“There are gushes, gullies, hidden areas. You could have a knife at your throat, your knickers torn off you, and bang! You’re dead. But you weren’t asking for it!”

“I—I was really talking about prostitutes . . .”

“What about them? Do you know any? Does Sue know any?” She turned to the men, she had their attention now. “How about you? Can you three tell me, hands on hearts, that you’ve never been with a tom?”

Lisa whispered to Sue, “What’s a tom?”

Tennison snapped, “A tart!”

In the ensuing silence, the telephone rang. Peter said, “It’ll be for you, Jane.”

She weaved her way to the door, but turned back, blazing, when she heard Peter say, “I’m sorry about that!”

“Don’t you ever make apologies for me! We were just having a consev . . . a conservation! She slammed the door.

“Keep her off the building site, Pete,” Frank said in a low voice.

“Actually, I’d like an answer to her question,” said Lisa.

“I think that went off all right, didn’t it?” Jane, creaming her face, was talking to Peter.

“You asking me?”

“No, I was talking to the pot of cold cream! You’re going to do the deal, aren’t you?”

“Yeah . . . Did you have to bring up all that about tarts?”

“Put a bit of spark into the evening.”

“It wasn’t your bloody evening!”

“Oh, thanks! I broke my bloody neck to get that dinner on the table!”

“It’s always you, Jane! You, you, you! You don’t give a sod about anyone else!”

“That’s not true!”

“You care about the blokes on your team, your victims, your rapists, your “toms,” as you call them, you give all your time to them.”

“That’s my job!”

“Tonight was for my job, Jane. But no, you’ve got to put your ten cents’ worth in!”

“Ok, I’m sorry . . . sorry if I spoilt the evening!”

The tiredness swept over her like a tidal wave. She had no energy to argue, and went for the easy way out, giving him a smile. “OK? I apologize, but I think I had too much to drink, and they were so boring . . .”

He stared at her, infuriated. Her comment really got to him. “This is business, Jane, do you ever think how boring all your fucking talk is? Ever think about that, ever think how many conversations we’ve had about this guy George Marlow? You ever consider how fucking boring you get? Do you? I don’t know him, I don’t want to know about him, but Christ Almighty I hear his name . . .”

“Pete, I’ve said I’m sorry, OK? Just let it drop.”