They shook hands and Tennison said she would do everything within her power to bring the case successfully to court. It was not until she was back in her own office that she congratulated herself, grinning like the Cheshire Cat because, at last, she had done it. She, DCI Tennison, was heading a murder case.

Late that afternoon, still stunned by his guv’nor’s death, Bill Otley was clearing Shefford’s desk. He collected the family photographs and mementos together and packed them carefully into Shefford’s tattered briefcase. Finally he picked up a photo of Tom, his little godson, and looked at it for a long moment before laying it carefully on top of the others.

He snapped the locks on the case, hardly able to believe that John wasn’t going to walk in, roaring with laughter, and tell them it was all a joke. His grief consumed him, swamping him in a bitterness he directed towards DCI Tennison, as if she were in some way responsible. He had to blame someone for the hurting, for the loss. He hugged the briefcase to his chest, knowing he now had to face Sheila and the children, he couldn’t put it off any longer. Maybe it would be best if he left it till the weekend, and in the meantime he’d keep John’s briefcase at the flat along with his shirts and socks . . .

He was still sitting at his desk, holding the case, when DI Burkin looked in.

“She’s checking over the evidence, you want to see her?”

Otley shook his head. “I don’t even want to be in the same room as that slit-arsed bitch!”

Tennison was ploughing methodically through all the evidence on the Marlow case. The ashtray was piled high and a constant stream of coffee was supplied by WPC Havers. She was just bringing a fresh beaker and a file.

“Deirdre, alias Della, Mornay’s Vice record, ma’am. The reason they gave for not sending it before was that King’s Cross Vice Squad’s computer records are not compatible with Scotland Yard’s, or some such excuse.”

Flicking through the file, Tennison took out a photograph of Della Mornay and laid it beside the photos of the corpse. She frowned.

“Maureen, get hold of Felix Norman for me and find out how long he’ll be there. Then order me a car and tell DC Jones he’s driving me. I want to see the body tonight, but I need to interview the landlady first. And ask for another set of dabs from the victim, get them compared with the ones on Della Mornay’s file.”

Leaving Havers scribbling furiously, she walked out.