Otley sucked in his breath and prodded Muddyman’s chest. “I’m doin’ the report, an’ I know how long they’ve been here, OK? When the canteen reopens we’ll wheel ’em back up, an’ you tell Lillie no chattin’ up the blond Puss in Boots, savvy?”

Muddyman bristled. Sometimes Otley got right under his skin, seeming to forget who was the senior officer. But he replied, “I savvy, Sarge!”

In the mortuary, the wait for the body to be brought out seemed interminable, yet it was no more than a few minutes. The major stood in the small waiting room, tense and unspeaking.

After putting out a DO NOT DISTURB sign, Felix Norman opened the door of the waiting room and gestured to Tennison that everything was ready. He held the door open as Tennison led the major out, followed by Burkin. They formed a small group around the open drawer where Karen lay covered with a green sheet. Tennison looked at the major.

“Are you ready?”

He nodded. His hands were clenched at his sides as the sheet was drawn back.

“Major Howard, is this your daughter, Karen Julia Howard?”

He stared as if transfixed, unable to raise his eyes. He did not attempt to touch the body. Tennison waited.

After a long, terrible pause, the major wrenched his eyes from the body.

“Yes, this is my daughter,” he whispered.

His work forgotten, Otley was still holding forth to Muddyman. The only way to get rid of Tennison, who he instinctively associated with the tarts, was a vote of no confidence. He had spread the word to any who would listen, and was sure the team would back him. Suddenly, he remembered that he had intended to see the Super to tell him they thought the victim had been identified.

Tennison had many questions she needed to ask the major, but before she could phrase the first one, he said bluntly, without looking at her, “How did my daughter die? I want to know the facts. I want to know how long she has been dead, and why I have not been contacted before this. I want to know when I can have my daughter’s body, to give her a decent funeral . . . And I want to know who is in charge of this investigation . . .”

Tennison interrupted. “I am in charge of the investigation, sir.”

He stared at her, then looked at Burkin. “I am a personal friend of Commander Trayner’s, I must insist on speaking to him. I do not . . . I will not have a woman on this case, is that clear? I want to speak to the Commander . . .”

Tennison sighed. “I am in charge of this investigation, sir. If there is anything you wish to discuss with me, please feel free to do so. I assure you we will release your daughter’s body as soon as it is feasible. The only problem is if you want to have her cremated . . .”