Lynda La Plante: Prime Suspect

“But you didn’t know her?”

“No, I’d never met her before. I asked her first how much, and she said it depends. You know they like to hustle as much as they can out of you…”

“Oh, yeah? But you been done before, George. You don’t like hassles. Della Mornay pisses you off, right? Right?

Marlow frowned, then looked at Shefford. “Della Mornay…?”

Otley checked his watch and wondered how it was all going down in the interview room. It was past seven and Shefford had been at it since four thirty, now with Arnold Upcher sitting in on the session. Otley strolled down to the basement corridor and peered through the glass panel; he could just see Marlow, sitting with his head in his hands.

“Has he confessed yet? Only it’s drinking time!”

The PC on guard raised his eyebrows. “Been a lot of shouting goin’ on in there, and at the last count Shefford had consumed five beakers of coffee.”

“Ah, well, he would-this is pub hours, son!”

Otley turned away and went to the pub to join the others from Shefford’s team. He ordered a round and sat down with his pint, telling them there was no news as yet.

“But he had his head in his hands, looked like the guv’nor’s cracked him. Gonna break that bloody record…”

They set about betting on how long it would take Shefford to get a confession from Marlow and whether or not he would break Paxman’s record. They might not have been so confident if they had been privy to the statement that was being taken from Marlow right then.

Shefford was using the regulation tape recorder. Marlow craned his head forward and directed his speech at the built-in microphone.

“I dropped her off at the tube station, and paid her.”

“OK, so then what did you do?”

“I went to Kilburn to get a video, and I was home by… about ten thirty.”

Marlow rubbed his chin. He needed a shave now, the stubble made him look darker, swarthier.

“Like I said, Inspector, I remember, when I looked back, she was peering into another car, a red… maybe a Scirocco, I dunno, but she was looking for the next customer. I just got the video and went home, got there at ten thirtyish. I can’t remember the exact time, you’ll have to ask Moyra, she’ll remember.”

“And you maintain that you did not know this girl you picked up? You had never met her or seen her before?”

“No, sir. Like I said, she just came over to my car.”

Shefford opened a file and held out a photograph of Della Mornay, taken from Vice records. “Is this the girl you picked up?”

Marlow leaned forward, without actually touching the photo, then sat back in his chair. “I’d never met her before, I didn’t know her.”

He looked to his brief, then back to Shefford. “I picked her up at about seven thirty. It was dark, I don’t remember her all that well…”

“You had sex with her, George! You tellin’ me you didn’t see her face? Come on, George…”

Marlow shifted his weight in his chair. “It was in the back of the car!”

“Let’s go again, George, an’ I want all the details.”

Peter was stuffing his work clothes into the overflowing laundry basket when Jane woke up. He rammed the lid on the basket. “We need a washing machine, you know.”

She yawned. “Yeah, but the kitchen’s too small. Besides, the launderette does it for me, they’ll even do the ironing if you want, but it’s fifty pence per article. I’ll get Mrs. Fry to take a load down in the morning.” She yawned again. “What’s the time?”

“It’s nearly six. I’ve got some bad news.” He sat down beside her. “Well, not bad news for me, but for you, maybe! It must be telepathy… You know, after you said Joey could stay, Marianne called. She’s bringing him over to stay the night. I didn’t even have to ask, she suggested it.”

“That’s OK! What time’s he coming?”

Peter shrugged. “Oh, about seven thirty. Look, you don’t have to do anything.”

Jane freaked. “Is she bringing him? I mean, will she come in?”

He shrugged again. “Look, I can take him for a hamburger, he’ll be no problem.”

“Bollocks! Go down to the corner Indian, they’re still open, and get some fish fingers. Kids like fish fingers, and baked beans, and Mars bars… No, tell you what, Smarties. I’ll make up the spare bed while you’re gone.”

“It’s already done, and I’ve put that Anglepoise lamp by the bed, he sleeps with a light on.”

“OK, I’ll wash my hair and get dolled up.”

“You don’t have to, he’s only six, for Chrissake! He won’t care what you look like.”

“Ah, but Marianne will be looking me over, and I want to make an impression. After all, I’m the Other Woman!”

“Not quite!”

“Oh, go on, get going…”

Jane rolled up the newspaper he had left on the bed and whacked him on the head with it, then dashed to the bathroom. Joey would be arriving soon, and she wanted to be ready.

At Southampton Row, Moyra Henson had been interviewed over and over again. She gave Marlow a perfect alibi and wouldn’t be budged; he was at home, she insisted, as he had said in his own statement. He had been at home watching television with her. Marlow had not left the flat all evening, and they had gone to bed together.

When she was finally let go, DI Burkin was ordered back to her flat to impound Marlow’s car, a brown, automatic three-liter Mark III Rover. He took two officers with him and gave Moyra a lift home.

She kept up a constant stream of abuse all the way back in the patrol car, sitting between the two officers. They didn’t say a word. Burkin, uncomfortable in the front seat with his long legs cramped against the glove compartment, was also silent, though Moyra’s voice was beginning to grate on his nerves and he would be glad when they got shot of her.

There was no sign of the Rover; it was not in the parking bay or anywhere in the vicinity of the flats. Sullen and uncooperative, Moyra accused the police of stealing it themselves.

As she shampooed her hair under the hot water, all Jane could think of was how John Shefford had done her out of a murder case. She had to make an effort to shake herself out of it, she was becoming obsessed. Before she knew it, Peter was back from the shop.

He yelled that he’d got a few extras. He opened the bathroom door.

“I got a chocolate cake, that one you like. It needs defrosting so I’ve left it on the draining board, OK?”

“Yep, just give me a few minutes to get my glad-rags on and I’ll set the table.”

But by the time she had dressed and dried her hair, Peter had done it all. Jane shrieked that she had wanted the best china, and started collecting the plates. Peter caught hold of her.

“Hey, this is just fine! Don’t put out the best stuff, he’s liable to smash something.”

“Do I look OK?”

He held her at arm’s length. “Yeah, nice blouse, looks Victorian.”

“Well, it’s not, it’s cheap Laura Ashley, so I bought two, but they’re my best!”

She was wearing a full skirt from Next and a pair of red suede shoes she had never worn before; every time she had put them on she had felt they were a bit too flash, so they were pristine, not a scuff in sight. It tickled Peter that she was making such an effort, even down to perfume.

When the doorbell rang Jane flushed, and he grinned. “Just relax, she’ll only stay a minute.”

Jane hovered near the kitchen while Peter opened the door. Joey flew into his arms, yelling, “Dad! Dad!” Peter swung him up and kissed him, then put him down, but Joey hugged his dad’s legs.

Jane peered at the door, expecting the ex-wife. First came a huge bag, large enough for Joey to stay two months, then a box of toys. Finally Marianne’s back was visible.