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.

Chapter 9

9

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.

In her late thirties, she appeared older, with a pleasant but worried face. It took a while for her to unlock the front door, which was festooned with chains and bolts.

She sat on the edge of her chair and recounted the events of that day in a soft voice. It was as though she had learned it by heart; her eyes glazed slightly and she focused somewhere beyond the wall.

“It was the seventh of November, nineteen eighty-eight. At four thirty in the afternoon . . .”

Tennison prepared herself to work this lady over. Without taking her eyes from Gilling, she settled herself on the sofa and took out a cigarette, nodding encouragingly.

“I was working in a florist’s, and it was half-day closing. I don’t work there anymore.” She was wringing her hands unconsciously. “The shop is called Delphinia’s, and the owner’s name is Florence Herriot. November the seventh is her birthday. She asked if I would go to the pub with her at lunchtime, for a sherry. I had an appointment at the hairdresser’s, so I did not arrive until . . .” She gave a strangled little cough, as if her throat was too tight, and continued, “I arrived at two thirty-five. I had a glass of sherry and stayed for approximately half an hour. I always come home to get father’s lunch, but on early closing day I have my hair set, so I leave a tray for him.”

There was that strange little cough again. She was really tense now; her hands continually smoothed her skirt over her knees, which were pressed tightly together. Tennison said nothing, just waited for her to go on.