Hall and Kathy, and a third plainclothes officer, moved in slowly, threading their way through the stream of passengers.
“Hi, how you doin’?” Jackson was all smiles, a friendly face in a strange, hostile environment. “Do I know you?” The boy gave a little nervous smile, shaking his head. “You from Liverpool? You know Steve Wallis?” Jackson patted his shoulder reassuringly. “I’m not the law, just waitin’ for a friend. You got somebody meetin’ you? First time in the Smoke?” Jackson stuck a cigarette in his mouth and offered one to the boy. “Hey, man, you want a drag?”
As the boy reached to accept it, Hall stepped between them, nose to nose with Jackson. Jackson fell back a pace. He half-turned, nearly colliding with the third officer standing right behind him. Hall muttered a few words in Jackson’s ear.
Her arm around his shoulder, Kathy said to the boy, “Have you got somebody meeting you, love?”
The boy shook his head. He looked past Kathy and got a glimpse of the two officers walking off with Jackson between them, merging into the crowd.
Otley came into the interview room with a tray of canteen teas in proper cups and saucers. He slid it onto the desk between Tennison and Vera Reynolds. Norma was sitting next to the wall, plump black-stockinged legs crossed, taking notes. She looked bored to tears.
“Vera’s admitted that she knew Colin.”
“Connie,” Vera corrected Tennison. Her head was bowed, her long pale hands with the manicured nails clasped tightly in the lap of her leather skirt. She wore a loose halter-neck knitted top, colored bangles on her bare arms. “He didn’t like his name, sometimes he called himself Bruce.”
Tennison made a note on her pad.
“Bit butch for his kind, isn’t it?” Otley said, standing with legs apart, sipping his tea.
Vera turned her face to the wall.
Tennison’s patience was running short, but she summoned up some more. “Vera, the sooner this is all sorted out, the sooner you can leave.”
“On the other hand, if you killed your little feathered friend,” Otley said, “then you’ll be caged up-with no makeup bag in sight.”
Tennison looked at Vera over the rim of her cup. She glanced up at Otley, who rolled his eyes. They waited.
“If it’s proved to be arson…” Vera’s voice was croaky; her eyes red-rimmed. “I mean, if somebody did it, does that mean I won’t get the insurance?” Her brow puckered as if she were about to cry. “Oh, God… all my costumes. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Never mind your costumes, Vera, what about Connie?” Otley’s patience was running shorter than Tennison’s. “Who do you think set light to him?”
“I don’t know.” Staring at the desktop, fingers plucking at the baggy sleeve of her knitted top.
DI Hall tapped on the door and looked in. Otley went over, and Hall whispered to him, “I’ve got Jackson and the probation officer waiting to see…” He nodded at Tennison. “And Martin Fletcher’s being brought in.”
Tennison was making one last try. “Vera, if you are protecting someone, then you had better tell me. You have already lied to us, wasted our time…” She looked across at Hall. “Five minutes.” Then back to Vera. “Why did you lie about Connie?”
Norma looked at Hall, cross-eyed. She tapped her watch, blowing out her cheeks. He grinned and went out. Tennison leaned her elbows on the desk, waiting. Otley stood holding his cup and saucer, waiting. He glanced impatiently at his watch. Vera took a long time lighting a cigarette. She blew out a great gust of smoke, then, as an afterthought, hesitantly offered the packet.
“I’ve given up,” Tennison said.
“I’ve tried, I’ve had the patches.” Vera smiled weakly. “I’ve got patches for hormones, nicotine-my arse looks like an old pub table. I even tried the chewing gum. How did you give up?”
“With great difficulty.”
Norma’s mouth sagged open as she watched the pair of them. She looked at Otley, who gave her a snide wink.
Tennison pushed the loaded ashtray across. “You had better help me, Vera, I am losing my patience. Why did you lie?”
“I wasn’t lying-about knowing him. Nobody really knew him. He was very gentle, very beautiful. He wanted to be a model. A professional model,” Vera insisted, making sure Tennison understood the difference. “He used to answer the ads…”
Tennison glanced up sharply and glared at Otley as his sigh exploded in the quiet room. She rapped her knuckles on the desk. “What about James Jackson, Vera?”
Vera drew deeply on her cigarette. “He’s an animal, should be caged.”
“Did Connie have someone looking after him? Say Jackson?”
“You mean like a pimp? No, the older boys don’t have them, really. Not like the Toms.”
The bing-bong of the chimes came over the wall speaker. “Sergeant Otley to main reception please.”
He looked to Tennison, and at her nod left the room.
“I would help you, you know that,” Vera said slowly, as if, with tremendous effort, she was forcing the words out of herself. “I always have in the past. You’re… you’re not like the others, and I’ve always appreciated the way you speak to me-” She broke off to suck in a lungful of smoke. “But-I can’t help. Maybe…”
Tennison counted silently to five. “Maybe what?”
“He used the advice centre, for letters, I know that.” She stubbed out the cigarette. “Edward Parker-Jones runs it.”
Tennison’s hand reached toward Vera’s, but instead of touching it she picked up the ashtray and tipped it into the wastebasket. Abruptly, she stood up. “Norma, will you show Vera the way out.” She tore the sheet from her notepad. “And check out this. Give it to Kathy.”
Tennison went into the corridor, leaving the door open. She stood there, grinding her teeth. She was annoyed with Vera and bloody angry with herself. She found it difficult to concentrate, and her insides were jumpy. Was she coming down with flu or what? She wasn’t in top form, and knew it.
Otley strode up. She faced him wearily.
“Martin Fletcher’s now in reception, and the probation officer’s with him. I think you need to have words with Martin, and before Jackson.”
Tennison nodded abstractedly, trying to get her train of thought back on the tracks. Vera appeared, clicking her handbag shut, followed by Norma, who pointed along the corridor. “Down the staircase and right…”
Kathy hurried through the double doors from the opposite direction. “Guv, there’s a couple of messages-that reporter again, Jessica Smithy. I’ve told her to contact the press office but she’s really pushy, insists she wants to talk to you. So does Superintendent Halliday, and there’s…”
She was interrupted by the loitering Otley, who’d gone beyond fed up to plain pissed off. “Guv? How do you want to work it?”
Tennison waved Kathy away. “Leave them on my desk,” she said sharply, tiredness nagging at her. Kathy looked hurt, but Tennison couldn’t be bothered. “I’ll talk to Martin first,” she answered Otley.
Having set off for the stairs, Vera was back, clutching her bag, in a distressed state.
“You are going the wrong way, Vera,” Tennison said with the forebearance of a saint. “The main exit is back down the corridor.”
“I wanted to talk to you!” Vera burst out, on the edge of panic hysteria. “You see, if it gets out that it was me who told you…”
“You didn’t tell me anything, Vera,” Tennison said, tight-lipped.
Vera suddenly flinched. Her eyes grew large and round. Terrified, she stared past Tennison to where Jackson was being escorted toward them by Inspector Hall and a uniformed officer. Backing away, Vera whispered hoarsely, “Don’t you let this go, don’t stop. Please, don’t let this go, you dig deep, don’t let it go…”