He answered angrily, “Because he said I could get them from a Greek guy in a coffee bar. So I picked up the keys, but I didn’t find my car because just as I opened the door the police jumped on me! I don’t know why I have to keep repeating myself,” he said to Upcher. “I’ve told them all this a dozen times . . .”

Tennison showed no sign of fatigue or impatience as she asked, “What was the Greek man’s name?”

“I dunno, the tip-off just gave me the address of the café.” He sighed.

Arnold Upcher shifted his position, checked his watch and glanced at Tennison. He was getting fed up. He looked around; Amson had sat down in the corner.

“Stavros Hulanikis has sub-let the lock-up to a man he knows as John Smith for eight years. After you collected the keys from him this morning, an officer, Detective Inspector Burkin, took a statement from him. Your Greek friend also does certain items of dry-cleaning and laundry for you, doesn’t he?”

Marlow shook his head in disbelief, not bothering to answer. Tennison continued, “Come on, George, how did you get Karen into the efficiency? Where are Della’s keys? You know the place was empty, didn’t you? You knew, because Della Mornay was already dead.”

Marlow leaned towards her. “You are trying to put words into my mouth,” he said emphatically. “Well, that’s it, I’m not saying another thing.” He appealed to Upcher: “Tell her that’s enough! I agreed to this interview, I’ve done nothing but assist them from the word go! I want to go home.”

Upcher replied quietly, “That won’t be possible, George,” then turned to Tennison. “It’s almost ten.”

Marlow was getting really uptight. He shouted, “I wanna go to the toilet, I wanna have a piss, all right? I have to call my mother, I don’t want her reading in the papers that you arrested me again! I want to be the one to tell her—”

“I agree to a fifteen-minute break,” Tennison told Upcher. To Marlow she said, “You will not be allowed to see Miss Henson, or make any phone calls until this interview is terminated. I will arrange for Miss Henson to phone your mother . . .”

Marlow pushed his chair back as if to stand up. Amson moved towards him.

“No! They don’t get on. I don’t want Moyra calling my mother.” He sighed with irritation and stood up with his hands on his hips, facing Tennison. “This is a mess, isn’t it? Oh, all right, I did it.”

Upcher jumped to his feet. Tennison just sat and stared at Marlow, then managed to pull her wits together.

“Could you repeat that? You are still under caution.”