Amson looked around and lowered his voice. “As a matter of interest, did you know that the Chief and Shefford were”—he crossed his fingers—“like that? They played golf every weekend—not at Sunningdale! Chief was Shefford’s guv’nor when he was on Vice.”

Tennison shook her head and raised her eyes to heaven. “I think I’ll leave that one well and truly alone!” she said.

At least thirty people were crammed into the Incident Room. The air was thick with smoke. Every chair was taken, and the latecomers were sitting on desks or propped against the walls. While they waited some drank coffee and ate sandwiches, but most of them just talked. The din was deafening.

Sergeant Terry Amson was setting up a projector in the center of the room. Tennison was thumbing through her notes while she waited.

She looked up when the door opened. It was DI Burkin and two others, returning from the Super’s office. They all looked rather sheepish.

“Sorry, guv, we’ve been upstairs.”

Tennison nodded, well aware that these were the men who had been a bit too familiar with the local prostitutes. She gave them a moment to disperse amongst the others.

Burkin had found a place next to Muddyman, who asked him what was going on.

“Got our knuckles rapped for off-duty leg-overs. She’s got eyes in the back of her head, that one! Just a warning this time, so maybe she’s not all bad, but rumor has it that Hicock’s definitely taking over, no kidding. He’s in, she’s out.”

Tennison stood up. “OK, can I have a bit of hush?”

She waited for the room to grow quiet. Slowly they sorted themselves out, and she was able to start the meeting. She played it to the gallery.

“Right. I’ve been told that unless we get results very quickly indeed, I’m on traffic . . . Joke! I don’t think it’s quite that bad, but there will be some changes around here if we don’t pull something out of the hat. In case I don’t get another opportunity, I’ll say now that I appreciate your back-up, and all the hard work . . .”

There were moans and unprintable comments as the word went round. Tennison yelled, “Come on, settle down! Maybe there’s something we’ve missed, something that, if we all think about it, will whack us right between the eyes. OK, Sergeant . . .”

The lights went off, the blinds went down, and Amson ran the mock-up of Karen Howard’s last night. They watched her stand-in talking to the builder who had tried to help her, then crossing the road and walking up Ladbroke Grove.

“Oh, boy, we gonna watch you again, guv?” Tennison recognized the voice from the darkness as Rosper’s.

Amson summarized all the evidence as they watched. “Karen Howard, our first victim. Her body discovered in Della Mornay’s efficiency and mistaken for her.”