A prison warder put his head round the door. “Urgent call for DCI Tennison.”

Tennison took the call. The team were doing a good job; the Warrington murder had checked out, plus another one, in Southport. Both victims had identical marks on their arms.

George Marlow hung around the garages chatting and joking with Rosper and Lillie until dark. They got on well together, and had done a fair bit of painting, but the two DCs were beginning to wonder when he was going to go home—they couldn’t paint all night. The floodlights had come on around the estate and were just enough to work by, but it wasn’t easy.

“Bit late to be painting, isn’t it?” Marlow enquired.

“We’re on bonus, mate,” Rosper told him. “Never know what’s gonna happen with all this council privatization, so we gotta make the cash while we can.”

Marlow sympathized with them, then launched into a story about a bet he’d had with someone at the gym where he worked out when they heard sirens coming close.

All three turned to watch the cars drive onto the estate. In the first one were DI Muddyman with DC Jones, behind them Tennison and Amson. They had barely come to a halt when Tennison leaped out and ran to catch up with Muddyman.

As they hurried towards Marlow’s flat she gasped, “He’s got a lock-up, some kind of garage where he stashes his car. Look for a set of keys, anything that might fit that kind of place. Get the bloody floorboards up if necessary.”

“I don’t believe this,” Marlow was saying with exasperation to Lillie and Rosper as he wiped his hands on a rag. He stood and watched Tennison, Amson and Jones legging it up towards his flat.

“What are they after?” Lillie asked, watching him carefully.

“Me! I’d better get up there, the old lady next door’ll have heart failure . . .” He laughed. “Not because of them, but because she’s out playing bingo. Means she’ll miss all the drama. Ta-ra!”

Moyra was at the door, looking at the search warrant. From the bottom of the steps Marlow called, “Hi, you want me?”

Moyra was very near to tears as she stood in the hall and surveyed the wreckage of her home. The carpets had been rolled back, all loose floorboards had been prised up, the hardboarding around the bath had been removed, the toilet had been taken apart, even the U-bends of the handbasin and the kitchen sink had been disconnected. Every video had been taken out of its jacket, every book taken down from the shelves and shaken, every crevice in every piece of furniture delved into. Tennison and Amson had every key in the place laid out in the lounge and were examining them minutely.