There was a metamorphosis taking place right in front of them, not that anyone noticed. DC Jones, of the polished shoes and old school tie, had taken to wearing striped shirts with white collars and rather flashy ties, similar to those favored by DI Burkin. He was also knocking back the pints, was even the first in the bar at opening time. It was taking time, but he was at last becoming one of the lads.

As they left, still joking, Havers asked Tennison casually, “What’s with Oldham, then? He got relatives there or something?”

“What?”

“Skipper asked for anything from Oldham. I wondered what the attraction was . . . Mind if I push off?

It slowly dawned on Tennison what she was talking about. “He’s doing it to me again!” She shook her head in disbelief and muttered a vague goodnight to Maureen, intent on getting to the bottom of it. Maureen saw her uncover one of the computers and start tapping the keyboard as she closed the door.

Tennison muttered to herself, “Right, Otley, let’s find out just what your game is! Jeannie Sharpe . . . March nineteen eighty-four . . .” She moved the cursor down the screen, read some more, then picked up the phone to make an internal call. There was no reply; she put the receiver down and went across to the large table in the center of the room where all the files were stacked in alphabetical order. Whistling softly, she selected the Oldham file and flipped through it, then carried it back to the computer.

“Ah . . . Jeanie Sharpe, aged twenty-one, prostitute . . .” She compared the entry on the computer with the notes in the file. “Head of investigation, DCI F. G. Neal . . . Detective Inspector Morrell and . . . DI John Shefford!”

She pushed her chair back, staring at the computer screen. Why was Otley so intent on taking the Oldham case? It had to be something to do with Shefford; it was too much of a coincidence. He had put her down for Southport with DC Jones; she snatched the list down from the notice-board. By the time she had retyped it she was seeing spots before her eyes. It was time to call it quits; but she, not Otley, was now down for Oldham.

“My car’ll be here any minute! I was too tired to drive last night.” Dressed and ready for work, Jane was rushing around the kitchen. Peter, still half-asleep, stumbled in.

“ ’Morning!”

“I got in a bit late, so I slept in the spare room. Feel this—d’you think it’ll soften up by tonight?” She handed him an avocado.

“It’s fine.” He stood in the middle of the kitchen and stretched. The avocado slipped from his grasp and Jane caught it deftly.