“George Marlow, your common-law husband, is still under suspicion of murder. I need the answers to my questions to help us eliminate him from our enquiries.”

“Pull the other one, you’re just interested in incriminating him.”

“I’d like you to tell me where you were on these dates: March the fifteenth, nineteen eighty-four . . .”

“No ruddy idea, darlin’. Ask me another.”

“The second of November nineteen eighty-five. Twenty-third of July, nineteen eighty-six. Ninth of April nineteen eighty-seven.”

“I dunno, I’d have to look in me diaries, not that I’ve got them that far back.” She bent down and started fiddling with her shoe.

“They were dates when your common-law husband was traveling in Warrington, Oldham, Burnley, Rochdale . . .”

Moyra looked up. “Oh, in that case I was with him. I always travel with him.”

“So on the dates that I have mentioned, you are pretty sure that you were with George, yes?”

“I travel with him, I stay with him.”

“Doing freelance work as a beautician?”

“Well, yeah. I do a bit.”

“In salons?”

“Yeah, no law against that.”

“There is if you’ve been claiming unemployment benefit and not declaring income, or paying tax on it. There’s a law against that.”

Moyra actually shrank back in her chair, though her answer was bold enough. “It’s nothing, just a bit of cash, you know, pin money.”

“How long do you think it would take for me to check out just how much you’ve been earning?”

“You bastards never give anyone a break.”

“I’ll give you a break, Moyra. No charges if—if—you give us a detailed list of the salons you’ve worked in, the names of your clients . . .”

As Tennison placed a pen and a sheet of paper in front of Moyra, Amson leaned over and whispered to her. With a nod to Havers, she followed him from the room.

“If this pins any of those cases on Marlow, she’s virtually making herself an accessory!”

“What are you suggesting?” Tennison snapped. “Get her lawyer in just when she’s co-operating?”

“You’re jumping the gun. What we need is a lever, something to push Marlow with. She’s his alibi, and so far she’s not backed down on that.”

Tennison banged the coffee machine with the flat of her hand. “Christ, you’re right! An’ we need a fucking lever to make this machine work . . .” She looked at her watch. “OK, leave it with me. I’ll have one more go.” She smiled. “But gently does it!”

Moyra was beginning to look tired. She leaned her head in her hand.

“I’ve listed the salons, but that doesn’t mean to say that I work there regular. Sometimes they don’t have any customers for me, and it’s mostly manicures.”

“What’s this Noo-Nail?” Tennison asked, looking over the paper.