Lynda La Plante - Prime Suspect

She was telling him that they could never lead the sort of life he wanted. It hurt a lot, and he wanted to gather her in his arms, make it all right. But the doorbell rang. They just looked at each other, with so much more to say and no time to say it in.

Peter said quickly, “Don’t say anything more now, let’s talk it over tonight. Maybe I haven’t been easy to live with, maybe if I was more secure…”

The doorbell rang again. “You’d better go, Jane.”

“I don’t know what time I’ll be back.”

Peter stood for a moment after she’d left, surveying the kitchen, then he lashed out at the stack of dishes on the draining board, sending them crashing into the sink.

Tennison sat silently beside Jones as he drove. It unnerved him. Eventually he said, just to break the silence, “Still no trace of Marlow’s car.” She didn’t react. “Are you OK?” he asked.

“I want that bloody car found!” she snapped.

“Trouble at home? I got all your shopping OK, didn’t I?”

“Yeah!”

“I got an earful when I got home. My dinner had set like cement.”

“The difference is that you get your dinner cooked for you. At my place, I’m the one who’s supposed to cook it.” She thought a moment. “Shit’s gonna hit the fan this morning, though. You got an aspirin?”

Chief Superintendent Kernan had come in early to review the Marlow case, and for once Tennison had got her oar in first. Now he listened in growing anger as Tennison and Otley raged at each other, but he let them get on with it.

“George Marlow was questioned in nineteen eighty-four about the murder of a prostitute, Jeannie Sharpe. John Shefford, then a DI, was on the investigating team. He was transferred to London because it was discovered that he’d been having a relationshp with the murdered girl!” Tennison stormed. “None of this is in the records. We now know that he was having a sexual relationship with Della Mornay; he must have known he’d identified the wrong girl, but he was prepared to cover that up as well!”

Otley was seething. “Everything you’re saying is a pack of lies, and if John Shefford was alive…”

“But he’s not, he’s dead, and you’re still covering up for him. You requested the Oldham case, you wanted to go up there because you knew Shefford was involved…”

“That’s not true! Della Mornay was a police informer…”

“She was also a prostitute, picked up and charged by John Shefford when he was attached to Vice-and what a perfect job for him!”

Tennison’s last remark brought Kernan to his feet. “That’s enough! Just calm down!”

“Sir, I have been working against time ever since I took over this investigation, at first because of Marlow’s release, now because I’m going to be pulled off it. George Marlow is my only suspect, still my suspect for both murders, and now very possibly a third: Jeannie Sharpe.”

“I don’t know anything about any previous case up north,” Otley insisted. “I know some of the men fraternize with the girls on our patch…”

“Fraternize! Christ!”

Kernan thumped his desk, really pissed off. He pointed to Otley.

“Come on now, did Shefford think there was a connection between the first murder and the one in, er… Oldham?”

“I dunno, but I wanted to check it out. There was no ulterior motive.”

“So you know John Shefford had worked in Oldham? Knew he’d been on this-” Kernan thumbed through the file “-this Jeannie Sharpe case?”

Otley was falling apart. He shook his head. “No! I didn’t know anything, but when I read the report and saw John’s name down… Look, I know you knew, we all knew, he was a bit of a lad, so I just reckoned maybe I should check it out. That’s all there was to it, nothin’ more. If, as ma’am says, he was having a relationship with this tart, I knew nothin’ about it.”

Tennison couldn’t keep quiet. “Just as you knew nothing about his relationship with Della Mornay? Bullshit! You knew, and you’ve been covering up for him…”

Kernan gave her the eye to shut up and keep it shut. “Did you get anything from your trip to Southport, Bill?”

Otley shook his head. “We’re still checking, but no.”

Kernan nodded, then gave him a hard look. “Well, keep at it. You can go.”

Otley hesitated. It was obvious that Kernan wanted him out of the office and wanted Tennison to stay. With an embarrassed cough, he turned to her.

“Maybe we got off to a bad start,” he said quietly. “Should have taken a few weeks off after John…”

She gave him a rueful nod. “I’ll be in the Incident Room,” he said, and opened the door.

They waited until he had gone, then Kernan turned to Tennison and asked, “What do you want to do?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “I worked with a good bloke, in Hornchurch. Detective Sergeant Amson.”

Finally Kernan nodded. “That’s the deal, is it?”

“He’s available, could be here in an hour or so. I’m going to drive up to Rochdale to see the woman Marlow attacked there. It would be a good opportunity to fill him in on the investigation.”

Kernan nodded again. Knowing she had won, Tennison went on, “Marlow served eighteen months. All the cases were either before or after he was in jail. I want the surveillance put back on him.”

“OK. I’ll do my best to hold Hicock off.”

“Thank you, sir. Detective Sergeant Amson.”

“I got it the first time.”

At ten Tennison was in the car park, getting some things from her boot, when Otley came up beside her.

“I reckon we got off on the wrong foot. I was just going back to the pub, wondered if you wanted a drink?”

“Has the Super not spoken to you?”

“No, I went out and put a couple under my belt. I didn’t know about John’s spot of trouble in Oldham…”

Tennison said quietly, “Yes, you did. You’re off the case, Bill. I’m sorry, you’ve already been replaced.”

Otley seemed to shrink before her eyes. He turned to go and she said to his back, “I want the names of every officer on my team who’s taking sexual favors from prostitutes.”

He faced her again, but he had no anger left in him. She gave him a small nod and walked towards a car that had just drawn in to the car park. It was driven by the burly new sergeant, Terry Amson. He got out and opened the passenger door for her.

“I owe you a big one. My arse was dropping off in Hornchurch, I was sitting on it so much. How are you dong?

She beamed and punched his arm as she climbed in. “I think I’m doing OK.”

As he returned to the driving seat he gave Otley a small wave of acknowledgment. It wasn’t returned. Otley’s dejected figure was still standing there when they drove away.

Terry Amson drove fast and well up the motorway while Tennison put him in the picture on the murders.

“So we have three girls, Della Mornay, Karen Howard and Jeannie Sharpe, who were all strung up, with these clamp marks on their arms. The first two are different, but it’s quite a coincidence.”

“Maybe he just perfected his technique! Have you tried talking to any of the guys he was banged up with? He’s talkative, isn’t he?”

“You could dig around while I’m with Miss Gilling, see if you can set something up for when we get back. And have a look at Marlow’s statements, you never know what a fresh eye will come up with.”

The little terraced cottage that Pauline Gilling shared with her father had a neat, well-cared-for garden. The inside was daintily decorated with Laura Ashley paper and a large collection of little glass animals, giving it a fragile feel which was echoed in Miss Gilling herself.