Tennison returned his smile involuntarily. “You have been very co-operative, Mr. Marlow, and I’m sorry to have to question you all over again. But you must understand that in taking over the case I need to know everything . . .”

“Yes, I understand.”

Tennison was furious with herself because her hand was shaking as she placed Marlow’s statement and her notebook on the table. “Would you just tell me, in your own words, exactly what occurred on the night of Saturday the thirteenth of January?”

Marlow began quietly, explaining that he had drawn some money from a cash dispenser in Ladbroke Grove. He was about to return home when he saw her standing outside the tube station, obviously touting for business.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but who was standing?”

“Della Mornay!”

“Oh, you knew her, did you?”

“No, I didn’t know her name, never saw her before. He told me, said it was a tart by the name of Della . . . He told me.”

“Who, exactly, told you the girl’s name?”

“Inspector Shefford.”

“OK, George, go on. Tell me what happened next.”

“I got into my car and drove past her, slowly. She came to the window, asked me if I was looking for someone. All I said was maybe, it depended how much. She said it was twenty-five pounds for full sex. If I wanted . . .”

Looking up, Tennison caught his strange, beautiful eyes. He looked away, embarrassed.

“Go on, Mr. Marlow. Twenty-five pounds for full sex . . .”

He cleared his throat and continued, “Masturbation fifteen. I agreed to pay the twenty-five, and she directed me to some waste ground beside the . . . the Westway, I think it is. We got into the back seat. We . . .” he coughed. “We did it, then she asked me to drop her back to the Tube. Then, as she climbed over the seats into the front she caught her hand, her left hand, on my radio. It’s got a sort of sharp edge, and it was only a little nick, but I wrapped my handkerchief around it . . .”

“Er, sorry, George, you just said, ‘She cut her hand on my radio’?”

“Yes.”

“Which hand?”

He frowned and raised his hands, looking from one to the other. “Her right hand, yeah . . . It was her right hand, because my radio’s between the seats. It’s got a sharp edge.”

He indicated the spot on his own wrist—exactly where the small cut was on the wrist of the corpse. “You can take the radio out, it’s portable. They’re always being nicked out of cars, round where I live.”

He paused for a second and sighed. “You found my car yet?”

Tennsion shook her head. “Go on. She cut herself?”