Lynda La Plante - Prime Suspect

“Who, exactly, told you the girl’s name?”

“Inspector Shefford.”

“OK, George, go on. Tell me what happened next.”

“I got into my car and drove past her, slowly. She came to the window, asked me if I was looking for someone. All I said was maybe, it depended how much. She said it was twenty-five pounds for full sex. If I wanted…”

Looking up, Tennison caught his strange, beautiful eyes. He looked away, embarrassed.

“Go on, Mr. Marlow. Twenty-five pounds for full sex…”

He cleared his throat and continued, “Masturbation fifteen. I agreed to pay the twenty-five, and she directed me to some waste ground beside the… the Westway, I think it is. We got into the back seat. We…” he coughed. “We did it, then she asked me to drop her back to the Tube. Then, as she climbed over the seats into the front she caught her hand, her left hand, on my radio. It’s got a sort of sharp edge, and it was only a little nick, but I wrapped my handkerchief around it…”

“Er, sorry, George, you just said, ‘She cut her hand on my radio’?”

“Yes.”

“Which hand?”

He frowned and raised his hands, looking from one to the other. “Her right hand, yeah… It was her right hand, because my radio’s between the seats. It’s got a sharp edge.”

He indicated the spot on his own wrist-exactly where the small cut was on the wrist of the corpse. “You can take the radio out, it’s portable. They’re always being nicked out of cars, round where I live.”

He paused for a second and sighed. “You found my car yet?”

Tennsion shook her head. “Go on. She cut herself?”

“Yeah. I gave her my handkerchief, wrapped it round her wrist. It’s got my initial on it, G… Then I paid her, drove her back to Ladbroke Grove station. When I dropped her off, the last I saw of her she was picking up another punter. It was a red car, I’m not sure which make, could have been a Scirocco. I didn’t kill her, I swear before God that was the last I saw of her. Then I drove home, got back about half past ten, maybe nearer eleven…”

Tennison had been reading his statement as he talked. It was not word for word, but slightly abbreviated, as if he was getting used to repeating only the pertinent facts. “You saw a red car stop. Was it facing towards you or in the opposite direction?”

“Oh, it was coming towards me. I was going down Ladbroke Grove towards Notting Hill Gate.”

“So you would have dropped her on the pavement opposite the car? Or did you swerve across the road and deposit her on the other side?”

“Oh, I crossed the road. Then when she got out I drove straight down to the Bayswater Road.”

“You live on the Maida Vale/Kilburn border, wouldn’t you have gone the other way? It’s a quicker route, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so. I never thought about it, really. I went straight along to Marble Arch, into Edgware Road and straight to Kilburn to get a video.”

“Have you picked up girls in that area before?”

Marlow shook his head and looked down at his hands. “No, and I wish to God I hadn’t picked this one up either, but…”

“But?”

He looked up, and again she was caught by the strange color of his eyes. “She was very attractive, and I thought, why not…”

“George, had you picked this particular girl up before?”

“No, and I must have been crazy, after what happened up north. But I paid for that. I was drunk, and I swear to you she came on to me, I swear I was innocent… I served eighteen months, and when they released me I swore I wouldn’t mess around with other women.”

“Mess around? It was a little more than that two years ago, wasn’t it? You were also charged with aggravated burglary.”

“Like I said, I was drunk. I just snatched her handbag… It was a stupid thing to do, and I lived to regret it.”

“So you never knew this girl you picked up?”

There was a tap on the door and Sergeant Otley peered through the window. Irritated, Tennison went out to talk to him.

“The lab came through, that speck of blood on his jacket, it’s the victim’s. Thought you’d like to know. Oh, and the Super wants to see you.”

“That’s it? Nothing else? They can’t place him in the efficiency?”

Otley shook his head. Tennison said, very softly, “Not enough…”

She turned and went back into the room, leaving Otley cursing to himself.

“How much more does she need, for Chrissake…”

Tennison spent another three-quarters of an hour with Marlow. At the end of that time she stacked her files and notebooks and thanked him for his co-operation. Seemingly intent on putting her things away, she asked, as if it was an afterthought, “You drove home, Mr. Marlow? Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a garage? Did you put the car in a garage?”

“No, I left it outside my flat. There’s a parking bay, under cover, for residents. They say they can’t find it, has it been stolen, do you think? Only, I should get on to my insurance broker if it’s true.”

Without replying, Tennison turned to walk out. He stopped her.

“Excuse me, am I allowed to leave yet?”

“No, I’m sorry, Mr. Marlow, you are not.”

Tennison was exhausted, but she hadn’t finished yet by a long chalk.

Burkin had been falling asleep. He snapped to attention when Tennison knocked to be let out.

“Marlow can go back to his cell. Then I need a search warrant for his flat. We’ll go together,” she told him.

“Right, ma’am… I’ll get the warrant.”

“Meet me in the Incident Room ASAP.” Tennison went down the corridor almost at a run.

For once the Incident Room was fairly quiet. Otley was sitting staring into space when Burkin joined him.

“She interviewed Marlow, then she went to see the Super.”

Otley smirked. “An’ she’ll be interviewing all afternoon, I got girls comin’ in from all over town. Keep her out of our hair!”

He fell silent as Tennison walked in with a big sandy-haired man and introduced him as DI Tony Muddyman, “Tony will be with us as from tomorrow. I’ve given him the gist of the case, but you’ll have to help fill in the details.”

Otley had met him before and wasn’t too sure about him, but several of the others greeted him like a long-lost cousin.

“Anything on Marlow’s car?” Tennison asked Otley.

“No, not yet. There’s a roomful of girls waiting for you.”

“What?”

“All known associates of Della Mornay. You asked for them to be reinterviewed and they’re comin’ in by the carload. There were seventeen at the last count…”

“I haven’t got time to interview them! Why don’t you take their statements and leave them on my desk?”

To cover his fury, Otley crossed the room to the notice-board and pinned up a large poster. It advertised a benefit night for DCI Shefford’s family.

“Is this the list of girls reported missing?” Tennison had picked up a sheet of paper from his desk.

“Yeah, it’s got “Missing Persons Report” on the top, hasn’t it?”

“Cut it out, Sergeant.”

“One in Cornwall Gardens, another in Brighton, one in Surrey looks promising…”

“Fine, I’ll take them, shall I?”

“Why not, I’ve got seventeen slags to interview.”

“Should have staggered them!” Tennison retorted. She beckoned Jones to her side. “Can you check if there’s a handkerchief among Marlow’s things? He said he bandaged the victim’s hand with it, initial G on the corner.”

She reached for the phone as it rang. “Tennison…” Peter was calling her; she gave a quick look around the room. Only Jones was close by, thumbing through the log book and shaking his head.