There was a slight commotion as a WPC entered and tried to find Tennison in the dark. She delivered a brief message and departed, clocked by the men. Frank Burkin stood up to take DI Muddyman’s place.
“The fifth girl”-Burkin waited for the shot to appear on screen-“was Sharon Reid. She was sixteen, still at school, and worked part-time in a local beauty salon…”
When he had finished they broke for lunch, and the discussion was continued less formally in the canteen. Reading the menu, DC Lillie was reminded about the old woman, the one found in the chicken run. She had had similar marks on her arms to the others. He asked Sergeant Amson, who was in the queue behind him.
“Marlow was in the vicinity, that’s good enough for me to try and pin it on him.” He looked around Lillie to see what the hold-up was. “Come on, Burkin!” he yelled.
Lillie persisted. “But they didn’t all have clamp marks… Oh, not ruddy Chicken Kiev again! The garlic’s a killer!”
Burkin, his plate full, moved away from the counter, and joined Muddyman, who was holding forth about Marlow.
“I’ve been watching him for weeks now, he’s a real friendly bloke, right? He chats to the lads every day. Just because he was in the area, it doesn’t mean he’s guilty.”
Burkin picked up the lurid plastic tomato from the table and squeezed ketchup all over his plate, then stuffed a huge forkful of chips in his mouth. Bits of potato flew everywhere while he talked.
“There must be hundreds of salesmen workin’ that area, you could take your pick. You ask me, all that film was about this morning was that we’ve got more bloody tarts being bumped off”-he paused to burp-“an’ no bloody suspects.”
The “bing-bong” sounded and a voice requested the presence of DCI Tennison in Administration. The men ignored it and carried on talking about Marlow; everyone who had had contact with him seemed to be convinced that he was a good bloke and therefore not a murderer. Terry Amson arrived and picked up on the conversation.
“He lied about the lock-up, we know that.”
“We’ve only got the word of an old lag on that, it’s not proof,” Burkin retorted. There was another call over the PA system for Tennison. “Looks like the boss is gonna get the big boys pullin’ the rug on her… Coffee all round?” He looked at Lillie. “Your turn.”
Maureen Havers found Tennison hiding in the locker room, eating a large hamburger.
“Is DCI Hicock a big red-haired bloke? He’s in with the Commander and the Super’s there too. You’re being paged all over the station.”
“Am I?” Tennison asked innocently. “Well, they’ll just have to find me.”
Having successfully evaded her bosses, Tennison returned to the Incident Room to continue the briefing. She pinned photographs of all six of the victims on the notice-board while she waited for everyone to settle down.
“Right! Six victims, no set pattern. They did not, as far as we can ascertain, know each other. They didn’t look alike, they belonged to different age groups, different professions. Apart from certain minor similarities they were not all killed in the same manner. The only link between them all is that Marlow was in the area when they were murdered. Did he kill all six? Is there something we’ve overlooked, another link?”
Muddyman was slumped right down in his chair, totally relaxed. He waved a hand to attract Tennison’s attention.
“In the case of Karen, a witness stated that she heard a man call out her name. It was the same with Jeannie. But what about Angela, the little blond one? She was killed in the shrubbery in broad daylight, a good distance from the path, which was her usual route home. So how did she get there? If someone had called out to her… And the one who was raped, Gilling, she said he called her name…”
“Point taken,” said Amson, “but you’ve got two toms, one hairdresser, a schoolgirl… How did he get to know their names, if he knew them?”
Havers had made her way to the front, using her elbows, and was standing by the photographs. She raised her hand, about to say something, but lowered it, not sure of her ground. She moved closer to Tennison and touched her arm.
“Boss, I think… It may be off the wall…”
“Anything, my love, I’m right up against it. What you got?”
“I did a bit of checking, but it all falls down with Gilling. She was a florist, but there’s one link with the others. It was mentioned once…”
“To Marlow?”
“No, not him-Moyra Henson.”
Tennison could barely hear her against the growing racket in the room. “Come on, lads, keep it down a bit!” she yelled, then turned back to Havers.
“Go on.”
“When she was brought in for questioning I typed her statement. She put herself down as unemployed…”
“Yeah… Quiet! Quieten down!”
The noise slowly subsided. Some of the men closed in on Tennison and Havers, realizing something was going on.
Havers coughed nervously. “She was picked up for prostitution, fifteen years ago, according to her record. But on that charge-sheet she’s down as a freelance beautician. If she worked when she was traveling around with Marlow, he could have met the girls that way. But Gilling doesn’t fit in…”
“Good on ya, Maureen!” Tennison gave her a quick hug. “We’ll check it out.”
Unaware of the tension, Jones walked in carrying an MSS internal fax sheet. “This might be useful, ma’am,” he said to Tennison. “I’ve checked back on Marlow’s past addresses. They’ve been in Maida Vale for three years, and before that they were in Somerstown, not far from St. Pancras. He’s had the Rover for twelve years, so what if he had a lock-up close to his previous flat?”
Rosper had a sudden thought. “Yeah! Those garages we’ve been painting, Marlow told us he tried to rent one, but the council leases ’em out to the highest bidder. Maybe he kept his old garage because he couldn’t get one near by…”
The phone rang and DI Muddyman answered it, then covered the mouthpiece. “Guv? You’re wanted upstairs, you here or not?”
“No, I’m not! Go and bring that hard-nosed cow in!”
Moyra wasn’t happy at being taken down to the station, and she made sure the whole estate knew about it.
“Had a good eyeful?” she screeched at her next-door neighbor as she was led out to the car. “I tell you, they get more mileage out of you lot than a ruddy video… Don’t push me!”
Marlow trailed behind them. “I don’t understand, do you want me as well?”
Tennison emerged from the car and held the back door open for Moyra. “Not this time, George.”
They left him standing there, still trying to work out what was going on.
Tennison had a quick wash and checked that the Super had left for the day before she emerged with Maureen Havers from the locker room, ready to interview Moyra.
Amson was pacing up and down the corridor outside. “Mrs. Howard is sending some of Karen’s latest model photos by courier, shouldn’t be long. You all set? Got plenty of cigarettes?”
She took a deep breath and nodded, then followed Amson and Havers along the corridor to room 4-C.
Havers went in first, followed by Amson, who held the door open for Tennison. After a beat, Tennison followed, like a prize fighter.
“I am Detective Chief Inspector Jane Tennison, this is WPC Maureen Havers, and Detective Sergeant Amson. Thank you for agreeing to answer our questions…”
“I had an option, did I?” Moyra interrupted.
Amson placed a thick file on the bare table in front of Tennison. She opened it and extracted a statement.
“You were brought into the station on the sixteenth of January this year, is that correct?”
“If you say so!”
“Is this the statement you made on that occasion?” Tennison laid it in front of her.
Moyra glared at it. “Yesss…”
“And is this your signature?”
“Of course it bloody is!”