“Like I said, Inspector, I remember, when I looked back, she was peering into another car, a red . . . maybe a Scirocco, I dunno, but she was looking for the next customer. I just got the video and went home, got there at ten thirtyish. I can’t remember the exact time, you’ll have to ask Moyra, she’ll remember.”

“And you maintain that you did not know this girl you picked up? You had never met her or seen her before?”

“No, sir. Like I said, she just came over to my car.”

Shefford opened a file and held out a photograph of Della Mornay, taken from Vice records. “Is this the girl you picked up?”

Marlow leaned forward, without actually touching the photo, then sat back in his chair. “I’d never met her before, I didn’t know her.”

He looked to his brief, then back to Shefford. “I picked her up at about seven thirty. It was dark, I don’t remember her all that well . . .”

“You had sex with her, George! You tellin’ me you didn’t see her face? Come on, George . . .”

Marlow shifted his weight in his chair. “It was in the back of the car!”

“Let’s go again, George, an’ I want all the details.”

Peter was stuffing his work clothes into the overflowing laundry basket when Jane woke up. He rammed the lid on the basket. “We need a washing machine, you know.”

She yawned. “Yeah, but the kitchen’s too small. Besides, the launderette does it for me, they’ll even do the ironing if you want, but it’s fifty pence per article. I’ll get Mrs. Fry to take a load down in the morning.” She yawned again. “What’s the time?”

“It’s nearly six. I’ve got some bad news.” He sat down beside her. “Well, not bad news for me, but for you, maybe! It must be telepathy . . . You know, after you said Joey could stay, Marianne called. She’s bringing him over to stay the night. I didn’t even have to ask, she suggested it.”

“That’s OK! What time’s he coming?”

Peter shrugged. “Oh, about seven thirty. Look, you don’t have to do anything.”

Jane freaked. “Is she bringing him? I mean, will she come in?”

He shrugged again. “Look, I can take him for a hamburger, he’ll be no problem.”

“Bollocks! Go down to the corner Indian, they’re still open, and get some fish fingers. Kids like fish fingers, and baked beans, and Mars bars . . . No, tell you what, Smarties. I’ll make up the spare bed while you’re gone.”

“It’s already done, and I’ve put that Anglepoise lamp by the bed, he sleeps with a light on.”

“OK, I’ll wash my hair and get dolled up.”

“You don’t have to, he’s only six, for Chrissake! He won’t care what you look like.”