Marlow touched the paint on the nearest garage door, then peered closer. “Had a bit of filler here and there. Suppose some kids nicked it for a joyride, be stripped down by now. Had all my emblems and badges on the front, RAC and AA, owner’s club . . . all on a chrome bar at the front.” He examined the paint again. “I’m in the paint business, typical of the council . . .” He put a hand out towards Rosper. “Can I just borrow your brush? Like to see how this goes on . . .”

He dipped the brush in the paint and applied a stroke as Rosper and Lillie exchanged glances behind his back. Totally unaware, he said, “You work out, do you?” He glanced round at Rosper. “You look as if you do. What gym do you use?”

He chatted on, painting the door, while they stood and watched.

Late in the afternoon, Tennison and Amson arrived at Brixton Prison to interview convict 56774, Reginald McKinney. While they waited for him to be brought to them, Amson explained that McKinney had shared a cell with Marlow in Durham and had been picked up again a few weeks ago for breaking and entering.

The warder who brought McKinney told them there was a call from the station for them. Tennison asked Amson to take it, then offered the tall, skeletal prisoner a seat.

He was suffering from a migraine, and had come from the hospital ward. One of his eyes watered and his face was twisted in pain. “We’ll try and keep this short, Reg. Now, you shared a cell with George Marlow in Durham, that right?”

“That is correct.”

His eyes were crossing, it was like putting questions to a demented squirrel. “You told your probation officer that you had met Marlow after your release.”

“That is correct.”

“And you were living in a halfway hostel in Camberwell then, yes? So where did you meet?”

McKinney looked up as Amson returned. He kept his back to McKinney and leaned over to whisper to Tennison.

“There’s a buzz on, looks like another one in Warrington. They’ll get back to me when they’ve finished checking.”

Feeling a bit perkier, Tennison turned back to Reg. He said, “I’ve forgotten what you asked me . . . I’ve got a migraine.”

“Where did you and Marlow meet?”

“Oh, yeah . . . Kilburn. We went for a curry, then he drove me back to my place. Bit of a schlepp, an’ I offered to get the tube, but he said it was OK. He wanted to do some work on his motor, in his lock-up.”

Tennison was careful not to show the excitement she was feeling. “Lock-up—you mean a garage?”

“I dunno . . .” He stopped a moment and rubbed his head, in obvious agony. “The car was, like, an obsession with ’im.”

“He never mentioned where this lock-up was?”

“No . . . I got a terrible headache.”