Suddenly anxious to get home to Peter, Tennison decided not to go back to the station to pick up her car, so Terry Amson gave her a lift home. She was very aware of the difference having a genuinely friendly face on her team made to her job. She knew she could talk to Terry and it wouldn’t go any further.

Amson was saying, “If he’s got his car stashed somewhere between Camberwell and Kilburn, we’ll find it.”

“If!” She looked at him sideways. “Terry, now you’ve met him, what do you think?”

“For real? If he’s lying, he’s one of the best I’ve ever come across.”

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Tonight, for the first time, I had doubts.” She pointed ahead. “It’s the second house along.”

When he had stopped the car she turned to him. “What do you think about John Shefford?”

“As a suspect? He was a crack officer, you know.”

She said sadly, “He was also in the vicinity when Karen, Della and Jeannie Sharpe were killed. We’re going to have to check him out on the two that just came in.”

“You know I’m with you on this, Jane, but there’s only so far I’m prepared to go. I’ve got a wife and four kids to support, remember.”

“I don’t like it any more than you.” She put her hand out to open the door. “Just keep it under your hat, but we’ve got to check it out. So you pull Shefford’s record sheets, first thing in the morning, OK? You want to come in for a drink?”

Amson shook his head and Tennison climbed out. “G’night!” she said as he started the engine.

Jane felt for the hall light switch, pressed it down. The flat was quiet; she dumped her briefcase and took off her coat, shouting, “Pete! Pete?”

There was no answer. She opened the kitchen door to find it clean and tidy, nothing out of place. She tried the bedroom; it was just the same.

Sighing, she unbuttoned her shirt and opened the wardrobe. One half of it was empty. She checked the chest of drawers—all Peter’s were empty! Turning away, she unzipped her skirt and let it slide to the floor, stepped out of it and walked towards the bathroom.

As she opened the door the phone rang. She let it ring, looking around to see only one toothbrush, one set of towels. The answering machine clicked into action and she waited, listening.

“Jane, it’s your mother . . .” Jane saw the white envelope propped against the phone and reached for it. “Didn’t you get my message this morning about Pam? Well, in case you didn’t, she’s had a girl, eight pounds seven ounces, and she’s beautiful! She was rushed into St. Stephen’s Hospital last night, I’m calling from her room . . .”