“Well, we’ve got the car!” she called briskly, peering inside it. There was no radio between the seats. “I want the Forensic crowd down here ASAP. The less we move or touch, the better.”

DS Amson was tiptoeing through the pools of water towards her. She stepped back, knocking into him, and turned to give him an earful when she saw his smile freeze. He was looking past her to the far end of the lock-up. Tennison followed his eyes.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, and pointed. “This is where he did it.”

Arrayed on the wall like an exhibit in a black museum were chains, shackles and a hideous collection of sharpened tools.

“How are you going to play it?” Kernan asked Tennison.

She was tense, champing anxiously at the bit. “Henson first, break the alibi. Marlow’s brief’s on his way in.”

“Right, Jane, and . . . well done!”

“Not done yet,” she replied, flexing her fingers. “Not yet.”

Flanked by Amson and Muddyman, with Havers in her wake, Tennison swept along the corridor to the interview room. Muddyman and Amson entered first, going to opposite sides of the room. Tennison walked straight to the table where Moyra Henson sat smoking, her solicitor beside her. Tennison could feel the change in her; she was afraid.

She addressed the solicitor. “Mr. Shrapnel? This is Detective Inspector Muddyman, Sergeant Amson and WPC Havers.” With a nod to Havers to close the door, she sat down and placed some files on the table. “You have been made aware that your client has not been arrested at this stage, but is here of her own free will to answer questions and assist in the investigation into the murders of Karen Howard and Della Mornay.”

“Yes, I am aware of the situation, and my client is prepared to assist in any way that will not incriminate her or instigate criminal proceedings against her,” the small gray-suited man replied.

For the first time since entering the room, Tennison looked directly at Moyra.

“At twelve forty-five today we gained access to George Arthur Marlow’s rented lock-up garage in King’s Cross. A brown Rover car, registration number SLB 23L, was discovered on the premises, together with certain incriminating evidence. In your recent statement you claimed that you had no knowledge of the whereabouts of this car, is that true?”

There was no bravado left in her. “I didn’t know anything about it, I thought it had been stolen.”

“In the same statement you gave George Arthur Marlow an alibi, stating that he returned to the flat you share on the night of the thirteenth of January, nineteen-ninety, at ten thirty. Is that correct?”

Moyra glanced at her solicitor, then back to Tennison and gave a nod.

“When I interviewed you on that occasion, you were shown pictures of murder victims, do you remember? You stated that you had never met any of the women in the photographs.”