“Marlow made two statements. In the second one he stated that he picked up Della Mornay. He has to have got her name from Shefford. Yes, I know what I’m saying. If I discover any further irregularities …”
“Any so-called irregularities, Chief Inspector, you bring straight to me. I will decide if the matter is to be taken further.”
“Until I have verification that both women were murdered by the same man, I’d like to keep the discovery of Mornay’s body under wraps.”
“Marlow still your main suspect?”
“Yes, sir. I want him kept under pressure, round-the-clock surveillance. I know it’s expensive, but if he’s killed twice …”
Kernan nodded, and she continued, “I’d also like to handle the press releases myself from now on, sir—reporting to you, of course.”
She had won, and she knew it. She walked out and left them there, closing the door quietly behind her.
There was a moment’s silence. Otley just stood there, still looking at the floor, waiting for the explosion.
“You bloody idiot! She’s effing wiped the floor with the lot of you! You were lucky this time, she let you off the hook, not me!”
Otley dug into his pocket and brought out his wallet. “It was just the days John went to see her, nothing to do with the case.”
His face set, Kernan held out his hand. Otley laid a few crumpled pieces of paper on his palm.
“He was fond of her …” When he looked up, Kernan was gone. He turned to face the photograph of Della on the wall. “He was very fond of her.”
George Marlow was looking at the TV guide in his Evening Standard. He paid no attention to the large photograph of Karen Howard on the front page.
“You’re home early,” Moyra commented from the doorway.
“Did you get a video?” he asked.
“Yeah … The cops’ve been here again, they took the rest of your shoes. I said they’d better bring them quick or you’d be selling paint in your stocking feet.”
“No I won’t,” he answered, “I quit today before they could sack me.”
Moyra walked to the window, the tears pricking her eyes. She moved the curtain slightly to look across at the dark windows of the surveillance flat.
“Bastards! You’d think we were the spies, the way they carry on. I’m keeping the chain on the door all the time now. They’ve had all our keys, and I don’t trust them. They could have had them copied …”
He looked up. He couldn’t say anything to comfort her, and she was trying hard not to cry as she said, “It’s getting me down, George, like we’re prisoners …”
“I’m sorry …” He put his hand out for her, but she held back, folding her arms.
“Moyra, don’t you turn against me. No one said a single word to me in the factory, except Edward Harvey, and even he didn’t want to look me in the eye … I love you, Moyra, but I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
“I have to take it too, George. With you not earning, what are we going to do?”
He stood there looking forlorn and his voice cracked as he said, “I won’t let them beat me, I’ll find another job …” He shook his fists in the air in frustration and yelled, “I didn’t do it, I didn’t do it! So help me God, I didn’t do it …”
The telephone rang and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He stared at it as it continued to shrill.
Moyra sighed. “I’ll get it. If it’s another of those filthy bloody perverts … And those kids next door …”
She picked up the phone but said nothing for a second or two, then, “Oh, hallo, Doris … Yes, just a minute.”
She turned to George. “It’s your mum, it’s a payphone.”
He shook his head, unable to face speaking to her.
“You’ll have to talk to her, come on, love.”
He pulled himself up and took the receiver. Moyra was astonished that he could sound so bright.
“Hallo, Mum! I’m fine, yeah. How’s your hip? It is?” He whispered to Moyra, “She’s only using one stick now!”
He listened awhile, then answered, “Thanks, Mum, I wish the cops felt the same way. You know what they’re like … I’m sorry, they’re talking to everyone I know.”
Moyra watched him closely until he put the phone down and stood there, dejected.
“You never even mentioned you’ve no job, you should have told her.”
“It wasn’t necessary.”
“It will be when you can’t pay for her ‘residential home.’ ” Moyra couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
“I’ll manage, man with my experience can always get work. Things’ll be OK, I’ll go and see her. Will you get me the perfume she likes?”
Moyra wanted to weep; his whole life was turned upside-down, and hers, and he was asking her to buy perfume.
“She must have a drawerful.”
“I like to take her something, you know that. I’m all she’s got.”
“You’re all I’ve got too, George!”
He gave her a sweet, gentle smile, showing his perfect teeth, his slanting, wonderful eyes. She loved him to bursting sometimes.
“I’ll get us a cup of tea.” She didn’t mean to sound abrupt, it just came out that way.
When Jane arrived home that night, later than she had promised, she wanted nothing more than a hot bath and to crash out.
As she walked into the bedroom, Peter took one look at her face. “I suppose you don’t want to go out to eat? Want me to get a takeaway?”
“Oh, yeah, but first I want a shower.”
“I booked a court, didn’t the message get to you?”
She looked at him and realized that he had been playing squash. “I’m sorry, love, I’ve been in and out of the station. I meant to call, but I kept getting waylaid.”
“You gonna be waylaid over this dinner?”
“What? The takeaway?”
“No, I told you, I asked you for a date when I could invite Frank King and his wife, and Tom and Sheila, to dinner. I told you.”
“I know, and I haven’t forgotten. I’ve even arranged for Pam to come over tomorrow to help me sort out the menu!”
“Well, there’s no need to go mad!”
“With my culinary expertise, darlin’, I doubt it, but I’ll have a go.”
He tipped her chin up and kissed her, looking into her eyes. “It’s important to me. I lost out on a contract; if I pull off this deal with Frank King we’ll set up a partnership. He’s got a big yard, employs fifty guys, and then Tom supplies the paint. We cut cost all round. I don’t know if they want me with them, but it’d be a big plus for me, so the dinner’s important.”
“I know, it’s no problem, but my hunger is! Lemme have a shower, you get the nosh.”
The hot water felt good. Wrapped in a big toweling dressing gown, Jane switched on the television and lay on the bed to watch it. She could have gone to sleep there and then, but Peter arrived with the Chinese takeaway. She could hear him banging around in the kitchen but didn’t have the energy to get up and help him.
The telephone rang and Peter appeared at the door. “If that’s for you to go out, I quit! I quit!”
It was Jane’s mother on the line to remind her of her father’s birthday and to invite her to a small party. Jane covered the mouthpiece and called Peter, “Pete! Pete, it’s Mum! Are you free next Monday? It’s Dad’s seventy-fifth and she’s having a little do! Pete?”
Peter brought the tray with the cartons of food and a bottle of wine. “Sounds OK,” he said.
Jane listened to her mother carrying on about her sister Pam’s pregnancy and pulled a face. “Pam’s got water retention!”
Already tucking in to the food, Peter gestured that it would get cold.
“Mum, I’ll have to go, we’re just having dinner. Yes! I’ll be there, and Peter … OK … Give Pop my love!” She put the phone down, “Dear God, don’t let me forget Dad’s birthday card, remind me to send it off.”
It was al
most ten. They settled back to watch TV as they ate, but Jane had no sooner lifted the fork to her mouth than the phone rang again. She pushed the tray away.
“I’ll get it.”
Peter continued eating. He could hear excitement in Jane’s voice, then her laughter. At least it sounded like good news. She came back into the bedroom, beaming.
“Guess what, I’m going to be on TV!”
“What? I thought Opportunity Knocks was defunct?”
“Ho, ho! No, I’m going on Crime Night, the police program, and I will be the first female murder officer they’ve ever had on!”
“Oh, great! Finish your dinner, the crab and noodle’s good.”
Jane twirled around, suddenly no longer tired. “I pulled every string I could muster. Mind you, the Chief’s got to give the go-ahead, but he can’t refuse. I mean, to date we’ve got bugger all, but I know this’ll bring us something, I just know it. I’m gonna get that bastard …
“When is it?”
“The twenty-second, they need a while to organize the mock-up film, and I’ve got to put together all the evidence we can use … Oh, shit! It’s Dad’s birthday!”
“Well, maybe they can have it another day?”
“Don’t be stupid, the program goes out at the same time every week …”
Peter threw his fork down. “I didn’t mean the bloody TV program, I meant your Mum could change the party night!”
“Oh, sorry. It’ll be OK, I’ll just have to make a late entrance.”
“I’m not that dumb. Do you want to finish your dinner or not?”
“No, I’m not hungry.”
“Fine, then I’ll clear away.”
He snatched up the tray. As he passed her she put out a hand. “I’m sorry, I guess I’m not hungry.”
“That’s OK, suit yourself, you usually do!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s Saturday night, Jane. I thought that just for one night, just one, you wouldn’t be on the bloody phone!”
She sighed and flopped back on the bed. She was so hyped up about the TV program that she hadn’t given Peter a thought. But by the time he came back into the room she was sitting cross-legged, with that tomboyish grin he liked so much. For a moment he thought it was for him, but then she clapped her hands.
“I am going to nail him, Pete, I know it!”
“I’m going to the pub, see you later.”
When Peter got home she was asleep. He stumbled around the bedroom in the dark, cursing as he stubbed his toe. Past caring if he woke her up, he threw himself into bed and thumped his pillow.
Half-asleep, she rolled towards him and muttered, “I’m sorry, Pete, but I get so tired …”
He looked at her shadowy face, then drew her into his arms. “You’re gonna have to start making time for us, Jane, you hear me?”
“Mmmm, yeah, I know … and I will.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Yes. I love you, Pete.”
She was asleep again, her head resting on his shoulder. He eased her gently back to her side of the bed and then turned over. He was more than worried about his business, and he needed the deal with Frank King to come off. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep afloat for much longer, he’d be bankrupt.
Moyra eased the bedroom curtain aside. She could see the small red dot of a police officer’s cigarette. There were two of them; bored with sitting in the car they were taking a breather, walking around the estate. She let the curtain fall back into place.
“There’s two of them still prowling around outside, George!”
Marlow lay face down on the bed, his naked body draped in a sheet that just covered his buttocks. He was lean, taut, muscular.
He banged his pillow. “Just ignore them.”
“It’s tough, they’re outside day and night, and I know there’s another two in the flat opposite us. I’ve seen them, I know they’re cops, and they’ve got a camera.”
“You’d think they’d have better things to do with ratepayers’ money.”
“Yeah, but it makes my skin crawl. And her from next door is in and out, talking to everyone! I feel everybody looking at me when I go out. Bastards, this is harrassment! I’d like to get them, the bastards. Why?”
“They’ve got nothing better to do. It’s the way they work, look at the way they treated me over that other business. They stitched me up over that! I just hope to God they find some other sucker and lay off us.”
“You hope! Jesus Christ, am I going nuts?”
“Then come here … Take your dressing gown off and come to bed.”
Moyra slipped off her Marks and Sparks satin robe. It was sexy, like the old film stars used to wear. Beneath it was a matching nightdress with thin ribbon straps.
“You look good, Moyra. That color suits you, and it looks expensive.”
“Yeah, well, it was cheap, like me!”
“Don’t say that! Come here …”
She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. She wanted to cry, she wanted to bang on the window and scream at the pigs. “I don’t feel like it, George.”
“Then just lie with me, let me hold you.”
He took her gently in his arms and rested his head on her breast. She stroked his hair.
“Why, George, why did you pick that bloody girl up?”
“Because … because she was there, Moyra, and if you think I wouldn’t give anything to turn the clock back … I wish to God I’d never picked her up.”
“But you did.”
He propped himself on his elbow and traced her cheek with his fingers. “I know I did, and I know I have to make it up to you, but if I swore to you now I’d never have another woman you wouldn’t believe me. I’ve always told you, I’ve never lied to you, Moyra, never! I don’t cheat on you like some guys would. I don’t screw your friends.”
“What friends? I don’t see anyone, especially not now. They can’t get away from me fast enough.”
“I’m sorry …”
“I know, love …”
“I love you, Moyra, and if you ever left me, and I know you have every right, but if you were to finish with me …”
“I’m here, aren’t I? I’m not going anyplace.”
She turned to him then, and he kissed her, a sweet, loving kiss. His beautiful eyes were so close that she could feel the long lashes on her cheeks. He covered her face with childish kisses, her lips, her eyes … She tried not to cry, but her body trembled.
“Oh, no, please don’t cry, Moyra! Please don’t cry!”
“I love you, George, I love you, but sometimes I just can’t cope, and I don’t want to lose you … You’ll have to promise me, no more girls, please … please!”
He rolled onto his back and stretched his arms above his head. “OK.”
“Promise me?”
He smiled and turned to her, cupping his head in his hand. “I promise, Moyra Henson! And after the trouble I’m in, do you really think I would? I’ll tell you something, I don’t think I could, and I’m not joking. It’s made me impotent, I can’t do a thing!”
She pushed his chest and giggled. “Wanna bet?”
He caught her to him then, hugging her tight, with his wonderful, gurgling laugh. “Oh, my darling, I am a lucky man!”
6
Karen Howard’s coffin was completely smothered beneath wreaths of flowers, many of them from sympathetic people who had never even met her.
The funeral drew considerable media attention. Television news cameras followed the grieving parents and friends as they left the church. Tennison held back from the crowd and gestured for Jones and Otley to join her as Major Howard turned towards her.
He thanked them courteously for coming, and suggested that they might like to join the family at their home after the burial. Tennison thanked him for the invitation but declined. He seemed not to hear her, being more intent on sheltering his wife from the prying eyes of the reporters as he helped her into their car. Felicity How
ard wore a wide-brimmed hat which only partially concealed a face etched with grief.
All Tennison could think of was how did a respectable girl like Karen end up in a sleazy tart’s hovel. There was no hint of her being addicted to drugs, the usual reason someone like Karen did a bit of ducking and diving.
She spoke quietly to the two officers. “I’ll have to make a move. You go to the graveside and then back to the station, OK?”
Jones nodded and gave her a quick grin. “Break a leg!”
She gave a short laugh and eased herself away from the mourners towards her parked car. Otley watched her departure with a smirk; a moment later he was approached by a newscaster seeking further news of the murder investigation. He replied that there was none, and that they would be informed as soon as anything developed.
The media had still not linked the Karen Howard case with the murder of Della Mornay. The report of the discovery of the body of a prostitute on Sunningdale golf course had merited only half a column in the nationals, and Tennison wanted it to stay that way. The press release had simply identified the victim and included a routine appeal for information.
The make-up department at the television center was a small room off the main studio floor. Tennison had spent a busy hour with the producer, discussing the questions she would be asked and running through the mock-up of Karen’s last known movements; now that she was sitting in Carmen rollers and protective gown, with no one to talk to, she had time to worry. She began to sweat; it was six-thirty and the program would go out live at eight-fifteen. Would she make a fool of herself? Would she stutter? The more she thought about it, the more nervous she became.
The PA to the floor manager came in to go over a few last-minute notes. He reminded her that she was to pause after the third question to allow for the footage of the funeral that had taken place that afternoon. Two officers from her team were already in the telephone control room, running through the hot-line procedure before relaxing for a while in the hospitality room. As the time drew closer, Tennison found herself longing to join them. Her mouth was dry and she kept clearing her throat, but she wouldn’t accept anything alcoholic. She clutched a glass of water and went over and over the questions and answers, knowing how important it was to get it right. She was very conscious of being the first female officer in her position ever to appear on the program, and she couldn’t foul it up.
Prime Suspect (Prime Suspect (Harper)) Page 13
