DCI Tennison was facing the Superintendent across his desk. He poured her a large whisky and said, as he handed it to her, “Well, congratulations! The trial’ll be a long process, but you go home now and get some sleep, you deserve it.”

“Yeah, I need it. It was a long night.” She looked and sounded exhausted. Downing the whisky in one, she stood up and made for the door.

The phone rang and the Super picked it up. “Kernan . . . Yes, just a moment.” He covered the mouthpiece and spoke to Tennison. “You were right to stick to your guns. Six counts of murder! And the beautician link . . . It was a woman’s case, after all!”

He put the phone to his ear again, dismissively, and swiveled round in his chair; it’s business as usual. “I’m putting Caldicott on it,” he said into the phone. “They’re bringing the son in for questioning.”

Tennison rose to the bait. “Fifty per cent of murder victims are women, so it looks as if I might have my hands full!” she retorted.

The door slammed behind her before Kernan could swivel round to reply.

“Woman’s case, my arse!” Tennison muttered to herself, still seething about Kernan’s comment. She spotted Maureen Havers peering at her from the double doors further down the corridor.

“Maureen, any of the lads about?”

Havers replied casually, “Oh, I don’t think so, we were all on two till ten. Oh, DCI Jenkins wants the Incident Room cleared, could you pop along before you leave?”

Pursing her lips, Tennison pushed through the other side of the doors and marched towards the Incident Room. Havers hung back and watched her go.

The Incident Room was crammed to bursting, but surprisingly quiet. Every single member of Tennison’s team was there. Someone called, “Here she is!” and they all watched expectantly as the door handle turned.

Tennison walked in to cheers, whistles and the sound of popping corks. A huge bunch of flowers was pressed into her hand and Burkin started singing, the others quickly joining in: “Why was she born so beautiful, why was she born at all? She’s no bloody use to anyone, she’s no bloody good at all!”

“Three cheers for our guv’nor, hip-hip . . .”

“Hooray . . . !”

Tennison nearly choked on her champagne, her back was slapped so hard. “You bastards!” she spluttered. “I thought you’d all pissed off! Cheers!”

She bit her lip, but the tears brimmed over. Then out came her great, bellowing laugh and she punched the air. “We did it! We got him!”

Many months later, George Marlow stood in the dock to answer the charges against him. The Clerk of the Court read them out:

“George Arthur Marlow, you stand before this court accused of six indictments of murder. That on the fourteenth of January, nineteen ninety, you did murder Karen Howard, contrary to common law . . .”