Prime Suspect (Prime Suspect (Harper))

by Lynda La Plante

  Tennison frowned. The name of the victim, Della Mornay, rang a bell, but before she could ask any questions Havers had ducked out of the door. She chewed her lips, drummed her fingers on the desk. “Come on, why do I know that name … ?” She remembered, then; in the Flying Squad two years ago she had brought Della Mornay in for questioning, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember what the case was. Something to do with a pimp who had beaten up one of his girls … Della was a tough little bitch, blond and rather pretty. She had refused to give evidence against the man. The fact that she had once interviewed the victim made Tennison all the more angry that she had not been given a chance to handle the case. Mike Kernan, the Superintendent, was going to hear about this.

  Tennison closed her office door and turned just as Sergeant Otley bumped into her.

  “Oh, sorry, ma’am.”

  “I hear you’ve got a suspect, that right?” She meant to sound just interested, but she could not disguise the sarcasm.

  “Yep, brought him in yesterday lunchtime. Word’s out that the ink won’t be dry on the warrant before the boss charges him. The DNA result was bloody marvelous.”

  “Yeah, and such good timing! I heard there wasn’t much else happening.”

  Otley shrugged. This was the one he didn’t like, the know-all who had been prowling around for the past eighteen months. He had studiously avoided any contact with her, just in case he was roped in to work with her.

  “I wouldn’t say that, ma’am. The team’s pretty tough, John Shefford drives us hard.”

  She turned, without agreeing, and he watched her push through the swing doors in her neat jacket and skirt. As the doors slammed behind her, he gave her the finger.

  Kernan toyed uneasily with a felt-tipped pen as he listened to Tennison’s complaint. He had never liked her, had been against her joining AMIT from the word go, but she had been more or less forced on him. She had more experience than at least one of the other DCIs, who was already on his second case. He cleared his throat and replaced the cap carefully on the pen.

  “You want a transfer, is that what this is about?”

  “No, I want to be given a chance. I was available for the Mornay case, but DCI Shefford was called in from leave to take it over. I want to know why I have had not so much as a sniff of anything since I’ve been here.”

  Kernan opened his desk diary and noted that he had a lunch appointment before replying, “It was my decision. Shefford knows the area and he once arrested the victim on a prostitution charge. She was also one of his informers …”

  “I knew the victim too, sir. I’ve been checking my old records and I brought her in for questioning two years ago …”

  “I’m sorry, I was unaware of that …”

  “Are you saying I would have got the investigation if you had been aware of it, sir?”

  “Look, I’ll be honest. Shefford’s one of my best men …”

  “I know that, sir, but he’s just finished that big case and he had been given two days’ leave. It was a long and difficult case, he needed to rest. I could easily have attended the court session today and handled the investigation, but I was overlooked. All I want to know is, why, and is this going to continue?”

  Kernan looked at his watch. “As you said, you had to be in court. According to the roster you were not available, but when you are you will have your chance, along with the other four officers …”

  “DCI McLear is on a murder case right now, sir. He has nowhere near my experience, he came here six months after me. I notice his desk isn’t loaded with petty fraud and tax evasion cases. I have had nothing else since I arrived.”

  “Look, Jane, if you want a transfer then put in for it through the right channels.”

  She was spitting mad, but managed to control herself. “I don’t want a transfer, I want to do the work I have been trained for, and I want you to give me your word that I will not be overlooked again.”

  Kernan gave her the same speech he had spouted at her the last time she had complained, and she sighed. She had the distinct feeling that he couldn’t wait to get her out of the office. She looked down at her shoes and seethed as he continued, “It takes time, Jane. If you are not prepared to wait, then perhaps you should consider asking to be transferred. As I have said to you before, we all appreciate your record, and your obvious abilities …”

  “But you are not prepared to let me put them into practice, right?”

  “Wrong. Just bide your time, don’t rush things.”

  “Rush, sir? I’ve been here eighteen months.”

  “I’ve said all I intend saying at this point. I am sorry you feel the way you do, but until a case comes up that I feel is right for you, then …”

  “Then I carry on as before, is that what you were going to say, Mike? Oh, come on, don’t fob me off again. You gave me the same speech last time. You know I’ve been treated unfairly; all I’m asking for is a chance to show you, show everyone here, what I’m capable of.”

  “You’ll get it, I give you my word.” Kernan looked pointedly at his watch. “Now, I’m sorry, but I have to get on. Just be patient, I’m sorry I can’t be more positive, and your turn will come.”

  She walked to the door, depressed that she had failed yet again to convince him.

  “Thank you for your time!”

  As the door closed behind Tennison, Kernan leaned back in his chair. A few more months and she would leave of her own accord. He had never liked working with women and knew that his men felt the same way. All the same, he knew she was right. She was a highly qualified officer, it was just something about her, about all the high-ranking women he had come across. Maybe it was simply the fact that she was a woman.

  Tennison had missed breakfast in the rush to get Joey ready, but her anger seemed to have sharpened her appetite. She decided to have a bite to eat in the canteen.

  She ate alone, eavesdropping on the rowdy conversation from the next table. DI Burkin was cracking a joke about somebody being trapped on a mountain when the “bing-bong” went. He and DI Haskons were wanted in Administration. They stood up, laughing. Young DC Dave Jones, newly transferred from Cardiff, turned from the counter with his loaded tray to see the two DIs heading towards the exit.

  “You want me along?”

  Burkin pointed a finger and Jones’s eager face fell. “You always interrupt my jokes, Daffy. Give yourself fifteen, then get down to the Incident Room.”

  Tennison watched in amazement as Jones tackled the vast amount of food he had piled on his tray: sausages, eggs, chips, baked beans, a heap of toast and two puddings with custard.

  “Brunch, is it?” she asked, pleasantly.

  “No, ma’am, I missed my breakfast because I had to go over to the labs for the guv’nor.” He stuffed a huge forkful of food into his mouth.

  “You’re on Shefford’s team, then?”

  Unable to speak, Jones nodded vigorously.

  “I hear he’s going to charge the suspect this morning, is that right?”

  Jones wiped his mouth on a paper serviette. “Yes, ma’am, he and Sergeant Otley are with the Super now. It looks good, the Sarge said.”

  Tennison sipped her coffee. “Have they found the car? I hear your suspect says his car’s been stolen?”

  Jones had timed his eating badly; again, he could only nod. He was relieved when the “bing-bong” went; this time it was for Tennison.

  She drained her coffee cup and picked up her bag of groceries. Passing Jones, she smiled. “See you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Several officers, some of them uniformed, acknowledged her as she made her way to the door. There was an air of embarrassment; no one seemed to like her, but her rank of DCI demanded respect.

  Jones waited until she had left before he burped loudly, which was received with a smatter of applause, then he continued eating at a frightening rate. He didn’t want to miss the big moment. The Sarge had told him it was a dead cert that they’d charge Marlow, and
Paxman’s record would be smashed.

  It was Maureen Havers who had put out the call for Tennison, to tell her that the photocopier was now out of order, so she was still unable to do the stuff Tennison needed for court. She asked if she should take it to another station or wait until their own machine was repaired.

  Tennison dropped her bag on the desk. “I don’t believe this place, can’t they get a bloody mechanic to fix it? What the hell’s wrong with it, anyway?”

  “Someone used the wrong type of paper and it’s all jammed inside. We’re trying to find the guilty party, ma’am, but it’s really fouled up this time.”

  Tennison rolled up her shirt-sleeves. “Right, I’ll fix it myself, at least it’ll keep me occupied for a while. We’ll take all the copying, and that stuff on my desk is for the shredder, let’s do something useful …”

  With their arms full of paper, they passed the open door of the Incident Room. The men were standing around in groups, with DI Burkin in the center telling another of his shaggy dog stories.

  “I hear they’re charging the suspect. You heard anything, Maureen?”

  Havers had to jog to keep up with her. “Yes, ma’am, they’ll break the record. There’s a booze-up in the pub, whole station’ll be there. Kitty’s over a hundred and fifty quid already.”

  Tennison squatted to peer inside the photocopier. “Fucking thing’s jammed all right, look at the mess! How do you open it up?”

  Havers knelt beside her to read the instructions on the side of the machine. “It says here, lift lever A, release spring …”

  Tennison pushed her aside. “I’ll do it, get out of my light … Now then, pull what where?”

  She yanked the lever and the machine split itself in two. “Oh, shit, now what?”

  “How about waiting for the mechanic, ma’am?”

  Tennison froze her with a look. “I’ve started, so I’ll continue …”

  For what seemed an age, the only sounds in the office were the ticking of the clock and the flick as Kernan turned the pages of Marlow’s file.

  “Christ, what a stroke of luck, John, bloody marvelous. What about the blood on the jacket?” He looked from Shefford to Otley, approvingly.

  Shefford grimaced. He had a weird tingling in his left arm, all the way to his fingertips. He flexed his hand, rubbed the wrist.

  “Willy’s working his butt off. Should … should come through any time now …” The pain was shooting down his arm now, and his chest felt as if it was being crushed … “It was the size of a pinprick, they’re waiting for it to expand at the labs, then we can check … Oh, Jesus …”

  The pain was so bad it made Shefford fight for air. Kernan looked up, concerned. “Are you OK, John?”

  “I dunno,” Shefford gasped, “I’ve got … like a cramp in my arm …”

  He went rigid as a new spasm of pain hit him. He snorted, and Kernan saw blood oozing from his nose. There was a terrible look of fear in his eyes.

  The pain seemed to be blowing him apart, like the bomb he had felt ticking inside his head. It was blowing up, he was blowing up! Rubbing his arm frantically, he snorted again and the blood poured down his chin. Then he pitched forward, cracking his head on the edge of Kernan’s desk.

  The Super was already picking up the phone, shouting for a doctor, an ambulance, as Otley grabbed Shefford and tried to ease him back into his chair. But the man was so big that Otley staggered under his weight.

  Shefford’s body suddenly relaxed and his head lolled on Otley’s shoulder. Otley cradled him in his arms, shouting hysterically for an ambulance … Kernan ran round the desk to help him lower Shefford to the floor. They loosened his tie, opened his shirt, and all the while Otley was saying over and over, “S’all right, John, everything’s OK, just stay calm … Don’t move, guv, it’s all being taken care of, ambulance is on its way …”

  The photocopier throbbed into life and shot out three crumpled sheets of sooty paper. Tennison gave a satisfied sigh and stood up, brushing at the black specks on her hands.

  “Right, Maureen, try it with a sheet we want to shred, just in case it eats it.”

  It seemed that a herd of elephants suddenly charged down the corridor outside. Tennison opened the door and stepped back to avoid being trampled as the stretcher-bearers raced along. They passed too swiftly for Tennison to see who their patient was under the oxygen mask.

  The corridor suddenly filled with people, propping doors open, running to follow the stretcher. Word went round like wildfire; John Shefford had collapsed.

  Tennison hurried into her office to watch the ambulance in the street below, but found the window space already occupied by two WPCs. She slammed the door.

  “Get away from the window, come on, move it!”

  WPC Hull whipped round. “Sorry, ma’am, but it’s DCI Shefford …”

  “Well, peering out of the window isn’t going to help him! Come on, move over, lemme have a squint!”

  Tennison could see the ambulance with its doors open, the stretcher being loaded. She turned back to the room.

  “OK, back to work. The copier’s been repaired, and we may not have a lot of work to do but we might as well clear the desk. You never know, I might be needed!”

  She meant it as a joke, and it was taken as one, because they didn’t know then that Shefford would never regain consciousness. He was dead on arrival at hospital.

  When the panic had died down, Tennison sat alone in her office and pondered … She was sorry Shefford was ill, of course she was, but someone had to take over the investigation. This time Kernan had to give her the job; everyone else on the rota was busy.

  Deeply shocked, Otley shut himself in the gents’ toilets and wept. He couldn’t face anyone, and was unable to carry the news back to the men waiting in the Incident Room. He had lost the best friend he had ever had, his only real friend.

  When he was able to face the men he found them sitting in stunned silence. He tried to tell them more, but all he could say was, “It’s Tom’s birthday today, it’s his son’s birthday … I bought him a magic set, and …” He wandered over to his desk. There at the side was the big package, the train set he had taken so long to choose. He stood staring down at it. The men, deeply shocked, didn’t know what to say.

  Otley’s voice was barely audible. “We were going to set it up, surprise Tom. It’s from Hamley’s …”

  DI Burkin, head and shoulders taller than his skipper, slipped an arm around him. The big officer’s tears were streaming down his face, but Otley had no more tears. He clenched his fists, shrugged Burkin away.

  “Right, let’s nail this bastard Marlow! We do it for our guv’nor, we break the fucking record, agreed?”

  It was down to Superintendent Kernan to visit Sheila Shefford. Otley had agreed to accompany him, but Kernan didn’t know if it was such a good idea, the man was so distressed. In the end he decided to take DI Burkin along. No matter which way you looked at it, it was tragic.

  Anticipating a harrowing time with Sheila and her family, Kernan’s mood was not receptive. When Jane Tennison asked for a few minutes with him his first reaction was to refuse, but she had insisted it was important.

  When he realized what she wanted he stared at her in disbelief. He was still in shock himself and he turned on her, ordering her out of his office. But she stood her ground, fists clenched.

  “Look, please, I’m sorry if I appear heartless, but all I am doing is offering to finish the investigation. John was ready to charge the suspect and someone has to take over, he’s not going to be well enough. We can’t hold Marlow much longer, we’ll have to apply for a three-day lay-down, but either way someone has to take …”

  Kernan gripped her tightly by the elbow. “The man’s not even cold! For God’s sake, I can’t make any decisions now. When I do, you will be the first to hear. Now get out of my office …”

  “Cold?” She stared at him. “He’s dead? But he can’t be …”

  “I didn’t realize you ha
dn’t been told. John was dead when he reached the hospital. Now will you get out?”

  Appalled, she shook her head as if to clear it, drew a deep breath, then plunged on, “But you will have to make a decision, sir, and I am offering to step in right now. I can familiarize myself with the case tonight, and if charges …”

  “I said I would consider your offer, Jane.”

  “No, sir, you said you couldn’t make any decisions right now. I think, however, a decision has to be made, and fast. You can’t back out of this one, you know I am here. I am available and I am qualified. Someone’s got to prove that bloody survey’s a load of bullshit. You pass me over on this one and I warn you …”

  Kernan’s face twisted with barely controlled anger. “You don’t warn me, Chief Inspector, is that clear? Now you and your feminist jargon can get out of my bloody office before I physically throw you out. A friend, a close friend, and associate of mine died in this room this afternoon, and I am just on my way to tell his wife and children. Now is not the time …”

  “When is the time, sir? Because we don’t have any to spare—if Marlow’s not charged very soon he will have to be released. I am deeply sorry for what happened to John, please don’t insult me by thinking otherwise, but at the same time someone has to—”

  “Please leave now. Don’t tell me my job. I will not be forced into making a decision I will regret at a later date. Please leave my office.”

  Maureen Havers hiccuped through her tears and Tennison put an arm around her shoulders.

  “Do you want to go home, Maureen love? You can if you like, there’s not much to do.”

  Havers wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but he was always so full of life, and only today I heard him laughing, you know that big laugh of his … He said … he said he’d beaten Paxman’s record!”

  Leaving it that Havers could go home if she felt like it, Tennison left for court.