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“So we’re not mentioning the weals on the arms this time either?”

“No, I kept it to a minimum.” He flicked a glance at Otley. “Your decision to release Marlow could backfire…”

Tennison was furious, but she kept her temper. “My decision? You backed me up, have you changed your mind?”

Kernan ran his fingers through his hair and said to Otley, “You want to give us a minute?”

“No, I want him to stay… sir.”

“OK… The consensus seems to be that this case is getting a little heavy for you to handle.”

Tennison couldn’t hold back. “Bullshit! I can-”

“Just let me finish, will you?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I want to ask the sergeant a question.” She turned to face Otley. “How well did Detective Chief Inspector Shefford know Della Mornay?”

Otley replied with a shrug, “He knew her, nobody ever denied that. She was an informer…”

“So you agree he knew her well?”

Otley flashed a puzzled look at Kernan and shook his head.

Tennison banged on, “Why did DCI Shefford wrongly identify the first victim?”

“Because they bloody looked alike,” snapped Otley. “Her face was beaten to a pulp!”

“You knew her too, didn’t you? Then why wasn’t it realized until after I took over the case that the body identified as Mornay was, in fact, Karen Howard?”

“What’s this got to do with anything?” Kernan demanded impatiently.”

Tennison opened a drawer and slapped two files on the desk. She stood directly in front of Kernan.

“When I took over the case, I requested Della Mornay’s file from Vice. I was told that the delay in sending it was due to the computer changeover, leading me to believe that DCI Shefford had not had access to the records. I was mistaken.” She slapped the file. “He did have it, but it was not recorded in the case file.”

“This is a bloody waste of time!” Otley protested, uneasily.

“Is it? Here’s the one I received from Vice. And here’s the one Shefford received. Two supposedly identical files, but in mine there was no mention of Della Mornay being used as an informer, no record of the fact that DCI Shefford was her arresting officer when he was attached to Vice.”

Otley pointed to the files. “I don’t know anything about that, but I do know that you’ve got some personal grudge against a man that was admired-” Tennison cut him short.

“Shefford was so damned eager, even desperate, to make an arrest, judging by this…” She stopped, realizing her voice had climbed almost to a shriek. She went on more calmly, “I still want to know, if both you and Shefford knew Della Mornay personally, how the body was wrongly identified.”

Otley stared at her with loathing, tried to face her down. But she had him backed into a corner; his eyes flicked from side to side as he said, “Why don’t you leave it alone! The man is dead!”

Tennison pointed to two photographs on the wall. “So are they! Karen Howard and Della Mornay! So explain this, Sergeant…”

Opening her desk drawer again she produced Della Mornay’s diary. “It was in your desk along with the original Vice file.”

Otley had no reply to make. Kernan thumped the desk. “What the hell is going on?”

“This, sir, is Della Mornay’s diary, not tagged, not logged in. There are pages missing, obviously torn out.” She turned to Otley and asked icily, “Do you know what happened to those pages?”

“I can explain about the diary. I gave it to John… er, DCI Shefford. I presumed he would have…” He dropped his gaze to the floor. “I found it when I was clearing out his desk. He must have removed the pages.”

Through gritted teeth, Kernan whispered, “Jesus Christ!” He looked at Tennison. “You realize what this means? You are accusing a senior officer of doctoring evidence.”

“Marlow made two statements. In the second one he stated that he picked up Della Mornay. He has to have got her name from Shefford. Yes, I know what I’m saying. If I discover any further irregularities…”

“Any so-called irregularities, Chief Inspector, you bring straight to me. I will decide if the matter is to be taken further.”

“Until I have verification that both women were murdered by the same man, I’d like to keep the discovery of Mornay’s body under wraps.”

“Marlow still your main suspect?”

“Yes, sir. I want him kept under pressure, round-the-clock surveillance. I know it’s expensive, but if he’s killed twice…”

Kernan nodded, and she continued, “I’d also like to handle the press releases myself from now on, sir-reporting to you, of course.”

She had won, and she knew it. She walked out and left them there, closing the door quietly behind her.

There was a moment’s silence. Otley just stood there, still looking at the floor, waiting for the explosion.

“You bloody idiot! She’s effing wiped the floor with the lot of you! You were lucky this time, she let you off the hook, not me!”

Otley dug into his pocket and brought out his wallet. “It was just the days John went to see her, nothing to do with the case.”

His face set, Kernan held out his hand. Otley laid a few crumpled pieces of paper on his palm.

“He was fond of her…” When he looked up, Kernan was gone. He turned to face the photograph of Della on the wall. “He was very fond of her.”

George Marlow was looking at the TV guide in his Evening Standard. He paid no attention to the large photograph of Karen Howard on the front page.

“You’re home early,” Moyra commented from the doorway.

“Did you get a video?” he asked.

“Yeah… The cops’ve been here again, they took the rest of your shoes. I said they’d better bring them quick or you’d be selling paint in your stocking feet.”

“No I won’t,” he answered, “I quit today before they could sack me.”

Moyra walked to the window, the tears pricking her eyes. She moved the curtain slightly to look across at the dark windows of the surveillance flat.

“Bastards! You’d think we were the spies, the way they carry on. I’m keeping the chain on the door all the time now. They’ve had all our keys, and I don’t trust them. They could have had them copied…”

He looked up. He couldn’t say anything to comfort her, and she was trying hard not to cry as she said, “It’s getting me down, George, like we’re prisoners…”

“I’m sorry…” He put his hand out for her, but she held back, folding her arms.

“Moyra, don’t you turn against me. No one said a single word to me in the factory, except Edward Harvey, and even he didn’t want to look me in the eye… I love you, Moyra, but I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“I have to take it too, George. With you not earning, what are we going to do?”

He stood there looking forlorn and his voice cracked as he said, “I won’t let them beat me, I’ll find another job…” He shook his fists in the air in frustration and yelled, “I didn’t do it, I didn’t do it! So help me God, I didn’t do it…”

The telephone rang and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He stared at it as it continued to shrill.

Moyra sighed. “I’ll get it. If it’s another of those filthy bloody perverts… And those kids next door…”

She picked up the phone but said nothing for a second or two, then, “Oh, hallo, Doris… Yes, just a minute.”

She turned to George. “It’s your mum, it’s a payphone.”

He shook his head, unable to face speaking to her.

“You’ll have to talk to her, come on, love.”

He pulled himself up and took the receiver. Moyra was astonished that he could sound so bright.

“Hallo, Mum! I’m fine, yeah. How’s your hip? It is?” He whispered to Moyra, “She’s only using one stick now!”

He listened awhile, then answered, “Thanks, Mum, I wish the cops felt the same way. You know what they’re like… I’m sorry, they’re talking to everyone I know.”