back and walked away. Not one person spoke to him or looked him in the face.
He sat in his office and typed out his own resignation, as the group’s secretary insisted she was too busy. He licked the envelope and stuck the flap down, then went to see the manager. But Edward Harvey was in a meeting with all the salesmen. Marlow could see them through the window; as he walked in they fell silent. He went straight to Mr. Harvey and handed him the envelope.
“It’s just a conference about the new paint for European distribution, George, not your territory, but you can stay if you want.”
At least when Harvey spoke to him he looked him in the eye, even though he was lying. When Marlow walked out they started to talk again, a low hubbub at first, but it grew louder. The blinds were lifted a crack and they watched him, the champion fallen from grace. This time he had fallen too far to be picked up.
Marlow hurried among the paint vats, then turned towards the offices. He shouted, and his voice echoed around the factory floor.
“I didn’t do it, you bastards!”
DC Rosper and WPC Southwood followed Marlow as he hurried from the factory. Southwood suddenly nudged her partner as she saw DI Muddyman waving to them from the main entrance.
“He’s just quit his job,” Muddyman said as he came close. “I was just interviewing that little cracker from their accounts department, and he handed in his notice. Instructions are to keep on him, OK?”
Rosper turned this way and that. Marlow was nowhere to be seen. “Where the hell is he?”
Southwood pointed. Way up ahead, Marlow was just crossing the main road, heading for the tube station. Rosper and Southwood took off at a run.
When Jones returned from booking Della’s clothing into Forensic, Otley took him aside. “Look, my old son, she’s tryin’ to rake up the dirt on our old guv’nor, so stick with her. You’re young an’ a good-looking lad; try an’ get into her good books. Anything you find out about the old slag, report back into my shell-likes.” He tapped his ear, and continued, “We’re lookin’ for anything to needle her, know what I mean? We want her off this case…” He clocked Tennison heading towards them and shut up.
Tennison was talking fast. “She was naked, hands tied behind her back, dead approximately six weeks. Like Karen, she wasn’t killed where she was found. You’ll get all the info as soon as I do. The rope’s not the same type, but the knot is! We’re going to have to talk to all those toms all over again!”
The Incident Room door opened and Otley waltzed in, closely followed by the Super. All twelve people in the room turned their heads to look.
Kernan gestured to Tennison to continue, then found a chair at the back of the room.
“Right, what you got, Muddyman?” she asked.
“Marlow’s made several visits to Chester Paints, the last one this morning while I was here. He’s just quit his job.”
“What was he doing in the first week of December? Was he in the London area?”
“Yes, it’s a pretty slack period in the paint trade, he didn’t go on the road again until…” He flicked through his notes, but Tennison was off on another track.
“So we’ve established that Marlow was in London for both murders. Is there anything on his car yet? No? What about his neighbors?”
“My lads have questioned most of the ones in the block. He seems to be pretty well-liked, uses the local pub regularly. Several people remembered the car, but couldn’t say when they last saw it.”
“You’d better turn your attention to Sunningdale. I want the biggest team you can muster, do all the houses bordering the golf course. Someone must have seen him, or at least the car. It’s a collector’s item, and an unusual color, so go out there and ask them.”
The meeting broke up. As the room emptied, Otley said to Tennison, “Did you arrange for the release of Karen’s body? The morgue said they were finished, everyone else has finished with her, Pathology and Forensic. It was all waiting on you, and her parents have asked God knows how many times…”
“I’m sorry, yes, I’ve finished with her. Will you arrange it?”
Otley pursed his lips. “Not my job, but if that’s what you want…” Kernan came up behind Tennison. “I’ll see you in your office, OK?” Tennison didn’t have time to reply. Otley and Kernan walked off together and she gazed after them. She was going to look for one of those gigantic wooden spoons, and present it to Otley.
George Marlow inserted his key in the front door and pushed. The door opened about two inches and stopped dead; the chain was on.
He rang the bell and waited; nothing happened. “Moyra? Moyra! Let me in!” he called. He had to ring and shout again before the door eventually swung open.
As Marlow walked into the hall, Moyra stuck her head out of the door and looked around, saying loudly, “That old cow next door is going to do herself a mischief one of these days, glued to that bloody door all day!”
Suddenly she looked across at the block of flats opposite, stared for a moment. Then she unbuttoned her blouse, crossed the walkway and opened it wide.
In the surveillance flat DI Haskons, bored rigid, had been chatting on the radio with the two officers in the unmarked car. He sat bolt upright.
“Well, chaps, I think she’s spotted us-I don’t suppose anyone got a shot of her titties?”
Tennison found the Super sitting at her desk. Otley was with him. She asked Kernan about the press release.